Chapter 123
Hours later, Nick lay in bed in a curtained off section of Tampa
General’s emergency room. He lightly ran
his finger over the large gauze bandage that was taped to the inside of his
wrist, hiding the seven stitches it had taken to close the deep
laceration. Then his hand drifted up to
his forearm, where an IV line snaked under his skin and into the vein that was
there.
The emergency physician that had sutured his wrist had insisted on
taking blood when she’d found out that he was on chemotherapy. “Your blood counts are low,” she’d announced
when the results of the bloodwork were back.
“Your red blood count is down, which is making you slightly anemic, and
your platelets are low too, which is why the cut bled so much and didn’t
clot. This isn’t a huge concern, since
it’s a common effect of chemo, but I’d like to give you a blood transfusion to
boost your levels back up.”
Grudgingly, Nick had agreed to the transfusion, and now a bag of
blood hung on the IV pole beside him, the line in his arm delivering a fresh
supply of the red liquid.
“You better not play with that, Nicky,” Howie said gently, as Nick
absent-mindedly fingered the tubing. AJ
glanced up, then quickly lowered his eyes back to the tabloid he had picked up
in the hospital gift shop. Having
apparently seen enough blood for one day, he was obviously trying to avoid
looking at the IV.
“Hey,” he said, his eyes fixed on the open tabloid, “did you know
BLT’s cause MS?”
Howie snorted. “Right. BLT’s cause MS? That’s BS if you ask me.”
“What’s MS?” Nick asked blankly.
“Is that some kind of sexually transmitted disease?”
“Well, you’re a third of the way right,” Howie said with a
smile. “It-“
“Excuse me, Mike?”
Nick, Howie, and even AJ looked up to find a young male nurse
standing there, looking at Nick with an inquiring expression on his face.
“Uh, n-no, it’s Nick,” stammered Nick.
“Nick? Oh…” the nurse
glanced down at the chart he was holding.
“Oh, sorry, misread the name.
Nick. My bad.” With a smile, he came closer. “I’m Ryan; I’m supposed to check your
vitals.”
“Whatever,” Nick muttered with a relenting shrug.
Ryan stepped closer, then stopped, staring at Nick’s face for a
moment, then dropping his eyes to his chart, then glancing back at his
face. “Hey,” he said after a moment, as
recognition dawned. “You’re Nick
Carter.”
“Yep,” Nick replied curtly, his voice flat. You’re wrong, he wanted to say
instead. Nick Carter is dead. The Nick Carter you’re talking about is
anyway. But he kept quiet and
watched as the nurse’s eyes made the familiar flicker down to the space his
left leg should have occupied, an empty space even the bedsheets could not
hide.
“Um, so,” said Ryan, as he took Nick’s temperature, “you’re a
singer, yes?”
“Was.” Staring down at his
IV, Nick did not notice Howie’s startled blink.
He did vaguely hear AJ cough though.
“Oh,” Ryan said. “Me
too.” Writing down something on Nick’s
chart, he added, “I mean, I am a singer.
I do shows for community theater.”
“Cool,” Nick murmured absently.
Apparently realizing his patient wasn’t interested, Ryan quit
talking and finished his work. When he
was gone, AJ glanced up. Focusing mostly
on Nick, he said, “You know, at some point we’re going to have to get together,
all five of us, and talk about our future.
As a group, I mean. Our career.”
Avoiding AJ’s gaze, Nick stared straight ahead, letting his eyes
go blank and glassy.
“Yeah, we do,” he heard Howie reply. “But now’s not the time or place to be
discussing this.”
Nodding, AJ fell silent.
***
Nick went home from the hospital later that day feeling physically
better than he had in two weeks. The
blood transfusion had rejuvenated him, but mentally, he still felt
drained. He collapsed into his bed and
stayed there for the rest of the day, watching TV and trying not to move his
right arm, which was sore from the IV and the cut in his wrist.
Around six that evening, Howie brought in a gourmet dinner of hot
dogs and tater tots. “You haven’t eaten
all day,” he said, placing the tray of food on Nick’s lap. “You’ve got to be starving.”
“Not really,” Nick countered.
“But thanks.”
