Part I: Broken

Chapter 1

January 28, 2003. It was Nick Carter’s birthday – his twenty-third, to be exact –

and he felt on top of the world. He had released his first solo album the past October (okay, so it hadn’t made it to the top of the charts... but so what? He was proud of it just the same) and would embark on his first solo tour in less than a month. February 17 was the kickoff date, and he couldn’t have been more excited. The thought of being out on the road, without the other Backstreet Boys, just him by himself, was invigorating. The tour would be a short one, lasting not even a month, but that was okay. There would be another solo album sometime and another tour.

This tour had to be brief because as soon as it was over, he would be getting together with Brian, AJ, Howie, and Kevin to work on the next Backstreet Boys album, which they hoped to put out sometime that summer. After a two-year hiatus, it would be nice to get back into the studio with the Boys. Nick only hoped things wouldn’t be...

different... between the five of them. After all, so much had changed since Black and Blue. Brian had a baby, AJ was engaged (and would have been getting married in less than a month, but the wedding had been postponed), Kevin had been on Broadway, and, of course, there was Now or Never. They had done so many things separately lately that Nick just had to wonder, would they be successful in working together again? He hoped so. Though he had to admit that once in awhile, he almost hated being a Backstreet Boy, he loved the guys, and he loved the group, and he didn’t want to call it quits. Not yet.

He wasn’t ready. He just hoped his bandmates felt the same way.

However, tonight was not a night to be worrying about the future of the Backstreet Boys. Tonight was a night of celebration and friends. And not AJ, Brian, Kevin, and Howie either. His old gang, his Florida friends – Brent, Lane, James, and Frank. They were taking him out that night for his birthday, and the only thing he was worried about was hitting all the best clubs and getting drunk off his ass. Just as long as he didn’t go overboard and get himself arrested again, things would be just peachy.

Though the guys had offered to take him out, it was Nick who had somehow gotten roped into driving. (“You got the best ride, man, so you get to drive,” Brent had told him over the phone.) So, climbing into his Durango, which would be big enough to fit the five of them, he set off to pick up the gang.

***

Hours later, after some club-hopping, heavy flirting, and drinking, Frank suggested, “Hey, I heard Big Al’s is having a drink special tonight. Whaddya say, Nicky boy? Shall we head on over?”

“Whatever you say, bro,” replied Nick with a grin. Big Al’s was a local

“gentlemen’s club.” “Yo, Lane, here.” He handed his car keys to Lane, the designated driver of the night. (“I got a tour coming up in two weeks; if I get in some car crash, management’ll kill me,” Nick had insisted, forcing Lane to take that position. “All right, but only cause it’s your birthday, man. And next time, you’re the DD,” Lane had replied grudgingly.)

“’Right, let’s go.”

The five men piled into Nick’s Durango, four of them laughing drunkenly over no particular reason. They sang loudly and tonelessly to the blaring radio as Lane drove them safely to the strip club.

Inside, they were ushered to a table right in front of the stage, a prime location. A young Asian woman was pole-dancing in front of them. They ordered drinks and sat back eagerly to watch the show. When the Asian girl finished, another woman came out, this one with dirty blonde hair. She danced, and they drank and watched. After another performer went, Nick stood up.

“I’m gonna hit the bathroom,” he said to his buddies, making his way out of the crowded room and to the restrooms down a short hallway. He went into the men’s room and did his business. Then he went out again, hoping to hurry back to his table unnoticed. He preferred not to be recognized in a strip club; what would the younger fans think if it got out? He didn’t like the fact that many of them seemed to think he was perfect, but he also knew that, like it or not, he was a teen idol, and management sure wouldn’t be happy if his reputation suffered damage again (as it had after his arrest the previous year).

Bursting out of the men’s room, he collided right into another body. “Sorry!” he sputtered, stumbling uncoordinatedly backwards. It was a young woman he had run into; she had been coming out of the ladies room.

“Oh, that’s okay,” she replied, offering him a small smile. “Nick Carter, right?”

“Uh... yeah.”

“Thought so.” She smiled again, and suddenly, Nick realized she was the same girl who had just been on stage dancing, the blonde. Without her scanty costume and heavy makeup though, she was nearly unrecognizable. She was still pretty though; in fact, he thought she looked better this way, makeup-less and in street clothes (though he had to admit he had rather enjoyed the ensemble she had been wearing earlier).

“I... uh... liked your... performance,” Nick stammered, not sure of what else to say.

“Thanks,” she said flatly. “And just so you know, this isn’t my career of choice. I just do it ‘cause it’s good money.”

“Oh. That’s cool,” Nick said lamely, feeling rather uncomfortable.

There was a pause, and just when Nick was about to say goodbye and hurry back to his friends, the girl said, “I guess you don’t recognize me, huh?” Nick stared. “Huh?”

***

Chapter 2

The girl blushed slightly. “Um... well, I figured you wouldn’t recognize me. And you might not even remember me, but I went to school with you. Grade school.” At the word “school,” it hit him. “Leah? Leah Gaylers?” Her face broke into a smile. “You do remember!”

“Yeah, sure, now I do. Haven’t seen you in forever.”

“I know.”

There was another pause, a rather uncomfortable one. Nick struggled for words, knowing he should ask her what had been going on in her life and all that, but also not really caring. It wasn’t like Leah had been one of his old grade school friends or anything. Quite the opposite, in fact. By the time he had left the seventh grade to join the Backstreet Boys, he had hated Leah Gaylers’ guts.

It hadn’t started out that way. In fact, from about fifth grade on, he had had a huge crush on her. Leah Gaylers was one of those girls that you couldn’t help having a crush on. She was pretty and popular, student council representative, captain of the seventh grade cheerleading squad... you know the type. But she was also an extreme snob, something Nick hadn’t really realized until the beginning of his seventh grade year.

The school was having a Back to School Dance, which was only open to seventh and eighth graders. He had never been to a dance before, nor had he ever asked a girl out, and he figured this would be a good opportunity to do both for the first time. And instantaneously, he knew just the girl to ask. Leah Gaylers, of course.

Looking back on it now, he couldn’t understand how he hadn’t realized it wouldn’t work. Leah was practically royalty, and he was just Nick Carter, one of those unfortunate “unpopular” souls, the skinny, weird one who was teased because he was always getting out of school for his singing and acting gigs. No one at the time ever thought he’d be a star, and Leah was just like the rest. He wrote her a note, asking her to the dance, and gave it her after school, blushing furiously and darting away as soon as he had slipped it into her hand. Peeking around the corner a few seconds later, he had watched her unfold it and read it, a smile turning up her lips. He still remembered the euphoric feeling that had risen within him; his heart had begun to race with excitement as he realized that she was going to say yes. Her smile told him so.

His intuition was very wrong, however. A moment later, Leah ran across the hall to one of her girlfriends, who was standing at her own locker, and squealed, “Ohmygod, read this, just read this! Can you believe it?!” The girl read it and burst out laughing, shrieking, “Nick? Ohmygod, he’s such a weirdo; I can’t believe he asked you to the dance!” This of course brought a whole herd of girls stampeding over, and before long, they were all gathered around Leah, laughing hysterically at Nick’s note. Leah’s laugh rose over the rest, more of a malicious cackle than the beautiful, tinkling, girly laugh Nick had grown to adore.

His shoulder slumped in defeat, his face red hot with embarrassment, Nick ran away down the hall before any of those girls saw him. Leah had never given him an official answer, choosing to ignore his note instead. But he already knew what her answer was.

And after that, he hadn’t liked Leah so much anymore.

And standing here now, looking into her older, but familiar face, the pain and

utter humiliation of that moment came flooding back to Nick in a whirlwind of emotion.

“So... um... how are things going with you?” Leah asked the question first, letting Nick off the hook.

“Oh... good... pretty good,” he replied. “Uh... how are things with you?”

“Fine.”

“That’s good.” Nick waited for a moment, then said, “Well, I better be getting back to my table; my friends are gonna start wondering where I am. Nice seeing you ag-”

“Hey, Nick?” she interrupted him, touching his arm.

“Yeah?”

“Um... you don’t have to or anything, but if you’re gonna be in Tampa for awhile...

would you wanna grab a drink with me sometime? You know, catch up on old times and stuff?”

Nick stared at her. The girl had laughed at him when he had asked her out ten years ago, and now she was asking him to go out for drinks with her? He knew exactly why she had asked; it was the same reason most women wanted to go out with him. He was a Backstreet Boy. He was famous, and he was rich, and many a beautiful but shallow girl had tried to get him to go out with her for that very reason. And he had to admit, he had fallen for their traps before. Like with Mandy...

“Oh, I dunno, I’m gonna be pretty busy,” he said, blowing her off casually. “I’ve got a tour coming up in a couple weeks.”

“Oh, how cool.” She smiled. “Well, I understand. It was really nice to see you again, Nick. And congratulations on all your success. I never you thought you would-“

“Yeah,” Nick said shortly. “No one did.”

Leah looked taken aback. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant... well...

congratulations! I think it’s awesome.” She smiled again, and her brown eyes twinkled.

Nick gulped. She was still so beautiful, just like in seventh grade. If she hadn’t have done what she did back then, she would be completely irresistible to him now.

“Thanks,” he said. “It was nice to see you too.” He returned the smile, but it was not genuine. Then he headed back to his table, half-surprised that she hadn’t asked him for an autograph so she could auction it off for big bucks on Ebay. It just seemed like the sort of thing a girl like that would do.

***

Chapter 3

“Hey, what took you so long, bro? You’re missing all the action,” Brent slurred when Nick finally returned.

Nick chose to ignore him and pretended to focus all his attention on the stripper onstage. But he was not really into it anymore. He knew it was stupid to be dwelling on a girl he had crushed on ten years ago, but he couldn’t help it. It was kind of funny, actually, and sort of ironic – in school, he had been beat up, teased, and taunted for being different, for being a “weirdo,” while Leah was one of those kids who seemed to have it all. And now the tables had turned, and Nick was a rich superstar, while Leah was working in a strip club to support herself. He actually felt quite sorry for her, now he thought about it...

“Yo, earth to Nick.” Nick blinked as a hand was waved spastically back and forth in front of his face. “You’re spacin’ out on us, dude, you okay?” laughed Frank.

“Yeah, I’m cool,” Nick replied and took a deep swig of his drink, forcing himself to think of something else.

As the night wore on, four out of the five men got drunker and drunker, and finally, when Nick could barely walk, they headed home.

“Bring back my car tomorrow, dude, don’t forget,” Nick muttered to Lane when he was dropped off, weaving his way up to the house.

“You got it. Later, Carter,” Lane called and drove away, his taillights fading into the darkness.

Nick let himself into his house, where he received an energetic greeting from his pugs.

“Hey, boys,” he said, nearly tripping over one of them in the foyer. Now that he was home, he felt exhausted, and he knew a headache would be coming on soon from all the alcohol. Hoping to head it off, he staggered upstairs to his bedroom, stripped, and dropped into his bed. He reeked of cigarettes and beer, but showering would have to wait. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit his pillow.

***

Nick awoke late the following morning with a pounding headache. Groaning, he rolled over and squinted, trying to block out the burning sunlight streaming through his half-closed mini-blinds. Pain exploded in his head, and he massaged his temples wearily. Oh, how he hated hangovers.

He forced himself to get up and headed for the bathroom. Maybe he would feel better after a shower; besides, he had to smell completely rank by now. As he padded across his bedroom floor, a twinge of pain ran up and down his left leg, centering itself in his shin. He grimaced and tried to remember if he had fallen at all in his drunken stupor the night before. He could not remember.

Once in the bathroom, he put his leg up on the toilet seat and inspected his shin, expecting to find a bruise there from where he had banged it. But the leg looked fine, and when he gently touched it, it felt painless. Shrugging, Nick let his leg fall.

“Must just be growing pains,” he said out loud, which sent him into a fit of rueful laughter. Growing pains, sure. That was the last thing he needed – to be growing some more. He was too big already, according to management and his mother, who seemed

to feel that appearance counted more than talent in the music business. His weight had been fluctuating since the last Backstreet Boys tour, and right now, it was at its peak. He would have to do some major working out to take some of it off before the tour; he didn’t want to suffer through anymore fat jokes than necessary. He looked forward to touring, knowing that jumping hyperactively around on stage for an hour or so every night would help take the extra pounds off.

There was a scale lying on the bathroom floor. He eyed it warily, then stepped over it and turned on the shower. He climbed in, and as soon as the hot water touched his body, he felt much better. Savoring the comfort of the water flowing over his body, he stayed in the shower for quite some time.

As soon he stepped out, his headache came back with full force. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he opened up the medicine cabinet and shuffled through the bottles until he found some Tylenol. Popping open the cap, he shook three pills into his hand and shoved them into his mouth, washing them down with a quick swig from the sink faucet. Then he wandered back into his bedroom, dressed, and descended downstairs for a cup of strong, black coffee.

***

Nick would never know exactly why, but that night, he went back to Big Al’s.

Alone.

He sat at a small table in the back corner this time, hoping to sit unnoticed. He ordered a beer and sipped it slowly, barely paying attention to the strippers onstage.

The performance was exactly the same as the night before. He waited until Leah was done performing, and when the next dancer had taken the stage, he slunk off to the bathroom, hoping to run into her again. He wasn’t sure why; he was acting simply on impulse. Deep down, he had to admit he wanted to see her again. Maybe go for that drink sometime, like she had suggested. But why? She had broken his thirteen-year-old heart; he thought he’d never want to look at her face again. But, God, she was still beautiful. Even more than she had been then. And it had been ten years... surely she wasn’t the same snotty girl she had been at thirteen. Surely she had matured since then.

He knew he was taking a chance, but he had to find out. He would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t have feelings for her somewhere deep in his heart. She had hurt him, and he thought he hated her for that, but when it came down to it... he just didn’t.

Now he leaned against the wall in front of the restrooms, trying his best to look casual, like he was simply waiting for a friend to emerge from the men’s room. He waited and waited, growing more impatient with each passing moment. This is stupid...

this is so stupid... you’re absolutely pathetic, he chided himself.

Finally, just when he was about to chicken out and leave, the door to the ladies’

room swung open... and out stepped the very lady he had been awaiting.

Leah’s brown eyes widened in surprise when she saw him standing there. “Nick?

What are you doing back here?”

“Well, I... uh...” Nick could sense himself blushing and began to feel incredibly stupid. What must she be thinking of him right now?

“Just couldn’t get enough of me, huh?” Leah grinned teasingly.

Nick smiled weakly. “Actually... I just... well... I know I kinda blew you off last

night, and... well, if you still want to get drinks some time... that’d be cool.”

“Really? Well, okay then. When?”

“When? Uh...”

“I’m not working Friday night. Would that be good?” Leah suggested.

“Friday? Yeah, yeah, sounds good,” Nick replied. “What time do you want to meet?”

“Would eight work?”

“Sure. Where?”

“Um... how about Charlatan’s?”

“Sounds good.”

“Okay. See you then?”

“Yup, see you then.”

Nick and Leah exchanged smiles and goodbyes and went their separate ways.

Nick left, uninterested in the rest of the strip show. The whole way home, he could think about nothing but Leah. He hadn’t had a chance with her ten years ago. So what had changed? He knew he had changed as a person, and most likely, so had she. But he couldn’t ignore one obvious fact: he was now a multi-millionaire.

Girls had used him before, dating him only because of his wealth, fame, and status. Was Leah about to do the same thing?

***

Chapter 4

On Friday night, two days later, Nick arrived at Charlatan’s, a trendy Tampa bar, promptly at eight o’clock. After a quick inspection of the place, Nick found that Leah was not there yet Disappointed, he found a table in the back and sat down.

A waitress came up right away. “Can I get you anything, sir?” she asked.

“Um, not right now, thanks. I’m waiting for someone,” Nick replied.

“Okay. I’ll be back to take your order later then.” The waitress left, and Nick sat alone, his eyes fixed on the door. The minutes ticked slowly by, and he began to wonder if he had been stood up. How embarrassing that would be. His admirers would be outraged if they knew. Nick Carter – stood up by some woman? How dare she!

Nick couldn’t help but chuckle at that thought, figuring if Leah truly had stood him up, and it got out, at least there would be some nice new Leah Gaylers hate sites popping up on the internet.

Nick’s thoughts were interrupted as his eyes caught sight of Leah entering the bar. His worries faded away, and he stood up to wave her over. When she noticed him, she smiled, waved back, and came over.

“Hi, Nick!” she said cheerfully, sitting down across from him.

“Hey, Leah,” Nick said in relief. “How are you doing tonight?”

“Great, and you?”

“Just fine.”

“That’s good.”

There was a silence, and then Nick said, “Our waitress should be back to get our orders in a little bit.”

“Okay, good.”

More silence.

“So... we have a lot to catch up on, huh?” Leah asked finally.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess we do.”

“So... what have you been up to lately? Other than your music stuff, I mean,” said Leah.

“Oh... I dunno... you know, just hanging out and stuff.”

“That’s cool. I got your album, by the way. It was amazing.” She beamed at him.

“Really? Thanks!” Nick grinned widely, feeling a bit more comfortable.

“So you’re going on tour soon, right?”

“Yeah. February 17’s the first night.”

“Oh great. Are you performing in Tampa?”

“No, I’m not gonna be anywhere near here, unfortunately. I’m basically hitting the major cities in all the regions of the country except down south. How crazy is that?” Leah laughed. “Well, that’s too bad. I’d love to see one of your shows.”

“Well, hopefully there’ll be another solo tour sometime. But the Backstreet Boys will probably be doing a tour this fall or winter, and I’m sure we’ll hit a lot of Florida venues. We always do. Do you like Bsb music?”

“Love it! I’ll be sure to come to one of your concerts if I can; I’ve never been able to go to one before.”

“Well, maybe I can make some arrangements for you.” Nick winked at her, and Leah grinned.

“Front row?”

“Maybe...”

They both laughed, and suddenly, it was as if they were old friends, not old enemies (or whatever they had been in seventh grade). I was stupid for resenting her all these years, thought Nick, as he and Leah talked and laughed some more together.

We’ve both grown up, and she’s not the same girl she was then. She’s much better.

Isn’t it funny how sometimes all it takes is one chance meeting for an old crush to come back in full force? That was what was happening to Nick right then. It was suddenly as if that whole seventh grade Back to School Dance disaster had never taken place, like he was back to being an innocent kid with his first crush on a girl. He had realized by now that that crush had been quite shallow, based mostly on looks alone.

Leah had always been a pretty girl, and that was what had attracted him to her at first.

She was still pretty now, beautiful, in fact, but as he sat across from her and listened to her talk, he realized there was more to her than a nice body and attractive features. She really was a nice person once you got to know her.

“Hey, Leah?”

“Yeah?”

Nick just had to bring this up; he couldn’t resist. Chuckling a little, he said, “You remember that dance we had back in like seventh grade? The Back to School one in the fall?”

“Oh...” Leah bit her lip. “Yeah... you asked me to go with you, didn’t you?”

“Uh-huh.”

Leah smiled guiltily. “I’m sorry about that, Nick. I was shallow and petty and stupid back then... basically how all girls are at that age. You know, teenage girls are evil like that.”

He laughed. “I know. That’s okay. I’m surprised you remembered.” She shrugged. “Well, I felt kinda later on, once I grew up a little and realized what really counts. Now that I’ve actually talked to you, I’ve realized what a nice guy you are. I wasn’t sure how you’d be now, if you’d be all stuck up and everything. But you’re not at all. And I’m sure you were really nice back then, too. It’s just that social status and acceptance by your friends were so important when we were kids, and back then, you just weren’t... weren’t...”

“Popular?”

Leah blushed. “Well...”

“That’s okay,” Nick laughed. “I know what I was in middle school. I was a loser.” Leah opened her mouth apologetically, but he continued, “It’s okay though. That was ten years ago, and look where I am now. It’s no big deal.” She smiled. “You’re exactly right. And I’d like to make up for lost time. So, if you’re not... you know... seeing anyone right now... maybe we could go out together more often.”

