Page 2 of Only Temporary
They’re never going to give me custody. A twenty-four-year-old, former-addict mechanic. With a house that has a leaky roof, needs a new AC unit, sometimes has heat, and with steps on the porch that are loose... and so on.
“Hey,” Tatum’s deep voice rumbles, making me look over at him in the darkened room. “It’s better than where they were, I’m positive,” he says, guessing my thoughts without me having to say a word. “And with you, they’ll be taken care of and safe.”
I swallow hard, pushing a hand through my hair. “I want to be good enough for them.”
“You will be,” he says with the certainty I swear only Tatum can have. The odds are not in my favor though. We both need to face that. But I can’t just accept the kids going to foster care. Being permanent wards of the state.
I’ll do anything I can to make sure that doesn’t happen. No matter what it takes, they won’t go into the system.
“You think we should get hitched?” I snort a laugh as I look over at Tatum, who looks completely and totally serious. Because of course he does.
“Why would we do that?”
“A young couple taking custody of four kids is better than a single fuckboy.”
I toss a pillow at him. “I’m not nearly as bad as you, shithead. And besides, we aren’t gay.”
He shrugs his large shoulders like that’s not a problem. “How the fuck can they prove that? We live together.”
“What would your girlfriend say about you marrying a dude?” He cringes this time, and I chuckle and shake my head. “What happened with Mila?”
His large shoulders lift again, but he’s not pulling off the nonchalant thing this time. “She may have caught me making out with her friend...”
“Jesus. Fuck.” I cover my eyes with my hands and groan. “Yeah, I don’t think marrying my slutty best friend is going to do me any favors with gaining custody.”
“Hey, don’t slut-shame. You’re just as slutty.”
I drop my hands and glare at him. “You’re so not helping.” And I’m not like that. Not really. But... I’ve never been in a serious relationship in my life. I don’t plan to ever be in a one. I have a good time, and then I move on. That’s all I’m interested in.
“Fine. You’ll go in as a single guy. You’re employed. You have a house. You’re for sure a step up from anything the kids have ever had.”
“I hate her,” I breathe, the pain in my chest nearly slicing through me. I rub my bare chest absently, trying to make it go away, but it doesn’t work. “I really fucking hate her.”
“I know you do,” Tatum says, not bothering to defend her. I know she was sick. I know she was an addict for a long time, but she had kids. She chose to keep having kids. And she left every one of them to fend for themselves.
For that, I hate her and always will.
* * *
Tatumand I are outside of the address given to me by the officer last night, bright and earlier than they open, thanks to absolutely no sleep.
I just want to see the kids. I need to know they’re okay, even if I know deep down they can’t be. How the hell could they be okay?
As soon as the doors open, I walk in and hunt down the one person who seems to know what the hell is going on around here—an older woman named Margie, who has Tatum and me sit across from her at her desk, which is full of papers and files so high, I can barely see her over them.
Who the hell still uses actual paper?
“Okay, I have the addresses for all four of the children here,” she says, looking over a file markedRhodesin big bold letters.
“Addresses? They split them up?”
She nods. “It’s hard to place four kids in one temporary home. It’s hard to place four kids at all.” Her eyes narrow at me in a no-nonsense way, and I have to bite my tongue and not say that I’d have taken them in a heartbeat.
“You’re twenty-four?” She’s still looking at the file, and I can only assume she knows this because my juvenile record is in there too, with all my information.
“Yes,” I answer, keeping my tone even. My foot is shaking though. I’m unable to stay still, my nerves attacking me.
“And do you know where your father is?” I’m assuming she’s asking because she’s looking for other possible guardians.
