Guarding January (18 page)

“Thanks, Donna. If you can just make sure I don’t hit anything with his leg.”

The orderly was holding the wheelchair in place for him. Between the casts and the bandages and the IVs, Jeff was a disaster waiting to happen.

Rye got his arms beneath Jeff’s knees and shoulders and lifted him. Even with the casts, Jeff hardly weighed anything.

By the time they got Jeff settled with his drips on the pole attached to the wheelchair, Jeff was sweating and pale, utterly shaken.

“Give me his sunglasses and the ball cap from that bag, please.”

Donna got them and passed them over. He stuck the hat on Jeff, then looked into his baby’s eyes. “You need to come back here, just say the word.”

“The cap hurts, Rye.”

“Okay. Just the sunglasses, then, but keep your head down, okay?”

“Uh-huh. I just want to talk to Roach.”

“Okay, then.” He slid the sunglasses on Jeff’s face, hoping like hell that Roach woke up.

They stopped at Brandy’s room first, him and Jeff, Donna trailing quietly behind them, but her face was bandaged and she was out.

Jeff stared, head shaking. “That’s not right.”

“No, it’s not. Are you sure you want to see Roach?”

“He’s the reason I did this. He’s the original band.”

“Okay. I’ll take you.” Rye wheeled Jeff to Roach’s room.

Roach was there, under all these bandages, and there was a hard-faced woman sitting in one of the chairs who Rye had to assume was Roach’s wife. “LJ.”

“Kathy. Why didn’t someone tell me?”

“He knew it was so hard, kiddo, with the rehab. He didn’t want to worry you. He’s… he just wanted one more tour.”

Rye put his hand on Jeff’s shoulder, giving his lover support.

“Is he—?”

“Dying. They don’t know if he’ll wake up.”

Jeff nodded. “Can I talk to him?”

“Sure.” She stood, got out of the way, and Rye rolled Jeff up. Roach didn’t even look like himself anymore. The man was pale, still.

“You could have told me. I would have understood. I…. We could…. We… we did it. We were rock stars.”

“You were.” Rye wished there was something he could say, but he knew there wasn’t. This sucked, big time.

Roach’s hand twitched, and Jeff took it in his good one. “I’m sorry, huh? You aren’t supposed to be sick.”

Rye couldn’t be sure, but it looked like Roach squeezed Jeff’s hand. Jeff looked for a long time, then let go of Roach’s hand and hung his head.

It fucking broke his heart.

Rye kept his hand on Jeff’s shoulder, waiting for the word so he could take Jeff back to his room.

“The others? Bri and Scooter?” Jeff asked.

“They’re fine. Not even a scratch.” It amazed him, actually, that anyone had gotten out of that mess without serious injuries.

“Okay.” Jeff was beginning to shake, to vibrate.

“I think we should go back to your room, b—man.”

“Uh-huh. Donna, you take care of Kathy.”

“Okay, honey. You got it. Good luck on your surgery.”

“I need to go, Rye.”

“I’ve got you.” Rye backed them up out of the room, then made a beeline for the elevator to take Jeff back up to his room.

The media was everywhere now, ambushing them, and once they saw Jeff, the flashes started going off.

Rye protected his lover as much as he could and got them into the elevator, sighing in relief as the elevator doors closed the media out. Jeff was still, silent, so quiet.

Rye hated this. Hated it.

He got them back to Jeff’s room, the nurse ready to start getting him prepped for surgery. Rye stood next to the bed, holding Jeff’s hand and trying to stay out of the way. They pushed something into Jeff’s IV “to relax him” and the tears started, sliding down Jeff’s cheeks.

After the mad rush of getting him ready, they were left alone again, and Rye pressed his forehead against Jeff’s, looking into those huge-pupiled eyes. “Don’t cry, baby.”

“I want to go home. I don’t even know where I am.”

“As soon as you’re well enough to travel, we’re going home. I promise, baby.”

“If I die, I want to be cremated, and I want to be sprinkled somewhere beautiful.”

“You’re not going to die, Jeff.” Rye wasn’t going to let that happen. Not here, not now. Jeff was going to get things straightened out, and then he was going to… honestly, he was going to sleep for a month. And eat. Sleep and eat. Rye was looking forward to it, actually. He just wanted Jeff to be happy.

Jeff’s eyelids drooped, the medication working.

