Fic: Nashville 'Verse: In the Lights You Make
Author: rivlee
Title: In the Lights You Make
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Hoosier, Skinny, Lip, Hillbilly. Hoosier/Skinny.
Summary: A little Hoosier background in the Nashville ‘verse.
Disclaimer: This is all fiction based off the characters as portrayed in the HBO mini-series. No disrespect is meant. Title and cut-text from My Chemical Romance’s The Kids From Yesterday.
A/N: Unbeated. Tiny background story ficlet. For uniformly who brought out the Hoosier love in full force and skylilies who gave me the idea of Hoosier/Skinny. That bit of brilliance is all hers.
Get your ass down here.
That was the note attached to the plane ticket resting on his kitchen counter. Carwood Lipton’s perfect cursive was ordering him, as usual, and Bill “Hoosier” Smith never bothered to ignore Lip’s orders. They’d saved his life on more than one occasion.
Hoosier looked around his apartment, one of the stylish abodes among the homes of the new rock gods littering the Sunset Strip and smiled. He never did like to hang around ass-kissers and health freaks. He only came out to Los Angeles because he was trying to be a supportive boyfriend. Then Sara left him for some Emo Punk “musician” who thought screaming could cover up a distinct lack of talent.
Hoosier was only a little bitter about it, especially since Sara was far too good for him, not to mention some asshole who thought his eyeliner was as important as his guitar strap.
He picked up his phone and dialed Lip’s number.
“I got your suggestion,” he said by way of greeting.
“Skinny says you need a new security system,” Lip replied, “and that he’d install it himself if you moved your ass to Nashville.”
“Maybe I like it here,” Hoosier said.
“Bill, you’re turning into some former pop star version of Miss Havisham. Soon you’re going to adopt some poor kid and turn them into a heartless bastard much like yourself.”
“You talking to Webster again?” he asked. Lip only quoted Great Expectations after talking to Webster.
“He’s one of the best publicists out there.”
“Sure, if you’re looking for awkward statements and Weekly World News headlines,” Hoosier said.
Lip’s disappointed sigh still held all its impact over the line. “What’s keeping you in L.A.?” he asked.
“Isn’t it where all washed up pop stars go to end their days?”
“You told me that was reality shows.”
“And how am I supposed to get on one if I’m not in the City that Hollywood Built?”
“Bill, get your ass down here. You don’t even have a real bed in that apartment. And I know your fridge is nothing but condiments.”
“You got a home for me?”
“Skinny found you a place.”
It really didn’t even take some serious thinking.
“I’ll be there tomorrow,” he said.
********
Skinny Sisk was the son of 3B’s first security guard. He got the name Skinny because until he hit 17, Skinny was one of those chubby kids just waiting for puberty to finish its hell. He used to wrestle, got a scholarship to college for it even, but then he dropped 30 pounds over a summer and had to learn how to use tone over bulk. Skinny followed his father into the business and became the guard assigned to trail after Hoosier and Lip.
They’d faded from the spotlight since, but Skinny still spent most of his days cleaning up after Lip and Hoosier, making sure they didn’t electrocute themselves in the bathroom or experience death by spork.
He was better than any personal assistant or manager at calming Lip and Hoosier down, knew what they needed before they did, and managed to make sure they paid all their bills on time. Winters was the genius who worked with Sobel to invest their money so well they never had to work again, but Skinny was the one who made sure there was something to occupy their minds.
Skinny quietly controlled everything, and you didn’t realize how much until you were in the Nashville airport, trying to figure out where the hell you were going.
“Like I’d expect you to find your own way,” Skinny said, already holding Hoosier’s bags.
“Ain’t my fault you’ve made me useless,” Hoosier said.
Skinny dropped one of the bags on Hoosier’s foot. “Time for you to start taking back control,” he said.
Hoosier slapped Skinny on the back of the head.
“If you break me you’ll never figure out where your home is,” Skinny said.
“Where are you stashing me this time? Some crack house chic palace?” Hoosier asked.
“I thought we both agreed your pretty face is not meant to survive the mean streets,” Skinny said.
Hoosier shrugged. “I doubt anyone’s looking anymore.”
