Puppets

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Two days later...

The guys and I are loading up the trailer so we can get back on tour. Ricky and I haven't spoken since that night at Buffalo Wild Wings, but it wasn't an awkward avoidance. More like, we just don't have anything to say to each other.

He's been texting his brother non stop, playing the role of the counselor, and it's taking a toll on him. Between Matt and learning all of our songs, he's hardly been getting any sleep. I'm starting to worry about this tour, because- as a general rule- everyone gets less sleep in the van than back at home. I brought him along to play bass, and if he's too tired to put on a show, he'll have to go.

I grab the last case, hauling it outside to put it in the back. I pause before I lift it up, seeing a hand flailing on top of the boxes. "Help!" I hear a voice squeak from behind the piles and piles of cases, and I curse. "Hey, stay calm, I've gotta move some stuff to get you out, okay?" I waited for a response, but none came.

"Shit." I start unloading everything, stacking all of our stuff on the sidewalk next to the trailer. I'm keeping an eye out for the guy who called for help, but I haven't seen him yet. I reach for one of the boxes with shirts inside, and I gasp. "Ricky!" I scream, bending down to lift my unconscious friend.

His head has a huge gash running across his forehead, and his hair is matted to his head with blood. I quickly lay him down in the back of the van and run around to the driver's side. I put the keys in the ignition and drive to the hospital.

The nurses are all giving me funny looks as I run inside, and I resist the urge to flip them off. "My friend, a box fell on top of him when we were loading up the trailer an-" One of them holds up her hand, silencing me. "Follow me." She starts walking back through a set of double doors, and I follow her, Ricky still laying bridal style in my arms.

She has me set him down on a little bed, and a doctor came in to inspect him. "Definitely a concussion." He smiles up at me. "You did the right thing, we should be able to stitch him up and he can be back on his feet in no time." I sigh, feeling relieved, but I still feel compelled to ask. "Will he be able to perform by tomorrow?" The doctor tilts his head to the side. "He should. He will just need to take it easy for a couple of days." I nod, thankful we weren't going to have to cancel a show for him.

The doctor begins the process of stitching him up, and I send the guys a text to tell them everything.

From Chris: Somehow Ricky got behind some boxes and one of the things of merch fell on him. He hit his head, but I managed to get him to the hospital on time. So far, we should still be on schedule, but he hasn't woken up yet.

I hit the send button right as the doctor was finishing up. The sound of Ricky's moans of pain catch my attention, and I reach out to take his hand. "Where am I?" I bite my lip, waiting for the doctor to leave before I open my big mouth.

The door shut, and I whirl around to face him like a parent who just caught their child in a gang fight. "What the hell were you doing back behind the equipment, Ricky?! Are you stupid?!" He whimpers, his legs coming up to hug his chest. "I fell asleep..." I shake my head. "I don't even want to know how that happened." I glance up at his head. "You need to be more careful. It I hadn't still been loading guitars, you could have bled to death." His face pales, and I scoot closer to wrap my arms around him.

"Hush, Ricky." I soothe. "I wanna go." He whispers softly, his hands shaking. I rub his sides, seeing the nurse enter the room with his release forms.

Once we had checked out, I gave Ricky a ride back to my house, where the guys had decided to stay until tour kicked off. Which, if today was any sort of sign, could be a very eventful time.