Guarding January (6 page)

“I’m never seen during the day, so I have a little leeway.”

“So we have time to decide how to handle it, I guess.”

“I’ll go out in the yard after dark, make an appearance, then schedule some sort of public outing in a week or two.”

“Have you ever wanted to just chuck it all away?”

“Lots of times, but the guys in the band depend on me, Donna, my tour manager, my driver. There’s dozens of them, from the social media girl to the publicist. It’s a machine.” So straightforward, so sure. There was no hope in Jeff’s voice.

“Ever thought of changing your image?”

Surely not all the fans were there just for the… stuff. Some had to be in it for the singing.

“Not really. Eventually the age will catch up with me and plastic surgery won’t do it. This isn’t forever. My star will fall.”

“You’re a good singer, though. And you write songs and stuff. There’s got to be more to your career than just the vampire stuff.”

Jeff chuckled and sat up, grabbed the remote, and turned the television on, along with the laptop. In a few seconds, there was Lord January, big as life, writhing and snarling on stage. The words were husky, pure sex, but somehow cold, inhuman.

It was fascinating and repulsive all at once.

“Do you think I’m a good singer, Rye?”

“I have to admit that’s not my kind of music. Why don’t you sing me something less… uh, goth?”

“Life is what it is, my friend. There’s no altering that.” Jeff slipped from the bed, wrapping himself in layer after layer of too-large clothes. “I assume I should stay up here until a cleaning crew comes?”

Rye was a little disappointed Jeff wouldn’t sing him something—the guy played all sorts of nongoth music on the guitar. He put that aside, though. He wasn’t here to get sung to.

“Indeed. I’ll go make you a milkshake.” It was nasty downstairs, and he didn’t want Jeff seeing it. People were seriously fucked up. This had been a random fan—he had the man’s photo and name on his phone now, sent by the cops, and it wasn’t any of the names from his credible threats list. Even so, he would be careful.

“Can you bring me my acoustic guitar, please?”

“You got it.”

He headed downstairs to the kitchen. The cleaners showed up while he was making a couple of milkshakes, and he let them in. Then he headed back upstairs, detouring into the studio to grab Jeff’s guitar.

Jeff was waiting, sitting cross-legged in the center of the bed, typing on his laptop.

Rye handed over the guitar and set their milkshakes down on the bedside table. “Have a few sips of the shake before you start.”

“What kind is it?”

“Cherry.” He was going to have to put more frozen fruit on the shopping list for Brigitte.

Grabbing his, he ignored the sudden desire to sit on the bed with Jeff and went to the chair he’d begun to think of as his. He silently told himself off—just because Jeff had needed him close in the aftermath of the break-in didn’t make it more than just that.

Hell, Jeff wasn’t even his type. Jeff was skinny and pale and emotional. Still, there was something about the kid and those big, green eyes….

He cleared his throat and downed some of his milkshake.

Jeff sipped a little, just a bit, then put it aside and started playing his guitar.

He didn’t like the crap that Lord January did, but just Jeff and his guitar? He could listen to this all day.

Softly, Jeff began to sing to him, voice gentle, low, unique, and wonderful.

Oh damn. He put his milkshake and his tablet down and just listened. He didn’t know anything about markets or music, but he knew when something was honest and real.

One song slid into another, then another and another.

He hardly even noticed the passage of time, simply entranced by Jeff’s voice. How come he was playing Lord January when he could do this?

Finally, though, Jeff’s voice cracked, and he knew it was time. Rest. Food. Now.

Standing, Rye clapped. “Yes, I think you’re a good singer, Jeff.”

Jeff pinked and rolled his eyes, but there was a smile there, a real, warm smile.

“How about you finish up that milkshake, and I’ll go see if the cleaning crew is done yet.”

“I’ll have some.”

“You know I’m just going to nag you until you finish it.” He played it off lightly. It was true, though; he would.

“You’ll be downstairs.” Jeff took a deep drink, though, humming over it.

“I’ll bring up another one.” Actually, he was going to bring up a sandwich. He’d learned that if he cut the bread really thin and kept the ingredients vegetarian, he could get Jeff to eat solid food.

“Thank you for sleeping with me. It helped.”

“You’re welcome.” He touched Jeff’s shoulder. “I’ll be back in a few, okay?”

“I’ll be here.” Jeff took another sip of his shake and grabbed his laptop.

