Chapter 4
Claire was in the middle of a dream
when the phone rang. It started ringing
in her dream, and when she awoke and found herself in her own bedroom, it was
still ringing. She groaned loudly, asked
herself for the millionth time why she had thought it a good idea to put a
phone beside her bed, and was just about to reach for it, if only to rip its
cord out of the wall and shut the blasted thing up, when the ringing suddenly
stopped.
She could hear the muffled recording
of her own voice as the answering machine in the living room took the
call. Satisfied, she let her body relax
again and buried her head in her pillow, closing her eyes and willing her mind
to take her back to the dream she’d been having. But by then, the dream was gone, and she
could remember nothing about it, only that it had been a good one.
“Damn,” she muttered groggily. She hated when that happened. Damn the phone and damn whoever had made it
ring.
It was obviously morning by now, for
even the mini-blinds on her single window could not keep the Florida sunshine
from streaming in between the slats.
Lifting her head and squinting at the clock that sat beside the phone,
she saw that it was already 9:30. She
sighed and reluctantly rolled out of bed, knowing that if she did not get up
now, she would only fall back to sleep and waste a few more hours of her
Saturday.
Remembering the phone call, she left
her bedroom and padded out into the living room to see if the caller had left a
message. The red light on the machine
was flashing, and she pressed the play button and sank tiredly down to the
couch to listen.
The machine beeped, and then there was
a slight pause before a voice finally spoke.
“Uh, hey Ren-“ Nick, Claire thought, smiling at his
nickname for her. Technically, it was AJ who had given them that, but no one
but Nick had actually called her that since then. –“it’s me.
I know you said you were gonna run errands and stuff today, but ummm…
looks like I already missed you, so… I’ll just talk to you later, I guess. Bye.”
There was the sound of a loud click as he hung up, and then the
recording stopped.
Claire giggled to herself, rolling her
eyes. “You’re not too late, Carter,
you’re too early,” she muttered,
picking up the phone and hitting number 4 on her speed dial.
He picked up on the second ring. “Hey, guess I didn’t miss you after all.”
“Nope, you didn’t. I’m, uh… just getting ready,” she said,
looking down at her barefoot, pajama-clad self.
“You sound like you just woke up,” he
replied, sounding amused.
Damn him. “Well, yeah… a while ago…” A minute
ago.
“Uh-huh. So do you still want me to go with you?”
“Excuse me?” she choked. “Who said anything about me wanting you to come with me? If I remember correctly, I said you could come if you wanted to.”
He paused. “Same thing.”
“Not really, but okay. So you’re coming then?”
“I guess.”
She smiled. He
wants to. “Okay. Pick you up in half an hour?”
“Sounds good.”
“Alrighty. See ya.”
“Bye.”
They hung up, and Claire groaned. Half an hour?
Why had she said half an hour? She
was nowhere near being ready for the day, and by the time she drove all the way
over to his house, it would be at least forty-five minutes.
“Oh well,” she said with a shrug and a
carefree smile. “He’ll just have to
wait.”
***
“Half an hour, Claire. You said you’d be here in thirty minutes, and
it’s been fifty,” Nick said, as he climbed into passenger side of her
car. Claire rolled her eyes at him, and he grinned. "But
I'm glad you put so much time and effort into looking hot for me," he went
on.
He was kidding. Her hair was
wet, her face bare, and she was dressed very casually in a pair of faded jeans
and an old University of Tampa t-shirt.
"Why, thank you, Nick; I'm glad you
noticed," Claire replied sarcastically, giving him a look and
a smack in the shoulder before she jerked the car into gear and pulled
away from his house.
"You hit the left one," Nick
murmured, rubbing his shoulder. "You always hit me on the left
side."
She gave him another look.
"Oh, puh-lease. I told you, you can't pull that 'don't hit my left
shoulder, it's tender!' crap anymore."
He stuck his bottom lip out and tried
to look pathetic, while struggling to keep a straight face. Finally, he
resorted to sticking his tongue out at her instead.
"Ah, very mature," she said
with an exasperated smile. He smiled back in relief, just glad that
things seemed to be normal between them. After his breakdown the night
before, he had been nervous about seeing her, afraid there would be
tension. But he had called her anyway, knowing he had to see her and make
sure things were okay.
Luckily, things seemed to be
okay. She was acting like nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, and
he was glad. He liked that tactic. Just pretend like it never
happened.
They lapsed into silence as she turned
out of his posh neighborhood, and he struggled for something to say to keep the
conversation going.
"So... UT, huh?" he
commented, referring to her shirt. "That where you went to
college?"
It was funny... he had known her for
two years, been friends with her for almost that long, and been dating her for
the past three months... but there was still a lot he didn't know
about her.
"Yeah," she replied,
"for two years anyway."
