Beneath the Stain - Part 7

Part Seven

The one lesson that Trav’s learned with the band’s return to Tyson is that it should be hard to say good-bye.

Mackey, Kell, Jefferson, and Stevie have to say good-bye to the person who helped make them and break them. They have to say good-bye to their bitterness and anger, and they have to say good-bye to lingering hope that one of the best parts of their childhood can be with them always. 

But in the last two years they’ve grown a lot—and maybe they’ve grown enough to say good-bye to the past without forgetting it, and to embrace a future that they won’t regret.

H
EATH
STAYED
until six in the morning, pouring scotch and talking about their days in the military and how easy it had been. There were good guys and bad guys, and he and Trav had been on the side of the angels. Now there were sharks in suits and desperate, drugged-out kids who killed brain cells faster than they could spend money.

Trav listened and agreed, and tried to keep his scotch intake reasonable and failed. Sometime before dawn, Heath regarded him steadily through a pause in the conversation and said, “What now?”

“You mean, with the band?” Trav said, just addled enough with alcohol to think that was what Heath meant.

“No, idiot. What now for you and Mackey?”

Trav frowned. He knew the panic he’d felt when he realized that he, Travis William Ford, had actually been
incarcerated
for losing his temper, but Heath’s implication was that this moment, this separation was somehow permanent. That he was at a crossroads or something.

“Mackey needs me,” he said, knowing it wasn’t true. Mackey had his shit together now. Mackey was facing down one hell of a demon, and he knew the shape of this hell, and he was navigating it just fine.

“Well, there’s needing and needing,” Heath said, thinking about it. “My last girlfriend said she needed me. She needed my money and my connections so she could sleep with the right director. How do you want Mackey to need you?”

Like “need” was a magic movie word, the question looped two memories of Mackey behind his eyes. The first was the sobbing kid in the emergency room, strung out, one hit away from being a desperate junkie, so afraid of every thought, every real feeling inside, that he’d rather bait Trav into hitting him than actually say an honest truth.

The second memory was Greece, as Mackey rambled endlessly, spouting poetry and fairy tales and silly stories about his brothers.

“Mackey, God,” Trav had finally chuckled sleepily. “It’s a good moment. Why not let it sit in quiet?”

“’Cause I’m afraid you’ll fall asleep on me,” Mackey confessed, looking up from his childlike crouch in the water at Trav’s feet. “And the sun’s coming up, and I need you here with me when it does.”

Trav wrapped his arms around Mackey’s shoulders. “Look,” he whispered. “See? You can see it getting pink in the east?”

Mackey turned to nuzzle his cheek. “Yeah. Wait’ll it gets gold.”

Trav jerked awake and looked at Heath muzzily. “The second way,” he said, wanting the moment back. If he’d gone with Mackey, he could have held him right now. They could have gone outside this bleak little hotel room and watched the sun come up.

“What’s the second way, brother?” Heath asked gently, and Trav started again.

“We
are
brothers,” he said in wonder. “We are. You didn’t need to give me a job, Heath. You know that, right? I would have stood with you anyway.”

Heath cackled. “I gave you a job because you’re
good
,” he said seriously. “Man, I inherited Gerry—I
coveted
you. When I found out you were sleeping with Mackey Sanders, I about creamed my shorts. If you guys could make that last… man, I could have founded a music
legacy
. Wouldn’t that be awesome?” Heath made a happy sound and closed his eyes. “Remember all those young men, those fucked-up young men we had in jail? The Army doesn’t always make a man out of you, Trav. Sometimes it just teaches you how to hide the scared kid with more violence.”

Trav shuddered, assailed by the same memories. “Amen.”

“I love music. I fucking love it. If I could have a place where we foster music, let it grow… man, I would
love
to be that record company, you know? You and Mackey—you could be my cornerstone.” Heath shook himself. “Not that I want all my managers sleeping with their lead singers—that’s sort of an anomaly. But you know what I mean.”

Trav smiled. God, for all his progression into the land of the heavy-jowled fat cat, Heath had such a pure heart in him. Trav never should have left Tailpipe for consulting work. How could he not want to work with Heath Fowler?

“Yeah, I know.”

“But I don’t want you to stay with him or him with you just because it would make
my
life better. How do you need him to need you?”

“He wrote ‘Fixing’ for me, did you know that?”

Heath rolled his eyes. “I sort of figured.”

“Every time he sings it, he looks at me like he can’t sing another note if I’m not in the audience, waiting for it to come out.
That’s
how I want him to need me.”

Heath rumbled in his throat. He was good with the rumble—it was damned near intimidating. “Just that song or the entire album?” he asked, like it was a serious question.

It
was
a serious question. “Just that song… well, a couple of them. But not all of them.”

A radiant smile bloomed on Heath’s broad face. “Then it’s going to be okay. You can’t be the whole album, Trav. You just can’t. But you can be the best songs.”

Heath left not long after, and Trav caught a few hours of sleep. He awoke suddenly, feeling grody and lost and needing Mackey more than he needed the ibuprofen Heath had left next to the bed with a bottle of water and a protein bar. He lay there for a few minutes, collecting himself, letting the ibuprofen kick in, and trying to remember how he ever got to sleep or woke up without Mackey.

Could he do it again?

