by Sean Michael
“You… you hurt?” Jeff relaxed as the restraints were removed, even though his broken hand started throbbing.
“No. The blood isn’t mine.” Rye tugged a chair over and sat, holding on to Jeff’s good hand. “You weren’t so lucky.”
“They shaved big parts of my head.”
“Yeah.” Rye touched his scalp carefully, hands warm, even through the bandages. “The rest of the tour is going to be cancelled.”
Rye met his eyes.
“Brandy got burned. She’s going to be okay, but she’s going to be out of commission a couple months. But Roach… he got stabbed. When they got him on the gurney and cut off his shirt, they found a stent in his chest. Baby, he’s got cancer.”
“What? He has…. Where is he? I need to talk to him.”
“Not at five in the morning, baby. I’ll find out how he’s doing after the shift change and take you to him at the start of visiting hours if he’s up to it, okay?”
Cancer?
Roach?
Rye stroked Jeff’s cheek. “So you’ve got a broken leg and a broken hand? And what did they do to your head?”
“Tore my scalp. They ripped my hair out.”
Roach had cancer.
“I’m sorry, baby. I should have gotten to you sooner.”
“You came. The… the stage fell. I….” He looked at Rye. “The stage fell.”
“I know. It was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“How could Roach have cancer? Roach is my friend.”
“I know, baby. And I’m so sorry.”
“I….” The morphine made his eyes cross.
“Baby? Damn it, that’s the drugs, isn’t it?” Rye stroked his cheek. “Fuck.”
“Morphine. I was freaked out and hurting.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. I hope the withdrawal isn’t going to be a bitch. I’ll help you through it, though, you know that.”
“I just… I want to see Roach, Brandy. How about the others?”
“They’re okay. Nobody died, but there were a lot of injuries. The organizers got lucky.” Rye squeezed his hand. “You can’t see anyone until at least ten—visiting hours. Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”
“Stay with me? I mean, I know you have to clean up, but… please?”
“I’m not going anywhere, baby. I promise.”
“Thank you. I’m dizzy.” And scared. And hurting.
And the reporters were everywhere. They always were. He thought they were the worst part of it all.
“All you have to do is lie there. Just close your eyes and sleep. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” The words were ones Rye had said to him before, his giant always there for him.
Jeff held on, his heart thrumming in his chest so hard it felt like it wanted to break.
RYE DOZED for a couple of hours at Jeff’s bedside before going out to find a nurse and get some information on Roach and Brandy. Neither of them was in intensive care, and they could go see them once visiting hours started. They’d leave Jeff in his bed, and she would arrange for an orderly to help move him.
Then he arranged for a twenty-four/seven guard on Jeff’s door, Jude finally getting relieved. Rye was very clear: Nobody but doctors and nurses, with appropriate ID badges, were allowed in Jeff’s room. The press was going insane, but he wasn’t letting any of them near Jeff. Harassing everyone in the lobby was bad enough.
Finally, he returned to Jeff’s side, pleased that Jeff was still sleeping. His baby needed the rest. Hell, he needed the rest; he was utterly exhausted.
Taking Jeff’s good hand in his again, he let his eyes drift shut once more.
“I NEED to go pee. No! I am not going in a bedpan!” Jeff’s voice was hysterical. “Please!”
The big male nurse was trying to keep him calm. “I can catheterize you now, if you’d like. It’ll have to happen before they do surgery on your leg.”
“Surgery? No. No, I need….”
Rye jerked out of his light doze, growling. “What’s going on here?”
“Mr. January needs to urinate, but he’s uncomfortable using a urine bottle, and he’s not allowed up on that leg.” One huge dark hand was held out to him. “Miguel Cervantes. I’m the day nurse.”
“Hi, Miguel. I’m Rye. Let me talk to him, see if I can’t help with the urine bottle. Someone’s supposed to be coming this morning to take us down to see the other members of the band.”
“You’re scheduled for surgery at one. Dr. Patek is amazing.”
“I spoke to a different nurse—she didn’t say anything about surgery. Please, he needs to see Roach and Brandy.” Rye had hold of Jeff’s hand again, trying to keep him calm.
