Page 85 of Torch Songs

Guthrie had been pretty sure his dad and Jock would piss away their Fiddler and the Crabs money. Tad had said it—Guthrie had marketable skills. He’d spent that money on the ability to have a resume and some hope and a day job that would fill in the lean times. Suddenly the embarrassment of his dwindling bank account wasn’t quite so acute.

C’mon, Guthrie. Don’t be like that. Your dad is sick and I need help. I can’t be the only one taking care of him.

Oh Jesus.How sick?Guthrie asked, hearing Tad moving around in the bathroom.

Ain’t gonna see September.

Guthrie closed his eyes and swallowed.Well he don’t want to see me, so I’ll have to live with that.He pounded the text in, trying to keep his hand from shaking.Jock, you two made it really fucking clear that I was not wanted and I was not family. Hurt like hell, but at least I can peace out of this. PEACE. FUCKING. OUT.

And with that he muted his notifications and set the phone down on the bedstand. Tad had emerged from the bathroom, freshly scrubbed and sexy and oh so hopeful. Suddenly Guthrie needed him—neededhim, needed the completeness of his touch, the wholeness he felt when Tad was inside him, and the glory of his skin.

As their bodies moved together, Guthrie felt the need overtake him, opening up and swallowing the moment whole.Take me, he begged in the silence of his own skull.Take me and bless me from the inside out. I need you to make me the man I want to be.

When their breathing had stilled, Guthrie rolled into Tad’s arms and hid his face against Tad’s shoulder, turning his back on the incriminating phone.

But even as he fell asleep, he knew the man he wanted to be hadn’t seen the last of that text stream. The man he wanted to be had some unfinished business to tend to.

HE’D GOTTENup to pee the next morning when his text notifications came back on, and his phone buzzed repeatedly while he did his business. When he came back, he took a breath and checked, the texts coming thick and fast as Jock detailed a four-hour trip from Sand Cut to Sacramento, including pit stops and engine noises, including the cheerful acknowledgment that hey, Jock had figured out how to track Guthrie’s phone. That last one horrified him, even more so when he saw the last two texts in the stream.

Look, I’m here. I’ll be waiting outside until you come talk.

If you’ve got coffee, that would be real fucking human.

Guthrie checked the timestamp on the last one and sighed. Two hours. Jock had probably fallen asleep in the front of his old truck—a Ford instead of a Chevy because God forbid Guthrie follow in his family’s footsteps without a fight—with his arms folded and his head leaning against the windshield.

Thank God the temperature had dropped the night before because Jock and Butch hadn’t been too pro on hygiene, and there was nothing like the hot cab of a pickup truck to really ripen the sweat on a middle-aged man who had a long association with alcohol.

With a sigh he slid on some clothes—including the new cargo shorts Tad and April had snuck into his drawer, like he wasn’t going to notice that—and stepped into his flip-flops in the hallway. His hand was on the doorknob when he realized that there was only one pair of flip-flips left.

Why was April outside?

His heart almost jumped out of his rib cage when he saw her standing by Jock’s truck, wearing one of Tad’s oversized T-shirts over sleep shorts, her arms crossed in front of her and a scowl on her face as she chewed Jock a new one. Jock was parked in a neighbor’s spot, Guthrie realized. Jimmy Collier worked the night shift and would be there any minute. She must have seen the truck and gone to clear it out. Jimmy had been a big help when they’d brought the kittens home.

“And I’m saying,” April growled, “that you can park somewhere else while you wait for him to wake up. Like the delta. In the river. Or maybe the junkyard. Or Utah.”

“Little missy,” Jock replied, one of his best shit-eating, women-hating grins on his face, “I get that you’re trying to stand up for your man?”

“I’m standing up for my neighbor, you asshole. I don’t even know who you’re here to bother, but I hope it’s nobody I know. Now move!”

Guthrie made sure to clear his throat before putting his hands gently on her shoulders. “I’m afraid he’s here for me, darlin’,” he said softly. “Go on inside and try to make sure your brother doesn’t hear this, okay?”

She turned troubled eyes to him. “Oh, Guthrie—oh no. This guy’s your people?”

Guthrie swallowed. “Not anymore. But, you know, the past ain’t always in the past. This is my uncle Jock, and he’s here—”

“To take you back to your family,” Jock said loudly. “You got responsibilities, Guthrie, like it or not. He may not be much of a daddy, but heisyour daddy—”

“I’m pretty sure he told me I wasn’t his son, Jock. You want me to come back now and walk him into the next world on your say-so?”

“Oh, Guthrie,” April murmured, her soft gasp cutting into his anger and his hurt. “Oh no. You can’t go. This… this is bad—”

Guthrie closed his eyes. “Please,” he begged her. “Don’t let your brother see me have this conversation, okay? Just please.” He gave her a little nod back into the apartment and waited until he heard the door click before he turned back to Jock.

“Talk,” he said grimly.

“You didn’t have to send her away, son,” Jock said, his salacious grin churning Guthrie’s stomach. “She had the cutest set of titties. You live with that?”

Guthrie’s hands started to sweat with the effort to not clock Jock in the saggy jaw.

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