Guarding January (19 page)

Rye found himself humming one of Jeff’s songs that his baby had sung a lot back home. Oh. That was a smile. He kept humming, kept breathing, Jeff’s chest rising and falling beneath his palm.

The door opened. “You wanted scissors, sir?”

“Leave them on the table, please.”

“Sure. The doctor is coming in about an hour, and we’ll start the check-out procedures.”

“Thank you.”

Rye waited until the door clicked shut, then focused Jeff back on his breathing. “In and out, Jeff. That’s all that you need to worry about right now.”

“In and out.”

“That’s right.”

Jeff nodded, breathing for him.

God, he wanted to kiss his boy, wanted to climb into the bed and wrap around his lover and keep him safe.

Soon.

Soon, they’d be somewhere private, somewhere home.

They breathed okay for a while longer until Jeff blessedly fell asleep, and Rye backed off, started to pack their things up.

When Jeff woke, Rye would cut his hair and hopefully that would be enough time for the hospital to get them checked out.

He just needed his lover home. He would deal with everything else once they got there.

J
EFF
’
S
HEAD
felt weird with his hair so short. After Rye had cut it, the nurse had come in with a razor and shaved it so it was even. Even. He snorted. Almost all gone. So now his head felt weird. Weird and light. He liked it. Of course, maybe that was the pain-killers. He had taken enough before the flight to make a hippo comatose.

The car went through the gate and pulled up in front of the mansion. Wow. It felt it’d been like forever.

Rye got out and came around to open his door. “You need help?”

He sat there, staring.

Donna stepped out. “Jeff?”

“Okay, come on.” Rye picked him up, cradling him against the strong chest. “Let’s get him upstairs to his bed.”

“I’m going to go rest in my quarters, Rye. I’m exhausted.” Donna gave him a tired smile. “I’ll visit tomorrow?”

“Sounds good. Call first, eh?” Rye answered for him.

Jeff nodded. “Night, lady.”

She patted his cheek and headed for the other side of the house as Rye carried him toward his rooms. He’d refused to accept a wheelchair or crutches, so thank God for Rye.

“Good to be home?”

“Uh-huh. I need a shower. My bed.”

“Donna did her magic on the flight home and arranged a chair for the shower. A detachable showerhead. So you can sit and keep your leg and hand out of the water.”

“Okay.” Jeff thought he was going to just collapse, melt.

Rye carried him all the way up and into the bathroom, then sat him on the chair in his shower. Kneeling in front of him, Rye started to undress him.

“I’m going to cry, I think, or maybe throw up.”

Rye continued taking off his clothes. “Are you hurting?”

“I don’t know.” He didn’t belong in his own body.

“Okay. You just do what you need to do.” Rye kissed his cheek, then stripped his own clothes off too.

Jeff’s leg was propped up on the side of the tub, and his hand was wrapped.

“Ready for the water, baby?”

“Uh-huh.” Jeff closed his eyes; the water on his nearly bald scalp felt so weird.

Rye slowly moved the showerhead, wetting his entire body but avoiding the casts. The feeling of the water on his skin was almost sexual.

“Can I ask a favor?”

“You know you can ask me anything, baby.”

“Can you make me soup tomorrow?”

“I would love to make you a nice bowl of tomato soup.”

“I would love that. It would be like being home.” The tears came then, exhausted and hurting.

Rye let them fall, washing him with the soap that smelled like they were home, his fingers gentle but firm over all of his body. It was easy, simple, to let Rye touch him, love him for a minute.

Rye rinsed him just as thoroughly, and then the strong fingers worked soap into his scalp, careful not to tug or rub too hard on the shaved parts where they’d put in the stitches. They’d been removed a few days before they’d left the hospital, but his scalp still felt tender.

Still, it was amazing to feel like the hospital was being washed away from him, the scents and sensations of the place being replaced by Rye and home. There were going to be awful scars, terrible. He might even have a limp or lose motor control on his hand. It was possible. Of course, he wasn’t sure he cared right then.

Rye kept spraying him with water, even after all the soap was gone. “Let me know when you want to come out.”

