Page 141 of Beneath the Stain
“Get used to it,” Trav said on a yawn. He’d stood up and was unbuckling his belt, and Mackey had no doubt his slacks and polo shirt would end up draped gracefully over the top bunk. Mackey didn’t want to look around the little room—it looked way too much like the one Trav had furnished for him back at their home in LA, except with pink-striped wallpaper. Mackey didn’t even want to think about what that meant.
“Why’s that?” Mackey climbed into bed, and the touch of clean sheets made him shiver. “Get your ass over here,” he demanded. “Don’t want to sleep unless you’re here.”
“We all want a say.” Travdiddrape his clothes neatly over the bunk, but then he slid in next to Mackey, wearing only his boxer briefs.
“In me?” Mackey didn’t much like the sound of that.
“We want to claim which part of you we’ve got. Me, Grant, your mom. We’re all trying to say, ‘I know him best. He’s mine.’”
“That’s a waste of time,” Mackey grumbled. “Now put your arm over my chest and spoon me like a man.”
Trav laughed a little against his hair. “Yeah, McKay, whatever you say.”
Mackey was too tired to bicker with him. “Yours,” he said, closing his eyes and snuggling back into Trav’s welcome heat. “You know me best. I’m yours.”
“I’ll be expected to prove it,” Trav said seriously.
“Well don’t do it by being a caveman.”
Mackey fell asleep to images of Trav wearing aFlintstonestoga, taking it off, and folding it nicely over a bunk bed made of rocks.
And then he was out and he didn’t dream at all.
No More Sorrow
TRAVLOOKEDaround the Nugget and tried not to judge. It was no better and no worse than the bar in Seattle, and he’d enjoyed being there.
He did not enjoy being here.
For one thing, the friendly gay bartender with the fuzzy beard and warm smile was missing. In his place was a good ol’ boy, around 350 pounds, with missing teeth. Trav highly doubted he put his mouth to good use.
He shook his head.God, he was being an insufferable ass—even in his own head.
Briony was still sick, so Trav and Mackey were setting up the sound equipment, ready to do a quick and dirty set. Mackey had talked to Briony enough, he knew how to work the laptop keyboard they’d set up for their smaller venues, and since he only picked up the guitar for a couple of songs, he was the best bet to fiddle with stuff if anything went wrong after sound check.
The guys were still setting up when Grant walked in, Walter at his heels. In the end, they hadn’t wanted to leave Shelia and Briony alone, so Mackey had asked politely if they could use Walter’s services so Grant could self-medicate at will. Trav fought the urge to say something snide—and he’d voted for medical marijuana. He believed in it. But thinking about these kids—hiskids—running around this tiny town….
He was growling. To himself. But he’dcounted. Between Tyson and Hepzibah, he’d seen two McDonald’s, one Subway, five dive bars, eight churches, an appliance store that gouged people like crazy judging by the sale prices on the windows, a music store, a plant store, a car dealership—presumably Grant’s father’s—and, praise Jesus, a Walmart.
They’d driven by an apartment building, one of those old stucco ones built like a sardine box, divvied up into smaller saltine boxes. It was painted a noxious mustard yellow that showed every divot in the stucco—and there were a lot. As they drove by, one of the window screens fell off the second floor, and Mackey and Jefferson cackled.
“Was that our old apartment?”
“Oh my God!”
Stevie grunted. “Nope. ’Cause you can still see the sharpie where ours is.”
“Yeah,” Kell said as Trav tried to still his depression that people he’d known had actuallylivedthere. “See? You can see where Cheever popped out the screen and started decorating the outside of Mom’s room ’cause we wouldn’t let him write on the walls.”
“Jesus, I almost had a fuckin’ heart attack,” Mackey muttered. “Man, Grant and I were….” He stopped, and Trav glanced at him as a sheepish look broke across his face. “Conversing,” he said with dignity, “and that kid woke up when we didn’t know it—”
“Conversing?” Kell asked in outrage. “Oh myGod—wasthatwhere he went once a week?”
Jefferson chortled from the farthest seat back. “Damned straight—do you know howhardStevie and I had to work to keep you from ever going by the apartment so you wouldn’t know?”
Kell and Mackey both groaned. “Fuck,” Mackey muttered. “It’s like a fucking sitcom episode—and it justfeltso fucking important, youknow?”
“Yeah,” Kell said. He didn’t look behind them as they passed the apartment and the cracked driveway with the oil spill and the weeds. “I remember… God, being so scared. I wassoscared. Man, it was like, the whole town wanted to fuckin’ kill us—probably only a couple of assholes, but itfeltlike the whole town. And I just… I remembered Mackey flyin’ across the room, and… my brothers. We were all we had.”