Skinny threw an arm around his shoulder. “Just because Sara and Patrick left you, doesn’t make you damaged goods. You’re more an acquired taste.”
“Not making me feel any better, Skinny,” Hoosier said.
He followed Skinny out to his car and tried not to snort.
“Don’t mock the four wheel drive,” Skinny said.
“It’s a Subaru. Badass security guards are supposed to drive Hummers.”
“Not with their tendency to flip over,” Skinny said.
“So, where we going?” Hoosier asked, settling down for the ride.
“Wait until you hear banjos,” Skinny said.
********
“Holy shit,” Hoosier said when they pulled up in the driveway of his new house.
They were at least forty-five minutes outside of downtown Nashville, surrounded by wide expanses of open land and horse farms.
“Holy hell, it’s almost like home. A bit colder than I was expecting, but shit, Skinny,” Hoosier said.
Skinny shrugged. “You won’t got back to Indiana, so we’ll bring you some country here, you’ve been in the city too long.”
“It’s a big ass house,” Hoosier said.
“You’ve got a staff and a roommate.”
“Lip?”
Skinny shook his head and took out a set of keys. “You really think I’m going to trust you to live on this property and not get lost.”
“Didn’t know you cared,” Hoosier said.
“I know who signs my paychecks,” Skinny answered, “and with you dead, I am out of half a job.”
“Most of it. Shifty’s got Lip under control.”
Skinny opened the door to the house, the smell of cinnamon and pumpkin spice spilled out.
It was tastefully decorated, clearly a professional job since Skinny’s decorating taste were about the same as Hoosier’s. Still, it felt warm, cozy, and lived in. Like a real home. Hoosier just couldn’t get over the fact it smelled like Thanksgiving.
“Did you turn this place into a friggin’ Yankee Candle?” he asked.
“I needed to get rid of the new paint smell,” Skinny said.
“I like that smell,” Hoosier said.
“Only because it reminds you of your pre-teen huffing years.”
“What else was I supposed to do with a nose like mine?”
“Go into the wine business,” Skinny said.
“You got a winery around here for me to work at?” Hoosier asked.
“Nope,” Skinny said, dropping the bags by the stairs, “but I do have a job for you once you’re settled.”
“Keeping me occupied?” Hoosier asked.
“Someone needs to pay the property taxes,” Skinny said.
*******
Skinny’s job was a bartending position at a place called Allison’s, it was a music joint with the perfect blues and bluegrass atmosphere. The musician in Hoosier loved the place on sight; it was lived in, it had history, it was real.
And he didn’t hate the job. Hoosier always took well to bartending, picked it up as an occupation in all the places he lived. He liked leading tourists astray and having the power as the man who poured the drinks. Hell, if he got a free show out of it each night, it was worth the beer stains on his favorite jeans and his dinner of cheap bar pretzels.
Most of all, Hoosier liked going to work in nothing but jeans, a white undershirt, and a button down. It made him feel like he was back in Indiana, elbows deep into an engine block, or working his grandpa’s fields. He was always more comfortable in a pair of Levi’s than some suit pants that cost more than a cell phone.
“You’re adjusting well,” Eddie Jones, bar co-owner and resident musician said.
“I’ve bartended a time or two before,” Hoosier said
“No, I meant to life outside of fame. Most guys who make it big consider themselves too good for an honest day’s work, even if they need the money.”
It was only Hoosier’s boy band charm school training that kept him from dropping the glass in his hands.
“You don’t look like a 3B fan,” he said.
“I ain’t,” Eddie said, “but my sister Anna was, is still.”
“Does everyone know?”
Eddie smirked. “Andy couldn’t place you until he remembered Lip’s old job. Mike Wynn has a few teenage girls who obsessed over you about ten years ago.”
“Ouch,” he said, putting the glass down before it shattered.
“You look good for your age.”
“I’m only thirty, Hillbilly,” he said.
“Just a baby,” Eddie said.
He rested his arms on the bar and gave Hoosier a long look.
“Why’d you come here?” he asked,
“Lip told me to,” Hoosier answered.
“Right, but why did you really come?”
“Needed to get the fuck out of Hollywood,” Hoosier said.
