Guarding January (8 page)

“Don’t let anyone in without my approval, okay?” He’d repeat it until he was sure everyone had been told and understood he was serious.

“You know it. Night.” She had a voice like a crow.

It was all that screaming. It couldn’t be good for any of them. He headed for Jeff’s rooms, double-checking the lock before going up.

The shower was running,
Star Wars
blaring on the TV.

Rye set the food on the bedside table and went into the bathroom, knocking on the door and calling out. “Hey, Jeff. It’s just me.”

“Hey.” Jeff’s voice was barely there.

Jesus. How was he supposed to survive the tour? “Food and beverages are in the bedroom. How are you doing?”

“Okay.” The water went off, and Jeff came out of the shower, pale as milk. “Tired.”

“You look exhausted.” He wrapped a towel around Jeff and began drying him.

“I am. You’re okay?”

“Yeah. Just adjusting to having other people in the house.” He finished drying Jeff off and grabbed the robe on the back of the door, put Jeff in it. “It’s been just us. I liked it.”

“Yes. It will be sort of like this on the bus.”

“Oh, it’ll be easier to police on the bus.” Far less places for people to hide.

Jeff nodded, then shocked him by pushing into his arms, hugging him tight for a breathless second before pulling away.

“Let’s eat.” Rye ignored the fact that his throat was tight, his voice thick. He turned the movie down a little and passed Jeff his bowl of soup.

Jeff sat, wrapped in his robe, sipping the soup. “Tomato. My favorite.”

“I know. I found a recipe for carrot and ginger—asked Brigitte to pick the ingredients up for it.”

“Carrot soup? I would like that.”

“Yeah, I think you would.”

When Jeff had finished his soup, Rye passed over the cheese sandwich. “There’s a strawberry milkshake for dessert.” It felt good, getting back to what was normal for them.

“Can I just have the shake?”

“How about eating the cheese without the bread?”

Jeff shook his head, but picked the sandwich apart, eating the crispy outside, some of the cheese.

Pleased, Rye handed over the milkshake.

Jeff took a deep drink, moaning low. “Oh, my throat hurts.”

“I’ll put lozenges on the grocery list.”

Finishing his own food, Rye set everything back on the tray before settling against the headboard. He held his arms out for Jeff. Although there was a little more meat on those bones now, it was still more comfortable for Jeff to use him as a cushion.

Jeff crawled over to him and snuggled into his chest. “Did you like it? The rehearsal?”

“Honestly?” Jeff nodded, and he continued. “No. I didn’t. You’re an amazing singer, but you couldn’t tell with the songs you guys were doing.”

“It’s the act.”

“I know, and it’s clearly popular with the fans. How did you get into the goth thing to start with?”

“Roach and I met in college. I minored in music. He had a band that had gotten signed to a label, and the lead singer cut his own throat on stage, bled out. I looked like him.”

“Oh my God.” What a horrific legacy.

“Yeah. I became Lord January, and no one even knew.”

“Seriously? That’s fucked up.”

“I know, right?”

“Yeah, right.” He shivered, held Jeff a little closer.

Jeff sighed and leaned, resting hard, eyes on the TV. “I love Chewie.”

“Great big teddy bear?”

“Violent chess player.”

Rye put his head back and laughed. God, Jeff was… good. A fun, interesting, good man. He ran his hand across Jeff’s shoulders, hoping to ease Jeff’s tension. It only took a few minutes before Jeff was sound asleep, curled against his chest.

Rye held him, pushing away the thought that he would protect this man with his life for more than just the job.

J
EFF
WOKE
up when the sun went down, heading to the bathroom to gargle salt water and bathe. He had been dreaming about wandering through a house filled with blood spatter, with razors and knives.

Rye popped his head in while he was in the tub, debating whether to top up the hot or get out. “Morning! I’ve got breakfast, when you’re done.”

He snorted. “Morning? I like that.”

“Well, you just woke up.”

“I did. How are you?” Jeff floated, feet bobbing in the water.

“Eh. I have to get used to the new schedule.”

“It’s hard. On the road it’s easier. You sleep when we travel.”

“Well, it’s good to hear there will be some advantages to traveling.” Rye stepped out, then came back and gave him a milkshake, complete with a straw.

“Thanks.” He was going to have to watch his weight.

