Once in the shower, Memphis just let go, sinking to the cold tile and crying. He kept his hands fisted against his mouth as the hot water sluiced down over him, but he couldn’t stop the tears themselves or the sobs that wracked his body. What the fuck was he going to do? This had all seemed so easy yesterday when he’d been high on adrenaline and fear. But reality was quickly seeping through the chinks in his armor. He was falling apart.
He couldn’t take care of himself much less a twelve-year-old boy who was quickly becoming as destroyed as Memphis was, both inside and out. He rested his head against the tile, letting the water hit his face and chest.
And then there was Preacher. Fucking Preacher. What was his deal? He was just always there, waiting to say the right thing, do the right thing, make a phone call and fix everything. Offering him and Knox a place to stay. He should have refused. It never paid to rely on others, not even friends. Eventually, everybody betrayed you.
Memphis had ‘friends’ back home, people he laughed and smiled with, but nobody knew him, not really. Nobody was ready to watch him open up his heart and bleed all his past traumas all over them. That was too much to ask anybody. But fucking Preacher. He’d gripped the back of Memphis’s neck and hadn’t flinched at the mangled flesh beneath his fingers. It was like he hadn’t even noticed. He’d just looked straight into Memphis’s eyes, and that was it. He didn’t even remember what Preacher had said. One look and he was gone. That was how starved for affection Memphis was.
He’d heard people talk about that spark of attraction, lust, whatever it was. But he’d never experienced it. Any time he was around a new man, somebody who showed any interest in his pretty face, Memphis couldn’t relax because underneath every thought was the knowledge that, at some point, they’d want to get naked with Memphis, and he just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. He knew he should be more enlightened, give people the benefit of the doubt, maybe be one of those body positive people that everybody loved on the internet. And he was when it came to other people but never with himself.
There was nothing positive in him. When people saw his scars, they asked questions, and questions led him down a rabbit hole of self-loathing nobody would want to deal with.
He stood as the water started to cool, quickly washing himself and shutting off the shower. He toweled off his hair and body, pulling on the soft gray pants Preacher had given him. He went to put on the shirt and caught the scent of lavender. He pressed his nose to the fabric, inhaling deeply.
Preacher smelled like lavender, like that shirt, but also something else, something spicy and all man. Probably some hyper-masculine deodorant. Preacher was all man. His hair was more salt than pepper, and he usually wore it pulled half up, as if just to keep it out of his face. He had a deep tan, like somebody who’d been out in the sun for most of his life, deep creases in his forehead and around his eyes, gray scruff on his chin. Somehow, none of that took away from his attractiveness. If anything, it only made him sexier. Memphis shook his head. He had fucking Daddy issues, clearly.
He pulled the shirt on and pushed his hair off his face before opening the door to find the living room empty. The house wasn’t what he expected. It was all bleached pine and glass windows, and the furniture in the dining room consisted of sleek modern lines, like somebody had bought out an IKEA, but the sofa and two chairs in the living room looked old and lived in. Much more what he expected from a man like Preacher.
Memphis followed the hallway past the open kitchen, gleaming with new appliances and fancy fixtures, and found Knox and Preacher in a small bedroom at the end of the hall.
Knox was on his side in bed, facing both the wall of windows and Preacher, who sat in a high-backed chair, looking ridiculously out of place. At the end of Knox’s twin bed lay Bo and Luke, staring in rapt attention at Preacher, who was reading a book to the boy. Memphis found himself leaning against the doorframe, listening to him read in that deep rasp that made Memphis hot all over. He tried not to let himself think of what it would feel like to have that rasp in his ear, Preacher’s hands on his skin. Memphis closed his eyes, trying to clear the dirty thoughts creeping into his head. The man was reading Peter Pan for God’s sake, not porn.
Still, Memphis stood there, listening for two more chapters, until Preacher closed the book and pointed at Knox, putting a finger over his lips to indicate the boy was sleeping. The man stood and stretched before plunging the room into darkness. The dogs made no move to leave their post. Preacher left them in there, pulling the door until it gaped slightly.
“Isn’t Knox a bit old for bedtime stories?” Memphis asked.
“I was reading to the dogs. Why? Jealous?” Preacher teased.
Yes. “Do you think he’ll be okay?” Memphis asked.
“Are you okay?” Preacher countered softly.
The question hit Memphis like a baseball bat to the chest. He couldn’t speak. He wasn’t sure anybody had ever asked him that before. No, he wasn’t okay. Could he say that out loud? He felt like he had a lump lodged in his windpipe.
“You’re allowed to not be okay. You get that, right?” Preacher asked.
This was all too much for him. This man needed to stop saying all the right things. “I need some air.”
For a minute, Memphis thought Preacher hadn’t heard him. He just turned and walked to the kitchen, but then he returned with two beers in his hands and jerked his head towards the door. “Come on, I know just the place.”
Memphis frowned, gaze straying to the hallway. “What about Knox?”
“We’ll be right outside his window. Besides, woe betide the creature who tries to step between those dogs and that boy,” Preacher said somberly.
Memphis believed him. With one last look over his shoulder, he followed Preacher out into the darkness. The frigid air had teeth, biting through the thin fabric of his shirt, and made his damp hair feel like icicles. Before he could say a word, Preacher shucked off his heavy flannel and draped it over Memphis’s shoulders. Prince fucking Charming, Memphis thought, somewhat bitterly.
They walked around to the side of the house. Memphis looked back over his shoulder. Preacher was right; they were just under Knox’s window. There was no grass in the space, just gravel. Somebody had built a fire pit out of stone and repurposed a wooden swing set to hold a porch swing. Preacher gestured to it.
Memphis sat. Preacher popped the top on the first beer and handed it to Memphis, who took a long swallow. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since he’d had a beer.
Preacher started a fire. Memphis wanted to tell him not to go through any trouble, but the truth was he was freezing, even with Memphis’s heavy flannel and the warmth from his body still on the fabric. But he wouldn’t tell Preacher that. He was going out of his way to be nice to Memphis, and it was fucking with him, making him feel things. Things he’d decided a long time ago weren’t meant for somebody like him.
Once the fire started to crackle and burn, Memphis realized there was only one other seat. The one beside him. When Preacher approached, he gestured to the spot. “Can I?”
Memphis could only nod. The swing wasn’t big, and Preacher was much broader than Memphis had realized. When he sat, it set the swing in motion, but Memphis could only focus on how he and Preacher touched everywhere from knee to shoulder. It had been so long since Memphis had experienced this level of closeness, his body instantly took notice. He wished he’d worn underwear.
“You don’t seem like a murderer,” he blurted, face flushing as soon as the words left his lips. Way to lighten the mood, idiot.
Preacher shrugged, taking a swallow of his beer. “After years in a state penitentiary, I can tell you that, despite what the media shows, killers don’t look any kind of way. Nobody looks good in a mugshot.” He gave a laugh, and it rolled through Memphis like a swallow of whiskey, making him feel hot and tingly. “Hell, one of the meanest motherfuckers I ever met in my life looked like a bible salesman.”
