Page 69 of Beneath the Stain
“I’ve got a phone! Can’t I just call them up and—”
“No.” Just one syllable and a whole lot of attitude for a guy who was so goddamned flamingly nice to every other person in the fucking facility.
“Why in the fuck not?” Mackey snapped. “Are all shrinks men?”
“No—there’s a whole lot of female doctors in this facility. Why do you ask?”
Mackey shrugged. “I don’t know. I was just thinking you looked an awful lot like my mother right then, that’s all.”
“Well, since your mother might be the one person in your life who hasn’t let you down, I’ll take that as a compliment. Now about writing the letters—”
“Yeah. Why can’t I just call people? I mean, you know, technology and everything? Easy.” Mackey pulled his phone out of the pocket of his hoodie and mimed punching in numbers. “Just, you know… beep boop bop….”
Cambridge glared at him through the gap between his finger and thumb. Every so often, he pressed them together like he was popping a zit.
“You’re squishing my head, aren’t you?” Mackey asked, grinning.
“Yup.”
“Well, answer my question if you want me to shut up. Why letters?”
Cambridge sighed and cast Mackey a weary smile. These one-on-one sessions hadn’t been easy for either of them. Cambridge asked questions, Mackey dodged—like a game, except Mackey was using the diversion to not think about all the things he’d like to take to not think aboutanything.
“For one thing, you can’t dodge the subject when you’re writing a letter.”
“And for another?”
“Jesus, kid, would you just let me finish? For another, you can’t piss them off accidentally.” Cambridge’s voice softened. “Look, I know you were just trying to help Kimber the other day, okay? You wanted her to know that it was okay if she wanted her father’s approval, but she had to learn to live without it. I get that. But you’re so used to telling people to go to hell while you’re smiling in their faces, that’s what’s coming across.”
Mackey sighed and let his face sag into the lines of unhappiness that he’d been fighting all day. He picked restlessly at a cuticle for a minute, thinking his guitar calluses were going to go away if he didn’t practice more.
“I didn’t mean to make her cry,” he said at last. They’d talked about this subject the entire morning. All of Mackey’s fucking problems, all of the things he should really be working on, and somehow it all came down to making one stressed-out socialite cry. He hadn’t meant to do it. He’d been trying to be a nice guy and he’d failed. Why should he even try?
“I know you didn’t,” Cambridge said, his voice gentle.
Mackey didn’t want to look up. He didn’t think he could do this if Cambridge was still trying to squish his head.
“What would I say in these letters you want me to write?” Because letters? Wasn’t that archaic? “I pretty much say whatever the hell I’m thinking anyway.”
“Really?”
The skepticism made Mackey look up. Cambridge wasn’t trying to squish his head, but he wasn’t agreeing with Mackey either.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mackey shifted uneasily, wanting his guitar. His stomach hummed softly, somewhere between his spine and his groin, a restless itch he hated noticing because he could never get rid of it without music or drugs.
“Fine, then. Let’s start with a few questions thatIam curious about. If you can answer those without wanting a shot of whiskey—”
“Vodka,” Mackey said seriously. “Or gin. They don’t taste as bad.”
“Okay, if you can answer those without wanting a shot of anything, I shall take it all back.”
“Woot! And that’ll be winning the lottery right there,” Mackey snapped, dripping acid.
“Oh yeah. I’ll throw in a gold watch for free.” Cambridge was a sarcastic shit too—Mackey grinned at him raggedly, approving.
“Then shoot.” Mackey pulled out his best fuck-off-and-love-me grin so the doc knew that nobody was getting under his skin.
“How old were you when you knew for sure you were gay?”
