Page 158 of Beneath the Stain
His voice broke a lot, rasped, and he was probably stoned to the gills for pain. Mackey hadn’t said anything to Trav or Kell, but he’d had dreams when they’d set up the gig at the Nugget. He’d wanted Grant up with them one last time. But Grant’s fingers—they’d been so fine and strong and sure—were now swollen and clubbed and sore.
“Besides, Mackey,” Grant said when Mackey suggested it, “I haven’t played guitar in months. You guys play every day.”
He’d been the best of them after Mackey.
Now he was telling them he would probably be down the next day—but the day after that, he wanted them out to his parents’ house for a visit.
“To yourhouse?” Kell said on the conference call, stunned. “Grant, we didn’t go out to your house when we were kids!”
Grant made a humorless sound on the other side of the line. “I know. That was my folks. I sort of bypassed their consent here—which reminds me. Mackey, is Mr. Ford there?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” Trav said, sounding surprised. “What do you need, Grant?”
“I’m going to be talking to the guys, showing them the place since they never saw it when we were kids. I need you to talk to my dad and my lawyer. There’s stuff there I need you to make sure Mackey’s going to get. Are you a lawyer?”
Trav grunted no. “A business major. But I can have a lawyer on standby so I can text him questions if you like.”
“That would be great, Mr. Ford. My dad’s gonna try to wiggle out of things—be ready for it. I was sort of counting on you helping me do right by Mackey and the guys.”
“Yeah, Grant. I’ll be ready.”
Grant’s relief was palpable, even over the phone in a conversation with all of them, huddled around Mackey’s mom’s kitchen table. “Thank you, Mr. Ford. It’s good to know you’ll be there.”
The last thing Grant did before they signed off was ask Mackey to bring his guitar.
Mackey was so happy he almost started to dance right there. God, music. It had tied them together for most of their lives.
He needed to give Grant music.
THEYSPENTthe next day at the music store. Mackey’s old bosses were probably the only people in the town thrilled to have him, and Trav had brought a hundred free CDs to give away. The band signed free CDs and posters and smiled at high school students for two hours.
Mackey sort of loved it.
“Do you play?” He asked the same question to every kid who gave him something to sign, and he loved hearing the answers.
The answer that particularly tickled him came from the angular kid with dyed black hair and all the piercings, who said, “The steel guitar or the trombone?”
Mackey looked the kid over and saw him arching his spiked eyebrows suggestively.
Mackey laughed. “Well, I meant the guitar, but you know, that other thing is fun too!”
The kid laughed, blushing, and then shuffled uncomfortably, not meeting Mackey’s eyes. “It meant a lot,” he mumbled. “That you came out. Thank you.”
Mackey scrabbled for something to say, but the kid had already snatched his free poster and run away. Mackey stared after him for a minute, a smile twitching at his lips.
“I wasn’t the first one,” he said softly. He turned to the person next to him humming “Holiday” in the back of his throat.
BRIONYSPENTthat night in the bunk bed above them, which was fine—Mackey was too keyed up, wound tight by a cranked string from his groin to his throat.
“What’s wrong with you?” Trav asked for the fifteenth time when Mackey tried to lodge himself between the perpendicular bottom bunk and the stairs to the top.
“I don’t know,” Mackey said shortly. “It’s like… not like a date exactly, but like… like something big’s going to happen, like Christmas or something, except bad. You know—you’re the one who said he doesn’t have long. It’s like, no matter how I feel about him—love, hate, friendship, brotherhood, whatever—it’s like…bigger.It’slouderin my head!”
Trav let loose a sound between a sigh and a grunt. Then he rolled over, smashing Mackey between the railing and his big body, and draped his arm over Mackey, completely engulfing him in his heat, and his smell, and his pressure.
Mackey felt so much relief he had to check to make sure he hadn’t wet his pants. “Ah, God, thanks, Trav,” he murmured. “That’s so much better.”
“Can you even breathe?” Trav asked over his head.
