Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
“Do you mind? Move your bigass feet.” Raegan knocks my feet that were perched on the coffee table and just blows past me, clearly irritated by something and has been all evening. Honestly, I’m too tired to be too worried about teenage hormones.
Today was a long day, with way too many annoying customers who had to bitch about every single thing. I kick my feet back up on the coffee table and look over at Cason, who watched the whole thing happen. The two younger boys are already in their room for the night.
It’s Friday, which means tomorrow is blessedly Saturday, and I have the day off. “What’s her problem?”
He glares over at me, something seeming to click in his expression, and venom dripping from his eyes. “What’s her problem? Fucking really?”
I drop my feet to the floor and sit up a little, something in his tone wreaking havoc on my insides. Something is for sure wrong. “What?”
“It’s her birthday, asshole,” he says, standing up and probably ready to leave the room before I can respond.
Her birthday? No. No. No. I pull out my phone and look at the date. Shit! “Cason...”
“What?” His eyes are cold, angry, and bitter. “Why the hell are you surprised you forgot? This is what you do, Kellan. You fuck things up.”
I take a deep breath and try to say the alphabet in my mind over and over because for some reason that helps relax me—which I know is weird, but whatever works. I can’t run to the vices I used to rely on, even though it feels like my skin is about to slake off and I’ll be left a crumbling mess on the floor at any minute. Just begging for something to numb me. “I barely know what month it is right now, let alone what day. Can you cut me a little slack?”
The ugly sneer on his face tells me what I already knew before I even voiced the question. Cason will never cut me any slack. I don’t deserve it. I know that, but goddammit, I’m drowning here. I look back toward the bedrooms, and my heart pangs with painful guilt.
“I didn’t mean to forget her birthday. It was a long week.”
“Right.” He shoves past me, his shoulder checking mine hard, but I don’t let him just go. I can’t. I hate the way my brother looks at me.
“You trusted me once.” My throat is tight, the words barely making it out, but he stops walking and turns around to face me.
“I did. A lot of good that did me, huh?”
“Cason...” I say softly, not sure what the hell to say. Knowing that nothing I can say will make it any better.
“I remember my eighth birthday.” The memory is foggy, but I start to bring it to my mind as he continues with his watery, angry eyes on me. “Mom forgot. Of course she did. High out of her mind. She didn’t even come home that week, but you didn’t forget.” I try to swallow down the raw emotion, the sound a choked sob because I remember. “You swiped one of those Little Debbie cakes and a pack of birthday candles from the gas station.
I nod my head slowly. Stealing isn’t good, I know, and I was pretty messed up myself by then, but I didn’t have any money. No way to get money—or at least no good way. I told myself I’d pay back Mrs. Finigan, who owned the gas station. But I couldn’t let Cason’s eighth birthday go by without something. “I remember.”
“I remember thinking my big brother would always be there for me. That it would be okay because Kellan would make it okay.”
“I’m sorry I left.”
He ignores my apology again. “ I was there. Every birthday. I made sure they had something, even if it was shitty.” He points to his chest, his voice rising. “ I was there. Me .” He looks back toward Raegan’s room and then back at me, his teeth clenched and his jaw tight. “And today, I fucked up.”
My heart stutters in my chest, and I suck in a deep breath when it registers what he’s trying to tell me. He’s mad at me, of course, but he forgot this time too. He’s really pissed at himself. “Cason...” I start to reach for him, but he jerks his hand away.
“Don’t.”
He rushes out of the living room after that, and I can’t take it anymore. My clothes feel too tight. Too restrictive. I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin, and everything hurts. Even my hair.
I can’t do this.
I want to use. Desperately.
I let out a pained wail that I barely recognize and go to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind me. I’ve failed them again. I fucked up. Again.
Who the hell thought I could be in charge of them?
I stand at the sink, looking at my reflection in the mirror and trying like hell to pull some air into my lungs, but it just hurts. Every breath hurts. I start to strip out of my clothes, thinking about what Phillip said about self-care last week.
Thinking about the stunning man momentarily lifts the pain creeping through my body, but only for a moment. I go to the tub and start the water, then turn on the shower as I pull off the last article of clothing and step inside, closing the shower curtain.
The warm water sprays against my skin, each bit of water feeling like pins pricking at my flesh.
How can I make this up to Rae? I don’t know how to take care of myself, let alone four minors.
My knees feel weak as I let the water rain down over me, my chest pumping with stuttered, angry breaths. I finally give in, letting my knees buckle, and I fall to the tub, the porcelain chilly but not cold.