Nick studied her for a moment, a bit unsure. He hadn’t gone out more than once with any girl in quite awhile. It just didn’t interest him right now; he wanted to be free and have fun and not have to deal with a girlfriend. Women had left him disappointed one too many times, and he honestly didn’t trust any of them anymore.

But despite the logic his brain was feeding him, his heart couldn’t refuse. He smiled at Leah and nodded.

“I’d like that.”

***

Chapter 5

The next morning, Nick woke up with new resolve. It was the first of February, the beginning of a new month, and there were just over two weeks left before his tour.

He had rehearsals scheduled the following week, and he was determined to spend this week getting himself into better shape, exercising and trying to drop a few pounds before the tour.

He climbed out of bed and pulled on a pair of Adidas wind pants and a sweatshirt. He crammed his feet into his tennis shoes and laced them up tightly, then descended downstairs and went outside. He did a few stretches in his driveway to get warmed up and then set out jogging up the rest of the long driveway and out onto the street. It was early morning, just after seven, and he hoped most of the younger girls were sleeping in; he didn’t want to be interrupted. It usually wasn’t too bad because his neighbors were used to him living there, and he wasn’t often pestered.

Fifteen minutes later, a winded Nick returned. Having jogged over a mile, he was completely out of breath and exhausted. He trudged up his driveway and went into the comfort of his home. Tugging off his shoes, he left them in front of the door, staggered into the living room, and collapsed on the carpet. He lay there for awhile, until his breathing slowed, and then forced himself to get up and go upstairs. Hot and sweaty, he craved a nice long shower.

When he stepped out of the shower half an hour later, he could feel his muscles beginning to stiffen up. He cursed himself for not stretching them out after his run.

Now he would be stiff the rest of the day and tomorrow. He remembered how he had been able to run forever as a child and never feel it. But he was not a child anymore; he was twenty-three, and his body was beginning to protest heavy activity more and more.

“I’m getting old,” Nick wheezed in an elderly man’s voice, chuckling at his reflection in the mirror over the sink. He got dressed slowly, his legs protesting each step he took. His shin ached, and he groaned. He was probably getting shin splints again. He really would have to do better at working out and keeping himself fit.

That would do for now though. Now that he was clean and cooled down again, he was starving, his appetite awakened by the exercise. He went downstairs into the kitchen in search of food. He would have loved to sit down to a few Eggo waffles smeared in butter and powdered sugar, but since he was on a mission to lose weight, he opted for a Carnation Instant Breakfast nutrition shake and a couple pieces of dry toast instead. Some breakfast, he thought, as he downed the powdered chocolate drink.

Still, he had to admit that he felt much better once breakfast was over. He had definitely gotten the day off to the right start, and he was determined to stay on track.

And hopefully not just until after the tour was over either. That was when he needed willpower the most, for when he was not working, it was easy to sit on his ass all day, playing video games and eating, and go out drinking with his buddies at night. None of these habits were good, and that was why his weight fluctuated so much between tours and off time.

He was not going to let that happen this time though. He was going to lose weight for the tour... and this time, he was going to keep it off when the tour was over.

With an air of confidence, Nick strode out of the kitchen, ready to face the rest of his day.

***

That afternoon, the phone rang. Picking it up in his living room, Nick answered with a cheery, “Hello?”

This was returned with a familiar-yet-miserable-sounding, “Nick?” He recognized the voice as that of his younger brother, Aaron.

“Hey, AC, what’s wrong?” he asked, automatically able to tell by his brother’s tone that something was up.

“It’s Mom,” replied Aaron, and a block of ice fell into Nick’s stomach. Had something happened to their mother? Before he could find his voice and ask, Aaron rushed ahead, “She’s such a bitch!”

With relief, Nick sighed. “What did she do this time?” he asked, smiling in exasperation despite himself.

Aaron and his mother were always conflicting these days. Nick didn’t blame Aaron; he knew he and Jane would be having the same problems if he still lived with her. It was nearly impossible not to once you got to a certain age. Jane loved her children, but she also loved money and fame. A little too much. Maybe more than the kids. At least that’s how it seemed. The Carter kids, especially the boys, had been raised for show business, trained and coached and sculpted into the stars they were today.

It wasn’t like they didn’t love their work. They did. It was just that the business seemed to be all Jane cared about. Nick knew what a hard time she had been giving Aaron lately. Everything he did revolved around his career. While normal teenage boys went to school and hung out with their friends on weekends, Aaron was tutored and spent his spare time taking voice and dance lessons, working out, and writing or recording for his next album. That is when he wasn’t touring or doing photo shoots or promotional work. The kid had it harder than Nick did these days, and Nick didn’t envy him in the slightest.

“She won’t let me come on tour with you!” cried Aaron, and Nick sensed he was near tears. He had invited his younger brother to tour with him ages ago, since the two rarely got any time to spend together anymore. Aaron had been excited about it, and Nick had to admit, so had he.

“Aww, no, what happened?” he asked sympathetically.

“You know my stupid tutor? Miss Daly?”

Nick hadn’t actually met the woman, but he responded with an, “Uh-huh.”

“God, I hate her! She told Mom that I ‘wasn’t applying myself’ and all this crap, and Mom said I have to stay home and ‘concentrate on my studies.’ No tour! Can you believe that?!” Aaron raged.

“God, that sucks. What a bitch,” Nick agreed, immediately siding with Aaron.

“What if you work harder before the tour? I mean, you still have like two weeks. Then would Mom let you come?”

“No,” pouted Aaron. “I already asked, and she said it’s too late, I blew it. God, I hate her sometimes.”

“So do I,” empathized Nick. “I’m sorry, kid. But it’s not the end of the world.

There’ll be other tours and plenty of time to spend together. Maybe you can come visit after the tour, how does that sound?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Aaron’s voice was glum, and he sounded as if he didn’t quite believe this. Nick didn’t blame him; he knew he had broken a lot of promises to his

brother in the past; it was just a part of the job – his schedule was always full, and his plans were always changing. It was hard to find time to get together with Aaron, who was usually out in LA with the rest of the family, while Nick was in Florida.

“I gotta go, Nick, Mom’s coming to yell at me some more. Catch you later.”

“All right, later, bro,” Nick replied. “Bye.” The click on the other end of the line signaled Aaron hanging up. Nick hung up on his end as well and sighed, his good mood temporarily spoiled. Why did Jane have to give Aaron such a hard time? Sure, maybe the fifteen-year-old wasn’t trying his best with his schoolwork, but big deal. Nick had never been a scholar himself, and he had turned out okay.

Determined not to get himself in a fit over his controlling mother, Nick picked up the phone again and dialed Leah’s number, looking for something for lift his spirits.

***

Chapter 6

“So, how are your tour rehearsals going?”

Nick smiled at Leah, who sat across the table from him in the small ice cream parlor. The two had decided to meet there after Nick’s rehearsal that afternoon.

“Good, good,” Nick replied. There was now only a week left until the start of the tour, and he was both excited and nervous. He only hoped everything would go well...

and that the fans would enjoy themselves.

“That’s great,” said Leah.

“Yeah...” Nick paused a moment, planning out his next words. Then he said,

“Hey, um... speaking of the tour... there’s something I was wanting to ask you.” Leah tipped her head sideways. “Sure, what?”

“Well... my brother, Aaron, was going to come with me on tour... just to hang out and stuff, ya know. But he’s not coming now, so I was wondering... how would you like to come on the road with me?”

Leah gasped. “Oh, Nick! I’d.... I’d love to! The only problem is work... I don’t know if I’ll be able to get off.”

“I know... I’m sorry this is such short notice... it’s just... we haven’t... I don’t...

well...”

“We don’t know each other very well yet, I know,” said Leah. “But I’m honored you asked me, and I really would love to go with you. It would give us a good opportunity to get to know each other even better, since we’d be hanging out together all the time. I’ll ask my boss about it tonight.”

“Okay. Let me know what he says.”

“I will.” Leah smiled and took a bite of her ice cream sundae. The sunlight from outside spilled across her face, bathing her in gold. Absolutely taken with her, Nick couldn’t help but smile.

“What are you grinning about over there?” Leah asked teasingly.

Nick felt himself blush. “You,” he answered truthfully. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Now Leah blushed. “You’re just saying that.” She looked away, her voice soft.

“Trust me, I’m not. You’re beautiful, and I... I really like you. A lot.” Leah looked back at him, her coffee-colored eyes meeting his. “I like you a lot too, Nick.” She reached across the table and laid her hand on top of his. He smiled and took hold of it, his fingers caressing the back of her hand. Her skin was soft and silky and feminine.

Weeks ago, Nick had been telling people he was not interested in having a relationship. He was tired of women; he had been hurt by them too many times. And now here he was, falling head over heels for the first girl who had ever broken his heart.

Was he making the same mistake all over again? His mind told him to be wary, but his heart was light and carefree and begged him to plunge ahead with the relationship.

And so he did.

***

That night, Nick lay sprawled across his sofa, his cordless phone pressed to his ear, listening to the endless ringing on the other end of the line. Then, finally, there was

a click and a harried “Hello?”

“B-Rok! Hey, it’s Nick! Did I catch you at a bad time?” Nick asked. Brian sounded awfully stressed out.

“Oh, hey, Nick! No, it’s all good... I’m just trying to get Baylee to go to sleep.” Nick could hear the baby now, screaming shrilly on the other end. He grimaced.

“Aw, sorry, man. Maybe I should call back later?”

“Um... no... just... just hang on a minute...” Nick waited, listening to the muffled sounds coming from Brian’s end with an expression of amusement. Finally, Brian came back. “Okay, I got him quieted down. We’re rocking.”

“Rocking?” Nick smiled, picturing Brian sitting in a rocking chair with little Baylee in his arms. “Cute. Where’s Leigh?”

“In bed. She’s got a cold, so she doesn’t want to be handling the baby much. I offered to put him down, and he was almost asleep, but then the phone rang.”

“Oh... I’m sorry.”

“Oh no, it’s okay. Not your fault. He’s going back to sleep now.”

“That’s good.”

‘Yup. So... what’s up, man? I haven’t talked to you in forever.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Nick.

“I’m sorry, I should have called you before. I’ve just been real busy... you know, with the-“

“Baby,” finished Nick. “I know.” Actually, that was not the case. Brian had been

“real busy” for years, ever since he had gotten engaged to Leighanne. He had changed.

Not in a bad way, just in a way Nick did not like. The truth was, Brian had grown up.

He was an adult, mature and responsible, with a family to take care of. And Nick...

physically, Nick was an adult too... but he was still a kid at heart and figured he always would be. He was all about having a good time, playing and partying hard, always the fun-loving practical joker. Brian had been that way once too. But he was different now.

Nick never wanted that to happen to him. He vowed never to change, never to let some woman do that to him.

“Yeah... are you okay, Nick?” Brian’s voice interrupted Nick’s thoughts.

“Sure, I’m fine,” he said quickly. “What’s been up with you?”

“Oh, same old, same old,” said Brian. “You’ve gotta see Baylee – he’s getting so big now!”

“Really? Is he crawling yet?” Nick asked innocently.

“Crawling? Nick, he’s not even three months old. He can’t even sit up yet.”

“Oh.” Nick felt stupid now.

Brian laughed. “So you never answered my question before – what have you been up to? Getting ready for your tour?”

“Yeah,” said Nick. “I’ve been having rehearsals every day... you know how that goes.”

“Yeah. Anything else?”

“Well...” Nick smiled on his end and pressed the phone closer to his ear. “There’s this girl...”

“Oooh, a girl?” Brian’s voice was teasing and playful, much more like the old Brian. “So… what’s she like? Details!” he added in a girly lisp.

Nick laughed. “She’s wonderful,” he said truthfully. “Totally hot.”

“Blonde?”

Nick had to laugh; Brian had always gone for blondes. “Yup,” he said. “And she’s got the most gorgeous eyes.”

“Blue?”

“Brown.”

“Oh.”

“And you know what the weird thing is?”

“What?”

“She’s the first girl that ever broke my heart... and now I’m in love with her all over again.”

“What? How long have you known this girl? Who is she?”

“Her name’s Leah Gaylers, and I went to school with her,” answered Nick. “I had the biggest crush on her in middle school... she was like the epitome of the perfect girl...

popular, pretty, cheerleader... you know the type.”

“Uh-huh. So what happened?”

“Well, I asked her to this dance once, in seventh grade. And she laughed at me. I felt like such a loser... I hated her after that. Hated her guts, even though deep down, I probably still liked her.”

“Aww,” Brian said, laughing. “I feel for ya, dude.”

“So anyway, I met up with her again a few weeks ago...” Nick paused, deciding not to tell Brian exactly where he had met Leah and what she was doing there. Good, wholesome Brian would probably not approve of that. “... and we went out one night and started talking, and... well, I’m falling for her all over again.”

“Really?” Brian sounded intrigued. “That’s totally weird. And you, of all people.

I thought you were anti-romance right now.”

“Well, I was... but... well, things change, ya know?”

“Yeah. So... Valentine’s Day is on Friday... what are you gonna do for her?”

“I’m workin’ on it, I’m workin’ on it!” Nick insisted.

Brian laughed, and suddenly, it felt like old times again. Nick grinned, thinking of the many times he had come to Brian for advice on women back when he was an awkward teenager, girl-crazy and confused. Brian really was not the best person to ask for help in that area; Kevin and Howie were older and more experienced in the romance department. Heck, even AJ had more experience than Brian ever did.

But Brian was Nick’s best friend, the older brother he never had, and the only person to whom he felt truly comfortable revealing his inner feelings. Brian never laughed at him and teased him to the point of utter humiliation the way the others often did; Brian was caring and understanding. And he had to have known something about the opposite sex, because here he was, the second of the Backstreet Boys to get married.

And he and Leighanne were the perfect couple, happily in love with one another.

Someday, far down the road, Nick wanted that for himself. But not yet. He was not ready for that commitment. Dating Leah was one thing, but marriage? The thought of that both intimidated and frightened Nick.

If Nick only knew what he would be facing in a matter of months, he would have realized that marriage was a lot less scary than what was lying ahead.

***

Chapter 7

On Valentine’s Day, Nick mustered up every ounce of romance he could and treated Leah to a night he hoped she would never forget. He decided to go with the traditional approach and took Leah out to dinner at a fancy restaurant.

Dressed in a tuxedo, which he hated with a passion and wore as little as possible, he picked her up in white limousine. Armed with a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses and a heart-shaped box of chocolates, he had his driver park at the end of her driveway, climbed out, and set off for her front door.

Standing on her front porch, he rang the bell and waited, tugging at his stiffly starched collar, which seemed to choke him. But when Leah pulled back the front door, all the discomfort became worth it. Dressed in a long, form-fitting black gown, her hair twisted and piled atop her head with thin tendrils curling around her face, Leah looked simply irresistible. Grinning widely at the beauty before him, Nick held out the roses and the candy.

“Aww, Nicky, you’re so sweet,” gushed Leah, her eyes lighting up. She set the candy down just inside the door and clutched the bouquet in her arms. Stepping out onto the porch and closing the door behind her, she held out her free hand for Nick to take. He did, and, pulling a move right out of Titanic, he lowered his face and pressed his lips to her hand.

Leah burst out laughing, ruining the moment, and Nick pulled back quickly, his cheeks flaming. “Sorry,” he muttered in embarrassment.

“No, no, that was adorable!” Leah giggled. “I’ve just never had any guy do that to me before!”

Nick grinned cheekily and grabbed her hand again. “Come on, let’s go,” he said, leading her off the porch. As soon as his foot made contact with the top step, he stumbled, pain shooting through his left leg. For one horrifying moment, he lost his balance and nearly fell face-first down the rest of the steps.

“Nick!” Leah cried, grabbing hold of him. She managed to catch and steady him, and he stayed on his feet.

“Oh my God,” Nick muttered, closing his eyes. This night was not turning out the way he had planned so far... how many more times was he going to embarrass himself tonight?

“What happened? Are you okay?” Leah asked, peering at him in concern.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I just tripped,” Nick said quickly, face hot with humiliation.

“Let’s just go, okay?”

“Okay.” Leah’s voice wavered, and Nick glanced at her. Her lips were twitching, and he knew she was struggling not to burst out laughing. He sighed, put his arm around her, and led her to the limo, praying they would get through the rest of the night smoothly.

“Oh, Nick, this is so wonderful!” Leah gasped, forgetting her laughter, when Nick opened up the limo door for her. When he had climbed in next to her on the other side, she exclaimed, “I haven’t been in a limo since senior prom!” Nick just smiled, having nothing to say to that. Of course, he had never gone to prom, but he had been in millions of limos during his career. It was just one of the many things that separated him, a famous singer, from her, a low-paid stri-... exotic dancer.

The limo pulled away from Leah’s house, and they were on their way. As they drove, Leah explored the limo’s luxuries.

“Check out the fridge,” Nick said, pointing out the tiny refrigerator. Leah opened it eagerly and peered inside. Grinning over at Nick, she pulled out a bottle of champagne and two glasses. “Well, well, well, what a surprise,” commented Nick, grinning back at her. He took the champagne and poured it into the two glasses, handing her one. She sipped it, happily looking around at her extravagant surroundings.

“I feel just like a princess,” she said with a joyful sigh.

“Or a celebrity,” Nick teased, and she laughed.

When the limo pulled up in front of the restaurant, Nick got out and went around to Leah’s side to let her out. As he opened the car door, he heard the familiar, “It’s Nick Carter!” He whirled around to see a young woman grab her date’s arm and point excitedly at him.

Rolling his eyes, Nick took Leah’s hand and helped her out of the car, praying there wouldn’t be a frenzy. But others had heard the girl as well, and a small crowd was gathering. A camera flashed, and the young woman who had first spotted him came hurrying up, running as fast as she could in heels.

“Nick, can I have your autograph?” she asked breathlessly.

Helplessly, Nick looked at Leah.

“Go ahead,” she said with a knowing smile. “I don’t mind.”

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed at her quickly and then turned to the young woman, who was waiting anxiously with a piece of paper and pen in her outstretched hand. “Sure,” he said, taking the pen and paper. “What’s your name?”

“April.”

“Okay. Turn around, would you?” Using her back as a makeshift table, Nick wrote April a quick message and signed his name. As he did, he heard April ask Leah,

“Are you Nick’s girlfriend?”

“Um... you might say that,” Leah answered, glancing uncertainly at Nick over April’s head.

He grinned at her and handed April her autograph. “There you go, hon,” he said.

“Thank you! Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“You too.”

April went back to where her boyfriend was waiting, an annoyed expression on his face, and Nick grabbed Leah and hurried her into the restaurant, trying to avoid a scene. People chased after them, but the restaurant personnel managed to hold them back while Nick and Leah were seated in a private area of the elegant eatery.

“Phew,” said Nick, pulling out Leah’s chair for her. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” Leah replied with an understanding smile. “It must happen a lot.”

“Yeah. Hopefully people will leave us alone now though.” He sat down across from her and picked up his menu. Leah followed suit, her eyes traveling up and down the menu, growing wide as she caught sight of the prices.

“Wow,” she said. “I’ve never been anywhere this expensive.” She grinned awkwardly, and her cheeks pinkened. “You’re probably used to it though.” Nick shrugged, feeling awkward himself. He realized she was uncomfortable, not used to these surroundings, and he suddenly wished he hadn’t gone all out for Valentine’s Day. He was more of a low class guy himself, and he told her that. “Yeah, I

guess, but honestly, I don’t eat in places like this all the time. I’m much more comfortable in a McDonald’s.”

Leah giggled and immediately looked more at ease. “Well, I definitely don’t mind all this,” she said.

“Well, good. I want you to have a good time.” Their eyes met, and they gazed at each other for a moment in rapture. The trance was broken by a waiter, who asked for their drink orders in a heavy French accent.

