Page 80 of Beneath the Stain

“What’re we doin’ next?” Kell asked, like he always did.

Trav grimaced. He couldn’t imagine Gerry had given this group that much guidance—he was pretty sure that had been Mackey. It was one of the reasons he’d started their running regimen. In a way he’d made the house into a rehab facility—they were all rehabilitating from being on the road and having nothing to do but hang out in hotel rooms and get high.

“How about you guys pick out some bunk beds and bedding for Mackey? We never did get to that, and we need to order it before next week if it’s going to get here on time.”

“Can we order some for Blake too?”

Trav sighed. Hell—that was hisownprejudice against Blake, who’d been Mackey’s self-professed dealer. “Yes, of course. If you guys text, you can ask him what he wants.”

Kell smiled, and Trav thought that he really wasn’t a bad young man once you got past the redneck. And the urge to protect Mackey, which had gone so horribly awry.

And like he was justifying Trav’s faith, he suddenly asked a really perceptive question. “Blake said they’re getting along okay now—do you think that will last outside of rehab?”

Trav picked absently at his cast. The guys had all signed it—which was actually sort of cool—but mostly it felt like a fiberglass brick on his arm. It would be off a little after Mackey got back—he could only be grateful. “I think it will have to,” he said carefully. “I think your brother didn’t take losing your old guitarist well at all. Learning how to deal with change is something he’s got to do if he doesn’t want to start using again.”

Kell hmmed. “It’s just….” He sighed. “You gotta see. There wasn’t any grown-ups. Mom was working and it was just… us. All of us. Wasn’t much, but it was comfort. Grant left and….”

“No comfort,” Trav said bleakly. “Yeah, I figured that out, you know?”

Kell reached forward and smacked him on the thigh. “Well, good thing we’ve got you—you’re like the dad he never had.”

He was, by chance, sitting between Stevie and Jefferson in the back of the limo. He actuallysawthem exchange glances before they fell apart, laughing silently, one on each shoulder.

“I can’tbelievethis,” he muttered while Kell said, “What? What? Guys, what’d I say that was so goddamned funny?”

As one, the twins recovered themselves, but it was Shelia who spoke.

“You’re not very bright,” she said, wrinkling her little freckled nose. “I mean, you’ve always been real nice to me, and it’s great you haven’t given me shit for being with the guys, but seriously, Kell. Read a book.”

Kell scowled and glared at them all—and then lowered his sunglasses over his eyes and leaned back. Even Trav could see the disguised hurt.

He turned and looked at Jefferson and said just loud enough for Jefferson to hear, “Give it a rest. Mackey will tell him when he’s ready.”

Jefferson straightened and rolled his eyes. “God. Finally. If that’s what’s eating him alive—”

Trav thought of the song—hissong—and the cry from the invisible boy who slept in forgotten corners and lived to make people love him or hate him or anything so long as they didn’t forget his name.

“It’s not,” he said, knowing it was true. “It takes more than one break and a bad tube of glue to make your brother.”

Jefferson started to crack up again. “Damn, that was almost poetry. You and Mackey—”

Trav shook his head, just that much, and Jefferson stopped talking, which was a good thing.

Trav didn’t even want to hear it spoken aloud.

TWODAYSlater they got back from their run and scattered for their showers. They had a public appearance scheduled later that afternoon, a benefit they wouldn’t be playing at, but they would be signing autographs, and Trav’s entire day was focused on not pissing off Kell enough that he would actuallysaywhere the two missing members of his band were. Trav’s phone buzzed in the charger as he came out of his bathroom (a luxury, that, a bathroom all to himself) and was drying his hair.

Terry’s name flashed across the caller ID, and for a moment he was tempted not to answer.

“Terry?” God, he wished he was the type to hang up.

“You gothurt?” Terry’s voice pitched shrilly, and Trav grimaced.

“I’m sorry, they were supposed to send my bills and stuff here. I guess that hasn’t gone through yet.”

“What did you do?”

Trav half laughed. “I hit a wall.”