Page 105 of Beneath the Stain
He’d started on the cut on the left hand—a particularly nasty one that would probably hurt Mackey like a motherfucker when he was playing—before Mackey answered.
“I called her a bloodless whore,” he mumbled.
Trav laughed. “Wow, McKay—tell me how you really feel.”
“I was stupid,” Mackey snapped. “I thought we covered this!”
Trav squatted down so they were eye level and held a finger to Mackey’s lips. They were cold. The two of them had gulped water and chocolate milk in the back of the car, but it was pretty clear Mackey needed some real food. And a blanket. And a snuggle on the couch.
“Don’t you have something in your affirmations about forgiving yourself, McKay?”
“My whole first name again? Jes—”
“Answer the question.”
“Yes,” Mackey sighed, some of the tension going out of him. “I am supposed to forgive myself for being human and try to make it right.”
“You weren’t responsible for Tony,” Trav said, because Mackey wasn’t up to saying it himself right now. “You may want to call the young lady back and apologize—but only if you think it will makeherfeel better, and not just you.”
Mackey grunted like he wasn’t sure. “Maybe a letter,” he said after a minute. “Or a song.”
Trav gave up any pretense of distance and sat on the bed next to him, wrapping his arm around Mackey’s shoulders and pulling him into the warmth of his chest.
“You write good songs,” he said, probably needlessly. “God, Mackey, you’re so cold. I’m going to give you some ointment for the chafing, okay?”
“You don’t want to put that on yourself?” Mackey’s voice was sly.
Trav kissed his blond head and wondered what it was about soap and Mackey that just undid him. All his chafed places were tingling, and his groin and thighs were thinking heavy, aching, sexy thoughts when they should have been thinking carbs and sleep.
“You have no idea how much,” Trav whispered. “But I want to make you dinner and hold you, okay? You ran for that guardrail and my heart stopped. I don’t want to have the kind of sex that hurts with you. I want to have the kind of sex that makes you feeloutstanding, do you hear me, McKay?”
Mackey sighed and pulled away. “It’s a sweet idea,” he said, his voice bleak. “I’ll try to hope it happens.”
Trav closed his eyes and sighed too. This was Mackey. One step forward, two steps back. He knew that. He knew that through three trips to rehab. He knew that when Mackey first walked into this house looking unnerved and skittish as an alley cat, his packed suitcase next to him. You had to love those cats for who they were. If you tried to love them for house cats, you got stripes torn from your hand.
“I’ll go downstairs and get us some dinner,” Trav said. “The others will be back soon. Do you want me to tell them?”
Mackey closed his eyes. “Crap. Yeah. They’ll want to know.” He opened his eyes and squared his face determinedly. “I should tell them,” he said. “I’m the one—”
“Please,” Trav said, something in him wavering, crumbling. Later he’d realize how big a thing this was, but right now it was a simple act of kindness. “Please, Mackey. You didn’t do anything wrong. Let me do this for you. Goop up your owies and come downstairs. Let me protect you. It’s my job—let me do it.”
Mackey narrowed his eyes. “I’m pretty sure your job is to book us gigs—”
“As your lover, Mackey. Not as your manager. Let me do this as the guy who wants to get in your pants.”
Mackey’s jaw dropped in surprise, and Trav took his opportunity to exit. It was as close to an “okay” as he was going to get.
He got downstairs just as the rest of the household arrived with Thai takeout, for which Trav was supremely grateful. He and Shelia set everything out on the counter, and he gathered the guys together.
“Uhm, guys from Tyson? Mackey got some bad news today—you all remember a guy named Tony?”
Kell said, “Oh. Oh no.”
“What?” Jefferson and Stevie said, predictably in stereo.
“You knew?” Trav gaped. “You didn’t think of telling Mackey?”
“He was… I mean, we were in Japan! We were in Japan, and there was fucking drugs everywhere, and Mackey wasn’t letting up on the fucking rehearsing unless he was getting high! And it was sad, but Grant didn’t text me until the funeral—what the hell was Mackey going to do then?”
