Page 104 of Torch Songs

Guthrie paused and stared far out to sea, like his mother might be there, over the horizon, calling to him. “That she was real sad after I was born. That Butch couldn’t get her to stop crying, so he’d try to beat her until she did. Sounds like postpartum to me, and she had to deal with Butch and me and no help but Jock, and Jock is, like I said….”

“Not that bright,” Tad filled in, getting a picture.

“Nope.” Guthrie sighed and turned back to their path. “Maybe someday I’ll look. But maybe not. I’m not one of those people who think the past has to be resolved. The story for me is always now, you know? And right now, my story is getting thisdone, seeing Butch to his grave, making sure Jock’s okay, and getting to that recording session at the end of August.”

Tad blinked. He’d almost forgotten about that. “That’s your vision?” he asked, hurt so bad he couldn’t feel it yet.

Guthrie turned to him, seemingly oblivious. “That money’s gonna be my stake in our future,” he said matter-of-factly. “That’s gonna be my contribution to the family until I can pick up gigs. I can pay rent so you can get you and April a house. I can help with groceries—all those living things, right? Family’s gotta eat, Tad. I love you too, but my weight’s gonna get heavy if you’ve got to carry it all on your back.”

Tad struggled with that for a minute, remembering his ex’s practicality and how much it galled him and how much Guthrie seemed to live whichever way the wind blew.

He didn’t, Tad realized. He’d always had plans. He’d always understood that life was complicated and he had to make his own luck. And Tad thought of April, who was so excited about this move—and about having a job—but still, a dreadful responsibility.

Guthrie doesn’t want to be a responsibility.

And Tad wanted to cry, because that had never been the case, but to a kid who’d been busking at fifteen so the family could get to itsrealjob, that would be a consideration, wouldn’t it?

Tad suddenly captured Guthrie’s mouth, hard and greedy, and Guthrie responded.

I need you so much more than you need me,he thought. He remembered Guthrie’s song, those lyrics truer than any rational thought Tad had borne about this relationship, and there they were in words and music, for the world to see.

Please love me like I love you.

This was Guthrie proving that he did, and suddenly Tad would have done anything for him,anything, if Guthrie had justgrabbed his hand and walked into the future without making a plan, needing a cushion, trying so damned hard to carry his own weight.

You’re not heavy—you’re my wings.

But he didn’t have those words, not to say out loud.

So he kissed Guthrie and kissed him until Guthrie groaned and ripped himself away.

“There’s kids out here,” he panted, glancing around.

Tad knew there weren’t, but he also knew Guthrie was trying to be the sensible one.

They’d be alone in the hotel room soon enough, Tad vowed, and there wouldn’t be a damned sensible thing about them.

A NICElunch, but Guthrie’d had a rough night and, Tad suspected, not a lot of good sleep since he’d left Sacramento. Tad and Chris dropped him off at the hotel while they ran to replace his phone and check on the truck. They returned with a grocery-store dinner and some cookies for dessert around eight in the evening, and Chris bid Tad good night with a yawn.

“This boy’s had a big exciting day,” he said. “What’s our plan for tomorrow?”

Tad blinked hard, remembering what the mechanic had said about the Chevy, which had mostly been along the lines of April’s “shoot it.”

“I’m thinking we pick up the truck, drive back to Sac, and you and I pretend to work since we’re driving up to Colton tomorrow night.”

Chris groaned. “Killjoy. But yeah, that sounds about right. Up early for coffee and something sweet and not good for us at all.”

“Speak for yourself,” Tad chided. “My guy needs his vegetables.”

Chris nodded. “And a keeper,” he said, patting Tad’s cheek. He sobered. “Listen, I know it’s hard, but you gotta let him do his thing, okay? He’s trying to pay his way. You gotta admit, you’re both good at taking on responsibility for more than just yourself. I’ve got the same concerns you do, but he seems to be better at it than he first looks, you know?”

Tad scowled at him, and Chris rolled his eyes.

“Yes, you got called this morning to bail him out of jail. But you got called by a kid he used to protect in high school who took him into custody to keep him safe. Guthrie’s got… I don’t know. Good karma power. Yeah, he puts himself on the edge a lot, but people are loyal to him. His band, his uncle, that deputy—hell, April and Olivia Larkin-McDaniels.”

Sarah the bartender, Tad thought. The kid from his old job that Guthrie texted about music. Seth Arnold, who was going out of his way to offer Guthrie a leg up. It hadn’t occurred to him until now, as Chris made the list, that Guthrie didn’t need to try to be like Tad to be a hero. Guthriewasa hero. He’d done it all on his own. He may have thought of himself as alone, but he’d never really been all by himself. His own good will had given him people he could turn to, whether he expected them to be there or not.

He sighed, letting go of his worry a little. “He… he just looks so thin,” he said, feeling weak and stupid.

---