“Cool.” Rye headed downstairs, finding that the cleaning service had let in the carpenter, and the window was almost done. So, apparently, were the cleaners.

Good.

By the time he had their sandwiches made, a plate of cut-up vegetables beside them on the tray, the cleaners and carpenter were ready to go.

After seeing them out, he locked the door behind them.

He balanced the plates and headed up into the quiet, private quarters.
The Avengers
was playing on the TV, and Jeff was watching it, head hanging off the edge of the bed.

Rye sat their plates on the bed and climbed on. Jeff would eventually come sit or lie on him, letting him cushion Jeff’s limbs.

“Does the house look okay?” Jeff slowly rolled over, stretched.

“Yep. You’d never know anything happened. We can go swim.”

“Yeah?” Jeff was becoming quite the swimmer, enjoying the water, the exercise. His stamina was really getting up there too. It was good to see.

“Yeah. After you eat the sandwich.”

Jeff looked over, grabbed a carrot. “Hummus?”

Was that hunger? He pushed the hummus over, not saying a word.

“Thank you.” Jeff dipped a piece of red pepper, noshed on it. And Rye ate his own sandwich, feeling chipper.

“Do you play games?” Jeff asked.

“You mean like checkers?”

“Checkers. Chess. Backgammon. Halo. World of Warcraft. Spades. Scrabble.”

“Hey, I’ve heard of all of those,” Rye teased.

“Do you play any of them?”

“Sure. All except Scrabble. I’m a shit speller.”

“I have a backgammon board. It was my dad’s.”

Oh. So Lord January had a family. “Yeah? You used to play with him? Are you a backgammon shark?”

“I’m not bad, but yeah. I used to play a lot.” Jeff got out of the bed, headed for the closet, and pulled out what looked like a tiny little suitcase.

“Cool.” Rye shifted so he was sitting cross-legged on the bed.

Jeff grinned, settled across from him, and set up the board. In seconds, they were playing.

All through the game, Jeff kept picking up a new vegetable and dipping it into the hummus. It made Rye happy to see Jeff eating, relaxing. Interacting with him.

He’d thought the man was totally empty, but he’d been wrong. Jeff had been tired. Tired and hungry.

Jeff won the first game, and Rye won the second one. By then they’d both eaten their sandwiches, and Jeff had demolished a good part of his vegetables.

“Tiebreaker?” Jeff asked.

Rye loved the life in Jeff’s green eyes. “Of course.” He rubbed his hands together. “Prepare to go down.”

“Not a chance, man.”

“We’ll see. Time will bear me out.”

“Oh….” Jeff grabbed his laptop and typed furiously for a second.

“Hey now, you’re not trying to cheat, are you?”

“Huh? Cheat at what?” Jeff looked up at him. “I was writing that down. Time will bear me out. It’s a killer lyric.”

“Oh yeah?” Rye grinned. “Does that mean I get cowriting credit?”

“I’ll thank you in the liner notes. Inspired by someone I beat at backgammon.”

“Hey, we’re tied at a game apiece. Come on, it’s time for the rubber match.” He liked this: the teasing, the happiness, the hints of brilliance.

This whole month had been a study in watching someone come alive. Even last night’s events didn’t seem to have fazed Jeff too badly.

They started another game, and it quickly became apparent that Jeff was likely to win again. At the end it was close, though, and Jeff barely squeaked by.

“You’ve got a lucky touch with the dice.” Rye believed some people had it and some didn’t when it came to games of chance. It looked like the dice liked Jeff well enough.

“Sometimes. Sometimes no matter what you do, it sucks.”

“That’s a pretty good metaphor for life, isn’t it?” Rye closed the board up. “We should go swim. And I found your mini gym. We could start with some weights—get some muscles built up.”

“I can’t have muscles. I have to be spare.” Jeff stood up and looked at himself in the mirror. “I’ve gained weight already.”

“You’re still too skinny. And I’m not talking muscles-muscles.” He put up his arms and flexed. “I’m talking wiry muscles. You can be both skinny and strong.”

“You’re not skinny. You’re a giant. It’s amazing.”

“A giant….” Rye chuckled. He supposed he might seem like one next to Jeff. Jeff wasn’t short by any means, but Rye was over half a foot taller and maybe had at least a hundred pounds of muscle on Jeff.

“Yeah. My own personal giant.” Jeff put the board away, carefully tucking it in the huge closet. “Do I need to buy you clothes for the tour?”