“How are you feeling about last night? About having the fans here and shit.”

How was he feeling? He wasn’t. He didn’t want to feel anything.

“I’m having words with Reynolds today. This is supposed to be a safe place. No more fans.”

“He won’t let you do it.” Not even Donna would agree to that.

Rye snorted. “Too bad. Unless they want me strip-searching your fans, they’ll agree to keep meet and greets off the property.”

That would cause a stir now, wouldn’t it? Naked, panicked fans running amok.

“You need anything else?” Rye asked, nodding at his milkshake.

“No. No, I’ll get dressed and ready for rehearsals.”

“Sounds good. We’re breaking for food, though. And you need to get some swimming in today.”

Jeff nodded, but he knew better. There’d be singing, planning, then more singing, then bed.

“Don’t turn into a prune,” teased Rye as he headed for the bathroom door.

“I won’t.” He was going to turn into a vampire.

By the time he was made up and dressed, he’d dumped the shake and decided on the playlist for tonight.

“You haven’t had any veggies and hummus.” Rye looked at the tray, frowning. “You need to eat, to keep your strength up for rehearsals. Even more so once you start touring.”

“I’m not hungry.” He wanted to just crawl back into bed, hide from the world.

Rye’s mouth twisted. “You need to eat, Jeff.”

“I will. Later.”

“Have a carrot, Jeff.” Rye was looking particularly, immovably giant-like.

“Later.” It was sort of cute, really.

“One carrot, dipped in hummus. Then I’m out of your hair.”

“My hair’s greasy. You wouldn’t want to be in it.”

Rye went to the tray, grabbed a baby carrot, dipped it into the hummus, and handed it over to him.

“I read the little carrots are poisonous.” Still, Jeff ate it, because it was good.

“You want me to be your food taster too?” Rye’s eyes twinkled for him.

“You could just eat for me.”

“I would if that’s how it worked.” Rye touched his shoulder.

Jeff reached up and held Rye’s fingers for a second.

Rye squeezed his hand. “You’re going to make it through this.”

He didn’t think so. “I will.”

“You will. Even if I have to drag you through it kicking and screaming.”

“I only do that for work, you know.”

Rye stared at him for a moment, then chuckled for him.

Jeff leaned up and kissed Rye’s cheek. “Time for work now. Time to be someone else.”

“I know. I’ve got your back.”

“Good.” He wrapped Lord January around him and headed downstairs, chin held high.

R
YE
WAS
about done with this whole Lord January rehearsing thing.

Jeff wasn’t eating, he wasn’t swimming—he wasn’t doing anything but drawing back into himself.

Rye wanted to shout and hit things. It had been three days since there’d been any sort of break during rehearsal, and he wasn’t letting it happen again tonight.

When he was ignored, he went over to the power outlet and unplugged three or four things.

The entire band turned to look at him.

“It’s time for a break. LJ needs to eat. I imagine the rest of you do too.”

“Are we still making that appearance at midnight, man? We need to go full-on psycho if we do.” Roach looked perfectly gleeful.

“Full-on psycho?” Rye did not like the sound of that.

“Lord January at his foul, gruesome best.” Brandy clapped. “We haven’t seen you dripping with blood in eons.”

Rye fucking hated this. Hated it.

“Yeah. Let’s take an hour, meet downstairs. The limo will pick us up. They paid for two hours of mayhem.” Jeff didn’t even seem like the same person.

“An hour.” Rye nodded and grabbed Jeff’s arm, tugging him toward the kitchen.

Jeff followed along. “Where are we going?”

“You need to eat.”

When they got to the kitchen, he put Jeff on a stool.

“I don’t want much. Just a little.”

“A shake and some veggies. I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Just a little.”

“Just a few, yes.” Rye pulled the cut-up vegetables and hummus from the fridge and set the prepared plate in front of Jeff. “Go ahead. I’ll make your milkshake.”

“Are you coming tonight?”

“I’m your shadow, Jeff. No matter where you go.”

“It’s going to be ugly.”

“Yeah, I got that.” He wasn’t going to enjoy it. At all.

“Just remember the money. They pay for it. It’s just a show. A sick, dirty show.”

“Is it worth the money?” Rye was thinking more and more that it wasn’t.

“It’s part of the deal. Appearances. I’ll be all over the Net in the morning.”

