Page 16 of Protecting Mr. Fine

We’d been in New Orleans for a show. Zane had wanted to walk around Bourbon Street late at night just to get a feel for the sights and sounds. We’d shoved his hair up in a ball cap, thrown some dummy eyeglasses on him, and headed out of the hotel. There’d been several suspicious people down a nearby alley, and it was obvious at least a couple of them were high on something. I hadn’tpaid particularly close attention to them, other than ensuring Zane’s safety, but I discovered later, when Zane woke up screaming for me hours later, that seeing the junkies on the street had brought back terrible childhood memories from when he’d still been with his mom.

That night, I’d held him in my arms as he’d filled in some details about the way he’d grown up, with parents who cared more about their next fix than his next meal and being left alone in dark, empty buildings while they tried to score. Or worse, left him with people they shouldn’t have.

Zane had admitted between sniffles that when he’d found himself in those situations, he’d closed his eyes, clapped his hands over his ears, and started singing to block out the fear.

“If Garth Brooks could stand outside the fire, then I could, too,” he’d said, letting out a little laugh. “Any song I knew about being brave, I sang it. Pat Benatar’s ‘Hit Me With Your Best Shot,’ Starship’s ‘Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now,’ and ‘Don’t Stop Thinking About Tomorrow’ by Fleetwood Mac. You name it, I sang it to myself. Gran had this little plastic radio out on her porch, and it was always tuned to the same station that said they played hits ‘from the seventies, eighties, and now!’ Those songs were like my security blanket.”

It had explained why he seemed to disappear onstage when he performed music. He went somewhere completely away in his mind, to a place safer and more welcoming than this cruel world. When he sang, his entire body relaxed into the music, and his face took on this dreamy expression that made me love him even more.

Zane Hendley was a precious treasure. He wasn’t fragile, but fuck if I didn’t want to wrap him up in bubble wrap anyway and protect him from any more cruelty in this life.

“It was a stupid nightmare about a roller coaster,” Zane said now, shifting against my chest until his head rested under my chin. I ran my fingers through his hair, gently pulling out the tangles as I came tothem.

“You know things in our dreams represent bigger things in our lives,” I reminded him.

He let out a long breath. “Yeah. It doesn’t take a PhD to interpret this one.”

“I think you need a break, Zane.” It wasn’t the first or even fiftieth time I’d suggested it.

“I’m taking a break. I’m going home to see my family.”

I closed my eyes and reminded myself to stay calm. “Visiting Barlo isn’t a break. Not for you. Not anymore.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t argue this. “I’m supposed to be in New York for those interviews after the Georgia trip,” he said, ignoring what I’d said. “And then we have the next European leg…”

“The interviews can be rescheduled. And I think being in the city right now is a spectacularly bad idea unless we significantly beef up the protection team, which we’re going to have to do anyway before Amsterdam.”

Even with a more robust team, I wouldn’t feel comfortable moving him through Manhattan. There were too many places crowds would be able to push in or unvetted strangers would have easier access to him. What I really wanted was to take him somewhere secluded and take time to regroup while he had some much-needed decompression time.

“What about the Boundary Waters?” I suggested, naming an area in Minnesota he’d read about recently in an article. “You said you wanted to check it out one day. Kenji can probably find us a rental?—”

He huffed out a laugh. “November in northern Minnesota? Have you forgotten I’m a Georgia boy?”

“You like the cold. Sweatshirts and pajama pants are your favorite outfit.”

“I like the chilly. Not the frozen.”

He had a point. Northern Minnesota was harsher than where I’d grown up in Montana. “Fine. We’ll find a private island in the Caribbean?—”

Zane made a noise of dismissal. “No. I don’t want more time in the sun. Not after the burn I got playing in Miami.”

“I still blame the makeup team,” I muttered, remembering the homicidal rage I’d wanted to go into when I’d realized just how badly an oversight had been made. Poor Zane had been in agony for three nights in the hotel suite, and I’d finally insisted on bringing in medical professionals to treat him.

“What I really want is to do my job,” he said, shifting off me as if he’d made a decision. “And that means going to New York for the interviews.”

Don’t say it, I thought.For fuck’s sake, don’t?—

“And you don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine.”

I stared at him while my body began to tremble with the need to spew my opinions all over the fucking place. To tell him he was definitely the fuck not fine.

But… and here was my dirty little secret… I loved him too much to deny him anything.

Zane wanted to go to Barlo to see his family.

So we would go to Barlo.

Zane wanted to go to New York to do his job.

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