"Why only two years? You
dropped out?" he asked, arching an eyebrow in confusion.
Braking to a stop at a red light, she
turned to look at him. "No..." she said slowly, "I didn't
drop out. I got cancer."
He could feel his face heating him,
and he wanted to lean forward and beat his head against the dash a few
times. Why was he such an idiot? "I'm sorry," he
apologized quickly. "I... I didn't-"
"It's all right," she cut
him off. "We've never really talked about this before; I don't
expect you to have my life story memorized." She gave him a crooked
smile and moved her foot to the gas pedal as the light turned
green. "So yeah, I was diagnosed near the end of my sophomore
year. I managed to finish out that semester, but when it came time to go
back in the fall, I just wasn't ready, so I took some time off. Once I
was in remission and back on my feet, I transferred to Hillsborough,
the community college, and took some classes there to get my associate's
degree. That's all you need for dental hygiene. I was originally
pre-dentistry when I was at UT, but after all that, it just didn't seem worth
it. All those years of school left... and all that money it would
cost..." She trailed off.
He frowned. "You never told
me all that," he said. "So you wanted to be an actual dentist,
not a hygienist?"
She shrugged. "I
guess. I don't know what I wanted. The dentist thing was just kind
of... there. I mean, since my dad is one and all. But don't get me
wrong, I like what I do. And I know I don't make as much money as I would
if I were a dentist, but hey, I make enough to get by, and that's what matters,
right?"
"Right," agreed Nick, even
though he had never had to worry about 'making enough to get by.'
"Well, I'm glad you're not a dentist. Then you would be 'Dr. Ryan,'
right?"
"Yeah," she said with a
smirk. "It sounds weird, doesn't it? I don't even like being
called Ms.
Ryan, let alone Dr."
He chuckled. "Yeah, well,
the word 'doctor' just freaks me out, so I'm glad you aren't called that."
"Understandable," she
nodded. "That word is rarely associated with something good, at
least for us, it seems like. Hey, speaking of which, I have a check-up
two weeks from today. Are you going to come with me?"
He grimaced, but nodded.
"Sure, if you want me to."
"Okay," she said, smiling at
him briefly before turning her eyes back to the road. "So, I want to
stop at Michaels first and pick up some new scrapbooking stuff, and then I need
to run to Target. Sound good?"
Nick was caught off-guard by the
sudden subject change. "Um,
sure," he replied with a neutral shrug, as she guided the car into the
city.
***
"Please don't tell me you've
never been to a Target before."
"Huh?" Nick blinked,
caught off-guard. "What'd you say?"
Claire shot him a look of
exasperation. "You're acting like you've never been to a place like
this before. Big celebrity or not, you have to have been to Target or at
least Wal-mart before. Where else would you get your deodorant and
laundry detergent and stuff like that?"
Now it was his turn to give her a
look. "'Course I go to Target. Just not this part
of Target." They were standing in
one of the makeup aisles.
“Oh,” Claire said with a giggle, her
eyes sweeping over the shelves and shelves of makeup products, some of which
Nick wouldn’t have the slightest clue what to do with. “What, Leah never took you shopping with
her?”
He shrugged, his stomach clenching at
the mere mention of his ex-girlfriend, almost ex-fiancée.
“Well, come on, this is all I needed
here,” Claire said, dropping a small bottle of foundation into her cart and
moving on. He grimaced when they came to
the aisle containing the “feminine supplies” and almost sighed in relief when they
passed on by and headed to the clothing section instead. “I want to buy new jeans,” Claire announced,
weaving her way between racks of clothes.
“The ones I’m wearing now are about to fall apart; I think they’re getting
a hole back here.” She ran her hand over
the back of her thigh, where the denim had clearly worn away, almost to the
point of fraying.
“I wouldn’t mind that,” he smirked,
lightly slapping her just above the spot where her hand had been.
“Not in public,” she muttered through
gritted teeth, shoving him away. “Here,
what do you think about these?” She held
up a pair of jeans for his opinion.
He shrugged. “Um… they’re okay?” How was he supposed to decide? They looked just like any other pair of jeans
he saw girls wear.
“Very helpful, Nick,” she said with a
sarcastic smile. “I’m gonna go try them
on. You wait by the cart.”
She disappeared into one of the
dressing rooms, and Nick was left standing alone, surrounded by women’s
clothing and feeling quite awkward. This
feeling only escalated when he heard someone say his name. Turning around, he found a teenage girl
standing a few feet behind him, looking hesitant. She broke into a smile and said, “It is you.”
She was obviously a fan, and a typical
one at that – about fourteen or fifteen years old, braces on her teeth, hair in
a ponytail, the works. He offered her a
cautious smile in return, inwardly praying she would not proceed to stalk him
through the rest of the store. Hoping he
could appease her now, he said, “Yep, it’s me.
