Beneath the Stain - Part 3 by Amy Lane Read Free Book Online Page A

riot, but me and Blake don’t have to do that.”
    “Why not?” Dr. Cambridge asked, looking at Blake to see what he had to say.
    Blake shrugged and Mackey rolled his eyes. “’Cause he’s my lead guitar, that’s why! If I couldn’t trust him to catch me, I’d never cut the band loose for a bridge! Of course he’ll catch me, watch!”
    And without preliminaries, Mackey spun himself around and fell backward onto Blake, who caught him and shoved him back to his feet none to gently.
    “Now see? Blake, c’mon. My turn.”
    Blake did the same thing, with a lot of insulting looks backward and an apparent expectation of being dropped on his ass.
    Mackey caught him—even though Blake was a lot taller and weighed a lot more—and then used his shoulder to help him stand up. “See? This ain’t no big thing.”
    Blake was looking at him with a quivering lower lip, though, and eyes that watered. “Not big?” he echoed. “Not big? That’s fucking huge , Mackey! Oh my God, you couldn’t fucking tell me you trusted me someplace not in rehab?”
    Mackey stared at him, one side of his mouth curled back. “How could you think I didn’t trust you, dumbass? You’re in the fucking band, aren’t you?”
    “Oh yeah, right. I’m in the band with the almighty fucking wonderful Mackey Sanders, wunderkind and fucking musical genius. We all know I’m barely a backup musician, Mackey.”
    Mackey threw up his hands in disgust. “Oh, bullshit. You’re Kell’s fuckin’ bestie. You’re in the fucking band. You’re in the band, you’re a brother—just get over yourself and deal with it. If you want to quit, fine, but don’t blame me if you don’t like it here!”
    “I’m a brother ?” Blake asked, his voice dripping in sarcasm—and, if Mackey had to admit it, hurt. “I’m a brother ? Since when have you made me feel like a brother? When have you welcomed me? Man, I did everything for you—I bought you coke—”
    “You got me addicted to it!” Mackey snapped, not particularly mad. “I mean, yeah, I could have turned you down, but you’re all ‘I’ve got this great way to wake up!’ and I was just trying to get us off the fucking ground, you know that, right? I mean, you were fucking new, the rest of the guys were scared shitless—hell, we hadn’t even been on a plane before we came down to LA, and suddenly we were going to play in Europe? And you don’t even fuckin’ practice!”
    “Why should we practice, Mackey? We’re on stage for two hours a night!”
    “That’s different—dammit, Blake, you whine about not being good enough. Don’t you know what you have to do to be good enough? You have to work for that shit! You have to practice, and try and create. You think I just wake up and sprinkle some fucking cocaine like fairy dust and suddenly shit out songs? I’m up to fuckin’ three in the morning writing that shit, and I can’t get you to play it for me. I know you can. We get up on stage and you pick up every cue. But off stage, all you want to do is couch with Kell and do blow!”
    Blake stopped, his mouth open. Mackey hmphed in disgust. He looked around and realized that Blake was not the only one looking at him. The whole room was looking at him.
    Mackey bared his teeth at the world in general and glared at Doc Cambridge sourly. “So see,” he said, trying for dignity, “we trust each other.”
    “On stage,” said the doc. “But that sounds like it’s a lot more of your day than his. Why is that?”
    Mackey glared at him. “You don’t get it, do you? We bought our mom a house. Our little brother is in private school. Kell, Jefferson, Stevie, me? We had to work our way through high school, but we’re sending Cheever to some sort of art school. Mom’s got a car, and she’s got friends, and she don’t have to work unless she wants. But I’m not stupid, Dr. Cambridge. I read our contract. If we don’t put out something that sells, they drop us. No nice house, no fancy cars, no