Read Beneath the Stain - Part 7 for Free Online Page B

alive, and that’s because I pay someone to help me!”
    “Don’t look at me,” Kell muttered. “Blake kept killing off the damned fish. I was having Astrid buy them on her way into work so we could swap them out before he saw.”
    Like a rubber band, Mackey was back into the world he and Kell had left, the normal they had worked hard for—the normal he’d craved as the tour drew to a close.
    “Fuckin’ really?” he asked, trying not to cackle. “Man, that’s hilarious. Does Trav know?”
    Kell grunted. “It was Trav’s idea. But see!” he said, obviously calling their attention back to Grant. “We’re hardly qualified—”
    “She’ll die here,” Grant said soberly, cutting through all their denial bullshit with simple, quiet sincerity. “Like I did. This house will swallow her, and she’ll never get out. Just like me.” His face crumpled again. “God, I wish I could cry. Fucking radiation—can’t even cry anymore, and it would feel so good. But you guys gotta promise me. You’ll come visit. You’ll have her over for summer. You’ll bring toys. You’ll listen to her want to be an astronaut or a cowboy or a poet and you’ll let her. Tell her she can go to college or travel to England or play the xylophone or….”
    He broke then. Tears or not, his frail body convulsed with sobs, and Mackey and Kell couldn’t do anything but hold him, unashamed and unafraid, and shed the tears their brother couldn’t.
    He couldn’t cry for long—it took strength his body didn’t have. The sobs eased, and Kell rested his face against Grant’s head, rubbing his cheek on the bandana to take some of the wet.
    Grant caught his breath and muttered, “Aw, fuck, that hurt.”
    “Do you want to straighten up?” Kell asked worriedly.
    “No.” Grant shook his head. “I don’t think I can—you may need to prop me up and go get someone who can really carry me.”
    “Get Trav,” Mackey said, and Kell nodded. Trav was bigger, and his biceps were cannon-size. He could do it. “You got pain meds? Codeine? A joint?”
    Grant let out a shallow breath. “The pot’s good, but sometimes it’s hard on the lungs, and I left the damned vaporizer inside. Just let me rest. Go get Trav in a sec, but first, Kell?”
    Kell propped him up and took off his own sweatshirt. “Here, Mackey. If we shift him to this side, he can lean against the hay bale and I can prop up his neck.”
    They moved him so he was reclined and more comfortable, but Grant wasn’t going to let it go. “Mackey, Kell—please?”
    Mackey’s brother’s eyes were brown. His face was made with heavier lines than Mackey’s, the lines of a metalworker or a ditch digger, with thick lips and large ears.
    But those brown eyes, plain as mud, were suddenly soft, warm, and kind. In that moment, Mackey saw that all the hero worship he’d given Kell when they were younger had been well placed.
    “Mackey?” Kell asked softly.
    “Yeah,” Mackey agreed. “I’m scared shitless, you know. But if it’s all of us—Jeff and Stevie, Shelia, Trav, you, Blake, me—”
    “Briony,” Kell said quickly, “’cause she’s not going anywhere.”
    “Yeah.” Mackey allowed a corner of his mouth to quirk up for hope that Kell and Briony could be family together too. “Yeah. We can give her something, Grant. I promise. We promise. We’ll give her wings and a sky and a tree if she needs it. Is that what you wanted?”
    Grant closed his eyes and nodded. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Kell, could you go get Mr. Ford now?”
    Kell stood up and pressed his forehead against Grant’s, palming his head gently. That was all. No words. And then he slid out of the barn.
    “You got your pot in your pocket?” Mackey asked.
    Grant grinned a little. “Yup. Lifetime supply—for me, anyway.”
    Mackey reached gently into the front pocket and pulled out a joint and a lighter. “I was serious,” he said, looking at the joint. “About not hating you. Man, I was always afraid