Page 118 of Beneath the Stain

“Ready, pit crew?”

“Give me five, dickhead!” Briony yelped as she scrambled down from the stage toward the big-eyed group of roadies praying to be promoted.

“Awesome—let’s fucking get this road on the show!”

And with that he turned to his guys and started to fix what was wrong, adrenaline thundering through his veins as he looked at the clock. They had an hour and a half before the next band came in to claim this space. Fucking spiffy.

For the first time since Trav left, Mackey wasn’t thinking about Xanax, coke, or vodka. Good to know there was a cure.

For Your Love

THETEXTShit his pocket the minute the plane landed. One minute he was leaning back in his seat, closing his eyes while they began their descent and imagining what Mackey would look like stretched out in bed, thighs held up and spread wide while Travis swiped long, hard, and deep with his tongue. He was remembering the sounds Mackey made when Travis was inside him and imagining what sounds he’d make when he was pleasured slowly, like a love song, in that easy, dreamy, playful way a good rim job gave you. Mackey had just gotten to that rare moment when he relaxed, sighed, and begged sweetly because he trusted Trav wouldn’t deny him, when the plane touched down.

But work awaited, and Trav hit the On switch on his phone and straightened up in his seat, buttoning his coat. He took one breath, and then two, and then….

His phone exploded into so much chaos, Trav couldn’t believe it had been just sitting there in the airwaves, waiting to attack him.

He texted frenetically while he grabbed his suitcase and his laptop, and barely looked up as he walked down the aisle like the other sheep. Up the ramp, down the ramp, and around the maze of SFO, he navigated the clusterfuck that a simple festival performance had become.

Goddammit, Heath—you told me our tech crew was sound!

He had to. He’d taken Heath at his word and had poured his time into publicity, CD production, setting the schedule—and into getting his band to a place where they could perform. So, yeah, he’d spent his free time sleeping with Mackey Sanders, but he truthfully hadn’t done much of that.

I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Debra’s been reaming my ass all fucking day.

I asked you one goddamned thing. I asked you if we could bring the band to Oakland and do a simple light show. You said yeah, no problem. Crew was in place from last year.

It was.Even in the text, Trav could hear the abject apology.I just didn’t know how bad it had gotten. I’m sorry, Trav. I take the hit for this one. You’ve done wonders, and I dropped the ball.

Trav stopped right there in the middle of the airport and counted to ten. Then he closed his eyes and pictured Mackey, in those rare moments when he let his guard down, playing the guitar softly in the middle of the night, the lamplight passing through his blond eyelashes, illuminating his gray eyes. He counted to ten again and resumed walking.

Do you know how hard he’s worked?he asked, because someone had to.

I know.

Really?How hard THEY ALL worked? They kicked that CD out for you in record time.

They did.

He wrote songs in rehab, dumped half the first album and revamped the whole thing. He did it because he promised us—you, me, the fans. And we drop him in Oakland without a tech crew?

Man, Trav—I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to tell you. I fucking dropped the ball.

Trav was going to do it. He was going to twist the knife in, pull it out, add some salt, and twist it again, but Mackey’s text got in first.

Don’t sweat it, Superman. Deb says you’re having kittens. We don’t need any fucking kittens—I can barely keep the plant alive.

Trav took a breath and then another.Heath’s ready to blow us both in total apology. You sure you don’t want to milk that?

Straight guys give shitty head. Get your ass to the Coliseum—we’re on early.

EARLY?

My idea, hotshot. Now put the phone down and get your ass to the driver. Deb says she sent a guy to get your luggage and cab it back. She also says to stop yelling at her. You asshole. You made the poor woman cry.

Trav grabbed his laptop and carry-on tighter and trotted down the stairs. Sure enough, the driver was waiting by the doorway, and Trav walked straight past baggage claim, hoping the suits in his garment bag would find their way home.

He slid his ass into the town car and nodded urgently to the driver, then went back to his text.Tell her that if you and the guys make it through this, I’ll send her flowers and brush her cat.