Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
DJ spent several days in the hospital. Not for his hand.
The kick to his abdomen had caused internal bleeding in his intestines. It would have killed him within a matter of a few days without advanced medical help.
Something new to give Roy nightmares.
DJ had a more optimistic view. “The bastard wouldn’t have gotten more than a few days with his toy. I would have died laughing my ass off at him.”
Moss had flown in the top hand specialist in the country, and after she and the hospital’s orthopedic surgeon conferred and did their magic, they confirmed DJ should regain full use of the fingers with diligent physical therapy.
A pretty nurse provided DJ a heart-shaped stress ball to work his hand as soon as he was ready for that.
“If Steve, Pete and Tal were here, within a day I’d have ones shaped like butt plugs, penises and tits.” DJ offered that comment to Moss and Roy, who’d hovered at the hospital threshold while the doctors gave him the report.
Henry’s two-man security teams always posted on his door kept DJ unmolested during his hospital stay.
But all the latest publicity in the DJ James saga, plus new adjustments to the tour schedule, pulled Moss in a hundred directions.
DJ worked with him on the earliest reasonable date to return to the tour schedule, and how they were going to handle him not being able to play his guitar for a while.
“Glad I have a good singing voice,” he told Roy. “Else I’d be out of a job.”
“You have a good singing voice?” Roy asked. “When did that happen?”
Roy had been there as much as he could, but between Moss, the medical staff, and DJ needing time to rest and recuperate, they rarely had a moment by themselves.
Whenever their eyes met and held, and it seemed like they might discuss more personal things, a nurse would come in, DJ would receive another call from half the known universe, or Moss would need input from him on something.
Ultimately, they accepted that while DJ was in the hospital, it wasn’t the time.
On day three, Roy received his own call while sitting in the guest chair, which he’d pushed back into a corner to be out of the path of approved well-wishers.
G wanted his help in Chicago. Since all his employees were contractors, when they had extended time between the jobs he was so selective about, they often sought other short-term, high-paying security work. With their skillset, they were always in demand.
“I’ll get back to you in an hour,” Roy said, after hearing the details.
“You got it, boss.”
DJ bid farewell to the elderly hospital volunteer who brought the book cart around. He’d given her an autograph for her granddaughters. Plus snagged a Rolling Stones magazine and a recipe book on candy-making.
After her departure, he proved he’d been paying attention to what Roy was doing. “So the news of you being available spread almost as fast as the story of my kidnapping.”
“The job’s from G. I only do word-of-mouth.”
“Best way to build a fan base,” DJ confirmed. He didn’t smile. “When do you have to go?”
“Tonight. It’s a four-day job, being an extra man for a conference the high value client is attending.”
“Anyone I know?” DJ asked. “Can you bring me back an autograph?”
“I expect they’d want one in return.”
“Hold on. I’ll sign this plastic urinal bottle. I haven’t used it.” DJ set the bottle aside. “When will you be back?”
Roy bit the bitter bullet. “Job’s done, DJ. I’m no longer employed by you.”
“I’m aware. When will you be back?” DJ stared at him.
The pause between them expanded as Roy tried to figure out what he should, could or wanted to say.
DJ’s expression shuttered and he changed the subject. “Hey, if you don’t get snapped up for another job right away, come see me at home. I’ll be out of this gown and looking like my studly self again, right?”
“You fishing for compliments?”
“Not from you. I know better. Marjorie’s going to stay with me for a week. She wanted to get on a plane right away, but I told her I wasn’t going to be here long enough for it to be worth that trouble.”
Roy already knew that. DJ knew he knew that.
When DJ tossed off a few more bantering lines, it wasn’t his A-list stuff, but he was pushing down the pleading need Roy sensed behind it.
However, DJ had shut that shit down himself, and Roy wasn’t sure where to go with it, not while the kid was in such a vulnerable state.
He understood what the deal was, same as Roy did. Right? So Roy let it stand.
Maybe they were both idiots.
He didn’t like the feeling it gave him. But when he eventually rose and planned to say something, anything, to deal with whatever the hell was holding both of them back, one of the record execs dropped in to see DJ.
Roy offered a courteous greeting and moved to the doorway as Carl Milford came to DJ’s bedside to gush over him. He’d brought DJ’s tea blend and a few magazines.
“Carl.” The cold note in DJ’s voice brought the man up short. “The person you just dismissed like he’s wallpaper is my friend. And the man who saved my life.”
