Beneath the Stain - Part 7 by Amy Lane Read Free Book Online

this house, it was gonna swallow you up. I mean, we were kids, but we knew. We knew about your folks same way we knew about Stevie’s dad—”
    “You seen him?” Grant asked, opening his eyes curiously.
    “No,” Mackey said grimly. “Stevie and Jefferson ain’t told Stevie’s folks they’re here. They don’t want Shelia to ever meet them.”
    “So much,” Grant sighed. “So much we all knew but we never talked about. Stevie’s dad. My folks. You and me.”
    “I loved you like my life was your next breath,” Mackey said boldly. It wasn’t something he’d said, even when he and Grant were stealing the moments that defined them.
    Grant opened his eyes and swallowed. “I still love you that way,” he said, a corner of his mouth lifting in apology. “That’s why Sam hates you so badly. ’Cause when I came out to my family and told them what I was fixing to do with custody, I told them every fucking thing. You, me, being in love.”
    Mackey made a hurt sound. “I can’t…. Trav,” he managed. God, not even for this moment could he tell that lie.
    Grant shook his head. “You’re here,” he said. “And I might have gotten over you eventually, but there’s no time now. It’s okay. You’re here, and I love you. And even if you can’t say it back, I can finally say it, and that’s good too.”
    Mackey looked at the joint in his hand and sighed. He didn’t want it. He didn’t crave it. There was a chance he could do this and his enemy might not master him, just this once.
    God, Trav, please understand. He stood and held the joint to his lips, flicking the lighter and inhaling with his mouth like with a cigar, trying not to hold any more smoke in his lungs than he had to. It tasted sweet, herbal, like medicine. God, it made him queasy.
    “What are you doing?” Grant asked.
    Mackey leaned over, bracing his hands on the hay bale behind Grant’s head, and fitted his mouth to Grant’s, exhaling slowly, letting the smoke slip into Grant’s body, hoping that this once, the secondhand smoke would do something.
    Grant held the smoke, and Mackey took another hit. God, he wasn’t sure if he was lightheaded from the weed or from holding his breath, but Grant opened his mouth and let the last breath slip out, and Mackey breathed for him again.
    And again.
    And again.
    When the joint was done, down to the roach, Mackey ground it out carefully on the sole of his shoe and slipped it back in Grant’s pocket.
    He was buzzing hard from the crown of his head to the soles of his shoes, and thinking rather desperately that he didn’t miss this feeling, didn’t miss it at all. Not really.
    “Feel better?” he asked Grant, his voice far away. He wobbled for a minute and sat down hard at Grant’s feet. He rested his hand on Grant’s knee and stroked, wanting the high to be over, wanting to be over it so he would know he could be fine without it.
    “Yes,” Grant said, his voice dreamy. “It’s funny. My dad voted against medical marijuana his entire life, but I got sick, and suddenly he couldn’t buy it fast enough.”
    “Yeah?” Mackey said, laughing gently. Yeah, everything was funnier with weed. “How’s he feel about faggots?”
    “He still hates us,” Grant said, but he didn’t sound like he particularly cared. “But now that he’s bought me all this awesome weed? I don’t give a shit.”
    Mackey laughed some more and slid his hand down Grant’s thigh. He was just touching, familiar, and Grant sighed.
    “God, Mackey. It just feels so good to be touched. My family ain’t hugged me since I came out.”
    Mackey kept stroking, not trying to arouse, just to touch. He leaned his head back against the hay and closed his eyes. “Well, your real family is here now,” he mumbled, sliding his hand to Grant’s other thigh. “You’ll get all the touch you can stand.”

Ghosts That We Knew
     
     
    T RAV MISSED his parents with a terrible, sudden ferocity.
    He remembered coming out. He’d been so