“That’s all?” Eddie asked.
“What are you trying to get at?” Hoosier asked, leaning back against the shelf.
“I’m not going to tell you how to live your life, and what I know of you, is mostly hearsay, but I recognize the wanderer in you.”
“Do you then?”
“You like it here, though, it could almost be home. But you got to open yourself up to it.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means pull your $2,000 haircut out of your ass and look at the people around you,” Eddie said.
He stood up from the bar with a nod of his head and made his way to the stage.
Hoosier let himself be soothed by the sound check process while he tried to gain back the face Eddie had just ripped off with a few pointed words. Sound check always made him calm. Something about instruments being tuned and mics being set up that let the noise in his head stop.
Eddie wasn’t wrong, but hell, Hoosier and his delusions had always been best friends
********
The long drive from Allison’s to home always provided the perfect opportunity to think. Once you left the Nashville hub, it was nothing but trees, road, and houses set far apart for miles. Hoosier appreciated the peace and quiet, even if you never could properly drift off and day dream. The second you did, it would be a deer meeting the hood.
Skinny Sisk was a life-long friend. He and Hoosier were the closest in age, so when Daddy Wayne decided it was time to assign his boy to a real job, Hoosier was the logical choice. Lip also came along with the deal, but honestly, Lip had enough sense to stay out of the shit that usually required a body guard.
Skinny was a friend first though, always was, and never thought of in that detached way that could come with hired thugs. Skinny was the one who stood beside Hoosier in a cramped rest stop bathroom, laughing and helping, when Hoosier decided to dye his hair fire-engine-red in a fit of pop-star rebellion. (Skinny laughed even harder when it set off a trend through all of bubble-gum pop land.) Skinny was the one who sat beside the tattoo artist’s chair and talked Hoosier down from screaming his head off when he decided getting a tattoo on his chest bone was the best idea in the world. Skinny was the first one to congratulate them when they went Diamond, getting a hug in even before Winters could manage it.
Skinny was there for the shitty times too. He was the one who answered the call about Hoosier’s mom. He was the one who had to convey to them each time a fan got hurt at a show. He was the first person Hoosier called, after Lip, when a relationship imploded on itself. And he was the one to tell Hoosier it was because he was a mean son-of-a-bitch who no one knew how to handle.
Skinny never sugar coated the hard truths, and Hoosier loved him for that.
And Skinny saw him as Bill, not a former famous face, not a meal ticket, not a stepping-stone for a career move.
Hoosier wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew what Eddie was getting at tonight. Hell, Hoosier had pondered it enough on his own. Skinny was the only who could handle and tolerate Hoosier, even when he was beyond his worst. And Hoosier had said more than a handful of asshole things to Skinny over the years, but Skinny was never, ever afraid to give as good as he got.
He knew Skinny wasn’t uninterested. There had been a few drunken fumblings in the earlier years, when Hoosier was just starting to figure out he wanted and Skinny knew damn well. They’d just never talked long enough to decide to go for it all. And then came the success, the downfall, and the distance.
It was a hell of a risk. It was a good thing Hoosier always liked the odds in Vegas.
Five years ago, after Patrick ripped his heart out, taking his dog along with his sanity and his pride, Hoosier got wasted. So wasted he wound up in the hospital with a nice stomach pump and a stay in the psych ward as a suicide risk. It was a bit of overkill, but Hoosier definitely needed the time to dry out and get his head back on straight.
All his band members came to see him; Lip with his concerned eyes, Toye with his dark smile, Luz with his jokes, and Nixon with a list of his favorite rehab facilities. Winters was the only one who believed Hoosier when he told him it was honestly an accident, and thank god for that, since Winters was his emergency contact. It was Skinny who came last, and punched Hoosier in the jaw.
It wasn’t so much a wake-up call as the sort of hard love tap he desperately needed. It was the last time Skinny left Hoosier to his own devices for more than a month at a time.
Skinny was damn good at his job, he was the one who trained Chuckler Juergens, yet another guard who was competent without being obvious muscle. But while Chuckler and all the other security details left them alone when the band broke-up, Skinny somehow worked his way into their lives with a paid job as being the one who cleaned up all their shit.
