Page 41 of Beneath the Stain

“Kay, I want that whole thirty-second/sixteenth syncopation thing going. That bump-buuump, bump-buuump, like a heartbeat gone wrong. It’s gonna be hard—you and Stevie’ll have to read each other’s minds or you’ll speed us up off a motherfucking cliff, right? Stevie, heavy on the bass, heavy on the high snare—leave all that other shit out. You gotta be the cleanest one of us or the song’ll get fucking cluttered.”

Stevie nodded, and started, and the song was on.

Mackey picked up his own guitar and picked out the riff, then put it down and started them all over again while he conducted from the center. After those first fifteen bars, he began to sing.

Needles rip my skin but I ain’t bleeding I just sinned

Now I’m paying for my roller coaster screaming can you hear?

My heart is playing pain as it thunders through my veins

Like a tattoo of my bane can you all hear me screaming

COCAINE!

Mackey gave the signal at that last word, and the band broke up into complete chaos—or that was what Trav thought at first. Then he realized each player was just going off of the riff Mackey had given them as he played and making up the bridge from the riff as they went along.

The players quit, and Mackey turned to each one and told them what to do and whose lead to follow and generally aligned them with military precision into which instrument should play what where. He was matter-of-fact with Kell, sweet to Jefferson and Stevie, and a fucking dick to Blake.

When he was done, he started them off from the beginning.

Trav turned to Grayson when they’d gotten to the end of the song, and shook his head. Gray echoed the gesture.

“I was here for the last album,” Gray said, scratching at the brown-and-gray stubble he let grow when he didn’t need to be seen. “Man, watching that kid turn those bozos into a band is one of the joys of my fucking existence.”

They weren’t really bozos, Trav thought, watching them. When they were all in the room, playing the song, they were a unit—every guy in that circle was as driven as Mackey, and they all had talent, either God-given or earned by sweat.

But Mackey was their key, their epicenter, their heartbeat. God, Trav thought, remembering that quiet nighttime conversation from three days earlier. When he was in the center of his band brothers, he was stronger than strong enough. Nowonderhe needed help when he was dealing with the everyday. Trav would find day-to-day a letdown too, if he had this much magic in his veins.

But Mackey wasn’t a saint—not even close. Trav watched them interact for a few more minutes.

“Is he always such an asshole to Blake?”

Gray hmmed and adjusted his keyboard. “They started out not bad. But Mackey kept expecting Blake to read his mind, and Blake? If the boys hadn’t taken a shine to him, studio musician was as high as he was going to get. I mean, the boys”—Gray gestured to take in the Sanders brothers, and Trav was starting to understand that Stevie counted as one of them—“they’ve been playing music since, hell. Mackey probably played it in his mom’s stomach. But Blake? He just wants to be a rock star. That’s all he’s got. Mackey isn’t patient with him.”

Trav watched Mackey rip Blake up again, and was a little saddened by the repressed hurt on Blake’s face. And the disappointment on Mackey’s. “Why do they keep him? I mean, you’d think Mackey would ask for another guitarist—”

“Kell likes him,” Gray said, like that was all there was to it.

“But Mackey—”

“Man, haven’t you been living with them? That’s not what families are like!”

Trav shook his head. Hereallyneeded to visit his parents for the holidays, because apparently he had missed something big. He wouldn’t have put up with Blake in the band or Mackey as a boss for all the love in the world.

By the time they were done rehearsing that day, they had the song in rough but usable shape. By the time they were ready to move into the house, they had almost the whole album outlined and were ready to cut the first track.

Of course, by then, Dr. Cambridge’s two-week prediction had just about run its course. It was a shame Trav forgot that, because he’d never forgive himself for what happened next.

Rape Me

OHGOD,Mackey was so not ready for fan interaction.

He glared at Trav accusingly from across the crowded studio canteen, and Trav grimaced. Well, Trav hadn’t been ready for it either, apparently. It certainly hadn’t been planned. One minute they were breaking up from a really good rehearsal and talking excitedly about moving into the house in North Hollywood. None of them had seen the house, but Trav assured them it would be better than a hotel room, so, well, excitement, right?

And apparently that was when Trav got the text.

Trav came into the studio hesitantly, wearing one of those frowns that said his plan—whatever it had been—was not going to be followed.