Studying the menu, Leah ordered an expensive wine, and Nick followed suit. The waiter disappeared and returned moments later with a bottle of the fine wine, which he poured into their goblets, filling them halfway. They needed more time to decide on their meals, so the waiter left them alone again.

Going over the menu choices and laughing at the fanciness of some of the dishes, Leah looked up at Nick and said, “I could definitely get used to this!”

***

“I had a wonderful time tonight, Nick,” Leah said, as the two stood facing each other on her front porch later that night.

“Me too,” smiled Nick. “And I’m glad you’re coming with me on tour.” After some haggling with her boss, Leah had managed to get a month off to go on the tour with Nick. He was glad. It would be a great opportunity to hang out every day with her, and she would be great company so he wouldn’t have to be on the road all alone.

“Me too. I can’t wait,” replied Leah. “Only two more days!” They would be leaving on Sunday, the sixteenth, for Pennsylvania. The first show would be the following night, in Pittston.

“I know.” Smiling, Nick studied her for a moment, his eyes running up and down her face. Then, on pure impulse, he leaned forward and kissed her, pressing his lips to hers.

He half-expected her to pull away, but she did not. Instead, he felt her lips caressing his. Gently wrapping his arms around her, he ran his hands up and down her bare back, still kissing her. He opened his mouth slightly, and her tongue slid in, the kiss turning more passionate.

Finally, it ended, and they pulled away, breathless. Holding her at arm’s length, Nick gazed at Leah, his eyes drawn to hers. He had heard people describe the fireworks they felt when they kissed certain people. He had not experienced these fireworks often.

But with Leah, there had definitely been fireworks. And looking into her eyes, he knew they had been there for her too.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispered, making no move to leave.

“Thank you for an amazing night, Nick,” she said softly. Then they stood there for a few more seconds, just looking at each other. And finally, Leah pulled away. “I’ll see you Sunday.” She stood up on tiptoe, kissed his cheek, grinned at him, and opened her door.

“Yeah,” Nick said breathlessly. “See you Sunday.”

Leah went inside and closed the door behind her. And Nick walked slowly off of the porch, grinning from ear to ear.

***

Chapter 8

The Staircase in Pittston, Pennsylvania was packed with people, and all of them were screaming at the top of their lungs. On stage, Nick grinned, drew his hand across his sweaty brow, and bowed. He stood there a moment, absorbing the moment, taking in the atmosphere, listening happily as his audience applauded him. Bowing once more, he yelled “Thank you, Pittston!” and left the stage, waving as walked off.

He made his way backstage, sweaty and exhausted, but thrilled. It had been an outstanding first performance, and he couldn’t have been happier.

Leah ran up to him, her eyes shining with enthusiasm. “Oh, Nick, that was wonderful!” she cried.

“Thanks,” Nick said, grinning at her. “Well, I’m gonna hit the showers. I’ll meet you on the bus, okay?”

“Okay.” Leah ran off one way, and Nick went in the opposite direction, desperate for a shower.

Minutes later, Nick slowly stripped and turned on the water in the shower. He waited a few minutes to let it heat up and then climbed into the steamy jet. The hot water felt like heaven on his body. He stood there for what seemed like an eternity, just letting it flow over his body, washing away his sweat. He was startled out of his bliss by a loud knock on the door and his bodyguard Joe’s deep voice calling, “Nick, are you okay in there?”

“Yeah!” Nick shouted, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be out soon!” Sighing heavily, he squirted some shampoo into his palm and ran it through his blonde hair. Then he took the bar of soap and quickly washed his body. Taking a few final minutes to rinse himself off, he finally shut off the water and climbed out. He threw on a pair of sweats and left.

Joe was waiting for him outside. “Nick, you ready to get out to the bus?” he asked.

“Yeah, let’s go, I’m beat,” Nick said, following Joe out of the small venue to where Nick’s tour bus was parked. He climbed onto the bus and found Leah sitting on the couch.

“So, what are our plans for tonight?” she asked, as he sank down tiredly beside her.

“Plans? I don’t know about you, but I just wanna go to bed,” said Nick, tiredly raking a hand through his wet hair. “I’m exhausted.”

“Oh,” said Leah, sounding disappointed.

“Why? You wanted to do something?”

“Well, I dunno, I’m just not tired yet. I’m wide awake from the show.” Nick smiled. “Sorry,” he said. “Usually I’m still on an adrenaline rush now, but it seems to have faded early tonight. But if you wanna stay up and watch a movie or something, go right ahead.”

“Okay. I guess I’ll stay up awhile then,” said Leah. “Go on to bed.” Nick did just that, staggering to the back of the bus and collapsing in his bunk.

He didn’t know why he was so tired; he usually was not this beat after the very first concert. Figuring it was just a result of the buildup of nerves he had experienced before the show, he pulled the covers up around himself and closed his eyes. All he needed was a few hours of sleep.

***

Nick awoke the next morning with renewed energy. Pushing back the curtains surrounding his bunk, he climbed out of bed. The curtains were drawn around Leah’s bunk, and he figured she was still asleep. He hadn’t even heard her go to bed the night before, having fallen asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

His stomach rumbling with hunger, Nick walked to the center of the bus, where the kitchen area was located. He stuck his head in one of the cupboards, rummaged around, and emerged with a small box of Frosted Flakes, which he dumped into a bowl and poured some milk over. He sat at the small table, eating and looking out the window at the passing scenery. There was snow on the ground. Having grown up in Florida, seeing snow still amazed Nick. He would have liked it if it wasn’t so cold. Nick had never been big on cold, which was why he liked living in a place with mild winters.

He couldn’t imagine being cooped up inside all winter and not being able to go out on his boat.

Nick’s thoughts were interrupted by Leah’s voice. “Nick?” Nick jumped in his seat and turned his head to find Leah standing there, her blonde hair in tangles from sleep, her eyes bleary.

“Leah! Hey, I didn’t even see you standing there. Did you sleep well?” She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so, considering I’m on a bus. How about you?”

“I slept okay. I’m used to the whole bus thing by now, I guess.” Nick smiled. “So, you hungry? There’s cereal in the cupboard.” He nodded to the empty Frosted Flakes box.

“Um, not right now.”

“Okay. Well, get something to eat whenever you feel like it.” Leah nodded and sat down at the table across from him. They made small talk and looked out the window while the bus drove on. After awhile, the bus slowed, and Nick noticed a rest stop ahead.

“Looks like we’re going to make a pit stop,” he said. “I’m gonna get out, are you?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I should go throw some clothes on,” Leah said, looking down at her wrinkled spaghetti strap top and pajama bottoms.

“Yeah, me too.”

By the time they were both dressed, the bus had stopped at a gas station. Nick and Leah climbed off and went into the gas station. After a quick bathroom break (despite his many years on the road, Nick still hated using tiny bus bathrooms), the two wandered through the small convenience store, looking around. They got some snacks for the road and took them to the counter. While the young man behind the counter rang up their food, Nick’s eyes traveled to the magazine rack. Immediately drawn to one periodical in particular, Nick groaned.

“What?” Leah quizzed from beside him.

“Look,” Nick said flatly, pointing at one of the tabloids. Leah gasped. There, gracing the front cover, was a picture of her and Nick on Valentine’s Day, in front of the restaurant. The headline above the picture read “Backstreet Boy Nick Carter’s New Love Affair.”

“New love affair?” quoted Leah, her nose wrinkled in disgust. “God, these people need to get a life. I can’t believe they actually care about who you’re dating... no offense.”

Nick laughed. “I don’t get it either. I’m sorry – I didn’t expect you to be in the tabloids this soon.”

Leah shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. No harm done, right?”

“No... except when the teenyboppers get a load of this, I’m sure there’ll be a few hate sites about you springing up online.”

“Hate sites? But... but they don’t even know my name! How could they-“

“Because they’re jealous and delusional,” Nick interrupted. “They hate any girl they see me with.”

Leah laughed. “Well, I don’t care. Screw them, right?”

“Yeah,” Nick said with a grin. “Screw them all.”

***

Later that afternoon, Nick’s cell phone rang.

“Nick Carter,” he answered.

He was greeted with a cheerful, “Nickolas Gene Carter, what in the hell do you think you’re doing dating some trampy stripper, of all people?! I thought I raised you better! Just think what this is going to do to your reputation!”

“Nice to talk to you too, Mom,” Nick muttered, rolling his eyes. His mother sounded irate, and he assumed the “trampy stripper” she was talking about was Leah.

Just how she knew about Leah and Leah’s career choice was beyond him.

“What did you say?”

“How the hell do you know she’s a stripper?” Nick demanded, ignoring his mother’s question.

“So it’s true?!”

“What are you talking about? Where did you find this out?” Nick asked again.

“Well, it was in the latest issue of Globe! I saw it at the supermarket this morning, and lo and behold, your face was on it! That girl you were with – she’s a stripper?!”

“How did they find out she’s a-“

“Nickolas, I don’t know, but they found out, and now it’s all over the world that you’ve got some trashy new girlfriend that takes her clothes off for money. Just lovely.

What were you thinking? Don’t you care what people think of you?!” Nick was outraged. “No, Mom, that’s just it – I don’t!”

“Well, you should! You’re supposed to be a role model – what will your young fans think?!”

“I don’t give a crap what they think, Mom! I never claimed to be a good role model, and I’ll damn well date whoever the hell I want!” A click on the other end of the line signaled that his mother had hung up on him.

With a growl of rage, Nick turned off his cell phone and threw it onto the couch, where it bounced a few times and came to rest. Aaron was right – Jane Carter was a bitch, an irrational, shallow, heartless bitch. “Damn her,” he muttered angrily under his breath.

“Nick?” came a tiny voice from behind him. Nick turned to find Leah standing there, her eyes wide.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” he said quietly, giving her a grim half smile.

“That was about me, wasn’t it? Your mom saw the tabloid?”

“Yeah. And apparently the tabloid knows... uh... where you work.”

“How??”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe whoever sent in that picture of us together recognized you and knew where you worked. I have no idea. But the truth is out now, I guess.”

Leah sighed. “Great. Now all your fans will think I’m a slut.”

“Leah, they’d probably go around calling you a slut anyway, so it’s not a big deal.

I like you for who you are, not what you do, and that’s all that matters.” Leah smiled a little. “Really?”

Nick returned the smile, along with a hug. “Really.”

***

Chapter 9

The tour continued on without a hitch, and Nick heard nothing more about himself and Leah in the press. That is, not until an interview he did for MTV the day before his Phoenix show in early March. His manager had arranged for him to call into TRL that afternoon, which he didn’t have a problem doing. TRL interviews were always short and usually more interesting and casual than most interviews. And so, that afternoon he called into the show as planned from his hotel room.

The interview went fine at first, with Carson, who was actually hosting that day, asking Nick the usual, “How’s the tour going?” and “When will the new Bsb album drop?” sort of questions. But then the questions turned to more uncomfortable subjects, starting with Leah.

“So, rumor is you have a new girlfriend. Is that true?”

“Um... yeah, I’ve been seeing someone for a few weeks, but, um... it’s not really serious yet,” Nick answered carefully.

“Yet? Does that mean it might get more serious at some point?” Carson pressed.

“I don’t know, maybe,” Nick replied, annoyed. “We’ll just have to see what happens.”

“As we all know, Brian and Kevin are married, and AJ’s engaged. Do you want to get married too someday?”

“Yeah, maybe someday, but not for a long time,” Nick answered firmly.

“So, tell us more about your new girlfriend. Rumor has it that she’s in the...

exotic dancing field. True story?”

“Uh... I’d prefer not to reveal any career information about her,” Nick said slowly, hoping to avoid any further questioning.

“Uh-huh.” Carson’s tone told Nick he could see right through the answer. But he thankfully changed the subject anyway and said, “Your album, Now or Never, recently went gold. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Nick replied, relieved.

“However, Justin Timberlake’s album, Justified, is several times platinum. How does that make you feel?”

Nick felt like screaming right then, but he gritted his teeth and said, “Justin’s doing his own thing, and I’m doing mine. I don’t listen to comparisons because what we’re doing is totally different. I wish him the best and congratulate him on his success.” That wasn’t the exact truth, but there was no way Nick was going to admit how much it pissed him off that a wannabe little prick like Justin could sell so many more albums than he could.

The interview ended a few minutes later, and Nick was left seething, vowing never to appear on TRL again. He knew that would never happen; he was sure he’d be there with the guys in a few months, before their album was released. Besides, if he never appeared on any show that had asked him about Justin Timberlake, he’d pretty much have no TV appearances anymore. Damn that Timberlake for deciding to go solo right after he did.

Suddenly, there was a knock on Nick’s hotel room door. He climbed off his bed, his anger fading, and went to the door. Leah stood outside it in the hall, waiting for him.

“Hey,” he said, smiling at the sight of her. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. I was just wondering what we’re doing tonight since there’s no

show,” she said.

“Oh... well... I don’t know...” Nick said slowly. He actually hadn’t even considered it; his only plans were take full advantage of sleeping somewhere that wasn’t a bus, as this was one of the few nights he got to spend in a hotel during the tour. He had been extremely tired a lot of the time lately and figured he just wasn’t getting enough sleep in the cramped bunk he had on the bus. It would do him good to sleep in a real bed in the hotel. “I actually planned on just staying in tonight,” he told Leah.

“Oh.” Leah’s voice was filled with disappointment. “I thought we could go out on the town tonight.”

“Oh... well, feel free to go out on your own if you want to. But I’d really rather just hang out here.”

“Fine.” She started to walk out, but Nick reached out and caught her arm.

“Leah? You’re not mad, are you?”

“No... it’s just... we haven’t really done anything together, you know? I mean, we’ve hung out, but we haven’t done anything... just traveled day after day.”

“Well, that’s kinda part of the job,” Nick laughed.

Leah gave him a patronizing look. “I know, but I thought we’d get more chances to do other things, and now when we actually do have a chance, you don’t want to.”

“I’m sorry, babe, I just am feeling really tired lately cause of the tour, and I want to get a good night’s sleep. We’ll go out together once we get back to Tampa, I promise.”

“But that’s still a week away. I miss you, Nicky.”

Nick cocked his head at her. “You see me all the time. How could you miss me?”

“I don’t know... I just... I miss doing romantic things with you... all we do is sit on that damn bus. I want to get out.”

“So go out! Go out tonight and have a great time! I’m not trying to stop you,” Nick argued, annoyed.

“But I want to go out with you! It’s no fun alone!”

“Not tonight, okay?”

“Fine.” Glaring at him, Leah stormed out in a huff. Nick started to go after her, then decided against it. If she was going to act that way, fine. She would come back when she felt like it. Besides, he just didn’t have the energy to fight with her.

In an overall pissed off mood, Nick flopped down on his bed and closed his eyes, massaging his temples to ward off the headache he felt coming on. Before he knew it, he had drifted off to sleep.

***

When Nick woke back up, he was shocked to discover that it was dark outside.

He had unintentionally slept for a good five hours. He expected to feel a surge of energy after his unplanned nap, but instead, he was dragging even more than before.

His first thought was of Leah, and he wondered if she was still upset with him.

After some consideration, he decided to go next door to her room and see if she still wanted to go out that night. He didn’t feel that great and figured he was either coming down with something or just run down from the tour, but he didn’t want to let Leah down and told himself he could manage a night out on the town with her, despite how he was feeling.

However, when he knocked on her door, he found that she was not in her room.

“She left a few minutes ago, Nick,” a deep voice called down the hall. Nick looked to see Joe walking towards him.

“She did?” he asked, as the big black bodyguard approached.

“Yeah, she said she was going to go hit some clubs or something,” Joe replied.

“How come you didn’t go with her?”

“I didn’t know she was going,” Nick admitted. “I was asleep.”

“Oh. Well, were you planning on going out?”

“No...” Nick said slowly. “No, I’m just gonna hang out in my room, I guess. See you later, Joe.”

“All right, catch you later, kid.”

Nick went back to his room, half annoyed with Leah, half relieved. He was a bit hurt that she had gone out without telling him, but then again, he had pissed her off, and he had been sleeping. Maybe she had tried to call him or stopped by before she left, and he had not woken up. And even if she didn’t, he couldn’t blame her. She was mad, and he understood her reasoning. And now he didn’t have to go out after all; he could go back to his room and catch a good movie.

And that was exactly what he ended up doing, returning to his room and ordering

“Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers” on pay per view. He managed to make it through most of the movie, but sometime during the last half hour, he unknowingly drifted off to sleep again, plagued with bizarre dreams of hobbits, elves, and... Leah.

***

Chapter 10

Nick awoke for the second time that evening to discover that it was no longer evening at all, but early morning. According to the clock on the bedside table, it was after two. Realizing he had not heard from Leah in hours, Nick got up, wondering if she was back yet. Smoothing out his rumbled clothes, he left his room, padded down the hall, and stopped outside Leah’s door. A “do not disturb” sign hung on her knob, but he knocked anyway. Leah was a night owl; he doubted she was asleep yet.

No one answered, and, figuring she had fallen asleep after all, Nick started to walk away. Then the door clicked open behind him. He turned around to find Leah in the doorway.

“Hey, Leah,” he said, going back up to her door.

“Oh! Nick!” She looked surprised to see him and quickly stepped out of the room. The door clicked shut behind her, but she didn’t seem to notice. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I just came to see if you were back yet,” Nick said. “Were you sleeping?”

“Um... no... no, I was just watching TV in bed,” she said quickly, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

“Oh... cool. Look, I just wanted to apologize for earlier. I actually came by your room this evening to see if you wanted to go out, but you were already gone. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, that’s okay.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. She was acting awfully strange... “Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s great. I... um... should probably go back inside my room now.”

“Why?”

She gave him a funny look. “Cause I’m tired, and I’m going to go to bed,” she said briskly. “Why do you have to ask so many questions?”

“Sorry,” Nick said irritably. “I’ll leave you alone then. Goodnight.” Leah turned quickly and reached for the doorknob. But, of course, being a hotel room, the door was locked. And judging by the look that came over her face, Nick realized she didn’t have her room key with her.

“Locked out?” he asked with a chuckle.

She glared at him, her face turning bright red. “Damn it,” she cursed, trying the knob again, as if it would magically be unlocked this time.

“Just run down to the lobby; they’ll give you a spare key,” Nick advised her.

“Don’t worry, it happens to everybody.”

“Yeah...” she murmured. “Yeah, I’ll just go dow-“

But her words were interrupted by a click, as her door suddenly swung open.

Nick’s mouth dropped open in surprise and then shock, as it suddenly dawned on him that someone had opened the door from the inside. There was someone in Leah’s room!

He looked at Leah to find that the blood had drained from her face. She was staring at him, her expression a mix of shock and guilt. And that’s when he knew...

Before Leah had a chance to react, he pushed past her and shoved the door open all the way. And there, standing just inside Leah’s room, was another man. And not just any man. Dressed only in boxers, his hand on the doorknob, his curly hair plastered to his forehead, there stood Nick’s archrival, Justin Timberlake, his face ashen with shock.

The two men seemed to realize exactly what was going on at the same time.

“Nick? Wait... you mean, Leah is... Leah’s your girlfriend?” Justin stammered, quailing under Nick’s accusing glare.

“You slept with her! You slept with her, didn’t you, you asshole?!” Nick cried, outraged. He could feel the color creeping up his neck and the blood pulsating through his veins.

“I didn’t know!” Justin protested, holding up his hands in defense. “I didn’t know she was your gir-“

He didn’t have a chance to get the rest of his words out. Violently blinded by rage, Nick raised his fist and punched Justin as hard as he could, right in the middle of his sputtering face. Justin cried out in pain, blood spurting from his nose. But he was not too injured to retaliate; the next moment had him charging at Nick, his hands outstretched. He collided into Nick, shoving him backward with extreme force.

