Page 85 of Beneath the Stain
“Oh.” Blake sobered and sucked air through his teeth. “He… he kept saying ‘Only bi when high,’ you know? It was… I mean, it sounded funny, and we figured it was….” Blake sort of sought Mackey’s gaze, like he’d done something wrong and couldn’t apologize for it.
Mackey took pity on him. “Yeah, well, if I’m only bi when I’m high, I’m never getting laid after rehab, so I think I maybe want to cut that bullshit out.”
Blake looked away. “Well, it’s not like I never glazed a donut when I was trying to make rent. Not that I wantthatspread around—it’s not usually my thing unless, you know, food and shelter’s on the line. You told your brother?”
Mackey nodded, feeling a pang of sympathy. Well hello and hallelujah—let the bonding shit happen. “Yeah, I told my brother—and no, I won’t spread that around. That’s between you and me. But I sent Kell a letter. Made the words small. But I think he got it. And I’m tellingyouso you can talk to him about it like it’s a thing and not a joke, but there’s something else I’m telling you that’s not a joke, so you need to listen.”
Oh God. Was he really going to say this? He closed his eyes and thought about all the times he’d ripped Blake a new one because he just wasn’t fucking enough.
Wasn’t fucking Grant.
Mackey looked down at his fingers as they played with the guitar strings, and he kept his vision there, mesmerized by his own fingers, which knew what he was playing when he had no idea. The notes from an old Gordon Lightfoot tune materialized, light and melancholy and tragic.
“See, the thing is, before we came down to LA, I’d had one guy. One boyfriend. My whole life. And he was the guy who had your job.”
Blake made that teeth-sucking sound again, and Mackey couldn’t make himself look up. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Kell didn’t know—still doesn’t, if you want to keep that to yourself. And I still think you fuckin’ slack when you shouldn’t. But you gotta know… some of that shit wasn’t you. Some of that was that you weren’t who I needed, and that’s not your fault.”
Mackey swallowed into the silence. He had to look up. He owed Blake that much.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and then grimaced and swore to himself. Blake’s weasel-thin face had crumpled and blotched. His eyes were bright, shiny red. “And I’m really fucking sorry that I made you cry.”
Blake had put his guitar down and pulled his knees up to his chin, sobbing into them. Mackey grabbed the box of Kleenex behind him and shoved it into his hand.
“Fuck. God. I’m so fucking sorry. Man, I never should have told you. You didn’t have to know. I’m sorry I treated you like shit—you seemed to be doing okay with Kell, and I didn’t think it even fucking bothered you, which just made me more pissed, and—”
Blake nodded and took the Kleenex. Mackey just gaped at him, feeling stupid, until he remembered himself, fetal on the damned floor of the shrink’s office, and the one thing he seemed to need more than anything.
“Aw fuck,” he muttered. “Blake, would you like a fucking hug?”
“God yes,” Blake mumbled through the snot and the sobs, and Mackey found himself perched on the edge of the bed, guitars forgotten, as he comforted a guy he’d thought he couldn’t stand.
Breaking the Habit
TRAV’STEXTwas appropriately sympathetic.Forty-five minutes?
Did I just say?
Well that’s special. That’s what you get for treating the guy like shit for over a year.
You’re a peach, you know that?
Hey, it’s not my fault you BROKE your lead guitarist.
He stared at the text for a minute, and stared and stared, thinking about it, the words resonating around in his head like a song.
He started texting like mad, hitting the End key at the end of every line, texting a lyric for the first time in his life.
If I break you can I fix you
Using bandages and tape
Kleenex and soft words
Is that all that it will take?
If I fix you is it worth it to
Touch the ragged ends
