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  “Jesus Christ!” Aaron jackknifed upright and almost fell off the couch as the icy glass of the bottle pressed against the side of his neck. “Ty, you fucker!”

  “What? You looked hot! I was just tryin’ to be nice and cool you off!” Tyler laughed and backed away from the couch, dodging Aaron’s kick but leaving himself open for a smack to the face from a throw pillow. He stumbled and Aaron pounced, taking him out at the knees and sending him sprawling back onto the floor. “No, wait, don’t spill the beer!”

  Aaron paused. “That’s fair.” He took the bottles and set them both on the coffee table, then resumed asserting his dominance through pillow warfare. Aaron had never been comfortable with roughhousing, not even with his actual brother. It was too much like being hit for real. Pillows, though, gave him enough distance that he could handle it without freaking out. The few times he’d gone still and silent when Tyler had tried to tussle with him the first year he was there had been noticeable enough for Tyler to change his ways.

  “You—ow—shit, c’mon, I just—ow!” Tyler groped for the couch, but Aaron had his weight just right, and unless he wanted to tip over the coffee table, there was no easy way out. “At least let me get the other pillow!”

  “Should have thought of that before you started the fight,” Aaron crowed. “Say you won’t do that shit again.”

  “Never!”

  “Say it!”

  “Fuck off!”

  “Wrong answer.”

  “Our beer is gettin’ warm!”

  Aaron sighed and pushed up onto his feet. “You always know how to get out of trouble.”

  “Yeah, that’s what you learn when you’re the youngest of five by ten years. Magic menopause baby!”

  He grinned and held out his hand, and Aaron hoisted him to his feet. “Thanks.” He handed over one of the bottles, then held his own out. “Here. To Len, whatever the fuck he gets up to in Nashville, and to you not bein’ an idiot and going with him.”

  Aaron rolled his eyes. “You know, there’s Child Protective Services in Nashville too. I could have transferred.”

  “No, you couldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Nashville could never be your home, not like here. You’re never gonna move, Aaron. You found a place and you dug in deep, and Len should have known better than to even ask.” Tyler said it like it was simple fact, and not the sort of insight he’d pulled out of his ass.

  Aaron opened his mouth to argue, to say that actually, he could move any time he wanted to. He’d done it before. He could do it again. He could. He could.

  Yeah, but he probably wouldn’t. Tipton Hollow was a tiny place compared to Memphis or Nashville, kept alive by manufacturing jobs and plenty of retail options. It was close to a few different colleges, near enough the Georgia border that people could commute if they needed to, and set in mountain country, which drew tourists in the fall. After ten years, it really was home.

  It helped that Tyler was still around. His four older siblings were long gone and so were his folks, but the feeling of family still remained. Aaron wasn’t so spoiled for family that he could afford to distance himself from the only person he had left.

  “Yeah, that’s the face.”

  Aaron glanced over at Tyler, who looked casually smug. “What face?”

  “You’re appreciatin’ me. I can tell by the way you lose that little frown line between your eyes.”

  “I don’t have a frown line.”

  “Oh, you do.” Tyler reached out and pressed the pad of his thumb against the bridge of Aaron’s nose. “Right here. When you’re bein’ serious, which is way too often, it wrinkles. When you’re happy, it goes away.”

  Aaron batted Tyler’s hand away and had a sip of his beer. “And you think you’re the cause of that? I’m just happy to finally be drinking.”

  “Sure. Tell yourself that. But lemme beat your ass at Call of Duty while you work it out, okay?”

  Aaron’s phone rang before he could inform Tyler that, in fact, Aaron was going to send him packing. He pulled it out and checked the caller and felt his stomach sink. Robert J. Tipton Memorial Hospital.

  “This is Aaron McCoy,” he said as he answered, already setting his beer down.

  “Hey, Aaron, it’s Whit.”

  “Hey, what’s up?” He headed for the door, Tyler trailing with a confused expression. Whit, he mouthed as he stepped back into his shoes.

  “Sorry to bother you on the weekend, but I’ve got a kid here who has you listed as his emergency contact.”