Grunting, Nick stumbled backwards and hit the wall of the hall, his head banging hard against the plaster. He clawed at Justin’s face and shoved him back, sending Justin flying backwards to the ground. Nick pounced on him, and they wrestled on the floor, punching and ripping at each other while Leah screamed for them to stop.

Nick wasn’t sure how long the fight actually lasted, but suddenly he was aware of a strong pair of hands grabbing him, yanking him away from Justin. Craning his neck, he found that it was Joe. Another member of the security team had his hands on Justin and was restraining him from Nick. Leah was backed up against the wall, wringing her hands and in tears.

“Come on, Nick,” Joe said loudly and firmly into Nick’s ear. “Come on, back to your room before someone else finds out about this.” Nick heard the words, but he was too angry to comprehend them. Holding him tightly, Joe dragged him back to his room and practically threw him inside, shutting the door tightly behind him.

“What the hell happened out there?” he demanded, pushing Nick down on his bed.

“That... that son of a bitch! He slept with Leah!” Nick cried.

“He did? I’m sorry, Nick,” Joe said. “Let it go though, man. She ain’t worth your time if she’s gonna cheat on you like that, and he ain’t worth ruining your reputation.”

“My reputation? You sound like my mother,” Nick said in disgust.

“Well, sorry, but just think what would happen if the press find out you and Justin had a fist fight. They’d have a hay day with it! You don’t want that, do you?”

“No,” Nick muttered.

“Then be glad it got broken up when it did. I don’t think anyone else saw you, and if you don’t spill to the press, I doubt he will either. Judging on how he looked, you kicked his ass. I don’t think he’ll want that to get out on MTV.” Nick had to laugh at that. “Really?” he asked hopefully. “Did I hurt him that bad?”

“Well, you bloodied his nose. Might’ve even broken it. He was definitely bleeding more than you.”

Nick had to smile at that. He felt pretty achy himself and knew Justin had gotten in a few good hits, but at least he wasn’t gushing buckets. He just hoped he wasn’t going to end up with a black eye or something. People would be sure to ask how that had happened. Maybe he’d blame it all on Leah. After what Mandy did to him, people would probably believe it. And Leah would definitely deserve it, after what she had

done.

He suddenly realized that his worst fears had come true – he’d been screwed over by her again. She’d played with him, cheated on him, broken his heart all over again.

And the second time hurt even worse than the first.

“That bitch,” he spat angrily, shaking his head. Tears rose in his eyes, and he quickly blinked them away, not wanting Joe to see what a loser he was. How stupid could he have been? Why hadn’t he seen it coming?

“You okay?” Joe asked gently.

“Yeah,” Nick muttered, refusing to look at him. “Yeah, I’m fine.” But he wasn’t. Not by a long shot.

***

Chapter 11

Nick couldn’t have been happier to see the tour end. After that night, he had sent Leah packing; she had left on a flight home to Tampa that afternoon. He had gone on with the rest of the tour, bruised from his fight with Justin, but not to the point that it was really noticeable. He found out later that he had indeed broken Justin’s nose; Justin said in an MTV News interview that he had been hit in the face with a baseball.

Nick had chuckled, pleased with himself and already plotting the many ways he could blackmail Justin about what really happened. But despite that, he was miserable.

When the tour was over, Nick went home to Tampa, ready to just hang out, relax, and enjoy the days he had off before he would have to start working on the new album with the other Backstreet Boys. But, unbeknownst to him, fate had other plans.

On the afternoon of his homecoming, his doorbell rang. Wondering who could be calling, Nick looked through the tiny peephole on his front door to see Leah standing on the front porch.

“That bitch,” he spat under his breath and backed away from the door. He hesitated behind it a moment, debating whether or not to answer it. Things had been left unsaid between them, and he had a feeling she wouldn’t leave him alone until he talked to her. Of course, he could always hire some security guards or get a nice big Rottweiler to keep her away, but it would probably be easier just to open up and tell her off.

And so, angrily, he swung the door open.

“Nick!” Leah exclaimed with false cheeriness, pasting a smile on her face. “I’m glad you’re here. I just wanted to talk to you.”

“What’s left to talk about?” Nick asked, clenching his jaw.

“Nicky...”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry... Nick... I just... I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

Leah gave him a pained look. “I didn’t mean for it to happen,” she said. “I just...

I was drunk, and he... he took advantage of me.”

“Where did you even meet him?!”

“At a club. I was just... sort of... starstruck, you know? I went up to him to get an autograph, cause I thought it would be cool, you know? And he started talking to me.

And he told me I was beautiful, and he offered to buy me a drink. And I was flattered, you know, so I sat down with him, and we had drinks and talked, and then... well...

things just got way out of hand!”

“Yeah,” Nick said flatly. “Guess they did.”

“So do you forgive me?”

Nick saw red. “Forgive you?!” he exploded. “You slept with another man behind my back! And not just any man – Justin fucking Timberlake! You cheated on me! And now I’m just supposed to up and forgive you? Where’s the fucking logic in that?!” Tears filled Leah’s eyes. “Nicky, please! I’m so sorry! I am! I would never hurt you!”

“Well, you did. Twice. I gave you a second chance, and you blew it, Leah.” He could feel a prickling sensation in the corners of his eyes and knew he was about to lose it. Fighting to keep his emotion in check, he said in a low voice, “Go. Just go. Get off

my property and don’t come back.”

“Nick-“

“I mean it. I never want to see you again, Leah. Now leave.”

“But-“

“Now!”

Her shoulders slumped in defeat, tears spilling down her red cheeks, Leah nodded meekly, turned, and walked slowly down the steps. Nick stood, glaring at her back, watching her leave. Only when she had gotten into her car and driven away did he go back inside, slamming the front door closed as hard as he could.

There was a loud crash behind him, and he turned to see that a painting had fallen off the wall adjacent to the door. Sighing, he sank down to pick it up. A sharp pain shot through his leg, and he grimaced, tears rising in his eyes.

“When did everything get so damn fucked up?” he muttered aloud, his voice cracking. He turned over the fallen painting. It was his favorite piece of art, a beautiful landscape of the ocean at sunset. Luckily, the frame was not broken. There was just a crack running down the glass. It was not very noticeable, so he shrugged and re-hung the painting. Standing back to inspect it, his vision blurred with tears. Angrily, he rubbed the tears from his eyes with his thumbs.

“Stop it,” he told himself fiercely. “Stop crying like some kind of fucking pussy.

It’s not the end of the world. I didn’t even like her that much.” He knew that was not true; he was only kidding himself. He had liked her. A lot.

But he didn’t anymore. No, he was done wasting his time on Leah Gaylers.

“Screw her,” he spat bitterly, walking away. “Screw the damn bitch.”

***

Chapter 12

That night, Nick decided to take a nice, long bath. As he removed his clothes in the bathroom, he moaned in pain. His body felt achy everywhere, the mixed result of the tour and the fight with Justin Timberlake, which he was still bruised from. He slipped on his bathrobe and turned on the water in his big Jacuzzi-style tub, anxious to slide into the hot water and relax his muscles.

His robe felt unusually loose on him, and while the tub filled, he took notice of his scale, which lay neglected in the corner. He was sure he had lost weight during the tour; night after night of jumping around on stage would do that to a person. Curious to find out exactly how much, he shed his robe and climbed onto the scale. When the digital red numbers appeared, revealing his weight, he gasped aloud in shock and delight. He had lost twenty-five pounds! No wonder his pants had been so baggy on him lately...

they must have been at least a size or two too big. How had that happened? Though he always lost weight when he was touring, he had never lost twenty-five pounds in a month before.

Guess I must be doing something right, he thought with a grin, turning off the water. As he climbed into the tub, he banged his shin on the rim. Cursing loudly, he fell into the tub with a splash and sat gripping his leg and rocking back and forth, while pain coursed through it. He was such a klutz lately.

When the pain subsided, Nick sank back in the water, letting out a heavenly sigh.

This was the life. He would have been content to stay in that tub all night, just relaxing and trying to take his mind off of Leah. But eventually, he grew bored and climbed out.

Wrapping himself in his bathrobe, he perched on the edge of the tub and watched the water drain from it.

When the tub was empty, he hoisted himself up. Immediately, pain shot through his left shin, right where he had banged it on the tub. Gasping in agony, he fell back onto the tub ledge, grabbing his leg yet again.

“Man, I must have really nailed myself,” he moaned, gingerly rubbing his shin. It ached under his fingertips, and he knew he would soon have an angry bruise forming there. But how could it possibly hurt that much when he stood on it? A bruise wouldn’t cause that, would it?

He decided to stand up again, to test it. He was met with the same result – total pain. “Lovely,” he muttered, massaging his shin. How was he supposed to get out of the bathroom if he couldn’t even put weight on his left leg? He sat there for a few minutes, considering his predicament. Finally, he decided to just crawl out. Feeling incredibly stupid and glad that he lived alone, he lowered himself to his knees, grunting in discomfort, and took off crawling slowly across the cold, tiled floor. His left knee protested the movement, but it hurt a lot less than trying to walk, so he gritted his teeth and bore it, continuing on across the floor. He crawled all the way into his bedroom, across the plush carpet (which felt much better on his knees), and to his bed. There, he pulled himself up and onto the bed, where he collapsed, panting.

He was still wearing only his robe, which was now damp from his skin. But he didn’t have the energy to get up and find a pair of boxers to sleep in. Exhausted, he stretched out and closed his eyes, assuring himself that everything would be better in the morning.

***

When morning came, things were indeed better. After awakening and remembering the previous night’s events, Nick took a deep breath, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and slowly stood up. His leg panged, but did not give out, and though it hurt, the pain was less than it had been the night before, and he could walk on the leg. Relieved, he limped around the room a few times, then came back to rest on his bed. Propping his leg up in front of him, he pulled back the terrycloth material of his robe and examined his shin. Indeed, there was an angry bruise running across it, right where he had banged it on the tub. Not only that, but his whole leg looked larger than the other one. Yes, it was definitely swollen. He had really gotten himself. Running his fingers across the tender skin, he winced, shrugged, and swung his leg back over the side of the bed. Standing back up, he walked across the room to his closet.

When he was dressed, he decided to try to get downstairs for some breakfast. He took the stairs slowly, clinging to the banister as he hobbled down. Eventually, he made it to the kitchen. As he limped around, rounding up a box of cereal and carton of milk, the phone rang. Cursing under his breath, Nick left his breakfast on the counter and made it to the phone.

“Hello,” he panted, grabbing the phone and immediately sinking down into the nearest chair, his leg throbbing.

“Hey, Nick? It’s Bri. Are you okay?”

Nick chuckled at Brian’s apparent concern. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said sheepishly.

“I just... uh... hurt my leg yesterday, and it’s a bit hard to get around right now.”

“Hurt your leg? What’d you do?” Brian sounded even more worried now.

“Nothing serious. It’s okay, just bruised,” Nick said quickly, hoping Brian wouldn’t ask how it had happened. It was a little embarrassing to admit being in this much pain after knocking himself on a bathtub.

“Oh... okay. So, how’s it going, other than that? You got home yesterday, right?”

“Yup. And everything’s going fine.”

“That’s good. So the tour wrapped up okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. And how’s your new girlfriend? Leah?”

“Oh... uh...” Nick thought quickly, wondering what to say. He settled on a lie, telling Brian, “She’s... uh... she’s doing good.”

Unfortunately, Brian knew him far too well. “Really. Are you sure?” he asked, his voice tinged with skepticism.

“Well... actually... no... we kinda broke up,” Nick admitted.

“Aw... sorry, dude. What happened?”

“Long story.”

“Oh. I see. Well, if you ever wanna talk about it... you know I’m here.”

“Yeah.” Like you’d understand. “Thanks, Bri.”

“No problem.” A silence fell between them, broken only by Brian’s question,

“So... what are your plans for the rest of the week?”

“Don’t got any.”

“Oh... you know, you should come up to Atlanta sometime soon. I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Well, you’re coming down here in a few weeks to work on the album. I’ll see you

then,” said Nick.

“Well, I know... but you haven’t seen Leigh or Baylee either.” Leigh and Baylee... of course he had to bring them up. Couldn’t have a conversation without them these days. Nick felt very selfish, but he couldn’t deny the truth – in some weird, crazy way, he was jealous of Brian’s family. He liked Leighanne, and you couldn’t help but adore Baylee, but still... they took up so much of Brian’s time, and when Brian was not with them, they took up all his thoughts. Nick knew this was the way it should be, but he couldn’t help but feel slightly betrayed by the man who had once been his best friend.

He still is your best friend, Nick told himself angrily. Stop being such an asshole.

“Nick? You there?”

“Yeah,” Nick said quickly. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I was saying that you should try to come to Atlanta soon and see us all.” Brian sounded slightly annoyed at having to repeat this.

“Oh. Right. I’d love to,” Nick replied quickly.

“Really?”

“Definitely. When?”

“Whenever you want... what about next weekend?”

“Next weekend?” Nick went over his schedule in his head, but he was only kidding himself. He had no plans, and he knew it. “Yeah, Brian, next weekend sounds good.”

“Great. Will you drive up or fly?”

“Um...” Nick groaned inwardly. The thought of driving hours and hours to Atlanta was not appealing, but God, he hated flying with a passion. “I’ll probably fly. I’ll call the airport later and see about getting a ticket.”

“Okay, cool. Leighanne will be glad; I told her I was going to ask you to come stay. Just wait till you see Baylee; he’s grown so much since the last time you saw him.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said,” said Nick. “Can’t wait to see him.”

“Hey, speaking of Baylee... I had a question for ya, Nick.”

“Oh yeah? What?”

“Well, Leigh and I have been thinking... we want Baylee to have a godfather. And we thought... well, if you want to, that is... Nick, how would you like to be Baylee’s godfather?”

“Godfather?” Nick asked in surprise. “Me??”

“You’re my best friend, Nick. I want you to be a part of my son’s life.” Nick couldn’t help but feel flattered at this. Grinning, he said, “Aw, sure, Rok. I’d love to be his godfather.”

“Thanks, Nick. That means a lot to me and Leigh.”

“No problem, dude. It’s an honor.”

“Well, I’d better let you go now,” said Brian. “Call me later when you get your flight arrangements, okay?”

“All right. Later, Frick.”

“Bye, Frack.”

***

Chapter 13

Nick spent the day limping around on his leg and hoping to feel some improvement in it. However, by that night, there was still no change. It still panged with every step he took, and the swelling had not gone down a bit. He finally wrapped it in an Ace bandage and went to bed, hoping things would be better in the morning.

However, when morning came, his leg looked and felt exactly the same. He was a bit concerned now, wondering what he could have possible done to it. You couldn’t sprain your shin, could you? He had never heard of such a thing... yet if it wasn’t sprained, than what was wrong? He considered everything from shin splints to a fracture, but how could he crack his bone on a bathtub? He hadn’t clunked his leg that hard, had he?

“Maybe it’s a stress fracture,” he said to no one in particular, as he sat on his bed, massaging his leg and worrying. His friend James had gotten a stress fracture when he was in high school, the result of cross country running. He wasn’t sure how much overuse it took to do such a thing, but he had done a lot of bouncing around on stage during the tour. Could he really have done that much damage to himself?

Now that he thought about it, this wasn’t the first his shin had hurt him. It had ached off an on before throughout the tour. The bathtub incident had only worsened things.

It’s gotta be a stress fracture, Nick thought confidently. Knowing what it was made him feel better, but realizing what he might have to go through because of it definitely didn’t. He remembered James being on crushes for weeks, his leg strapped in a giant and uncomfortable-looking brace. That was the last thing Nick needed. Why did everything bad have to happen to him all of a sudden? First Leah and now this... only a few days ago, his life had seemed perfect. Now little things were adding up to make his life much harder.

Sitting up in bed, gazing absently out his bedroom window, Nick thought about his predicament and wondered what to do. If he really did have a stress fracture, he knew he had to see a doctor. Letting it go would only make it worse, and he wanted it to heal as soon as possible. On the other hand, he absolutely hated doctors. He respected them for the job they did, but the thought of going to one terrified him. He wasn’t sure what had caused it, but he had absolutely dreaded going to the doctor’s office ever since he was a little boy. He wasn’t big on needles, blood, pain, or just the thought of being touched, poked, and prodded by a stranger. And the smell... God, how he hated that antiseptic, mediciney doctor’s office smell. It made him slightly nauseous even to think about it.

Still, he was twenty-three, an adult, and he knew this was something that had to be taken care of. And so, he promised himself that if his leg didn’t feel better in a few days, he would go see his doctor about it.

***

Days passed, and Nick’s leg felt no better. The bruises were healing, but his whole lower leg was still puffy, and the pain was as bad as ever. It was getting harder and harder to walk, and inwardly, Nick knew he was going to have to see someone about it. He was due to visit Brian and Leighanne that weekend, and hobbling around Atlanta

on a busted leg didn’t sound like much fun. Besides, he knew if Brian saw what a hard time he was having, he would whisk him off to the Emergency Room before Nick even knew what was happening. Brian could be so overprotective, especially now that he was a father.

So, on Thursday, two days before he was scheduled to fly to Atlanta, Nick set off for the nearest first-care clinic, a facility that would see walk-ins. He didn’t have a doctor of his own in Tampa; he hadn’t been to one in years. Besides, he knew there was no way he’d get an appointment anywhere; doctor’s offices always seemed to be booked.

And so, dreading a long day of sitting in a smelly doctor’s office, Nick drove to the clinic.

Luckily, the small waiting room was not too crowded. There were mostly children there with their parents, and he felt strangely out of place. However, he was relieved to find that no one paid any attention to him when he signed in and sat down; he figured the parents were too old to recognize or give a care about him, and the children were too young. It was the teenagers and twenty-somethings that caused problems, and there didn’t seem to be anyone in that age group there. Relieved, Nick picked up a dated issue of Sports Illustrated and thumbed through it, absently looking at the pictures without really seeing them and ignoring the articles altogether.

He finished with the Sports Illustrated quickly and watched as a little girl who looked about six or seven returned a Highlights magazine to the rack. When she had returned to her mother, Nick got up, hobbled over to the magazine rack, and picked up the Highlights himself. Sitting back down, he put his hand over his mouth to hide his smile as he looked down at the magazine’s cover. It brought back memories of countless visits to the doctor and dentist when he was little; Highlights seemed to be the most popular waiting room magazine. He opened it up and slowly began turning pages, stopping to find the Hidden Pictures and read Goofus and Gallant, which had always been his favorite section as a child.

After Highlights, he flipped through a few crinkled issues of Reader’s Digest and then moved on to Woman’s Day. Finally, as he was pouring over the latest “how to drop a dress size” article, the door to the waiting room opened, and he heard his name called.

A little relieved, but mostly nervous, Nick quickly stood up, dropping the magazine back in its slot on his way across the room to the nurse who was standing in the doorway.

“Nickolas?” she asked, giving him a polite smile.

“Yes,” he replied, forcing one back.

“Good, come on back with me.” The nurse turned and led him through the door and down a small hallway. “Right in here,” she said, holding open a door for him. He limped through the door and found himself in a small examining room with one of those leathery tables covered in a roll of white paper. The room reeked of medicine, and his stomach churned queasily as the pungent stench invaded his nostrils.

“Can you get onto the table for me?” the nurse asked, watching in concern as Nick hobbled across the room.

“Sure.” Trying his best to keep a brave face and not wince in front of her, Nick hoisted himself onto the table and sat perched on the edge of it, his legs hanging off.

“Great. Now, what’s your complaint today, Nickolas?” the nurse asked, sitting down on a stool across from him, her pen poised over a clipboard.

“It’s my leg,” said Nick. “Right here, at my shin.” He ran his hand lightly down his left shin. “It’s been sort of aching off an on for a few weeks, and I bumped it the other night and bruised it, and it swelled up, and now I can barely walk on it.”