Carl turned to give Roy a more appropriate greeting. Probably mostly driven by the need to placate his label’s cash cow, but the exec’s character wasn’t of interest to Roy. DJ’s words had hit him low and hard.
He met the kid’s gaze, and DJ gave him a little nod, his expression neutral. “Come see me, Roy. Okay?”
“I will.”
No promises of when or how or what that would look like, but it would happen.
Yeah, one or both of them had fucked up. But Roy was a planner, and he didn’t know what the right plan was here. He needed to think, and the kid was safe and getting on with his life. That was what mattered.
Roy flew out to Chicago. Moss texted Roy on the day of DJ’s discharge, indicating DJ had flatly refused to follow the wheelchair-to-the-door protocol. Couldn’t imagine why. Fortunately, after Moss explained, they agreed to escort DJ out on foot. Special circumstances.
DJ didn’t mention that when he sent Roy a text later the same day.
They said get the hell out of here—we have sick people who need the bed.
He included a selfie, angled to show Roy the volunteer escorting him, a handsome fifty-something with salt-and-pepper hair, green eyes, and built like a Marine.
This guy has Daddy Dom written all over him.
Kid was trying to provoke him, as always, which meant he was feeling better. It didn’t make Roy feel better. If Roy had been there, he would have been walking at his other side, instead of one of Henry’s people.
Gilda’s surgery was scheduled shortly after the completion of the Chicago job. He thought about going home, sitting on his boat dock with the birds, drinking beer and doing some thinking. Thinking, not brooding. There was an important difference.
DJ would have said brooding was sexier looking.
Instead, Roy drove to Asheville to visit DJ as he’d promised. He didn’t want their last interaction to be in a hospital, DJ looking too vulnerable and pasty in the smock.
It wasn’t really the last, but Roy knew why he’d framed the thought that way.
Most times, once the job was done, if he saw the client again, there would be a distance.
A feeling that only grew wider with time.
If their attraction was due to circumstances, the same would be true for him.
Roy disliked the idea. Intensely. Yet it wouldn’t make it less true, right?
And whether this visit confirmed that or not didn’t matter. The important thing was giving DJ time to deal with all that had changed in his life in a very short time.
They’d had great sex, a great connection. They had a friendship. Better to leave it, for now. Put no pressure on DJ, one way or another.
Roy had saved his life. But DJ had saved his as well. They were square.
When he reached the gatehouse, Luis, Henry’s man, recognized him and began to wave him through. Roy could have let it go, but he didn’t. Giving him a hard stare through the open window of his SUV, Roy didn’t move.
“Am I employed by DJ James anymore, Luis?”
“Uh, no, Roy.”
“So why are you letting me in without checking to make sure I’m expected, or that DJ even wants to see me? Maybe he’s pissed at me. Maybe that’s why I’m not working for him anymore.”
“But—”
“Maybe I’m a disgruntled former employee, planning to kneecap him with the baseball bat in my trunk.”
“Yeah, but—”
“You can’t assume anything.”
“Roy.” Tina, the other gatehouse guard, elbowed Luis aside. She waved a clipboard at Roy. “Here are the people allowed in, no matter what, no questions asked.”
She thrust it at him. The list had Moss and DJ’s signatures. Roy was at the top of the list, followed by Sy, Trey and Hal. Then a handful of others. Two of the names made his lips twitch, fighting back a reluctant smile.
Hanging the clipboard back to Tina, he gave both security people a nod. “My apologies.”
“It’s okay. You look…wound a little tight. Tighter than usual, I mean. Are you okay?”
“Yes, thank you. Is Marjorie still here?”
“Yes, but she’s off premises right now. DJ had a driver take her into Asheville for a craft fair.”
Roy nodded, paused. “Tell me. Have Ed Quinn or Sam Worthington actually ever been here?”
“No, but DJ keeps hoping. That’s why they stay on the list.” She gave him an appraising look. “Come to think of it, you look a bit like Ed and Sam. A composite of sorts.”
“Sloppy seconds, as always. Story of my life.”
She laughed. “Good to see you, Roy."
As he drove past the gate, three other names on the list brought more somber reflections.
Steve, Tal and Pete. The list had been updated recently, so DJ had done it intentionally.
He didn’t want to remove their names, the same way a widower didn’t remove his wedding ring, not willing to let the connection go.