When Davis finally pulled into the lot, Memphis stood there beside me, steady and unwavering. As always, he was ready to deal with whatever came next.
Brother.
Not by blood.
But in every way that mattered.
Davis’s old truck rumbled into the parking spot like it barely survived the drive. Memphis straightened his back, watching intently as Davis killed the engine and hopped out. He had brought Presley with him, but she stayed put as Davis started over to us.
He forced a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes as he told me, “Morning, Bub.”
“Morning.” I motioned my head to my side. “Davis, this is Memphis. He’s one of the brothers and a damn good friend of mine.”
“Good to meet ya, Memphis.” Davis extended his hand. “I appreciate you boys letting me hang with you for a few days.”
Memphis shook his hand, easy as ever, but I saw the guarded look in his eye. If anything, the man was protective. “No problem. We’re glad to have ya.”
“I’ll grab my stuff.”
Davis stepped back to the bed of the truck and grabbed his backpack, then immediately started back over to me and Memphis. Presley opened the passenger door, and when she stepped out, Davis didn’t even look at her, much less speak to her. I didn’t know what the man was thinking. Presley wasn’t the type to ignore. Not unless there was a reason.
“It okay if I throw my stuff in my room?”
“Yeah, I’ll take you,” Memphis answered as he reached back and opened the door. “It’s right down the hall.”
Davis nodded and followed without so much as glancing back at Presley. Something was off. I just couldn’t figure out what the deal was. She lingered by the truck with her arm wrapped around herself like she wasn’t sure if she should follow or bolt.
I smiled as I started over to her and asked, “How ya making it today?”
“I’m hanging in.” She shrugged. “How about you?”
“About the same.” I walked over and glanced in the truck as I asked, “He got any more bags?”
“There are two more in the back.”
“I’ll grab ‘em.”
I reached over the side and grabbed the duffels, slinging them over my shoulder. When I turned back, Presley reached out and placed her hand on my arm. “It’s really nice of you to let Davis stay here like this.”
“He’s my brother.”
“I know, but still.” She let out a breath. “You didn’t have to do it, and I hope Davis remembers that.”
“I’m sure he will.”
She studied me for a moment, and I mean, really studied me. After a beat, her brows furrowed and she announced, “You’ve changed.”
“You think?”
“Most definitely.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know. It’s hard to put my finger on it.” She shrugged. “I guess you’ve grown up.”
“Yeah, but I’m still me.”
“That you are,” she laughed, then followed me up to the door. As we started inside, she asked, “You still play the guitar?”
