Page 163 of Beneath the Stain
“I guess nobody’s that brave when they think they’re gonna be alone forever,” Grant said, his voice so bleak that Mackey turned his head and dropped a kiss on his blade of a shoulder, poking the fabric of his sweatshirt up in a tent.
“Yeah,” he rasped. “You got that right.”
Grant kissed his forehead, and Kell cleared his throat.
“You guys, uhm….”
“Let’s get to the barn,” Grant said. “I’ll rest there, and I need to get this out.”
“Like a swing,” Mackey said, looking at Kell. Kell nodded, and hell, Trav had them working out enough. They linked arms behind Grant and, very carefully, picked him up in the cradle of their clasped hands.
They didn’t talk much, because even wasted away like he was, he was still a grown man and Mackey was still short, but they got him into the barn without too much huffing and puffing, and that was a relief.
They set him on a little throne of hay bales and then sat next to him, one on either side.
He grabbed Mackey’s hand, free and clear, and Mackey let him and stroked the skeletal back of Grant’s hand softly with his thumb. It was something he’d gotten used to with Trav in the past year, just casually touching someone he loved in public. It was something Grant would never have. Kell looped an arm over Grant’s shoulder.
“Lean on me, brother,” he said softly. “I’m not afraid of you.”
Grant tilted his head so it was on his brother’s shoulder, and they sat there for a few moments, the darkness and animal warmth inside the barn sort of a welcome relief from the autumn chill and the hard, bright sun.
“Trav’s inside with my lawyer,” Grant said. “Mackey, I do hope he loves you, because I’m asking something huge from all of you.”
“Like what?” Mackey asked, afraid of the answer.
“I want you to look after Katy—not,” he added quickly, probably responding to the panic and outrage on Mackey’s face, “full-time. Or even most time. But the lawyer is making sure you can take her for up to a month a year. And any time you drop by, my familyhasto let you see her. Officially, you and Kell are her godfathers, but really….” He pulled in a breath and let it out, and the pause was so long Mackey wondered if he was going to finish. “You’re her salvation,” he said after a moment.
“I don’t know anything about kids,” Mackey muttered, meeting Kell’s eyes. Kell looked as panicked as he felt, which was reassuring. “God, Grant, I can barely keep a ficus alive, and that’s because I pay someone to help me!”
“Don’t look at me,” Kell muttered. “Blake kept killing off the damned fish. I was having Astrid buy them on her way into work so we could swap them out before he saw.”
Like a rubber band, Mackey was back into the world he and Kell had left, the normal they had worked hard for—the normal he’d craved as the tour drew to a close.
“Fuckin’ really?” he asked, trying not to cackle. “Man, that’s hilarious. Does Trav know?”
Kell grunted. “It was Trav’s idea. But see!” he said, obviously calling their attention back to Grant. “We’re hardly qualified—”
“She’ll die here,” Grant said soberly, cutting through all their denial bullshit with simple, quiet sincerity. “Like I did. This house will swallow her, and she’ll never get out. Just like me.” His face crumpled again. “God, I wish I could cry. Fucking radiation—can’t even cry anymore, and it would feel so good. But you guys gotta promise me. You’ll come visit. You’ll have her over for summer. You’ll bring toys. You’ll listen to her want to be an astronaut or a cowboy or a poet and you’ll let her. Tell her she can go to college or travel to England or play the xylophone or….”
He broke then. Tears or not, his frail body convulsed with sobs, and Mackey and Kell couldn’t do anything but hold him, unashamed and unafraid, and shed the tears their brother couldn’t.
He couldn’t cry for long—it took strength his body didn’t have. The sobs eased, and Kell rested his face against Grant’s head, rubbing his cheek on the bandana to take some of the wet.
Grant caught his breath and muttered, “Aw, fuck, that hurt.”
“Do you want to straighten up?” Kell asked worriedly.
“No.” Grant shook his head. “I don’t think I can—you may need to prop me up and go get someone who canreallycarry me.”
“Get Trav,” Mackey said, and Kell nodded. Trav was bigger, and his biceps were cannon-size. He could do it. “You got pain meds? Codeine? A joint?”
Grant let out a shallow breath. “The pot’s good, but sometimes it’s hard on the lungs, and I left the damned vaporizer inside. Just let me rest. Go get Trav in a sec, but first, Kell?”
Kell propped him up and took off his own sweatshirt. “Here, Mackey. If we shift him to this side, he can lean against the hay bale and I can prop up his neck.”
They moved him so he was reclined and more comfortable, but Grant wasn’t going to let it go. “Mackey, Kell—please?”
Mackey’s brother’s eyes were brown. His face was made with heavier lines than Mackey’s, the lines of a metalworker or a ditch digger, with thick lips and large ears.