“I see. Can you roll up your pant leg so I can take a look?” Nodding, Nick pushed the leg of the wind pants he was wearing up above his knee, exposing the lower part of his leg.

“Mm-hm, I see,” said the nurse, leaning forward to inspect his leg. “Looks like a nasty bruise you had going there.”

“Yeah,” agreed Nick.

“How exactly did it happen? What did you hit it on?”

“Um... the edge of my bathtub, actually,” Nick admitted, blushing.

The nurse smiled. “That’s okay, I’ve done that before too. Hurts like the dickens.”

Nick nodded and smiled weakly, feeling slightly less humiliated.

“Well, you sit tight, and I’m going to get a doctor to come in and have a look.

He’ll probably want to run an x-ray, just to make sure you didn’t crack anything in there.”

Nick nodded, and the nurse went away, leaving him alone in the room. He sat and looked at the medical posters hung around the room until the door swung open, and an elderly man strode briskly in, his white coat billowing out behind him. “Hello,” he said, taking a seat on the stool the nurse had formerly occupied. “So I hear you’re having some leg pain?”

“Yeah,” Nick said and explained what he had told the nurse earlier, showing his leg to the doctor.

“Hm... I see...” the doctor murmured, studying his leg. “Scoot back and prop your leg up here for me so I can get a better look.”

Nick obeyed, scooting backwards on the table so that his legs were stretched out in front of him. Gently, the doctor felt his leg, prodding it and asking frequently, “Does this hurt?” Clenching his jaw, Nick answered “yes” often.

When the doctor finally pushed his stool back, Nick said, “I was thinking maybe I have a stress fracture. I’m a singer, and I’ve just been out on tour for the past month, doing a lot on stage. Could I have fractured my leg from overuse like that?” The doctor frowned. “Maybe,” he said, stroking his chin. “I’d like to get an x-ray; I think a fracture is definitely a possibility. If you don’t mind, I’d like you to come with me down to x-ray.”

Nick nodded, his suspicions confirmed. Mentally trying to prepare himself for weeks on crutches, he climbed carefully off of the table and followed the doctor slowly out of the room.

***

Chapter 14

The x-ray was short and painless, and before long, Nick had been escorted back into the examining room. He sat impatiently on the table, waiting for the doctor to return and listening to the paper beneath him crinkle every time he fidgeted.

It seemed to take forever for the doctor to come back, but finally he did, carrying a shiny black x-ray film with him. Wordlessly, he slid the x-ray onto a white board mounted on one of the walls and hit a switch, illuminating the board. Nick squinted at the x-ray, trying to figure out if he could see a crack in one of his bones or not. He couldn’t tell; it was all a black and white blur to him.

“So, do I have a fracture?” he asked the doctor.

“Yes,” replied the doctor, frowning. “You have a hairline fracture here on your tibia; that’s the larger bone in your shin. See this line here?” He ran his finger across the x-ray, and Nick nodded, just able to make out the tiny, dark line running across the white of the bone. In the center of the white part, right on the crack, there was a small, dark circle.

“What’s that black spot there?” he asked. “Is that my kneecap or something?”

“No, your kneecap is up here,” said the doctor, pointing up near the top of the film. “This black part here is actually a hole in your bone.” Nick cocked his head in confusion. “A hole?” he repeated. “How did that happen? Did I chip the bone or something?”

The doctor pursed his lips. “Well... it’s, uh, hard to tell exactly what it is by the x-ray. But I’d like to have some more tests run.”

“More tests? Why? Is there something really wrong with me?” Nick’s heart had begun to pound, and his hands felt clammy. God, he hated doctors.

“No, no, I didn’t say that,” the doctor assured him, giving him a small smile.

“Don’t worry. It’s just a precaution. The hole could be nothing, or the x-ray could even be wrong. But I want to be sure that it is just nothing. Would you be willing to check into the hospital to have the tests run?”

“You mean I have a choice? I don’t have to do this?” Nick asked hopefully. The doctor was making it sound optional.

“Well, technically, no, but in my expert opinion, I think you should,” replied the doctor, giving him a serious look. “You have the right to refuse treatment, of course, but better safe than sorry, right?”

“How long will these tests take? Like will I have to stay in the hospital?” Nick asked warily.

“I’m not sure, but I imagine you would have to stay overnight. Probably no longer than that though.”

“Aww, man,” Nick groaned. “I... I really can’t do that now... I’m supposed to go to Atlanta in two days. Can it wait till I get back? I’m only gonna be gone a few days.”

“Yes,” said the doctor. “But you need to stay off that leg. I’m going to rent you out a pair of crutches, and I want you to use them. When you go to the hospital, you’ll probably be fitted with some kind of leg brace, but until then, be careful and take it easy.

What day will you be back from your trip?”

“Next Friday,” Nick replied.

“Okay. I’ll call Tampa General and book a room for you for next Saturday. Will you be able to check into the hospital then?”

“Yeah,” Nick reluctantly answered.

“Okay. Sit tight, and I’ll make the arrangements. Be right back.” The doctor disappeared from the room, and Nick sat alone, trying to keep his mind from jumping to the worst case scenario, that when he went into the hospital the next week, the doctors would find something terribly wrong with him.

Stop it, he told himself. It’s probably nothing. This guy just wants me to go through these tests so he won’t get sued if there is something wrong that he didn’t catch. He tried to relax, tried to take his mind off of the situation and focus on pleasant, happy things instead.

It didn’t work.

***

When Nick came off the plane at the Atlanta airport two days later, he was on crutches. Hobbling through the cluster of people in the terminal, Nick looked around for Brian. Just when he was beginning to wonder if his friend had forgotten him, he heard that familiar Kentucky-accented voice call out, “Nick!” His head turning in the direction of the voice, he spotted Brian pushing through the crowds to get to him. He grinned and opened his mouth to say hi to his best friend, but Brian got out his words first. “What happened?” he cried, eyeing the crutches.

“Stress fracture,” replied Nick. This was not the exact truth – after all, the clinic doctor had technically never said it was a stress fracture. But that term made Nick think of an athlete, and it sounded more valiant than admitting he had fractured his leg on his bathtub.

“Stress fracture?” echoed Brian. “How did that happen?”

“I dunno, too much jumping around on stage, I guess,” Nick replied with a shrug.

“Oh, that sucks, man. So how long do you have to use those things?” He motioned to the crutches.

“I dunno, a few weeks, I guess. I’ll find out more next week; I’m going to a specialist to get a brace put on it and stuff.” Again, he was hiding information from Brian, but now was not the time to worry his friend. He was worried enough himself.

Smiling casually, he asked, “So, how’s Leigh and Baylee?” Brian’s entire face brightened with this question. “They’re just great,” he said.

“Excited to see you.”

“Baylee too?” Nick teased.

Brian laughed. “He will be. Come on, let’s go get your bags.” They stopped at the baggage claim to pick up Nick’s suitcases, which Brian gallantly carried himself as he led the way out to his car. Brian’s sporty blue BMW

looked the same as always, but when Nick got in, he observed an infant’s car seat strapped into the backseat, just another reminder of how things had changed over the past year.

The two men made small talk on the drive from the airport to Brian’s house, and Nick couldn’t help but notice that they seemed to have less to talk about than usual, despite the fact that they hadn’t seen each other in several months. The conversation was strained, with long pauses in between pointless topics. Brian must have realized this as well, for he flipped on the radio to ease the uncomfortable silence.

Justin Timberlake’s “Cry Me a River” droned through the speakers, and Nick

wrinkled his nose in disgust, quickly changing the station.

“Sorry,” he muttered, giving Brian a sidelong glance.

“That’s okay,” Brian replied. “I hate that song too.” Brian wasn’t much into hard rock the way Nick was, so Nick found another pop station, a nice compromise. “Good song,” he commented, as Michelle Branch’s

“Goodbye to You” played.

“Yeah, much better,” Brian agreed.

“So... did you watch the Grammys?” The ceremony had been shown on TV

several weeks earlier.

“Yeah,” Brian answered tonelessly. “Maybe we’ll be there next year.”

“Yeah. Maybe we’ll win next year.”

Brian snorted and grinned over at Nick. “Yeah. Right.” It had become something of a joke between the group members now; they had been nominated for Grammys several years, but had never won. It was an honor just to be nominated, and they were grateful, but they had come to the consensus that despite the quality of their music, they would probably never win. “Boybands” just never got very far when it came to that sort of thing. Dismissed by critics, scoffed at by other artists, they felt they would never be accepted as serious, professional musicians.

It was disheartening, but that was just one of the downfalls of being a five-member pop group. They would forever be compared to New Kids on the Block and, though they had proven they could sing a cappella and write their own music, they would always be thought of as nothing but a talentless, lip-syncing boyband.

“So, have you talked to the guys lately?” Brian asked in his Kentucky drawl.

“Nope,” replied Nick. “Have you?”

“Yeah, I talked to Kevin the other day.”

“Let me guess – he called you, right?”

“Yeah.”

Nick chuckled. “Figured. Daddy Kevin, always watching out for his baby cousin.”

“Always,” Brian repeated with a grin, adding in an exaggerated drawl, “He’s mah cousin, ya know. I’ve known him all mah life.”

Nick snickered; it was fun to tease Kevin about his more-than-obvious comments.

That particular interview, done on the set of the “As Long As You Love Me” video, had become infamous.

Brian started laughing now as well, and as the two sat side by side, cracking jokes about their older bandmate, it seemed once again like old times, like nothing had changed. As Brian eased the car into his driveway and pulled up to the house, Nick smiled, hoping that this visit would rekindle his and Brian’s friendship. After all, they were Frick and Frack, friends forever. Nothing could come between them, nothing could separate them, right?

As the two climbed out of the car, talking and laughing together, neither one knew of the trials they would soon have to face.

***

Chapter 15

“We’re ho-ome!” Brian sang, as he held the front door of the house open for Nick, who hobbled across the threshold on his crutches.

“Hi!” Leighanne’s voice rang out perkily, and seconds later, she stepped into the entrance area, Baylee in her arms. Nick’s eyes widened in surprise; Brian was right –

Baylee had grown. And Leighanne had shrunk. The last time Nick had seen either of them was shortly after Baylee’s birth. Baylee had been so tiny then... and Leighanne had still been rather huge. But the weight she had gained during her pregnancy was gone now, and her figure looked almost the same as it had before she had gotten pregnant, only a few pounds heavier.

“Hey!” said Nick, grinning. “You look wonderful, Leigh!” Leighanne laughed. “Thank you,” she said, returning his smile. “You look great yourself... but what happened to your leg?”

“Stress fracture,” Nick replied, briefly explaining what he had told Brian earlier in the car. Then, he went up to her and bent down to Baylee’s level. “Hey, Baylee,” he cooed, gingerly touching the top of the baby’s head, which was covered with a thin layer of wispy, light-colored hair. He was rewarded with a wide, toothless grin. “Hey, he smiled at me!” he exclaimed excitedly.

Brian laughed, his eyes lighting up. “Well, he likes you.” He walked up to his wife and son, tickling Baylee’s cheek. Baylee smiled again, following Brian with his eyes, which were big and blue. “Baylee, this is Nick, your godfather,” Brian said, talking to his son as if he could actually understand. “You and Nick are gonna have a great time together, aren’t you?”

“Do you want to hold him, Nick?” Leighanne asked.

“Well, I...” Nick looked down helplessly at his crutches.

Leighanne smiled. “Here, come on in the living room. You can sit and hold him.

You probably want to get off your feet anyway, huh?” She led the way into the living room, Nick limping along behind her. The room had changed greatly since the last time Nick had been there. The furniture was the same, but now there was a playpen set up in one corner and an infant seat and one of those baby gyms in the middle of the floor.

“Here, have a seat,” said Leighanne, patting the large sofa.

Nick gratefully sat down, propping his crutches up next to him. Feeling more at ease, he reached out his arms for Baylee. “Come here, squirt,” he said, as Leighanne handed him the baby. It had been awhile since he had held a baby, but he was well aware of how to do it, having played the role of the loving big brother when Angel and Aaron were born. Setting Baylee in his lap, he curled his arm around the back of the baby’s head for support and grinned up at Brian and Leighanne.

“Aww! Bri, isn’t that just the cutest thing? Go grab the camera; I want to get a picture!” Leighanne gushed.

Brian ran off and returned seconds later with a small camera, which apparently they had sitting around the house for all those Kodak moments. Nick figured they must have millions of pictures of Baylee by now, which he was sure to be shown at some point during his visit. Readjusting Baylee in his lap, he smiled broadly as Brian snapped a picture.

“Cute,” Brian agreed, grinning like a little kid. “He’s almost able to sit up on his own, Nick. Watch.” Coming up to Nick, Brian sat Baylee up a little higher and moved

Nick’s hand from the baby’s head to his back. “See?” he said excitedly, as Baylee sat there. “He just needs you to hold him up a little; before long, he’ll be sitting up all by himself.”

Smiling down at Baylee, Nick offered the infant his finger, remembering how Angel and Aaron would always grab onto it when he did that. He assumed it was something all babies did, and it turned out he was right. Baylee immediately wrapped his tiny hand around Nick’s finger. Nick couldn’t help but smile, looking down at those tiny pink fingers clutching his big one.

“You’re gonna make a good dad someday, Nick,” Brian commented softly, smiling as he watched the scene.

Nick grinned back at him. “Really?”

“Definitely.”

Nick patted Baylee’s back gently and smiled at the thought of having a son of his own someday in the future. He hadn’t thought of settling down and starting a family in a long time; it was not something that was even remotely close to happening. Yet, as he sat holding Brian’s child, he realized that someday, he really would like to have a family, a wife and children. And at that moment, there seemed to be nothing in the way, no barrier that could prevent this dream from coming true.

In just over a week, there would be.

***

Nick flew home to Tampa after nearly a week in Atlanta. At the airport, he embraced Brian for a final time and wished he never had to let go, never had to go home. The next morning, he would be checking into Tampa General Hospital for a round of tests, a prospect that frightened him, despite how reluctant he was to admit it.

He had never been in the hospital before, except for the occasional trip to the Emergency Room with a minor injury. He was nervous, and the fact that he knew he was going to have to go through it alone was disheartening. Yet there was no point in telling anyone – he didn’t want to worry Brian or anyone else for no reason.

And so, he pulled away from Brian’s hug, pasted a large smile on his face, and said, “Take care, Frick. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

“You too, Frack,” Brian answered back with a grin, patting Nick’s shoulder. “Rest that leg.”

“Will do,” Nick vowed. “Thanks for letting me come visit.”

“Thanks for coming. I had a great time; it was good to see you again.”

“You too, dude.”

The final boarding call for Nick’s flight crackled through the intercom system, and Nick knew he was stalling. Finally, he forced himself to go, saying goodbye to Brian for a final time and ambling off to his plane, dreading the flight home.

***

Chapter 16

“Good morning, Nickolas. I’m Dr. Kingsbury. How are you doing today?” The question was asked by a smiling woman in her forties, who was dressed in traditional doctor garb – a pair of green scrubs covered with a white lab coat.

Nick left early for the hospital that morning, knowing the sooner he got there, the sooner he would be able to go home. He packed an overnight bag, unsure of how long he would have to stay. At the hospital, he had checked in at the admitting desk and was soon led to a private room upstairs. He had been forced to change out of his street clothes and into a thin hospital gown and had then climbed into his bed, where he had waited impatiently for almost an hour. Now, finally, a doctor had come to see him.

“I’m fine,” Nick replied. “And you can call me Nick, by the way.” It didn’t really matter, but he thought it might put him more at ease if the doctor called him by his nickname. Nickolas was too formal.

“Okay, Nick,” said Dr. Kingsbury. “I’m an orthopedic specialist, and I’m here to check out your leg. Your x-rays were sent here from the clinic you visited last week, and they show not only a fracture in your tibia, but also a small hole in the bone.”

“Yeah, that’s what the doc at the clinic said. So when can we get started on those tests?” Nick didn’t mean to sound rude, but he couldn’t help but feel impatient, nervous as he was. All he wanted to do was get the tests over with and go home as soon as possible.

Dr. Kingsbury laughed lightly. “I don’t usually see patients as eager as you,” she commented. “Well, the first thing I’d like to do is get your history, and then I’ll send a nurse in to draw some blood. After that, I want to run a CT scan. That’s a type of x-ray that gives a three-dimensional view of the inside of the body, rather than the typical black and white pictures. It will give me a better view of your leg bone.”

“Okay...” Nick said, shifting nervously in his bed. “What else?”

“I’m not sure yet; that will depend on the results of your bloodwork and scan,” answered the doctor. “Now, before we get started, I’d like to ask you a few questions.

How exactly did you fracture your leg?”

His cheeks reddening, Nick hesitantly explained about how he had bumped his leg on the side of the bathtub. Dr. Kingsbury did not seem amused, however, and only nodded, jotting down something on the clipboard she held.

“Tell me, did you have any pain in your leg before the injury?” she questioned next.

“Um... yeah, I guess I did a little bit,” Nick said slowly, recalling several times when his shin had pained him before the bathtub accident.

“How long have you been experiencing this pain?”

“Uh... well, I know I had it off and on while I was touring... and that was like three weeks ago... so I guess I’ve had it for about a month, maybe.”

“Okay.” Dr. Kingsbury’s pen flew across her clipboard as she scribbled something else. “And have you had any other symptoms? Pain anywhere else, fatigue, anything?”

“No pain anywhere else, no,” Nick said quickly. “As far as fatigue, yeah, I’ve been tired lately, but I also was on the road for a month, so that’s why.” Dr. Kingsbury nodded, still writing. “Anything else? Weakness, numbness, weight loss?”

Nick frowned. “Weight loss, yeah. But not the other things. And I’ve been

working out and eating better, trying to lose weight, you know, so I don’t think that has anything to do with anything.”

Another nod was the doctor’s only response as she continued to take notes.

“Um... excuse me, but are you asking these questions for some particular reason?

Like, is there some specific problem you think I might have?” he asked hesitantly.

Dr. Kingsbury stopped writing and looked up at him. “This is just standard procedure,” she replied. “I don’t want to leave out any possibilities.” What possibilities? Nick wondered, but he didn’t ask. Somehow, he had the feeling he wouldn’t want to hear the answer.

***

Later that morning, after Dr. Kingsbury had left, a young nurse came into Nick’s room to take blood. This he dreaded even more than the promised CT scan, for he hated needles with a passion. He recalled having to be held down for shots as a child, and though he no longer kicked and screamed, he was still wary of them.

However, this nurse made for a nice distraction. She was young, hardly older than him, and quite attractive.

“Good morning,” she greeted him with a cheerful smile, pushing a small cart into the room with her. “I’m Megan, and I’m just here to draw some blood.”

“I’m Nick,” Nick said, offering her a flirty half-smile. She blushed and quickly turned around to her cart, which apparently contained medical supplies. Nick could see a small rack of glass vials on top, some of them containing small amounts of reddish liquid. He squirmed in his bed.

“Hold out your arm, please,” Megan said, turning back to face him. Nick obeyed, reluctantly turning his arm palm up and holding it out to her. She wrapped a thick strip of rubber around his upper arm and then rubbed the inside of his elbow with a cotton ball wet with antiseptic. Nick winced as the cold liquid touched the sensitive skin.

Megan smiled. “Sorry,” she apologized. She turned back to her cart, and Nick knew she was preparing the syringe. His hands grew clammy, and he tried to keep his mind off of blood and needles by gazing at Megan’s rear end, which looked quite nice in her pink scrub pants. Quickly averting his eyes as she turned back around, he gritted his teeth and prepared for pain, trying his best to keep a brave face.

“This will only hurt a second,” Megan said dutifully, holding up the syringe. Nick looked away as she slid it into the crook of his arm; he had been told before that it would hurt less if he wasn’t watching it. This obviously wasn’t true, for he definitely felt the sharp point of the needle as it punctured his skin. He grimaced and tried not to flinch.

