Page 122 of Naughty Dreams
Trey had returned to the stage to check in with Miles and the lead singer, who’d returned at Trey’s insistent beckoning. DJ tried to pull it together as he approached the stage, since the lead singer didn’t look all that enthused, and he was blunt. “I’m not feeling it. He’ll mess up our timing.”
“Roy wouldn’t have suggested it if it was a problem,” Trey responded. “And this is a good crowd, Tony. They’ll roll with us wherever we want to go, as long as we keep things thrashing. Let’s give him a shot.”
Tony gave DJ an unfriendly look. “Backup vocals only,” he said. “Don’t want you trying to overshadow my voice like a braying wannabe DJ James.”
“Wouldn’t think of it,” DJ said.
Sy and Roy had returned. Giving his wrist a squeeze, Roy handed DJ the case and headed for the bar. DJ noted Roy had brought one of his less recognizable backup guitars.
“Tony, how about we do a quick jam with him before we start the next set?” Miles suggested. “You can grab another drink while we test him out.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Tony shrugged and moved away, his shoulder bumping DJ’s as he passed him. Sy rolled his eyes.
“His ego gets bigger with every barfly groupie that blows him,” Trey said. “Miles, ditch his ass. Come to NOLA and hang with us, man.”
Miles grinned. “I’m not in your league, man. Plus, I got my kid and wife here. Couldn’t believe Bree called you in for my birthday. It was a great surprise.”
“She knows what you like. And we were glad to do something for you. When you lived in NOLA, it was your contacts that got us started. Miles is a damn good garage band manager,” Sy told DJ. “Hey, it looks like Roy sprang this on you, but he doesn’t do anything unless he thinks it has a shot at kicking ass. Ready to jam?”
DJ wet his lips, opened his mouth, and no words came out. Shit, the panic attack had doubled back on him. Though instead of not being able to breathe, he was just paralyzed.
“Man, you okay?” Trey was asking from a great distance, his voice a buzz in DJ’s ears.
Roy was beside him again, his hand on his back. He said something DJ roughly translated as “get started and he’ll join you in a minute.”
DJ wasn’t sure about that, because his head was in some weird, swirling zone where his knees might not hold him up. He kept trying to breathe, to say he was sorry, to say he was going back to the car, to do something, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
He'd also blacked out or something, because Roy had his guitar out of the case and was holding it in both hands. Roy slipped the guitar strap over DJ’s head, and then wrapped DJ’s hand around the neck, slow and easy. As the instrument pressed against his body, he felt its weight in his arms, then the strings against his fingers, the pickup under the heel of his hand.
“Dory, you’re okay.”
“I can’t…”
“Yeah, you can. You need to. Your music misses you and you miss it. You’re not whole without it.”
“I’m not whole withoutthem,” DJ snapped harshly.
Roy tapped his chest, a firm jab that brought DJ’s attention to the implacable look on his face. “They’re inside you. Since you came home, you’ve stood in the doorway of your home studio a million times. You didn’t go in, no, but something kept drawing you there. It’s where you created some of your best music together. Your recent album was more than platinum. Damn thing could resurrect a soul. I’ve played it a thousand times.”
DJ blinked, startled. Roy gripped his arm. “When you were standing on that threshold, your heart was talking to them, and theirs to you. Get up on the stage and find your way to them. Find it through the music.”
“I can’t.” DJ stared into Roy’s eyes. “I just can’t.”
“Okay. So start with me. Choose something and find me in the lyrics, Dory. Because it’s scaring the shit out of me, how you’re fading away.” His hands were on Dory’s waist, sliding up to his prominent ribs. “I’m calling you back from the dead, dragging you into the here and now with me.”
As they stared at one another, Roy’s expression reminded DJ of the day he’d stepped between him and the boyfriend shooter. Roy didn’t know exactly how to stand between DJ and this, but he was going to figure it out. He would take any kind of bullet for DJ.
That kind of sacrifice meant DJ had to pull his head out of his ass. Try to do as Roy asked.
Try to do what his Master commanded.
Roy stepped back, but didn’t go far, just braced himself against the wall and looked at him.I’m here, his face said.Now get to it before I kick your ass.
But that wasn’t the only message he’d just given DJ, and it countered his panic with something even more earth shaking. What Roy had just told him about his album, how he’d told DJ to find him in his music…
Roy Bloodwell loved him. Was in love with him.
He’d probably never hear it come from Roy’s mouth that way, but that wasn’t Roy’s style. Nor DJ’s. When he told Roy how he felt about him, the words would be something that meant something to both of them. Just to them.
