Page 59 of Torch Songs

“I’d drive to see you play.” He gave Guthrie a luminous smile then, and Guthrie didn’t know what to do with that. He was starting to see the downside to roaring into town with April two nights before: Suddenlyeverybodyknew the lengths Guthrie would go to see this man, and Guthrie was afraid he couldn’t live up to his own goddamned hype.

“Not worth the ticket,” he said with a wink. “Don’t worry, son, I’ll play anything you want in person.”

Tad bit his lip then. “I love to hear you play,” he said, but there was something complicated on his face, like he wanted to say more.

Guthrie bent down and kissed his cheek. “Well, I’ll bring the guitar when I visit. Back tomorrow, okay? I’ll let April say her goodbyes.”

April returned from the doorway she’d lingered in while they were speaking and said, “I saw Olivia down the hall, Guthrie, if you wanted to tell her goodbye.”

He was looking forward to it—he did like the girl.

And this would get him gone before he confessed that he hadn’t only lost the band—his boss had fired him by text because he hadn’t felt like waiting until Monday to get ’er done. Martin had texted him immediately after, on the down-low, saying he’d kept Guthrie’s health and bennies and his auto service for at least six months and that the boss was a total douchebag. Guthrie was grateful for the first and aware of the second, and, well, plumb out of a job. He still had some of his Fiddler and the Crabs money saved, but not much. He was counting on those gigs from Scorpio and the sublet apartment to get him through.

And none of this was something he wanted to burden Tad with. Because his boy—that’s right,Guthrie’sboy—had problems enough.

So he had one foot toward the door when Tad grabbed his hand.

“More,” he said, and Guthrie turned to blink at him.

“More what?” he asked, honestly befuddled.

“Not the cheek, Guthrie. The lips. I brushed my teeth for this special this morning.”

Guthrie smiled at him, charmed. “Alrighty, then,” he said, and his face was hot and his neck was sweaty, but he didn’t care.

He bent down and brushed his lips against Tad’s, surprised when Tad captured the back of his head and dragged him down harder. God, the little shit was stuck in a hospital bed, and he was still dominating the kiss, and Guthrie…. Guthrie opened his mouth and let that sweetness guide him.

Tad finally released him with a satisfied grunt, and Guthrie had to remember where he was and what he was doing for a minute before he straightened.

“See you tomorrow,” Tad said, pretty damned smug.

“Yeah, all right,” Guthrie muttered. “You got my number. I’ll be here.”

Tad’s grin spread ear to ear. “When you stop by my house,” he said, “remember I like the soft knit pants and the socker slides under the bed. Feel free to look around.” The thought of being given carte blanche to explore Tad’s apartment made Guthrie practically stumble out the door, but he was pretty sure he was smiling too.

FIVE HOURSlater, after he and April finally left Colton and made their way to Bodega Bay, Guthrie was no longer smiling.

April had gotten more and more withdrawn as they’d gotten closer to the ocean, although Guthrie had seen her eyes restlesslyexploring the shore. She seemed to find peace in the waves and the bay itself, but when they ventured into town and then into the rusty older suburb back a ways from the ocean, he realized that, for all her quietness, her fragility, he’d been seeing April Hawkins at her most empowered.

There was a force here, sucking the quiet sarcasm, the sweet devotion to dogs, the determination to do that yarn thing, all of it, right out of the young woman, and Guthrie died a little on the inside. He remembered that fantasy of hope she and Tad had spun for each other, of her living with him, with pets, and Guthrie coming to see them, and he realized, scrutinizing the dilapidated building, with no lawn to speak of and crooked stairs, joists, and door frames, that she needed for that fantasy to be real.

“Darlin’,” he said gently, “don’t worry. I know it’ll be a bit before he can drive, but y’all got me now. I’m your friend. I’ll make sure you don’t have to stay here without a friendly wave, okay?”

She gave him an uncertain smile. “Guthrie, you don’t have to do that,” she rasped.

He brushed the knuckles of the hand clutched tightly over her yarn bag. “Honey, I really do. You’re a friend now.”

She nodded, and they both swung out of the pickup truck and headed for the stairs to the office where Callie, the counselor who ran the place, crouched like a spider.

Guthrie did not like her atall. One look at her—in her suit and her pulled-back hair and her perfect nails and her business black pumps—told him this woman had never had trouble in her life. What on earth was this woman doing counseling addicts when everything about her screamed bureaucrat? He’d seenprofessionals, right enough—he had loved some of the professors at state college who’d helped him get his degree. Butthissort of professional, the kind who wore starched shirts in ajeans sort of town, who stuck to the letter of the law instead of the heart of the human, these were the people who absolutely loved it when a little bit of bureaucracy fucked someone over.

“May I help you?” she asked as Guthrie pushed in through the squeaky, crooked screen door.

Perversely, he wanted to dick with her a little. “I know folks who could fix that for you for the price of a cup of coffee. You want me to hook you up?”

Her eyes went dead. “Our maintenance budget is thin at best. I’m afraid I don’t have the cost of a cup of coffee to spare.” She raked him up and down with those lifeless eyes. “Are you looking for a cup of coffee?”

“No, ma’am,” he said, giving her a thin smile. “I am, in fact, here for April Hawkins. I want to make sure she doesn’t get into too much trouble for going to see her brother. He’s one of our boys in blue, you know, and he was injured in the line of duty. It sure did ease his heart that she made it to Colton to see him.”

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