Guarding January by Sean Michael Page A

booze.”
    “I only drink booze when I want to blow fire.”
    That eyebrow of Rye’s went up. “And do you do that often?”
    “Couple times a week on tour.” Whenever he had to.
    Rye made a face but didn’t actually say anything. He set the tray down. “Come and eat.”
    “What is it? It smells good.”
    “Figs and cheese on crackers, vegetables, and baba ghanoush.”
    “Do I like figs?” Jeff came closer, eyes curious.
    “You tell me.” Rye picked one up, offering it to him.
    Jeff took the bite and nibbled, then nodded. “I like figs.”
    “I’m glad.”
    “Yeah? The cook will be back tomorrow, and you won’t have to do it anymore.” He was sad. He liked Rye’s food.
    “Yeah? Does the cook know what you like?”
    “No.” How could she? Jeff hadn’t known.
    “Then we’ll have to tell her.”
    “Yeah.” Really, he’d just have toast in the morning. It would be enough.
    “Hey. I’m still here, and I know you’re not LJ. You need to remember who you are, you look to me, okay?”
    “Just remember, if you hate January, that I’m still your friend.”
    “I know. Me and Jeff, we’re like this.” Rye crossed his fingers together.
    “Yeah. Yeah, good friends.”
    Rye smiled that smile where it made his face the handsomest thing around.
    He ate another fig cracker, sighing as his phone rang. Roach. He grabbed it, answered. “Roach.”
    “Boss. Tonight, huh? You really clean?”
    “Yeah.”
    “You get religion?”
    “No.”
    “Great.”
    He rolled his eyes, and Rye dipped a carrot in hummus and handed it over to him.
    “Thank you,” Jeff mouthed. “You have a song list in mind?” he said out loud.
    “Of course I do.” Roach cackled. “I know exactly what all those little bloodsuckers want.”
    “That’s my Roach.” He chuckled. “I can’t wait to see you play.” That was the truth. Roach was solid as a rock, unflappable, and cynical as fuck.
    “Ditto, LJ. Been too fucking long.”
    Ten months. He hadn’t gone that long between tours ever. “I’ll be ready. We’ll rock the house.”
    “You know it, LJ. The place full of groupies yet?”
    “No. No, not yet.”
    “It will be. Live like rock stars, huh?”
    He supposed so.
    “Okay, LJ, I’ll see you tonight.” Roach cackled some more and hung up.
    Jeff put his phone away and headed into the closet. He needed his costume, to become LJ.
    He sighed, and he thought he could hear January in the back of his head, laughing.
     
     
    R YE FOLLOWED Lord January downstairs to meet up with the band, with some misgivings. That the band themselves already hated him—he’d done his drug check when they’d arrived and flushed several joints down the toilet—didn’t bother him.
    But Jeff’s alter ego made him itch. He couldn’t help but think that January was toxic for Jeff. It was his job to make sure Jeff didn’t get totally lost.
    LJ was in a silk shirt open to the waist, skintight leather pants, and dark, thick eye makeup and heavy silver jewelry.
    It was ugly, stark, and weirdly distasteful. Rye wasn’t sure what that said about him as a person.
    Was it fucked up to think that Jeff was the attractive one? That the loose, gauzy pants or jeans and sweat shirts, hair clean and loose, was Jeff at his most beautiful?
    This LJ character was supposed to be more powerful than his Jeff, but….
    God, man , Rye growled to himself, fucking focus.
    The four guys who made up January’s band let up a cheer as Jeff came down, and Rye scanned the room, making sure it was just them, that there were no threats.
    They swarmed January, hugging and shaking, looking him over.
    They all had the same basic look: lean, skinny, underfed. The bassist was bald and fierce, her sharp teeth flashing. The percussionist was the only one with any meat on his bones, and he picked LJ up and spun him about.
    Rye tried not to growl, made himself stay where he was. These were Jeff’s band members, not vultures.
    “Oh, man. You look great.”
    An older guy with