Guarding January

by Sean Michael

  “Go ahead. I don’t mind.”

  “No, I’ve already been.” He was up at dawn, working out and doing laps. Keeping fit. “But I’ll go with you.” He stood and went over, tugging the cover off LJ.

  Those huge, near black eyes stared at him, the bruises underneath a deep, dark blue. “Pardon me?”

  “Let’s go swim. Get some fresh air. Frankly, you need it, buddy.” He was allowed to do what he wanted, though. As long as he kept LJ clean.

  Clean had to mean healthy, right? Eating, drinking, showering, moving around. Wasn’t the guy supposed to want to make music or something?

  He held out his hand. If LJ didn’t take it, he was putting the kid over his shoulder and carrying him down.

  “I don’t go outside in the sun.”

  “Maybe you should start. Ten minutes and a sandwich, and I’ll let you come back up here to hide some more.”

  “You don’t get to tell me what to do. I just have to not use. That’s it.”

  “Actually, no. I’m also supposed to keep you alive. And this isn’t living. So take my hand and come downstairs with me, or I’ll make it happen.”

  “Shoo.” LJ pulled his legs up under his chin, bent back to his phone.

  Well, that made it easier to pick LJ up.

  Bending, Rye slid his arms beneath LJ’s shoulders and knees, then picked him up.

  “What? Put me down! I said no!”

  Christ, the kid couldn’t weigh a buck and a quarter. How much had Ms. Heard said he’d gained in rehab? How much had he lost in the last few days?

  Rye should have done this sooner.

  He ignored LJ, kept carrying him down the stairs.

  As soon as they left his quarters, LJ went stiff, silent. The bigger part of the house had been party central, and Rye had flushed everyone out, had the place cleaned top to bottom, made sure there weren’t drugs or booze anywhere.

  It was quiet, almost echoing, as he moved into the huge great room, with its floor-to-ceiling windows. He kept going, heading for the pool. He knew there were towels out there and had no qualms over what he was about to do.

  The place was a shrine to decadence, to excess, and LJ didn’t look at anything, just hid in his hoodie, his baggy clothes.

  “Pool,” Rye said, as he went out into the huge backyard with its enormous pool set into the place to look like a pond.

  “Very nice. I want to go in.”

  “Exactly, you’re going in. We both are.”

  “No. Inside. I want to go back inside.”

  “No, the pool, a bit of fresh air. If I put you down, will you strip or run?”

  “I don’t want to get wet. I want to go inside. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “You’re not living, LJ. You’re just… fading away, and I gave my word I wouldn’t let you go.” With that, he dumped LJ into the water.

  LJ flailed, fighting with the heavy, too-big clothes for a second before just going limp and sinking to the bottom.

  Jesus Christ.

  Rye took off his shoes and jumped in after LJ.

  Stupid little fuck.

  He grabbed at the hoodie, but LJ slipped away, leaving him holding the fabric. Growling, he let the hoodie go and grabbed for LJ.

  The little bastard was quick, scrambling up the stairs and running for the house.

  After jumping out, Rye gave chase, grabbing LJ just before he got to the door. He pulled the kid up against his body. Skin and bones, that’s what LJ was.

  “Let me go! Let me go! I haven’t done anything bad!” LJ struggled against Rye, fists battering at him.

  This was more life than Rye’d seen out of the kid since he’d picked him up, and he simply held LJ, let the kid work the anger out.

  It didn’t last long—it couldn’t, LJ wasn’t eating—and then the kid just passed out, pale as milk.

  Christ.

  Fucking Christ.

  Rye laid LJ down on a deck chair and grabbed a thick towel from the little cabana. Then he stripped LJ quickly and dried him off.

  LJ finally came back to. “I… I want to go back.”

  “Back where?” Rye looked into that pale, pinched face.

  “I want to go back to the hospital.”

  “You have a life to live.” A tour that started in less than two months.

  “I want to go back.”

  “It doesn’t work that way, LJ. You know that.”

  He wrapped the kid in the towel, but didn’t bring him back upstairs yet. LJ curled into a tiny ball, almost disappearing under the towel. Acting on instinct, Rye grabbed LJ and tugged him against his body.

  “I don’t—” The too-skinny body just shuddered.

  “Shh. Shh. Just warming you up, okay?” He needed to get heat and food and water into LJ, needed to. He gathered LJ up again. “Kitchen. Food. We’ll get something in you.”

  “N-n-not hungry.”

  “Too bad. Your body is starving to death, and if I let you die from malnutrition, your manager is going to hunt me down and carve me up.”

  “Not hungry.”

  Stubborn boy. “I got that. You’re still eating.” Maybe a milkshake. There was ice cream in the freezer, milk in the fridge. Fresh berries. Oh, that would make a great smoothie.

  Once they were in the kitchen, he sat his towel-wrapped burden down.

  LJ looked around the room, wide-eyed. “It’s bigger than I remember.”

  “When was the last time you were in here?” Rye took some bread out to make a couple of sandwiches and buttered them.

  “Long time. I don’t cook.”

  Or eat, apparently. “No? I like it.” Cooking was easy, and then you knew what you were putting in your mouth. He pulled tomatoes, lettuce, and sliced turkey breast out of the fridge, along with the mayo and mustard.

  “I’m going to take a shower. I’m cold.”

  “We can go back upstairs when I’m done with the sandwiches.” Sandwiches were totally portable. And he wanted to keep LJ out of the bedroom he was hiding in as much as possible.

  “This is my house. I don’t need fucking permission to take a shower.”

  Rye put the sandwiches together, not pointing out that LJ hadn’t made a single move to actually get up off the stool he was sitting on.

  Finally, LJ got up and headed for the fridge and got a bottle of water, towel dropping away.

  Pale-as-milk skin broken by dark tattoos Rye wanted a closer look at, and so fucking skinny. Definitely a grown man, though. Wait. “Is that metal in your prick?” It was amazing he hadn’t noticed earlier, but then he’d been trying not to notice anything.

  “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.

  JEFF 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, an
d 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.

  RYE 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 lyin
g.

  “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.