by J. M. Page
"Alright, I'm glad you're okay. We'll get this all sorted out as soon as we can get out of here. Start cleaning up and we'll finish the job when we get back. I'll set up a show for later in the week. The boys will be ready by then and we'll make enough from ticket sales to get them off our backs for a little while."
Tink heaved a great sigh that turned into a groan and he imagined her stomping her feet with every step. "Fine. Stay out of the dust," she said before hanging up.
Peter lowered the phone from his ear, her words ringing in his head. He hadn't touched the stuff in ages. Did she really think he was going to pick up old habits now? With everything going on? He needed to be sharp, on top of his game. He couldn't let anything get in the way of saving his show, his theater, and ultimately Neverland, from Hook's greasy grimy grasp.
He tucked the phone back in his pocket and Wendy was still giving him that curious look, her tilted eyes asking a question that hadn't quite made it to her lips. Peter's gaze lingered on those lips, wondering what would happen if he just went for it.
"Is everything alright?" she asked, breaking him out of his stupor.
Peter forced himself to look away from her, pinching the bridge of his nose and wincing at the throbbing pain that was building behind his skull. He managed a nod and a sigh, trying to convince himself as much as he was her. "Yeah, just some stuff at the theater. Tink's handling it."
Wendy pursed her lips, not really believing him, but he couldn't blame her. It didn't even sound convincing to him. This whole thing was rapidly spinning out of control and becoming a much bigger problem than he could handle. No performers? He could work around that. He got new ones. New performers tried to torch the theater? No big deal, curtains could be replaced. Missing mermaids? Thugs breaking down his door for payments? A green-eyed girl who made him question everything? Well, it was starting to pile up and he didn't know how to handle it.
She put her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her hand, looking incredible despite having been doused in sea water a couple hours ago. She was still wearing his coat, Peter realized, and he liked the sight of it draped over her narrow shoulders.
"She's an interesting character," Wendy said with a little smile, "that Tinker Bell."
Peter laughed, feeling the tension of the situation melting away. "Interesting is one way to say it," he chuckled, nodding. "She's certainly one of a kind." His laughter faded as he thought about all her antics through the years. How she drove him absolutely insane sometimes. He shook his head. "But she's always been there for me and the show, even when no one else has been." Like a family, Peter realized with a little smile.
Wendy licked her lips, tracing circles on top of the table with her fingertip, her mouth curving into a frown. "So... You and Tink...?"
Peter watched her finger moving in those dizzying patterns, still laughing on the inside trying to imagine Tink looking out for him the way Wendy did with her brothers. Yeah, right. If they were family, it was in the most dysfunctional sense of the word.
"Me and...?" He tried to puzzle together what she was saying and it took him a moment longer than he was proud to admit. The second he realized what she was suggesting, he burst into laughter again. "Together? Oh no. No no no. Absolutely not. She's way too high-strung for me," he laughed, shaking his head still.
Wendy still looked at him with her head cocked to the side, those wide eyes drawing him in. She didn't say anything, so he was forced to ramble on to explain himself.
"If you haven't noticed, it's a lot of work to keep her happy and not throwing tantrums. If she wasn't so fantastic at what she does, I'm not sure I'd have kept her around as long as I have." Maybe that sounded callous, but it was true. Divas only got away with their behavior in show business if they were phenomenal talents. Otherwise, people dismissed them and their careers tended to flounder until fizzling out completely.
Tink had been one of the most famous performers in Neverland before she came to his show. Through the years, the luster faded and the crowds dwindled, and poor Tink didn't get nearly as much of the applause as she craved. One day though. He'd pack the house again and make sure she was the biggest star in the whole solar system.
He just needed to get the loan sharks off his back, get the boys trained up, and find out what Hook was up to with those missing people. Easy, right?
"Still, it must be nice to know you always have her. Someone that understands what you're going through..."
Peter's forehead creased and he pressed his lips together. Did Wendy have someone like that? From the wistful tone in her voice, he'd guess not. Was she as alone as she seemed?
And why did the thought bother him so much? She didn't deserve to be alone. After all she did for her brothers, Wendy deserved to be able to enjoy herself, to enjoy her life on its own terms without constantly cleaning up the messes her siblings left in their wake. She deserved to have someone take care of her and watch over her the way she did her brothers — even if they didn't always appreciate it.
But she had no one.
"It is," he finally said, not knowing how else to comfort her. It wasn't his strong suit. Frankly, he was surprised he even wanted to try, but Wendy kept making him want to do all kinds of strange things.
She didn't meet his eyes, instead turned toward the windows, looking at the streets dusted with gold. Peter swallowed, thinking of all that raw dust and the damage it could do. Best to not think about it.
He wished he knew what she was thinking about though. The reason behind that far-off stare.
Without planning on it, Peter opened his mouth and said, "Your brothers know how much you do for them, and I'm sure they appreciate it." Where had that come from?
Wendy seemed as surprised as he was by the platitude, turning so fast that her strawberry blonde hair whipped through the air, tangling around her neck. She gave him a slow smile as she tucked her hair behind her ears, glancing over to the table where her brothers had a pile of discarded napkins with rejected plans.