While Howie settled down to watch TV with him, Nick picked at his
food, ignoring the hot dog altogether and stacking the tater tots to make a
pyramid on his plate. There were two
left over that didn’t fit on the pyramid, so he stood them side by side. Smiling a little, he picked a small piece off
of the tater tot on top of the pyramid and put it between the two leftover
tots. Now they were like a tater tot
family. The whole tater tots were the
parents, and the little shred of hash brown was the baby. He grinned proudly at his creation.
“What are you doing, Nick?”
His smile fading, Nick glanced over at Howie in annoyance. “Eating.”
“No, you’re not. You’re
playing with your food,” Howie said with a little smirk.
Nick rolled his eyes.
“Damn, D, why you gotta treat me like a little kid? Cause Kev’s not here, is that why? You stepping into the ‘dad’ role?”
“Then stop playing with your food like a little kid and eat,”
Howie snapped, his tone of voice abnormally sharp. It wasn’t like Howie to get on his case like
that, and Nick glared at him with resentment.
Noticing Nick’s murderous gaze, Howie sighed. “Nicky,” he said apologetically, “I’m
sorry. I’m just worried about you. I’ve been worried about you all day. Is everything all right?”
“Oh, everything’s just dandy, Howie!” Nick exclaimed
sarcastically. “God, what do you think?”
Distantly, they both heard the doorbell ring, and Howie jumped up
quickly, obviously keen to get out of responding. “I’ll get that,” he muttered, briskly leaving
the room. With a quick flip of his
middle finger, Nick shot dagger eyes after him.
Then he flopped back against his pillows to stew until Howie came back,
which he inevitably would do. Howie
wasn’t a big fan of walking away mad; he liked to get things resolved right
away.
Howie did return within a minute or two, but he was not
alone. And it was not AJ accompanying
him.
“Claire?” Nick sat up
quickly, shocked and embarrassed to find her standing at Howie’s side. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Well, that’s a nice greeting, Nick, thanks,” Claire replied
dryly, putting her hands on her hips.
“AJ told me what happened.”
“He called you?!” Nick cried incredulously.
“Yes.”
“At work?!” She was
wearing scrubs, a clear sign she’d come from work.
“He left a message on my cell.
I just got off and listened to it, so I figured I’d come on over and
check up on you,” she explained in brief, eyeing him coolly. “But maybe I shouldn’t have. I guess I’ll just see you later.” Turning on her heel, she brushed past Howie and
stalked out of the room.
“Fuck,” Nick exhaled.
“Claire, wait! Don’t walk away;
get back here!”
She reappeared in the doorway and gave him a hard stare, her eyes
boring into his, making him squirm.
“What?” she demanded in a low voice.
Nick sighed. “Come here,
would you? We… we should talk.”
Raising an eyebrow, she replied, “You know, Nick, I think that’s a
very good idea.” Coming back into the
room, she perched herself on the edge of his bed and crossed her arms.
“I’ll leave you guys alone,” Howie murmured, backing out of the
bedroom.
When the door clicked shut, Nick shook his head. “You didn’t have to come over here,” he
muttered. “I’m fine.”
“Not according to AJ. He
sounded really concerned.”
“I cut my wrist, big deal.
It’s fine; it just needed a few stitches.”
“I didn’t mean that,” said Claire.
“You threw your crutch at the bathroom mirror and broke it?”
“Yeah, so? Don’t even tell
me you never want to just throw shit and smash things.”
“Well, sure, but wanting to and actually doing it are two
different things. I’ve never hurled
something at a full-length mirror and shattered it, I can tell you that.”
“Yeah, so I did. Who
cares? It’s replaceable.”
“Who cares?” Claire
repeated. “Well, I care, Nick, and
it’s not the mirror I’m concerned about.”
“You don’t have to be concerned about me,” muttered Nick. “I don’t want your damn pity.”
“I don’t pity you, Nick,” Claire stressed. “I just worry about you. We all do.
What you’ve gone through – what you’re going through right now – is a
lot to deal with. I know, okay? And I – and Howie and AJ – just want to make
sure you’re doing all right. And if
you’re not, we want to be there for you and help you.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed. What
the hell was she getting at? She was
acting like he had tried to kill himself or something. “Help me, huh?” he scoffed. “And you would help me how, by getting some
shrink to talk to me? I’m not fucking
crazy, Claire, and I’m not suicidal, and a nice big dose of Zovirax isn’t
going to bring my leg back, is it?”
