Page 137 of Beneath the Stain

Mackey glared at him and then laughed sourly. “Yeah, well, we had years to work at it.” Walter pulled to a stop in front of the house, and Mackey turned to a pale, dozing Briony. “Sweetheart?” he murmured, touching her face. God, she’d been such a trouper, downing cold medicine and drinking orange juice pretty much from their two-hour walk in the rain on. She hadn’t said anything, just walked, shivering, like him in a T-shirt, because apparently they really were two peas in a pod. “Sweetheart, we’re here.”

She squinted at him. “Are you calling me pet names? I may throw up.”

If anything, Mackey shivered harder. She’d done that too, when they’d gotten off the plane. “God save us. No, I just want you to know we’re here, and if you can walk—”

“I’ll carry her,” Trav said, hip-checking Mackey to the side. “You’ve got things to do. Walter, could you get the door?”

“Trav…,” Mackey said, feeling pathetic. But seriously—weak, suffering girl or whole and healthy (for once!) Mackey Sanders, who had never needed anyone to take care of him ever? Who was going to get taken into the house and coddled?

“I’ll be out as soon as she’s settled,” Trav said softly, and Mackey looked up to where the gaunt, chalk-white old man in the bandana tilted his head back against the seat, exhaling what looked to be a cloud of marijuana smoke into the September morning air.

“Take your time,” he said, meaning it. However this came out, Grant wasn’t ready for a fight, that was for damned sure.

Mackey waited for a moment as Trav, Briony, and Walter made the procession into the house. The gaunt, hairless man in Grant’s car sat up and watched them, then looked around the yard.

Mackey met his eyes, and the breath froze in his chest. He’d never smoked crack, because he’d never been offered it, but for a minute he wondered if that was what it felt like. If that was true, it sucked, because it was an excruciating, acidic rush that burned every nerve ending around his heart with pain. He couldn’t believe crack was addictive if it felt like this, and he couldn’t believe people ever made up after a divorce.

He’d never inhale again.

The only thing that kept him walking was that Grant’s eyes were the same color. The flesh around them was almost translucent, blue with fatigue, but that beautiful, leonine golden hazel color—that was all Grant.

His thin lips twisted, and he looked away. “You’re not even going to tell me I look like shit, McKay?”

Mackey kept walking up to the window, fighting the urge to sob and run his hand over the bald scalp he knew lay under the blue bandana as he drew near. “You shoulda seen me the first time I went into rehab,” Mackey said, trying hard for fuck-off-and-love-me. “You look like a rock star compared to that.”

Grant smiled shakily. “You always look like a rock star,” he said, his eyes so full of adoration that Mackey couldn’t hardly keep his mad in his chest.

“Well, I have to,” Mackey said with a wink. “Haven’t you heard? I am!”

Grant laughed dryly and leaned his head back and took another hit, staring out his front window at Mackey’s mother’s house, which Mackey hadn’t even seen the inside of.

“Do you know what your mother did?” Grant asked, completely bemused. “Your mother, who didn’t even talk to my parents when we all practically lived in that tiny apartment together—do you know what she did?”

Mackey blinked and leaned up against the door. “I got no idea,” he said truthfully. “She’s surprised the hell out of me this year. I’d say it’s potluck there.”

Grant turned a sweet smile to him and put the roach in the ashtray. “She drove to my parents’ house, knocked on the door, and asked to talk to me.”

“You’re not at your own home?” Mackey asked, confused.

Grant closed his eyes and shook his head. “I got sick, I couldn’t work, couldn’t help much with the baby—it was easier. Your mom must have heard that round town. So my mom tries to get all ‘I got money’ on your mom, right? You never met my mother—there’s a reason for that. But my mom’s on her high horse and riding higher, and my wife comes in and she’s going on about how I don’t hang out with the Sanders boys no more, and your mom looks me dead in the eyes and says, ‘Grant, my boys are coming home to see you. They’ll be here in two weeks. You are welcome in my home any time, and yes, Mackey told me everything.’ And then she ignored my mom and Sam and turned around and walked away.”

Mackey closed his eyes and chuckled. “My mom—God. She will surprise you.”

Grant made a grunt of affirmation and Mackey felt the weight of his stare until he opened his own eyes. “You told her everything?” he asked, a simple longing in his voice.

Mackey swallowed. “Yeah. Everybody in that house knows everything, Grant. Jefferson, Stevie, Blake, Shelia, Briony—”

“Kell?” Grant’s voice throbbed, and Mackey thought about how scared he’d been these last two days for Briony. Best friends would do that to you.

“Yeah,” Mackey said, nodding. “Kell. He mightnothave known, but Trav and I had a big screaming match about coming here, and he heard it all.”

“Trav didn’t want you here?” Grant asked, like he would have understood.

“I was afraid to come,” Mackey said. His eyes burned and his throat was swollen, and damn, damn, damn, there were no drugs,no drugs, that would help make this better.

“Of me?” Grant smirked, and even though his face was a gaunt blob of dough on a stick, his dimples still popped.

“You left me once and it almost killed me,” Mackey admitted, his chest feeling like raw meat. “I mean… if rehab hadn’t took, I wouldn’t be standing here right now, and that’s the truth. And now you’re leaving me again, and if Trav can’t stay with me through this, I’m not gonna make it.” His voice cracked, but he pulled it back in. He was stronger than this, dammit.