Page 57 of Beneath the Stain

God, Mackey’s ass hurt like this. His ass hurt and his heart hurt, and he’d been a dick to this guy for a year, and it turned out he just wanted to be friends. Mackey sighed and stood up.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said, not wanting to tell Blake why he’d never be good enough to play second lead guitarist. “You just took over for the wrong guy. Can I go now?”

Doc Cambridge looked at his watch in surprise. “Yes, yes, of course. You all have an hour before dinner!”

Mackey bit his lip and walked away. He walked straight to his room, packed his suitcases, and then walked straight outside, calling for a cab while he went. He remembered to use his own card this time so he didn’t charge the record company for fare. This so obviously wasn’t their fault.

Communication Breakdown

“TRAV?” KELLknocked on the door to his room/office. “There’s somebody here to see you.”

Trav looked up and smiled. In the four days since they’d moved, everyone else in the little band seemed to have settled down and actually appreciated the change. Stevie, Jefferson, and Shelia spent their time decorating and ordering new furniture not just for their room—the room with the really big bed, which confirmed every suspicion Trav ever had. For some reason that calmed him down about the three of them. Justknowingthey were in a threesome (Trav assumed Shelia was the middle of the cookie sandwich, given how Kell felt about “fags” and “weakness” and how much Stevie and Jefferson seemed unaffected by all of that) and were totally low-key about it made it easier to manage. So far the press hadn’t asked, which meant whatever magic Jefferson and Stevie had that made people not notice them, it was powerful hoodoo. Trav was starting to be a believer.

Kell, on the other hand, had been… different.

Without Blake to impress or Mackey to be at odds with, Kell had turned into—well, the perfect son was the only way Trav could describe it.

He asked if people needed help, he did the dishes, he didn’t evenaskabout getting high, and Trav hadn’t seen a girl in his bedroom in a week. If Trav had been in an uncharitable frame of mind, he would have said Kell just didn’t know how to get from downtown to his own house, but he knew that wasn’t true because he’d been out with the others and had come back just fine.

The well-dressed, cleaned-up young man currently playing Trav’s butler was a far cry from the disgruntled stoner Trav had met nearly a month ago.

Trav squinted at him now, wondering at the change. “Did he give a name?” Trav asked, heading for the door. His own bedroom/office had a bed and a computer table. Shelia had picked out the bedding—something in green, which surprised him, but it wasn’t bad. Between that and areallynice area rug in green and brown, Trav sort of liked the place—especially after Shelia had the wall without the window painted green too. In fact, he wanted to see what she did with Mackey’s room. The other boys had been so excited about their own rooms and decorating and painting that he sort of liked the idea of making that kid a home.

“Terry,” Kell said promptly. He bit his lip. “He seems sort of like a… uhm, I mean, gay.”

Trav grimaced. Well, it was an improvement, right? Of course, Trav had heard the row Kell had had with Mackey when they thought Trav was in the shower.Travwouldn’t have wanted to be on the side of Mackey’s vicious tongue, but then, he wouldn’t have wanted to be Mackey when his brother was using “fag” like the new black, either. Either way, between that fight and Mackey being in the hospital—and probably Blake going to rehab—Kell seemed to be trying to clean up his act.

Well, Trav approved.

“He is gay,” Trav said now. “In fact, he’s my ex.”

Kell wrinkled his nose and then the lightbulb went on. “Oh fuck,” he muttered. “Goddammit, Mackey. He coulda fuckin’ told me. Just suddenly he’s the voice of God, and ‘you can’t fucking say this word, Kell,’ but no why I can’t say the word or I might piss off the new manager if I say the word, just you can’t say the fuckin’ word!”

Trav stood up reluctantly. “Maybe he thought that not being an asshole was reason enough,” he said dryly.

Kell shook his head. “I don’t try tobean asshole,” he muttered. “I’m supposed to keep ’em safe, right? You can’t do that if people think you’re weak, right? I mean Anus Cheever wasn’t going to back down if I was weaker’n him, right?”

Trav swallowed. “Who in the fuck is Anus Cheever?” Ithadto be Enos, right?

“Cheever’s dad. For a bit we thought he might stick around, but man, hehatedMackey. Couldn’t let him beat on my little brother, right?”

Math, Trav thought miserably. He needed to do math. “How old was Mackey?”

“Well, ten, eleven—the guy left when Cheever still looked like a boiled potato, so not that old. And tiny. Man, he looked like about six. But that mouth….” Kell shook his head. “Mackey can get under your skin in under a minute, and he didn’t give that guy a rest. But still—you don’t go beating on my brother.”

“Of course not,” Trav said numbly. Little pieces of Mackey were fitting together in his head. He heard a noise from out in the living room/dining area and grimaced.

Well, hell. He might as well deal with Terry now, right?

And then it occurred to him that Kell was still looking at him mutely, begging for some sort of absolution. Trav suddenly needed some Tylenol and a comfort movie.

“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling like an asshole. “When Mackey went missing—I was really hard on you.”

“I let him down,” Kell said back, looking away. “Not just that day. This whole last year.”

Trav sighed. “Well, it’s not like you ever had a childhood anyway,” he muttered. God. Fucking Sanders kids, Stevie included. This fucking band. He looked back at Kell and made sure the young man made eye contact. “Kell, we can talk about this later, but for now? Just… you’re going to have to make peace with yourself. I’m sure Mackey has some regrets too.”

Kell shrugged and looked away, and Trav wasn’t sure which option sounded more uncomfortable: finishing the conversation with Kell or finishing the relationship with Terry.