Page 81 of Beneath the Stain
“In a car?” To his credit, Terry sounded worried for him, but Trav was too embarrassed to summon much sympathy.
“No, not in a car. With my fist. It was stupid, and childish, and I regretted it before I did it.”
Terry’s laugh was mostly disbelief. “Jesus, Trav—next time just hit the person!”
“I did,” Trav snapped. “And that didn’t make me feel any better.”
Terry’s low whistle seemed to stop time. “Youhitsomeone?”
“I pulled the punch,” Trav argued weakly. “I mean, he said I pulled the punch.”
“You walk in with me with another man in the shower and I don’t even get a raised voice!” The hurt was unmistakable. “What did this guy do to make you hit him?”
“Took Kurt Cobain’s name in vain?” Trav hedged, and in the puzzlement that followed, he heard the boys, excited, downstairs.
“Hey, Trav—Mackey sent us letters! Did you know about this?” That was Stevie, calling up the stairs, and just the fact that he was calling for Trav’s opinion on something was reason for Trav to go down.
“I’ve got to go,” he said apologetically. “I’m sorry to worry you. B—”
“Trav?”
“Yeah?”
“I hope it works out.”
The guys were gettingreallyexcited, and Trav didn’t have time for this. “What works out?”
“This guy you love enough to get pissed over.”
Oh hell. “I gotta gonow,” he snapped, and hung up the phone. In record time he’d barreled down the stairs in slacks and a polo shirt and loafers—no socks—half-afraid of what he’d find when he got there.
Kell sat on the cold tile floor of the kitchen with his arms around his knees, a lot like Mackey had sat next to Trav on the hospital bed, except Kell had a crumpled piece of paper in his hand.
Jefferson and Stevie were right next to each other, Stevie resting his chin on Jefferson’s shoulder as he read their letter, both of them smiling a little while Shelia rested her chin on Jefferson’s knee.
And Trav’s letter was sitting clear as day on the counter that separated the kitchen from the entryway.
“The letters came,” Trav said, wondering when they were going to get a call from Mrs. Sanders. “Good. It’s about time.”
Kell looked up through red-rimmed eyes. “You knew? You knew what this said?”
Trav sighed and hauled his creaky old man’s body to the kitchen, where he sagged against the island and slid down to join Kell on the floor. “Yeah,” he said, when they were eye level. “I proofread them—he didn’t want to piss anybody off.”
Kell swallowed and leaned his cheek against his knees. “I was supposed to keep him safe,” he said, looking lost. “I was supposed to—that was my job. Enos Cheever about ended him—he was just a little kid and his face was all bloody, and I hammered that fucker. Made him back off. And I thought, ‘This is what I am. I’m supposed to keep ’em safe.’ Kept Jefferson and Stevie out of Stevie’s house, ’cause—” He looked up to where the twins sat on the couch, and Stevie shrugged, like whatever Kell was saying, it wasn’t going to bother him. “Because,” he finished with dignity. “But… but that whole time I was killing him inside, and now I’ve got… I’ve got nothing. Who am I supposed to be for him?”
Trav sighed. For the umpteenth time since he’d walked into that crappy hotel room in Burbank, he wished he was a hugger.My mother should have gotten this job.Wasn’t the first time he’d had that thought either. “I don’t know, Kell. Who are you supposed to be foryou?”
Kell looked at him like he’d started barking and scratching behind his ear with his back foot. “I’m me,” he muttered. “What am I supposed to be? We all know without Mackey I’d still be in Tyson, married to the first girl I knocked up and running cars for Grant’s old man.” He gave an irritated shrug. “Fact is, Mackey could have ditched us at any time. We’re just lucky we ride his fucking coattails.”
Man. He’d wanted so badly to hate Kell, but that just wasn’t going to stand up, was it? “So you kept your brother alive and he gave you an opportunity. What are you going to do with it?”
Kell glared at him. “I just told you—I’m not the kind of guy who gets opportunities. I got no fucking idea.”
Trav glared back. “Kell, this floor is making my ass hurt and you’re pissing me off. I get it. You’re more a doer than a thinker. There’s all sorts of shit you candowhen you’re not playing for Mackey. You work out three hours a day. Great. Do you want to take some personal training courses, some nutrition classes, make that happen? You like cars—fucking awesome. Buy a car and restore it. It’s called a hobby, dumbshit. Fucking get one. Your brother still looks up to you. Did you not notice that he was afraid of losing you? Well, be a better person and you won’t feel like such an asshole!”
Kell curled his upper lip and sucked air through his teeth. “You know, you sound a lot like Mackey when you’re riled. You’re gay. Maybe you two should hook up.”
Trav pretended not to hear the riot that exploded from Stevie and Jefferson’s corner of the living room. He pushed himself up off the ground and extended his good hand to Kell. “Glad to have your blessing,” he muttered, but when Kell turned his attention to Jefferson and Stevie, he was relieved.