“Let me see what I can find out, okay? I’ll be right back.”
“Thanks.” Rye focused back on Jeff. “Hey, you want me to help you with the urine bottle thing?”
“Just… carry me to the bathroom?”
“What have you got against the urine bottle?” He was not carrying Jeff anywhere; that poor leg didn’t need any more jostling. “It’s a bedpan.”
Jeff looked at him like he was insane. “Yeah….”
Rye grabbed it. “It’s not that bad, and then you’ll feel better.”
“I don’t want to.” Jeff was looking panicked.
“Why not, baby?” There had to be a reason.
Jeff shook his head and looked at his casted hand. “I can’t hold it.”
He grabbed the urine bottle and pulled back the covers, carefully lifting Jeff and putting the bottle into position.
Jeff squeezed his eyes shut, but nature couldn’t be denied, and the nurse came in as he was finishing taking care of it.
“Okay, we’re going to get you a wheelchair for your visit. I have to warn you: your friend, Mr. Roach, he’s lost consciousness.”
“LJ still wants to see him.” Rye knew Jeff, knew his lover would fuss until he saw Roach for himself.
“I’ll have an orderly come with a chair. It’ll be a few minutes.”
“Thank you.” Then he turned his attention back to Jeff. “It’s not going to be easy, seeing him.”
Jeff wasn’t in there, not totally, his eyes wide and bloodshot.
They were going to have to walk a tight balance between enough pills for the pain and feeding Jeff’s addiction. It was a fucking good thing the rest of the tour was cancelled: this recovery was going to be a bitch. For the ones who recovered….
There was a soft knock on the door. “Boss? It’s Willie.”
“Come on in.” He gave a smile to one of his best men who’d come on the tour with them, another retired cop.
“I brought the clothes you wanted. Stuff for you, stuff for LJ.”
“You bring his sunglasses?”
“Yep. He’ll be able to travel the halls incognito.” Willie handed over the bag. “How is he?”
“He’s going to recover.”
Willie gave Jeff a long look and nodded. “Rumor has it the tour’s done.”
“Yeah. LJ’s about to go into surgery for his leg, and he’ll be recovering for a while. Then there’s the rest of the band….” He shook his head. Hearing that Roach was unconscious now—and clearly not just sleeping—Rye wasn’t sure Roach would ever leave the hospital. “They’re making the announcement later today. Do me a favor: I want you and the boys to hang around for a couple days. I want someone with Roach and someone with Brandy while they’re here, someone outside LJ’s door too.”
“You got it, boss.”
“Thanks.”
Willie clapped a hand on his shoulder, squeezed, and headed back out, cell phone already in his hand.
“Rye.” The voice surprised him, although it shouldn’t have, Donna hurrying over, looking like nothing more than a harried grandma. “I’m here to help.”
Rye started offering her his hand, then changed his mind and went in for a hug.
He didn’t linger, but he gave her a good squeeze, then stepped back from the bed a bit to give her room. “Hey, LJ. Loo
k who’s here.” He hated not being able to just call Jeff, Jeff.
“Donna.” Jeff stared. “Everything’s fucked up.”
Rye clenched his hands into fists to keep himself from wrapping them around Jeff.
“I know, kiddo, but we’ve got it under control, huh? And you’re high as a kite.”
“Uh-huh. I hurt.”
“I know. I know. I’m here for the duration. Rye’s here.”
The orderly came in with the wheelchair.
“I’ll lift you into it,” Rye suggested before going to wash his hands with the gel soap by the door. He didn’t want Jeff hurting any more than he needed to.
“You want some help?”
“Thanks, Donna. If you can just make sure I don’t hit anything with his leg.”
The orderly was holding the wheelchair in place for him. Between the casts and the bandages and the IVs, Jeff was a disaster waiting to happen.
Rye got his arms beneath Jeff’s knees and shoulders and lifted him. Even with the casts, Jeff hardly weighed anything.
