Page 66 of Torch Songs

“’Course it is,” Guthrie said, smiling a little. “She sure is a wonder with that, right?”

“I love how you value her,” Tad said, not even sure if he was saying it right. “My sister. I… you make her feel important.”

“She is,” Guthrie said and then yawned, then grimaced. “Baby, can we start this conversation tomorrow night? I love that you were thinking about me, but I’m beat.”

“Why don’t you sleep in bed with me?” Tad asked baldly, and Guthrie’s eyes shot open.

“Because you’re hurt and you don’t need me thrashing around in there now,” he said, but it sounded like he was floundering, and he must have looked left six times since he’d started speaking.

“That’s a lie,” Tad said on his own yawn. “You want to make sure I’m of sound mind and body before I pull you back into my bed.”

“Oh God. Tomorrow night. We’ll have this conversation tomorrow night.”

“No,” Tad said, scowling. “We don’t need to have this conversation again because when you come back, you’re sleeping in my bed. With me. It’s where you belong.”

“When you’re not wounded,” Guthrie said stubbornly.

“No, no, that’s not how the rule goes.”

“Oh God. It issopast your bedtime.”

“I’m not screwing around, Guthrie. I get I’ve been out of it, and I’ve been tired and grumpy and drugged, but I finally remembered what I really wanted you here for, and changing the bandages on my assis not it. Promise me.”

“I promise nothing,” Guthrie said with dignity. “It’s not a carte blanche thing—it’s an individual invitation thing. You’ve got to invite me, every time.”

“That’s bullshit,” Tad said, meaning it.

“Well you don’t get to make all the rules,” Guthrie replied, looking mulish. “You may have had long-term relationships, but I’ve had relationships that have to be negotiated by the hour. I don’t take an invitation to someone’s bed as a lifetime achievement without a ring on it, and even then I think you should have re-ups on that sort of agreement. Like boosters for the flu. A renegotiation to fight off bitterness and self-sabotage. So no. You are going to have to invite me on a case-by-case basis, and that’s how things’ll stand. Now go to bed.”

“We’re not done here.”

“Tad, you’re beat—evenIcan see your eyeballs swimming.”

“I’m not calling this the end.”

“Well, can you just call it good night?” he begged in exasperation.

“Fine. Good night, Guthrie. I miss you. See you tomorrow. Have a good set.”

“Night, Tad. I miss you too. Get some sleep, baby. You need to heal so you’re not so bossy.”

Tad snorted, and Guthrie ended the call, and Tad wondered if there was a nice way to assure Guthrie that it wasn’t the tiredness that made him bossy, it was the being right and knowing Guthrie was wrong.

The Difficult Kind

GUTHRIE LOADEDup his drum kit and made sure it was secure in the bottom of the bed before turning to Owen, Neil, and Roberta for their obligatory “You okay, bro?” hug.

They were, in fact,veryokay—they’d made lots of tips, gotten lots of buzz, and had even been recognized by groupies who’d followed them from the Washoe. Scorpio, which wasmuchtrendier, was a fun club to play, but Guthrie was itching to go ho—

Back to Sacramento. Where Tad and April waited, and he could talk to Tad in person instead of having their worst, most painful conversations over the screen.

“You heading to the apartment?” Roberta asked, all of them glancing around to make sure they were alone and in the lights.

Guthrie had been planning to say yes, of course, but what came out of his mouth was, “I’m still pretty wired. I think I’ll head up to Sac, you know?”

The others nodded, seemingly unsurprised, and as he watched carefully as they all got in their vehicles and started up, he thought,Why not?

Well, lots of reasons. Who knew how long his buzz of excitement would last, for one thing, and Tad wasn’t expecting him until tomorrow for another. The girls weren’t exactly expecting him either, but….

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