Rem

The phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

My head raged against the damn kiddie jingle—Cassi’s idea of a joke, replacing my rington with some sort of Telli-Tubby-Elsa-Disney-Wheels-On-The-Wiggles shit. Hell if I knew the name of the song. It was loud. It was pissing me off. And it was half past fuck you in the morning.

I fumbled for the phone and grumbled a profane greeting.

No one answered.

But a kid was crying in the background.

No.

Two kids.

I bolted up in the bed, squeezing the phone.

“Emma?” The groggy cleared from my voice. No longer drunk, but an hour short of a massive fucking hangover. “You there?”

Nothing. More crying.

My gut turned, and it wasn’t the alcohol. I pushed myself from the bed and headed to the bathroom. A cold splash of water did nothing to fix my face—tired, worn, and hating the one staring back.

“Em?” I raised my voice. “Are you there?”

Her mumbling was breathy and slurred. “Rem…”

Shit. What the hell had happened?

“What’s wrong?”

She groaned something, smacked her lips, and went silent, a labored breath echoing from her side of the call.

“Son of a bitch.”

I wanted to tell myself she was sick.

A flu. Strep throat. Fever.

But I wasn’t stupid. I recognized the sounds because I’d been there before. Four years ago. In the same damn spot, in the same damn way, trapped in that same fucking spiral.

Emma had relapsed.

And the kids were crying.

“I’m coming!” I shouted into the phone.

I doubted she could hear me. Doubted even more that she’d care. But I did. It soothed me. Calmed my racing heart despite that utter fucking terror that iced my veins.

I tripped over my bags in the bedroom. Christ. I’d almost left today. Decided to stick around because I had a couple last beers in the fridge and because…

Didn’t matter why.

Didn’t matter that I thought about Cassi. That I regretted every minute she wasn’t warming my bed. Didn’t matter that I knew I’d broken her heart. Again.

I couldn’t let myself wonder what if.

What if I apologized? What if she took me back?

What if we had a chance?

At least that indecision had kept me in Butterpond. Had I been traveling…had I left the state…

Emma was out. The kids were alone.

No more what ifs.

I pulled on a pair of jeans and tossed a flannel shirt over my shoulders. Loathe as I was to do it, I dialed the Sherriff while tugging on my shoes.

The emergency line had forwarded to Samson’s personal cell. It took him a good minute to answer.

His greeting was just as uncouth. In another life, a less fun life, we might have gotten along.

“It’s Remington Marshall,” I said.

“Aw shit.”

“Evening to you too.” I gritted my teeth as I bolted for the truck. “Look, I got a problem.”

“It’s the middle of the damn night, Marshall.”

“It’s Emma.” I bit the words. “She’s in trouble.”

“As usual.”

“Don’t fuck with me.” The truck roared to life. It wasn’t safe to speed down the pitch-black mountain. I floored it anyway. “I’m heading there now. Might need an ambulance.”

“That bad?”

“I know you think we’re trash, that we’re no good, that we’re some sort of scourge on the town because our daddy drank at home instead of at Renegades with the good ol’ boys…but she’s in trouble.”

“Got no problem helping someone who needs help, Marshall.” Samson huffed. “Only got a problem with a smart, capable boy who ran away because he thought it’d make him a man.”

“Don’t let Emma suffer for it.”

“Neither of us would let that happen. I’ll call for an ambulance.”

I didn’t thank him. He didn’t expect it. I ended the call and sped down the mountain, headlights blasting over the bumpy and potholed roads.

I was twenty minutes from town.

Twenty minutes of a thumping heart.

Twenty minutes of cold sweat.

Twenty minutes of imagining the words I’d need to explain to a three-year-old why her mommy wasn’t waking up.

And if she died...

I slammed a hand on the steering wheel.

No. I wouldn’t let the worst-case scenario rot in my brain.

The kids cried as I pulled in the driveway. Heard them from outside the house, but it was a shitty rental. The one level ranch kept them warm, but it needed a coat of paint, better windows, a new roof, and someone on the inside who could stay sober for two damn weeks at a time.

I expected worse. The living room was in toddler-order—blankets and pillows randomly tossed on the floor. A box with crayon doodles in the corner. A rainbow assortment of blocks scattered over the carpet, just waiting for an unsuspecting foot. The furniture was second-hand, and the carpets stained, but the only problem was the reeking stench of too many cigarettes. Emma only gave up one vice at a time, apparently. Not great around the little kids.

“Emma?” I called through the house. “Where are you?”

The girls wailed from the back of the house. I hurried down the hall, crashing through the door to my sister’s bedroom.

My sister had collapsed on the bed, wearing only a bra, jeans, and one shoe. The needle was on the nightstand. Who needed dignity when they had drugs?

Mellie sobbed on the floor beside her mother. I scooped her up, earning a higher pitched shriek until I shushed her.

“It’s okay. It’s Uncle Rem. I got ya.”

Mellie, red-faced and panting, pointed at Emma. “Mommy!”

My heart broke. I pushed Mellie’s head onto my shoulder, away from the sight. “I know. It’s okay.”

I leaned down and gave Emma a push. Getting ashen, but she was still alive.

Was that better or worse?

I pulled Mellie from the room and set her on the floor in the hallway. Poor thing wasn’t even wearing pants. Just an oversized t-shirt, panties, and one sock. She was shivering. Crying. Snotty. Hiccupping.

What the hell had she been through?

“Mommy’s gonna be okay. She’s sleeping.” I smoothed her hair. “Let’s check on Tabby.”

My chest ached. Tabby wailed from her crib. Filthy. She’d soiled her diaper sometime during the afternoon or night, but Emma hadn’t been sober enough to change her.

I picked her up anyway, trying my hardest to soothe the tiny girl, flushed pink, uncomfortable, and scared. Tabby’s chubby little arms wrapped around my neck, and she buried her face against me.

Mellie dove at me too, her hug tight around my legs.

What the hell had I done?

I let them go.

Hadn’t considered Emma’s health or stability. Hadn’t checked in on her.

I wasn’t even going to say good-bye.

I thought nothing could hurt more than packing their little clothes and toys and sending them back to their real home.

Except this.

This tortured me.

How could I have let this happen to them? The two innocent girls already bore the last name of Marshall. One strike in the book before even hitting preschool.

They deserved so much better than a dirty home, an unstable parent, and an uncle too terrified of his mistakes to see what he could give them.

A good life.

A healthy life.

A loving life…

Together.

I knelt, welcoming Mellie into my arms. My ass hit the floor, but it didn’t matter. The girls snuggled hard into me, and I squeezed them back.

“I’m sorry…” My words choked with tears I wouldn’t let fall. Not now. “I’m here, guys. I won’t leave you. I’m gonna be right here for you. I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

I owed it to them.

I owed it to myself.

I owed it to the past I’d escaped.

And I owed it to the future I’d make. A future with the girls.

“Cassi?” Mellie sniffled into my chest. “I want Cassi.”

I pulled her close, kissing her head. Outside, red and blue lights flashed. Sherriff Samson.

The night was only going to get worse for them.

“I know, sweetheart.” I held them tighter. “I miss her too.”

But not for long.

I’d made enough mistakes. Lived enough lies. Ruined enough hearts.

It was finally time for me to fix it. All of it.

It started with the kids.

And it ended with Cassi.

No…

With Cassi, we’d finally begin.