Time Out of Mind

  Doyle was familiar with the facility Mevi had been at. High-end, private counselors, similar to The Compound, although they had slightly looser intake criteria and they took insurance. Still, a good place run by good people.

  Once he finished catching up with his e-mail, he shut the laptop down and set it aside. After putting the TV on timer mode to shut it off, he took one last look at the portable door alarm he’d placed while Mevi was in the shower. Wedged low in the door, it would let out a piercing shriek if the door was opened before it was deactivated.

  It had come in handy several times over the years.

  With that done, he retired for the night. In some ways he wanted to pinch himself. Here he was, sharing a room with the Mevi Maynard. On the other hand, here was a client needing his help, and that had to be his focus. No matter how famous the person, he could never let that interfere with his job or influence him.

  The client was a person in need of his assistance. Peeling away the trappings of fame and wealth, he usually found a child inside desperate for help or nurturing or whatever it was that they were missing. Sometimes with a genetic predisposition to their addiction, something Doyle had to find out through drawing them out, if he didn’t have a thorough background on them to read through first.

  While he’d been brought in at the last-minute before, usually he had a couple of days to talk with counselors, doctors, family, and others to prepare before taking on the client. Clark had arranged with the rehab center to e-mail Doyle reports from Mevi’s counselors there, and he’d glanced through the discharge report while Mevi was in the shower.

  Something else he’d noticed—Mevi would be turning forty in a month.

  It wasn’t just bullshit that some people had a mid-life crisis. If anyone was entitled to one, it was a man who’d been ripped off for tens of millions of dollars by a man he trusted to handle his finances. A man risking financial ruin after two decades of hard work to earn it.

  It would set even the stoutest of people back a few mental notches.

  That Mevi had been in the music industry for so long and only recently developed an alcohol problem was a miracle in and of itself. Apparently the band members, when they met and formed their group, made a pact that had stood the test of time. That was due in no small part to the carnage they saw around them, talented people falling to drug and alcohol abuse.

  Early, smart thinking on their part had helped them not just personally, but professionally over the years. In their way, Portnoy’s Oyster was still trying to help Mevi despite his bad choices. They could have easily voted him out of the band just over what he’d done already, but they didn’t want to. They wanted him to succeed and rejoin them.

  It was up to Mevi to turn it around and complete his journey back to the top.

  And Doyle knew it was up to him to help the man.

  It also meant, no matter how damn hot he found the guy, he could in no way reveal that attraction to Mevi. Especially since the guy was straight.

  And that would mean a white-knuckle ride of his own for the next couple of months.

  Chapter Five

  Mevi slept fitfully Thursday night, even worse than while in the rehab center. He’d thought once he was released that he’d manage a full night of sleep, but that didn’t happen.

  As he rolled onto his back and glanced across the darkened room to where Doyle lay sleeping in his own bed, Mevi knew his restless nights wouldn’t end any time soon.

  I wonder if I can talk him into separate bedrooms at some point?

  But Clark had been absolutely clear that Mevi had to do what Doyle said.

  At this rate, knowing the hunk slept in the next bed meant Mevi would be spending a lot of time in the shower. Trying to talk Doyle into separate sleeping accommodations too soon might look suspicious for a rightfully different reason, thinking Mevi was trying to sneak booze behind his back.

  Yeah, he wanted a drink. He wanted one so badly he could taste it.

  And that was all the more reason he knew he could never again have one.

  Guess a few of Dad’s genes rubbed off on me after all.

  A lot of his father had rubbed off on him over the years, good and bad. Like his desperation to hide his true self from others out of fear of discovery and violence.

  His inability to truly let others inside his “walls.”

  And now, alcoholism.

  He’d never had a problem before. And all of them in the band at one time or another had tied one on and woke up hungover. He wasn’t a big drinker. Certainly not a frequent drinker.

  Until…

  Until that day, when he’d opened his bank statement. The envelope with his fucking name on it, in a stack of papers he spotted on David’s desk when he’d stopped by the guy’s office.

  And then he’d seen the balance.

  A balance that, instead of being eight or nine figures, was at less than five hundred thousand dollars.

  Shit had gone downhill fast and furiously from that point on. David had been parked in jail that night. As detectives tracked down more of his clients, it turned out Mevi wasn’t the only one he’d stolen from.

  He had, however, been the one David had used to pad his overseas accounts and to replace “borrowed” money from other clients’ accounts. Clients who’d paid much closer attention to what was going on than Mevi had, despite warnings from his bandmates.

  The first night, he’d only gotten moderately drunk, sure that in the morning someone would tell him no, they recovered the funds, or it wasn’t as bad as it first looked.

  But…

  It had been that bad.

  He still felt sick to his stomach when he remembered looking at that sheet of paper.

  Getting up, he used the bathroom, washed his hands, and downed a glass of water from the tap. If they were going to take a road trip, he’d need to ask Doyle if they could pick up a cooler before leaving Barstow. Less stops to make for water, and drinking water had helped him a little.