“We live in a crazy world.” He put extra protein powder in the shake, whirred it up, and handed it over. “I expect you to drink it all.”

“I don’t want to throw up. The fake blood packs are nasty.”

“Are you expected to drink them?” Please say no. Please say no.

“No. You bite them and let them drip out of your mouth.”

Thank God it wasn’t worse than that. “I’ll look into things, see if I can find something less nasty for you to deal with.”

“At least it doesn’t stain.”

“I still can’t believe people want crap like that.” He sat next to Jeff and had one of the carrots. “You’ve got an amazing voice when you’re allowed to use it.”

“It’s the shock value, the gore, the death.” Jeff stirred the shake, stopping when some of the band came in.

Rye leaned in and spoke so only Jeff could hear him. “Drink it up. We’re not going anywhere until you do.”

“Are you wearing the black robes today, man? The heavy ones?” Brandy asked Jeff.

“I don’t know. Maybe the leather.”

“Leather is better armor,” Rye pointed out.

“They’ll hold your gut in too.” Brandy smiled at him as Roach snorted.

“Yeah. He’s huge. Bah.”

“He’s too fucking skinny,” growled Rye. The last thing Jeff needed was to be told he was overweight, joking or not.

“Oh, I think he looks good.” That was Scooter. “Just remember to ham it up, lots of writhing and gyrating on the dance floor. It won’t take long.”

“Oh, LJ doesn’t eat meat.” Rye managed not to smile even when he said it.

It took a second, and then the band started cackling, pushing and shoving each other.

Smiling, Rye poked Jeff. “Drink up.”

“I think I’ll take it upstairs.”

“Good choice.” Rye gave the guys in the band a nod and followed Jeff upstairs.

Jeff’s steps slowed, each one heavier than the next. Rye put his arm around Jeff’s waist once they hit the stairs and were alone. “Almost there.”

“I’m okay. I just… I miss the uppers. I miss the rush.”

“So you need something else to give you a rush.” Rye had a few ideas on that front, from roller coasters to scary movies to kinky sex.

Jeff chuckled softly. “What I need is a few minutes of quiet, probably. Janie will be up here soon to get me in costume.”

“More costumey than what you usually wear?”

“God, yeah. This requires contacts, teeth, paint, hair.”

What a zoo. Rye kept his mouth shut, though. He figured Jeff knew well and good how Rye felt about Lord January and all the crap that went along with it.

Jeff sat in one of the wingback chairs, legs crossed, eyes closed.

Rye regarded him for a moment, then went to stand behind him, hands dropping to Jeff’s shoulders, and he began to massage. Jeff’s muscles were hard, stiff as rocks. Rye didn’t say anything; he just kept working the tight muscles, fingers digging in. Finally they let go, easing under his touch.

He kept massaging, keeping them loose, wanting to give Jeff something good to hold on to.

“Can I have a little of my shake?”

Rye handed it over, relieved Jeff was having something to eat. Stretching, he moved to sit next to Jeff.

Jeff sipped, quiet, still. It was a bit like the man was being drained, day-by-day. He’d tried not to interfere too much; he’d tried to let things roll the way they always had. But it wasn’t working. Rye was going to have to start putting his foot down and insisting on stuff like food, like swimming.

Like sunshine and happiness and backgammon. There was no reason on earth Jeff had to inhabit Lord January twenty-four/seven.

None.

Lord January was a… a role. Just a role. One not worth dying over.

He smiled encouragingly as Jeff drank most of his shake.

“Do you like your job?” Jeff asked.

“Most of the time, I do.”

“What will you do when you’re done? Find another person?”

Rye found himself not really wanting to think about moving on from Jeff. He simply shrugged.

Jeff’s phone rang, and Jeff didn’t answer, just buzzed someone in. “She’s here to get me ready.”

“Okay.” Rye headed down the stairs to meet Janie at the door. “I’ll check her out,” he called back to Jeff.

“Check me out? I’m not a hooker, sweetie. I’m a makeup artist.”

Oh dear God.

This amazing woman with a huge pink beehive and orange cat’s eye glasses stood there, at least as wide as she was tall, cracking her gum and staring at him.

“Janie!” Jeff called from the top of the stairs. He actually sounded tickled. “Oh, I’ve missed you!”