~~~~~
A gentle hand carded through his bangs. “Peter . . . c’mon, man, don’t do this . . . ”
“Jus’ . . . lemme sleep . . . please . . . ” Peter rolled onto his side, wondering vaguely what someone was doing in his hotel room . . . maybe it was another girl . . .
Davy’s worried voice whispered, “C’mon, Than . . . don’t do this to us . . . we can’t go on without you . . . ”
So Mike told them . . . Peter thought, wincing at the sting. One wind alone . . . separate . . . lonely . . . He fought the violent urge to cry. Why me?
“At least open your eyes, huh?” Micky’s voice, and a touch to his back—long fingers instinctively seeking out pressure points to soothe and ease pain . . .
Peter slowly opened his eyes. Micky was looking down at him—and behind him was the familiar contours of Peter’s room. He slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, moving slowly and holding in his breath in case it was a dream . . .
Davy was sitting on his own bed, looking worried. Behind Peter could only be Mike, then.
“G-Guys . . . ?” he said softly. “It’s . . . why aren’t we in the hotel?”
“Hotel?” they chorused softly.
“Yeah, hotel,” Peter said, relating everything that had happened—everything he could remember. Riding, the radio station, the concert . . . when he finished he blinked up at the wide-eyed, bewildered faces around him.
It was Mike who spoke first. “You haven’t been in a hotel, Peter. You’ve been unconscious for the last twelve hours—havin’ delirium dreams or somethin’. Thrashin’ around and mumbling, mostly. Looks like your dreams . . . were what it might be like . . . if we hit it big.”
Peter shivered, remembering the boredom on their faces and the girl who’d barged into the dressing room. “Yeah, and if that’s what fame is, I don’t want it.”
“Sounds like they’d forgotten what friendship means,” Davy said gently.
“Not really,” Peter said, smiling a little. “They were good guys . . . but they were nothing like you.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Mike asked.
Peter thought about that for a few moments. “I . . . I could have gotten used to them. Maybe even liked them. But . . . I missed you guys so much I didn’t know what I was going to do.”
“And you would have been alone,” Mike said. “One wind blowing alone . . . separate . . . ”
“Lonely,” Micky said. “Winds don’t blow well by themselves. You taught me that.”
Mike nodded. “We’re strongest together.” He cupped the back of Peter’s neck. “Without you, we are just as incomplete. You’re our brother.”
Peter relaxed against the gentle touch, tears springing unbidden to his eyes as he basked in the familiar warmth of his friends.
THE END
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