Beneath the Stain - Part 2 by Amy Lane Read Free Book Online Page B

answer. “Maybe I’m just not a one-woman man,” he said with a tight swallow. He played with the strings some more and sighed. He’d obviously lost his momentum, but Trav couldn’t make himself feel bad. The room was silent, and Trav stared blindly out the window, seeing Mackey’s reflection against the darkness. His head drooped against his chest, and he rubbed the back of his neck restlessly with long, obviously roughened fingers. His hair fell out of his ponytail, straight and halfway down his cheekbones, but he didn’t brush it out of his eyes. If he wasn’t a junkie, Trav would have recommended an ibuprofen or something, but he was, and Trav wouldn’t bring it up if Mackey didn’t.
    “How long can you tell yourself that?” Trav asked into the heavy quiet. “I mean, if it’s just your ignorant brother—”
    Mackey snapped his head up. “You don’t say shit against my brother,” he snarled. “You don’t know fuckin’ nothing, Mr. Ford. I hate that you even think you know as much as you do. I hate that you saw me naked and sweating and helpless. So you don’t make no fucking assumptions about what you think you know about me and mine, you hear?”
    Trav gasped, shocked by his fury and a little hurt.
    For a moment there’d been an intimacy between them. For a moment they’d almost been friends.
    “Sorry,” he muttered. “My bad. I’ll just keep that bus to rehab all warmed up for you, okay, Mackey? That’ll be my job. I’ll get paid a fucking fortune to carry you down to the fucking ambulance because you can’t tell the fucking truth, even to yourself.”
    “You do that,” Mackey muttered. “Man, I’d rather be the body than find the body, so that’s just fine with me.” He clicked the light off savagely and set the guitar down in the corner, then stalked to the bathroom to brush his teeth.
    Trav lay back down and pummeled his pillows under his head. Mackey returned to the bedroom and threw himself in the tiny space between the bed and the wall, wrapped up so tight Trav wasn’t sure he could breathe.
    The only sound in the darkened hotel room was their harsh breathing, and then Trav remembered something he should ask.
    “Mackey, when we move into the house, what kind of bed do you want? I mean, you can’t sleep on the floor in your own home, even if you only stay there between tours.”
    “I don’t know, man—get me a fucking coffin. That way you’ll be all ready for it when I finally OD.”
    Trav buried his face in his pillows and growled. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he said, because it really was an all-purpose blasphemy, especially with Mackey. “You’re right, you know that? You’re so goddamned lucky you never got beaten to death I can’t even think of words to tell you how lucky you are. How in the hell did you live to adulthood?”
    “Kell,” Mackey said succinctly. “Him and Grant kept us alive in that shitty fucking town. Don’t say nothin’ mean about either of ’em.”
    “Well, if he doesn’t stop using the word ‘faggot,’ I’m going to have to hit him myself,” Trav groused.
    “Why?” Mackey muttered. “Why you got such a vested interest in Kell not being mean to faggots?”
    “Because I’m gay, you obnoxious little turd,” Trav snapped. God. Look at what this kid made of him. He was a professional , for sweet heaven’s sake!
    “Oh,” Mackey said, taking the wind out of Trav’s sails.
    “Oh?”
    “Yeah. Don’t worry. I’ll make him behave. He’ll back off if I tell him to.”
    “Then why don’t you tell him to for you ?” Trav asked, out of patience.
    Mackey took a breath, and then another. In the darkness, they rattled against the wads of comforter wrapped around him. “See, he don’t like people weaker’n him,” Mackey said at last. “I just don’t want him to decide I’m one of those.”
    “I could take your brother out in my sleep .” Trav would go do it right now if it would make Mackey see sense.
    “Yeah, he probably