“There, all done,” Megan said soothingly, a moment later, pressing a cotton ball to the needle wound and securing it with a band-aid. Removing the rubber band from his arm, she said, “You did great, Nick.”

“Uh... so did you. I didn’t feel a thing,” Nick lied, putting on his macho act.

Megan smiled. “Really? Good. I’m a little new at this, so that’s good to hear,” she admitted.

Nick laughed, just relieved that it was over.

***

The CT scan later that day turned out to be much less painful than the blood test.

In fact, it wasn’t painful at all, except for the small injection Nick was given before the test. “It’s just some fluid to make your bones show up better on the scan,” the technician told him before giving him the shot.

After that, Nick was forced to sit and wait awhile while the fluid absorbed into his bones; then he was taken to a small room with a large, tubular contraption in the center.

“Oh no,” Nick groaned under his breath, realizing he was going to be put in that tube; he had seen this done on TV, and it did not look exactly pleasant.

“You’re not claustrophobic, are you?” the tech asked, helping Nick onto a table positioned in front of the tube.

“No,” Nick replied, thinking that if he wasn’t before, he surely would be after this test.

“Good. Then just lie back and try to remain as still as possible while you’re inside the machine. It gets pretty noisy in there, so keep these headphones on.” He handed Nick a big pair of headphones, which Nick warily slipped over his ears. What was he getting himself into?

He lay flat on his back on the table, and the technician left the room, saying, “I’ll be in another room adjacent to this one, running the machine. There’s a speaker that connects the two rooms, so if you need anything or start to feel claustrophobic, just say the word.”

“Okay,” Nick said nervously and watched as the man disappeared. A moment later, the large machine behind him began to hum loudly and move towards the table on which he lay, slowly encasing him within its tunnel. He squeezed his eyes shut and pictured the ocean, the vast, open expanse of water he loved so dearly. It helped to relax him, and he was able to almost block out the whirring of the machine as he imagined the sound of the waves washing up onto the beach.

The scan took a long time, almost half an hour, but as it went on, Nick realized it wasn’t really so bad and just lay there, trying to be as relaxed as possible. When the scan ended, the tube moved back, leaving Nick out in the openness of the room again. He let out a sigh of relief and removed his headphones just as the technician emerged.

“You did great,” he said, helping Nick off of the table and back into his wheelchair. “The results should be in by tomorrow, and your doctor will discuss you with them then.”

An orderly was waiting in the hall to take Nick back to his room. He pushed Nick in his wheelchair down to an elevator bank at the end of the hallway. When the doors to one of the elevators slid open, Nick was relieved to see that the elevator was virtually empty; the only occupant was a young woman dressed in a light yellow robe and leopard-print slippers. She had an IV pole standing beside her and a hot pink scarf wrapped around her head, contrasting sharply with her pale skin. Nick knew automatically what was wrong with her.

She had cancer.

Nick had visited sick children in hospitals many times with the Backstreet Boys and alone (it had been part of his community service following his arrest the year before), and he was well aware of how to recognize a cancer patient. And though he had met many of them, the sight of those ghostly, gaunt faces and bald heads still made him uncomfortable. He loved meeting such people and making them happy; he hated the disease they had. It scared him, to be honest.

He gave the woman a slight smile, which she returned unselfconsciously. He realized then that he probably didn’t look much better off than she did, dressed in his hospital gown and sitting in a wheelchair. It was almost as if he were one of her... one of them...

Well, sorry, but that ain’t true, Nick thought dismissively. I’m gonna be out of here in another day or two, and everything’s gonna be just fine.

At some point in their lives, most people have that same “It can’t happen to me” attitude.

But the truth is... it can.

***

Chapter 17

Nick didn’t see Dr. Kingsbury again until the next morning. When she finally came into his room, a large manila envelope in hand, it was not with good news.

“The results of your CT scan came back from the lab this morning, Nick,” the doctor said, pulling a black, filmy sheet out of the envelope.

“And?”

“They show what the x-ray showed, a fracture and a hole in your bone. But they’re not conclusive enough, so I want to do a biopsy on your leg later today.”

“A biopsy? Isn’t that... surgery?” Nick asked, heart pounding.

“Very, very minor surgery,” Dr. Kingsbury replied, stressing the word “minor.”

“You’ll be put under anesthesia, but the procedure is very simple. We’ll just take a tiny sample of tissue from the bone in your leg for examination. Your leg will be a little sore for a couple days, but that’s all.”

“My leg’s sore anyway,” Nick muttered.

“Well,” said Dr. Kingsbury with a patient smile, “it won’t inconvenience you too much then.”

“So why do you have to do this biopsy anyway?”

“Like I said, the results of the CT scan were inconclusive.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“It means we need to do more tests, and a biopsy is an excellent diagnostic procedure.”

“Meaning you’ll know what’s going on with me after the biopsy? For sure?”

“Most likely.”

Nick sighed. “Well, what do you think you’re going to find? What do you think caused the hole in my bone?”

Dr. Kingsbury averted her gaze and answered slowly, “It could be any number of things; I’m not really sure at this point. That’s why I want the biopsy done.” Narrowing his eyes at her, Nick had a feeling she wasn’t being one hundred percent honest with him. But, again, he did not press the issue. He would find out the truth soon enough.

***

Late that afternoon, Nick taken to the surgical floor for his biopsy. Having already been given a shot of something to relax him before surgery, Nick was surprisingly unafraid as he was wheeled on a gurney into the pre-op room, where he was visited by an anesthesiologist, who asked him a series of questions and then injected something into the IV line running into the back of Nick’s hand. It was not long before he began to feel very sleepy, and before he knew it, he was out.

When Nick woke up, he was in a totally different room. As he slowly became oriented, the first sensation he felt was pain. His lower left leg was throbbing, and his throat was sore too.

“How are you feeling, Nick?” an unfamiliar nurse asked, coming up to his bed.

“I guess okay,” Nick tried to say, but his voice came out hoarse and scratchy.

Seeing the bewildered expression cross his face, the nurse smiled and said, “The doctors put a tube down your throat during the surgery, which is why your throat is

probably sore. Don’t worry though, it’ll be better by tomorrow.” Nick nodded, not feeling like using his voice anymore right then. The nurse disappeared and returned carrying a glass of water with a straw in it, which she held to Nick’s lips and urged him to sip from. Then she took his temperature and blood pressure and went away to check on other patients. This process was repeated about every fifteen minutes for the next hour or so, and then Nick was rolled back to the privacy of his room.

As he was transferred to his hospital bed, Nick noticed a big, blue brace wrapped around his bad leg; still a little disoriented from the anesthesia, he had not realized it was there before. The thing was rather uncomfortable and bulky, but it made him feel less vulnerable, less cautious about his fractured leg. So he decided not to complain about it and instead turned on the TV and started flipping through the channels, trying to find something to distract him. He settled on Comedy Central, but as he looked up at the TV, he could feel his eyelids growing heavy as drowsiness overpowered him. Before long, he had drifted back to sleep.

***

When Nick awoke, he was surprised to find out that it was morning; he had slept over twelve hours straight. Feeling a little bit like Rip Van Winkle, he sat up in bed, tired of lying down. Wanting to get up and stretch his muscles a bit, he decided to go for a walk down the hall. Easing himself carefully out of his bed, he slid a slipper onto his right foot, ignoring the left one, and retrieved his crutches. Then he hobbled across the room. His movements were slower than usual; he was startled to find that just a few days of lying in bed had weakened him. Hoisting himself around on crutches seemed more strenuous than it had the day he had checked in to the hospital.

Because of this, his walk was a short one. He managed to make it down to the end of his hallway, where he promptly turned around and limped back, knowing he wouldn’t be able to go much further. He reached his room and climbed slowly back into his bed, his arms aching.

Just when he had got himself settled, an orderly came with his breakfast tray.

The food looked rather unappetizing, as usual. Not that Nick was very hungry anyway.

He hadn’t had much of an appetite throughout his hospital stay, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he had taken off a few more pounds in just those three days.

Pushing a mound of rubbery scrambled eggs around with his fork, Nick debated over whether he could manage a few bites or not. He decided he couldn’t and pushed his tray away, making a mental note to hit a McDonald’s as soon as he was released from the hospital.

After the orderly returned to collect his breakfast tray, Dr. Kingsbury arrived, carrying her familiar clipboard.

“Good morning, Nick,” she greeted him, but her lack of a smile and tone of voice told him it was not a good morning, not for her anyway.

“Hey, Dr. Kingsbury,” he said and flashed her one of his half-smiles, remembering that saying about how a smile can brighten someone’s day. Thinking Dr.

Kingsbury was just stressed out about some other aspect of her job, he had no idea that he would soon need the smile himself.

“I have the results of your biopsy, Nick,” the doctor said, standing at his bedside

and glancing down at her clipboard of papers.

“So, what did you find?” At that point, Nick was really more curious than concerned, not considering how serious the possibilities could be.

But then Dr. Kingsbury pursed her lips and looked at him in a way that made his heart flip-flop in his chest, and he knew, right then, that things were very wrong.

“The biopsy confirmed what the x-ray and CT scan hinted at. Nick, I’m very sorry to have to tell you this, but...”

Nick’s heart beat loudly in his ears, and his whole body grew very cold, as if he had just plunged into a vat of icy water. Yet, despite all this, he couldn’t help but hear the rest of the doctor’s sentence, loud and clear.

“... you have cancer.”

***

Chapter 18

“You have cancer.”

With those words, time stood still for Nick, who sat dumbstruck in his bed, staring at the doctor. “C-cancer?” he repeated, his voice shaky and higher than usual.

“I’m afraid so.” Dr. Kingsbury’s tone was gentle, her expression apologetic. “You have what’s called Ewing’s sarcoma. It’s a type of bone cancer.” Bone cancer.

The phrase rebounded through Nick’s brain like echoes in a cavern, and his first thought was, I’m only twenty-three years old. How could I possibly have cancer?

Dr. Kingsbury answered this question for him before he could express it, continuing, “Ewing’s sarcoma affects mostly young people, and it usually forms in the pelvis or leg bones. Yours is in your tibia, your shin bone. It has eaten away at the bone, forming a hole there and causing the whole bone to weaken, which is why you fractured it so easily.”

Nick shook his head, not wanting to hear her words, not wanting to believe it. “A-are you sure? I mean, can’t doctors misdiagnose stuff like this?” he asked hopefully, refusing to accept the diagnosis unless she was absolutely certain of it.

Dr. Kingsbury watched him sadly. “Yes, I’m sure,” she replied. “The x-ray and CT scan pointed to cancer, but I couldn’t be absolutely sure that’s what you had until we did the biopsy. The cells we removed from your tibia were cancerous. That confirmed it

– you have bone cancer.”

Nick took a shaky breath and did not reply. What more was there to say? He could not argue the diagnosis, could not deny the truth. Everything made sense now.

The symptoms he had been experiencing, the tiredness, the weight loss, the pain in his leg... they had all been leading up to this diagnosis.

“I’m very sorry, Nick,” Dr. Kingsbury. “If you want, I’ll leave you alone for awhile.” She waited, and Nick gave a short nod. “Okay,” said Dr. Kingsbury understandingly. “I’ll come back to check on you later, and we can talk more then.” She hesitated a moment, waiting to see if he would say anything, which he didn’t. So, after giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder, she turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her and leaving him in solitude.

Sitting forlornly in the center of his bed, Nick felt like he should be trying not to cry by now, but his eyes were unexpectedly dry. He didn’t feel distraught; in fact, he didn’t feel at all. It was as if his whole body, his whole world, had gone completely numb. He sat there in a haze, blankly looking up at Dr. Kingsbury, yet not really seeing her. His surroundings, the walls, the furniture, everything, seemed to fade away, and the only thing his senses were aware of was that word, that devastating word that had broken his dreams and shattered his world.

Cancer.

***

As promised, Dr. Kingsbury came back later in the day, which Nick had spent the majority of blankly changing channels on the TV, unsuccessfully trying to take his mind off his diagnosis. He shut off the TV now and looked up at Dr. Kingsbury.

“So,” he asked flatly, “How bad is this? Am I going to die from it?”

“I will do everything in my power to keep that from happening, Nick,” Dr.

Kingsbury said, and there was something in her voice that gave him hope. “But I can’t tell you how bad it is yet. I’ll need to run some more tests on you, to see if the cancer has spread. If it’s just in your leg, your chances of survival are very high.”

“And if it isn’t?”

Dr. Kingsbury paused, then answered carefully, “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Nick nodded. “Okay,” he said. “So what kind of tests do you have to do?”

“Well, two of the places this type of cancer usually spreads to first are the lungs and the liver.” Nick blanched, and she continued quickly, “Nick, the hole in your bone is pretty small, and there’s a good chance the cancer hasn’t spread at all. We just have to make sure. I don’t want to scare you anymore than I probably already have, but we just have to make sure, okay?”

“I understand,” Nick said in a whisper. To be honest, he was scared; he was terrified, in fact. But he was also glad to have this woman as his doctor. She seemed to know what she was doing, and she had a way of talking to him that put him at ease. He trusted her.

“Good. Now, to check those areas, we’ll do a chest x-ray and an ultrasound. Both of these are simple, painless tests and won’t take long.” Nick nodded, relieved. However, he sensed there was another part coming to this spiel, and he was right.

“The other part of the body that Ewing’s can spread to is the bone marrow. Do you know what that is?”

“Uh... it’s the stuff inside your bones... it makes blood cells or something, right?” Nick said, regurgitating information he had learned during his tutoring sessions in the early days of the Backstreet Boys.

“That’s right,” said Dr. Kingsbury with a smile.

Score one for Carter, Nick thought, pleased to know that now Dr. Kingsbury wouldn’t think he was a complete moron like so many others did. He really wasn’t, but his tendency to get nervous and stumble over words or say the wrong thing in interviews made it appear that way. He would still never live down the “I resign in Florida” slip-up, and that had been like seven years ago!

“Anyway, to check your bone marrow, we have to do a bone marrow aspiration.

And I’ll be honest with you – that test isn’t very pleasant. But it’s necessary; do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Nick said with a sigh. “So when are you doing all this stuff?”

“Tomorrow,” replied Dr. Kingsbury. “I want to get the results as soon as possible so we know exactly how far along the cancer is and can begin treatment.”

“Treatment... you mean chemo, don’t you?” Nick asked quietly. He had already thought of this likelihood, and it was freaking him out. He knew what chemo did to a person – that was the stuff that made cancer patients so gaunt and pale... the stuff that made them get so sick and throw up nonstop... the stuff that made all their hair fall out.

He raked a hand through his cropped blonde hair and wondered... would it all be gone in a matter of weeks?

“Yes, I’m afraid chemo is usually the first course of treatment with this type of cancer.” Nick’s heart sank. “I know chemo’s no picnic, but it can save your life. You just have to remember that.”

“I know,” Nick said, squaring his jaw. “It’s okay.” Dr. Kingsbury gave him an affectionate smile. “You’re going to get through this, Nick,” she said optimistically. “You’re a fighter; I can tell.” Nick managed a tiny smile. She seemed to think he was brave. But he didn’t feel brave. In truth, he was scared to death.

And that was exactly what he might be facing.

Death.

***

Chapter 19

The following day dawned warm and sunny. Birds chirped outside, and the sun shined brightly in a cloudless, blue sky. Outside, it was the epitome of a perfect day.

But inside Tampa General Hospital, Nick Carter was facing a day full of tests to determine what stage his newly diagnosed bone cancer was in.

Yes, it was a perfect day all right.

Right after breakfast, Nick was taken to x-ray for his first two tests, the chest x-ray and the ultrasound. According to Dr. Kingsbury, these were the easy tests. The hard one, the bone marrow exam, would take place later that afternoon. The chest x-ray and ultrasound turned out to be quite simple and not as uncomfortable as the CT scan he had gone through days before. But the bone marrow was another story.

When Nick was wheeled into a small room with a padded table in the center that afternoon, he really did not know what to expect. He was nervous, but still, part of him was thinking, It can’t be that bad. He was in for an unpleasant surprise.

A nurse and technician greeted him at the door and helped him onto the table.

“Hi, Mr. Carter, I’m Lily,” the nurse introduced once Nick was sitting upon the table. “Has your doctor explained this test to you at all yet?”

“Uh, no, not really,” answered Nick.

“All right. Well, what we’re going to do is insert a needle into your hip bone and extract some bone marrow cells from inside it.”

Nick blanched, the color draining from his face. So it was going to be that bad.

Seeing his face, the nurse smiled understandingly. “We’ll give you a local anesthetic to numb the area and relieve the pain. You’ll probably feel some pressure when the needle goes in, but other than that, it shouldn’t be too bad.” Yeah right, Nick thought, but he nodded and tried not to reveal the fact that he was on the verge of panic.

“I’ll need you to lie on your stomach on the table, Mr. Carter,” said Lily, crossing the room to an area where there was a counter and supply cabinets. Nick re-positioned himself on the table, and Lily came back over to him.

“I’m just going to sterilize the area first,” she said. “This will feel a little cool.” She pulled back Nick’s hospital gown, exposing his back. He flinched as she rubbed a cold liquid over his left hip. “There. Now I’m going to give you a small injection of the anesthetic to dull the pain. This will only hurt a second.” Nick squeezed his eyes shut until he felt his skin being pricked with the syringe.

It really wasn’t bad though, just a regular shot, and he relaxed a bit, thinking the actual withdrawal of his bone marrow could be no worse. After all, it wasn’t even going to hurt, not with the anesthetic.

Lily waited a moment for the anesthetic to kick in, and when Nick’s hip region was numb, she said, “Okay, are you ready, Mr. Carter?” He really wasn’t, but he figured he might as well get it over with. “Sure,” he said through gritted teeth. Lily and her assistant got into position, one on each side of the table.

“Okay, Mr. Carter, you need to hold still while I insert the needle. It will only take a few seconds.”

“’Kay,” said Nick. The technician placed his hands on Nick’s back and shoulder, holding him in place, and Nick felt a pang of fear. This procedure must be pretty bad if

they had to bring people in to hold even adults down...

Nick took a deep breath, trying to keep calm and lie still. Only a few seconds, he told himself, remembering Lily’s words. Then it will be over.

Those few seconds were among the worst in Nick’s life. Keeping his eyes shut tight, he never saw the needle Lily used. But, based on what he felt when it slid into his pelvis, it had to be gargantuan. Although the anesthetic was supposed to have numbed him, Nick felt the needle slid through his skin and into his bone. First there was a great deal of pressure, then pain. Searing, sucking pain that ripped at his insides and brought tears to the corners of his eyes.

Finally, the needle was retracted, and the heavy pain faded, replaced with a dull, burning ache.

“You doing okay?” Lily asked.

“Yeah,” Nick exhaled, swiping the back of his hand across his eyes.

“Good. Your hip might be a little sore for a few days, but other than that, you shouldn’t have any problems. If you’re ready, we’ll get you back into your wheelchair, and you can take off.”

Nick nodded, wincing as he rolled over and got off the table. Lily and the technician helped him hobble to his wheelchair and then rolled him out into the hall, his hip throbbing with every bump, every jostle.

At least it’s over, he thought as he was taken back to his room. He normally wasn’t much of an optimist, but sometimes you just have to try to look at the bright side of things, despite how hard it is. And he knew this was definitely going to be hard.

After all, what could possibly be good about having cancer?

***

Dr. Kingsbury came to Nick’s room to talk to him that night with the results of that day’s tests in her hands.

“Good news, Nick,” she said with a smile, and he gave her a skeptical look. After all the bad news he had gotten, he hadn’t really been expecting to hear anything good.

“What?” he asked.

“I have your test results, and everything looks good. The cancer hasn’t spread.”

“Well, that’s good,” said Nick, but he didn’t feel as relieved as she probably expected him to. When it all came down to it, the fact was that he still had cancer.

