Page 124 of Naughty Dreams
The thought made the wished-for fantasy around him fade away, and he saw who was really up here with him. Sy, Trey, Miles.
Knowing he had to avoid the crash that wanted to take him down, he made a hand motion that suggested they reduce the frenzied pace before the crowd tore the place down. The others nodded. He was willing to let them choose again, but Steve shot him a broad smile. “You’re on a roll. Your choice, man.”
Trey, not Steve. The faces kept blurring and changing.
Daughtry, “I’m Coming Home.”
Roy had said Steve, Tal and Pete were here, with him, and he was right. He’d fucking felt it. They still were.
Still, the song tore his guts out.
Tony had been turning into a volcano, but DJ made acome backmotion in his direction. The man looked surprised, but he joined DJ at the mic. They matched voice to voice long enough for the transition, then DJ stepped back and let him take over.
DJ met Sy’s gaze. The man’s concerned look told DJ his face didn’t look right. But he understood what DJ needed and made the appropriate motions to the others. They adjusted their playing as DJ flipped off his amp, yanked out the cable and stepped off the stage.
He respected the hell out of his instruments. But he had no choice. He almost dead dropped the guitar against the wall before he bolted.
The nearest exit led into an alley with garbage cans and parked service vehicles. He made it out the door right as he started heaving, the force of it capable of driving him to his knees. He tried to catch himself against the brick wall, but then Roy was there, his arm around his waist, holding DJ up as he vomited up the pain. Dizziness swamped him.
“It’s okay, kid. It’s all right.”
DJ was weeping. He clasped Roy’s biceps with both hands. If he let go, what was left of him would disappear. Roy hefted him up to walk, leaning against his side. He walked them straight to their car and put DJ in the back seat. DJ curled up, folding his arms over his head.
Roy got into the other side and lifted him up so DJ was in his lap like a baby, though a baby with miles of long legs that had his shoes pushing against the door on the other side. He pressed his face against Roy’s neck, hard enough to feel the crash of his pulse and inhale his aftershave.
“Guitar…and gear.”
“We got it, don’t worry. You did good, Dory.” Roy’s voice rumbled against him. “You did it.”
He didn’t say something stupid, like it would get easier from here. But DJ had crossed a line back toward his music, and he wouldn’t retreat from it, no matter how much it hurt.
“Roy, I’m so tired. I want to go home. Okay?”
“I’ll take care of it. You just hang back here.”
Roy found him a car blanket and a pillow. DJ felt sick and empty, and stayed curled up in that ball. Later he’d find out that Sy had brought out the amp and guitar, and helped Roy stow it, so DJ was never out of Roy’s sight.
Roy started the vehicle. Over the next couple of hours, DJ drifted and slept. He assumed Roy would find them a motel with a king-sized bed. Instead, when Roy finally pulled off onto a bumpy side road and shut off the vehicle, DJ heard a familiar female voice.
He’d told Roy he wanted to go home, and Roy had decided that DJ meant the only real home he’d ever had before he bought his own. The wave of relief drowned out any dread DJ felt about what that would make him face.
Home made you face shit, but it also helped you do it.
Roy helped him stumble out of the car. Then Marjorie’s arms were around him. She was so short, he just fell to his knees against her. She curled her strong arms around him, his face buried in her ample abdomen and breasts, while Roy’s hands remained on his shoulders.
“You’re home,” she whispered. “It’s okay, DJ. You’re home.”
I’m coming home. I’ve come home.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When DJ woke, it was morning, and he was in the bed that had been his when he lived here. Marjorie had five bedrooms in her farmhouse. Steve, Pete and DJ had each been given their own room, but they were never farther away from one another than next door or across the hall. A triangle of proximity that foreshadowed how they would operate together on their music and path through life.
Until now.
DJ rubbed his face and looked at the photos on the dresser and hung on the wall. She’d left the rooms the way they liked, but she’d put pictures in every room, a reminder and reinforcement of their history.
Here was one of the three of them, right after their first gig, a pool party for a high school graduation party. Next to it was a photo taken from the first gig with Tal. They were standing in front of the old van, DJ with an arm slung around Tal’s neck, pulling him close, Steve and Pete flanking them.