What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Alicia.”
“Nice to meet you, Alicia.” He held out his hand, and she took it
eagerly, shaking.
“I’m a huge fan of you,” she said,
grinning up at him in rapture. Lowing
her voice, she added, “So is my mom.”
She motioned over her shoulder, and he could see an older woman standing
out of the way with her cart. He gave
her a little wave and a wink, but Alicia quickly snatched his attention
away. “Who’s that girl you’re with?” she
asked curiously, looking past him toward the dressing rooms. “Is that your new girlfriend?”
Nick stifled a groan, wondering what
he should say to that. He never knew how
to answer those kinds of questions, especially when they involved a girl that
was not already in the public eye. He
wasn’t ready to surrender Claire to the evil clutches of the paparazzi yet, so
he tried to dance around the question.
“She’s a friend of mine,” he answered, deciding that was a safe
response. And it wasn’t a lie either –
she was his friend… and more.
Alicia nodded, accepting this
answer. “Do you come places like this a
lot? It’s so weird, seeing Nick Carter
in a Target.”
He chuckled. “Well, yeah.
I’m just a normal guy, you know.
Where else would I get my deodorant and laundry detergent and stuff?”
She smiled. “Um… d’you think maybe I could get your
autograph? If you’re not too busy?”
He laughed. “Sure, I think I can manage
that. Do you have anything to write on?”
“Yeah, hang on.” She rummaged quickly through her small purse
and came up with a crinkled sales receipt and a bright purple pen with a big
fuzzy thing on the end. “Here,” she
said, handing them both to him, her cheeks bright red.
“This is a cool pen,” he teased,
touching the fuzzy part. “I might have
to get one of these to sign with from now on.” Alicia giggled, and he had her turn around so
that he could use her back for a writing surface. She spelled out her name for him, and he
scrawled a quick message on the back of the receipt, signing his name at the
bottom. It felt kind of nice to be signing
an autograph; it had been a long time since he’d done so. He tended not to get bothered a lot when he
was in Tampa because many of the people in the area were used to seeing him
around from time to time, but over the past year, he had spent so much time
cooped up in his house and avoiding public that he really hadn’t had many fan encounters.
By the time he handed Alicia back her
pen and newly-autographed receipt, Claire was emerging from the dressing
room. Seeing her coming his way, Nick
quickly tried to make his getaway from Alicia.
“Well, we’ve got a lot to do today, and I’m sure you and your mom need
to get back to your own shopping,” he said casually to the girl. “It was nice meeting you.”
“You too,” she smiled, clutching the
precious receipt tightly and never taking her eyes off of him.
He flashed her a smile in return and
then turned to Claire, who had come up alongside the cart, looking
curious. “You ready to move on?” he
asked, his voice low.
“Yeah,” she said, putting her jeans in
the cart. They walked on, and only when
they were out of earshot of Alicia and her mother did Claire ask, “Fan?”
“Yep,” said Nick. “I signed her an autograph and talked to her
for a few minutes… hopefully she won’t follow us.” He glanced quickly over his shoulder; the
coast was clear. He sighed in relief,
but pulled his baseball cap lower on his head anyway, hoping he wouldn’t be
approached by anyone else. One fan per
shopping trip was fine, but he didn’t want a whole herd of them to come up, and
he certainly didn’t want to subject Claire to all that.
They breezed on by the men’s clothes,
where Claire picked out a pair of bright red boxer shorts with a giant white
bulls-eye on the butt and convinced Nick he had to have them. Then they walked through the toy department,
where they proceeded to set off every talking, singing, and moving toy there
was. They could hear the racket even
above their own uproarious laughter as they hurried away, Claire convinced
she’d come back to find her face plastered on a large Wanted posted in the
front of the store, Nick convinced his would be plastered across the front of
the National Enquirer, along with security camera photos of himself pressing
the hand of Macarena Elmo and a bold headline, “Backstreet Boy Gone Wild… in Target.”
They hid out in the entertainment
section, where Nick quickly found the video games they had put out for
demonstration and played them for a good half hour, until Claire finally
dragged him away, leaving the line of eleven-year-old boys that had formed
behind him to race to the machine, fighting over who had gotten there first.
“Hey, you dragged me through that
craft store for at least five hours and then stopped to look at all those
little papers and stickers and crap for your scrapbook for like two more, so
don’t even start,” Nick huffed exaggeratedly as Claire led him up to the
check-out counters in the front of the store.
“You are a master in the art of
hyperbole, Nickolas, I will give you that much,” Claire chuckled as she
unloaded the cart.
“Hey!
I’m not any more hyper than you are!
Whose idea was it to turn on
all toys again?” Nick retorted defensively.
“I didn’t say hyper, Nick; I said-“ She
just stopped there and rolled her eyes.