  Aaron was already running through his mental case list. “What’s his name?”

  “His ID says Thomas Ingram.”

  “Aw, Tommy.” Shit. “Is he okay?”

  “He’s unconscious right now,” Whit said grimly. “He staggered into the ER and almost fell onto the front desk. He was out before I could get him to answer any questions. All his vitals are stable, though, so hopefully he’ll be awake by the time you get here.”

  “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  “I’ll leave a note at the nurse’s desk to let you back.” Whit hung up and Aaron turned to Tyler with a sigh.

  “So… I’ve got to go.”

  “I figured. Is Whitney okay?”

  “He’d kick your ass if he heard you call him Whitney.”

  Tyler shrugged. “He kicks my ass anyway in the gym. Besides, it’s a compliment! Most badass girl I ever met was a Whitney―she knocked Mark Stone clean out when he grabbed her tits in gym class sophomore year.”

  “Sounds like he deserved it.” Aaron opened the door and shivered. When had it gotten chilly? He struggled into his jacket.

  “Oh, he totally did. And Whitney’s no worse than his real name, preppy East Coast bastard.”

  “He prefers Whit.”

  “I know.” Tyler grinned. “That’s why I call him Whitney.”

  Aaron shook his head. “How are you so damn big and so adolescent at the same time?”

  “Good genes. You want company for this?”

  “Nah, I’ve got it.”

  “Okay, well… I’ll drink your beer for you.”

  “Thanks,” Aaron said sarcastically, but he let Tyler pull him into a hug that warmed him better than his jacket ever could. This, this was why he hadn’t left with Len, why he wasn’t going to leave Tipton Hollow. Nobody had ever offered him affection for free before, not without wanting something in return. Aaron couldn’t risk losing it, not when he knew he’d never find it again. Lightning never struck twice.

  “Call me tomorrow, ’kay? Just to let me know everything’s okay?” Tyler asked as he finally pulled back.

  “I will.” Even though odds were, things weren’t going to be okay. Not with one of his former kids out cold in the ER.

  Aaron could make it to the hospital in twenty-five minutes if he pushed it.

  Chapter Two

  “HEY there, Real McCoy.”

  Aaron waved at the triage nurse on duty at the front desk as he walked into the Robert J. Tipton Memorial Hospital emergency room. There were a few people sitting in the plastic chairs in the lobby, but none of them looked particularly anxious—probably waiting on people.

  “Hi, Michael. Is Dr. Aldridge in?”

  “Down the hall, second door on the left.” Michael passed over a clipboard with a sign-in sheet on it. “He said you’d be here. He’s in with your kid right now. You can head on back.”

  “Thanks.” Aaron scrawled his name and number down, then walked down the brightly lit hall of the ER to the second door. It seemed quiet tonight, just a nurse checking a patient chart and a janitor mopping the floor with strongly bleached water. Aaron wrinkled his nose at the smell, then knocked on the door.

  “Come in.”

  The room was tiny, just big enough for a bed, curtain, and a single chair. It was an ER, not the sort of place a patient was supposed to hang out and get comfy in, but Aaron still felt a little put off by the starkness of it. Whit was standing at the
end of the bed, his arms crossed and his expression as frustrated as someone so ridiculously good-looking ever got.

  Whit was a self-described “purebred WASP, as close as one person can get to going straight from designer baby to high-achieving, self-hating adult.” He was blond haired, blue eyed, trust funded and Ivy League educated. He had also given up a lucrative job in New York to be an emergency room physician in the backend of nowhere, also known as Tipton Hollow. He was a walking contradiction. It was probably why Aaron liked him so much.

  Tommy, on the other hand, wasn’t a contradiction at all. He was everything Aaron hated about the system, and nothing he’d been able to fix. His father was in prison, his mother kept losing and regaining her kids, taking them out of stable foster homes and bringing them back into her chaos of new apartments, new jobs, new boyfriends. Tommy was her oldest, and last year he’d turned eighteen.

