Page 21 of Memphis

I didn’t answer.

I just lay there and pretended I hadn’t heard him.

“Wes, listen.”

“Already back to Wes,” I scoffed. “Even you know it’s over for me at the club... I’ll never be able to ride again.”

“Never said that.”

“But that’s what you’re thinking.” I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. If I did, it would gut me, so I kept staring up at the television as I grumbled, “It’s what you’re all thinking.”

“No, son. You will walk again. Ride again. You’ll do it all. No matter what it takes.”

“Like putting me in this fucking nursing home?”

“It’s the best rehabilitation center in the state.”

“Well, it looks like a nursing home, and it smells like one, too.”

“The smell is you, son,” Dad teased. “All you.”

“What the fuck ever.” I rolled my eyes with a grumble. “Keep me here all you want, but I’m not taking a fucking antidepressant. I don’t care what that quack doctor says.”

“It might help,” he argued. “You got a lot of hard work ahead of you, and you’re gonna need to be in the right head space for it.”

“Stop telling me what I need!” I thrashed my hand towards my feet. “What I need is my goddamn legs!”

“And you will have them.” I saw the doubt flicker through his eyes as he added, “It’s just going to take some time.”

“Stop saying that! Just stop! I don’t want to hear it anymore!”

The words had barely left my mouth when the door creaked open, and Rusty and Ghost stepped into the room. Their timing couldn’t have been worse. They must’ve picked up on the mood of the room because they both looked apprehensive as they waited for Dad to come over and greet them. They spoke for a minute before Dad stepped out of the room.

"Hey, brother," Rusty said, his voice filled with concern. "How you holding up?"

"I’m not.”

“Aw, man.” Rusty sighed, but his expression remained steady. “We were hoping that things had gotten better since they moved you over here.”

“No such luck.”

“I know this has gotta be tough, for you and for Prez, but you gotta know if there was something we could do to help, we would.”

“Help?” I scoffed. “Like what? You gonna be the one who shuttles me around like a fucking invalid?”

“If that's what it takes, I'd do it in a heartbeat. We both would.” Ghost's jaw tightened, but his voice didn’t waver as he replied, "But it ain’t gonna come to that. You're gonna get through this, brother. You’ll see."

“Yeah, yeah. I keep hearing that.”

"We brought you something. Thought it might help pass the time." Rusty reached over and handed me a notebook. “It’s just a little something the guys put together.”

I opened it and started flipping through it, and my chest tightened when I saw that it was filled with messages from the brothers. It was a nice gesture, and I should’ve been appreciative, but I wasn’t. Instead, it angered me to see all my brothers telling me to ‘hang in there’ and ‘you’ve got this.’ I didn’t want their pity, and I certainly didn’t want their stupid notebook.

I tossed it on the table as I muttered, “Thanks.”

“Any idea when they’re gonna let you out of this place?”

“A couple of days. Couple of weeks. Hard to tell.”

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