And it never occurred to Hoosier to ask why. He could get Lip, it was payback for the unflinching faith Lip had in everyone. But Hoosier? He didn’t have a heart of gold and he sure as hell wasn’t planning on doing anything more constructive with his life.
Hoosier parked his car in the garage and hurried up the stairs to Skinny’s office.
“Did you set something on fire?” Skinny asked when Hoosier pushed the door open.
“Why the hell are you still here?” Hoosier asked.
“I don’t have any meetings until tomorrow,” Skinny said.
“No,” Hoosier said, as he closed the door, “why are you still here?” he asked. He stepped into Skinny’s space, knowing it could be dangerous. Skinny was never shy about taking violent action.
Skinny let out an exasperated breath, making the hairs on Hoosier’s neck stand up. It smelled like mint, which meant Skinny was trying to quit smoking again.
“You’re not stupid, Hoosier,” he said, “don’t act like an idiot.”
“How long?” Hoosier asked.
“Why the hell do you think I hated Patrick so fucking much?” Skinny asked.
“That was years ago. And you and Liebgott have been done for two years.”
“Yeah, well, he fell for some messed up Cajun kid and Sara had just left you. It wasn’t the best time to start anything. At this point in my life, I suffer no delusions as to where I’m going to end up. It’ll be by your side in some capacity.”
“How selfless of you.”
“You certainly have a talent for not taking care of yourself,” Skinny said.
“So, this is where it’s at,” Hoosier said.
“After you’ve had a night to think about it and when you’re not smelling like bourbon, sure,” Skinny said.
“You going to tuck me in?” Hoosier asked.
“You’ll just have to survive the night on your own.”
“I’m so lonesome, I could cry,” Hoosier said.
“Don’t take Hank’s name in vain,” Skinny said.
********
Hoosier never liked being on the stage. His anxiety grew with the size of the crowds, and by the time they were playing stadiums, Hoosier was downing booze like water just to get his ass in front of the audience.
Skinny spent the whole night after a show by Hoosier’s side, making sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit. Everyone else on the crew had to make sure Nix didn’t take a flying leap off the hotel balcony. It was only ever Skinny there to shake Hoosier awake, drag his ass to the bathroom, and make him presentable by morning light.
Hoosier grew used to that strong hand waking his ass up. It usually came with a hard smack to his face and a muttered comment about not getting paid enough for this bullshit. That morning is was a kick to his shin and a get your ass out of bed.
“What happened to giving me the night?” Hoosier asked, speaking into his pillow.
“I changed my mind,” Skinny said.
Hoosier held his blankets open. “Get the hell in here, I ain’t getting out of this bed.”
“We’re doing this backwards,” Skinny said.
“Since when the fuck do you care about proper behavior?” Hoosier asked.
“Valid point,” Skinny said. He slipped into the bed, sitting with his back against the headboard. “You’re an asshole, you know.”
“I know, darlin’, but you love it about me.”
“You could at least take your face out of the pillow to say that.”
“Fine,” Hoosier said, flipping over with a fuss, “happy?”
“Thrilled. Tap dancing with joy,” Skinny said.
Hoosier blinked up at him. “You always knew this was going to happen. Just waiting for me to catch up.”
“I did set up your dream house.”
“No pink Cadillac in the garage.”
“The dealership was all out,” Skinny said.
“It ain’t my home without you,” Hoosier said, “so you’ve got to stay.”
“We’re keeping separate bedrooms,” Skinny said.
“I’m insulted.”
“You snore like a freight train and when you’re drunk it’s even worse.”
Hoosier shrugged. “I didn’t want to make closet space for you anyway.” He reached a hand up and tugged Skinny down to the mattress.
“This is familiar,” Skinny said.
“Been a few years,” Hoosier said, “missed it. The other boys and girls just didn’t have your bony elbows.”
“At least my collar bones don’t stab people,” Skinny said.
Hoosier laughed and pulled Skinny down for a kiss. It didn’t quite work, with their teeth hitting and foreheads bumping.
Skinny laughed and leaned over Hoosier, holding his head still. “Just let me take care of it, like I always do.”
