Page 35 of Hurt

Feeling a little more settled now that he knew there was space between them, he took in a deep breath. His brain was having a hell of a day and was a little slow in processing just what the hell was happening. He had spoken to Grant one time, and he spent most of that time being surly. Why would he want to have a drink with him?

“There’s no ulterior motive,” Grant said. “We can have a drink right there.” He pointed to an empty table just a few feet from where they were standing.

Kurt looked over at the table. It was in the open, away from anywhere he could be cornered. Well lit. There would be plenty of people around, including Sid, who was fixing a speaker on the stage.

Grant took a step back, taking care to give Kurt plenty of space before pulling a chair out at the table and taking a seat. Long legs stretched out in front of him. He rested his elbows on the arm of the chair and steepled his fingers. There was no expectation in the way he was looking at Kurt.

It was an open invitation.

Kurt grabbed a beer and a ginger ale before he took a seat across from Grant. The circular table was rough. Condensation from a thousand glasses had worn the varnish off. Kurt picked at one of the deep gauges in the tabletop—it could have been from anything but probably from a bar fight.

“Talk,” Kurt snapped.

Grant didn’t move to pick up his drink. He didn’t move at all. “I said you could ask me questions.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “What’s the difference? You know what I’m going to ask.”

“This way, I get to hear your voice,” Grant answered simply. “I like your voice.”

He cleared his throat and suddenly couldn’t make eye contact with Grant. It wasn’t out of fear, though. He just felt like he was too exposed. Like Grant could see right through him, and he didn’t want him to. There was too much he needed to keep hidden. If Grant knew, if he could see just how twisted and ruined Kurt was, he would flee in disgust.

“That’s…stupid,” he muttered lamely.

Shifting in his seat, Grant took the can and popped the top. “I asked Jamie to look into you because I was curious.”

Kurt peeled the label of the beer he had no intention of drinking. Watching the wet paper try to pull away from the glass in one motion kept him from having to make eye contact.

“Because of your brother and my sister?”

“I would like to say yes, but no. My brother has good judgment, and I trust him.” He sipped his drink, and Kurt could feel his eyes on him. “No, I asked because of you.”

Kurt paused with the label half off. “Why?”

“I told you, I like your voice.” With a huff, he set the can on the table and leaned in. Kurt could see the muscles shifting in his forearms as he leaned on them. He had beautiful hands. Musician’s hands, as his mother would say. Built for works of beauty, but Kurt knew they were capable of so much destruction.

“That night I came into the bar, I saw you playing. You were on that stage right there.” He looked over to the stage where Sid was sprawled out in a mess of wires. “It was just you and your guitar. There wasn’t even a microphone, but I heard you loud and clear. Kurt, it was the most beautifully painful thing I’ve ever heard.”

He barely remembered what Grant was talking about. That night had been burned from his memory with the sting of cheap liquor. Just like so many others.

“I don’t play for other people.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t.” It was too fast, too aggressive. Grant was too perceptive not to pick up on it. He would know it wasn’t something as silly as stage fright or a lack of skill.

How could Kurt explain that every note he played ripped another piece of his soul out? That the very thing that brought him comfort also enshrouds him in so much guilt, he feels like he can’t stand. That guitar was his savior and his tormentor. It screamed with his pain while also reminding him that every breath he took was a waste.

Grant was still looking at the stage as if he could picture that night. The night he had gotten a glimpse into a side of Kurt that he didn’t even like to look at in the mirror. A moment so brief, if he blinked, he would have missed it.

“Why the guitar?”

“Because it was the only thing I didn’t suck at.” He tried to keep the bitterness from coloring his voice. “My mom and dad could play multiple instruments. They sang, too. My sister had the most beautiful voice. Willow can play the flute, the violin, and the piano. And I…well.” He gestured to the bar. “I used to play guitar.”

Grant was looking at him again. “I don’t know anything about music,” he admitted. “But I don’t think what you were doing that night was playing, Kurt.”

He placed a hand over his heart. “I’ve seen video clips of Willow. She’s amazing. She feels the music, moves with it. But what you did up there? That wasn’t feeling the music. You were making the music feel you.”

Kurt was caught in his passion. It was new and terrifying. Locked in Grant’s gaze, he didn’t feel everything. The guilt, the hate, the disgust, all the things that choked him all day long disappeared. For the first time in years, it felt like his heart could fully contract, and his lungs could expand. A brief moment of freedom.