by Tara Lain
Wen crossed into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of water, uncapped it, and took a drink. From his seat, John said, “What happened?”
Wen wandered into the room and collapsed into a chair. “I left the final edits on the ad to the others on my team at the office. Remember I told you that night I came home that they were finishing it up?”
Michaela nodded, but John just glared.
“Apparently they reedited some of the footage and ended up—” He swallowed. “—showing Peter’s face.”
“No!” John partly leaped off the couch so he ended up with one foot on the floor and the other still bent under him. “But he said—“
“I know. I told everyone that the artist had to remain anonymous.” Wen puffed his cheeks. “Somehow they didn’t get that Peter was the artist and that he couldn’t be shown. They just thought the artist’s name had to remain secret.” He shook his head. “We saw the ad in the restaurant. I called everyone on my team as soon as I got out the door, but they were all at home, resting for the first time in weeks. The client insisted on showing Peter’s face, and no one was up for making the change without approval from the big boss, who’s on a yacht somewhere or something. I couldn’t get it changed back. It tested tonight all over the country.”
“So Peter’s screwed.” John pressed his mouth into a tight line.
“I guess so, John. I’ve got no idea why he’s so passionate about staying anonymous. Do you?”
“No. But if Peter wants it, it must be important.”
Wen leaned his head in his hand. “At least it’s important to him, and I managed to screw over the one thing he asked. I don’t blame him for being angry.”
“But you’re going to get back together, right? I mean, you love each other, right?”
Love? “Uh, wow, I don’t know about that. I mean, I like Peter. He makes me have fun even when I don’t want to, but—”
Michaela cocked her head at him. “It looks pretty serious to us, Wen.”
“That’s just wishful thinking. I know it’d be nice to have Peter around more, but we’ve all got other priorities, right?” He tried to turn up his lips, but it just didn’t work.
“I think you’ll really miss him.”
“Yeah.”
John stepped fully off the couch. “Wait. You guys are talking like that’s it. Like you’re done with Peter forever.”
Wen sipped the last of the water and tossed the plastic bottle toward the trash. It landed inside but bounced out. Heartbreak. His brain repeated the line he and his dad used to say when basketballs popped out of the hoop. “I don’t know how to undo what I did, John.”
“You can start by apologizing.” His fists clenched at his sides.
“I did. Four times. He wouldn’t listen. Besides, we spend more time apologizing to each other than we do anything else. Man, it’s like God’s playing with magnets. Pulled together. Pushed apart. Pulled together, and on and on. Eventually I have to admit we’re just too different to make it work.”
“No!”
Wen shook his head and stood. “It sounds to me like you two are the ones who love him. You make it work.” He stomped out of the room, slid down the wall in John’s room, and fell asleep. Sometime later, John shook him. Without a word, he staggered to the couch and fell in a heap, too damned exhausted to lie awake and cry.
Peter slipped through the back entrance of Neverland. He’d wandered around for a while trying to sort out the mess in his brain, jumping at every shadow, but the club still rocked. Friday night and all that. He slipped down the hall with its bare light hanging at one end and casting weird shadows. Rounding the corner, he ran right into Smee and Hooker with their heads together. “Whoa!”
They both straightened up and managed to look guilty for a second before Smee frowned. “We’ve got a huge crowd. Why aren’t you singing?”
“I had an appointment. I’ll get up there now.” He slipped by them, ran to his dressing room, dropped his jacket, and dragged a brush through his hair. Good plan. Forget everything—until later.
Raising his arms, he ran through the crowd that parted for him and leaped onto the stage, where Samu got with the program and lifted Peter above his head. The whole audience chanted “Pe-ter. Pe-ter.”
The Lost Boys plunged into one of their originals, and Peter and Dudish harmonized on the vocals. He tried to submerge himself in the music, but his eyes wouldn’t cooperate. They kept searching the crowd for anything or anyone out of place. Quit it. It’s too soon. Too soon. He couldn’t stop looking.