“Well, uh… no… but it’ll suppress your herpes outbreaks. Isn’t that what Zovirax is for, herpes? I think you meant Zoloft,” snickered
Claire. “Or Prozac.”
His cheeks flaming, Nick fought an internal battle between wanting
to scream at her and wanting to just laugh.
In the end, he could help but let a small chuckle escape his lips. God, he was always messing things up and
making humiliating mistakes.
Smirking, Claire went on, “I mean, unless there’s something you’re
not telling me. Did that hooker you were
with a few months ago give you something?”
“Shut up, I meant the shit they give to suicidal people.”
Claire smiled. “I know, I’m
just playin’ with ya. There’s too many
of those stupid commercials on TV to keep them all straight anyway. But really, Nick, you might wanna watch who
you sleep with…”
And who would want to sleep with me anyway? The question formed in his mind, but before
he got a chance to voice it, she finished her sentence.
“… because you’re doomed to have seven years of bad luck now that
you broke that mirror, and I think getting herpes would definitely count as bad
luck. And who knows, maybe it’s double
the years if you break a big, tall mirror like that. Ooh, fourteen years… sucks to be you.” Grinning, she reached out to playfully ruffle
his hair, but even before her fingertips had brushed his blonde strands, he
drew back in alarm and impulsively slapped her hand away.
“Don’t!” he hissed.
Startled, Claire retracted.
“Sorry,” she apologized, looking confused. “I didn’t-“
And then, as revelation struck, the perplexed expression on her face
morphed into one of realization. “Ohh,
Nick… is your hair starting to fall out?” she asked empathetically.
He gave a short nod to confirm her suspicion.
“So that’s what’s wrong,” Claire said softly. “I’m sorry, Nick.”
“Not your fault,” muttered Nick, avoiding her eyes.
“I know. But it just
sucks.”
“Yeah,” agreed Nick. “It
definitely sucks.”
She patted his hand. “We’ll
just have to make it not suck so much then.
We should go hat shopping and get you some funky hats to wear – that
would be fun, right? I’m not working
Saturday if you feel up to going then.
Or wait, you have to get chemo on Saturday, right? Well, I can just hang out here with you on
Saturday, and we can go Sunday instead.
How does that sound?”
She said this all very fast and then looked at him, waiting for
his response. Nick hesitated, his mind a
cyclone of thoughts. The most dominant
of them all was that Claire was ready to give up a whole weekend to hang out
with him, even if it meant just sitting with him while he lay in bed, sick to
his stomach from the cancer treatment.
He shook his head. She shouldn’t
have to do that.
“What?” Claire asked. “You
don’t want to? Come on, it’ll be
fun! We can go Sunday morning when the
stores open; nobody will be around to recognize you then. Is that what you’re worried about?”
Nick shook his head again, frustrated and overwhelmed. How could he explain to her how guilty he
felt for eating up so much of her free time?
The thing was, he couldn’t. She
would just laugh and tell him she didn’t mind; he knew she would. But how could she not mind? How could she spend hours at his house,
taking care of him and keeping him company, and not mind? He knew why she was doing it; she felt
obligated to. He knew it had something
to do with the previous summer, when she’d gone through her bone marrow
transplant, and he’d visited her in the hospital a few times. She was just paying him back, returning the
favor. But maybe she didn’t realize that
she’d already gone above and beyond simply returning the favor. She’d been at his side through almost everything
lately, and though he loved having her around, he knew it had to end. He was getting better now, and there was no
need for her to have to give up so much of her time to be with him. Just because his life sucked didn’t mean hers
had to.
“Nick?” she questioned, staring at him in concern.
Something had to be done, Nick decided. “Claire,” he said, struggling for words. “I… you… look, you shouldn’t plan your whole
weekend around me.”
“I’m not ‘planning my weekend’ around you. If you don’t want to go shopping, that’s
okay. It was just a thought.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s
just…” Nick sighed. “I don’t think we should hang out so much,”
he blurted finally, not knowing how else to word it.
Claire raised an eyebrow.