  Aaron had helped him get his GED, pointed him in the direction of some places he might find a job, and encouraged him to check out community college. He’d wanted to do more, but his caseload felt like it was a mile thick and just kept getting thicker. Tommy had fallen off his radar, and Aaron had hoped for the best.

  This was far from the best. He was lying on his back in the bed with a black eye, scraped-up cheek, and a partially shaved head with stitches disappearing behind his right ear. He looked exhausted and wounded, and when he lifted a hand to shakily wave at Aaron, he finally noticed the splinted fingers.

  “What the hell?” Aaron breathed. “Tommy, what happened to you?”

  “S’not too bad.”

  “No, a concussion is pretty bad,” Whit said from where he was glowering at Tommy’s chart. “Two cracked ribs, that’s also bad. The black eye I’d almost be willing to give you, except for the part where you have a tear in your retina. That’s pretty bad too.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Aaron resisted the urge to make a fist. He had nothing to hit there, and no desire to fight anyone except for maybe himself. “Tommy, who did this to you?”

  “You can’t do anything.”

  “Tommy—”

  “You can’t! It’s me, so you can’t, right?” His words were a little slurred thanks to a swollen lip, but his one good eye was intent. “Because I’m an adult now. Right?”

  “This doesn’t have to go through the CPC to still get taken care of,” Aaron argued. “If someone attacked you, then they shouldn’t get away with that. The police—”

  “No cops.”

  Whit sighed. “Mr. Ingram, if you could just tell us—”

  “No cops, or I’m leaving.”

  “You need to be under observation for the rest of the night.”

  “Then you better not call the cops.” His glare challenged either of them to do it. Aaron broke first.

  “We won’t. Just tell me what you can.”

  Tommy sighed and sank a little deeper into the bed. It made him look small. Smaller, really—he’d never been a big kid. “It’s not gonna happen to any of the others. Just me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, Phil went on my computer. He found my… pictures. He found out I’m—I’m—gay.” Tommy whispered the last word like it was the most terrible secret in the world, which to him it clearly was.

  Whit had enough bedside manner not to snort, at least. “Well, you’re in good company tonight. Who’s Phil?”

  “My mom’s new boyfriend. But he’s good for them. He actually is! He’s got a good job, he brings home money and helps buy groceries and pay the rent, and the little ones like him. He took them to a movie last weekend. They had fun. ’S been forever since we could afford a movie.” He looked at Aaron, eyes pleading. “I’m the only one he doesn’t like, and I don’t have to stay there anymore. I can’t.”

  Aaron felt like his heart was splitting in two. “What’s your mother got to say about her boyfriend hitting you?”

  “She said I shouldn’t have provoked him. I brought it on myself, having dirty pictures like those in the house.”

  “You know that’s not true, right?” Whit asked gently. “You didn’t make that man hit you. You can’t help how you’re made. It’s as natural as everything else about you.”

  “Mom don’t think so. Guess it won’t matter now. And if you try to send someone there about this, I’ll deny everything and so will she,” he added. “I only told you in the first place so you can look out for the little ones, just in case.”

  Aaron cleared his throat. “Yeah, I understand. I’ll keep an eye on things.” He ignored Whit’s raised eyebrow. “Where are you going to stay now, then?”

  “Dunno. I’ll think of something.”

  “Do you have a friend who can put you up for a while?”

  “Not really. I’ll find a place.” He shut his eyes determinedly. “Thanks for comin’, Mr. McCoy.”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Aaron?” Whit’s perfect white teeth looked like they were grinding together. “Can I speak to you outside?”

  “Yes.”

  As soon as the door shut, Whit turned to him and murmured, “Are you fucking crazy? You can’t set yourself up like this.”

  Aaron shifted uncomfortably. “What are you talking about?”

  “Being the savior of this kid’s family. Being the person to look after everyone when they’re not currently in the system. It’s not your job. You haven’t worked with Tommy Ingram in over a year. He’s closer to nineteen than eighteen now, and he still put you down as his person of contact. It isn’t healthy to hold on like this, Aaron. Not for you or for them.”