Nothing appeared unusual if you didn’t count Mr. Pennymaker sitting at a table with a group of young girls who were fawning over him even as they screamed for Peter. Could Pennymaker have been lying? Maybe Peter’d been found way before they showed his face in that ad?
Gotta get out of here. Have to leave.
When they finished their set, Wingman signed them off for the night, and patrons started paying their drink bills and gathering their stuff. Peter glanced around and hurried to the dressing room, grabbed his jacket, and started out when Tink pushed through the door.
“Whatswrong? Whereyoubeen?”
“Two different questions. I was out with Wen. What’s wrong is—” He glanced around like maybe somebody was hiding behind the clothes rack. “Remember I told you that someone could come looking for me sometime?”
She nodded.
“Well, it could happen soon. Would you keep an eye out for me?”
She frowned. “Whathappened?”
He leaned an arm against the wall and stared at the floor. “Remember how Samu carried me in the ad?”
She nodded again.
“Apparently somebody changed it so that my face shows.”
“DamnWen. Iknewyoucouldn’ttrusthim.”
“It wasn’t really his fault, Tink. Somebody did it without his knowing.” Shit, why was he defending Wen? “Anyway, I might have to take off out of here on no notice.”
“I’llcometoo.”
“No. I can’t ask you to do that.”
“Didn’task.”
“It wouldn’t work. I don’t know where I’ll have to go or how I’ll live. Hell, it may not even happen. Don’t worry about it.”
“Youdon’twanttotakeme—becauseofhim!”
“No. That’s not true. I couldn’t take you.” He stared at Tink. One more goddamn person who wanted him to be a certain way. “Shit. I don’t need this.” He turned and bumped his way out the door, slamming into Samu as he passed, and headed toward the front exit.
Almost to the door, Mr. Pennymaker stepped in front of him. “Slow down, my dear. You’re running like the hounds of hell are on your tail.”
Peter stared at Pennymaker, dashed around him, and ran out onto the crowded sidewalk. They just might be, Mr. P. They just might be.
Peter ran into the little park across the street and found a friendly tree to climb. Suspended on one of the lower branches, he watched people leave the club. One big trouble. No exit plan. When he’d first moved to New York, he’d shied at every stranger and always had most of his things packed and ready to run. But after years, he’d gotten sloppy and lazy. Most of what he needed to leave was in the damned apartment.
Think.
Someone seeing the ad had to put two and six together to get to him. Figure out who the Lost Boys were and where to find them. He chewed his lip. That’d take, like, five minutes. But getting from the club to the apartment? Not quite as simple. Shit. Ten minutes.
Still, he could probably sleep there tonight and then figure out where to go. Maybe he could get part of that money Wen owed him. Hell, that was the least Wen could do after screwing Peter over.
No, not his fault. I was careless. Stupid.
He dropped from the branch to the ground and started trudging toward the subway. He grabbed his phone and texted to Wen’s number. Can I get the money you owe me for the painting tomorrow? Of course, it was fucking Saturday, so how the hell Wen would get it was totally unkno
wn. Triple shit.
He slid the phone back in his pocket and just kept walking.
Tink stared after Peter’s retreating form. She hadn’t taken her eyes off him since he yelled at her and ran out of the club. He wouldn’t be yelling if that Wen person hadn’t messed up his head. She frowned and bit the inside of her lip.
“My, don’t you look fierce.”
She glanced up at Hooker. He sure did hang around her a lot lately. “Yes.”
“What upset you?”
She shook her head.
“Let me guess. When our Tink is upset, it usually has something to do with Peter.”
She frowned harder but didn’t say anything. What could she say?
“Why don’t we go have a glass of champagne?”
She pursed her lips. Don’t look anxious. “Sureifyouwantto.”
He put a hand on the small of her back—nice. Real gentlemanly—and escorted her to the bar. The bartenders were putting away clean glasses and counting money.
Tink said, “Toolate.” It was hard not to feel disappointed. She did love that bubbly.