“Very good,” the doctor stressed. “This makes your prognosis much better. You can beat this, Nick.” Her tone was encouraging, and Nick offered her a tiny smile he didn’t feel.

“So what next?” he asked, wondering how long he had until he had to start chemotherapy, if that was the route they were still taking.

“Next we’ll begin your treatment,” answered Dr. Kingsbury, confirming what Nick had thought.

“Will I have to stay in the hospital for all that?” he wondered aloud, dreading the prospect of it.

“No. You’ll need to stay for a few more days while we get you started on chemo so that you can adjust to it. But after that, what we’ll probably do is have you use a portable chemo pump so that you will be able to go home and not come back as an outpatient for treatments. I know that would probably work out much better with your

schedule.”

“Yeah,” Nick said in relief. “A portable pump though... uh... how exactly does that work? IV?” He grimaced at the thought of having to be hooked up to an IV all day while he tried to go about his normal activities.

“Actually, not quite. If you decide to go with the portable device, what we’ll do is surgically implant a catheter into your chest, just below your collarbone. The line will feed directly into the catheter so that you won’t have to have an IV in your arm. It’s much easier that way.” She said this very casually, as if it were all perfectly normal-sounding, but Nick’s mouth dropped open in revulsion.

“Wait, what? You want to put something inside me? In my chest?! No, no way!” he exploded, his voice trembling.

“It’s a very simple surgical procedure, Nick,” Dr. Kingsbury said patiently. “Not much worse than the biopsy. And the catheter is very small – the only part that can really be seen is the opening on the outside of the skin, but if it bothers you, just wear a shirt – it’s not noticeable under your clothes.”

“But... but... I’m going to have a freaking tube sticking out of me?!”

“Nick, many patients do it this way. It’s not really as strange as it may sound once you get used to the idea. But if you don’t want the catheter, you can always come in for outpatient chemo treatments. You would have sessions probably three times a week, for a few hours at a time.”

Nick gaped at her. Was she insane? She wanted him to either have a catheter implanted inside his body or come to the hospital three times a week for treatments?

Both alternatives sucked, and he shook his head in frustration. “No,” he said. “I can’t do that, and I’m not having that catheter thing done either.”

“Those are your options, Nick. You have to choose one. I would strongly recommend the catheter. It would be much-‘

“No! God, I’m sick of this! What if I just got up and walked out of here right now? That’s my right, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Dr. Kingsbury said, narrowing her eyes coolly at him. “But without treatment, your cancer will most definitely spread, and you will die. No question about it. Is that what you want to happen?”

The words hit him like knives, and he slowly shook his head, feeling the now familiar prickling sensation in his eyes. He blinked in annoyance, refusing to let himself cry in front of her.

“Nick,” the doctor said, her voice gentler now. “I know this is hard. The treatment for this disease isn’t easy. But it’s the only way to get rid of it. You’re young, you have everything going for you, your whole life ahead of you... you need to fight, Nick. And this is the way to do it. It’s not going to be fun, but it won’t last forever, and it will be worth it in the long run.”

“Yeah. If it works,” Nick said tonelessly.

“Nick, look at me,” Dr. Kingsbury said softly, and reluctantly, Nick obeyed. It was a mistake. As soon as Nick looked up into her face, which was warm and motherly, slightly lined with age, the tears he had fought to keep back rose again. Giving him a smile of sympathy and understanding, Dr. Kingsbury placed a comforting hand on Nick’s shoulder. As soon as he felt the touch, Nick’s tears spilled over.

***

Chapter 20

“I’m sorry,” Nick mumbled, wiping his eyes in humiliation.

“Don’t apologize,” said Dr. Kingsbury. “It’s okay to cry. You men seem to think you have to be all ‘macho’ and put up some tough front... but you don’t. Not in front of me anyway. Go ahead and cry; let it all out.”

Nick smiled wanly. “You sound like a psychiatrist.”

“Well, I did originally intend to go into psychiatry,” Dr. Kingsbury said with a laugh.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Eh... once I did my psych rotation in med school, I decided it was too dull,” Dr.

Kingsbury replied with a shrug. “You don’t get to operate or do any really hands-on kind of stuff when you’re a psychiatrist.”

Nick nodded. “I can see that.”

Dr. Kingsbury smiled. “Well, enough about me,” she said. “Let’s get back to you.”

“I’d rather not,” said Nick, without expression.

“Have you told anyone about your illness yet, Nick? Family... friends?” Slowly, Nick shook his head. He hadn’t called anyone, not even his parents... no one knew. He didn’t want them to know... not yet anyway.

Your illness... Those words repulsed Nick. He didn’t consider himself sick; with the exception of his aching shin, he felt perfectly fine. Those kids he had visited in the hospital, the ones who were so pale and gaunt and bald, they were sick. Not him.

But he knew as soon as he told anyone he had cancer (God, how he despised that word... cancer), they would automatically think of him the way he thought of those children. Sick. Ill. Diseased. And they would feel sorry for him, the way he had always sympathized those poor kids. And sympathy was something he did not want. He wanted to be treated normally, to be teased by the guys, wrestled with by Aaron, even scolded by his mother, for that was what was normal for him. He had a feeling none of that would happen anymore once people knew what was wrong with him.

“Nick,” Dr. Kingsbury said, disrupting his thoughts. “How long do you plan on waiting? You need to tell someone.” Her voice was calm, yet firm. “You can’t keep something like this to yourself. You need support from the people you love. Trust me, that will make it easier.”

Somehow, Nick didn’t think so. But he had always been like this, keeping things to himself, hiding his emotions, bottling up his feelings. Being the youngest member of the Backstreet Boys, he had often been picked on by the older guys. And sometimes, though he would never admit it to them, even today, they had hurt his feelings. But, in trying to prove his maturity, he had hidden this from the others, laughed it off, pretended he didn’t mind.

During tours, he, like them all, occasionally came down with something... a cold, the flu, once even pneumonia... but there was no calling off shows, not for a little thing like sickness... and so he had learned to adapt, to make due, to perform anyway, despite feeling under the weather.

Though he was a singer, he had also become an actor... and a pretty damn good one, he thought. And this, his... cancer, would soon become his toughest role. He wanted to keep it from them – his parents, his siblings, his friends – for as long as he

could, for the longer he kept it from them, the longer he could feel normal.

“Nick? Did you hear me?”

Nick glanced up, realizing he had been spacing out. “Yeah,” he said quickly.

“Yeah, I heard.”

“So you’ll call someone tonight? Your parents... or a friend, maybe?”

“Yes,” Nick lied. “I will.”

“Good,” Dr. Kingsbury said with a smile, and Nick couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty for lying to her.

But, then again, that was just part of the charade. In the next few weeks, he was going to have to do a lot more than lie to a doctor. He was going to have to lie to the people he loved.

***

In the end, Nick settled on the catheter/portable chemo pump option, and Dr.

Kingsbury scheduled him for minor surgery to put in the catheter at the end of the week.

After that, she said, he would probably be able to go home. In the meantime, he would be starting chemo in the hospital so that he get used to it, and Dr. Kingsbury could figure out the proper dose to give him.

The first chemo treatment started the day after these decisions were made, and Nick was terrified. He was not completely naïve; he had heard plenty of horror stories about chemo and its side effects, and he was afraid of what it would do to him.

That morning, right after breakfast (which Nick barely touched, despite less-than-comforting advice from a nurse who came to take his vital signs – “You better eat up while you can because you might not be able to keep anything down later today”), Nick was taken to the “chemo room,” as it was designated.

Just by that term, Nick was expecting something of a dungeon or horror movie morgue, with metal beds and chains, dingy gray walls, cold cement floors... but he was surprised to find himself in a happy-looking pale yellow room with a row of light gray, padded chairs that looked like dentist chairs in the middle. All of these were empty, except for one, which a girl lay back in, an IV line feeding into her arm.

“Your doctor tried to arrange it so you could be in here alone for your treatments because of your celebrity status,” said the nurse who had brought Nick up to the room,

“but there was a bit of a conflict today. Don’t worry though, Claire won’t spill the beans about you.” She motioned to the girl in the chair, who looked curiously over at Nick and offered him a slight smile. Too nervous to manage a smile in return, he simply nodded in her direction.

The nurse pushed Nick’s wheelchair up to one of the chairs, two down from the girl, and helped him into it. “Okay, Nick, my name’s Flora, and I’m going to get you started on your chemo. Sit tight, and I’ll be right back.” She walked away, and Nick rested his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes, feeling slightly sick already.

Flora returned a few minutes later with supplies to start an IV. Nick held his breath and looked away as she slid the needle into his inner elbow, and it hurt, but only for a few seconds. One the line was in, the pain faded, and he swallowed back relief.

Flora taped down the clamp attached to the needle and then hung a bag of liquid on the IV pole next to the chair and attached the tubing from it to the clamp. Moments later,

liquid started dripping from the bag, through the thin tubing, and into Nick’s vein.

“How long is this supposed to take?” he asked, watching it drip.

“A little over an hour,” Flora replied, and Nick groaned, not wanting to spend an entire hour like this. Then again, the only other alternative was lying around his hospital room, and that really wasn’t much better. Flora went off to another part of the room, telling Nick to call her if he started to feel sick or needed anything. Nodding, he closed his eyes and lay back, wishing he would fall asleep, wake up, and discover this was all just one big nightmare.

“So is this your first time?” The voice extinguished his hopes of sleeping through this whole chemo business, and Nick opened his eyes and looked peevishly over at its source, the girl in the other chair.

“Yeah,” he muttered unsociably, looking away and closing his eyes again.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to bother you,” she said, speaking loudly so that her voice carried across the empty chair that separated.

“No problem,” Nick grunted, keeping his eyes shut.

“I’m Claire Ryan, by the way.”

With a sigh, Nick’s eyes flew open, and he looked over at her again. She was the epitome of the typical cancer patient, thin-faced and pale, with a flowered scarf on her head. She was dressed in a t-shirt and baggy sweatpants, with furry leopard-print slippers on her feet. And that’s when Nick realized he had seen her before – in the elevator on the way back from one of his tests. He had been completely ignorant then, pitying her, not knowing he would come to resemble her in a matter of weeks.

“I’m Nick Carter,” he replied, feeling obligated to introduce himself now that she had.

She smiled. “I know.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just nodded.

“So, um... I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but what kind of cancer do you have?”

“Ewing’s sarcoma,” Nick answered, and it pained him to do so, for that meant admitting he did have cancer. “It’s a kind of bone cancer.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Sorry,” Claire said with empathy.

“That’s what you thought? Why, did you hear something about me somewhere?” Nick asked, his heart beginning to race. How could she have known what kind of cancer he had? Had something leaked out of the hospital? Had the media gotten a hold of it?

“What? No,” Claire said, laughing. “Your leg brace – that’s what made me think maybe it was bone cancer.”

“Oh... ohh... okay...” Nick flushed red in embarrassment, feeling like an idiot. “I just thought maybe the media had found out.”

Claire smiled. “I understand,” she said.

Nick managed to return the smile this time. “So,” he said, feeling he should ask her the same question, “what kind of cancer do you have?”

“Leukemia,” Claire replied.

“Oh... so how long have you had it?”

“Almost three years... I just came out remission though.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” said Nick.

Claire smiled sadly. “Yeah, it sucks, huh? But...” Nick waited for her to continue, and when she didn’t, he asked, “But what?” It

was then that he noticed Claire had closed her eyes, and her already-pale face had gone paper-white. “Claire? Are you okay?” he asked in concern, wondering if she had passed out.

“Uh... just a minute...” Claire’s eyes flew open, and she sat forward quickly, whipping something silver out of the crevasse between the arm of the chair and her body. Then she turned her head away from Nick, leaned over, and threw up.

Nick quickly looked away in disgust, but the retching sounds alone were enough to make his stomach churn. Vaguely, he heard Flora hurry over to Claire. “Oh, Claire, honey,” he heard her say, her voice sounding distant and garbled, like a voice in slow motion. As the gagging and heaving continued from Claire’s side of the room, he began to feel hot and clammy all over. He leaned back against his chair, closed his eyes, and tried to take deep breaths, afraid he was going to pass out.

From faraway, the vomiting sounds finally stopped, and then Nick heard Flora’s voice ask, “Nick? You feeling okay?”

“No,” he mumbled, and even his own voice sounded strangely distorted. He was just barely aware of Flora bustling over, and then suddenly, there was a faint humming sound, and the head of his chair was being lowered all the way down, so that he was lying flat. Then, more whirring, and the part with his feet was raised slightly up, so that his legs were on an incline.

“Lie still, Nick,” Flora said gently. “I’ll be right back.” Nick opened his eyes, but his vision was dim and fuzzy and bordered by blackness. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, but his sight did not return. Flora came back then, lifted his head up a little, and placed something cold under the back of his neck.

“Does that feel better?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Nick whispered, the ice pack soothing his sweaty skin. Slowly, he began to feel better, and when he opened his eyes, he could see clearly again. He glanced weakly over at Claire, who was sitting up again and looking better.

“You doing okay, Nick?” she asked, glancing over at him.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “You?”

She shrugged. “I’m fine. I just always get sick from the chemo. Hate to say it, but you probably will too.”

Nick groaned, knowing she was probably right. In fact, the first hint of nausea was already coming over him. He could tell already – chemo was going to suck.

***

Chapter 21

Nick never had a chance to say goodbye to Claire when she left the chemo room half an hour later, for he had his head buried in a basin, puking his guts out. This kept up hours after he was taken back to his room, and as he lay in bed, vomiting repeatedly, he thought for sure he had died and gone to hell. And if he hadn’t yet, he wanted to.

Die, that was. He had never felt so bad in his entire life.

But, eventually, the nausea faded, and the vomiting stopped. Weak and exhausted, yet relieved, Nick fell into a dreamless sleep.

The rest of the week was both boring and torturous, with Nick taking chemo on alternating days. And at the end of the week came what Nick had been dreading the most – the surgery to insert his catheter.

As it turned out, the procedure was barely surgery. Nick was taken to a sterile room, where he was givens injections of local anesthetics and sedatives to relax him and dull the pain. Though he would have rather been asleep, he was awake through the whole thing.

A young male doctor who looked only a few years old than Nick did the procedure, explaining it as he went along. “I’m threading the catheter into your subclavian vein now,” the doctor would say, and though Nick could not really feel the pain, he would wince.

But eventually it ended. The doctor carefully taped a big piece of gauze to Nick’s chest, hiding the catheter before Nick could see it.

“Now,” he said. “Before I let you go back to your room, we need to discuss how to care for your catheter.”

Nick made a face; it sounded like the catheter was his new pet guinea pig or something.

The doctor didn’t seem to notice, though, and continued seriously, “You need to clean the area around the catheter opening and change the gauze dressings daily. For the first two weeks, you have to keep the area dry. Either cover it with plastic wrap while taking a shower, or take a bath or sponge bath and keep it dry. After that, you can shower normally, but make sure you change the dressing as soon as you get done – you don’t want it to stay wet. It should take at least six weeks for the area to fully heal; after that, you can use soap and water on the area and cover the opening with just a band-aid.

Oh, and finally, no swimming.”

Nick had been nodding along, only half paying attention, but at these words, he looked up with a jolt. “No swimming?” he repeated. “You mean just until it heals, right?”

“No... I mean no swimming as long as you have the catheter,” the doctor reiterated. “Catheters can easily become infected, and swimming in dirty water will most likely cause an infection. And when you’re on chemo, infections can be especially dangerous because your immune system is weakened. So absolutely no swimming.” Nick’s heart sank. Swimming was one of his favorite ways of exercising; he loved the water, loved his pool, loved the ocean... and now it was all being taken away from him. Just like everything else. His bone cells, his hair, his looks... his hopes, his dreams, his future...

His life.

***

The following day was Saturday, the best day of the week, in Nick’s opinion. And that Saturday was especially good, for after two agonizing weeks in the hospital, he was finally going home. He had been waiting all week for this blessed day; his song “Is It Saturday Yet?” had taken on new meaning.

As he drove himself home that morning, the world around him seemed much different. Looking out the windshield as he drove, the sky seemed bluer than normal, the grass greener. People were everywhere, in cars, on bikes, walking down the sidewalks... going about their usual business. And though he knew it was irrational, it made him angry. And jealous. How could these people act so normally, like nothing was wrong, when he was on chemotherapy for a form of bone cancer? How could their lives seem so in order when his was in turmoil?

It was so unfair. But life itself was unfair. If things were fair, Nick, who had once had everything going for him, would not have gotten cancer.

But things were not fair.

Nick pulled through the tall gates enclosing his property and parked his car in the driveway. He shut off the ignition but did not get out right away, instead sitting and gazing up at his sprawling mansion. Home sweet home. Well, things definitely weren’t sweet now, but still, he was glad to be home. Opening his door, he struggled to crawl out of the car and grabbed his crutches, opting to leave his overnight bag (more like two-week bag) in the car; he didn’t feel like trying to haul it into the house right then.

The walk up to the front door was slower than ever; Nick felt very weak – whether it was because of the chemo or just lying around for two weeks, he did not know – and his left shoulder and upper chest were tender from the catheter, so trying to hoist himself around on crutches was not at all easy. But eventually, he made it indoors and stopped just inside the foyer, panting, his arms trembling from exertion.

Immediately, he heard the familiar sound of toenails scraping against the hardwood floor as his dogs came tearing into the foyer to greet their master, their tails in the air, happily yapping.

“Hey, boys,” Nick greeted them tiredly, as the pugs scrambled around his feet.

One of them jumped, knocking against his left knee, and he gasped in pain. “Ow, damn you!” he cursed, nudging the small dog away with one of his crutches. Whimpering, the animal slunk away, and when he did not bend down to pet the others, they immediately followed suit.

“God, I’m such a friggin’ loser,” Nick muttered, as he stood there in the doorway, watching the dogs abandon him and still trying to catch his breath from the trek into the house. Only weeks ago, he had been in great shape, his body muscled from working out.

Now it seemed he was already starting to waste away.

Suddenly both frustrated and furious, he slammed the door as hard as he could.

It snapped shut with a bang that shook the entire room. Behind him, there was a loud crash and the tinkling of broken glass.

Turning awkwardly around, Nick saw that his painting of the ocean had fallen off the wall again. Grunting, he leaned his crutches against the wall and, with effort, bent down to pick up the picture. As soon as he did, shards of glass fell from the frame.

Turning it over, he saw that this time, the glass face of the frame had totally shattered.

It was ruined; he would need to get a new piece of glass for it another day.

With a sigh, he sat the painting carefully down on the floor, where it sat forlornly, jagged pieces of glass still clinging to the rim of the frame. Symbolically, it reminded him of his own life.

Broken.

***

Chapter 22

When Nick finally made it into his living room, the first thing that caught his attention was the flashing light on his answering machine, signaling he had new messages. He groaned; having not been home to answer his phone in two weeks, he was sure he would have a ton of messages to listen to.

He was right.

Pressing the flashing button, he was greeted with his mother’s sickly sweet voice.

“Hi, Nicky, it’s Mom. I haven’t heard from you in weeks, darling, and I was just wondering how things were going. Call me back when you get a chance.” Nick gazed sadly at the machine as it played his mother’s message. He almost wished she were here with him now... almost wished she were there to tuck him into bed and bring him chicken noodle soup and 7up like she had when he was little and sick.

But he was an adult now, and his sickness was not just a simple cold or the flu. It was not something a little motherly TLC could fix.

These days, he doubted his mother had any TLC left in her. The only thing she had any tender loving care for was money. Money and fame. He wondered what her reaction would be when she found out he had cancer – would she be sad for him or pissed off that this very well could hinder his career?

Another message had begun to play, and this, too, was from Jane Carter. “Nick, I left you a message two days ago, and you haven’t called back yet. Please just give me a call, honey. I miss you.”

“Yeah right,” Nick muttered, rolling his eyes.

