Chapter 2
TWO
For some reason, I was expecting Phillip Miller to be some stuffy old guy. But when Tatum and I arrive for the meeting later in the day with this Phillip guy, I can see that’s not the case.
The guy doesn’t look much older than me. He’s a little shorter than my six-two self, with sandy-blond hair and light-green eyes, which I think are blue at first but then realize they’re indeed green. And since when do I care what color a dude’s eyes are? I have no idea. Must be the stress. “Kellan Rhodes?”
I nod my head, but I have to force myself to reach out and actually shake the man’s hand. I do, reluctantly, but nearly jump back at the strange feeling his hand in mine gives me. A tingle races down my spine as my eyes lock on the man. A man who’ll determine my future. “Yes,” I answer him and then let go of his hand because I don’t know what the hell that was all about, and I don’t like it.
Not at all.
I nod my head in the direction of Tatum, who’s standing right by me. My friend is kind of a giant at six foot six, and I watch as Phillip has to look up at him to acknowledge him. “This is my friend, Tatum.”
“Nice to meet you.” He’s really polite, and I don’t like that either. I want to bark at him to take me to my siblings, but I spent enough time in the system to know how this goes.
“Likewise. How do we get these kids out of whatever shitholes they’re in?” I cringe a little bit because Tatum may know how the system goes, but he still doesn’t play by the rules.
Phillip doesn’t look too surprised, even though I notice his jaw set in irritation. He must not be too new to all this then. Although he does seem pretty damn bright and shiny for having worked here for very long. This place kills your soul, no doubt. “Why don’t we sit down and discuss this in more detail?”
He remains professional as he leads us to his cubicle, where there are two seats across from his, and we both sit down. I’m anxious as fuck though. I just want to see my siblings, even though I’m certain they don’t want to see me.
“Alright, so Mr. Rhodes?—”
“Kellan,” I immediately interrupt him. We may all have different dads, but we were all five stuck with her last name. Something I’ve thought about changing for myself for a long time. I want to put her and her shitty last name in the past, so I don’t need to hear it right now.
The man seems a little taken aback but then offers me a small smile and grabs a file, opening it up. “Okay, Kellan, you can call me Phillip.” I nod, and he continues, “So, according to this, none of the children have a biological father on record. Is that correct?”
I nod grimly. “Correct.”
“Okay. And you are twenty-four?”
I grit my teeth. Knowing he’s going over the information right in front of his face and still asking me these questions is making me want to rip my hair out. Not to mention, I told this to his co-worker earlier.
“I am.”
“You want to gain guardianship of all four siblings, correct?”
I nod again without even having to think about it. It was always the plan anyway. Our mom dying just sped that up a little. “I do.”
He looks over his little folder again, and I only get more tense. “You work for TJ’s Wreckers?”
I might actually crack a tooth if I grit my teeth any harder. “Yes.”
“For how long?’
“Almost four years,” I supply and try to breathe deeply. He has to ask these questions for his little form. I watch as he writes something, I’m not sure what, but it doesn’t matter. I just want to see the kids.
“And your address, is that a house or an apartment?”
“House.”
He marks something down on the form again. “Rent or own?”
Why the fuck do they need to know this? I bite back the question, but my voice is tense when I answer, “Own.” I nod at Tatum. “We bought the place over the summer. We’re fixing it up.”
I watch as a crease forms between Phillip’s brows, and he looks up from his paperwork. “You two own the home together?’
“Yes,” I answer, unsure why that matters either.
“Are you related?”
That makes us both laugh, and Tatum answers, “Fuck no. Look at that ugly mug. No way we share any genes.” I fight the urge to flip him off.
“I see.” Phillip grabs my attention with his hesitant tone. “Are you two together? In a committed relationship?”
I’m taken aback by that. He thinks we’re together? Like together , together? And if we were, would he have a problem with that? I glare at him. “We’re friends. Only friends.”
“Wait. You think we’re fucking?” Tatum asks, clearly amused, and I kind of want to kick his ass out of here. He’s going to mess this up for me, but I know he means well.
Phillip doesn’t answer right away and marks something down on the goddamn form again. “If you’re not in a relationship and you’re not related, Tatum living under the same roof with the kids would be a problem.”
I frown at that. “Why?’
“Because he’s not related to the children or in a serious relationship with you. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to find an alternative place.”
I stare at him. Shocked is an understatement. We have a house. It’s not the fanciest, but it’s safe and has a fenced-in backyard. We’re working on making it nicer... but now he’s telling me it won’t work?
The air in the room feels stifling, and I feel like I might throw up.
“I’ll move out.” My head snaps in Tatum’s direction at his statement, and I open my mouth to argue with him just as fast.
“No, you won’t. That’s your house too.”
“The kids, Kell. They come first.” He’s completely serious now as he looks back over at Phillip. “I’ll move out. Will that work?”
I want to argue, but Phillip nods. “Yes. That will be okay.”
I’m still stuck on Tatum offering to leave a house we’re in fifty-fifty together. “Where will you go?”
He shrugs like it’s the least of his worries. “I’ll go stay with Mila.”
“I thought she dumped your ass.”
He smirks at that and leans back in the chair. “She still wants the D, man. I mean, come on.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help but smile. He’s big and loud, but man, does he come through for me when I need it. I can feel Phillip watching us and slowly turn my attention back to him. “Fine.”
His eyes move back to the form. “How many bedrooms and bathrooms does the house have?’
“Three bedrooms. One bathroom.” I wince, knowing the house is small but having no doubt they were living in a much, much smaller place.
“Okay, the one female needs to have her own room. The three boys can share, as long as they each have their own bed.”
“I can just take the couch,” I say, hating the idea of the three boys cramped in one room.
