Chapter 8
EIGHT
Okay, relax. It’s just a home visit. You do this every single day. You can do this one. It doesn’t matter that the guy is probably the most beautiful human you’ve ever seen in your life and has a broken quality to him—this thing that shines through his eyes—that normally would attract the hell out of you. You’re changing. You’re not trying to fix anyone.
You’ve got this.
I stand there for way too long after my little mental peptalk though. It’s true, I seem to only be attracted to men who have something fundamentally broken inside them. My first boyfriend in high school—my parents tried to warn me about him. I thought they were just being overprotective, but he was a big jock type—good-looking and popular but not nice. Not nice at all. He was a total dickhead, who was cruel to everyone, including me. He was so deep in the closet that when he kissed me for the first time, I thought I’d probably knocked myself out in gym somehow and was just dreaming.
But nope. He kissed me in the locker room after gym and then started the first of many toxic relationships. I thought I could help him. That he was a good person deep down and just needed someone to really hear him.
Not a thing. It’s really not. He was just an asshole, and I couldn’t see past my need to help.
My second boyfriend was in college and not much better. He was nicer on the surface, but a chronic cheater who happened to tell me that I just didn’t satisfy him when I caught him red-handed.
And my last boyfriend... I rub at my chest in the spot that still aches. I don’t want to think about this right now. I just need to steel myself and go in, knowing that I’m done with toxic. I’m done with broken. Not that Kellan is broken. I mean, he has to be a little broken after what he’s been through, but still. I can’t go there. I don’t even think he’s gay or bi or anything anyway, so the whole thing is moot.
But I still know myself. I know how hard and fast I fall.
I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and release it as I open my eyes and knock on the door. I notice the porch could use a little work, but it’s nothing too bad. Kellan opens the door moments after I knock, his hair wet, but he’s dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. I notice his feet are bare, and I’m assuming he just got out of the shower.
He looks way too good with wet hair.
No. Bad, Phillip. You’re going to have to get it together.
“I didn’t know you were coming by today,” he says, his voice gruff, and he looks a little panicked as he looks over his shoulder and then back at me.
I try to offer a reassuring smile. “Surprise home visits will be a big part of the next year.”
“Year?” He sounds horrified.
“That’s usually how long these cases take for permanent status to be granted. Especially when there was no will.”
He looks grim now, all his features pulled tight. “Okay.” He pulls the door open more and leaves room for me to walk into the house. “Come on in then.”
“Thank you.” I walk past him and have to try like hell not to breathe in the delicious scent of masculine soap that clings to him, but I totally fail. I clear my throat and walk into the living room, seeing four backpacks on the couch and school supplies but no kids.
“Uh, sorry. I know it’s a mess.” He closes the door and walks over to the couch, trying to gather everything up.
“It’s no problem. You can leave it,” I say, and he looks conflicted but then places the things down on the couch again. “Getting ready for school?”
He nods, looking far too stressed for my liking. “They start at the end of the week. I guess school started last week, but the principal said they should wait until after the funeral.”
“Probably a good idea. When is the funeral?”
“Tomorrow,” he says, his face pinched in pain. I know he has animosity for his mother, but I don’t think he’s as unaffected by her passing as he’d like everyone to believe.
Not my business.
“This is a good start, Kellan,” I praise, looking over the school supplies.
“Yeah, they had all this at the school. I guess they do a drive every year for the poor kids. They had some left over.”
“That’s good. It’s good to use the community resources,” I try to encourage because I can feel the shame and anger rolling off him. Something tells me he’s not a fan of charity, but that’s going to have to change.
“Resources. Right,” he scoffs, but I can tell he’s trying to keep his anger in check.
“What about their rooms?”
“They’re in their rooms right now. Do you want to see?”
I nod my head in answer and follow him down the hall. We come to the first closed door, and Kellan knocks. “Raegan. The social worker is here. He needs to see your room.”
I try not to flinch at being called the social worker, though I’m not really sure why it bothers me. That’s exactly what I am, and him not using my name keeps it even more professional.
“Ugh, what?” Raegan tears the door open, her eyes locked on mine with a deep, frustrated glare. “It’s a room. It has a bed and a dresser. The mattress with cum stains is gone now. I got a brand-new one.”
“Raegan,” Kellan snaps, his eyes wide and pleading.
I just smile at her, not showing any weakness because kids like this will tear you apart if you do. “Do you mind if I just look for myself really quick? I have to check some boxes on my handy little form.” I hold up my phone, showing her the actual form.
Her pretty eyes roll, but she moves out of the way for me to walk inside. “Have at it.”
I walk inside, but Kellan remains in the doorway. I see some clothes on the dresser, piled up, mostly ripped jeans, but seeing as that’s what she’s wearing now, I’d say that’s probably her style. The bed is neatly made with a plain black comforter and two pillows. It’s bare but tidy. “Looks good,” I say to her, and she just crosses her arms over her chest, clearly annoyed that I’m in her space.