The water pours over my head, and I plug the drain, letting it fill up. I try to relax my body, but every part of me aches as I switch the water from shower to regular bath and lean my head back against the tub. When the water creeps up past my neck, I manage to shut it off.
I think about leaving my siblings behind and what they must have felt. What they had to deal with being left alone with my mother and God knows who else for so long. I put it in the back of my head for so long—but it’s all assaulting me now. Did anyone hurt them? Did they cry for me?
I wasn’t there.
I should have been there.
I sink under the water, closing my eyes and just barely leaving my nose sticking out. So far, this bath thing really isn’t working. When the water is so cold I can barely take it, I drain it and climb out of the tub, drying off in a fog.
I pull on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, then pad down the hallway to the front door. Grabbing my phone from the table on the way out, I close the door behind me and sit down on the rickety step, then dial the only person I can stand to think about right now.
Phillip answers on the second ring, sounding a little tired but not totally out of it like I woke him or something. I guess it’s not all that late. “Kellan? Are you okay? Are the kids okay?”
I realize I need to form actual words, but I can’t seem to. Finally, I force out what sounds more like a choked sob. “I fucked up.”
There’s a pause and then a deep sigh. “Where are you?”
“The front porch of my house. Hiding from the kids.”
“I’ll be right there. Please don’t leave.”
I nod my head, even though he can’t see me, and I hang up, staying put like he asked. I’m not sure how much time passes, but it can’t be very long before I see headlights, and then Phillip is climbing out of his car and walking to me, wearing almost exactly what I am.
I wonder if he was in bed.
“Kellan.” He sits down next to me, and I want to warn him about the porch, but he’s been here enough to know. He’s looking me over, his eyes assessing me with worry. So much worry, it makes me ache, and that’s when I realize he thought I relapsed. There’s a look of terror on his face as he searches my eyes. “Are you okay?”
“I’m sober,” I say first because I don’t want him thinking that way about me. I fucked up but not in that way. “I just messed up.”
I can see the relief hitting him, his shoulders sagging as he lets out a long breath. “What happened?”
“I forgot Raegan’s birthday,” I admit shamefully. “She’s fourteen today. And I forgot.”
His mouth parts and then closes again before he offers a sweet smile. “That kind of thing happens. Hell, they made a whole movie about it. Which also happens to be one of my favorites.”
I frown. “What movie is that?”
His jaw drops now, and he stares at me. “ Sixteen Candles .” I shake my head, never having heard of that movie in my life. “Molly Ringwald? The Brat Pack?” I just stare at him blankly, and he waves me off. “Okay, well next time we hang out we’re going to fix that, but tonight we have to do something else.”
“What can we do?” I ask helplessly, wallowing in my own self-pity. I’m not surprised Phillip doesn’t seem to be having that at all. He stands up and reaches for my hand.
“What do you think Tatum is up to?” That question kind of surprises me, and I’m not sure why he cares about Tatum’s Friday night plans as I stand up.
“I don’t know. He had dinner with us but then went home.”
“You think he can come over and stay with the kids until we get back?”
I’m still a little confused as I stare at Phillip. We’re going somewhere? I think about our conversation last week about dating and self-care. Does he want to go on a date? I mean, he said we couldn’t go out on a date because he’s my social worker and a lot of other rambley, cute things that still make me smile, just thinking about it.
I wouldn’t be totally against it, despite never wanting a guy in my life—but I’m in a totally shitty mood right now. And I can’t go and enjoy myself while my little sister is hurting because I’m an asshole.
“Can you text him?” he asks.
“Where are we going?” I ask carefully. I like Phillip, but I’m a total mess. He knows that. No way he wants to date me because he said as much. And I never even admitted to being gay or straight or anything. It was like he was actively avoiding that specific question. Though he did answer mine about him being gay.
He is.
I can’t help but look at his sweet, full lips and wonder what they’d taste like. Feel like against my own. But my entire body is too numb to really get lost in that. Too tired. “It’s not a school night, and it’s not too late. We’re going to throw a birthday party.”
It takes my brain a moment to catch up, but when it does, I feel myself being slightly disappointed. Of course he wasn’t talking about a date. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Oh. Yeah. Okay,” I agree chaotically and send a quick text to Tatum, asking if he can come watch the kids for me. He responds almost instantly that he’s on his way, and I lock the door—knowing Tatum has a key and then leave with Phillip.
Who apparently is once again going to swoop in and save me.