Page 1 of Only Temporary

ONE

“Hello?” I’m groggy when I answer my phone, and usually, I have the damn thing on silent, but I guess not tonight. I blink as I look at the screen and see it’s the police department, and it’s two in the morning.

Well, fuck. This cannot be good.

“Mr. Rhodes?”

“Yeah. That’s me.” I start to sweat. Sitting up in bed, I can feel it trickling down my back. It was already hot in here. It always is with the AC always going in and out. I have a fan going, but it’s not enough for the stifling August heat.

“Mr. Rhodes, this is Officer Monroe with the KCPD. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I’m calling about your mother.” Shit. Shit. Shit. Of course she went and got arrested. Doesn’t surprise me in the least.

“Goddammit,” I curse, not caring that I’m talking to an officer. “How much does she need for bail?” I shouldn’t go. I haven’t seen her in four years.

But if she’s locked up, I don’t know where the kids are. I shiver, thinking about them being turned over to the state. Hell, who knows if that’s already happened or not? I’m a shitty brother.

“I’m sorry to tell you this, but your mother is deceased. She died of an apparent heroin overdose.”

I wince, waiting for the pain of her loss to hit me, but it doesn’t. I think I mourned the loss of my mother a long, long time ago. Long before I got out of there, she was dead to me.

My only regret is the four kids I left behind because I was a selfish asshole on a bender. A bender that lasted a couple of years until I finally decided to get my shit together. They are my first thought. Believe it or not, they’re always on my mind.

“What about the kids?” I manage to ask, fear of what’s happened to them nearly choking me. If they were hurt—if she let some junkie hurt them—I swear I’ll dance on her grave.

“They’ve been placed in temporary custody.” I feel sick to my stomach, thinking about where they could be stashed. “They were pretty shaken up.”

“They found her?”Again. Worst. Brother. Ever.

“They did. Apparently, the youngest boy was thirsty and woke up to get a drink. She was on the couch.”

My eyes close as I hold the phone to my ear, thinking about Braylen finding our drugged-up mother, likely in filth. Maybe with a needle hanging from her arm. I clench the phone in my fist and try like hell to will away all the memories assaulting my mind. He’s eight now. Last time I saw him, he was only four.

What the hell have they been through in the past four years while I was trying to get my life together enough to make a home for them?

I haven’t gotten far either. “Can I see them?”

“In the morning, yes.” He rattles off an address. “They open at nine tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you.”

I hang up and then lay back down on my bed. “Dude, you have someone in there?” My eyes close at the sound of my best friend’s voice in my doorway.

“No. I was on the phone.”

I hear heavy footsteps but don’t bother looking up at him. I met Tatum four years ago—in a shitty state rehab that might as well just saywe can’t help youon the building. They were underfunded and understaffed by past addicts who were struggling themselves. Not that I don’t think addicts can’t help each other out, but that place was toxic as hell. You get what you pay for, and since it was a state-funded place that I qualified for with my nonexistent income—I definitely didn’t get much.

But I did gain a friendship with Tatum out of it, and he helped me get a job at the mechanic shop where he worked and dragged my ass to meetings. “Who the hell talks on the phone nowadays and at two in the morning?”

I sit up, groaning, still numb from the news. “My mom is dead.”

He sits down on the edge of the bed, his hand going to the scruff on his chin as he seems to be choosing his words carefully. He knows almost everything about my childhood and my mom, and I’m sure he knows there’s no real love lost. “Overdose?”

I nod. “Yup. Of course, she wound up choosing the love of her life above everyone and everything else.”

“The kids?” He knows about them too, of course. He knows my number one motivation for everything is getting custody of the kids.

“Temporary custody. I can go talk to someone about it tomorrow, but fuck!” I run my hands over my eyes. I’ve done really well in the past four years. I’ve been clean and sober, with only one relapse on my record, and I immediately went to meetings and got a handle on it. Going on two full years sober now. Still, I’m not making all that much—not nearly enough to support four minors.

And this house? Tatum and I pooled our money four months ago and bought this place, but it needs a lot of work. I mean a lot of work. We’ve been doing it slowly, but it’s not ready.

---