Page 150 of Naughty Dreams
“Before a show…” DJ’s voice cracked, “Steve used to say, ‘Let’s rock this boat.’ So…”
He smiled that sweet, beautiful smile, then drew in a breath and gave the crowd the full power of his gritty belt, reaching every corner.
“Let’s…rock…this…BOAT!”
The crowd erupted again, and Sy, Hal and Trey sprang onto the stage, doing a high five with DJ before they took their places. DJ was handed his guitar and raked his pick over the strings, a percussion countdown, and they launched into the show opener. It was one of Survival’s classic heavy metal pieces, sure to make the music do what DJ had said he wanted it to do.
Vibrate through our bones.
“No need for a pity review from this influencer. DJ James came back stronger than ever. He drew deep from that well of loss, pulling up everything and offering it to the fans. And the fans gave back.”
“While no one could take the place of Tal Gooding, Steve Lewandowski and Pete Marconi’s musical chemistry with their lead singer and guitarist, veteran bassist Hal Jones and New Orleans local talent Sy Dillinger and Trey Wharton held their own and supported the man the way they should. The show was tight, high energy, and everything the audience could want.”
Those pair of reviews from top music critics were echoed by other influencers and fan sites. They wouldn’t know that DJ wisely told Moss not to arrange any after show commitments, because he spent half the night dry heaving. They also wouldn’t know that Roy held him through the rest of it as he wept, and claimed he couldn’t do it again.
But he did the next concert a week later before a crowd of eight thousand. The reviewer had correctly applauded Sy, Trey and Hal. They understood, as did everyone else in the inner circle, it wasn’t as easy as DJ was making it look, and they were working their asses off to support him.
He refused interviews, leaving that to Moss. Moss gave Sy, Trey and Hal some training in offering the press the behind the scenes tidbits they craved without talking to DJ directly.
He spent his time off stage working with the band to tweak existing songs as needed, and developing new material and choreography for the songs he had in process. He was back onschedule to cut a new album in the coming months, and Moss was able to promote that as well.
DJ had only one specific request, and he’d asked it of Roy.
It happened on one of the rare nights where DJ’s bedtime and Roy’s off shift time aligned. He wasn’t opening his suite for overnights with his new band members. When he turned in, that was his time for solo composing. Or being with Roy.
“Roy? I know things are pretty demanding for you now, but when it’s possible, can you stay off of the graveyard shift?” They lay in the bed, Roy behind him and DJ gripping his arm, wrapped over his chest. “I need you to be with me when dawn comes. So I know I can get up. So I know I need to get up. You’ll make sure I do.”
“I can come into your room at dawn and harass you. Or set your phone to a screech owl alarm.”
“You’d rather sleep somewhere else?”
“No. I just want to confirm why you want me here. I’m needy that way.” When Roy pressed his cheek to DJ’s, he felt the kid’s lips pull into a hard smile.
“I want you here because of what you said. I’m the lucky bastard who had you come into my life now, to help me get through this."
“Tell you what.” He bit DJ’s throat. “I won’t take the graveyard shift, and you eat what I tell you to eat, when I tell you to eat it.”
DJ nuzzled his jaw. “Alan said you weren’t the take-total-control kind of Master. Telling someone what to eat, what to wear.”
“Alan doesn’t know every fucking thing about me, does he? Do we have a deal or not?”
DJ paused. “I’m not avoiding eating, Roy. It’s just too tiring to figure it out. I’d rather think about my music than what I’m having for lunch.”
“Then you let me think about it. And no attitude, or you’ll be alone in this bed in the dead of night. With no blankets. I’ll steal all of them.”
Which was a total lie. If he thought DJ needed him, Roy wouldn’t be leaving him alone.
DJ pushed his hips back into the curve of Roy’s and snuggled down further in the covers, those lovely muscles flexing in his arms as he hugged the pillow to his front, Roy close against his back.
“Okay,” he said simply.
Over the first few weeks of the resumed tour, Roy took several calls from Mick. Not only had he obtained the NTSB reports about the crash for Roy, he was funneling him real time details from the FBI investigation on the stalker. Which would have been great, if there’d been any significant new information or breakthroughs.
It was pissing off the Feds as much as it was Roy, but a patient, smart stalker was capable of cooling his jets when the heat was hottest. Damn it.
Roy couldn’t shake the disturbing feeling that the stalker’s endgame was going to come down to him and Roy, with DJ in between. Just where Roy didn’t want DJ to be.
Remaining vigilant was the only one answer to that worry. The stalker thoughthewas patient? Roy would stand guard on DJ until he was toothless. He and this fucker would die of old age before Roy left his post.
