Chapter 11
ELEVEN
“Goddammit, Tatum. We should have had this done already.” I bark, looking over at my best friend from across the hood of a shitty Kia the owner should have given up on years ago.
He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at me, probably waiting for me to apologize because of course, it’s not his fault that we aren’t done yet. But I feel like I have a million things I need to do today, and it’s already almost five.
I drive the kids to school, but thankfully, the bus takes them home after school, so I know they should be home by now and don’t have to worry about that. But since they get out at three, that means they’ve been home alone for two hours, and God knows if they’ve killed each other yet. The house is too small.
All they do is bicker, and it’s driving me up the fucking wall. It hasn’t even been a week. Today was their first day of school, and I wanted to prepare a decent meal for them.
“You need to get laid.” I’d started working on the car again, but my eyes snap to my best friend now, a hefty glare in his direction.
“And when exactly would I find time for that?” I don’t bother mentioning the fact that I couldn’t care less about getting laid. Never really have.
He just shrugs his bigass shoulders and starts tinkering under the hood. “I don’t know, but you need to. You’ve been biting everyone’s head off nonstop.”
Chelsea, one of the other mechanics, can’t seem to help herself and laughs while she works on an older Harley. “He’s not wrong.”
I feel a little sheepish now because I may have been a dick to her earlier. “I apologized.”
She laughs, her dark-red lipstick a little intoxicating when she does. “Listen, I’d help you out, but I think Max would probably kill you.”
I look toward the back office, where her two hundred pounds of pure muscle husband is on the phone and thankfully not paying any attention to us. He’s a big fucker, and no doubt, he would tear me in half if I even thought for a second about touching her.
Chelsea is a bombshell, no doubt. Curvy with platinum-blonde hair, blue eyes with tattoos. The woman is gorgeous, but not worth dying for. “You’re hot, but I happen to like all my body parts attached.”
She tosses her head back and cackles, and Tatum gets a good laugh too before tossing a rag at me. I catch it and give him a questioning gaze. “Go.”
I shake my head. “I can’t. We still have at least an hour’s worth of work here.”
“Go,” he says again. “I’ve got this.”
Now I feel even more like a dickhead. He’s done nothing but help me out since even before I started taking care of the kids. “Tatum...”
“Don’t,” he says with a smirk. “You have a lot going on. Go take care of the kids. I hope they had a good first day.”
God, me too.
I clean my hands with the rag and pat him on the shoulder—he’s still wearing his coveralls, so it doesn’t matter that my hands are still pretty dirty. “Thank you.”
He nods and jerks his head toward the door, telling me to get going, so I follow his direction. I strip out of my coveralls and wash my hands before getting into my car and going to the store.
I got paid today, but I need to make sure I stretch the money out. It takes me well over an hour to find stuff to feed the kids for the next week and try to plan simple meals in my head.
I have no doubt I’ll be right back in here in a day or two because food doesn’t seem to last long with four kids. I should probably get government assistance, but I can’t bring myself to do it. It feels like I’d be letting the kids down somehow in my fucked-up head.
I reach the house and pause briefly when I see a small, newer model car parked on the curb. Who the hell is here?
My heart races as I park in the driveway and go inside the house, panic racing through me at the thought that whoever it is, is here to take the kids away. But I stop short in the doorway, when I see Phillip is in the kitchen, chatting with Braylen.
He looks over at me, and I see Braylen’s head turn. He looks upset, and I close the door, walking toward him in an instant. “Braylen? You okay?”
He nods his head stubbornly. “I’m fine.”
“We were just talking about his first day at the new school,” Phillip supplies, his eyes offering a quiet warning. Like I shouldn’t push.
“How was it?” I ask carefully.
He shrugs. “I miss my old friends.”
I nod in understanding. This is such a huge change. “I’m sorry, buddy. It’ll get better.”
He shrugs his small shoulders. “I know.” He looks back at Phillip, like maybe he wants to say something to him but doesn’t. And I feel a momentary pang of jealousy because I’ve never gotten that close to him confiding in me. “I’m hungry. When will dinner be done?”
