It Starts with Us (It Ends with Us #2)(32)

“Is this all yours?” she finally asks, waving a hand around the restaurant.

I nod.

“Wow.”

To anyone else watching us, they might think she’s impressed. But they don’t know her like I know her. That one word was meant as a putdown, as if she’s saying, Wow, Atlas. You’re not smart enough for something like this.

“How much do you need?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not here for money.”

“What is it, then? You need a kidney? A heart?”

She leans back against her seat, resting her hands in her lap. “I forgot how hard it is to have a conversation with you.”

“Then why do you keep trying?”

My mother’s eyes narrow. She’s only ever known the version of me that was intimidated by her. I’m no longer intimidated. Just angry and disappointed.

She huffs, and then brings her arms back up to the table, folding them together. She looks at me pointedly. “I can’t find Josh. I was hoping you’ve talked to him.”

I know it’s been a long time since I’ve seen my mother, but I can’t for the life of me place anyone named Josh. Who the hell is Josh? A new boyfriend she thinks I should know about? Is she still using drugs?

“He does this all the time but never for this long. They’re threatening to file truancy charges on me if he doesn’t show back up to school.”

I am so lost. “Who is Josh?”

Her head falls back as if she’s irritated that I’m not following along. “Josh. Your little brother. He ran away again.”

My… brother?

Brother.

“Did you know parents can go to jail for truancy violations? I’m looking at jailtime, Atlas.”

“I have a brother?”

“You knew I was pregnant when you ran away.”

I absolutely didn’t know… “I didn’t run away—you kicked me out.” I don’t know why I clarify that; she’s fully aware of that fact. She’s just trying to deflect blame. But her kicking me out when she did makes so much more sense now. They had a baby on the way, and I no longer fit into the picture.

I bring both arms up and clasp my hands behind my head, frustrated. Shocked. Then I drop them to the table again and lean forward for clarity. “I have a brother? How old is he? Who’s his… Is he Tim’s son?”

“He’s eleven. And yes, Tim is his father, but he left years ago. I don’t even know where he lives now.”

I wait for this to fully hit. I was expecting anything and everything but this. I have so many questions, but the most important thing right now is to figure out where this kid is. “When was the last time you saw him?”

“About two weeks ago,” she says.

“And you reported it to the police?”

She makes a face. “No. Of course not. He’s not missing, he’s just trying to piss me off.”

I have to squeeze my temples to refrain from raising my voice. I still don’t understand how she found me or why she thinks an eleven-year-old kid is trying to teach her a lesson, but I’m laser focused on finding him now. “Did you move back to Boston? Did he go missing here?”

My mother makes a confused face. “Move back?”

It’s like we’re speaking two different languages. “Did you move back here or do you still live in Maine?”

“Oh, God,” she mutters, attempting to remember. “I came back, like, ten years ago? Josh was just a baby.”

She’s lived here for ten years?

“They’re going to arrest me, Atlas.”

Her child has been missing for two weeks, and she’s more worried about being arrested than she is about him. Some people never change. “What do you need me to do?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping he reached out to you and that maybe you knew where he was. But if you didn’t even know he existed—”

“Why would he reach out to me? Does he know about me? What does he know?”

“Other than your name? Nothing; you were never around.”

My adrenaline is rushing through me so fast, I’m shocked I’m still sitting across from her. My whole body is tense when I lean forward. “Let me get this straight. I have a little brother I never knew about, and he thinks I didn’t care that he existed?”

“I don’t think he actively thinks about you, Atlas. You’ve been absent his whole life.”

I ignore her dig because she’s wrong. Any kid that age would think about the brother they believed abandoned them. I’m sure he hates the idea of me. Hell, he’s probably the one who has been—Shit. Of course.

This explains so much. I would bet both of my restaurants that he’s the one who has been vandalizing them. And why the misspelling reminded me of my mother. The kid is eleven; I’m sure he’s capable of googling my information.

“Where do you live?” I ask her.

She practically squirms in her seat. “We’re in between houses, so we’ve been staying at the Risemore Inn for the past couple of months.”

“Go back there in case he shows up,” I suggest.

“I can’t afford to stay there anymore. I’m in between jobs, so I’m staying with a friend for a couple of days.”