Page 2 of Only You

TWO

I’m so tired of going to meetings. I know it’s better than using. I know that. But listening to people go on and on about their day—and what they did that day and what they felt that day—it’s too much sometimes.

I just want to scream.

But I know I have to keep going. Kellan—he’s kind of different. Definitely an addict, but he’s one who doesn’t really need to go to these meetings often, only when he really needs to be grounded.

Me?

I need them. I have to go consistently to remind myself why I want to stay sober. To remind myself why being numb isn’t the answer. Because listening to all these people go on and on about feelings—that makes me go numb too. And I fucking hate it.

But hearing how relying on drugs and alcohol changed their lives in the worst possible ways—that’s the part that reminds me I can’t go back to that life. I don’t even know the number of times I nearly died from going overboard—from trying like hell to quiet the memories.

There were times I prayed for death—but then I met Kellan.

He had this goal—he was going to get clean, and he was going to get his siblings and keep them safe.

For whatever reason, that was enough for me.

It became my goal too. It was going to happen—we were going to make that happen, and goddammit, we did it.

Finally, the meeting wraps up, and I climb off the creaking plastic chair and head out to my truck, not really feeling all that great but somewhat settled. It’ll get me through for a couple of more days.

What does make me feel fantastic, though, is pulling up to the house where my best friend lives with his four younger siblings and his social worker.

Kellan and I saved every penny we had to buy this house—he thought it would be both of ours, but I knew it would end up this way.

Had planned on it from the very beginning.

Although, I didn’t really see him falling in love with the social worker assigned to his case—but it all worked out for the best.

I don’t live here anymore, but it’s the closest thing to home I’ve ever experienced. I do, however, still ring the doorbell when I reach the front door, even though Kellan looks at me with annoyance when he pulls that door open. “Use your key.”

“Not my house,” I respond, and I receive a roll of his eyes in return.

It only makes me chuckle as I step inside and close the door behind me.

Kellan is already off to the kitchen, probably burning dinner if Phillip isn’t in there helping him, and I’m greeted by the youngest of the brood, Braylen, who runs up and jumps into my arms.

“Tatum!”

God, I love this kid. I didn’t really see that coming, but I swear, the day I met the Rhodes children, they felt like mine. A part of me. Family.

Maybe it was because I’d heard so much about them from Kellan, I’m not really sure. I never really wasted any time on the why. It didn’t matter. They were just my family, and I was there to do everything I could to make sure they were safe. Always.

“Hey, kiddo.” I give him a little squeeze as he pulls back to look at me, his big blue eyes wide. “Climb any trees today?”

“Only two,” he says, laughing, and then wiggles out of my arms and drops down on the floor. “Wanna see?”

“Maybe later,” I laugh, sort of a little over the trauma of seeing him fall out of the tree when I was watching him last year. His shrill cry still haunts my dreams sometimes—though he was fine after a couple of stitches. You can’t hold Braylen down. That kid is a ball of energy.

He rushes off, and I find the two oldest, Raegan and Cason, sitting on the couch, messing around on their phones and ignoring the blaring television right in front of them. Teenagers.

“Where’s Kieran? Reading?” I answer my own question, but Cason supplies a quick affirmative grunt, not even looking up from his phone.

Raegan is lost in her own world and doesn’t really acknowledge me. It all feels very... normal. Which makes me smile because never in my younger years did I think I’d have this sort of normalcy in my life.

Phillip walks out of the kitchen, his hands on his hips, looking like he really wants to be perturbed, but he’s looking at the kids with way too much fondness to pull it off. “I thought I asked you two to set the table.”

I wait to see what they’re going to do. They are by far the moodiest of the family at the moment—both easy to set off, but the respect they have for Phillip is pretty clear when they only grumble a little bit and both get up to do what was asked of them.

Phillip’s warms smile falls on me, and it’s only mildly unsettling nowadays. “Hey, Tatum. Hungry?”

“Fucking starving,” I answer, standing from my seat.

“Good. You can help make the salad.” He turns and heads into the kitchen, not expecting an argument, and he doesn’t get one. Fucker.

I’m six foot six, heavily muscled, and covered in tattoos. When most people look at me, there’s at least a little flicker of fear—but not with Phillip. Not even one ounce of terror in his much smaller body. I have to admire that.

I follow him into the kitchen and get to work on the rabbit food he insists on including with every meal—and we all choke it down because there’s just something about Phillip. It’s like none of us want to disappoint him.

We finish dinner and all gather at the table, the kids talking about their first day of school. Kieran is thrilled to have a teacher who in her intro-spiel stated she’s an avid bookworm. Cason mostly just grunts when asked about his day. Braylen talks for a really long time—mostly about recess.

“I have art class for fifth period, so I’m happy,” Raegan says as she takes a small bite of lasagna.

I’m still keeping an eye on how much the kid eats—despite the warning from both Phillip and Kellan not to say anything.

But the kid is scrawny—though she has put on a little bit of weight.

They both assure me nothing good can come from pointing that out.

“That’s great, Raegan,” Phillip says with a smile. “Are you still going to do art club this year?”

“Yes?” It sounds like a question, her eyes on Phillip and Kellan, who are sitting right next to each other at the table as usual.

Kellan grins and then nudges his boyfriend. “I’m guessing you’re going to be scheduling around them?”

Philip doesn’t even take a second to nod, proudly holding his head high.