By the time they got Jeff settled with his drips on the pole attached to the wheelchair, Jeff was sweating and pale, utterly shaken.
“Give me his sunglasses and the ball cap from that bag, please.”
Donna got them and passed them over. He stuck the hat on Jeff, then looked into his baby’s eyes. “You need to come back here, just say the word.”
“The cap hurts, Rye.”
“Okay. Just the sunglasses, then, but keep your head down, okay?”
“Uh-huh. I just want to talk to Roach.”
“Okay, then.” He slid the sunglasses on Jeff’s face, hoping like hell that Roach woke up.
They stopped at Brandy’s room first, him and Jeff, Donna trailing quietly behind them, but her face was bandaged and she was out.
Jeff stared, head shaking. “That’s not right.”
“No, it’s not. Are you sure you want to see Roach?”
“He’s the reason I did this. He’s the original band.”
“Okay. I’ll take you.” Rye wheeled Jeff to Roach’s room.
Roach was there, under all these bandages, and there was a hard-faced woman sitting in one of the chairs who Rye had to assume was Roach’s wife. “LJ.”
“Kathy. Why didn’t someone tell me?”
“He knew it was so hard, kiddo, with the rehab. He didn’t want to worry you. He’s… he just wanted one more tour.”
Rye put his hand on Jeff’s shoulder, giving his lover support.
“Is he—?”
“Dying. They don’t know if he’ll wake up.”
Jeff nodded. “Can I talk to him?”
“Sure.” She stood, got out of the way, and Rye rolled Jeff up. Roach didn’t even look like himself anymore. The man was pale, still.
“You could have told me. I would have understood. I…. We could…. We… we did it. We were rock stars.”
“You were.” Rye wished there was something he could say, but he knew there wasn’t. This sucked, big time.
Roach’s hand twitched, and Jeff took it in his good one. “I’m sorry, huh? You aren’t supposed to be sick.”
Rye couldn’t be sure, but it looked like Roach squeezed Jeff’s hand. Jeff looked for a long time, then let go of Roach’s hand and hung his head.
It fucking broke his heart.
Rye kept his hand on Jeff’s shoulder, waiting for the word so he could take Jeff back to his room.
“The others? Bri and Scooter?” Jeff asked.
“They’re fine. Not even a scratch.” It amazed him, actually, that anyone had gotten out of that mess without serious injuries.
“Okay.” Jeff was beginning to shake, to vibrate.
“I think we should go back to your room, b—man.”
“Uh-huh. Donna, you take care of Kathy.”
“Okay, honey. You got it. Good luck on your surgery.”
“I need to go, Rye.”
“I’ve got you.” Rye backed them up out of the room, then made a beeline for the elevator to take Jeff back up to his room.
The media was everywhere now, ambushing them, and once they saw Jeff, the flashes started going off.
Rye protected his lover as much as he could and got them into the elevator, sighing in relief as the elevator doors closed the media out. Jeff was still, silent, so quiet.
Rye hated this. Hated it.
He got them back to Jeff’s room, the nurse ready to start getting him prepped for surgery. Rye stood next to the bed, holding Jeff’s hand and trying to stay out of the way. They pushed something into Jeff’s IV “to relax him” and the tears started, sliding down Jeff’s cheeks.
After the mad rush of getting him ready, they were left alone again, and Rye pressed his forehead against Jeff’s, looking into those huge-pupiled eyes. “Don’t cry, baby.”
“I want to go home. I don’t even know where I am.”
“As soon as you’re well enough to travel, we’re going home. I promise, baby.”
“If I die, I want to be cremated, and I want to be sprinkled somewhere beautiful.”
“You’re not going to die, Jeff.” Rye wasn’t going to let that happen. Not here, not now. Jeff was going to get things straightened out, and then he was going to… honestly, he was going to sleep for a month. And eat. Sleep and eat. Rye was looking forward to it, actually. He just wanted Jeff to be happy.
Jeff’s eyelids drooped, the medication working.
Rye stroked the side of Jeff’s face and whispered, “I love you.” Then he dropped a soft kiss on Jeff’s lips before straightening.
