Page 45 of Beneath the Stain

“Who?” Trav asked. He wanted nothing more than to hold Mackey close until the roofies wore off and Mackey could fight him, argue about being held, tell Trav he could do it himself.

“Our first second lead,” Jefferson muttered. “Kell’s best friend. We grew up with him, but he knocked up his girlfriend right when we were signing on with Tailpipe.”

“Oh,” Trav said. The name meant nothing to him. Nothing. There would be a day when Trav wouldyearnfor Grant Adams not to mean a goddamned thing.

TRAVHADto relinquish Mackey into Kell’s arms for a moment as they were getting out of the limo, and he resented the hell out of it. Kell held his brother easily, like maybe he’d been used to holding children once, and he didn’t get grossed out at the smell, but Trav couldn’t help it. Kell wasn’t good enough to hold Mackey, and he couldn’t change that.

He snatched that limp, unprotesting body back as soon as he could stand, and shouldered his way through the front doors of the ER. The nurse at the registration desk met him. Apparently Jefferson had done a good job at giving Mackey’s info, including his insurance number and his birthday, but as the nurse nodded Trav to a waiting gurney, Trav caught her eye.

“I need to talk to the doctor,” he said grimly. “Alone.”

He didn’t stay to hear the reaction from the rest of Mackey’s people. He stretched Mackey out on the gurney and charged through the double doors with the doctor and nurses waiting for him. They got to a prepping area and Trav pulled the doctor aside, sacced up, and said what he needed to.

“He’s been raped.”

The doc jerked back and frowned. “How do you—”

“I found him. He’s been drugged and raped—you’ll see when you do the rape kit. This kid is in the limelight—we’ll talk to the police, report to whomever you need to, but donotmake a lot of noise, you hear me? When he wakes up, let me talk to him first—”

“And you are?”

Trav swallowed. “I’m the one person who knows his last HIV test was negative,” he said, thinking about getting that little nugget when Mackey was in detox.

The doctor narrowed his eyes. “Aren’t you a little old for this kid?”

“He’s twenty,” Trav said and tried not to be defensive. “And we’re not lovers. I’m just saying that I know things his brothers don’t—including that you need to do a rape kit. We can’t change that I know that, but I can keep it from getting out to the rest of the world.”

The doctor wasn’t giving an inch. “A title, Mr….?”

“Ford. I’m his manager. And”—God, this was such a fucking misnomer—“and his friend.”

The doctor nodded and turned around, dismissing Trav, and started giving orders. Trav thought he’d go back into the waiting room then, go back to the brothers, reassure them, tell them not to talk to anyone, but he paused.

Mackey was flat on his back as they cut off his clothes, and his full lips were blue in his pointed, white face.

Trav pulled out his phone and texted Jefferson instead.

Stay put. He’s going to be fine. Don’t talk to anyone not in the band. This includes Blake. I’m getting backup to take you home and help you handle the press if it comes to that.

They’re already here. Security kicked them out of the waiting room.

Fuck.

Trav backed out of the curtained enclosure and speed-dialed Heath.

“Trav? What the hell is going on? Allison from PR says the whole band just disappeared—you were supposed to give a thank-you speech or—”

“Heath, just shut up and listen. We need a handler for the band at the hospital here, and we need everybody involved to sign nondisclosure agreements. We need a liaison with the police department, and we’re going to need to give a press release. Are you ready?”

A stunned silence buzzed on the other end of the line. “Yeah, sure. Give it to me straight.”

HEATHPERSONALLYdid the announcing—after ten minutes on the phone with Trav, he said, “Look. I’ll handle the press. You get a hold of yourself—Jesus, Trav, I actually saw you take a bullet with less freaking out!”

“Hetrustedme!” Trav snapped, wishing he had a wall to pound. “Hetrustedme, and I fucked him over.”

Heath’s voice was almost gentle. “No, Travis. He trusted you and you kept it from being worse. You found him before he could be flashed all over the press, passed out in an alleyway.”

Trav let out a horrible sound, a sound he didn’t even want to own as his. “Heath… man, we’ve got to go to the cops ourselves. I can’t have his… this violation smeared all over the fucking press. Whatever you’ve got to do to keep this shit Mackey’s and my secret—”