Chapter 23 #3
A hard light came into his brown eyes, a sardonic twist to his mouth.
“You’re keeping yourself at arm’s length, telling yourself you’re so much more emotionally mature, that you know better than me.
But you know what I think? You’re protecting yourself from getting in too deep with the mercurial rockstar who might wake up tomorrow and decide he doesn’t love you. ”
DJ poked Roy in the chest. “When you decide you’re ready to fucking trust me the way I’m willing to trust you…
Well, you’re on the list. But the longer you wait, the more likely I am to get pissed.
Then you’ll have to figure out how to break in, and I’ll either be as impressed as a princess in a tower, or I’ll set the cops on your trespassing ass. ”
DJ pivoted and picked up the towel. He slung it over this shoulder and strode to the sliding glass door, leaving Roy staring after him. He banged it closed.
When Roy finally made his feet move, he followed DJ into the house. He didn’t follow DJ, though. His mind was spinning in too many directions, and he didn’t make decisions when nothing was clear.
However, his exit did take him past the studio, giving him a glimpse of the new guitarist. A good-looking guy, close to DJ’s age. The way he shook DJ’s hand was half I’m-meeting-rock-royalty awe, and half instant sexual attraction to the sensual force that was DJ.
Roy tried not to get his hackles up, but in truth, he wanted to strangle someone. Mostly himself.
The day after Gilda’s surgery, Roy and she were sitting on the back porch swing together. Roy stared out into the yard while she sipped a lemonade and listened to an audiobook.
He felt like he was trapped behind a wall, and it made him wonder if DJ was right. Had Roy created it, and was he the one keeping it between them?
Gilda paused her book, set the tablet aside and turned, tucking her toes under his thigh and crossing her arms.
“So when are you going back to DJ?”
“Job’s done, Mom,” he said.
“I wasn’t asking about your job.”
Immediate flashback to childhood, and the times he’d tried to get away with shit. How did mothers pull that tone out whenever they needed it?
Come to think of it, DJ had a pretty good version of it, with that cool stare and “When will you be back?” combo. He’d make a great mom.
If he told him that, Roy was sure the kid would gut punch him.
With an air of exaggerated patience that said, “you know very well what I’m saying, but I’m going to spell it out for you in crayon” his mother added, “I was asking about your relationship with DJ. Is it done?”
“Once I move on from a job, the closeness I might have had with a client, professional and personal, peters out. Remember Speed? ‘Relationships started in intense circumstances never last.’”
“‘So we’ll base it on sex then,’” she rejoined, a sparkle in her unfocused eyes. “You two tried to be quiet, but the chemistry is obviously there.”
“Jesus.” He winced. “Remind me to stay at a hotel next time I bring someone to meet you.”
“He’s the first man you’ve brought home to me since you were a teenager. You’re very clear about boundaries, Royal. If you stepped over them, you had reason to believe DJ is different.”
“Or it proves I can be as dumb as anyone else. It just happens less often.”
Feeling her censorious glance as he took a swig of her lemonade, he set it down and sighed.
“Mom, he’s a celebrity, and not just a flash-in-the-pan thing.
He’ll be an icon in the music world long after he writes his last hit song.
No matter that my work operates inside that world, I’m not part of it.
I’m like clothing. We need clothing to meet our day-to-day needs, but no one thinks clothes are the same thing as the body itself. ”
He could hear DJ’s response to that, too. Thank God you don’t write songs for a living. That’s terrible.
Shut up. Stop talking to me like you’re right here.
She harrumphed. “When you introduced me to DJ, I knew he was a big celebrity, but what I noticed the most was the chemistry between you. And it wasn’t just about sex. You know that line from Notting Hill?”
“I will puncture my eardrums to keep you from saying it.”
She captured his wrist before he could stick his fingers in his ears.
“‘I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love me.’ Formidable bodyguard or world-famous rockstar, in your hearts, you're two boys who need someone to see and love you for who you are. I know it’s tearing you up inside, being with me when he needs you.”
“I want to be with you. And he doesn’t need me. He has Moss, Milton, and a slew of other people whose only job is to be there for him.”
“You’re deflecting. When we’ve gone through bad things, we need the person we’re in love with close. Especially when you went through it together.”