“Yes, sir,” Hoosier said.
Title: In the Lights You Make
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Hoosier, Skinny, Lip, Hillbilly. Hoosier/Skinny.
Summary: A little Hoosier background in the Nashville ‘verse.
Disclaimer: This is all fiction based off the characters as portrayed in the HBO mini-series. No disrespect is meant. Title and cut-text from My Chemical Romance’s The Kids From Yesterday.
A/N: Unbeated. Tiny background story ficlet. For uniformly who brought out the Hoosier love in full force and skylilies who gave me the idea of Hoosier/Skinny. That bit of brilliance is all hers.
Get your ass down here.
That was the note attached to the plane ticket resting on his kitchen counter. Carwood Lipton’s perfect cursive was ordering him, as usual, and Bill “Hoosier” Smith never bothered to ignore Lip’s orders. They’d saved his life on more than one occasion.
Hoosier looked around his apartment, one of the stylish abodes among the homes of the new rock gods littering the Sunset Strip and smiled. He never did like to hang around ass-kissers and health freaks. He only came out to Los Angeles because he was trying to be a supportive boyfriend. Then Sara left him for some Emo Punk “musician” who thought screaming could cover up a distinct lack of talent.
Hoosier was only a little bitter about it, especially since Sara was far too good for him, not to mention some asshole who thought his eyeliner was as important as his guitar strap.
He picked up his phone and dialed Lip’s number.
“I got your suggestion,” he said by way of greeting.
“Skinny says you need a new security system,” Lip replied, “and that he’d install it himself if you moved your ass to Nashville.”
“Maybe I like it here,” Hoosier said.
“Bill, you’re turning into some former pop star version of Miss Havisham. Soon you’re going to adopt some poor kid and turn them into a heartless bastard much like yourself.”
“You talking to Webster again?” he asked. Lip only quoted Great Expectations after talking to Webster.
“He’s one of the best publicists out there.”
“Sure, if you’re looking for awkward statements and Weekly World News headlines,” Hoosier said.
Lip’s disappointed sigh still held all its impact over the line. “What’s keeping you in L.A.?” he asked.
“Isn’t it where all washed up pop stars go to end their days?”
“You told me that was reality shows.”
“And how am I supposed to get on one if I’m not in the City that Hollywood Built?”
“Bill, get your ass down here. You don’t even have a real bed in that apartment. And I know your fridge is nothing but condiments.”
“You got a home for me?”
“Skinny found you a place.”
It really didn’t even take some serious thinking.
“I’ll be there tomorrow,” he said.
********
Skinny Sisk was the son of 3B’s first security guard. He got the name Skinny because until he hit 17, Skinny was one of those chubby kids just waiting for puberty to finish its hell. He used to wrestle, got a scholarship to college for it even, but then he dropped 30 pounds over a summer and had to learn how to use tone over bulk. Skinny followed his father into the business and became the guard assigned to trail after Hoosier and Lip.
They’d faded from the spotlight since, but Skinny still spent most of his days cleaning up after Lip and Hoosier, making sure they didn’t electrocute themselves in the bathroom or experience death by spork.
He was better than any personal assistant or manager at calming Lip and Hoosier down, knew what they needed before they did, and managed to make sure they paid all their bills on time. Winters was the genius who worked with Sobel to invest their money so well they never had to work again, but Skinny was the one who made sure there was something to occupy their minds.
Skinny quietly controlled everything, and you didn’t realize how much until you were in the Nashville airport, trying to figure out where the hell you were going.
“Like I’d expect you to find your own way,” Skinny said, already holding Hoosier’s bags.
“Ain’t my fault you’ve made me useless,” Hoosier said.
Skinny dropped one of the bags on Hoosier’s foot. “Time for you to start taking back control,” he said.
Hoosier slapped Skinny on the back of the head.
“If you break me you’ll never figure out where your home is,” Skinny said.
“Where are you stashing me this time? Some crack house chic palace?” Hoosier asked.
“I thought we both agreed your pretty face is not meant to survive the mean streets,” Skinny said.
Hoosier shrugged. “I doubt anyone’s looking anymore.”
