It Starts With Us (It Ends with Us #2) (11 page)

Someone eventually comes into view. A kid closes in on the back door.

I don’t know if this kid is my brother, but it’s definitely the same person I saw on the security footage at Corrigan’s. The same clothes, the same hoodie tightened around their face.

I remain hidden and watch them, becoming more and more convinced by the second that it’s exactly who I think it is. He’s built like me. He even moves like me. I’m filled with anxious energy because I want to meet him. I want to tell him that I’m not angry and that I know what he’s going through.

I’m not sure I was even angry at whoever was doing this before I knew it could potentially be my brother. It’s hard to be angry at a kid, but it’s especially hard to be angry at one who was raised by the same woman who attempted to raise me. I know what it’s like to have to do what you can to survive. I also know what it’s like when you’d do anything to get
someone’s attention.
Anyone’s.
There were times in my childhood I just wanted to be noticed, and I have a feeling that’s exactly what’s going on here.

He’s hoping to be caught. This is more a cry for attention than anything.

He walks right up to the back door of the restaurant without an ounce of hesitation. This place has become familiar to him. He checks the back door to see if it’s locked. When it doesn’t open, he pulls a new can of spray paint out of his hoodie. I wait for him to lift it, and that’s when I decide to make my presence known.

“You’re holding it wrong.” My voice startles him. When he spins around and looks up at me and I see how young he really is, my heartstrings stretch so tight, it feels like they’re about to pop. I try to imagine Theo out here alone in the middle of the night like this.

There’s still a youthfulness to the fear in his eyes. When I start walking toward him, he backs up a step, looking around for a quick escape. But he doesn’t attempt to run.

I’m sure he’s curious about what’s going to happen. Isn’t this why he’s been showing up here night after night?

I hold out my hand for the can of spray paint. He hesitates, but then hands it to me. I demonstrate how to hold it the proper way. “If you do it like this, it won’t drip. You hold it too close.”

Every emotion is running across his face as he studies me, from anger to fascination to betrayal. The two of us are quiet as we take in just how much we look alike. We both took after our mother. Same jawline, same light eyes, same mouths, down to the unintentional frown. It’s a lot for me
to take in. I’ve been resigned to the idea that I had no family, yet here he is in the flesh. It makes me wonder what he’s feeling while he looks back at me. Anger, obviously. Disappointment.

I lean a shoulder against the building, looking down at him with complete transparency. “I didn’t know you existed, Josh. Not until a few hours ago.”

The kid shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and looks at his feet. “Bullshit,” he mutters.

The hardness in him at such a young age makes me sad. I ignore the anger in his response and pull my keys out to unlock the back door to the restaurant. “You hungry?” I hold the door open for him.

He looks like he wants to run, but after a moment of indecision, he ducks his head and walks inside.

I flip on the lights and make my way into the kitchen. I grab the ingredients to make him a grilled cheese and I start cooking while he walks around slowly, taking everything in. He touches things, opens drawers, cabinets. Maybe he’s taking inventory for the next time he decides to break in. Or maybe his curiosity is a cover for his fear.

I’m plating his food when he finally speaks up. “How do you know who I am if you didn’t know I existed?”

This feels like it could lead to a lengthy conversation, and I’d rather have it while he’s more comfortable. There isn’t a table back here with seating, so I motion toward the doors that lead into the dining room. There’s enough light from the exit signs that I don’t have to power up the dining room lights.

“Sit here.” I point to table eight and he takes a seat in the
exact spot our mother sat in earlier tonight. He starts eating as soon as I set his food down. “What do you want to drink?”

He swallows, and then shrugs. “Whatever.”

I go back to the kitchen and pour him a glass of ice water and then slide into the booth across from him. He drinks half of it in one gulp.

“Your mother showed up here tonight,” I say. “She’s looking for you.”

He makes a face that indicates he doesn’t care, and then he continues eating.

“Where have you been staying?”

“Places,” he says with a mouthful.

“Are you in school?”

“Not lately.”

I let him get in a few more bites before I continue. The last thing I want to do is run him off with too many questions. “Why did you run away?” I ask. “Because of her?”

“Sutton?”

I nod. I wonder what kind of relationship they have if he doesn’t even call her “Mom.”

“Yeah, we got in a fight. We always fight over the stupidest shit.” He eats his last bite, then downs the rest of his water.

“And your dad? Tim?”

“He left when I was little.” His eyes roam around the room, landing on the tree. When he looks back at me, he tilts his head. “Are you rich?”

“If I was, I wouldn’t tell you. You’ve tried to rob me several times now.”

I can see a smirk playing across his lips, but he refuses to release it. He relaxes into the booth more, pulling his hoodie
away from his face. Strands of greasy brown hair fall forward, and he pushes them back. His hair holds the shape of a cut that’s long overdue, with sides that have grown out too long and uneven to be intentional.

