of beer down their throats, distant cars, and the hum of an air conditioner deep in the belly of the trailer. The unit banged when it shut off.
Finally, the silence got the better of him. The truth bubbled up inside like molten lava building to erupt. Elliot and the rest of band needed their stories told. “Thank God Mama put off the inevitable overdose until I turned eighteen. Elliot lacked a few weeks of hitting twenty-one. Young and dumb. I think either one of us alone mighta gotten eaten alive, but we had each other, and kinda did okay.” More than okay to hear some people tell it, but those folks got their news from the Internet, the glorified story of two young rockers done good. They didn’t see the bad side: how anyone who’d ever spoken to Mama for half a second came to squabble over what they could get. “Her record label and manager fought for her estate, such as it was, slapping down an injunction against us performing her songs.” Hell, just because she’d taken full credit didn’t mean her last six albums weren’t a family effort.
“So you wrote more.” Tex finished peeling his bottle and let the label flutter to the floor.
Yeah, that much appeared in his and Elliot’s public biographies, spin-doctored to say they couldn’t bear to perform the old songs without her. “Her band, down to a bunch of fellow druggies by then, weren’t worth keeping on. We formed our own.” Him and Elliot against the world, thinking the world owed them success after such a crappy beginning.
“Things were going well until we had the misfortune to meet up with Rob Cassen.” If he wasn’t already dead, Killy would gladly send him straight to Hell.
“Your drummer, formerly with Cleaver.”
Killy snorted. “I wish they’d have kept his sorry ass too. To make a long story short, he tried to take over.” His gut churned.
“We don’t need your brother. We can strike out on our own, just me and you,” the asshole had told Elliot.
Thank God Elliot hadn’t listened; not that saying no helped him much in the long run. Only, when Killy found out the guy’s plans and tried to toss Rob out of the band, Elliot and his too-big heart talked Killy into giving the fucker another chance. Biggest damn mistake of Killy’s life.
“I wasn’t having none of it. I’d have fired his ass after a month, but Elliot insisted he stay on. Turns out the bastard sweet-talked his way into my brother’s bed. Elliot was too much like Mama, trusting the wrong people and getting used for his trouble.”
What had Elliot’s unknown father been like? A scholarly type who caved regularly to bullies, giving poor Elliot a double-dose of gullible? Mama simply called him “right place, right time.” Both a blessing and a curse, Killian’s father, “an alcoholic one night stand who managed to last nearly a year,” took bull-headed son-of-a-bitch to new heights, a trait most said bred as true as Killy’s sky-blue eyes. But at least Papa Amos pretended to be a father, even letting Elliot tag along on visitations, though he never quite grasped basic parenting concepts like six-years-olds shouldn’t have coffee with breakfast.
“I started seeing things—bruises, cuts.” Killian cast an anxious glance to Tex, watching for a reaction.
Tex kept his poker face firmly in place and gave nothing away.
What the fuck had gotten into him? Killy couldn’t seem to shut up. “Me and Elliot, we’d been through a lot, and always, always stayed best buds. All of a sudden he stopped talking to me, started coming late to practice, and something had to give.”
“No, I don’t want to talk about it. Nothing’s wrong! Would you get off my damned back?” Elliot wrapping his arms around himself didn’t quite hide the bruises, and a cowboy hat pulled low didn’t disguise the anguish in his eyes.
Fuck, if only Killy hadn’t given up and stalked off. If only he’d insisted a little more the first time he’d seen the abuse.
Tex sipped his beer, quietly listening while stroking the back of Killian’s free hand with his thumb.
Killy watched the thumb stroking over his skin, so calming for so small a gesture. “It took some doing, but I convinced him to get rid of Rob. They broke up after nearly five years, but we kept the asshole on ’til we could hire another drummer. Our last night in Asheville, North Carolina piled on the straw that broke the camel’s back.”