“Never mind.” She reached up and
patted his cheek. “You’re too cute.”
He cocked his head as she put the last
of her things onto the counter, wondering what that was supposed to mean.
As the cashier started to ring up
their purchases, Claire opened her purse and pulled out her checkbook. As she opened it up and started to make out a
check to Target, Nick clamped a hand over hers.
“What are you doing?” she asked, pushing his hand away.
“I got this,” he said, pulling his
wallet out of his back pocket and taking out one of his credit cards.
“What?
No, you’re not paying. This is my
stuff.”
“Those are mine,” he said, pointing to
the red boxers that the checker was now scanning.
“So?
We’ll call it a present.
“No.
Claire, this is dumb. Let me get
this stuff for you.”
“For Christ’s sake, Nick, it’s a pair
of jeans and makeup!” Claire hissed angrily, continuing to write out her check.
“Yeah, it’s just jeans and makeup –
what’s the big deal?” He was lost;
usually girls liked when he paid for
them and bought them things. But she was
totally in a huff about it, not even answering.
She hastily signed the check and tore it out, and he surrendered,
letting her pay for her stuff and his shorts as well.
Meanwhile, the checker just kept
giving them odd looks the whole time, and Nick was more than relieved when they
were finally out of the store.
“Do you think that lady knew who I
was?” he asked, struggling to keep up with Claire as she stalked through the
parking lot, her bag swinging at her side.
“You said my name and all… I hope she didn’t connect it.”
“Why, because you were being an ass?”
His mouth dropped open. “Huh?? How was I being an ass?”
“You’re always offering to pay for my
stuff, and I’m sick of it, Nick!” Claire cried, wrenching her car door open and
climbing inside. “I may not be rich like
you, but I’m perfectly capable of supporting myself and buying what I need,”
she added, as he slid into the passenger side.
“I know you are! I just… I thought… well, I was trying to be
nice, that’s all. But from now on,
forget about it,” Nick muttered, jamming his seatbelt into its buckle as she
started the car.
“I’m sorry,” said Claire, her voice
softening. “I know you were trying to be
nice, and I appreciate it, but… it’s just not necessary, okay? It makes me feel inferior.”
He sighed. “Well, I never meant to make you feel like
that. Of course you’re not inferior.”
She smiled over at him. “I know.
Let’s just drop it, okay? You
know how I feel now – conversation over.”
He nodded silently, and she put the
car into reverse and backed out of her spot.
They had only been driving for a
little while when Nick felt the car start to jerk to the left. He looked over to see Claire struggling to
keep it the right lane. “Shit,” she said,
“I think I have a flat.” Clutching the
wheel so tightly her knuckles were white, she eased the car over to the
shoulder of the road and slowed to a stop, throwing it into park. She turned on her hazard lights and climbed
out. Nick opened his door and got out as
well, coming around to her side of the car to take a look. Sure enough, the front left tire was
half-deflated.
“I must have run over something,”
Claire sighed as she stared down at the tire, her hands on her hips.
“It’s all right. I’ve got my cell,” said Nick, taking his tiny
silver phone out of one of the pockets of his baggy jeans.
“Oh, so do I, but it’s okay. It’ll take less time to just change it,” she
replied casually, walking back to the trunk.
“But…” Nick protested, watching her
open up the trunk. Even if he did know how to change a tire – which he
didn’t – he knew there was no way he would physically be able to do it. Squatting and kneeling were two things he
could not do easily on his prosthesis.
But Claire seemed to have things under
control. Before long, she had the spare
tire out of its storage space beneath the trunk and was laying out a car jack
and a lug wrench. Nick watched in silent
awe as she proceeded to take off the hubcap and loosen the lug nuts, then jack
the car up off the ground. “Hold these,”
she said, taking off the lug nuts and handing them to Nick. He held them in his cupped hand and stared as
she pulled the flat tire off and replaced it with the spare, struggling to push
it in all the way. “Lug nuts,” she said,
holding out her hand. Nick carefully dumped
the lug nuts he’d been holding into her open palm, and she screwed them back
on, lowered the car to the ground, and tightened everything.
“Good as new,” she said, wiping her
hands on her pants as she stepped back to inspect her work.
Nick shook his head in amazement. “Where did you learn how to do that?” he
asked.
Claire laughed. “My dad,” she said. “He taught me when I was like fifteen and had
my learner’s permit. Wouldn’t let me
drive on my own till I could change a tire.”
“Good idea,” Nick nodded, deciding not
to tell her that no one had bothered to show him how to change a tire when he started driving. He felt incompetent around her already. Clearly, he
was the one who was inferior. Not her.
“Shall we go?” Claire asked breezily,
closing the trunk after she’d put everything back into it.
“Yeah,” said Nick, walking back around
to his side of the car. “Let’s go.”
***