“I guess that depends. I have plenty of jeans and T-shirts and a couple of suits. But if you want me… in costume, then, yes, you do.” He wasn’t going to like it, but he’d wear whatever Jeff wanted him to, as long as it didn’t obstruct his sight lines or movement.

“Suits are fine. No colors, but black and white and you’ll be fine.”

“I’ve got two that fit that bill.” They’d be at hotels, and he could have the one suit cleaned while he wore the other; it would work.

“You know if you need things, Donna will do it. She’s like a superorganized machine.” Jeff headed for the door. “Swimming?”

“Yes, swimming.” He followed Jeff. The swimsuits and towels were kept in the small cupboard in the pool room.

Jeff made it to the door of the main house and took a deep breath. “No one’s in there, right?”

“Nope. The cleaning crew left. But I can go ahead of you. It’ll be good practice for when you’re on tour.” He put Jeff behind him. “Put your hand on my back, so I know you’re right there.”

Jeff’s hand rested on the small of his back, right above his belt.

“Perfect. Then you just keep up with me. Tap on my back if I’m moving too fast or people are touching you, and I’ll drop back to you. But most of the time, I’ll be able to forge a path through people if I’m ahead of you.” He opened the door into the living room.

“What happens if I disappear?”

“From behind me?” Rye shook his head. He wasn’t letting that happen. “The second your hand disappears from my back, I’ll turn and grab you.”

“The crowds can be scary. I try to out intimidate them.”

“You want to go ahead of me, then? I can loom over you and help with the intimidation.” Like an extension of Jeff.

“I don’t know. We’ll have to experiment.”

“Yeah, see what works best, huh?”

“Will you use the same team as before?”

They headed into the swimming area, the water clean and clear, the room warm and comfortable. This was quickly becoming Rye’s favorite room.

“Team?”

“There were… three? Four men? I don’t know. Enough to protect the stage with the band.”

“Ah. Ms. Heard said she’d take care of that. It’ll be new people, though.” He’d insisted on that. Guys who knew Lord January was clean now and could be trusted to honor that, to make sure any groupies who hung out weren’t carrying. Anyone with drugs would be turned away.

Jeff started stripping down. “New security? Are you sure? You know people?”

“Ms. Heard is taking care of it. I gave her a list.” Ex-cops, every one of them.

“Oh.” Jeff slipped into the water without another word.

Rye stopped Jeff with a hand on one shoulder. “You’ll be safe. On my life.”

“No. No, you’re not allowed to get hurt. The road is ugly. It always will be.”

“Then we’ll get through it together.”

Jeff looked away, then patted his belly. “It’s time to swim.”

“It is.” Rye stripped down, getting into the water as Jeff started to swim. He was going to miss swimming naked when they started using the hotel pools.

Every so often, he would adjust Jeff’s stroke so that he wasn’t causing wear and tear on his shoulders. It felt good, working his muscles, the water on his skin. Knowing he was helping Jeff out.

He was used to watching the black ink move, muscles making the dark shapes shift. It was kind of mesmerizing, like Jeff himself. Different from what he was used to, but compelling. Fascinating.

Rye swam until he was tired, and then he patted Jeff’s shoulder. “Time to stop.” He’d make them some roasted red pepper soup. Jeff was even eating the toast points now too.

“Already?” Jeff was relentless.

“Yeah. Your body needs a break now and then.”

Jeff sighed, eyes rolling dramatically.

Chuckling, Rye climbed out of the pool and offered Jeff his hand. Jeff’s hands were shaking, and Rye made sure everything was steady before he let go. Grabbing a towel, he ran it over Jeff’s limbs, then handed him a robe before drying himself off.

The gate bell was ringing when they headed to the kitchen, a couple of news vans waiting.

Jeff winced. “I should call Martin. He deals with the press.”

“Okay. Meanwhile, I’m going to tell them to go away.”

“Please.” Jeff sighed and headed back up to his rooms.

Growling, Rye grabbed the phone. “Who is this?”

“Lisa Jonston from KFAA, News 12. We were wondering if Mr. January had a statement on the arrest of one of his fans last night.”

“No comment. Talk to his publicist.” He hung up.

The bell rang again immediately. No wonder Jeff stayed upstairs. He took a breath. If he answered he was going to be rude. If he went down there, he was quite possibly going to be violent.