“She told me you left because of me. She said you didn’t want a brother.”

I have to hold back my irritation. I pull his empty plate of food and his glass toward me, and I stand up. “I didn’t know about you until today, Josh. I swear. I would have been around if I had.”

He eyes me from his seat, studying me. Wondering if he can trust me. “You know about me now.” He says that like it’s a challenge to do better. To prove his low expectations of the world wrong.

I nudge my head toward the doors to the kitchen. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

He doesn’t immediately get out of the booth. “Where to?”

“My house. I have a room for you as long as you stop cussing so much.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What are you, some kind of religious nutjob?”

I motion for him to stand up. “An eleven-year-old muttering cuss words all the time seems desperate. It’s not cool until you’re at least fourteen.”

“I’m not eleven, I’m twelve.”

“Oh. She said you were eleven.
Still.
Too young to be cool.”

Josh stands up and starts to follow me through the kitchen.

I spin and face him as I push back through the doors.
“And for future reference, you spelled
asshole
wrong. There’s no
w
.”

He looks surprised. “I thought that looked funny after I wrote it.”

I put his dishes in the sink, but it’s almost three in the morning and I’m not in the mood to wash them. I flip out the lights and have Josh lead the way out the back door. When I’m locking it, he says, “Are you going to tell Sutton where I am?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do yet,” I admit. I start walking down the alley, and he rushes to catch up with me.

“I’m thinking of going to Chicago, anyway,” he says. “I probably won’t stay more than one night at your place.”

I laugh at the idea that this kid thinks I’m going to allow him to run off to another city now that I know he exists.
What am I getting myself into?
I have a feeling my day-to-day responsibilities have just doubled. “Do we have any other siblings I don’t know about?” I ask him.

“Just the twins, but they’re only eight.”

I stop in my tracks and look at him.

He grins. “I’m kidding. It’s just the two of us.”

I shake my head and grab the back of his hoodie, pulling it down over his head. “You’re something.”

He’s smiling when we make it to my car. I’m smiling, too, until I feel a sharp stab of worry in the center of my gut.

I’ve known him for half an hour. I’ve known
of
him for a fraction of a day. Yet I suddenly feel like I’ll be protective of him for a lifetime.

You lose your mornings after having children.

I used to open my eyes and lie in bed for several minutes before grabbing my phone and catching up on everything I might have missed while I slept. I’d have a cup of coffee, and then mentally map out my day while I showered.

But now that I have Emmy, her early morning cry rips me out of bed, and I become her gopher before I even have time to pee. I rush to change her, rush to clothe her, rush to feed her. By the time I’m finished with morning mother duties, I’m late for work and barely have time to do those things for myself.

It’s why I cherish Sunday mornings. It feels like the only day of the week I get any sense of calm. When Emmy wakes up on Sundays, I always bring her back to bed with me. We lie together and I listen to her babble and there’s absolutely no rush to get up or be somewhere.

Sometimes, like right now, she falls back to sleep, and I just stare at her for long stretches of time—marveling at the wonder that is motherhood.

I grab my phone and take a picture of her to text to Ryle, but I hesitate before hitting send. I don’t miss Ryle at all, but it does make me sad in moments like this that Ryle doesn’t
get to do this with us, or that I don’t get to share in the joys
they
have together. There’s nothing better than adoring the child you made with the person you made them with, which is why I always try to text him pictures and videos. But I’m still upset about last night and don’t really feel like reaching out yet. I save the picture for a more peaceful day.

Fucking Ryle.

Divorce is difficult. I knew it would be, but it’s so much harder than I anticipated. And navigating divorce with a child in the mix is a million times trickier. You’re stuck interacting with that person for the remainder of your life. You have to either figure out a way to plan birthday parties together or figure out a way to be okay with having separate celebrations. You have to plan on which holidays each of you get to spend with your child, which days of the week, down to which hours of the day sometimes.

You can’t snap your fingers and be done with the person you married and divorced. You’re stuck with them. Forever.

I’m stuck dealing with Ryle’s feelings forever, and frankly, I’m growing tired of always feeling sorry for him, worried for him, fearful of him,
considerate
of his feelings.

How long am I supposed to wait before I start dating someone else without Ryle being justified in his jealousy? How long do I have to wait before I tell him I’m dating Atlas if Atlas and I become a thing? How long until I get to start making decisions about my own life without worrying about his feelings?

My phone vibrates. It’s my mother calling. I slide softly out of the bed to walk to the living room before answering it.

“Hey.”

“Can I have Emerson today?”

I laugh at her blatant disregard for her daughter now that she has a granddaughter. “I’m good, how are you?” My mother loves Emmy as much as I do—I’m convinced of that. When Emmy turned six weeks old, my mother started taking her for a few hours at a time while I worked. She actually stayed at her house overnight last month—it was Emmy’s first night away from me since she’d been born. She had fallen asleep at my mother’s, and neither of us wanted to wake her, so I went back for her the next morning.

