Page 169 of Beneath the Stain

“No,” Trav said implacably. “No, Samantha, you’re not.”

“You gonna stop me, big man?” she sneered, and he nodded.

“I am. I am, and you’re going to let me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll make Grant do the math, and then he’ll take Katy away from you for good.” He doubted Grant could actually do that, but it was a stall, and he figured that was all Grant and Mackey needed anyway. Besides, somebody needed to say it. Somebody needed to make her see that she’d done wrong.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered. Her eyes cut to the left when she said it, and she took a step back. She was possibly the worst liar he’d ever seen.

“Yeah, you do. You said they were carrying on in school. There was only a little time when Mackey and Grant were in school together—I didthatmath myself. You knew. From the very beginning, you knew about the two of them. And Grant started to get excited, the band was coming along, they had a rep from a record company, and you decided to pull the trump card.”

“I really thought—”

“Bullshit!” He was angry—so angry. And she was just a kid. But he had to take it out on someone.She’s just a kid. Just like the boys. God, it’s not like they all didn’t fuck up.But that didn’t stop him from carrying this through. “You knew. And the one thing—theone thing—Grant taught Mackey about the big, bad world was to always wear a condom if it wasn’t him and Grant. He always wore a rubber, didn’t he, Sam? Always. Until….”

She was openly crying now, and he thought his mother would be ashamed of him. He couldn’t fix this in himself. He couldn’t. Hewasthis man, this angry, bitter man, who saw the waste of Grant Adams and wanted someone to pay.

“Until he thought I was already pregnant,” she finished, almost like she was afraid of stopping too. “He wasn’t going to marry me,” she said apologetically. “He would have gone off with them, would have gone and… donewhateverwith Mackey Sanders, and I’d be stuck here in my house without anything to look forward to but watching my dad get drunk and fuck his secretary. He was supposed to bemine!”

“How’s that feel, Sam?” Trav asked nastily. “How’s that feel, now that he’s yours? He’s in there with the only person he’s ever loved, and it’s not you. You’re going to walk away from this a very rich woman, and you’re going to marry again and probably have more children. And Grant is going to die, and he never got to do a damned thing he wanted. And you did that. I’m sure you’re very proud.”

“I loved him,” she whimpered. “I loved him so much.”

And finally,finally, Trav could feel some softness in him. “Then don’t stand in the way of his last wish,” he said, his voice gentling. “God—you took away all his hopes in life. Give him something in death.”

She was sobbing too hard to say anything. She just wiped her eyes with her palms again and again, and finally turned away and walked back to the house. Her shoulders were hunched, and she seemed curled in on herself, a smaller, different person in one revelation. She’d just gotten to the porch when Trav heard Mackey’s voice.

“Trav? You out there? He’s in a lot of pain, man. It’s time we get him back into bed.”

Neither of them looked undressed when he got there. Mackey turned up an anxious face, looking a little stoned but innocent. He wasn’t afraid of Trav leaving him, wasn’t afraid what he’d done was wrong.

That right there was enough for Trav to start to let it go.

“Here,” he said, finding some of the gentleness he wished he could have found with Samantha. “I’m going to lift you up, okay? Lean your head on my shoulder—that’s my boy. I’ve got you.”

Grant’s eyes were closed, his face screwed up like everything inside hurt, but once Trav hefted him into his arms, some of that pain eased up. Grant opened his eyes and looked tiredly up at Trav.

“Hope you don’t mind if Mackey did a little weed with me, Mr. Ford,” he said, sounding truly apologetic. “It was hard on my lungs, and he was sort of paying me back a favor.”

“A favor?” Trav asked, that shaft of agony receding, a remembered wound, aching in the rain. “Yeah?”

“From when we were kids,” Grant said softly. “It was sort of our first kiss.”

“I get it,” Trav said, actually getting it.

“You do?” Mackey said hopefully, sounding lost. Well, he hadn’t been high in a long time. The comedown was probably a bitch.

“Yeah,” Trav said, meeting Mackey’s eyes over Grant. “I really do.” Big and luminous, and a little bloodshot, Mackey’s eyes searched Trav’s face hungrily. Mackey loved him. Whatever it had been, it hadn’t been betrayal.

“Good,” Grant murmured, cuddling almost like a kitten into Trav’s chest. “You feel really good, Mr. Ford. Mackey’s lucky. I bet you hold him every day.”

“As tight as I can,” Trav said, resting his chin on top of Grant’s head for a moment. God. Twenty-five. This kid had once had so much more living in him. Babies. All of them, babies. “Tight enough to keep him out of trouble.”

“Mackey needs that,” Grant said, and it sounded like he was falling asleep. His weight in Trav’s arms felt heavier, not like he had that much weight to begin with.

“He really does,” Trav said. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to tuck Grant Adams in and hold Mackey tight, so tight, like a tourniquet, so none of this could hurt him, none of this couldtouchhim, because if he hurt anywhere near as bad as Trav, it was too damned much.