“Now is fine. I just want to take a pain pill and go to sleep.” Rye had taken charge of his pain pills. Which was probably a good thing. He might never wake up again otherwise, just get lost in them. It would be so easy.

“Sure—it’s been a really long day.”

After turning off the tap, Rye grabbed a towel and started drying him.

It occurred to Jeff that he probably should just take care of this on his own, should stop acting like an invalid, but he rested there, passive, quiet.

He let Rye pick him up again and carry him to the bed and then let Rye pass him a pain pill and a glass of water.

“You want me to join you?”

“Always.” He needed Rye like breathing.

Rye slipped under the covers with him, carefully bringing him to rest with his head on Rye’s chest. He hadn’t been able to do more than hold Rye’s hand in the hospital, and it felt like forever since he’d been surrounded by the warm, muscled body.

Jeff sighed, stretching and finding his spot, and then he was gone, sleeping hard.

Home.

R
YE
SLEPT
through the night for the first time since they’d been on vacation.

So did Jeff, and he was awake well before Jeff.

It felt so damn good to be home.

So damn good.

Rye’s stomach rumbled loudly, and he figured he should go make something for them to eat. Tomato soup because Jeff had asked for it. That was a good thing. He pulled on a pair of jeans and grabbed his phone, noticing a text from Brandon telling him to call. Hopefully the private investigator had some good news for him.

Downstairs, he got the tomatoes roasting and called Brandon.

“Hey, boss. Heard your primary had a hell of a time.”

“Yeah. The whole venue went tits up.”

“Well, my news isn’t better.”

“Christ. Well, just spit it out.”

Had Jim relapsed? Or worse? Neither option was going to make Jeff feel any better.

“He’s dead. He passed a few months ago, drug overdose. A… Donna Heard paid for his funeral expenses.”

Son of a bitch.

Why hadn’t she told Jeff? She knew he was asking. He bet she thought he would be better off not knowing. Rye didn’t know. Maybe he was. He rubbed his face. “Man, that was not what I wanted to hear.”

“No. Me either. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks for looking into that. Bill me, okay?”

“You got it. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“If anything comes up, I’ll call. Take care of yourself, Brandon.”

“You got it, man.”

The phone went dead, and he stood there a second, eyes closed. Jesus Christ.

“Morning.” Donna came from the backyard, book in hand. “Did you sleep okay?”

Rye turned and looked at her for a long moment before nodding. “Best night since we went on tour. You?”

She nodded. “I’m looking forward to getting home for a few days, but LJ’s rooms for me are lovely.”

“I know Jim is dead.” He hadn’t meant to confront her with it, but the words just came out.

She stopped, stared at him for a second, then nodded. “He is. They say it was an overdose. That he slipped.”

“Jeff’s been asking about him for months. Since before the tour started.” He tried not to make it an accusation, because what exactly would he be accusing her of? Protecting Jeff?

“I know. I…. He believed in Jim. Honestly. Truly. I’m supposed to let him know the man wasn’t strong enough? Especially when he was about to be tempted so badly?”

“I’m going to have to tell him.” Jeff was going to find out sooner or later, and it would not only be better if it came from him, he wasn’t going to let Jeff think he was lying.

“That’s a mistake. What good could it possibly do?”

“Because I told him I would find out, and he’s going to ask me. You think lying to him is a good thing?” Jeff trusted him. That was important to him. To them.

“Do you think a relapse is better? He died twice. Twice.”

“He’s stronger than you give him credit for, and the relapse is already on the table. They’ve been pumping him full of morphine and pain pills.” He was worried Jeff wasn’t going to be able to kick the pills.

“I just don’t know what good it would do. It’s over. The man is dead.”

“I don’t think it would do any good except prove to Jeff that I treat him like an adult, like an equal. That I’m not mollycoddling him.” Rye shook his head. He didn’t need to explain himself to her. He checked the tomatoes, deciding they were done.

“It’s your job, to mollycoddle him, Rye. That’s what I pay you for. To protect him.”

“So you’re saying I should lie to him when he asks me.” He didn’t think he could do that. Maybe if Jeff had just been another client.

But Jeff wasn’t.