Skinny threw an arm around his shoulder. “Just because Sara and Patrick left you, doesn’t make you damaged goods. You’re more an acquired taste.”
“Not making me feel any better, Skinny,” Hoosier said.
He followed Skinny out to his car and tried not to snort.
“Don’t mock the four wheel drive,” Skinny said.
“It’s a Subaru. Badass security guards are supposed to drive Hummers.”
“Not with their tendency to flip over,” Skinny said.
“So, where we going?” Hoosier asked, settling down for the ride.
“Wait until you hear banjos,” Skinny said.
********
“Holy shit,” Hoosier said when they pulled up in the driveway of his new house.
They were at least forty-five minutes outside of downtown Nashville, surrounded by wide expanses of open land and horse farms.
“Holy hell, it’s almost like home. A bit colder than I was expecting, but shit, Skinny,” Hoosier said.
Skinny shrugged. “You won’t got back to Indiana, so we’ll bring you some country here, you’ve been in the city too long.”
“It’s a big ass house,” Hoosier said.
“You’ve got a staff and a roommate.”
“Lip?”
Skinny shook his head and took out a set of keys. “You really think I’m going to trust you to live on this property and not get lost.”
“Didn’t know you cared,” Hoosier said.
“I know who signs my paychecks,” Skinny answered, “and with you dead, I am out of half a job.”
“Most of it. Shifty’s got Lip under control.”
Skinny opened the door to the house, the smell of cinnamon and pumpkin spice spilled out.
It was tastefully decorated, clearly a professional job since Skinny’s decorating taste were about the same as Hoosier’s. Still, it felt warm, cozy, and lived in. Like a real home. Hoosier just couldn’t get over the fact it smelled like Thanksgiving.
“Did you turn this place into a friggin’ Yankee Candle?” he asked.
“I needed to get rid of the new paint smell,” Skinny said.
“I like that smell,” Hoosier said.
“Only because it reminds you of your pre-teen huffing years.”
“What else was I supposed to do with a nose like mine?”
“Go into the wine business,” Skinny said.
“You got a winery around here for me to work at?” Hoosier asked.
“Nope,” Skinny said, dropping the bags by the stairs, “but I do have a job for you once you’re settled.”
“Keeping me occupied?” Hoosier asked.
“Someone needs to pay the property taxes,” Skinny said.
*******
Skinny’s job was a bartending position at a place called Allison’s, it was a music joint with the perfect blues and bluegrass atmosphere. The musician in Hoosier loved the place on sight; it was lived in, it had history, it was real.
And he didn’t hate the job. Hoosier always took well to bartending, picked it up as an occupation in all the places he lived. He liked leading tourists astray and having the power as the man who poured the drinks. Hell, if he got a free show out of it each night, it was worth the beer stains on his favorite jeans and his dinner of cheap bar pretzels.
Most of all, Hoosier liked going to work in nothing but jeans, a white undershirt, and a button down. It made him feel like he was back in Indiana, elbows deep into an engine block, or working his grandpa’s fields. He was always more comfortable in a pair of Levi’s than some suit pants that cost more than a cell phone.
“You’re adjusting well,” Eddie Jones, bar co-owner and resident musician said.
“I’ve bartended a time or two before,” Hoosier said
“No, I meant to life outside of fame. Most guys who make it big consider themselves too good for an honest day’s work, even if they need the money.”
It was only Hoosier’s boy band charm school training that kept him from dropping the glass in his hands.
“You don’t look like a 3B fan,” he said.
“I ain’t,” Eddie said, “but my sister Anna was, is still.”
“Does everyone know?”
Eddie smirked. “Andy couldn’t place you until he remembered Lip’s old job. Mike Wynn has a few teenage girls who obsessed over you about ten years ago.”
“Ouch,” he said, putting the glass down before it shattered.
“You look good for your age.”
“I’m only thirty, Hillbilly,” he said.
“Just a baby,” Eddie said.
He rested his arms on the bar and gave Hoosier a long look.
“Why’d you come here?” he asked,
“Lip told me to,” Hoosier answered.
“Right, but why did you really come?”
“Needed to get the fuck out of Hollywood,” Hoosier said.
“That’s all?” Eddie asked.
