L.A. They were going to L.A., where Killian owned the house Mike once read about in a magazine. Killy knew people there, had a life.
Would his life have room for Mike?
Mike tucked his acoustic away in its case, rounded up last minute items, and finished loading the Bronco.
In a few moments he sat on the passenger side of his Bronco, peeling the paper back on a burger he passed to Killy. Killy grunted thanks and tore into his meal while driving.
“We’ve got about seventeen hours,” Killy said between bites. “I called my housekeeper and told her to expect me. She’s one of the few people who know I’m still here. If it wasn’t for her taking care of me after the… accident, I don’t know what I’d have done.”
Mike felt a swell of appreciation for this unnamed woman. If Mike could’ve been the one tending Killy’s injuries, he would have.
Well, he intended to tend the man’s injuries now, the internal ones Killy likely didn’t let many people see.
Everything happened too damned fast. Would he wake up to discover he’d spent the last few days in a dream? “I worked on a song while you slept. Wanna hear?”
“Sure.” Killy polished off his burger, crumpled the paper wrapper, and tossed it over his shoulder into the back seat.
Mike twisted and turned, finally succeeding in freeing his instrument and hauling the acoustic into his lap. He rolled down the window to give the neck more room.
“Drifter, just a drifter,
Unknown, unloved, alone,
I travel on this weary path,
Few have ever strode
In light and in the dark of night,
On and on I go,
I know not where I am right now,
Traveling this road
Drifter, just a drifter,
Wandering in the cold,
I seek a place I may not find,
May seek until I’m old
Drifter, just a drifter
But at the end of the day,
No matter what choices I may find,
I’d live no other way.”
Killy said not a word while Mike crooned the song, something he’d started writing a few years back. Did he think it sucked? Why, oh why, had Mike thought his early fumblings good enough to sing to this man?
Finally, Killian said, “Start the first part again.”
Mike played the first line.
“Stop!” Killy held up his hand, hummed the line to himself, and shook his head. He hummed again, swapping or adding notes. “What do you think of this?” He sang the first verse back to Mike, a little more polished, thanks to the changes.