“Just say you don’t know exactly what happened. I don’t know. I was trying to save him some pain. That man was his friend.”

Rye put the tomatoes in the pot with some vegetable stock and some garlic, salt, and pepper, turning the burner on to medium-high. Then grabbed the immersion blender. “We’re just going to have to disagree on this point.”

“That’s fine.” Donna headed off without another word.

Shaking his head, he put the blender in the pot and turned it on.

It only took him ten more minutes to get a couple of smoothies whizzed up and on a tray with both bowls of soup and two toast points each. Toast points. That would always remind him of Jeff and home now.

Grabbing the tray, he then headed upstairs.

Jeff was still sleeping, buried in the covers, so quiet. After setting the tray on the bedside table, Rye stripped off his jeans and climbed back in, pulling the covers far enough down to see Jeff’s face.

It was so odd, the buzz-cut hair, the scars. It made Jeff’s eyes look huge, though, amazing and dark. This man looked more like the Jeff he’d fallen for than the makeuped, contact-lensed vampire Jeff played as Lord January.

He looked like home.

Lying down, Rye curled up around Jeff, let his eyes close as he breathed Jeff in. He didn’t want to tell Jeff about Jim. Hell, the man had had enough bad news.

Would it be lying if he just kept his mouth shut until Jeff asked? He knew it would. He knew there was nothing about any of this that was okay. He was just going to have to bite the bullet and tell him. He’d be there at least, to deal with any and all fallout.

Jeff’s eyes slowly opened. “Roach is gone, isn’t he?”

Jesus, could Jeff read him that well?

“Not Roach.”

“Brandy? But she was getting better.”

“No, no. It’s Jim.” Rye couldn’t let Jeff go down his list of friends.

“What? How? What happened?”

He held on to Jeff. “Apparently, he overdosed.”

Jeff stared at him, just stared, then curled up in the sheets, hiding himself away.

Rye wrapped back around Jeff. “I’m so sorry, baby. I know how important he was to you.”

Jeff didn’t answer, didn’t say a word.

“I made you soup, baby. And a smoothie. Tomato soup. Strawberry smoothie. Your favorites.” He wasn’t letting Jeff fade away.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You still have to eat.”

“No. I’m not hungry. You eat it.”

“You can’t starve yourself, Jeff. I’m not going to let you slowly die.”

Jeff wrapped himself tighter in the covers and hid, just a cocoon. Rye couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let Jeff hide away from life. He slowly unwrapped Jeff from the covers. Jeff fought him, curled into the pillows, good leg drawn up.

“I don’t want to hurt you, baby, but I’m not letting you starve yourself.” He wound up tossing the bedcovers and the pillows off the bed, leaving Jeff nowhere to hide.

“Leave me alone. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to.” Jeff looked lost, devastated.

“No, baby. I can’t. I love you, and I’m not letting this take you out.” He pressed their foreheads together. “You can grieve, but you can’t fade away.”

Jeff started shaking, swallowing hard, over and over. Rye pulled his lover against him, offering Jeff all of his support. Jeff sobbed for long enough that Rye honestly considered giving him a Valium. They had a tiny prescription, for the trip home.

He kept rubbing Jeff’s back, though, making sure his lover had his strength to lean on. To pull from. Finally, Jeff crashed again, breath hitching.

The worst thing was that Rye couldn’t do anything to make it better. Like with Jeff’s injuries. He hated feeling useless. He hated not being able to do anything while the man he loved hurt.

Damn it.

J
EFF
WASN
’
T
going to wake up, wasn’t going to think or eat or anything. He was going to sleep. He was going to sleep until he wasn’t tired.

“Rye, I’m going to get him in to see a shrink. This is insane.”

God, Donna. Just go home.

“A shrink is just going to prescribe him something, and he doesn’t need that. He needs to grieve.”

“This isn’t reasonable.”

“What do you want, Donna?” Rye asked her. “How exactly do you suggest he grieve?”

“Stop it. Go away. Everybody leave me alone.”

Rye stood. “Maybe it’s time for you to go, Donna.”

“
Go away!
” Jeff shrieked. “
Leave me the fuck alone!
” He was going to scream until he died.