  One benefit to sixty days in rehab was losing nearly twenty pounds of weight he’d put on in the six months of heavy drinking during the investigation and trial before his final blowup. Being able to use the rehab facility’s gym every day.

  Maybe he’ll find us a place where I can work out or swim or something.

  In bed once more, he stretched out on his back and stared up at the ceiling. If he was alone in the room, he’d turn on the lights, break out his guitar and iPad, and start screwing around and see if anything gelled.

  But despite trying to keep up an emotional wall between him and Doyle, he didn’t want to be rude. The guy was doing his job, and he was doing all the driving. The least he could do was let the guy sleep.

  And Doyle successfully doing his job would, hopefully, put the better part of half a mil into Mevi’s bank account before the end of the US leg of the tour. That wasn’t counting royalties from increased album sales from the tour, and the Sirius-XM special channel they were hosting for a month.

  Since working was out of the question, he’d have to lie there and stare at the ceiling.

  All while trying not to pop a chub over the guy in the next bed.

  This is going to be a long ten weeks.

  * * * *

  Doyle knew tonight would be a night of light sleeping.

  Fortunately, he was, by nature, a light sleeper.

  He awakened immediately when he heard Mevi moving around in the bathroom, but he lay there, pretending to be asleep, to see what the guy would do.

  Mevi never even walked toward the front door.

  That’s good.

  Didn’t mean he could let his guard down, but it was a good first step. In his experience, the ones who gave him the most trouble tried to push the boundaries the very first night.

  He could tell from the sound of Mevi’s breathing that he wasn’t asleep. Doyle didn’t know what time it was and couldn’t look without Mevi realizing he was awake. He preferred to surprise his clients with his light-sleeping, giving
him a slight tactical advantage over them in the beginning. They weren’t as much on their guard and more likely to slip up, if that was what they were going to do.

  The downside was that Mevi was an alcoholic. That was easily and legally obtained nearly anywhere. At least with an addict, they couldn’t usually walk into the average drugstore and grab what they needed to get high.

  Although a few had proven quite creative with over-the-counter sinus meds.

  Eventually, some time before dawn Friday morning, he heard Mevi’s breathing slow and deepen again. That meant Doyle could safely close his eyes and hopefully catch a little more sleep before their day began. He needed to plan their route in detail, at least the next stage of it. He didn’t want to be caught near any large cities if possible, and for this trip preferred motels with exterior doors where he could park by the room and whisk Mevi inside.

  Once they reached Florida, Mevi would be mostly isolated. He’d let the man settle in and then work with him. Maybe they could even have dinner with Tilly and her men if they returned to Sarasota. Sure it’d be easier to make this trip as quickly as possible, but that would add more stress to Mevi’s plate. Better to let the stress rest on his own shoulders with the driving and logistics and let the man try to get used to freedom again.

  This time of year, in Sarasota, during the weeks the beaches wouldn’t be too busy. Or they could hit any number of parks. He could take him out to walk, do some talking, get some fresh air. Give him a taste of a different way of life for a while with no pressures on him except to work on himself and maybe on his music, if he felt up to it.

  When his eyes next snapped open, he spotted dim daylight around the corners of the drapes and Mevi still asleep in the next bed.

  Whew.

  Then he heard what had awakened him, the sound of someone in the room next door getting ready to leave.

  While on his laptop last night, he’d already scouted nearby stores and restaurants. He wanted to be on the road as soon as possible after changing Mevi’s appearance. Without his distinctive hair, he’d probably go unrecognized, for the most part.

  Doyle hoped.

  While Mevi was one of the most famous clients he’d ever dealt with, the good thing was that many people didn’t recognize musicians the way they did actors. A musician’s calling card was their voice, not their face.

  Note to self, no karaoke for him.

  No tai chi for him this morning, either. A couple of his clients had started doing the morning routine with him. He would never make someone do it, but he didn’t mind the company. It was a soothing way for him to start his mornings and helped him focus, but that didn’t mean it’d work for someone else.

  He removed the portable alarm from the room door before he hit the bathroom. He couldn’t help but sneak a peek at Mevi as he walked past his bed.

  He was a good-looking man. No denying it.

  While he’d been married to Kathy, there’d been a couple of years where he’d struggled in their marriage. He’d loved her, but he knew she wasn’t masochistic and wasn’t into playing like he wanted to play. It didn’t help that he’d known he was bisexual.

  After their separation, when Kathy made it clear she wanted him to move on, he’d dated a couple of guys, and a couple of women, but nothing that stuck long-term.

  When he emerged to wash his hands, he noticed Mevi’s eyes were open.

  “Good morning,” Doyle said. “How’d you sleep?”

  Mevi let out a sigh before rubbing at his eyes. “I’ve slept better.”

  Doyle walked over to his bag, pulled out one of the test kits, and handed it to him. “Work up spit, suck on that until I tell you to stop.”

  The guy sat up and, fortunately, didn’t argue.

  That was also a good sign.

  Doyle knew it wasn’t going to show anything unless Mevi had somehow managed to sneak something past him, but he wanted the man used to the routine from day one.

  Literally.

