No matter what Memphis had been expecting, it wasn’t the horde of people who arrived in a black SUV with limousine tint. Cy and Nicky stepped out first, holding a small Pit Bull puppy in their hands, followed by a large severe looking man with a high and tight military fade and a guy with a wild mop of blond curls and a full face of makeup who looked vaguely familiar to Memphis. He wore jeans and a pink hoodie that said influencer. Behind them was a black man with bulging biceps and a bald head and another fair-skinned boy with platinum hair and a pair of thick black framed glasses that did nothing to hide how gorgeous he was. What the hell kind of people did Preacher hang out with?
Introductions were made. The boy in the makeup looked familiar because he was a YouTuber named Wyatt Hudson. He was apparently married to the severe looking man who grunted more than he talked. The bald man was Nicky’s boss, Jackson, and the man in the glasses was his husband, Day. They all exchanged pleasantries, and Memphis fought not to fidget or cover the cigarette burn scars on his hands and arms. He should have grabbed Preacher’s flannel. Nobody stared at least, so he supposed that was something.
Cy let go of the squirming puppy who was on a leash. “This is Donatello. He was the puppy your brother was watching when we found him. I thought he might want to keep taking care of him while he’s here? Something to get his mind off…things?”
Memphis looked at the adorable puppy with his marble coat that somehow also matched his eyes. He had no place for a dog in his teeny LA apartment, but he had no place for Knox either. But Cy’s words implied for Knox to foster, not keep. Given Nash’s dog fighting ring, fostering a puppy and then having to give it back was probably something Knox could handle. Memphis nodded hesitantly.
Knox’s eyes went big as saucers at the sight of the puppy, and it looked for a split second like he might actually speak, but then it was like his brain snapped shut and he closed his mouth. He took the puppy’s leash and brought him in to where Bo and Luke were standing at attention in the living room. With a single command, the dogs fell on the puppy, sniffing and licking him with Knox caught up in the middle of the puppy pile.
“Would it be alright if Wyatt and Day stayed here with Memphis and Knox? I wanted to talk business…privately,” Jackson said.
Preacher gave Memphis a look, brow raised in question. Memphis looked to Day and Wyatt who both smiled angelically and fluttered their lashes. Memphis couldn’t help the snicker that escaped. “Yeah, sure.”
Wyatt and Day might have looked like angels, but they were both devils in disguise. The second the door snapped shut and they were alone in the house with him, their gazes became almost predatory. Memphis went into the kitchen to clean up, and they followed without asking, taking seats at the bar.
“So, what’s your story?” Wyatt asked.
Memphis turned on the water and began to rinse the breakfast dishes. “What do you mean?”
“Listen, our husbands never invite us out with them unless they think we can help, and given the scars on your arms, I’m guessing they thought we could help with some emotional support?”
Memphis stared at them blankly. “What?”
Day shrugged. “You’re lucky they didn’t dispatch all of us. We’re like Elite’s unofficial twink trauma squad.”
Memphis could feel himself blinking rapidly as he tried to process their words. “Am I the twink in the trauma squad…or are you the twinks?” He’d never really thought of himself as a twink, but he never really thought of himself at all, so…there was that.
They looked him over, then at each other. “I think we’re definitely the twinks. You’re the trauma,” Wyatt said. “But don’t worry. We were all hot messes when we met the men in our lives.”
“And you were all made whole by the power of true love?” Memphis quipped dryly, attempting not to roll his eyes.
Day scoffed. “I like him. He’s funny.”
“He’s right here,” Memphis reminded, returning to the sink full of dishes. “And I don’t need a trauma squad…whatever that is.”
“We weren’t made whole by ‘the power of love,’ even though I do love Celine Dion,” Wyatt said. “We were made whole by intensive levels of therapy and probably also by love, but given the scars on your arms and what Cy and Nicky saw at the hospital, they thought you might need a friend or two. So, here we are.”
He had no idea what to say to these two. As ridiculous as every word out of their mouths was, they seemed sincere. “I—”
Wyatt cut him off with a wave of his hand. “My dad beat the shit out of me for years and sent me to conversion therapy for a guy to molest me, which led me to cutting myself and almost killed me. Day’s grandmother tried to sell him for drugs. Also, he can’t read. Like, at all. He also was kidnapped by the guy who raped him, and that guy broke his face so bad it had to be reconstructed. We’ve been through some shit. You look like you have, too. We know what it’s like to have nobody to talk to.”
“You should probably be talking to my brother. He’s the one who’s been so traumatized he can’t speak.”
“Oh, don’t worry. We’re going to get to him, too. But we thought we’d start with you.”
“I really don’t know what’s happening here.”
Day rolled his eyes. “We’re your new designated friends. Get over it. You don’t have to talk about your scars. You could talk about what a hot piece of ass Preacher is. Please, tell me you’ve sampled that particular meal.”
Did kissing count as sampling?
“Oh, he’s blushing,” Wyatt cooed. “You have! Spill. We won’t tell. Okay, that’s a total lie. We’ll tell the others, but inner circle only.”
“Inner circle?”
Wyatt nodded. “Yeah, me, Day, Elijah, Robby. Sometimes, Robby’s brother, Jacob, and Charlie.”
“You’re all married to…men from the same company?” Memphis managed.