"I hope you're right. I know I'm a bit of a nag and a killjoy, but I just want what's best for them." Even though she smiled, Peter saw the sadness in her eyes, in the crease of her forehead and he wanted to make it go away. He liked that glimpse of Wendy he saw earlier, when she was filled with that childlike wonder of bouncing down city streets. He remembered her laugh, so free and unburdened and he wanted more of it.
She was intoxicating, far more than any dust could be. He knew it was dangerous, to play this game and walk this line with so much else hanging in the balance. But how could he resist her?
Under the table, Peter stretched his leg to nudge her with his foot. "You're not all that bad," he said with a grin.
She turned back to him, the smile taking over the sadness, winning the battle against her inner demons.
"I saw you enjoying yourself out there... Well, before the mermaids anyway."
Wendy giggled, a bright bubbly sound that made the whole room feel lighter. His heart, too. Like that fist that had been squeezing around him suddenly released and he could breathe again. And when he breathed in, it was all Wendy that filled his lungs.
Her laughter faded and she sighed, still smiling, her eyes glittering more brilliantly than the dust outside. "I suppose Neverland does have some appeal," she said, her voice playful and teasing as she nudged him with her toes under the table.
She was looking at him differently now. Something warm and — dare he say it? — wanting darkening her eyes, bringing a shade of pink to her cheeks. What did she mean by that? Was she talking about him? Could it be possible?
The windows of the cafe rattled in their frames as the rumble of the street sweeper approached. The big machine rolled down the street, scooping up dust where it could, sending more particles up into the air where they would likely drift back up to join the ring. That was one thing about the low gravity. The dust fell, was stirred up, and floated back up like it had never existed.
Meanwhile, whatever was collected in the street s
weeper was refined and sold to desperate individuals. It had been a long time since Peter felt that desperate. Even with everything going on now, it didn't appeal to him. Not with Wendy and her wide eyes beckoning him to taste those plump pink lips.
Wendy watched the street sweeper, watched the floating tendrils of dust that curled in the air in its wake. They would do another pass, to make sure nothing re-settled. Couldn't take any chances with the potent stuff.
She sighed, this time less happy and more despondent. "It's a shame that something so beautiful is so dangerous," she said.
"I couldn't agree more," he said, looking at her profile rather than the windows. It wasn't the dust that posed a threat to his way of life; he’d already conquered that. It was this woman who distracted him and made him forget about his problems.
He couldn't afford to forget them if he wanted to succeed. Instead of putting his show back together and saving his theater, he was busy taking her on tours of the city, daydreaming of showing her the views from a rooftop restaurant he knew of, longing for a chance to spend time with her — alone, without her brothers or Tink in the way. It was all dangerous. He had to stay focused on his goals. Remember why he was doing what he was doing.
She was doing something to him. Something unsettling. Something that made him feel funny and different and strange. If he wasn't careful, she was likely to ruin his chances of ever saving the things he cared most about. If he wasn't careful, she'd take over his every thought until there was room for nothing else.
But being careful was not Peter's strong suit, and he didn't have the first idea how to stop her from sinking her claws in deeper.
Chapter Fifteen
Wendy
The street sweeper came by again, making the whole ground shake under her feet. Wendy twisted her hands, still feeling Peter's eyes on her. She didn't dare look at him, but she knew he was staring at her. She just didn't know why. She'd opened up to him quite a bit, revealing more about herself than she intended to, but it had felt right. In the moment, when Peter was so open and exposed to her, so vulnerable with his feelings, she'd felt the need to reciprocate. Like it would make it better if they were both raw and open and hurting.
What was she thinking?
Now he was never going to look at her the same. It would always be with that sad pitying look that people offered whenever they learned about her parents or the twins. God forbid they learn about both. She couldn't stand it. She'd worked too hard to make them a good life, to keep everyone afloat, to make sure the boys stayed happy and healthy — just like she'd promised — for people to feel sorry for her. She didn't need anyone to feel sorry for her, her life wasn't one to be pitied. They'd taken a few hard hits, but Wendy and the boys made it through, they persevered, and they thrived. If that wasn't something to be celebrated — rather than grieved — she didn't know what was.
The deep resonance of another bell reverberated through the city and Wendy sat up a little straighter.
"Does that mean we can leave?" she asked, turning to Peter. She looked past him, past the strange way he still observed her, to the proprietor of the shop, sending the man a wary glance. He still stood behind the counter, glowering at them all, eyeing the pile of discarded napkins on the twins' table and probably contemplating extorting another purchase out of them if they didn't leave soon.
Peter nodded and stood, extending a hand to help her to her feet. "We can," he answered. And with a look over his shoulder to eye the grumpy shop owner, he added, "And we should. There's a lot of work to be done back at the theater."
Wendy studied his hand for a long moment before slipping hers into it. She knew she shouldn't, but she was starting to like Peter. The more she learned about him, the more his image of the carefree party animal melted away. It was too early to make any real judgements, but she was beginning to think that maybe she'd come to a conclusion about him too soon. That maybe there was more under the surface of those charming grins and unsettling dimples. Maybe Peter had compassion and understanding under that façade. But why did he try so hard to hide it? And was it worth the trouble for her to dig to try to find it?
