Especially that hospital. Hillsdale General Hospital. Memphis had spent the worst months of his life recovering there after his ‘accident.’ Hillsdale wasn’t technically in Rexford, but his father’s reach loomed infinitely in Memphis’s head. While the man had never once visited him while he was there writhing in pain, he’d sent his men there to watch him, intimidate him, to make sure Memphis kept his mouth shut about what really happened. Would he do the same to Knox? Could he? If his father and Nash were still around, why would they call Memphis?
Well, somebody had called him. He hadn’t said he was from any hospital, just that Knox was in one and in bad shape. They’d told Memphis that Knox needed him, that there was nobody else to care for him. Still, he’d hesitated. Because he was weak. Because, after all this time, Keith ‘Tennessee’ Camden still fucking lived rent free in his head and he couldn’t shake the feeling this was a set-up, some way to get Memphis back in the place where his father was king, so he could finish what he started and put Memphis in the ground once and for all.
The hospital lobby was only feet away, but Memphis couldn’t seem to get out of his Uber. The driver was turned in his seat, staring him down, as the heated interior warred with the sharp bite of winter’s end outside. Fuck. He could do this. He had to do this. Knox needed him. He was a baby, barely twelve. Was he even twelve yet? There was no way for him to take care of himself. Could Memphis care for him? Most days, caring for himself seemed like an insurmountable task, and that was in Los Angeles, not Palm Valley. Sometimes, even on his best days, LA felt too close.
When the driver gave a heavy sigh, Memphis shoved his door open and got out in one quick motion, like ripping off a Band-Aid. He forced himself to walk, putting one foot in front of the other, closing the distance between the curb and the automatic double doors. Goosebumps broke out as the sweat on his skin evaporated in a rush of cold air tinged with the odor of disinfectant. His scars itched and pulled as memories fought against the walls he’d put around them. He fucking hated that smell. It was the scent of pain and sadness.
He stopped at security, handing over his ID and standing for his picture before slapping the visitor sticker to his hoodie dutifully. The man behind the desk pointed to the bank of elevators, letting him know Pediatrics was on the fourth floor. Once inside the empty metal box, Memphis did his best to slow his heart as it pounded against his rib cage. When the doors opened, Memphis stopped short, taking in the garish display of paper hearts with white doily backings, construction paper envelopes in shades of pink and red. It was dizzying.
Right. Valentine’s Day. How could he forget? The shop’s busiest day was coming up. It all seemed so far away now, like that one phone call had severed him from his old life somehow, leaving him floating in the deep end without a life jacket.
Kids in robes ran along the hallway and played video games in a room beside the nurses’ station. The nurses themselves bustled around, somehow managing to do their work while kids and parents seemed to be everywhere. The hospital staff on this floor dressed nothing like the staff on the second floor. The burn unit. Here, they wore various prints of pink, red, and black, their stethoscopes adorned with little fuzzy creatures, as if they were part of the decor.
When he stopped at the nurses’ station, a dark-haired woman looked up from behind the desk, giving him a banal smile. “Can I help you, sir?”
The words stuck in his throat until he cleared it, finally managing to say, “I’m sorry to bother you. I’m looking for Knoxville Camden.”
Her smile faded, and she looked him up and down, like she was memorizing everything about him. “And you are?” she asked, a bite in her voice.
“His brother, Memphis. Sorry, it took me a while to get here. I live in LA.” He had no idea why he was apologizing to the woman, but when she heard his name, she seemed to visibly relax. She looked closely at his name tag as if to confirm his statement. He fought the absurd urge to cover it up.
“Your brother is in room 406. That way.” She pointed behind her.
Memphis gave a stilted nod, putting the hood up on his black hoodie as he walked down the hall, even though he knew it made him look like a villain. He just felt too exposed under the harsh fluorescent lights. All around him, machines beeped and whirred and kids giggled and cried. It was organized chaos. When he found the room, he hesitated for only a moment before pushing open the door.
His heart stopped cold at the sight of a man with salt and pepper hair holding a pillow in front of his brother’s face.
“Get the fuck away from him!” he shouted, jerking forward, stopping short as both the man and the small boy didn’t stop what they were doing, just shot a strange look at Memphis, like he was the crazy one.
The man took the pillow he had, pulling his brother’s frail body forward and adjusting it behind his back, asking, “Is that better?”
The boy nodded, moving noticeably closer to the older man as he peered at Memphis nervously. His brother was small for his age, his cheeks hollow, his nose red, one eye sunken, the other swollen and purple, but even then, Memphis knew it was Knox. He had Rita’s dark hair but the same cobalt blue eyes as Memphis, Nash, and their father. His father, who was apparently still beating the shit out of his sons. Guilt twisted at Memphis’s guts, tying them in knots. He was supposed to protect him. Gemma had promised she’d call if anything happened to Knox. But when was the last time Memphis had even reached out to her? Was she even still in Rexford? Was she alive?
The man with his brother studied Memphis warily. Was he one of his father’s goons? He had the look—jeans, a black t-shirt covered by an open flannel and a leather jacket. He was tall, muscular, not overly buff like some of the guys who surrounded his father, but he had that look in his eye. The look of a predator. Somebody who’d lived in a world of kill or be killed. He was attractive in a hardened way. He had salt and pepper hair that brushed his shoulders, a five o’clock shadow that was more gray than black, and three overlapping crosses tattooed on his neck. It was hard to gauge his age, but Memphis would put him just above forty. “Who the fuck are you?”
The man’s brows rose. “They call me Preacher. Who the fuck are you?” he countered, his voice sounding more amused than angry.
“Memphis. I’m his brother. You can tell my father I’ll be taking Knox home to stay with me and that’s that,” he stated, forcing himself to meet the man’s gaze, hoping he sounded like somebody who didn’t make idle threats.
“Kid, from what I hear, your dad’s in the clink in Arizona awaiting trial and your other brother is in the wind. Took off when we broke up his little dog fighting ring.”
“We?” Memphis asked.
The man—Preacher—dropped down in the uncomfortable looking chair beside Knox’s bed. “The rescue organization I sometimes help out with.”
Memphis walked over to the bed and leaned in close to the boy. “Hey. I know you probably don’t remember me, but I’m Memphis. Your brother. I’m here to take care of you. Okay?”
Knox shrugged. Preacher stood and walked from the room without a word, returning a moment later with another chair, which he set down behind Memphis before returning to his own. Memphis locked eyes with the stranger. He had eyes that were somehow both green and gold and made Memphis feel seen in a way that didn’t make him want to run screaming for a change.
“Thanks.” Preacher nodded, his eyes burning a hole through Memphis as he watched Knox. “If Tennessee’s in prison, who hurt you, buddy? Was it Nash?”
Knox’s gaze drifted to the far wall. “It was my own fault.”
Memphis frowned, eyes flicking to Preacher before returning to Knox. “What was?”
Knox’s voice sounded raw, like he wasn’t used to using it. “I was feeding the dogs, and I set all the kittens free. So, he put me on the sun porch so I wouldn’t get in the way of his business. He let me keep the puppies, though, for company.”
Memphis looked at Preacher. “Can I talk to you outside?”
