Page 11 of Only Temporary

That sets Cason off. He storms up to his brother. “How the fuck would you know? You left. You weren’t there. How would you know what kind of place we were living in?”

I can see the hurt in Kellan’s eyes. The anger there. And I silently will him to not take the bait. Fighting with Cason would be giving him exactly what he wants, but I’m silent, and I wait for him to handle it. He’s going to have so much to handle. “I was there,” his deep voice rumbles as he looks into his brother’s eyes. “I can guess.”

His jaw is tense, and I think he’s grinding his teeth, but I think it’s an acceptable answer. “You bailed like the fucking coward you are.”

That stings. I can see it on Kellan’s face. The veins in his neck flex, and he looks like he could strangle his brother any moment now, but he holds back. He takes an actual physical step back from Cason, who’s puffed up and ready for a fight. “I know.”

It’s all he says before he looks over at me. “Raegan’s room?”

I nod in answer to his simple question, and he walks out of the room. I turn to Cason, knowing to tread lightly. “He’s trying. You have to give him a little grace or this will never work.”

“So send my ass back to the group home,” he says grimly, looking out through the window and not at me. “Because we’re never going to get along, and he doesn’t deserve grace.”

I resist the urge to comfort him by placing my hand on his shoulder. We don’t touch. We don’t get to hug these kids and hold them tight. We don’t even really get to give them that much hope. “It’s going to be okay,” I say, but I don’t know that, and I know he knows I don’t.

He ignores me, and I have to force my chin up and shoulders back so I don’t look defeated when I walk out into the hall where Kellan is waiting for me at the door next to this one. He opens it, and I see a full-sized bed with one dresser. Clothes—what I’d guess belong to a man and a woman—or women— just strung all about. “Sorry. This is um... Tatum’s room.”

He walks around, gathering clothes and tossing them into a hamper by the door. He finds a condom packet on the floor and picks it up.

He looks pale as he looks at me. “I’ll pick it up. I promise.”

“It’s okay,” I say, looking around the room. There’s a hot-pink G-string on the bed, and I’m not judging at all. Two bachelors lived here just this morning, and today, it’s a family home. “This is a huge adjustment.”

“Yeah,” he says, still picking up. When he picks up the G-string, he’s very careful with it, picking it up by only the string. I try not to laugh.

“Might want to change the sheets,” I say.

“Or burn them,” Raegan says as she walks into the room, her arms folded as she looks at the bed with disgust.

“Uh... yeah. Maybe,” Kellan says, blocking her view from the bed. “I’ll get this all cleaned up. I promise. Maybe we can even paint it. You still like pink?”

The teenager’s nose crinkles, so I’m guessing no. “Ew. No, Kellan.” I notice her black fingernails that are bitten down low. “I’m not a little girl anymore.”

Oh, but she is. Even if she doesn’t want to believe it. Thirteen is young. And thirteen is a tough age. “Okay. We’ll get you some stuff to make it yours,” he promises, but he’s just met with an eye roll before she leaves.

“Tough crowd,” I say when I turn to him and try to lighten the mood.

“Tough kids,” he responds, his voice gravelly. He sits down on the edge of the bed, distraught. “I’m in way over my head.”

“No, you aren’t,” I say so suddenly, it surprises us both. His head snaps to look at me. “I, um...” I take a deep breath and release it, wanting to take a seat next to him—but you know—professional. “I’ve seen a lot of cases.”

He snorts, but it’s not really cruel. “When did you get out of college? Yesterday?”

I frown and resist rolling my eyes. “No. Two years ago, actually. I’ve been a certified caseworker since I was twenty-four, and I’m damn good at my job.”

He studies me, staring so long, I start to squirm a little before is pale pink lips part and then do something so unexpected, I nearly trip over my own feet, just standing there. They quirk into a little tiny half smile. At. Me. “I’m sure you are.”

Well damn. My dick really likes that sultry low voice and the sureness it contains.

Nope. Not good.

He stands up, tossing more laundry into the hamper. “Do you need to see my room?”

“Your room?” I think my brain is shorting out. His room? As in his bedroom? Where a bed is?

His grin is gone now, his dark right eyebrow lifting in concern, like maybe I’m having a stroke or something. “Yeah...”

My mouth is dry, just thinking about him and me in his bedroom, and I shake my head, clearing my throat and trying to remember my training. “No. I don’t.” I clear my throat again, and he still looks a little worried. “I don’t need to see your bed.” My eyes widen, and I blurt out, “Room. Your bedroom. I don’t need to see it.”

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