“Oh, you are so fired.” Donna leaned against the wall and winked at him.
Rye felt his cheeks heat, but he straightened, refusing to be embarrassed.
“So, we have about ten million things to deal with, but you need to worry about getting cleaned up and getting some rest.” Donna could be a drill sergeant when she wanted to be.
He looked down at himself, almost surprised to see he was still wearing the suit he’d been in last night, that he was covered in soot and other people’s blood. “Willie brought me clothes. I’ll use the bathroom here.” Jeff had a private room, complete with the nicest hospital bathroom he’d ever seen. “Once he’s in surgery.”
“Fine, but you have to rest. You have to. You’re going to have a stroke.”
“Not as long as he needs me, I won’t.” He ran his hand over his face. “When is the announcement about the cancellation happening?”
“Today. I’ll put out a press release about the injuries, and then, in a few days, cancel the rest of the tour.”
“Will you look into the possibilities of him going out there as himself, doing his own songs? I’m not trying to go behind his back or anything, I’m just looking for a realistic view of a future without January that includes music for him. With all that happened, and Roach….” It might be the perfect time for Lord January to meet his demise.
“I’ll let LJ tell me what he needs. I work for him, not the other way ’round.”
“I’m not asking you to find him another job, just find out how feasible it is. He keeps telling me this is all he can do, but I keep telling him he has other options. All I’m asking is that you confirm if that’s true or not.”
“Sure. Sure, he’s a kickass song writer. Always has been.”
“Is anyone singing them? Or has he been stockpiling them?”
“He hasn’t had me broker any in a while.”
“He’s been writing, though. A lot.” Fucking good stuff too. And probably enough for an album. “You’ll stick with him, yeah? Even if January is gone for good?”
Donna met his eyes, serious as a heart attack. “He’s like a son to me.”
An orderly appeared at the door. “Sir, we’re here to take him down.”
Rye nodded and stood. “Okay, we’ll come down with you.”
Rye and Donna fell in step behind the gurney. “I’m glad he has you. You’ll stay and wait for the whole surgery?�
� He’d shower, change, then come down and join her in the waiting room, maybe close his eyes for a bit.
“The only reason I’d leave is if we lose Roach.”
“Good deal.”
Rye stayed until they took Jeff beyond the doors he was allowed to go through. Then he headed back to get cleaned up. He wanted to be ready when Jeff needed him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JEFF TRIED to swallow, but it hurt so bad, burned, like he was swallowing glass.
What the fuck?
What was going on?
Someone squeezed his hand. “Easy, baby. I’m here.”
Jeff groaned, his voice gone.
“Shh. Shh. You don’t have to say anything. Just squeeze my hand.”
He held on, throat working, so thirsty. Something cold rubbed along his lips, then slipped between them. Oh, ice.
He pulled on the chip, the cold feeling so good.
“Better, huh?” Another ice chip was slipped between his lips.
Jeff nodded. Better. More. He focused on saying the word. “More.”
“Hush, baby.”
Another ice chip hit his tongue. “Rye.” His Rye. His sweet giant. Okay. Okay, he was okay.
“Yeah. I’m here. You’re good.” A soft kiss pressed against his forehead.
He frowned and licked his dry lips again. Chuckling, Rye rubbed an ice chip across his lips, then into his mouth. “Pushy.”
“Uh-huh. ’M I okay?”
“Yeah. They fixed your leg up. Between it and your hand, you’re going to be in a lot of rehab. We’ll get you through it, though.” Before he could say anything else, Rye pushed another ice chip into his mouth.
Jeff needed to know how Roach was doing, how Brandy was doing, but he was so tired. He couldn’t even care about his own injuries, not really.
“You’ve just come out of surgery. They said you did really well. Donna’s working on getting you all transferred to a hospital back home.”
“No. Home.”
“Baby—”
“Home.”
“Okay. I’ll let Donna know that’s what you want.”
He nodded, and oh, that hurt.
Rye touched his cheek. “Easy, baby. Just breathe, okay?” Rye gave him yet more ice.
