When we don't know who to turn to, sometimes we turn to the ones we least expect.
Luke Salazar is a senior at Bay High School, and he's been pushed, shoved, and shut out for most of his life. Miles Jefferson has been the ringleader of a lot of that...
Miles had gotten up and was pacing around the room. I glanced at Rachel, and she didn't look at all surprised. She had gotten up to make sure he was okay.
"What the fuck?" I blurted, knowing it wasn't the right thing to say, but it was all that came to mind.
"Luke, don't—" Rachel said, but Miles held up his hand.
"It's fine," he said, picking up the cherry vodka and taking a swig out of the bottle. He sat back down on the couch, and Rachel sank to the floor in front of him, leaning against his legs. I couldn't help but notice how his entire body relaxed when he came into contact with hers.
"Miles, you don't have to talk about it," Brooke whispered, and I'd yet to see her so bothered since we'd been friends.
He exhaled. "No. I want to," he said, and he didn't sound drunk anymore—just sad. "First of all, Rachel already knows everything I'm about to say, but no one else in the world knows besides her and my father, obviously...so please don't let it go further than this room."
Brooke and I both nodded at the same time. "We promise."
He took another deep breath. "I don't know if y'all remember this, but my mom died of breast cancer when we were in 5th grade."
A look of recognition crossed Brooke's face, and I knew that because Rachel had told me.
"So my whole life, my dad has been hard on me. I've never been smart enough, talented enough, handsome enough. But it wasn't until she died that he started hitting me. It was only here and there at first, but then after a while, it started happening more and more often. Even after I grew to be taller than he was, he kept it up." He paused, and I took this opportunity to ask a question.
"How has no one ever noticed this? Teachers, friends?" I asked, leaning forward, my forearms resting on my knees.
He scoffed. "My dad isn't dumb. He always hits me and puts bruises in places easy to hide: my wrists, upper arms, back, stomach."
Rachel looked like she was about to vomit; I'd never seen a person that shade of green before.
But he continued, "Except a couple weeks ago...that black eye I had? I didn't get hit with a frisbee. He lost it one night and punched me in the face. Ever since then, he's been nice. I think he's afraid I'm going to tell a teacher or something. I don't trust him, though," he said.
"Miles, I didn't know," I said, and he waved me off.
"No one did," he said, and he ran his hand through Rachel's long hair, which had long since dried into waves. Brooke was watching him, tears filling her brown eyes.
I started to say something, but I realized I had no words for this.
But Miles did...and the words he said next pierced my heart to its core.
"I think that's why I treated you the way I did. He hurt me, so in my 10-year-old brain, the only way to deal with it was to hurt someone back—and it obviously couldn't be him—so you were the unfortunate soul I chose. And now, after I made some real friends," he bent down then to kiss Rachel on the top of her head, "who made me see that the way I was living my life was all wrong, after I got to know you a little, I realized that I was a complete dickhead. And I didn't want to be that person anymore. So Luke, I want to apologize to you for the torture I've put you through. There is no excuse for it, but I want to make it up to you," he finished, and even though I hated to admit it, and I will forever blame it on the alcohol, tears had filled my eyes.
"Miles, I don't know what to say, except that I accept your apology, man. Consider yourself forgiven." I stood up and held my hand out. He stood up and stepped around Rachel, taking my hand and pulling me in for a hug.
Rachel and Brooke stared up at us, tears running down both of their faces.
"What are you crying for?" Miles asked them.
"Seriously?" Rachel said. "That was the most precious thing I've ever seen!"
"For real. We should've done shots a long time ago—get all this shit out on the table!" Brooke exclaimed.
Everyone laughed, but suddenly, Rachel looked ill.
"Uhhh, Brooke? Can you come to the bathroom with me?" she managed before getting up to run upstairs. Brooke shook her head and ran after her.
Miles looked up the stairs. "Jesus...I should go make sure she's okay. This was all my idea," he said, jumping up and running up the stairs two at a time.
Alone downstairs, I got up and explores a bit. The house was quiet, except for the hum of the AC unit as it kicked on. I walked to the mantle and looked at the pictures lined up in frames.
There were a few photos of Miles and his mom, one of Miles and a German Shepherd dog, but when my gaze landed on the last picture, I froze.
It was a man with reddish hair and matching ginger goatee, a hardened look that appeared to be a mixture of arrogance, stress, and pain. He had his arm around Miles, but their smiles were strained.
That man...he looked like someone I knew. And I had never seen nor met Miles' father.
It couldn't be.
But Mr. Jefferson looked quite a bit like my father.
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