Page 148 of Beneath the Stain
Mackey pounded down the hall in his tighty-whiteys, glad he’d at least showered before falling into bed, and tried to make sense of the scene in front of him.
The whole world was there—all the guys in their underwear, Shelia in a pink floral baby doll, his mom in her upscale tracksuit….
And Briony, naked, with water dripping from her hair, wrapped in a shower curtain, shoving Cheever through the kitchen by a fistful of his red curly hair.
“Briony?” Mackey said, easy and slow, like you might talk to a beloved family dog who had suddenly bared his teeth and growled.
“That’ll teach you to fuckin’grab my boobin the shower, you little shit!”
“Jesus, bitch, I was just copping a little feel! You’d think no one had grabbed a piece of that ass be—”
Crack!
Mackey had been on his way to do it—he’d vaulted the kitchen table the moment the kid said “bitch”—but Kell was standing closer and beat him to it.
“Kell!” Briony yelled, clutching the shower curtain tighter, and Mackey looked for Shelia.
“Honey,” he murmured, “could you get her out of here and into some sweats?”
Shelia nodded. “Yeah—she borrowed my shampoo to take a shower. I didn’t think to warn her that Cheever was here too.” She looked away from Kell grabbing Cheever by the front of the T-shirt and shaking him, pursing her lips. “Youallgot beat the hell up, didn’t you?”
Mackey grinned tiredly. “Even Trav. I think he was embarrassed. Kell—man, Kell, stop that. You’re gonna crack his yolk inside his shell.”
Kell dropped Cheever abruptly, and sure enough, the kid looked a little dazed.
“You little fucker!” Kell snarled, and then looked up at Briony, who, it appeared, was suddenly aware that she was surrounded by men, most of them straight. He was wearing a zip-up hoodie over his tighty-whiteys, and he yanked the zipper down and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Honey,” he said, his voice dropping from vicious to tender just that fast, “you need to go get dressed. Curl up in bed. Someone’ll bring you some tea—”
“Coffee?” Briony pleaded, because she was a little addicted.
“Tea,” Kell said firmly. “Mom always said coffee made you sicker. You go get dressed and we’ll take care of you, ’kay? Ignore our shitheaded little brother. He ain’t even ours.”
“Kell!” Mackey had almost forgotten his mom was there.
“No,” Mackey said. For a moment, it was a little like he wasn’t even talking. His lips had grown cold, and his fingers, his toes, his ankles, his knees. His hands were clammy and his cheeks blazing hot, and he couldn’t see for the wash of red in his eyes.
Now that Kell wasn’t about to kill Cheever and Briony was getting covered up and warm, it occurred to him what exactly had just happened in his mother’s house.
“No,” he said loudly, trying to remember whom he was talking to. “You can’t defend him,” he said, remembering a laughing face, a stranger’s arm around his shoulder, the sick, helpless feeling that any control he might have had was just yanked out from under his feet. “There is no defense.”
Mackey shook his head, a wave of dizziness swamping him.Someday you’ll be talking about ice cream….
“There is no defense!” he screamed. “You don’t take that from someone. You don’t fuckingtake that right from someone! You think it’s okay to grab an ass or a boob? God gave you that fucking right?”
“Mackey,” Briony said, sounding stunned.
“Go get dressed,” Mackey begged. “It’s not right we should see you. You didn’t ask for this. Man, you don’t need to be out here, helpless, for the whole world to see.”
Later he would figure that Shelia knew, and that the only way Shelia would know was if Jefferson and Stevie knew. Since he told Blake in rehab, that meant the only ones who didn’t know were Kell and Briony, and he’d feel a little bad about that.
But right now, Shelia tugged Briony by the arm, and Briony left, pale, shaking, and looking behind her at Mackey, like she could help him through what was coming.
If he’d known what was coming, he would have drank himself to sleep.
“Mackey,” Jefferson said as they disappeared, “that’s not what this is about.”
“Isn’t it?” Mackey asked bitterly. “Isn’t it? This asshole here”—and he swept his hand, including his little brother in the vast array of assholes he had known—“is just as bad as all of them we fought last night. It’s like we left this fuckin’ town and hebecamethis fuckin’ town, and became the guys who fucked us, and became Charleston fucking Klum—”
“Oh God. Mackey—”