He was the one who picked Raegan up from art club all last year, when he was just the social worker.

It wasn’t part of his job description, but it was clear from the start—just like me—that these kids had him in a chokehold.

He’d do anything for them. And that’s why I knew I could trust him pretty early on, despite his occupation.

“Of course I will. I like seeing that smile on Raegan’s cute little face when I pick her up. ”

Her darkly outlined eyes roll, but she can’t hide the smirk when she takes another bite. Art has been really good for her, and if Phillip couldn’t pick her up this year, you can bet your ass either Kellan or I would have worked it out with our own work schedules to make sure she could attend.

But something seems off with Cason tonight.

It’s not really that he’s quiet—he’s normally fairly quiet—but there’re no snotty quips or sarcastic comments during any of the conversation.

There’s no playful banter coming from the oldest kid at all, and that’s just not like him.

I swear sarcasm and cattiness are Cason’s love language, and the fact that he’s been silent at dinner has my hackles raised.

I nudge him with my elbow, keeping my voice low. “You wanna go to the gym after dinner? I was thinking about going to the batting cages, but it’s still hot as balls, and no, thank you.”

That finally gets a little reaction from him in the form of a smirk. “Sure.”

I notice Phillip has zoned in, his protective nature in full force, but he doesn’t say anything—just gives a silent nod to me. I tilt my head in his direction in a quick manner, and we finish dinner before I take Cason to the gym near their house.

Kellan bought himself and Cason memberships for Cason’s birthday, and after using their guest pass, I decided to become a member too. We have a heavy bag at the shop I can use, but I spend a lot of evenings here with the broad amount of equipment, working shit out that’s jumbled up in my head.

Going a round with the punching bag does wonders for me. It’s clear the kid and I share that kinship as he pulls gloves onto his hands and goes to town before I even get the treadmill I’m currently on started up.

I let him punch it out until his shoulders start to droop, and it’s clear he’s worn himself out, but I don’t make a move to head over to him.

I let him come to me. We had a rocky start—I didn’t like the way he talked to Kellan, even if I understood his anger—but we’ve gotten close over the last year. He knows he can talk to me.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t take all that long for him to pull the gloves off his hands and head over to the treadmill next to me. I let him get settled into his pace before I finally ask what I’ve wanted to all night. “You okay?”

“Sure,” he says far too easily, not looking at me and obviously not at all surprised by my question.

“Really?” I increase my speed and start into a full jog, my arms working in time with each fall of my feet. “You were awfully quiet tonight at dinner.”

“Yeah well, that’s just me, you know? The strong, silent type.”

He managed to sound almost serious with that one, but we both know he’s full of shit. Not that he isn’t strong and fairly quiet—but that’s not why he was quiet at dinner tonight.

“Come on. Is it Blake?” I have to ask. It wasn’t all that long ago that Blake, a kid Cason’s age who was dating Raegan, assaulted Raegan. And that’s exactly what it is, even if Raegan is still refusing to give too many details on it. Taking no for an answer didn’t happen, and Raegan broke his nose.

But since then, the kid has been taunting Cason. Nonstop. It’s the reason I ran into Remy again after all these years— because Cason finally had enough of Blake’s bullshit and clocked him. But Blake doesn’t stop. Bullies don’t ever just stop.

And it’s something that’s still very much on all our radars.

Despite Cason telling us he has it under control. I know it’s only a matter of time before it explodes again.

“Nope,” he says, quickening his pace.

I slow mine down to a stop and turn to look at him, my muscles tired and sweat kissing my skin. “You sure about that? Because you can tell me, kid. You know you can. I’m not going to lecture you about how you can’t pummel him into next week.”

He snorts at that, speeding up more, his arms working faster and faster as his legs really start to move. “He just doesn’t shut the fuck up. Ever.”

“About Rae?”

He stutters only slightly, nearly losing his balance, but recovers. “No. If he does, he’s dead.”

I nod, keeping my promise not to lecture him. “So what is he saying then? If it’s not about Rae?”

He wipes at his brow with one hand, keeping his pace. “Stupid shit. Like me growing up a poor foster kid and how my mom’s dead.”

I huff, the whole thing so ridiculous, I almost laugh. “Wow. Bullies, man. They never change, and they never grow any more clever, do they?”

That makes him laugh slightly, but he shakes it off. “Don’t try to tell me you were bullied. You were probably six foot in grade school.”

I smirk, but it turns grim. My thoughts go straight to Remy, and my insides go cold. “Not me. Someone I really cared about though.”

I jump off the treadmill and start to head to the weight bench, but he surprises me. “My principal?”

I sigh and roll my eyes. “Your brother is a gossip.”

He chuckles. “I think you should talk to him.”

“Yeah well, I think you should tell your brother about Blake.” I look back at him over my shoulder.

He grimaces, his jaw stubborn and his glare stern. “Guess we’ll call this a draw then.”

I fight rolling my eyes at him again but give him a quick nod in agreement before I head over to the weight bench. I’m going to keep a distant eye on the whole Blake thing. Don’t get me wrong, he has it coming. But I won’t let Cason ruin his future for that little shithead either.

Keeping him going to the gym to work off his anger is a good start.

But of course, as I lift a weight up above my head and grunt, it’s not lost on me that going to the gym is just a bandage on a gaping wound.

Like everything else I’ve found over the years, nothing seems to be a permanent fix.