What would it take for him not to want to wake up with Mackey next to him? For a moment a bleak film, a step-by-step instruction book of how to live without Mackey Sanders, looped in his head, and he saw every moment of leaving in intimate detail.

He gasped and shook his head. Whatever would cause him to leave Mackey hadn’t happened yet. Odds were good it would
never
happen, and Trav had to believe in that. It was what got him out of bed and made him determined to get his shit together and get back to where he belonged.

He was about ready to step into the shower when Mackey practically beat his door down. Trav threw open the door to Mackey’s furious face and a feeling that he’d missed quite a lot.

“You aren’t out yet?” Mackey stalked in, his hair a tangle around his shoulders, his eyes shadowed and furious. He had a black eye, a split lip, and a bruise on his jaw that he’d probably forgotten about, and he was wearing his oldest T-shirt, one of the ones that had come from the Walmart down the street.

Trav almost fell on his knees right there just to have him, pissed and ranting, charge through his door.

“One night, Trav. You said one night. A chance to breathe. That’s great. You’ve had your stupid night. Now get in the shower and we can go back to my mom’s house. I’ll even let you beat up my little brother for free.”

Trav glowered. “And I was just thinking that you’d gotten so mature,” he snapped, because, well, he had. He’d
just
, as he’d woken up with shards of glass exploding through his brain, come to the conclusion that Mackey and the band had probably grown up 100 percent in the past year. In fact, even if he and Mackey weren’t lovers, they’d be just fine. His breath hitched and his chest ached and his eyes burned at the thought. God,
that
was what was sticking in his craw, wasn’t it? Mackey would be just fine, and Trav would be like Mackey had been, a wreck, a disaster, unable to tie his own shoes.

“Yeah, you fucking wish.” Mackey plowed through the open door and drove Trav backward, kicking the door shut as he went. “I’m a fucking grown-up—I could be President of Grown-ups of America—but you would still need to be at my side.”

Mackey had a beach bag in his hands, which he dropped on the floor without even looking at it.

“Mackey,” Trav said, taking a deep breath. “You and I—I mean, you’re here, and Grant’s here, and—”

Mackey shoved him in the chest
hard
, hard enough to send Trav onto the bed, where he sat down in surprise.

“You need to fucking listen,” Mackey said, squatting down in front of him like he would talk to a child. “Do we have our listening ears on, Travis Ford? Really? Because I’m pretty sure
you
left them somewhere else when we got off the plane.”

Trav glared. “Mackey, I have got a hangover and my mouth tastes like dog shit. Maybe you could let me take a shower and—”

“And what? Get drunk again tonight because you decided I don’t need you anymore?”

Trav flinched back, stung. “That is
not
what happened last night—”

“Oh yes, it is—”

“Oh no, it’s not—I got in a
bar
fight, Mackey. It’s just like—”

“Just like when you nailed a smart-mouthed kid for scaring the shit out of you—what, Trav, you’re too good for my life? Is that what it’s like?”

“No,” Trav snarled. “No—I’m not
strong
enough for your fuckin’ life. I… man, Mackey, this is a whole other world here. And
everybody
loves Grant, and
everybody
wants to be there for him, and—”

“And you think we don’t need you anymore?” Mackey laughed, his voice pitching hysterically. “Oh my
God
, Trav, you have
really
got to listen.”

“To what—you tell me you don’t love him? Because how can you say that? Anybody would love that boy—
anybody
. I can’t even blame you—”

“Jesus fuck! You stubborn bastard—”

“I mean, he’s going to pass away, and I’ll be there to pick up the pieces and—”

“
Fucking shut up and listen
!” In one slick move, Mackey launched himself onto Trav, knocking him backward and lying on top of him, the rough denim of his jeans sanding the insides of Trav’s thighs.

Trav made to move. He could do it—he was bigger, stronger. They both knew it too.

“Please,” Mackey said simply, softly. “Please, Travis. You gotta hear what I’m saying here. I’ve seen you walk away from a crime scene. You don’t get mad, you don’t throw a fit—you just turn around and walk away and leave bloodied hearts behind you. I
saw
the wreckage you left of Terry. Man, I was a wreck and a misery, and I saw that man in tears. Quick and easy—Trav can’t deal with the hard stuff, he decides he’s too much of a grown-up, and he walks away. Well, you didn’t walk away from me in rehab, and you agreed to take me on loan until I was whole, and then I’d be all yours. I’m whole, and I’m all yours. Are you really going to walk away from me now, without even listening?”

Trav closed his eyes, and some of the tension drained from his shoulders and his clenched stomach. He wasn’t going anywhere. Mackey had him. Trav had promised him he could be equal when he could handle it. Trav owed him a say.

“I’m listening,” he said, and in the weighted silence that followed, he heard every breath Mackey took, felt every movement of his body.

Wanted him.

“I had a full-on meltdown this morning. I woke up and you weren’t there, and Cheever was grabbing Briony’s boobs, and suddenly I was right back where I was after Charleston Klum had his way with me. The only thing missing was the torn-open ass.”

Trav’s face went cold, and he tightened his arms around Mackey’s waist. “Oh, McKay—”

“Don’t you use my full name like it didn’t happen!” Mackey shouted, pushing himself up on his knees and standing up.

Trav sat up and Mackey poked at his shoulder.

“I said listen—now listen. Then shower.
Then
suck my dick, ’cause I’m telling you, we both need it.”