I can’t really blame her.
“Are you ready to go to school?”
“Can’t wait,” she says, her eyes that are heavily lined with black eyeliner tell me that’s all I’m going to get from her today.
“Good. I’ll be by again in two days, and maybe you can tell me more about what you can’t wait for.”
“Two days?” she asks, looking on the verge of a tantrum.
“Yes,” I answer her. “For the first few weeks, you’ll see me a lot. But don’t worry, it’ll taper off after a bit.”
“Fantastic,” she bites out and flops down on the edge of her bed. I thank her for letting me look around, and then we walk out, closing the door behind us. Kellan looks hopelessly down the hall.
“You sure you want to go to the next room?”
I chuckle. “Absolutely. I haven’t had my full dose of teenage angst for the day yet.”
Kellan just shakes his head but leads me to the boys’ room. He knocks, and it’s little Braylen who answers the door. “Why are you back?” he asks me, his blue eyes gazing up at me with suspicion.
“I’m your caseworker, remember? You’re going to see a lot of me.”
He shrugs and pulls the door open more for me. “Usually, they send someone else the next visit.”
I nod in understanding. It’s no secret there’s a lot of turnover and moving around in my profession. “Well, I don’t plan to go anywhere.”
He doesn’t look bothered either way and climbs onto the bottom bunk of the bunkbed in the room. It looks good in here. I see Kieran on the top bunk, and the oldest, Cason, is camped out on the twin bed across from it. He has earbuds in and is glaring at us, but doesn’t seem to be willing to talk today, not even to give his brother shit.
“This looks good,” I say to Kellan.
“We found some really good deals on the furniture.”
“It’s perfect,” I tell him honestly and then address the room. “Everyone settling in okay?”
They all grumble a yes, then go back to what they were doing, not giving me the time of day. Soon, I’ll need to talk to all of them individually, but for now, I can give them their space because it’s clear their basic needs are being met.
Kellan escorts me from the bedrooms to the living room again. “Anything else?”
I can tell he wants me to leave, but I can’t yet. “Can we sit somewhere and discuss some things?”
He looks around the living room and huffs, directing me to the kitchen, where I see a small kitchen table that wasn’t there before. “This work?”
I nod, taking a seat, and he takes one across from me. “Where did you get the table? It’s nice.”
“Marketplace. Found a lot of cheap stuff there. Thanks for suggesting it.”
I can see the dark circles under his puffy eyes, and it’s clear he hasn’t had much sleep in the three days since I saw him last. “Going to meetings?”
He winces, but then answers, “Yes. Every night since I got the kids. I’m not relapsing.” He says it firmly, his dark-blue eyes boring into mine.
“I believe you,” I say honestly. “Are you sleeping?”
He glares at me, his blue orbs angry and annoyed and his jaw ticking. “Is that a requirement?”
“Yes,” I answer immediately. “You have to take care of yourself in order to take care of them.”
“Gee, thanks for the reminder,” he quips, but then seems to gain some composure. “I sleep, but I’ve been planning a funeral for the mother I hated. I’ve been taking care of four angry kids and trying to keep all my shifts at work so I can support them. I want to drink. I want to use. But I know I can’t, so instead of sleeping after work, I go straight to a meeting to talk about my feelings, which I despise doing. But I do it.”
His teeth are gritted, and his hand resting on the top of the table is flexing over and over. “It’ll slow down,” I say softly.
He looks surprised by that momentarily but then drops his hand off the table and into his lap. “I’ll work on getting more sleep.”
“Well, being tired seems to be kind of a requirement of being a parent or guardian, so don’t worry too much. But you do need to take care of yourself.”
“Okay,” he says simply, and I can feel the need he has for me to leave. I’m still drawn to him though. There’s this magnetic pull that says I shouldn’t leave just yet.
“Do you have everything planned for the funeral? I know that can be difficult.”
“Yup,” he says, pushing a hand through his thick black hair. “It’s all taken care of.”
“All right.” He’s not going to talk to me more than he has to, but I know I’m going to have to find a way to get him to let me in. I stand up, and he follows. “Let me know if you need anything at all. I’ll be here in two days.” We walk to the door, and he opens it, waiting for me to leave. I look at him, seeing the pain in his eyes that pulls me like nothing else, but I refuse to let it happen this time. “You don’t have to trust me yet, but I’m going to show you that you can.”
His jaw clinches tight, and he looks away from me. “I don’t trust anyone.”
Determination surges through me. “You’ll trust me.”
His eyes lock on mine, confusion swimming in them, but he doesn’t say anything. Just keeps his expression blank.
Still, I see it before I walk away and out to my car. That brief little glimpse.
He may not trust me or believe he ever can, but he wants to.