“Oh,” she said simply. “Um,
okay.” She hesitated a moment, then slid
off the bed and stood up. “I guess maybe
I should go after all then.” She watched
him carefully, waiting for him to say something. Nick only shrugged, not knowing what to say. Fine, go?
But he didn’t really want her to.
No, stay? Well, he really didn’t
want that either, for her sake.
“Okay,” Claire nodded after a moment of silence. “See ya.”
With that, she turned and walked out.
But in a few seconds, she was storming back into the room, her eyes
flashing. “No,” she said, plopping down
on his bed. “I changed my mind; I’m not
leaving yet. Not until you and I have a
talk.”
“Isn’t that what we just did?” Nick asked blankly.
“No! I want to talk about
what happened three weeks ago, in the movie theater.”
Nick’s heart sank. Why did
she have to bring that up? The
kiss…. His heart began to race just
thinking about it. “What about it?” he
asked weakly.
“What about it?” Claire repeated incredulously. “Don’t you dare sit there and pretend it was
nothing because to me, it was definitely something!” Pausing, she studied him for a moment and
then added, her voice faltering slightly, “I-it was something for you too…
wasn’t it?”
Yes! Nick’s mind screamed, but, trying to keep his expression
neutral, he simply shrugged. “I don’t
know, Claire,” he mumbled. “It was a
kiss. I’ve kissed lots of girls.”
Her nostrils flared in anger.
“Oh, I see. So I’m just another
one of your little toys, is that it?” He
kept silent. “Well, thanks, Nick, I
really appreciate you playing me like that.
You know, I thought that we had something that night in the movie
theater. I thought that kiss meant
something, and I’ve been waiting weeks to find out exactly what. I just assumed you hadn’t brought it up yet
because the time wasn’t right, with you starting chemo and everything. But now I know why. You didn’t see the need to talk about it
cause it meant nothing to you.”
You’re wrong, Nick thought miserably, but he didn’t say
that. He didn’t say anything at all,
which seemed to enrage Claire even more.
“Will you please say something?” she demanded. “Look at me!”
He looked up and saw the pain in her eyes, and he hated himself
for putting it there. But this wasn’t
about him… this was about her, and he had to do what would be best for
her. For months, he’d only been thinking
about himself. It was time to stop being
selfish and put her first. And if that
meant letting her go, pushing her away, he would do it, no matter how much it
would hurt him to do so.
“You’re right, Claire,” he said through clenched teeth. “It meant nothing. I felt nothing. It was just a kiss, nothing special.” He half-hoped she would see past his vacant
expression and notice the slight quiver in his robotic voice. But apparently his acting skills had paid
off, for her face fell, and she simply nodded.
“I see,” she said quietly, standing up. “Thanks for clearing that up for me. I’ll see you around.” Without a backward glance, she walked out,
and this time, she did not come back.
Feeling hot tears well up in his eyes, Nick looked at his
forgotten tray of food in misery. The
pyramid of cold tater tots he had constructed earlier blurred before him. Angrily, he gave the single tater tot on top
a poke. It toppled off and rolled to the
edge of his plate. He studied it, lying
on its side away from the rest of its kind, the gouge where he’d pulled off a
bit to be the baby tot just visible. The
poor tater tot looked battered, beaten.
Sort of like him, he thought, feeling sorry for himself. He was just like the tater tot. He’d fallen from the top and now lay by himself,
wrecked, ruined, and all alone, now that he’d driven Claire away.
Impulsively, Nick seized the tattered tater tot and shoved it into
his mouth. But it was stone cold by now,
and as soon as he bit down, he spat it back out again. Now the thing really looked a mess,
half-chewed and slimy with his saliva.
That’s like me too, he thought, wiping his eyes with the heel of
his hand and picturing Claire’s crestfallen expression. I’m a slimeball. He was already partially regretting what
he’d said to her. It wasn’t true, not at
all, and he knew he had hurt her.
But it was too late now.
She was really gone this time, and he wasn’t sure when, or if, she’d be
back.
It’s
the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do
To
look you in the eye and tell you I don’t love you
It’s
the hardest thing I’ll ever have to lie
To
show no emotion when you start to cry
- “The
Hardest Thing” by 98 Degrees
***