“What are you trying to get at?” Hoosier asked, leaning back against the shelf.
“I’m not going to tell you how to live your life, and what I know of you, is mostly hearsay, but I recognize the wanderer in you.”
“Do you then?”
“You like it here, though, it could almost be home. But you got to open yourself up to it.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means pull your $2,000 haircut out of your ass and look at the people around you,” Eddie said.
He stood up from the bar with a nod of his head and made his way to the stage.
Hoosier let himself be soothed by the sound check process while he tried to gain back the face Eddie had just ripped off with a few pointed words. Sound check always made him calm. Something about instruments being tuned and mics being set up that let the noise in his head stop.
Eddie wasn’t wrong, but hell, Hoosier and his delusions had always been best friends
********
The long drive from Allison’s to home always provided the perfect opportunity to think. Once you left the Nashville hub, it was nothing but trees, road, and houses set far apart for miles. Hoosier appreciated the peace and quiet, even if you never could properly drift off and day dream. The second you did, it would be a deer meeting the hood.
Skinny Sisk was a life-long friend. He and Hoosier were the closest in age, so when Daddy Wayne decided it was time to assign his boy to a real job, Hoosier was the logical choice. Lip also came along with the deal, but honestly, Lip had enough sense to stay out of the shit that usually required a body guard.
Skinny was a friend first though, always was, and never thought of in that detached way that could come with hired thugs. Skinny was the one who stood beside Hoosier in a cramped rest stop bathroom, laughing and helping, when Hoosier decided to dye his hair fire-engine-red in a fit of pop-star rebellion. (Skinny laughed even harder when it set off a trend through all of bubble-gum pop land.) Skinny was the one who sat beside the tattoo artist’s chair and talked Hoosier down from screaming his head off when he decided getting a tattoo on his chest bone was the best idea in the world. Skinny was the first one to congratulate them when they went Diamond, getting a hug in even before Winters could manage it.
Skinny was there for the shitty times too. He was the one who answered the call about Hoosier’s mom. He was the one who had to convey to them each time a fan got hurt at a show. He was the first person Hoosier called, after Lip, when a relationship imploded on itself. And he was the one to tell Hoosier it was because he was a mean son-of-a-bitch who no one knew how to handle.
Skinny never sugar coated the hard truths, and Hoosier loved him for that.
And Skinny saw him as Bill, not a former famous face, not a meal ticket, not a stepping-stone for a career move.
Hoosier wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew what Eddie was getting at tonight. Hell, Hoosier had pondered it enough on his own. Skinny was the only who could handle and tolerate Hoosier, even when he was beyond his worst. And Hoosier had said more than a handful of asshole things to Skinny over the years, but Skinny was never, ever afraid to give as good as he got.
He knew Skinny wasn’t uninterested. There had been a few drunken fumblings in the earlier years, when Hoosier was just starting to figure out he wanted and Skinny knew damn well. They’d just never talked long enough to decide to go for it all. And then came the success, the downfall, and the distance.
It was a hell of a risk. It was a good thing Hoosier always liked the odds in Vegas.
Five years ago, after Patrick ripped his heart out, taking his dog along with his sanity and his pride, Hoosier got wasted. So wasted he wound up in the hospital with a nice stomach pump and a stay in the psych ward as a suicide risk. It was a bit of overkill, but Hoosier definitely needed the time to dry out and get his head back on straight.
All his band members came to see him; Lip with his concerned eyes, Toye with his dark smile, Luz with his jokes, and Nixon with a list of his favorite rehab facilities. Winters was the only one who believed Hoosier when he told him it was honestly an accident, and thank god for that, since Winters was his emergency contact. It was Skinny who came last, and punched Hoosier in the jaw.
It wasn’t so much a wake-up call as the sort of hard love tap he desperately needed. It was the last time Skinny left Hoosier to his own devices for more than a month at a time.
Skinny was damn good at his job, he was the one who trained Chuckler Juergens, yet another guard who was competent without being obvious muscle. But while Chuckler and all the other security details left them alone when the band broke-up, Skinny somehow worked his way into their lives with a paid job as being the one who cleaned up all their shit.
