Guarding January (3 page)

“Yeah. Double PA, got a dydoe, a frenum, and a hafada. It’s a thing.”

A fucking sexy thing.

Rye pushed that thought away, along with the sudden thought that all that pale skin would bruise amazingly.

“They let you keep ’em during rehab?”

“They’re not made of uppers. They weren’t concerned about my prick.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. I didn’t know if they wanted you to eschew all the trappings of the lifestyle that you were in while hooked or what.” He put the sandwiches on a couple of plates. “How about we go sit out in the sun while we eat?”

“I’m a vampire, remember? No sun.”

Look at them, having a conversation. “We’ll slather you with SPF 1000.”

“I tell you what, I’ll go shower, dress, and then I’ll meet you outside, okay?”

“It’s a deal.” It was far more than he’d expected, actually.

“Cool.” LJ disappeared, sliding out of the room like smoke.

They’d had an actual conversation; LJ had not only been downstairs, but promised to come back; and there was the potential for getting food into that too-skinny body.

And all Rye’d had to do was throw the guy into the pool.

J
EFF
TOOK
a long shower, luxuriating in spray battering at him from all sides, the scent of his soap—roses and sandalwood. He’d showered in rehab, of course, and it had been luxurious, but this was home. This was his shower.

He cleaned himself over and over, touching himself, letting himself feel something good.

Letting himself feel.

Maybe he could just stay in here. Would the giant allow it?

Probably not. He needed to call Donna, have her back the big guy off a few notches. Hell, she gave him a day off, right?

He kept touching himself, tempting fate.

Finally, though, the promise of music and warm clothes drew him out. He dried off, found a pair of huge sweats and an even bigger shirt, his ubiquitous hoodie, socks, stompy boots, and full makeup.

Not January’s costume, but some hybrid between Jeff and January.

To his credit, Rye was sitting out on the deck, looking unconcerned about where he was. And the man was in the shade instead of the sun too.

Jeff headed out, hiding in his hoodie, burrowing deep in the shadows.

Rye gave him a smile that made him look really handsome. “Got your armor on, I see.”

“There are cameras everywhere.”

“You’ve got a nine-foot privacy fence and nothing behind the house….”

Jeff shrugged. There were pictures online of everything, even a few of rehab. Those people were clever, crafty.

“It’s got to be hard, wearing the bad boy facade all the time.” Rye handed over a plate with a sandwich on it.

“Yeah, it totally sucks having groupies and money.” He winked, putting the sandwich on the table. Honestly, he didn’t care about that. He wanted the music, wanted the lights and the pulse of the crowd. He loved that, being everything Jefferson Smart wasn’t.

“So why’d you turn to drugs?” Rye handed the plate with the sandwich back.

“I like them.” It was as simple as that. They were everywhere, they made life faster, made him better, smarter, happier.

“They’ve got some pretty severe side effects. Not to mention they’re illegal.” Rye smiled, taking out the sting of the words.

“Yeah. They stopped my heart. It was great.” What did he care about illegal?

Rye snorted but let the subject drop. “Eat. Take the sandwich apart and have the bits you want if the whole sandwich is too intimidating.”

He looked at the food. “I need a cigarette.”

“No, you need food.” Rye had a stubborn set to his jaw.

“I don’t want to eat.” He’d eaten in rehab, tons of protein shakes at first, then mashed potatoes, scrambled eggs.

“Too bad. Eat. If you give me a list of the foods you like best, I’ll have Brigitte start stocking the fridge. But you have to eat.”

“Or what?” He took a deep drink of water, letting it fill him.

“I’m not going to leave you be until you do.”

“Okay.” He was exceptional at being lost in his own brain.

“No, it’s not okay. You are going to die, and then your manager is going to kill me. I’m very fond of living.”

“Donna is a sweet old lady.” Sort of like Elizabeth Bathory had been at the end….

That earned him another snort. “Right. Like the sun is a little hot.”

That actually made him chuckle. “When is she coming to see me?”

“Have you invited her?”

“No. I haven’t called anyone.” He grabbed his phone, dialing “Mom.”

“Jeff? Is that actually you, honey?” Donna’s voice sounded just the same as he remembered.

