Page 50 of Beneath the Stain
“Middle-class—not enough money to pay for college, but lots of expectations that we’d make it through.”
Mackey laughed a little. “Yeah. I hear you. Took me a while, you know?” It sounded like he was growing tired.
“To what?”
“To realize that rich wasn’t just the way you spent money, it was the way you think.”
That had never occurred to Trav before he started doing the books for and management of Mackey’s band. “Yes—well, I’m starting to think you’re right.” He sighed and made himself more comfortable, wiggling back into the chair. He couldn’t stroke Mackey’s hair from this angle, but he kept his hand there, fingertips touching his head. He felt weary deep in his bones, and he figured he was going to fall asleep in this uncomfortable hospital chair. Well, Mackey was okay, so he didn’t mind.
“So that was it? You saw a guy you couldn’t have—”
“I saw a guy I might have loved.” Might haves. Painful might haves—Terry was becoming one of those. Trav hadn’t seen Mackey for five minutes, and he’d panicked. But he and Terry had been split up for almost a month, and it hadn’t occurred to him that Terry wouldn’t be where Trav had left him. Yeah—Trav hadn’t learned much from that encounter in Paris, had he? “Anyway, I realized I wanted that for myself. I wanted to love. I mean”— Trav’s laugh rasped in his throat, bit into his tissues, poisoned his bones—“I’m not verygoodat it. I’ve had some really false starts, but I want the job and lover and the home. It’s what people get when they live well, you know?”
Mackey didn’t say anything, and Trav wondered if he’d fallen asleep. Then Mackey pulled both of his hands under his chin, being careful of the IV needle. “What’s that have to do with rehab?” he asked when he was comfortable.
Trav sighed. “I had to be honest with myself about what I wanted before I could get it. You want drugs, Mackey, and you can’t let yourself have them. You need to be honest with yourself about why you want them, and that second part might be easier.”
Mackey made a sour sort of gurgle. “I’ll think of a good argument for this tomorrow,” he said. That sounded pretty wise. “Heath said they had the guy in custody—can they get him for drugging me without the whole….” Mackey’s voice skewed and clattered. He didn’t want to say it. Trav didn’t blame him.
“I’ll talk to the police tomorrow,” he said gently. “I don’t know why he targeted you—”
“’Cause I’m easy ass. Everyone knows that.” God—no apology, just frank admission. Trav’s heart hurt even more.
“Well, you don’t have to be,” Trav muttered. “But that’s another discussion. We don’t have to mention the rape, to the press or anyone else. But you should know….” Oh hell. Trav had seen court cases destroy as many victims as perpetrators. As an MP, he’d always thought the cost was worth it, but here, in this hospital room with a kid whose whole life had been a case of coming up from behind, he wasn’t sure. But Mackey wasn’t a child—hadn’t Trav maintained that from the beginning? He was old enough to make his own decisions.
“He’ll get less time,” Mackey grunted. “Yeah, well, more power to him. Can we get a restraining order? If he comes anywhere near us, you can kill him?”
Trav’s shoulders shook. “I may do that without court approval,” he said, not entirely sure he was kidding. “You’re rambling, Mackey. Now go to sleep and think about what I said, okay?”
“’Bout what? You talked a lot.”
Well, he had. “About rehab. I want you to take care of yourself.”
Mackey closed those big gray eyes and yawned into his hands. “Thank you for the story. The one about the boy, in Paris. It was pretty. Like a song.”
A few moments later, his breathing changed, and Trav was left in the hospital room feeling wrung out.So much to talk about, Mackey. So much you got wrong.But who was Trav to talk? Trav had let him down too. Trav was about to room with his band because he was so fucking lost. Who did that? Sure as shit,Debrawasn’t going to sleep in the hotel room or the new house when that came around. Debra probably had her own home and her own spouse and a bunch of boys who played on the football team or something, but Trav?
Trav was staying right here, next to Mackey, next to his brothers and his band.
Because apparently that was where Trav belonged.
TRAVFELLasleep just after Mackey, leaning his head on the mattress.
He awakened just a few inches from Mackey, close enough to smell his sweat and the faint patchouli of his body wash and the antiseptics from the cleaning the hospital had given him. Mackey still slept, and Trav had spent moments just looking at his small, peaked face, the pointed cheekbones, the slight overbite, the slightly darker freckle that rode the crooked bridge of his nose.
Trav couldn’t explain the surge of protectiveness, of reluctant admiration, that knotted his stomach when he watched Mackey sleep. He was defenseless like this, every bit of sarcasm, sass, and fire shuttered behind closed eyes. Travhadto protect him when he slept—who else would? So far the world had done astunninglypoor job of taking care of Mackey Sanders. Kell had Blake. Stevie and Jefferson had apparently always had each other. But Mackey?
Mackey couldn’t even protect himself from himself, although God knew he tried.
For that vulnerable moment between sleeping and waking, Trav hadn’t been able to protect himself from Mackey either.
Attraction, unwanted and uncomfortable, wormed its way into Trav’s consciousness and settled in his gut. It left a host of uncomfortable realizations behind it.
Thatwas when Trav sat up, used the bathroom, splashed water on his face, and tried to scare up some breakfast in the cafeteria.
He couldn’t. Not the breakfast—he had a piece of fruit and some milk. No, it was the attraction he couldn’t do. He wouldnotacknowledge it. Impossible. This kid depended on him. Trav couldn’t let him down.
He came back into the room and Mackey was sitting up eating eggs, the blanket loosely draped over his bare legs. Trav could make out one of those big donut pillows under his hips, and he sighed.