And it never occurred to Hoosier to ask why. He could get Lip, it was payback for the unflinching faith Lip had in everyone. But Hoosier? He didn’t have a heart of gold and he sure as hell wasn’t planning on doing anything more constructive with his life.
Hoosier parked his car in the garage and hurried up the stairs to Skinny’s office.
“Did you set something on fire?” Skinny asked when Hoosier pushed the door open.
“Why the hell are you still here?” Hoosier asked.
“I don’t have any meetings until tomorrow,” Skinny said.
“No,” Hoosier said, as he closed the door, “why are you still here?” he asked. He stepped into Skinny’s space, knowing it could be dangerous. Skinny was never shy about taking violent action.
Skinny let out an exasperated breath, making the hairs on Hoosier’s neck stand up. It smelled like mint, which meant Skinny was trying to quit smoking again.
“You’re not stupid, Hoosier,” he said, “don’t act like an idiot.”
“How long?” Hoosier asked.
“Why the hell do you think I hated Patrick so fucking much?” Skinny asked.
“That was years ago. And you and Liebgott have been done for two years.”
“Yeah, well, he fell for some messed up Cajun kid and Sara had just left you. It wasn’t the best time to start anything. At this point in my life, I suffer no delusions as to where I’m going to end up. It’ll be by your side in some capacity.”
“How selfless of you.”
“You certainly have a talent for not taking care of yourself,” Skinny said.
“So, this is where it’s at,” Hoosier said.
“After you’ve had a night to think about it and when you’re not smelling like bourbon, sure,” Skinny said.
“You going to tuck me in?” Hoosier asked.
“You’ll just have to survive the night on your own.”
“I’m so lonesome, I could cry,” Hoosier said.
“Don’t take Hank’s name in vain,” Skinny said.
********
Hoosier never liked being on the stage. His anxiety grew with the size of the crowds, and by the time they were playing stadiums, Hoosier was downing booze like water just to get his ass in front of the audience.
Skinny spent the whole night after a show by Hoosier’s side, making sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit. Everyone else on the crew had to make sure Nix didn’t take a flying leap off the hotel balcony. It was only ever Skinny there to shake Hoosier awake, drag his ass to the bathroom, and make him presentable by morning light.
Hoosier grew used to that strong hand waking his ass up. It usually came with a hard smack to his face and a muttered comment about not getting paid enough for this bullshit. That morning is was a kick to his shin and a get your ass out of bed.
“What happened to giving me the night?” Hoosier asked, speaking into his pillow.
“I changed my mind,” Skinny said.
Hoosier held his blankets open. “Get the hell in here, I ain’t getting out of this bed.”
“We’re doing this backwards,” Skinny said.
“Since when the fuck do you care about proper behavior?” Hoosier asked.
“Valid point,” Skinny said. He slipped into the bed, sitting with his back against the headboard. “You’re an asshole, you know.”
“I know, darlin’, but you love it about me.”
“You could at least take your face out of the pillow to say that.”
“Fine,” Hoosier said, flipping over with a fuss, “happy?”
“Thrilled. Tap dancing with joy,” Skinny said.
Hoosier blinked up at him. “You always knew this was going to happen. Just waiting for me to catch up.”
“I did set up your dream house.”
“No pink Cadillac in the garage.”
“The dealership was all out,” Skinny said.
“It ain’t my home without you,” Hoosier said, “so you’ve got to stay.”
“We’re keeping separate bedrooms,” Skinny said.
“I’m insulted.”
“You snore like a freight train and when you’re drunk it’s even worse.”
Hoosier shrugged. “I didn’t want to make closet space for you anyway.” He reached a hand up and tugged Skinny down to the mattress.
“This is familiar,” Skinny said.
“Been a few years,” Hoosier said, “missed it. The other boys and girls just didn’t have your bony elbows.”
“At least my collar bones don’t stab people,” Skinny said.
Hoosier laughed and pulled Skinny down for a kiss. It didn’t quite work, with their teeth hitting and foreheads bumping.
Skinny laughed and leaned over Hoosier, holding his head still. “Just let me take care of it, like I always do.”
“Yes, sir,” Hoosier said.