Her softer tone held her feelings about how close she’d come to losing another son. He didn’t volunteer the parts of his job that would give her trouble sleeping at night. But he’d told her he’d always be honest with her, and she’d demanded more details this time.
Her shoulders squared, and she gripped his hand. “Just because he’s moving on with his life doesn’t mean he’s not still grieving and dealing with trauma. DJ has had too much loss in his life.”
Roy stared back at the yard. He’d thought a lot about that conversation by the pool, and what kept twisting his gut was how he hadn’t let himself offer comfort the way he’d wanted to do.
He hadn’t really dug to find out how things were going for DJ.
He’d told himself he didn’t have that right anymore. He couldn’t send mixed signals.
DJ was right. He’d protected himself. But Roy also wasn’t wrong.
His mother might not have physical sight, but her insight was twenty-twenty clear.
“You’re hurting too, son. You almost lost him.
With any client, that would be enough to have you worked up, but you also love him.
There are so many feelings that go along with that, and your job is all about channeling or locking down feelings. ”
She laid her head on his hand, gripping the back of the swing. “There’s another way to look at this. Yes, the job’s done. Which means you can let those feelings loose to take you where you really want to go with them.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready to settle down.”
She laughed. “Royal Bloodwell, you will never settle down. Neither will DJ James. But it’ll mean so much more to both of you to have a partner to share that ride.” She fingered the wedding ring strung around her neck. “Even better to have a soulmate.”
He touched her fingers, brushing the rings that had belonged to his father and brother. “I need to give him time. Give us both time. I do want to be there for him, it’s hard as hell not to be, but I want…if I’m going to be there for him, I want to always be there for him.”
As he turned a resolute expression to her, Roy knew he was at last putting words to what was in his troubled head. “That’s what I’ll demand. I won’t do that until I’m sure he knows what he wants.”
“Until you’re sure you think he knows what he wants,” she corrected.
“He thinks I don’t trust him, and maybe I don’t. Maybe I think I’m older, wiser and smarter. Maybe that’s bull. But if I give us both time, I’ll be listening to my gut. And I try to do that.”
“I know. You always have a plan, Royal. You don’t move forward until you do. But once you figure it out, go get him. I want to see him again.”
He snorted. “He’s right. You do like him more than me.”
She batted her lashes. “Of course. He’s DJ James. He’s irresistible. To the world and to me.”
She touched Roy’s face. “But most especially to my boy.”
Only a day earlier, DJ received the same lecture from Marjorie.
Roy had kept his cool, so much so that the confidence DJ had felt in the moment had taken a hit when Roy didn’t chase him back into the studio, and insist they have it out.
Maybe Roy was right. DJ was dealing with the loss of his bandmates, the crazy shit with Paul.
Half the time he was waking up in a cold sweat; the other half he woke up with music in his heart.
He’d get halfway to the bedrooms that his bandmates had used, to rouse them for a studio session, before realizing they weren’t there.
Sometimes he slid down the wall and had to stay there, shaking too hard to walk. Though it embarrassed the crap out of him, Marjorie, with her maternal spidey sense, had found him twice and helped him get back to bed.
He missed his Master. He needed Roy.
Or did he just need someone to be there? Maybe they should wait six months and see if it still felt as strong. What was six months, after all?
“What kind of life can someone like Roy have with me?”
He asked Marjorie that on the last day of her visit. She’d wanted to stay longer, but her contact at DHHS had called. The sheriff had pulled a six-year-old girl out of an unsafe home, and they needed a place for her for a few days. DJ insisted Marjorie return home to do what she did so well.
“He's like Superman, steady and solid and strong and decent.” DJ looked at the bracelet on his wrist, the bull, and those beads. Paul was long gone, but DJ was still wearing it like a protective talisman.
Or a sign of ownership.
“I'm always in my head and on the road,” he finished.
“You're both always on the road.” Marjorie straightened from deadheading the flowers in one of the poolside flowerpots, no matter that he had an army of landscapers to do that. She stretched her back and sat down on the edge of his lounger. Resting a hand on his chest, she gripped the ichthys, drawing his attention to it. “DJ, you are a decent, strong and loving man. He'd be lucky to have you. You are very special. I thought I’d gotten you past the foster child nonsense of thinking you aren’t worth loving.”