“Rob and I are close by; we could come pick her up in twenty minutes. We’re going to the botanical gardens; I thought it would be fun to get her out. I’m sure you could use the break.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll get her dressed.”

Half an hour later, there’s a knock at my door. I open it and let my mother and Rob inside. My mother beelines across the living room, straight to Emmy, who is on a pallet on the floor.

“Hi, Mom.” I say it teasingly.

“Look at this adorable outfit,” my mother says, picking her up. “Did I buy her this?”

“No, it’s a hand-me-down from Rylee, actually.” It’s nice that Rylee is six months older. We haven’t had to buy Emmy many clothes because Allysa gives me more than enough of Rylee’s. And they’re always in great condition because I don’t think Rylee ever wears an outfit twice.

Emmy is wearing the outfit Rylee wore at her first
birthday party. I was hoping it would eventually be passed down to Emmy, because it’s adorable. It’s a pair of pink leggings with green whole watermelons on them, and a green long-sleeved top with a pink slice of watermelon in the center of it.

My mother has bought almost everything else Emmy wears, including the blue jacket I’m putting on her right now.

“That doesn’t match her outfit,” my mother says. “Where’s the pink jacket I bought her?”

“It’s too little, and it’s a jacket, and she’s one year old. It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t match.”

My mother huffs, and I can tell by that look on her face that Emmy is going to come home in a brand-new jacket this afternoon. I kiss Emmy on the cheek, and my mother heads for the door.

I hand Rob the diaper bag, and he hoists it over his shoulder. “Want me to carry her?” he asks my mother.

She squeezes Emmy tighter. “I’ve got her.” She addresses me over her shoulder. “We’ll be back in a few hours.”

“About what time?” I ask her. I don’t usually clarify a time with her, but I’m thinking about asking Atlas what he’s doing right now. We can maybe grab lunch since we’re both off today and I’m kid-free.

“I’ll text you. Why? Are you going somewhere?” she asks. “I figured you’d just catch up on sleep.”

I don’t dare tell her I might sneak away to meet a guy. She’d ask me questions well past the botanical garden closing hours. “Yeah, I’ll probably just sleep. I’ll keep my phone on, though. Have fun.”

My mother is out the door and down the hallway, but Rob pauses and looks at me. “Make sure you park your car
in the same spot. She’ll notice if you move it, and she’ll ask questions.” He winks, a clear indication that he can read me better than she can.

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I whisper.

I close the door and go find my phone. I’ve been rushing to get Emmy dressed and out the door, so I haven’t looked at my phone since I hung up with my mother. I have a missed call from Atlas from twenty minutes ago.

My stomach flips with anticipation. I hope he’s off today. I use my phone camera to check my appearance, and then I call him back over video chat.

I hated when he called me over video chat the first time, but now it feels like the natural thing to do. I always want to see his face. I like seeing what he’s wearing and where he’s at and the faces he makes when he says the things he says.

I’m already smiling when I hear the sound that indicates he’s answered the call. He lifts the phone, and when I finally make out what I’m looking at, I can see he’s standing in an unfamiliar kitchen. It’s white and bright and different from the kitchen I remember when I visited his house almost two years ago.

“Morning,” he says. He’s smiling, but he looks tired, like he either just woke up or is about to fall asleep.

“Hey.”

“Sleep well?” he asks.

“I did. Finally.” I squint my eyes trying to see past him. “Did you remodel your kitchen?”

Atlas glances over his shoulder, and then looks back at me. “I moved.”

“What? When?”

“Earlier this year. Sold my house and got a place closer to the restaurant.”

“Oh. That’s nice.” Closer to the restaurant means closer to me. I wonder how far apart we live now. “Are you cooking?”

Atlas aims his phone at his countertop. There’s a pan of eggs, a pile of bacon, pancakes, and…
two plates
.
Two
glasses of juice. My heart drops. “That’s a lot of food,” I say, attempting to hide the immense jealousy running through me.

“I’m not alone,” he says, panning the screen back to his face.

My disappointment must be clearly written all over me, because he immediately shakes his head.

“No, Lily. That’s not…” He laughs and seems flustered. His reaction is adorable but not entirely reassuring yet. He holds the phone up a little higher until I can see a person standing behind him. I’m not sure who’s with him, but it isn’t another woman.

It’s a kid.

A kid who looks just like Atlas, and he’s staring right at me with eyes that look identical to Atlas’s eyes.
Does he have a child I don’t know about?

What is going on?

“She thinks I’m your son,” the kid says. “You’re freaking her out.”

Atlas immediately aims the phone back at his own face. “He’s not my son. He’s my brother.”

Brother?