Phillip looks a little sheepishly at me, and I look behind him toward the stove, seeing water boiling before I look back into his eyes. “You’re cooking?”
He clears his throat and addresses Braylen first, “Not too long. I promise.” My little brother seems satisfied with that and leaves the room before Phillip turns his attention back to me. “I hope it’s okay. I just thought with it being their first day of school, maybe I could help out a little.”
“That’s...”
He laughs and walks toward the stove to stir whatever is in the big pot of boiling water. “Insane? I know. I just couldn’t stop thinking about it all day.”
He thinks about the kids all day? For some reason, that spreads warmth throughout my entire body, and I can’t help but smile. I’ve never met anyone like him before. I’ve known some decent social workers—not that I really gave them that much of a chance, but none of them cared this much.
“I don’t think it’s insane,” I say as I walk toward him. “What are you making?”
“Spaghetti,” he says with a small smile.
“I have to go get groceries out of the car. When I get back, will you show me how it’s not burning and sticking to the pan?”
He seems to light up at that and nods, biting on his full bottom lip a little in a nervous gesture I find oddly adorable. “Yeah. I can do that.”
I head outside to the car and bring in the groceries, putting them away as Phillip gives me some more cooking tips.
“I’m glad you aren’t upset that I’m here,” he says as he drains the pasta. “It’s kind of a huge breach of protocol. You could have me fired.”
I never even thought of that, so I decide to be honest. “All I felt once I saw you here was relief.”
He nearly drops the pan of pasta, looking startled, and I start toward him to make sure he didn’t burn himself. But he recovers before I reach him and offers me a forced, polite smile. “I’m glad. I’m happy to help out when I can.”
“So does this make us friends?” I ask, trying to smile and lighten the mood a little.
He chuckles quietly. “I’m not sure that’s ethical.”
He goes to stir the sauce on the stove, and I lean my hip next to the counter to look at him when he does. He’s a really beautiful man. There’s no denying that or any confusion about it. He’s leaner than me and not quite as tall, but there’s nothing feminine about him. He has a quiet strength inside him I noticed from the beginning. His facial features are sharp lines—he could be a runway model or something—but none of that really intrigues me all that much.
I’ve never been attracted to a man before in my life, and I don’t think that’s what this is. I’ve never really been attracted to anyone, if I’m totally honest. I’m just drawn to his kindness and his heart. A guy who works nine to five with fucked-up families and situations, who then takes time after he clocks out to cook dinner for one of those families? He’s an enigma.
“Why not?” I ask quietly. “You’re just Phillip right now, right? Not on the clock.”
His eyes lift to meet mine, and I can’t take my gaze off him. He looks almost shy, and for some reason, I really like that look on him. “I suppose that’s what I am right now then. Your friend.”
The word friend seems all wrong, and for whatever reason I can’t seem to pull my eyes away from his lips—that is, until Raegan walks into the room, looking over at the stove. “That actually smells really good,” Raegan says to Phillip.
He beams at that. “Well, your brother helped.”
Raegan and I both snort at that because I didn’t do shit, but Phillip is unbothered. “Do you mind setting the table, Raegan?”
I tense, waiting for the usual shrill, screeching anger I’m met with when I ask her to do something, but she doesn’t argue. Just nods her head quietly before grabbing dishes out of the cabinet and heading toward the small table. “You staying?” she asks, looking over at Phillip. Honest to God, I almost fall over. She’s inviting him to stay?
“Yes,” I answer for him before he can turn her down. His eyes meet mine in a silent question. “Friends, right?”
He purses his lips, and his eyes are expressive as I watch him war with himself. It’s really not fair to do that to him, but I can’t resist. “Right,” he says and smiles over at Raegan. “We can talk more about that art club.”
She gives him a shy smile, and holy shit, I didn’t even know she knew how to smile.
The guy is a miracle worker.