Caleb knew that name. It was his late mother’s surname—one she never spoke about.
He felt a chill that had nothing to do with the wind.
“You know anything about your family?” Caleb asked.
Noah nodded, jaw tense. “My mom was Lindsey Brooks. She died when I was six. The guy she lived with after—he wasn’t my dad. When he kicked me out last winter, I found a few of her things. There was my birth certificate. No father listed.”
His voice thinned. “But there were pictures. Of her holding two babies. I thought maybe one was a cousin or something.”
Caleb’s stomach dropped. He had seen the same photographs hidden in his mother’s albums.
Noah continued, rubbing his arms against the cold.
“I went looking for people who knew her. A woman at a diner in the Loop told me Lindsey disappeared years ago—after she got pregnant with twins.”
The ground beneath Caleb might as well have shifted.
Noah stared straight at him.
“Do you know Alexander Donovan?”
Caleb inhaled sharply. “He’s my father.”
Noah’s breath shuddered.
“Then he might be mine too.”
Two boys—one homeless, one wealthy—standing face-to-face like mirrored versions of the same life that split in half seventeen years ago.