Page 144 of Beneath the Stain

Mackey grabbed the waiting guitar from Stevie, who had kept it behind him so it didn’t get in the way. Jefferson threw him a towel, and he wiped down his chest before cradling the smaller Les Paul that he used on stage and rippling the first few distinctive notes to quiet the crowd.

Grant and Trav both grunted in pain, and “River Shadows” echoed through the darkness, taking Trav back to the time when this whole mess had first been spilled.

And Trav got it, there in the darkness. He didn’t want to, but he got it. He saw the two lovers in his mind’s eye, Grant and Mackey, deluded and desperate, hoping they could escape in each other, knowing it was impossible if they couldn’t escape this town.

The song finished off, and Trav opened his eyes to the tacky tables and the splintered walls and the peanut shells on the floor, and saw Mackey in the spotlight where he belonged, the guitar cradled against him, bare body muscled and tight and shaking with emotion.

The last note faded, and he looked up, giving the crowd permission to applaud. They did, and even though Trav was listening, he didn’t hear one murmur of disapproval, one suggestion that Mackey had written that for a boy they all knew.

The music suspended all of that. This was their anthem right here. These people knew that river, had probably made love in the shadows of the trees nearby. Everyone in this bar knew what it was like to love someone they shouldn’t, knew that some things were doomed before they began.

In just that moment, Trav understood why Outbreak Monkey would come home.

And then Mackey started the next song,Trav’ssong, without preamble. The tune was a little rawer, a little less sentimental, but the hook was deeper. Trav had noted before, trying to be objective, that Mackey’s instrumental for this one built, climbed, grew deeper. Unobtrusively Kell twanged some subtle power chords in the background, and Stevie punctuated with some soft brushes of the cymbal. Even Jefferson thrummed quietly into this song.

As those chords built, and the emotion with them, the audience started to mutter. For a moment Trav was hurt, even though it wasn’t personal, really—not even the hatred.

This song was bigger somehow, not just the instrumentation, but thefeeling. And a place this small, where secrets weren’t ever secrets—that much real was uncomfortable in this bar.

Trav never in a million years would have predicted that a simple love song, gender neutral, could actually start a riot.

It was Delmont who voiced it, of course. He was standing right next to Trav—had, in fact, been leaning back against the bar between orders, listening the same as anyone else.

“Oh myGod,” he said loudly, “is this some fuckingfaggotsong?”

Mackey let the song ride to its conclusion, and in the ensuing uncomfortable silence, he put the guitar down. “That there was a love song,” he said unflappably. “If you people want to make a love song ugly, that there ain’t nothing I can fix.”

“Ain’t no such thing as a love song between faggots,” someone called out.

Mackey shook his head. “You know what? I think our walk down memory lane is over. You guys just got a fifty-dollar concert for a five-dollar cover. You piss on it if you want, but you can’t say we didn’t put out.”

“Someone get the fucking lights!” Kell snarled. “I’m about done with you people anyway.”

Trav stood up, suddenly aware of how vulnerable they were, no security, no ropes. It wasn’t a big crowd by stadium standards, but it filled the room, and people were muttering ugly among themselves. Trav met Mackey’s eyes and grimaced.

Mackey shrugged, not apologizing, because Mackey wouldn’t.It’s our fucking song, Trav. If they want us to play, they’re getting all of us.

Trav didn’t even hear the words. He could see them in Mackey’s grimly pursed mouth and the way his gray eyes burned.

“You guys ready to pack up?” he asked, pitching his voice so people could hear him and associate him with the band. Of course he was the only one there in a collared shirt and slacks—odds were good they’d made him as soon as he’d walked in—but he wanted people to know his muscle was on their side.

“Oh my God—you’re his fuckingboyfriend!” someone called out, and Trav….

Well, Trav lost his mind.

“Oh myGod,” he exaggerated, “someone in this dump can fuckingreadthe papers!”

“You calling us ignorant, faggot?” Delmont growled, trying to impose his weight in Trav’s space.

“I’m saying I’m brave enough to not keep shit a secret,” he snapped, and behind him Mackey said, “Aw, fuck,Trav!” while Delmont grabbed Trav by the collar and started shaking him.

“You implying something aboutme?” Delmont shouted.

Trav jerked back, because his breath was foul and his dental work was even worse close up. “No, asshole! I’m saying—”

“He’s saying that other song was about Mackey and me, and you all seemed to like it just fine!”

Grant had stood up, and he shook there, his face pale, his hands swollen as he gripped the back of his chair. Trav hated to look at him, naked and dying in the harsh house lights from the bar. The guys had asked him—they’daskedhim if he wanted to duet with Mackey for “River Shadows,” but he couldn’t. His fingers were too stiff and unwieldy, and he wasn’t sure he could hold the guitar for that long.