Atlas moves the phone so that I’m looking at his brother again. “Say hi to Lily.”

“No.”

Atlas rolls his eyes and shoots me an apologetic look. “He’s kind of a jerk.” He says that right in front of his little brother.

“Atlas!” I whisper, shocked at every part of this conversation.

“It’s okay, he knows he’s a jerk.”

I see the kid laugh behind him, so I know he knows Atlas is kidding. But I am so confused. “I had no idea you had a brother.”

“I didn’t know, either. Found out last night after our date.”

I think back on last night and how it was obvious something was bothering him about the text he received, but I had no idea it was a family issue. I guess this explains why his mother was trying to contact him. “Sounds like you have a lot to work through today.”

“Wait, don’t hang up yet,” he says. He walks out of the kitchen and into another room for privacy. He closes a door and sits down on his bed. “Biscuits still have about ten minutes, I can chat.”

“Wow. Pancakes
and
biscuits. He’s a lucky kid. I had black coffee for breakfast.”

Atlas smiles, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He seemed like he was in a good mood in front of his brother, but now that I have him alone, I can see the stress in the way he’s holding himself. “Where’s Emmy?” he asks.

“My mother has her for a few hours.”

When it registers that we’re both off work and I don’t have Emmy, he sighs like he’s bummed. “You mean you actually have a free day?”

“It’s okay, we’re taking it slow, remember? Besides, it’s not every day you find out you have a little brother.”

He dives a hand through his hair and sighs. “He’s the one who has been vandalizing the restaurants.”

I startle at that comment. I need to hear more of this story.

“That’s why my mother tried calling me last week, to see if I’d heard from him. I feel like a dick for blocking her number now.”

“You didn’t know.” I’m standing in my living room, but I want to sit down for this conversation. I walk to the couch and set my phone on the arm of it, propping it up with the PopSocket. “Did he know about you?”

Atlas nods. “Yeah, and he thought I knew about him, which is why he was taking out his anger on my restaurants. Other than the thousands of dollars he cost me, he seems like a good kid. Or he at least seems like he has the potential to be a good kid. I don’t know, he’s gone through a lot of the shit I went through with my mother, so there’s no telling what that’s done to him.”

“Is your mother there, too?”

Atlas shakes his head. “I haven’t told her I found him yet. I spoke to a friend of mine who’s a lawyer, and he said the sooner I tell her the better, so she can’t use it against me.”

Use it against him?
“Are you wanting to get custody of him?”

Atlas nods without hesitation. “I don’t know if that’s what Josh wants, but there isn’t another option I could live with. I know what kind of mother she is. He mentioned wanting to find his father, but Tim is even worse than my mother.”

“What kind of rights do you have as his brother? Any?”

Atlas shakes his head. “Not unless my mother agrees to let him live with me. Not looking forward to that conversation. She’ll say no just to spite me, but…” Atlas releases a heavy sigh. “If he stays with her, he won’t have a chance in hell. He’s already harder than I was at that age. Angrier. I’m afraid of what that anger might turn into if he doesn’t gain some stability in his life. But who’s to say I’m capable of something like this? What if I fuck him up more than my mother has?”

“You won’t, Atlas. You know you won’t.”

He accepts my reassurance with a quick flash of a smile. “That’s easy for you to say; you’re a natural at this whole raising-kids thing.”

“I just fake it well,” I say. “I have no idea what I’m doing. No parent does. We’re all full of imposter syndrome, winging it every minute of the day.”

“Why is that both comforting and terrifying?” he asks.

“You just summed up parenthood with those two words.”

He exhales. “I should probably get back in there and make sure he isn’t robbing me. I’ll call you later today, okay?”

“Okay. Good luck.”

The way Atlas silently mouths the word
goodbye
in return is sexy as hell.

When I end the call, I fall onto my bed and sigh. I love the way I feel after I talk to him. He makes me giddy and energized and happy, even when the call is as shocking and chaotic as that one was.

I wish I knew where he lived. I’d go give him a drive-by hug like the one he gave me last night. I hate that he’s
dealing with this, but at the same time I’m happy for him. I can’t imagine how alone he’s felt since I met him, not having a single family member in his life.

And that poor kid. It’s like Atlas all over again, as if one kid feeling that unloved by their mother wasn’t enough.

My phone chimes, indicating I have a text. I smile when I see it’s from him. I smile even bigger when I see how long the text is.

Thank you for being the most comforting part of my life right now. Thank you for always being the beacon I need every time I feel lost. Whether you mean to shine on me or not. I am grateful for you. I’ve missed you. I absolutely should have kissed you.

I’m covering my mouth with my hand when I finish reading it. I’m filled with so much emotion, I don’t know where to put it.

Josh is lucky to have you in his life now.

Within seconds, Atlas hearts my text. Then I send another one.

And you’re right. You absolutely should have kissed me.