“Not at all.” He waved a hand at Reg, one of the bartenders. “Give us each a glass of our best champagne, okay?”
“We already counted, Mr. Hooker.”
“No worries. We’ll be a little off. I’ll explain to Smee. Just get the champagne.”
He said that last part real commanding. It was kind of cool he used that tone for her. He turned to Tink. “Want to tell me the problem?”
“Noproblem.”
His dark eyebrows squinched down over his eyes. Kind of scary. “I get the feeling that someone is messing with Peter and the Lost Boys, and that’s very much my business.”
The bartender set the glasses in front of them and walked away. Hooker picked his up and held it out. Okay. She grabbed hers and clinked. He smiled that sharky grin. “To huge success for Peter and the Lost Boys, including our lovely Lost Girl.”
What did he mean by that? She narrowed her eyes, but he drank with a smile.
He set down his glass. “I feel that Peter’s very worried. Is that true?”
She swirled the bubbly in her mouth and nodded.
“None of the rest of you seem to have problems—except for Dudish, of course, but his will never go away.”
Not sure she agreed with that.
“So I’m assuming this is just a Peter issue. Peter’s love life or Peter’s family.” He gazed at her.
Man. She tried like a bitch not to frown, but it crawled across her face.
“So Peter’s got a romantic connection with that pretty, curly-haired young man who comes in sometimes.”
He didn’t say it like a question. He must know already. She sipped and nodded.
Hooker sighed. “But I’d guess that Peter’s family doesn’t approve of his liaison, and they’re trying to separate Peter and that guy.”
Tink looked up at Hooker’s face. Avid came to mind. He doesn’t know shit. He wants me to tell him. “No. Nofamily. Justdon’tgetalong.” She forced her eyes to the glass like she didn’t care about his reaction, but when she glanced back up, his face had practically fallen through the floor.
“Surely not, Tink. I always get the feeling that Peter’s hiding something about his family.” He put on his most worried face. “It bothers me since he’s so valuable to Neverland, and to all of us. We need to help him.”
She slugged back the last of her champagne. That she agreed with.
“Mr. Hooker?” Johnny, who managed the VIPs at the front door, stood behind Hooker.
“Yes?”
“There’s a man to see you, sir.”
“Who is it?”
Hooker’s caterpillar eyebrows must have made Johnny swallow hard, because his Adam’s apple jumped. “He didn’t say, sir.”
The brows got even lower. “But he asked for me?”
“He asked for who was in charge.” That made Hooker smile a little, but Johnny said, “I couldn’t find Mr. Smee.” Back to the frown. Johnny rushed ahead. “But he said it was very important, and there’s, like, a reward or something.”
Hooker’s face lit up like a disco ball, and Tink’s heart hammered. Hooker glanced at her, waved his hand like he was brushing flies, and walked away.
Shit! She had to find Peter.
Peter shoved his few clothes into his backpack and tried to figure out why the hell he couldn’t stop crying.
Damn. Can’t see. He flopped on the end of the mattress he usually shared with Samu. How do I feel? Empty. Hollow-chested. Like things that really mattered are being ripped from me and pieces of my heart hacked off.
Stupid. He and the Lost Boys always said they were together for music and convenience. Anyone could leave at any time. No strings. Freedom, baby.
But I don’t want to leave.
Is it because it’s not my choice?
A pretty face surrounded by curly hair wearing an expression decades too serious and old flashed in Peter’s mind.
Quit it.
He sighed. Don’t know why I can’t just forget him. He’s nothing I want or need.
Yeah, right.
Wiping at his cheeks, Peter stood and started looking for more of his stuff the Boys might have borrowed. Not that he had much, but how the hell would he carry his art supplies? From the corner, he pulled out the old, battered taboret Samu had found in a dumpster, the one Peter had taken to Wen’s. It was a dumb thing for a street artist to have, but he loved it. Speaking of love, he’d loved doing that painting for Wen. Like a real artist, not some subway vandal.
His head snapped up. What the fuck? When did he stop being proud of his subway vandal credentials?
