Page 17 of Only Temporary

“Okay.” I swallow hard and take one last glimpse into the living room before heading into Tatum’s old room to set up Raegan’s new bed.

Tatum is right on my heels. “What about that caseworker?”

I freeze, a hot wave going through my body at the mention of the pretty man with green eyes who was assigned to us. “What about him?”

Tatum just chuckles. “How long do you think he’s going to last with this family of misfits?”

I should laugh. We should probably make fun of him. I would with any other social worker. Place bets on how long they’ll last, but for some reason, my first instinct is to defend Phillip. “He’s a nice guy. I think he actually cares.”

“Yeah, man. That’s the problem.”

I close my eyes briefly, knowing exactly what he means. The ones who really, truly care don’t last long.

“I think he’s stronger than he looks.”

Tatum cocks his head to the side, studying me and then shrugs. “I guess only time will tell.”

Yeah, I think he’s right about that.

EIGHT

Okay, relax. It’s just a home visit. You do this every single day. You can do this one. It doesn’t matter that the guy is probably the most beautiful human you’ve ever seen in your life and has a broken quality to him—this thing that shines through his eyes—that normally would attract the hell out of you. You’re changing. You’re not trying to fix anyone.

You’ve got this.

I stand there for way too long after my little mental peptalk though. It’s true, I seem to only be attracted to men who have something fundamentally broken inside them. My first boyfriend in high school—my parents tried to warn me about him. I thought they were just being overprotective, but he was a big jock type—good-looking and popular but not nice. Not nice at all. He was a total dickhead, who was cruel to everyone, including me. He was so deep in the closet that when he kissed me for the first time, I thought I’d probably knocked myself out in gym somehow and was just dreaming.

But nope. He kissed me in the locker room after gym and then started the first of many toxic relationships. I thought I could help him. That he was a good person deep down and just needed someone to really hear him.

Not a thing. It’s really not. He was just an asshole, and I couldn’t see past my need to help.

My second boyfriend was in college and not much better. He was nicer on the surface, but a chronic cheater who happened to tell me that I just didn’t satisfy him when I caught him red-handed.

And my last boyfriend... I rub at my chest in the spot that still aches. I don’t want to think about this right now. I just need to steel myself and go in, knowing that I’m done with toxic. I’m done with broken. Not that Kellan is broken. I mean, he has to be a little broken after what he’s been through, but still. I can’t go there. I don’t even think he’s gay or bi or anything anyway, so the whole thing is moot.

But I still know myself. I know how hard and fast I fall.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and release it as I open my eyes and knock on the door. I notice the porch could use a little work, but it’s nothing too bad. Kellan opens the door moments after I knock, his hair wet, but he’s dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. I notice his feet are bare, and I’m assuming he just got out of the shower.

He looks way too good with wet hair.

No. Bad, Phillip.You’re going to have to get it together.

“I didn’t know you were coming by today,” he says, his voice gruff, and he looks a little panicked as he looks over his shoulder and then back at me.

I try to offer a reassuring smile. “Surprise home visits will be a big part of the next year.”

“Year?” He sounds horrified.

“That’s usually how long these cases take for permanent status to be granted. Especially when there was no will.”

He looks grim now, all his features pulled tight. “Okay.” He pulls the door open more and leaves room for me to walk into the house. “Come on in then.”

“Thank you.” I walk past him and have to try like hell not to breathe in the delicious scent of masculine soap that clings to him, but I totally fail. I clear my throat and walk into the living room, seeing four backpacks on the couch and school supplies but no kids.

“Uh, sorry. I know it’s a mess.” He closes the door and walks over to the couch, trying to gather everything up.

“It’s no problem. You can leave it,” I say, and he looks conflicted but then places the things down on the couch again. “Getting ready for school?”

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