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moved. His face was as white as my bedroom walls.
    “My music,” I finally choked out. I stood. He took a step back. “My music, Adam.
    Where’s my music?” My voice shook. “Adam, please, don’t tell me he took my music.”
    “I’m sorry, Brandon.”
    I reeled back as if punched. “Fuck!” I grabbed my bedside lamp and smashed it against the wall, feeling my life shatter into a million multicolored shards.

    * * * * *
Colorado -- Present Day
    “Brandon, what’s wrong now?”
    I looked up from my laptop and took a deep breath. “Nothing, Nicholas.” He cocked an eyebrow at me from his hospital bed. “That’s what you say every time I ask you what’s with the sad face. Except this time, you look pissed.” I hit Save and closed my laptop. “I am pissed. Or was.”
    “Why?”
    Nick’s like a Jack Russell -- he refuses to let things go. “I was just remembering about that guy Harvey who stole all our equipment,” I said, knowing he wouldn’t take anything but a straight answer. Before I found you again, I mentally finished, as we never talk about that short but tragic time in our lives. We would have to now though. I was going to make us. But not tonight. Not now. I was almost to that point in the story, and it made me sick to even think about it ... but I had to.

    24 Carolyn Gray
    It was the basis for all our misery, after all, in the coming years, the blackness that discolored the edges of all that was good about Dream, and me and Nicholas. A darkness that could’ve been avoided if I hadn’t been such a self-centered idiot, so stupid --
    “And stole your music,” he added, snapping me out of my sudden plunge into despair.
    I nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yeah. That, too.”
    “It still hurts, doesn’t it? Even after all these years.”
    “Yeah, it does.” The bastard had managed to record some of my songs and still probably makes royalties off them, though he’s now a has-been. I pushed Harvey out of my mind. I definitely didn’t need to get worked up over something I couldn’t change. Besides, he never found the popularity with my music that he no doubt expected, especially after Dream took off -- he didn’t have Nick’s voice.
    “What are you doing over there, anyway? You’ve been writing on that thing for the last two days. You don’t have a new email play pal, do you?” A hint of a whine crept into his voice, making me grin. That sounded more like the Nicholas I knew and loved, and so I welcomed it.
    Still, I debated answering him, then shrugged. Why not? Putting the foot to my chair down, I grabbed my crutches and swung my way over to Nicholas. The last two days of solid rest had made him look a lot better. He didn’t seem to be in so much pain. I reached out and pushed a strand of hair from his face. “You’re my only play pal, Nicholas,” I said.
    He blushed. My heart soared. “So what are you doing, then?” he asked.
    “I’m writing you a story.”
    A small grin crept onto his face. “Is it wicked?” I laughed. “Well, it will be eventually. Right now, though, it’s just kind of sad.” I took Nick’s hand. He didn’t pull back, and that made me glad. His hand, so ice cold a couple days before, now felt warm and alive. Maybe, I thought, looking at his eyes that were a little less red-rimmed, his complexion that was a little less pale, he really was getting better.
    What he needed was some fresh air and sun, but that wouldn’t happen anytime soon. I glanced out the window. It was still snowing. I wished it would blizzard. That wouldn’t happen, of course. And the press conference would take place the next afternoon, snowstorm or not.
    Nick’s thumb stroked the top of my hand, sending shivers down my spine. We’d not had time to talk about anything between us yet, but like me -- at least it looked like it --
    Nicholas was willing to keep the door open until we could have that talk. But not yet. Not until I finished my story and he had a chance to read