“Hey. Where are you?”
Why haven’t you come?

“Working. Are you doing okay?”

“Like you aren’t getting reports.”

“All I know is that you’re still alive.” Her voice was dry.

“I am. Go me.” Suddenly all his adrenaline was gone, and all he wanted in the world was to sleep. “I need to go. I’m tired. Bye.”

He stood up and headed inside, his feet feeling heavy, like his boots were filled with sand.

His phone rang, but he ignored it.

All of a sudden he was off his feet, Rye scooping him up and carrying him.

“What are you doing?” He couldn’t handle anything else.

“Carrying you up to your room before you fall down the stairs.”

He fumbled with his phone, dialing Jim, even as Rye carried him.
Please. Please answer.

“Jim here.”

“I want to come back.”

“Oh, honey. You can’t live in stasis. You’re stronger than you think.”

But he wasn’t.

“What happened?” Jim asked.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. I’m so tired.”

“Have you been eating?”

Rye set him down on the bed.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You gotta eat, honey. Taking care of yourself is part of the program.”

“I’m not hungry, though. I’m too tired to eat.”

“Honey, they’ll have to come in and put in an IV. They won’t bring you back here. They’ll put you in the psych ward.”

He started to cry, silently, just lost and lonely and old.

Rye took the phone out of his hand. “Who is this…? Yeah. I’m trying. I don’t want to force-feed him. Yeah, okay. I’ll tell him you said bye.”

Sitting, Rye pulled him into the strong arms. “Shh. Shh.”

Jeff sighed softly, tears sliding through his makeup. He cried for a long time before sleep took him again, offering him peace, silence.

All the while, warm arms held him.

R
YE
HELD
the skinny body long after LJ was asleep. Then he called Brigitte and gave her a grocery list.

He was glad he’d pulled the phone from LJ when the kid had started crying; the guy, Jim, had a bunch of solutions for getting nutrition into LJ—Jeff, actually. The sponsor had called LJ that. Interesting that someone called Jeff by his given name, because nobody else ever did.

After hanging up the phone, Rye settled back in his chair and grabbed his tablet.

A few hours later, Brigitte arrived, and he met her in the kitchen, helping her put away the groceries.

Once she’d gone, he prepared a chocolate milkshake, added protein powder, and headed back upstairs.

Jeff was dreaming, writhing on the bed, stretching out, then curling around his belly. He had to be starving to death.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Rye put his hand on Jeff’s shoulder. “Jeff. Time to wake up. I’ve got a chocolate milkshake for you.”

Those dark eyes flashed open. “A milkshake?”

Bingo.

“Yep. A chocolate one.”

He tried not to notice how huge Jeff’s eyes looked with his makeup smeared around them.

“Smells good.” Jeff’s hands shook, and Rye held the glass, steadying it so Jeff could take a drink. He wanted to cheer when Jeff took two long swallows. Calories, yay.

He put his arm around Jeff and kept him sitting up, encouraged him to drink some more.

“It’s good. Cold.” Jeff wiped his cheek, brushing away more makeup. “I…. Everything’s a little fuzzy.”

He imagined so. “You’re a little hungry, Jeff.”

It was hard to reconcile the Jeff before him with Lord January’s bad boy image.

“Not really. You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

“You are, you just don’t realize it.” He put the glass back to Jeff’s lips. Jeff drank again, deep, swallowing hard. There. There. Good man. Rye nodded, encouraged Jeff to lean against him.

“Sorry. I’m not a snuggler.” But Jeff still pushed close, shivering and cuddling.

“Okay.” He ran his hand up and down Jeff’s arm, trying to warm him up.

Jeff drank half the shake before pushing it away. “No more.”

“You can have the rest later.” It was probably better if Jeff didn’t drink it all at once anyway; that poor stomach would likely just send it all back up. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know.”

The sad part was that he didn’t think Jeff was lying.

“You like movies, Jeff?”

There was a huge TV across from the bed—they could watch something.

“I do, actually. I watch them a lot.”

“Then how about we sit and eat. I could even make popcorn.”