Rye stroked the side of Jeff’s face and whispered, “I love you.” Then he dropped a soft kiss on Jeff’s lips before straightening.

“Oh, you are so fired.” Donna leaned against the wall and winked at him.

Rye felt his cheeks heat, but he straightened, refusing to be embarrassed.

“So, we have about ten million things to deal with, but you need to worry about getting cleaned up and getting some rest.” Donna could be a drill sergeant when she wanted to be.

He looked down at himself, almost surprised to see he was still wearing the suit he’d been in last night, that he was covered in soot and other people’s blood. “Willie brought me clothes. I’ll use the bathroom here.” Jeff had a private room, complete with the nicest hospital bathroom he’d ever seen. “Once he’s in surgery.”

“Fine, but you have to rest. You have to. You’re going to have a stroke.”

“Not as long as he needs me, I won’t.” He ran his hand over his face. “When is the announcement about the cancellation happening?”

“Today. I’ll put out a press release about the injuries, and then, in a few days, cancel the rest of the tour.”

“Will you look into the possibilities of him going out there as himself, doing his own songs? I’m not trying to go behind his back or anything, I’m just looking for a realistic view of a future without January that includes music for him. With all that happened, and Roach….” It might be the perfect time for Lord January to meet his demise.

“I’ll let LJ tell me what he needs. I work for him, not the other way ’round.”

“I’m not asking you to find him another job, just find out how feasible it is. He keeps telling me this is all he can do, but I keep telling him he has other options. All I’m asking is that you confirm if that’s true or not.”

“Sure. Sure, he’s a kickass song writer. Always has been.”

“Is anyone singing them? Or has he been stockpiling them?”

“He hasn’t had me broker any in a while.”

“He’s been writing, though. A lot.” Fucking good stuff too. And probably enough for an album. “You’ll stick with him, yeah? Even if January is gone for good?”

Donna met his eyes, serious as a heart attack. “He’s like a son to me.”

An orderly appeared at the door. “Sir, we’re here to take him down.”

Rye nodded and stood. “Okay, we’ll come down with you.”

Rye and Donna fell in step behind the gurney. “I’m glad he has you. You’ll stay and wait for the whole surgery?” He’d shower, change, then come down and join her in the waiting room, maybe close his eyes for a bit.

“The only reason I’d leave is if we lose Roach.”

“Good deal.”

Rye stayed until they took Jeff beyond the doors he was allowed to go through. Then he headed back to get cleaned up. He wanted to be ready when Jeff needed him.

J
EFF
TRIED
to swallow, but it hurt so bad, burned, like he was swallowing glass.

What the fuck?

What was going on?

Someone squeezed his hand. “Easy, baby. I’m here.”

Jeff groaned, his voice gone.

“Shh. Shh. You don’t have to say anything. Just squeeze my hand.”

He held on, throat working, so thirsty. Something cold rubbed along his lips, then slipped between them. Oh, ice.

He pulled on the chip, the cold feeling so good.

“Better, huh?” Another ice chip was slipped between his lips.

Jeff nodded. Better. More. He focused on saying the word. “More.”

“Hush, baby.”

Another ice chip hit his tongue. “Rye.” His Rye. His sweet giant. Okay. Okay, he was okay.

“Yeah. I’m here. You’re good.” A soft kiss pressed against his forehead.

He frowned and licked his dry lips again. Chuckling, Rye rubbed an ice chip across his lips, then into his mouth. “Pushy.”

“Uh-huh. ’M I okay?”

“Yeah. They fixed your leg up. Between it and your hand, you’re going to be in a lot of rehab. We’ll get you through it, though.” Before he could say anything else, Rye pushed another ice chip into his mouth.

Jeff needed to know how Roach was doing, how Brandy was doing, but he was so tired. He couldn’t even care about his own injuries, not really.

“You’ve just come out of surgery. They said you did really well. Donna’s working on getting you all transferred to a hospital back home.”

“No. Home.”

“Baby—”

“Home.”

“Okay. I’ll let Donna know that’s what you want.”

He nodded, and oh, that hurt.

Rye touched his cheek. “Easy, baby. Just breathe, okay?” Rye gave him yet more ice.

“Brandy wants a call when you’re up for visitors, so she can come see you.”

“Uh-huh.” He closed his eyes, fading.

“There’s no news on Roach.”

Jeff squeezed Rye’s hand in thanks.