"Pack it up boys, we're heading out," Peter said once Wendy was on her feet. She quickly removed her hand from his, not wanting any remarks from her brothers. They wouldn't pass up an opportunity like that.
The streets were still mostly deserted as they made their way back to Peter's theater. Wendy didn't know exactly what he'd meant by there being a lot of work to do, but she'd learned that asking Peter for an explanation of anything was an exercise in frustration. It was better to wait and find out what was in store than try to decipher his riddles.
She remembered the phone call he'd gotten from Tink and the way his knuckles turned bright white while he clutched the phone. She remembered seeing him clench his jaw, his forehead creasing as he said something she couldn't quite hear.
So, Wendy got the impression that things weren't all going according to plan, but none of that prepared her for the sight of the theater as it was now. They walked through the main door into the lobby and already there were things strewn about, snacks from the concession stand littering the carpet, smashed underfoot and ground in deep. The glass display case was smashed, glittering shards sparkling all across the lobby under the light of the chandelier. The little seating areas that dotted the lobby were all upturned and someone had taken a chair and hurled it against a wall where it stayed lodged.
"Woah," John said, stopping in his tracks.
"What happened?" Michael asked, glass crunching underfoot as he examined the damage.
Peter, upon walking in, had stopped in his tracks, his face blanching to stark white before furious red took over, a dark scowl replacing his usual air of content. His hands balled into fists at his side and his whole body seemed to be vibrating with the effort to contain his rage. Whatever Tink had told him to expect, Wendy didn't think he was quite prepared for all of this.
Wendy stepped through the lobby to the great carved doors that she loved so much and saw that they hung from their hinges at an awkward angle, but were otherwise okay. At least she was thankful for that, even if the rest of the place was destroyed. She didn't even want to venture further into the theater to see what havoc had been unleashed.
Peter still stood in the same place, still staring around the room in shock, pulsing with a tangible anger.
"Peter?" Wendy asked gently, hoping to break through to him somehow.
He turned, put his fist through a wall, and stormed off without a word, drips of blood falling from his hand, leaving a trail behind him.
John and Michael exchanged a nervous look, and for the first time, Wendy thought they were doubting their choice to come to Neverland.
"What do you think that's about?" John asked.
Wendy shook her head. "I don't know, but I bet I know who does." But before she tried to talk Tink into telling them what happened, Wendy needed to change. Her clothes might as well be made out of stone for all the give that was left in the fabric. And the salt had left her skin itchy and her hair dry and stiff. She needed a shower. She could handle it all after a shower.
"Why don't you two start cleaning this up and I'll see if I can figure out what's going on."
Her brothers nodded, matching solemn expressions on their faces.
As she started up the staircase that would take her to the apartments above, Michael's voice stopped her.
"Hey, Wen?" She turned, one hand on the banister, her foot already on the step. Michael's eyes caught hers and then flicked toward the hole in the wall left by Peter's outburst. "Just... be careful, okay?" he said, sounding more worried than she could ever remember him being.
Wendy smiled, trying to diffuse the tension. Whatever it was, she could fix it. Or, she hoped she could. "I think that's my line," she teased.
Michael didn't crack a smile. He just went back to helping John right the furniture.
Heaving a sigh, Wendy turned and went upstairs.
&nbs
p; After a much-needed shower, she headed back down to find Tinker Bell talking to the boys, explaining what had happened.
Without a word, Wendy fell into work beside them, sweeping up glass and bits of snacks.
"We were going to lose the theater," Tink said. "Hook was already drafting up the permits to level the place... He didn't have much choice."
John frowned. "So he borrowed money from the wrong people?"
He took one side of the big carved door and Michael took the other, both boys grunting with the effort to lift it while Tink reattached the hinges.
"Well, he didn't expect half the cast to go missing... We thought we could make the money back pretty quickly, but then the guys all disappeared..."
"Disappeared?" Michael asked, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I thought they just like... left the show."
Tink looked down, her expression far more sullen than usual. She nodded. "We thought so, too. But if what Peter heard about the mermaids is true... Who knows."
Wendy didn't say anything as she cleaned and no one paid her any attention. She didn't mind. She was used to it.
"So they came looking for money and when you didn't have it...?" prompted John.
Tink waved her arms around at the destruction. "This, yeah. A warning."
Michael scowled and took a step closer to Tink. He looked like a giant next to her petite frame and Wendy didn't recognize that look in his eyes. It was fierce and angry, but there was something soft there too. Like he was worried about her. "Did they hurt you?"
Tink laughed and flipped her hair. "Me? Nah. And don't you worry—" she patted him on the arm and sent a grin over her shoulder as she sauntered off "—I can take care of myself."
Michael watched after her as she disappeared into the theater. Wendy still hadn't seen or heard from Peter and she wondered if Tink was off to comfort him. Her hand tightened on the broom handle at the thought.
"You need to let it go," John said.
Wendy's head snapped around, was she being that obvious? But no, the words were directed at Michael who stared after Tink like a lost puppy.