His butt hit the mattress again. I’m tired. Maybe no one will see the ad. It’s been two years, and my hair’s a different color. Nobody’s going to know me.
From the other room, the sound of the door opening and hitting the wall brought Peter’s head up quick. Tink rushed in and fell to her knees in front of him where he sat on the mattress. “Somebody’slookingforyou.” She took a deep breath. She must have run. “Reward. Iheardreward.”
“What? Where?”
“Neverland. Hooker.”
Peter’s heart slammed against his chest. Hooker. Worst word he could have heard. Calm down and think. “Hooker knows where we live, right?”
She nodded frantically.
“What exactly did you hear?”
“JohnnysaidsomebodylookingforHooker—”
“Slow down, Tink, please.”
She sucked in a breath and stared at him out of huge, dark-rimmed eyes. “Johnny.” She breathed. “He came in.”
“Came into the club?”
She nodded. “Said a person’s looking for Hooker. Reward.”
“He didn’t say anything about me?”
“No.”
“But you think this is about me?”
Her head bobbed frantically. “Whoelsecoulditbe?”
“Right. I need someplace to hide. I asked Wen for money, but I haven’t heard back. I don’t know how he’ll get it tomorrow. So I need someplace cheap to hide.”
“StayawayfromWen.” She spat out the words.
“You’re probably right. He has too much to lose.”
Chapter Nineteen
The front door opened again, and both Peter and Tink froze. A few seconds passed before Samu lumbered into the room. He stopped and looked back and forth between Peter and Tink cowering on the floor. “What’s up?”
Tink looked at Peter. How much did he want to say? Tink didn’t even know the details. “I need a place to hide that doesn’t cost money since I don’t have any yet.”
“Why?”
“Somebody’s looking for me. I don’t want to say too much more, if that’s okay.”
Samu gazed at him. The guy was so smart. “I’ve got an idea.” He grinned, and his big face lit up with crinkles and dimples. He pointed at the backpack and the tote of paints and supplies lying next to it. “This your stuff?
”
“Yep.”
“Come on.”
“I’llcometoo.” Tink jumped up.
Peter put a hand on her arm. “No. I need you to stay here and look normal. If Hooker or somebody we don’t know shows up, you can say you’ve got no idea where I am, right? No lie.”
She frowned, but Samu waved Peter toward the door. Peter gave Tink a huge hug. “Thanks. Thanks so much.” He ran out the door, and she didn’t follow. Good. He’d rather she not know where he was going. She’d been acting so weird about Wen, it made him antsy. Samu ran down the stairs, carrying Peter’s bags like they were filled with feathers. Peter trotted after him.
Outside, Samu jogged toward the subway. After they’d clambered down the subway stairs and leaped on a train pulling out as they got on, Peter finally said, “Where are we going?”
Samu leaned in and scanned the riders near them. Leave it to Samu to take Peter’s safety seriously even if he didn’t know why. “Remember that day at Wen’s when John and I went down to the basement for tarps?”
Peter swallowed. The names hit him like bullets. “Yeah.”
“Well, that’s a pretty good place. Dry, warm enough, not too dirty, but I don’t think people go down there often. Seems ready-made.”
The idea of being that close to Wen made him a little breathless. “Can we get in?”
“If we can sneak in the building, there’s nothing to block our way.”
“How do we do that? I don’t want Wen and the kids to know where I am.”
Samu gave him a side look. “Okay. We’ll be sneaky.”
“Actually, I don’t want anyone but you to know where I’m stashed.”
“Sure, man. No worries.”
“Even Tink and the Boys.”
Samu frowned. “Not telling Tink will be tough. She’s relentless.”
“I know.” He grinned as the subway stopped and they hopped off.
They walked up the subway steps and turned toward Wen’s apartment. The guy from the taco truck, Eddie, waved to Peter as they trotted by. “Hey, amigo, need some tacos for the kids today?”
Peter waved back. “No thanks. Not seeing them.” Awkward.