Page 64 of Naughty Dreams
“Hell, DJ, I’ll send her something. I assume Moss and his cleanup team did their usual schmooze job?—”
“She was cool. I gave her some tickets and my shirt.”
“Good. I wouldn’t have wanted to hurt her.”
“I know you wouldn’t.” DJ snagged the bottle, putting it in the wet bar rack. “Tal, I’m making you a reservation at that rehab place in Colorado we’ve talked about. Your check in time is right after the Denver show. We’re going to drive you there. All of us. I’m bringing the snacks.”
Tal groaned. “Don’t start that bullshit again. I told you I’ll deal with it. I’m good.”
They sat silently as the limo took the airport exit. DJ stared at his bandmate. And kept thinking. Evaluating. Considering. And it wasn’t the usual pointless hamster wheel. Which made him feel sick, but he could push through that. He’d played a gig with the stomach flu before, after all.
When the limo glided to a stop in the parking area for charters and private planes, DJ saw Moss talking to Steve and Pete, Moss leaning against the railing of the steps that led up into the plane. Tal pushed open the door and grabbed the Jack to take with him. DJ picked up Tal’s forgotten go bag and drum pad and exited the limo. The driver—his name was Newland—knew to wait for DJ’s return.
Roy had been in the rear SUV, but had exited it and was following at a discreet distance. DJ quickened his pace and caught Tal’s arm.
“Tal.”
His drummer whirled toward him, lips curled in a snarl. Behind the glasses, DJ knew his eyes would be bloodshot, sunk in his head. “I don’t need this shit this morning, DJ. I feel like crap and?—”
“You always feel like crap, Tal. Except when you’re high. When was the last time you felt good when you weren’t?”
“Oh, Christ. Stop. I’m not doing it. I’m not. Fuck you.”
“You are. Or you’re not playing with us anymore.”
Full stop. He hadn’t talked about doing this with Steve and Pete, not at this exact time and place, but they’d danced around it plenty of times in their private discussions. He sure as hell hadn’t discussed it with Moss.
But they’d been handling it wrong. He’d known it in his gut, but hadn’t put a finger on the core reason until Roy said it aloud. If they wanted Tal to believe he truly mattered, more than for what he could do for them, then the decision was obvious. The time was now.
The words were out, and though they were like taking a steak knife to his gut, he knew they were right.
DJ moved to stand between Tal and the plane. Tal knew DJ well enough to know when he’d said something he meant. No backing down.
He stared at DJ, unsteady on his feet, as if the reality DJ had thrown at him was too much to handle. DJ wouldn’t let that sway him. Or change the message.
“I can’t take my drums,” Tal said. A plaintive note to his voice, a hint of the lost boy inside the man.
“You can take your drums. I’ll build you a fucking wing in the rehab center so you can take your drums. They may not let you play them all hours of the night like you can at my house, but you can sleep with them.” DJ took a step closer. “Even if you can’t perform with us until you kick this, you’re in the band, Tal. Inour family. That doesn’t change. I’m going to be here for you. So are Steve and Pete.”
“No.No.” Tal threw him off and backed away. “I’m going to play the best set you’ve ever heard in Denver, and you’re going to know you’ve lost your minds, thinking I need some kind of bullshit help.”
“You’ll play the best set because you’re one of the greatest drummers in the world. You’ll still go because you need it. You need help.”
“You’re just trying to get rid of me.” Tal’s expression turned venomous. “Fine. You want to fuck yourselves over, do it. You guys wouldn’t be where you are without me. There wasn’t a Survival until I joined, and you know it. I’m not going to be told what to do by anyone. I had enough of that shit growing up.”
Saliva sprayed from his lips as his voice rose. “You’re acting like they all act, DJ. I thought you understood me, but you don’t. You think you’re so much better than me. Well, fuck you. Fuck. You.”
He screamed the two words, getting up in DJ’s face. Or would have, except Roy was there first, easing Tal back. The movement was smooth and appeared nonaggressive, but it was effective. “That’s enough,” he said quietly.
Tal scoffed and shoved away from him. Though it didn’t move Roy an inch, the attempt set Tal back two paces. He shot Roy the bird. “You think he needs protection from me? You don’t know shit. None of you know shit. We’re going to talk about this fucking bullshit in Denver. You just try to keep up with me. Fucking amateur hour.”
He stomped away and up the steps of the plane, shoving past Moss. He disappeared inside, their flight attendant wisely backing out of his way. Moss went to reassure her as Steve and Pete joined DJ. Because of the shouting, DJ didn’t have to clue them in on what had just gone down.
“So you laid down the law, huh?” Pete asked.
“Yeah,” DJ said, his heart and throat aching. “He goes into rehab after the show tomorrow night or he’s done with us. We’ve talked about it before, but after last night…” He filled them in as Moss joined them.
Their manager’s expression went from shock to concern. “DJ, I’ve got a line on some top studio musicians, but no available drummer I know is good enough to play like Tal.”
