Chapter 21 #2
DJ had tears on his face. It made Roy’s heart ache, but he could only watch him peripherally, his attention everywhere else.
This was when it would be easy to miss someone doing something they shouldn’t.
G, Warren and Henry knew it too. DJ was in their sights because he would be the target, but their primary awareness was toward wherever a threat could materialize.
DJ finally put a fist to his heart and started to sing. He did the first verse three times, and by the third, the crowd had fallen silent enough to listen. His voice was rough and raw, just as the words required.
You will always be here.
They will always be here.
I sing for you.
He stopped and held his hands open palmed toward the heavens. The three large screens above the stage flashed a montage of band scenes. Close-ups of Steve, Tal and Pete were sprinkled among them.
“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 on schedule 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 thought he was 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.
When he called, Mick also asked how Sy and Trey were handling things, a question Roy knew carried Cyn’s concerns. Before Cyn had met Mick, Sy had been a regular submissive partner, and he and Trey were favorites of her closest Domme friends, the “Mistresses” Sy had referenced at The Rocking Duck.
Roy reported they were adjusting reasonably well.
During one of the few afterparties DJ had agreed he and the rest of the band would attend, Roy had run into Sy in the hallway outside the swanky club.
Roy was checking their egress path, since DJ was ready to go.
It was one in the morning, and the kid was tired, but this city had a lot of influencers and music people to schmooze.
Moss wouldn’t push him any more than necessary, but DJ had understood his responsibilities and was doing his best to get back to meeting them.
“Doing all right, Sy? Figured you’d be heading out with a girl on each arm.
There were plenty of them there.” All of them eager to warm DJ’s bed, though they’d settle for the temporary band members or anyone they thought could get them close to him.
Techs, roadies and Moss, as well as Roy and his teams, routinely got imaginative overtures.
“I directed them Trey’s way,” Sy said with a shrug. “I need a different type of woman to get my engine going.”
Roy gave him an understanding look. “One that likes to be in charge.”
“Don’t usually find that in band groupies.
At least not in any safe, sane or consensual way.
” He shot Roy a grin. “But that’s not a complaint.
This is fucking Make-A-Wish stuff. When it’s done, I’ll be back in New Orleans with good stories to tell, and enjoying the Dommes at Club Progeny who’ll cut my ego down to the proper size. ”
Roy didn’t say so, but he thought DJ was planning a different path for Sy.
He might never have Tal’s innate brilliance as a drummer, but he was damn good and working hard to get better, rehearsing even after the band called it a day.
His technique was solid, and he had enough passion to demand more from himself, ask for more from the drumming gods.
When DJ was working out a musical snag, there was chemistry between him and Sy, an echo of what he’d had with his former bandmates.
If DJ offered him a permanent spot, Roy anticipated that Trey would take over leadership of their New Orleans band. Trey was enjoying the hell out of this, but the blood in his veins ran on the New Orleans music scene. Roy anticipated he would be content to return to it.
Up until this opportunity had presented itself, Sy might have said the same, but he was rising to the challenge like a man who’d discovered deeper levels of himself, and wanted to explore that terrain where it could go.
Roy liked Sy but, more importantly, when DJ made connections with him on their song arrangements, it reminded DJ he hadn’t lost the lifeline to his music.
Roy didn’t have a similar track with Survival. When he succeeded at his job, it would be over. But there was a flip side to that which didn’t allow self-indulgent wallowing.
If he failed at it, it would be over as well.
Miami. Twenty thousand people would be in the arena.
The stage design included three fifty-foot-long extensions jutting out from the main stage.
One went straight out from the center, the other two diagonally, left and right.
The fans grouped around the extensions would get closer interaction with DJ, Trey and Hal when they moved out onto them during the performance.