“You want some music on or something? Maybe some TV?”

“Are you leaving?”

“No, I’m not going anywhere. I won’t leave your side.”

“Okay. Need you.”

“And you’ve got me.” Rye continued to stroke his cheek, fingers warm and gentle. “So no music or TV? You want to just sleep?”

“Uh-huh.” He couldn’t keep his eyes open.

“Okay, baby. You sleep. It’s safe. I’ve got you.” A soft kiss dropped onto his lips, barely touching.

Jeff let the drugs and the heaviness drag him down. Maybe he could stay there and never come out.

R
YE
WAS
going to kill someone.

Possibly himself, just to keep him from killing anyone else. He was bored out of his mind. Jeff was bored, cranky, and hurting.

Brandy had been transferred to a hospital closer to home. Roach was still hanging on somehow, though he hadn’t regained consciousness at all.

The doctors had made it clear the longer Jeff stayed in the hospital the better, so Rye and Donna had done their best. Rye was pretty sure they weren’t going to be able to stall for much longer. He sure as hell didn’t want to.

“I want to
go home
!” Jeff threw a glass of water at the window, the spray going everywhere.

Rye let an eyebrow go up. “Are you sure about that?”

Jeff glared at him. At least the paparazzi had let off.

“Come on, baby. I know you’re bored. We could play some more checkers.”

“Tell them I’m leaving. I’m getting on my bus.”

“The bus is gone, baby. Donna’s working on a plane.” It was time.

“Now. Now. I need to go home.” Jeff looked exhausted, raw, desperate.

Rye picked up his phone and hit Donna’s number.

Donna picked up on the first ring. “What’s up?”

“Is the plane ready? Because we are.”

“Well, let’s get on the doctors. It’ll take hours even if they get started now.”

“Okay. But today, yeah? We’re going stir-crazy here.”

“I’ll get the plane ready—you get the doctors moving.”

“It’s a deal.” He hung up and turned back to Jeff. “She’s working on the plane. I’ll get the doctors lined up to get you checked out.”

“Okay. Okay, that’s good. Now.”

Leaning over, Rye pushed the button for the nurse. “Pushy, baby.”

Jeff was skin and bones, gray, and that hair…. God, they’d be better off shaving it and starting over.

It would be something they could do to waste time. “Hey, baby. Once we get the being-released ball rolling, how about I cut your hair short all over?”

“I haven’t had short hair since I was a teenager.”

“It’s kind of a mess, what with the shaved bits and all.” Not to mention it hadn’t had a proper wash since Jeff got to the hospital.

“Uh-huh. It smells.”

“Yeah. I’ll have the nurse bring me some scissors.”

As if on cue, Miguel came in. “What do you need, man?”

“I want to go home. I need to. Talk to the doctor?” Jeff needed to go home.

Miguel glanced at him, and Rye just nodded. It was time. He’d promised himself when Jeff had finally had it, he would insist. Even if they had to go AMA.

“I’ll holler at the attending, see what he says.”

Rye put his hand on Jeff’s shoulder. “It doesn’t matter what he says. We’re going home.”

“Still, they like to believe they have a say.”

Chuckling, he conceded that to Miguel. “We’d prefer to go with their blessing. Can we have a pair of scissors? His hair is a wreck.”

“You want a barber brought in?”

He glanced at Jeff, though he was already shaking his head. The look on Jeff’s face confirmed it for him. “No, just the scissors, please.”

“Sure. No problem.”

“I like him. He’s cool.” Jeff was rocking, back and forth, humming low.

“He’s a good guy. You okay?”

“Aching. Fucking leg burns.”

Rye leaned his forehead against Jeff’s. “You want to meditate with me?”

“I don’t know how.”

“We can start by breathing together.”

“I’m tired of everything.”

He knew. He knew Jeff was restless and needing real sleep. “Close your eyes if you want, baby. Just close them and breathe with me, okay?”

Those long eyelashes closed. How had he not noticed them before? Long and dark.

“Now let’s just breathe in. A nice, long breath.”

Jeff sucked in a breath, the sound shuddering and raw.

“That’s it, baby. Now let it out.” He put his hand on Jeff’s chest, giving him something to focus those breaths on. He was so tired of the hospital gowns, the weird smells, and he could only imagine how Jeff felt.

“In again… and out.” He guided Jeff through more breaths, each one slow and long. The soft sounds were like music.