Page 97 of String Boys

“Mostly.”

Guthrie let out a laugh and turned to him, eyes soft. “I guess you let your instrument do the talking,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“That’s ’cause you got talent for real. I just took up the drums because they helped me get laid.”

Seth gaped, and the question pushed at him, because Guthrie was looking at him like he was special, and he knew his face was swelling, and he probably looked like shit.

“You’re not gonna ask?” Guthrie needled.

“Girls or boys,” Seth said, mesmerized by his eyes.

“Both,” Guthrie said with a wink.

The wink did it. Not the both—because whatever flipped his switch—but the wink.

It was flirty and playful, and Seth didn’tdoflirty or playful.

Unless he was with Kelly.

He pulled back a little. “I have a boyfriend,” he admitted. “He….” Oh, Kelly—sending him pictures of his cute boss, thinking Seth wouldn’t understand temptation. “He was going to move in with me next year, but… but his dad died, and he has to take care of his sisters and his niece. I got this gig so I could rent a house somewhere, for him and his family, and they could be somewhere different. Somewhere they didn’t have to see their father in every corner when the whole world was happy. And so I could—” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “—see him. And see my dad.”

Guthrie was still staring at him, but his eyes were shiny, and he bit his lip, like this hadn’t been a possibility. “You can’t go home?”

And Seth almost told the lie. Of course he could go home, but this was for Kelly, right?

“No. I….”

“Not your first fight,” Guthrie deduced, and Seth waited for the condemnation or disgust.

“No.” He only wished he knew exactly what he’d done that night. Like tonight, he’d sort of lost it. He would have done anything back then, with Kelly in the hospital and fury shining off him under the low-hanging moon.

Guthrie nodded and pulled the truck into a parking space and turned it off. “Here, you go into the bathroom and wash up, and I’ll go get us some coffees.” He paused and pulled out a wad of cash from his pocket. “Dad and Butch took a third total, and they told me to give the rest to you.”

“What about you?” Seth asked.

Guthrie shoved the cash into his hands. “Merry Christmas, Fiddler. Go wash up.”

Seth half expected the truck to roar away while he was splashing water on his face and checking the damage.

Ugh. Extensive.His eye was brick-red again, and his jaw was swollen and his lip split open. Thank God he didn’t have to sing or anything. But his knuckles were unscathed, and he had a righteous wad of cash in his pocket.

And maybe a new friend.

Seth left the bathroom and climbed back into the truck, shivering a little. When Guthrie got in and thrust a hot coffee into his hands, he was supremely grateful.

Guthrie started the truck and took Seth’s direction to the freeway. “So, Fiddler, can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah?”

“You, your boyfriend, your dad, your boyfriend’s family. What’s that like?”

“What do you mean?”

“Being out? Having everyone in your life know.”

Seth blinked, and it occurred to him that Butch and Jock probably didnotknow Guthrie “liked both.”