Page 58 of Naughty Dreams
“Even though he’s with us, he thinks he’s still in that shithole. Maybe we’ll never get him clean. But when he gives me that rare opportunity to remind him of the possibilities, the hope, the fact he has us and will never lose us, where I think I can do it without enabling him too much, I’m damn well going to. Okay?”
His throat had gotten tight, and he had to clear it. He let go of Roy. “He’s so goddamn talented, but he thinks no one really loves him. That it’s only that talent, and the fame it’s brought, that people value.”
Roy considered, then met DJ’s gaze. “So maybe the time to check him into rehab isn’t at the end of this tour, when he’s done what you want from him.”
Trust Roy, with his practical, no bullshit voice, to point a finger right at what DJ, Steve and Pete had struggled with countless times.
“You know what goes into a tour,” DJ said. “The scheduling, the fans who’ve paid for tickets and depend on us to show up when we say we’re going to. The record label who helps front costs. But set the bullshit business stuff aside.”
He took a breath and laid out the biggest obstacle. “I try to force Tal into rehab in the middle of that, and he tells me to fuck off and stomps away. While we’re out there handling our commitments, maybe he ODs in a hotel room by himself.”
Maybe Tal needed to hit rock bottom, but since that could be a fatal fall, DJ kept looking for a different way.
Roy had gone still as DJ spoke. The lines in his face, the emotions behind his eyes, told DJ he’d somehow touched a nerve on Roy’s own issues with addiction.
“Roy…”
“Okay.” Roy stopped him with a lifted hand. “But I’m going to make it clear he doesn’t pull shit like this again.”
“Understood,” DJ said cautiously. “Why did you call me DJ a few minutes ago?”
He needed to see the flicker in Roy’s gaze as he hit the personal note, take the small bite of pleasure it gave him.
“Because you’re speaking to me as the frontman for Survival and I wanted you to know I heard you.”
“Oh. Okay. Thanks for being honest with me about Tal. And listening. I appreciate it.”
Roy moved a step away, so when he turned back toward DJ, his back was to the bus. With Roy’s shoulders in the way, they wouldn’t see him stroke a knuckle down DJ’s chest, a potent caress he felt even through his T-shirt. Probably the first time he’d had a barrier between Roy’s touch and his chest. Damn it. But it still felt good.
“As far as being honest with you,” Roy said, “I won’t ever be otherwise. Now,” his eyes sharpened, taking DJ’s mind back to the hotel bed, his ass in the air, body humming with anticipation for Roy’s dominance. “Get back on the bus, Dory.”
Did Roy know how it helped, establishing that they could disagree as client and bodyguard, yet reminding him that Roy still wanted him?
Whether he knew it or not, it really, really did.
All his attention had gone from his motor skills to elsewhere in his body, but once DJ could get his brain in gear and move, they headed toward the bus. By the time they reached the rear entrance, DJ had recovered enough to tease Roy when he gestured to DJ to precede him up the steps.
“Trying to ogle my ass?”
“I’m trying to decide if leaving a handprint on it would make you smarter.”
“Anytime you want to find out, have at it.”
With a grin, DJ hopped back up into the bus and strode down the aisle, giving his bandmates a nod that said things were square. Pete and Steve were relieved, though Tal still lookedready for a fight. Before DJ could sit down with his guitar and think of how to defuse it, Roy took the lead.
“Tal.”
DJ tensed, ready to intervene, but Roy gave him a short quelling look before turning to his drummer, perched tensely on the bunk.
“You’re right,” Roy said. “It’s not your job to cover unexpected contingencies that can affect DJ’s safety. Touring is a slog, and you deserve a night off. It was a generous and thoughtful gift. Just next time, tell me, so I can take care of the security details. I won’t ruin your surprise. I’ve been known to be discreet. Can you help me with that?”
Tal shot a glance at DJ. “Did you tell him to say that?”
“No. I figured he was going to rip you a new one. I was ready to put my manly body in his way to keep him from beating you to a pulp.”
“So says the swizzle stick with curly hair.” Pete picked the right path toward a truce. “My money is on Roy tying you scrawny bastards into a two-man pretzel and tossing you into the luggage compartment.”
Roy’s lips quirked, but he returned to his seat. As he did, he tossed a parting shot over his shoulder. “In the words of Frank Farmer, ‘I don’t want to talk about this again.’”