  “What, I’m supposed to cut him off with no help as soon as he passes some arbitrary line?” Aaron demanded.

  “Yeah, you are. Otherwise you’ll cling, and you’ll spread yourself so thin you can’t deal with your current cases because your prior ones are still living in your head!”

  “He was beaten black-and-blue! Would you rather he had no one to call at all?”

  “I’d rather he call the police and have them arrest the guy who did this to him! It’s not going to help him or them to take responsibility for his own abuse, especially if the guy is more than just a homophobe.”

  Aaron threw his hands up. “Well, that’s not going to happen, so—”

  “Don’t help him make excuses.”

  “Don’t tell me how to do my job!”

  “That’s my whole point!” Whit exclaimed. “It’s not your job now! You can’t be involved with him in an official capacity, right? You didn’t come here as a friend, though. You came because you’re one of the few figures of authority in his life that he’s been able to rely on, but Aaron, you’ve got to move beyond that dynamic. It’s not healthy.”

  Aaron sighed. “I’m not in too deep.”

  “Oh no? Then you weren’t going to offer him a place to stay when I discharge him?”

  “No.” Whit crossed his arms. “Maybe. Jesus Christ, can everyone tell when I lie?”

  “Probably only me and Tyler, but that’s because you only have two friends,” Whit replied.

  “It’s too late to deal with you being an asshole.” Was it ever. Aaron felt like he’d been up for days. “Fine, so you think I shouldn’t?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then what? How am I supposed to leave him with nowhere to go?”

  “There’s the homeless shelter—”

  “—which gives priority to women and families, not single, adult men.” Aaron shook his head. “And it’s going to be full anyway, there aren’t enough beds there. No-go.”

  “What about in a bigger city? Knoxville, maybe?”

  “Some place he doesn’t know anyone, won’t have any sort of support structure or—”

  “Like he has here? With a mother’s boyfriend who sends him to the hospital with potentially life-threatening injuries? Yes, such an improvement.”

  Aaron could have choked on the sarcasm, it was so thick. “Either offer another solution or stop bitching about me over considering all
my options.”

  Whit rolled his eyes. “And people wonder why I only date athletes and artists.”

  “I don’t. It’s because you’re shallow.”

  “Uh, yeah, obviously. Have you seen me lately? Shallow is my perfect depth.” They stared at each other for a long moment before Aaron deflated. Whit was almost impossible to insult, which was another reason Tyler liked him so well. It also made him hard to keep up a good fight with, and to be honest, Aaron was already tired of fighting.

  “Give me something,” he said quietly. “You wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t already have a solution in mind. You’re just making me go through it to soften me up for what you want. So lay it on me. What are you thinking?”

  “I know a place he could stay, at least for a while. Clarke’s Gym has space—”

  “Where you go to practice fighting?” Aaron couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you fucking serious?”

  “It’s not fighting, it’s MMA―it’s a sport. And the place is a gym, not a backroom fight club.”

  “You beat on each other for fun. If that’s not a fight club, I don’t know what is.”

  “Will you let me finish?” Whit demanded. “God, you’re always ready to jump to the worst conclusion possible. Sean Clarke’s gym has an attached apartment that he lends to members who need a hand every now and then. He doesn’t charge; he doesn’t exploit them in any way; he just puts it out there in cases of need. Hell, Michael stayed there for a week last month after his girlfriend kicked him out of their apartment. You can ask him about it if you’re not willing to believe me. I think Sean would help Tommy out, long enough to pull himself together at least.”

  “And what’s he going to get out of it?”

  “Someone to help him take care of the gym for as long as Tommy is there, which is only fair.”

  “It doesn’t sound very fair to me to get unpaid labor out of a kid who doesn’t even—”

  “Tommy wouldn’t be the first guy to ask for a contract before accepting,” Whit said calmly. “I’ve seen it, it’s all above board, but I’m not a lawyer. You don’t have to take my word for it, but you should know that I’m going to make this offer to Tommy tomorrow morning. He can’t stay here, he can’t go home, and he really shouldn’t stay with you.”