“I…. Okay. Yeah. We could. You know… you know you don’t have to hang out. I know I’m shit company. I’m just so fucking tired. I can’t wake all the way up.”

It was more words and more information than Jeff had volunteered to date. Rye put it down to getting much needed protein into the guy, and just maybe the care he took of Jeff was starting to sink in.

“I bet once we get you fed and out in the air a little, you will. I’m going to help.”

“Okay. What movie?”

“I’m a closet Keanu Reeves fan.” It wasn’t something Rye shared with very many people.

“
Matrix
or
Dracula
?”

“Let’s start with the
Matrix
. There’s three of them.”

Jeff nodded. “I’m going to wash my face first. I itch.”

“Sounds good. Are the movies listed alphabetically?”

“Oh, they’re all loaded onto hard drives so I can take them on the road.” Jeff pulled out a laptop, opened up some software, and showed him a huge long list. “Just click on the one you want.”

“That’s pretty cool.” He cued up the movie, then zipped downstairs to put a bag of popcorn into the microwave.

Five minutes later he was back up with a big bowl of popcorn and a couple of bottles of water.

Jeff was clean-faced, hair loose, wearing soft, loose clothes. The shake was in his hand, another third gone.

He looked… really good, actually.

“I brought popcorn.” Rye held out the bowl.

“Cool. Park yourself wherever.”

He put the waters on the bedside table and sat on the bed next to Jeff, the bowl of popcorn between them.

The movie started, the huge TV proving to have a stunning sound system that filled the air. Jeff moved about fifteen minutes into the film, curling around a huge body pillow and lying on his belly.

“You okay?” Rye asked softly.

“Hurts to sit for a long time.”

It didn’t surprise him; there was no padding on the kid. Rye rubbed Jeff’s calf companionably.

Jeff made it almost through the movie before dozing again, but he woke after only ten or fifteen minutes, going back for the shake when he woke.

Rye would make another one once the movie was over. God knows, Jeff needed a couple dozen a day.

Jeff shifted constantly, moving across the bed.

“Hey. Come here.” He encouraged Jeff to lie against him between his legs, warming Jeff up.

“Are…. Will this get you in trouble?”

Rye didn’t bother to answer until he had Jeff propped up, body not making solid contact anywhere. “Making you more comfortable is not going to get me in trouble.”

It took a few more minutes before Jeff relaxed, let go, staring at the TV.

There they were.

Between the relaxation and the milkshake, Rye finally felt like he was doing something for Jeff. When Jeff dozed off again, Rye held on, then started the next movie.

R
YE
WAS
sleeping—sleeping hard—so Jeff headed down to his studio. They’d been in the house for more than a week, and they’d watched a hundred movies together, the music and the visuals easing him almost as much as the way Rye helped make him comfortable.

Now he wanted to play for a few hours, make some music.

The studio was quiet, dusty, and he wandered for a few minutes before he pulled out a guitar and started playing. He ran through standards, a little Spanish flamenco, just playing, exploring his fingers again.

The door suddenly flew open, Rye rushing in. “Oh thank God.” Rye leaned against the doorjamb.

Jeff looked up, eyebrow arched. “What’s wrong?”

“I woke up, and you were gone. You never leave your room.”

“I wanted to work a little.” He’d maybe needed to, even. He felt better today, like a real person, and who knew how long that would last?

Rye nodded. “That’s great. It is. I just had a moment of panic. You should wake me next time. I won’t mind, I swear.”

“You looked happy.” And Jeff didn’t know what to do. Most of his security, he’d basically ignored, and his friends…. Well, he didn’t have friends. He could, he supposed, with a phone call. Maybe Jim would come over.

Maybe.

If he could stay awake for more than ten minutes at a time.

Why was it so quiet around here?

“I must have been having a good dream.” Rye nodded to his guitar. “Do you mind if I sit and listen?”

“No. Please. I love an audience.”

Soon he’d have to call others, start jamming. Not yet. Not yet.

He put his head down and started playing, his fingers moving on their own. Rye was quiet, just letting him play. He played until blood stained the strings, until his body was shuddering with muscle aches and hunger.

“Okay, Jeff. Let’s get you some food.” Rye took the guitar from his hands.