Page 71 of Torch Songs

Again, that quiet, kind brush of lips at Guthrie’s temple.

“What kind of gorilla were you?” he asked, voice a little broken. “I was the kind that screamed in my sister’s face and slapped her,hard,when she bit me. I… she had a bruise across her cheek, and my bite got infected because her teeth wereawfulbefore we got the caps on and….” He shuddered. “I had to spend a week in a hotel dosing myself with lice remedies and antifungals and antibiotics before I felt clean enough to come home. And the whole time I was caring for that fucking wound I was like, ‘Good! It’s infected! It should be, because I’m a shitty person and I deserve it.’”

This time it was Guthrie offering comfort. “Oh baby,” he rasped, turning his head to kiss Tad’s chest. “No. That’s not true. That’s not… you were trying to save her life. It looks like you’ve done that, but it was hard work. That wasbloodwork right there. I-I didn’t make the same sacrifice you did. I couldn’t. Right before Seth left, I came out. And as long as Seth was there, my daddy smiled at Seth and was okay and a little standoffish, and I thought,It’s okay—he’ll still be my dad, and me and Uncle Jock and my daddy can keep on going, but I’ll be looking for love in a different place is all, and that was okay. But the minute Seth was on the plane to Italy, and there was no hope that… thatbrilliantshining boy and his amazing talent was going to bless my daddy with any more goddamned money, he kicked me out of the band. Told me to get my faggoty ass the fuck out of his sight. Afterall he did for me. Uncle Jock just… just stood by and watched and….” He shook his head. “Last text I got from Jock was a year ago. Apparently, Daddy crawled into a bottle and stayed there, and Jock wanted me to come back and pull him out.”

“No,” Tad said, his voice cracking. “No, you don’t owe him—”

Guthrie shook his head. “It ain’t that simple. It’s never that simple. ’Course I said no, but how much of that was righteousness and how much of that was spite? How much of that was a little kid going, ‘Apologize first, you big poo-poo head!’”

Tad let out a snort, the laughter through tears kind. “And how much of that was a hurt little kid?” he asked softly.

“Yeah,” Guthrie admitted sadly. It was still early, he thought as he turned on his side into Tad’s warm body, and he’d been damned tired the night before. “But see? Being a good man—sometimes it’s harder than just rescuing kittens from trees. Sometimes you don’t know who’s worse, Mr. Hyde or—”

“The nine-hundred-pound gorilla,” Tad filled in. “I hear you. But you’re not—”

Guthrie shook his head, tired suddenly. “There’s more,” he mumbled. “There’s always more. Can we not have any more confession today? I don’t get a man in my bed often. And you’re the best one so far. Can I enjoy this, please?”

“Yeah,” Tad whispered, adjusting his position so Guthrie was still tucked against his chest, but he was a little more on his good side and less on his back. “And if I’m the best one so far, I want to be the best one period. No other guys for Guthrie. Just me.”

Guthrie gave a humorless chuckle. “Like there’s another man in the world I’d look in the face. Ever.”

And then, before the meaning of that could sink in or grow huge, he fell asleep so he could dream that this place, wherepeople made him grilled cheese sandwiches and blankets, where lovers told him he was okay and good, wishing it could stay forever, never change, be his as long as he lived.

But Guthrie knew better. Dreams like that weren’t real. That’s why he sang about perfect love and perfect pain. He knew there was no such thing.

Give Faith a Fighting Chance

TAD STARTEDwalking outside the next week, painfully, with a cane, Guthrie or April—or sometimes both—by his side. The first time, he barely managed to make it around the apartment complex. By the time Guthrie had to leave for his gig, Tad could go around the block.

The next time Guthrie left, he could go a half a mile, which should have made his recovery go faster but somehow didn’t.

Hehatedwhen Guthrie left. There was something so practiced about the way he packed up his equipment, threw his clothes in a knapsack, and went. True, he’d been bringing more clothes from his apartment in San Rafael, but Tad was starting to realize he didn’t have that much to begin with. When Tad’s wound had healed enough for him to go swimming in the apartment pool, Guthrie had needed to go buy a pair of board shorts to join him. In spite of the fact that it was rapidly approachingJulyin a city that lived at over 100 degrees in the summer, Tad had yet to see him wear more than one pair of shorts. When that pair was dirty, he wore jeans without complaint, and Tad thought he got most of his ventilation through his T-shirts, which werenotin good shape. His performance clothes—new jeans, two pairs, and three slick, studded-up country and western shirts—were sharp, though, and he had a decent pair of boots to go with them.

Tad and April had started buying the odd T-shirt or pair of socks or underwear whenever they ordered something for themselves. Tad was expecting two pairs of cargo shorts to arrive this time so Guthrie could enjoy the summer and not suffer through it.

At eight in the morning, before the heat got too intense, he and April had just started walking along the outer apartment sidewalk when he saw a familiar police-issue SUV pull up and park where Guthrie usually did. Tad might have resented that if he hadn’t been so happy to see who was inside.

“Chris!” he said, taking slow steps to greet his partner. “How’s the department treating you?”

“Not bad,” Chris Castro admitted, “but right now I still have hero stink on me. I need you to come back so that doesn’t go away.”

Tad grimaced. “Four more weeks, minimum,” he said. “And then mostly desk duty, I assume, until I can do the physical stuff again.”

Chris nodded. “I hear you. Mind if I walk with you? It’s going to be hot as balls today. Might as well get my steps in.”

Tad grunted. “Hot as balls” was a pretty accurate description of Sacramento in July—although the breeze off the river seemed to help things in the evening. He found himself missing the ocean, or even the mountains of Colton, where there was at least shade.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m an AC baby after my swim. Can’t take the heat when I’m hurt.”

Chris gave a laugh. “Well, your complexion pretty much makes you a walking heat blister anyway. It’s going to be a boring summer for both of us, buddy, but, uhm….”

Tad’s gaze sharpened. “Uhm what? You’re not ditching me, are you?” He paused, and April grunted next to him. She hated the heat as much as he did and wanted to move to the swimming portion of their morning.

“No.” Chris shook his head. “But, uhm, you remember Aaron George?”

“The guy who saved my life several times in Colton?” Tad asked dryly. “ThatAaron George?”

“And his soon to be husband….”

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