Phillip, though, has other ideas, and his light-green eyes meet mine. “You have to have your own room too. Everyone needs a space for themselves.”
I want to say that by that logic, they’d all need their own room, but that would be shooting myself in the foot. “Okay,” I agree reluctantly.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?”
I glare at the man across the desk and don’t doubt Tatum can feel my rage from here because he sits up a little straighter and places his heavy hand on my shoulder, settling me.
“They deserve a better life. They deserve not to live with strangers who’ll do God knows what to them. I’m their big brother. I’m supposed to protect them, and I’ve let them down for the last four years.”
“And why is that?” he asks pointedly, getting to the real crux of the problem.
“Because I was a total shithead from fifteen until I was almost twenty. I left when I realized there was no way I could clean up there. When I watched some fucker stroke my six-year-old brother’s face and ask him if he wanted to go in the other room with him, and I was so fucked up, I could barely make my limbs move enough to kick the guy’s ass and get him the hell out of our shitty apartment.” Bile rises in my throat, thinking about Kieran. He was so young and little. He was so damn scared, and I was supposed to protect him.
I beat the shit out of the asshole who supplied mom with her fix that night while she was passed out in the bathroom, but I was drunk and high and so easily could have been passed out right there too. I told him if he ever came back, I’d kill him.
God knows what would have happened and what’s happened since I left. But I knew, going down the path I was, I’d never have been able to help them. I didn’t think it would take four years, but I swear the plan was always to go back there.
“And then you got sober?” Phillip asks me so calmly and matter-of-factly, I’m almost taken aback. I don’t hear any judgment in his tone.
There should be. I judge me. I fucked up. I left them there. They hate me. There’s no way they don’t because they should. But Phillip—yeah, he’s not judging.
“Yes. Finally. I met Tatum in some shitty rehab that did nothing for me, but we did end up going to meetings together and getting clean. Staying clean.”
“That’s good,” Phillip says easily and writes something down. “You still go to meetings?’
“Yes. Twice a week.” My voice is gruff, still remembering Kieran’s face when I left them all behind.
“That’s good. And you’re employed and own your own home,” he repeats as a statement and not a question, so I don’t say anything. “Okay.” He closes his file and looks at me. “I think you have a great shot at temporary custody of the kids.” I hate that fucking word immediately, but I keep my mouth closed. Temporary . “It’s going to take a lot of work and a lot of convincing to get a judge to give you permanent guardianship of these children. But I think you can make that happen, and it’s my job to help you.”
I want to laugh in his face. The system is fucked. It’s not here to help, and he’s not my friend, but I manage not to laugh. “Can I see them?”
He grabs his phone and types away before looking at me. “Yes. I think we can get you temporary custody this afternoon. The sooner they’re with you, the less traumatic the whole experience. I have to get approval from Margie, but then we can go and get the kids.” He looks over at Tatum briefly and then at me. “Just you and me, unfortunately.”
I want to argue, but I know nothing I say will matter, and Tatum acts totally unbothered as he stands up from his chair and pats my shoulder. “Not a problem. I gotta get back to work anyway.” His eyes meet mine. “Let me know how it goes. I can bring pizza over for dinner tonight or something.”
I look over at Phillip. “He’s still allowed at the house, right?” My tone is bitter, but I didn’t try to bite it back.
Phillip doesn’t seem annoyed or offended by my irritation at all. “Of course. Just can’t sleep under the same roof.” It annoys me how breezy he sounds, and I manage a goodbye to Tatum before he leaves, and I’m stuck waiting around to go see my siblings.
Finally, Phillip gets the okay, and I hop in what has to be a state-issued van with him, and he takes us to a shitty, rundown old brick building downtown. I’ve been here before. Group home. Temporary placement.
Because it’s always fucking temporary.
“This is where you stuck them?”
Phillip sighs and parks the van. “This is where Cason is. The other three aren’t old enough for this particular home.”
I shiver, thinking about this place. The memories it brings back. Fucking drill sergeant wannabes telling us to shut our mouths and behave or else. “Can we go get him now?”
Phillip turns to me, his eyes soft and kind—I don’t like it. It’s like he can see right inside me—through the anger and bitterness. I hate it. “Are you sure you can handle this? Being an addict...”
“Is part of me. I had no chance. It lives and breathes in me, but I’m sober, damn it. I’ll do anything for these kids,” I say fiercely and never look away from his gaze.
“I believe you.” I nearly jolt back into the window of the van, like he hit me or something. He believes me? He doesn’t know me. He only knows my record and my family history. No one ever believes me.
“Why?” I say stupidly and then shake my head. “No. Not why. I don’t care if you believe me or not,” I say angrily. “And if you do believe me, why the hell are you questioning me?’
“You look pale and sick. This is extremely stressful,” he starts, and I want to hit something. Not him. I don’t want to go to jail and fuck everything up, but I do have that urge and have to grab the denim covering my thighs to resist.
“My mom died and left my four siblings. Of course I’m stressed.”
“And when an addict is stressed...” he says slowly, and it clicks.
“You think this is going to make me use?” I nearly laugh at that and shake my head. “If I haven’t used in the past four years, nothing will make me go back,” I say with enough confidence I hope is convincing but trying not to overdo it.
It’s a lot, and of course, I still think about using. Of the intense high and the calm that comes after it. The silence. But I won’t do it. I refuse because I also remember all the other shit. Waking up and not knowing where I am. Being gone for days. Not being able to stand up. Waking up in my own vomit. Watching my close friends die.
No.
“I’m ready to go get the kids,” I say firmly, and Phillip, to his credit, doesn’t argue.
He climbs out of the van, and I follow him.
The whole time, trying like hell not to let my knees buckle, just thinking about seeing the kids again.
Facing their well-deserved wrath.
I deserve it, I remind myself.
I deserve every single thing they throw at me.