  First thing every morning, at random times during the day, and even sometimes waking him up at night. Definitely every time they’d been apart.

  Like when he returned from the store shortly.

  It was a calculated risk to leave him alone, but he suspected Mevi was so out of his element right now he wouldn’t try to sneak away.

  “I’ll get my shower first,” Doyle said. “While I’m doing that, let me know what you want to eat so I can bring it back. Wait on your shower until I get back so you can wash your hair after we dye it.”

  He reached over and switched on the large floor lamp. Now he could really see the guy’s natural hair color. Deep, dark brown with some natural grey in it.

  He was aware of Mevi’s gaze following him as he dug what he needed out of his bag. It was a struggle to think of the least appetizing things he could to keep his cock from hardening in his shorts. After taking his stuff to the bathroom, he returned and finally took the tester from Mevi and set it up. It would take a couple of minutes to process.

  “Not in a hurry to get on the road?”

  There was a hint of snark to Mevi’s tone.

  “We’ll take it easy today. I want to be out of here before noon. Checkout’s at one.”

  “Yeah. I’m sure people are flocking to get their rooms here at the Barstow Budget Bed and Breakfast.”

  “Don’t leave the room,” Doyle said. “Last thing we need is someone recognizing you.”

  “No worries. No offense to the delightful garden spot that is Barstow, I’d prefer to sit here and sulk.”

  Doyle checked the test kit. Yep, clean.

  “Did I pass, chief?” Mevi snarked.

  “You know the answer to that.” Doyle leaned against the bathroom doorway. “I know this isn’t easy on you and I’m not going to insult your intelligence with a bunch of bullshit about how I’d like you to open up to me and want you to trust me. You just got financially assraped by that guy and are basically starting over. That’s got to leave a lot of anger to deal with, too. All I’m asking from you for now is cooperation and honesty. Telling me you don’t want to talk about something is honesty. But keep in mind, I’m here to help you. This is my job. At some point, you might want to think about that and actively take a role in beating this.”

  * * * *

  Doyle had turned to brush his teeth at the vanity.

  “Is that your motivational speech?” Mevi asked.

  “No. That was blunt honesty.”

  “Can I use the bathroom before you get in there?”

  “Sure.”

  Mevi closed the door behind him and had to stand there for a moment to let things soften up a bit before he could actually pee.

  Yeah, this guy was not like anyone he’d ever met before. He could try challenging Doyle, and he suspected Doyle would just smile and get him turned around before Mevi even realized what’d hit him.

  That was sexy as fucking hell.

  When he emerged, Doyle switched places with him, closing the door behind him.

  It was all Mevi could do not to fantasize about following him in and taking a shower with him.

  This is going to be a long fucking trip.

  Chapter Six

  Doyle fought the urge to take the time to rub one out. He needed to get moving. There wasn’t time for that now when he needed to focus on Mevi.

  Although Mevi was the reason he wanted to rub one out in the first place.

  He only took about five minutes to shower, deciding to skip shaving that morning. He’d shaved last night and was only slightly scruffy now.

  When he emerged, Mevi was sitting on his bed, channel surfing. From the smell of coffee brewing, Doyle knew Mevi had figured out the tiny in-room coffeemaker.

  “I’ll get out of here and we can get on the road once we finish.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What do you want for breakfast?”

  “I’m not picky. Whatever you get for you, double it. And coffee, please. Black.” He didn’t look away from the TV
. “Can we get a cooler and some bottled water to take with us for the trip?”

  No snark. So far, so good. “Sure. Any snacks?”

  Mevi shrugged. “I’m not picky. Something healthy, I guess, if there is anything.”

  “No food allergies?”

  “No.”

  Doyle packed his stuff and got it ready so once they finished everything, they’d be able to leave immediately. “I’ll be less than an hour. Leave the curtains closed, and don’t leave the room.”

  “Fine.”

  Doyle felt torn between wanting to lighten up on him a little and still trying to stay slightly aloof until he figured the man out. “Thank you for cooperating this morning.”

  That finally earned him a direct glance from Mevi. “You’re just doing your job.” Back to the TV. “I can’t promise I won’t be a dick from time to time.”

  “How bad is it right now?”

  “The urge to drink?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m craving one. But I know I can’t. So I won’t.”

  Doyle took a step forward. “You’ll need to be prepared for that to hit you even when you think you have a good handle on things.”

  “Do you still get them?”

  “Yep. Especially when stressed.”

  “What do you do?”

  He knew he should get moving, but the fact that Mevi was talking to him couldn’t go unrecognized. “Depends. I meditate, do tai chi, try to talk my way through it. When it’s really bad, I white-knuckle it and keep reminding myself why I need to stay sober and focus on how long I’ve made it. If I’ve made it this far—and I have a one-hundred-percent track record of surviving to date—I can make it another day no matter how bad it feels at the time.”

  “How often do you get those?”

  “Sometimes only once or twice a year now. I won’t lie to you. In the early days, it was tough. During my divorce, it was tough. There are tough days, and there are easy days. You have to figure out what techniques work for you.”

  * * * *