Guarding January

by Sean Michael

  They settled quickly into the music, and Rye sat back. He couldn’t help but compare this session to the music Jeff made when it was just the two of them.

  This was raucous and furious, Jeff screaming and jumping up and down, head whipping around feverishly.

  Rye kind of hated it.

  It was going to be a long fucking tour.

  They played five songs, and then they broke, LJ and Roach’s heads together making plans. The beers came up, and then a couple of people he didn’t know wandered in.

  Whoa.

  Hold up.

  Rye got up and got into their faces. “Excuse me. Who are you?” And how the fuck had they gotten in?

  “We won the 101.2 contest. Lord January! Oh my God!”

  Another man walked in, smarmy written all over him. “Marvin Reynolds. LJ’s publicist. They’re with me. Hey, LJ. Looking good!”

  “You can all stop right there.” Rye started with Mr. Fucking Publicist, patting the man down. He was going to have words with the man later. He hadn’t been informed of this contest. Not to mention this was Jeff’s house—having fans wandering in and out was crazy.

  “What the fuck! LJ, tell this guy who I am!”

  Jeff looked over. “You just did, Marv.”

  “No one gets in and out without a search, Mr. Reynolds. I’m going to have to ask for your key too.” Luckily the guy was clean, and he held out his hand for the key.

  “Dude! LJ!”

  “He doesn’t work for me. Works for Donna. Call her. I’m working.” Jeff looked positively tickled for a second.

  Rye puffed up, making himself look even bigger, and kept his hand right there, waiting on that key. No one was getting past him until he had it.

  The key was handed over. “Your ass is fired, man.”

  “Do your worst. And when these ladies’ visit is over, we need to have a word about these contests.” Turning to the girls, he managed a small smile for them. “Are either of you carrying drugs or knives?”

  “I… I have a pen knife. I was hoping… I mean, everyone knows….”

  He held out his hand. “Sorry, no knives.” People were fucking insane.

  “You’ll give it back later?” The tiny goth handed over a little knife with vampire teeth sketched on.

  “I will.” He turned to the other girl, eyebrow raised.

  This little girl looked terrified. “I just… I’m Amy’s friend.”

  “Barb! My goth name is Dru!”

  “Sorry. Sorry.” This kid was going to lose it.

  Rye crouched down in front of her. “Is that a no, honey?” He really didn’t want to have to frisk these girls if he didn’t have to.

  She nodded. “I have my phone and money for a cab home.”

  “Okay.” He stood and moved to stand behind Jeff.

  “Okay, Roach. Let’s do ‘Fucking and Narcoleptic’ for the girls.” Jeff’s voice was husky, rough. “Give them a show.”

  Rye kept half his attention on the girls, the other half on Reynolds. Frankly, he was more worried about the publicist than the fans.

  The band got to their microphones, and the screaming guitars started.

  Rye pretended he couldn’t hear it.

  They ran through the songs, LJ writhing, humping the air, the act obscene, ugly. No wonder Jeff didn’t have sex, if that’s what he thought it was. Even kinky sex wasn’t meant to be… vicious.

  The girls were clearly pleased, though, screaming and clapping.

  Rye couldn’t wait for it to be over.

  Finally, the music stopped, LJ breathing hard. “Take five, guys. Need a breather.”

  “Lord January! Can you come sign things for the girls?”

  Rye sort of hated that Marv guy already.

  “Sure. Somebody get me a Sharpie.”

  Rye found it and handed it over. “You need some food.”

  “After.” Jeff met his eyes.

  “Soon,” he countered.

  Jeff nodded once and headed over to the girls, muttering low, growling, and making the girls scream.

  Christ on a crutch. He reminded himself he needed to get used to this.

  The band played another five songs, and it wasn’t until nearly the end of the last one that Rye realized LJ didn’t get the break he asked for.

  He stepped forward. “Okay, guys. Break time. And Reynolds? It’s time for the contest winners to be escorted out.”

  “Yeah. I’m done,” Jeff said. “You guys staying here?”

  Roach nodded. “I’m yours ’til the tour’s over.” The others piped up in the affirmative too.

  “Okay, cool.” Rye put a hand on Jeff’s shoulder and guided him toward the kitchen.

  “I need to go upstairs now.”

  “Okay. I’ll bring your food up, okay?”

  “Hot tea?”

  For that poor voice. “You got it.” He made sure Jeff got to the stairs and that the door was locked. Then he headed for the kitchen to make a meal. He’d make sure that Reynolds and the girls were gone before he brought it all upstairs too. This whole thing was earmarked for disaster.

  He put together tomato soup and cheese sandwiches, along with a strawberry milkshake. He put a teapot with teabags in it on the tray and started the kettle. Then he did a sweep of the house.

  Roach was still in the studio, playing with the guitar, making notes.

  “Reynolds and the girls get out okay?” Rye asked.

  “I think so, yeah. Bri wanted to fuck them both, but the little one started crying, and he scrambled. Unwilling isn’t his thing.”

  “Not here at the house, okay? It isn’t safe.” He knew that kind of thing used to happen here all the time, but things were changing now that he was on duty.

  “Yeah. Who are you, man? Security?” Roach asked.

  “Personal bodyguard. I’m the guy who makes sure he gets out of this tour clean and alive.”

  “Cool. I’m not into the speed and shit. Not my deal. I just lead the band.” It was fascinating to watch his mouth move with the scars.

  “Good to know. Sorry for the pat down earlier, but I’m not taking any chances.”

  “Whatever, man. I don’t give a shit. This is my job. You don’t screw with that, I’m easy. We’re just making music and money.”

  “I won’t screw with your job.” Even if he did think Jeff could be so much more real on that front. “Don’t let anyone in.”

  “I won’t. There anything to eat in the fridge? Sandwiches?”

  “Yep. There’s a list on the fridge. Add anything you want. The housekeeper will pick it up. Night.”

  Rye double-checked the doors, reminding himself he had a bone to pick with Reynolds, but they could do it tomorrow.

  He headed back to the kitchen to grab their food.

  Brandy was in there, making a peanut butter sandwich. “Yo.”

  “Hey.” He was going to have to get used to there being other people in the house. Pouring the hot water into the teapot, he then grabbed the tray for upstairs. It was uncomfortable, stressful. He didn’t like his Jeff in so much danger.

  “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.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  JEFF 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.

  RYE 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.