The next message began with a different voice. “Hey, Nick, it’s me, Bri. It’s Saturday night, about... 7:00 pm, and I was just calling to find out how your doctor’s appointment went today – I know you told me you had one. So, they got you all strapped up in a brace or cast or what? Well, call me back when you get home. Later, bro.”

A mix of sadness and guilt tugged at Nick’s heart at the sound of his best friend’s familiar voice. Poor Brian, like everyone else, was still completely in the dark about this whole thing... he still thought it was just a simple fracture. How wrong they both had been.

In between a few messages from reporters, his manager, and people like that, there were more messages from his mother, Brian, and eventually, the other Backstreet Boys. The messages got firmer, more frantic, as they went along.

“Nickolas Gene Carter, this is not funny! I’m worried sick about you; you stop ignoring my calls and call me back right this instant!” his mother practically screamed over the phone.

“Nick, it’s Howie. Please give me or one of the guys a call soon; Brian said you haven’t been answering your phone in over a week, and he and Kevin are freaking out worrying about you – you know what Kevin’s like – and AJ and I have tried to call too, and you’re still not answering, so please, call one of us back and let us know you’re okay,” came Howie’s rambling message.

“Hey, it’s Brian again. Nick, please, please, please call me back when you get this. I’m really worried about you. Did I do something to piss you off? Please, call back.”

Finally, the seemingly endless strain of messages came to an end. Feeling

overwhelmed, Nick flopped back onto the couch and buried his head in his hands. He knew he needed to call everyone... knew he should tell them the truth... but the thought of actually doing that was extremely depressing. Maybe he was still in denial, but he didn’t want them to know. Not yet. It was too soon – he was still trying to accept it himself, and he wanted to hold off their reactions as long as possible.

Still, when he heard the final message, his mother’s voice begging him to pick up the phone, he couldn’t help but obey. When the message ended, he picked up the cordless phone and turned it on. Bringing it slowly up to his ear, he listened to the dial tone for a few blank seconds before reluctantly punching in the number to his parents’

house in Los Angeles.

“Hello,” came his mother’s hassled sounding voice.

“Mom?” His voice sounded raspy, and he swallowed hard.

“Nick! Nick, is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Nick was not sure what to expect next – a sigh of relief, tears maybe? What he got instead was a screamfest.

“Well, it’s about time! Nickolas Gene Carter, where the hell have you been?! I’ve been trying to get a hold of your for almost two weeks! I’ve tried all your houses, and all I get is the answering machine, and your cell phone is never turned on! What the hell is going on?!”

Nick sighed, stalling, trying to figure out what to say, what to tell her. “I’ve been... busy...” he replied lamely.

“With that stripper whore of yours, no doubt!” Jane spat condescendingly.

Leah. Oh God, why did she have to bring up Leah? Didn’t he have enough other shit to think about?

But he didn’t say that. In fact, he didn’t even tell her he and Leah were ancient history. Instead, he followed his mother’s lead and replied flatly, “Yup.”

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that, like you don’t even care! Don’t you realize how worried we’ve all been about you? How could you be so thoughtless and irresponsible?!”

“Sorry.”

“That’s not an apology! You’re not being sincere at all! I want an explanation for your behavior, young man!”

“Don’t ‘young man’ me,” Nick muttered. “I’m not a child anymore, and you can’t keep trying to control my life! It’s not your job to freaking parent me anymore, Mom, not like you ever did before anyway.”

It was a low blow, but his leg was throbbing, his ears were ringing from her shrill, screaming voice, and he was slowly losing control of his emotions. He knew if he didn’t join in the fight, he would probably end up spilling his guts about what had really been going on, and he was not ready to do that. She didn’t deserve the truth anyway, as far as he was concerned.

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit!” Jane hissed. “You should be damn grateful to have me as your mother! Who took you to all those auditions, came to your talent shows, paid for your singing lessons, your acting classes, supported you in every way imaginable? Huh? That was me, and don’t you ever forget it!”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s all about all the time, all the money, you put into me. Well, I’ve more than made up for that by now, Mom. Whose money paid for the house y’all are living in now, huh?”

“This isn’t about the money, Nick, this-“

“Yes, it i s about the money! That’s all you fucking care about, and it’s all you ever cared about! That’s why you dragged me to all that crap when I was little – you were hoping I’d become a star and make you money someday!”

“Don’t you dare say that! That’s not true! I never cared about the money!” Jane protested.

“Well you sure as hell never cared about me either!” Nick fired back.

“Shut up! Shut the hell up! I will not stand here and take this from you!” screamed Jane.

“Fine, then don’t. Bye, Mom.” Nick had pressed the End button on his phone before she could get another word out, terminating the conversation. Letting the phone drop to his lap, he sank back against the couch, breathing heavily, shaking with a mix of frustration, misery, and rage. Nothing like a phone conversation with his dysfunctional, insane mother to get his blood pressure up.

The phone in his lap suddenly began to ring, startling him. He picked it up and looked in the little window that showed the caller ID. Just as he had suspected, it was his mother.

“You blew it, you damn bitch,” he muttered through gritted teeth – he had always had a habit of talking to himself, especially when he was angry. “See if I ever pick up the phone for you again.”

And he hurled the phone across the couch, where it bounced off one arm and came to rest on the cushion next to him, still ringing.

***

Chapter 23

The next item on Nick’s agenda was calling Brian, and this he was dreading even more than calling his mother. He knew there would be no fighting with Brian... but what would he tell him? He wanted to tell the truth, wanted to get the weight off his shoulders, but he couldn’t. Especially not over the phone. He would need an excuse, a reason why he hadn’t answered his phone in two weeks.

In the end, he never did come up with one, but he called Brian anyway, knowing he had to.

Brian answered with a frazzled, “Hello?” and Nick could hear Baylee screaming in the background.

“Uh, hey, Bri, it’s me, Nick. Is this a bad time?”

“Nick! No, no, it’s fine!” Brian cried, his voice brightening. “Where have you been? Are you okay? The guys and I have all been trying to call you, and-“

“Yeah, I know,” Nick cut him off. “I’m really sorry, man.”

“Well, where were you? What’s been going on?” Brian persisted, disregarding the apology.

“Um...” Nick struggled for words, feeling like a cartoon character with an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other, the angel whispering, “Tell him the truth!” while the devil hissed, “Lie! Make something up!” Ignoring them both, Nick finally said, “I can’t really tell you.”

There was a long silence, and then Brian said, “Why not? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“Uh... well... it’s not like you think... you’ll find out soon enough, but... it’s not important now.”

“Well, it sounds important to me.”

“Bri, lay off it, please?” Nick begged.

“Nick, what’s wrong? Why can’t you tell me?” Brian pleaded. “You’re my best friend; I thought we could tell each other anything.”

“We... we can...” Nick said helplessly. “It’s just... you don’t understand... but you will later... I can’t explain it, but I just... I can’t tell you right now.” There was another pause. Then, “Nick, are you trying to pull something over on me? Like when we all decided to leave Jive, and you informed us out of the blue that you were staying with them and putting out a solo album? What are you trying to hide from me?”

“Brian, don’t start with the damn solo album thing again! Jesus, I didn’t realize you guys were all gonna act so pissy about that! It’s not like I was ever planning on leaving the group; we were on hiatus, and I just wanted to do it while I could! It’s always been one of my goals, and I decided to go for it while I had the chance. I was living out one of my dreams with that album!” Might be one of the last dreams I’ll ever get to live out, he added bitterly in his head.

“Nick, this isn’t about your album! Stop acting so self-centered! Can’t you see that we care about you and that we were worried about you while you weren’t answering your phone for two weeks?”

“Self-centered... so that’s what you think I am,” Nick said quietly. “Okay then.

Well, you can call the other guys and tell them I’m still alive. Talk to you later, Brian.” And he hung up on his best friend.

***

A good hour later, still affronted over his argument with Brian, Nick decided it was time for a shower. After two weeks in the hospital, he was sure he reeked of medicine and craved a nice, long, hot shower in his own bathroom to rid him of the stench.

Of course, that was not as easy as it sounded. Leaning his crutches up against the bathroom counter, Nick carefully pulled his t-shirt over his head, his left shoulder aching with the effort. Then he took the bulky brace off his leg, tossed it to the floor, and struggled to remove his boxers, trying to put as little weight possible on his bad leg.

When he was finally undressed, he reached for the roll of Saran wrap sitting on the countertop. Feeling quite odd, he tore off a square of it and stretched it across the large gauze bandage hiding his newly-implanted catheter.

He couldn’t help but laugh as he secured it with duct tape; people across the country had been stocking up on duct tape and plastic sheeting to seal off their houses in case of a terrorist attack. He was doing the same thing with his own body, trying to protect himself from water, from bacteria, from infection, which could wreak havoc on him with his immune system beginning to weaken from the chemo. The chemo... that was his ally, going in to fight the enemy, cancer. Cancer, the terrorist.

Amused with himself, for he had never been much of a metaphorical thinker, Nick limped over to the shower and turned on the spray.

***

When Nick was cleaned up and dressed, the phone rang again. Cussing under his breath in annoyance, Nick reluctantly picked up the cordless in his bedroom and checked the caller ID, expecting it to be either Brian calling back to apologize or his mother calling back to bitch at him some more. He really didn’t want to hear from either of them, not now anyway. To his surprise – but not necessarily relief – the call came not from Littrell, Brian or Carter, Robert, but Richardson, Kevin. Big Daddy Kevin, calling to check in on him, he supposed. He wondered if Brian had already called his cousin and told him about their argument. Nick rolled his eyes, but, knowing he really had no choice but to answer, he turned on the phone and put it up to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Nick,” came Kevin’s drawling voice. “I haven’t talked to you in months, bud, how ya doing?”

He sounded friendly enough, and Nick relaxed, deciding he wasn’t in for a lecture after all. “Yeah... I know. I’m doing okay,” Nick lied. “Just been busy, ya know.”

“Busy with what?”

None of your business, Kevin, Nick wanted to snip at him, but he held back and replied casually, “Oh, nothing much... just the usual kind of stuff.”

“Uh-huh. The guys and I have been trying to get in touch with you for awhile...

you haven’t been answering the phone. We were a little worried about you, you know.

Is there anything going on?”

Yes, Kevin, I have bone cancer, and I’ve been in the hospital for two weeks, Nick wanted to tell him, but he only said, with as much apology as he could muster, “Yeah, I

know, I’m real sorry, Kev. I’ve just been gone a lot, and... uh... I think one of those teenyboppers got a hold of my phone number again because I’ve been getting all kind of crazy fan calls and shit, so that’s why I’ve been avoiding phone calls.” The lie came so quickly to him he was surprised he hadn’t thought of it before, when he had talked to Brian. He shook his head, half-pleased with himself, half-disgusted.

“I thought you had caller ID,” Kevin said wryly.

“I do. I mean, I... did. But, it, uh, hasn’t been working right lately...”

“I see.” Kevin sounded skeptical, and Nick hurried to change the subject.

“So, enough about me. What have you been up to, Train?”

“Train? Haven’t heard that one in awhile,” Kevin said with a chuckle. “Well,

‘Chicago’ wrapped about a month ago, and I haven’t really been up to much since I got back from New York. Just enjoying my time with Kristin, you know.”

“Yeah,” said Nick, trying to hide his bitterness. Dutifully, he added, “How’s Kris doing?”

“She’s great,” answered Kevin, and though Nick could not see him, he was sure his friend was smiling on the other end. Kevin was just like Brian, obsessed with his wife, the total family man. Not that that was a bad thing... it just tended to annoy Nick at times. He couldn’t imagine settling down like that. He used to think he would get married eventually, but now, marriage was just out of the picture. As far as he was concerned, women sucked. Backstabbing, cheating, using, abusive bitches, they were.

Besides, he might not have enough of a future left for marriage. He was no longer the fun-loving, carefree kid he had been just months ago. Now that he had cancer, he had more to think about than girls, parties, and booze. More to think about than even music and his career. His life was turning into a whirlwind of hospitals, doctors, needles, medications. A collage of sickness.

“You there, kid?” came Kevin’s voice.

“Oh, yeah. Um... so Kris is doing good? That’s... that’s great.”

“Uh, yeah... Nick, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Nick replied adamantly. “I’m sorry, I’m just spazzing out here, dude. You know me.” He laughed airily, but Kevin wasn’t buying the spacey dumb blonde routine.

“I talked to Brian,” he said flatly. “You guys had a fight?”

“Not a fight really,” Nick replied carefully. “We just had a little argument.

Friends argue, you know, it’s no big deal. We’re fine.”

“He said you were acting weird, and I’m beginning to see what he was talking about. I feel like there’s something wrong, Nick, like there’s something you’re not telling me.” His tone softening, he added, “You know you can talk to us about anything, right?

Nick?”

God, why did he have to put this guilt trip on him? “I... I know, Kev,” Nick said softly. He knew this was his way out of lying; Kevin was giving him his chance to spill the truth right now. Why didn’t he take it? “But really, Kev, there’s nothing wrong. I just... haven’t been feeling that great the past couple days...” Well that wasn’t a lie at least. “... and I think I’m getting a cold or something.”

“Oh... is that it?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Nick said quickly. Please drop it, please drop it.

“Well, okay. I won’t keep you much longer if you’re getting sick. But the real reason I called you is to confirm our plans for next week.”

“Next week?” Nick asked blankly, his mind racing. What’s next week, what’s next week?

“Yeah, you know, we’re all meeting in Orlando next week still, aren’t we? To work on the album?”

“Oh... yeah, yeah!” Next week? He hadn’t realized it was that soon! They had made these plans months ago, way before the start of Nick’s tour, but being cooped up in the hospital for two weeks had thrown him off. Time had seemed to stand still for him... but life had kept going on around him.

“You didn’t forget, did you?” Kevin asked sternly, almost sounding hurt.

“No!” Nick quickly assured him. “I would never forget that! I just... lost track of what day it was, I guess. But I’m excited! Can’t wait to get started on this album!” He hoped Kevin wouldn’t be able to make out the falseness of his enthusiasm. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to work on the album. He did. It was just that with all this shit going on in his life, the last thing he could think about was music.

Then again, maybe it would make for a nice distraction. And it came at the perfect time too, he supposed. The chemotherapy regime Dr. Kingsbury had set up for him called for one week of chemo by way of the pump he would receive at his next doctor’s appointment and then two weeks off, then another week of chemo, then two more weeks off. It would continue that way for several months, she said. She counted his chemo sessions in the hospital as his first week of chemo, meaning he had the next two weeks free before he would get the pump that would attach to his catheter. So if the guys came next week, it would give him at least a week where he could act normally and stall.

Once he was back on chemo, there could be problems, but he figured he would cross that bridge when he came to it. He knew there was no way they would make any progress on the album with the burden of cancer hanging over all of them, and the guys really cared about getting this album done. It would be unfair to tell them as soon as they got there. Better to wait awhile...

Even in his head, the reasoning didn’t really sound good. He knew he had to tell them. But he wanted to put it off as long as possible. And this newfound logic only gave him one more excuse to do just that.

***

Chapter 24

Nick’s final week alone passed quickly, almost too quickly. It seemed like one minute he was coming home to his house in Tampa after two weeks in the hospital, and the next, he was on his way to Orlando, where he would be checking into the same hotel as the other guys, who were joining him there to work on the album.

Their flights came in at different times, AJ and Kevin from Los Angeles, Brian from Atlanta, and Howie from New York, where he had been for a charity event for his Lupus foundation. But, eventually, they were all there, checked into five adjacent suites at Orlando’s Clandestine Hotel, one of the finer hotels in the area.

Nick was lying on the king size bed in his room, his bad leg propped up on a pillow, when he heard a loud knock on the door. Grunting, he rolled off the bed, grabbed his crutches, and hobbled out of the bedroom, through the living room area, and to the door. He swung it open to find Kevin standing there.

“Hey, kid, how ya doing?” Kevin asked with a smile, eyeing Nick’s leg.

“Hey, Kev,” Nick said, returning the smile. “I’m doin’ all right. You?”

“Just fine,” replied Kevin. “Hey, everybody’s here now, so we’re gonna all meet down in my room, okay?”

“Sure. Just let me get my room key.” Nick found the small key card, shoved it in his pocket, and followed Kevin out of the room. They walked slowly side by side down the hall to Kevin’s suite, where Howie, AJ, and Brian already sat, watching TV.

“Well, looks who’s here!” AJ exclaimed when Nick and Kevin entered the room.

“Heya, Hop-a-long. ‘Sup?”

“Hey, Bone. Nothin’ much,” said Nick with a grin.

“Hey, Nicky!” Howie cried, immediately coming over and squeezing Nick’s shoulder. The left shoulder. Trying to hide his wince, Nick smiled painfully and replied,

“Hey, D.”

And then there was Brian, who, remaining in his chair, only offered a quiet “Hi, Nick” and a tight smile. Nick nodded in acknowledgement.

The three others stood there a moment, noticing the tension between the two friends. The awkward silence was finally broken up by AJ, who said loudly, “Well, don’t just stand there, Kaos, come on in and sit down.” He and Howie scooted over, making room for Nick on the couch.

Kevin took a seat in the chair next to Brian’s and looked around the room, surveying them all. “So,” he said finally. “What are the plans for tonight, guys?

Dinner?”

“Dinner sounds good,” AJ piped up immediately. “Where to?” After some discussion, they settled on T.G.I. Friday’s, and an hour later, sat crowded together in a booth, enjoying a plate of potato skins and cheese sticks as appetizers. Well, four out of five of them did anyway. While the others talked, Nick half-listened, his mind wandering. He couldn’t help but feel pity for himself. Kevin, Howie, AJ, and Brian had nothing to worry about, nothing more to discuss than their families, vacations, and the album. If only they knew all the things that were running through Nick’s mind at the moment.

Howie was the only one who bothered to notice Nick’s lack of interest in their conversation or the food in front of him. “Hey, you okay, Nicky?” he asked, his brown eyes fixed concernedly upon Nick.

“Yeah, fine,” Nick mumbled, gnawing off the end of a mozzarella stick.

“You sure? You’re not saying much,” Howie persisted.

“I’m fine, Howie,” Nick repeated firmly, but did make a conscious effort to join into the conversation after that, not wanting them to get suspicious. Despite the fact that part of him wanted them to know what he was going through, he still vowed not to tell them until he absolutely had to.

Telling them would lift some of the weight from his shoulders, yes. But it would also create another weight, the weight of sympathy. And that was almost worse.

***

The rest of that week was better. Working on the album, writing new songs and pouring over the lyrics they had already written, helped take Nick’s mind off of his other problems. Music had always been his outlet, his escape, and now it was even more so than ever.

However, at the end of the week, grim reality forced its way back into Nick’s life, when he had to commute back to Tampa for his first doctor’s appointment since he had been discharged from the hospital.

The guys were clueless; he had told them it was just an appointment for his leg, to see how his stress fracture was healing. Brian, with whom Nick had silently and unofficially made up with over the course of the week, had offered to come with him, but Nick had adamantly refused. And so, Brian and the others stayed in Orlando, and Nick went alone to Tampa, wondering if this would be one of the last days his secret was safe.

This was the day he would be given his chemo pump and started on his second round of the chemicals... and if it was anything like last time, he would be sick as a dog.

He could claim to have the flu at first... maybe food poisoning would work later on... but eventually, he knew he would run out of excuses, the guys would realize something was going on, and he would have to confess.

But as he had assured himself before, he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

At Tampa General, Nick entered as an outpatient and headed straight to the oncology floor, where he was to meet with Dr. Kingsbury. But of course, it was not as simple as it sounded. Wearing a baseball cap pulled low over his face and a pair of dark sunglasses, Nick limped as swiftly as he could down the hall, trying his hardest to be invisible. The last thing he wanted was someone recognizing him and leaking the story out to the paparazzi... why, then the whole world would find out, his friends and family right along with them.

When he reached the waiting area just inside the oncology department, he noticed several other people slumped in chairs, waiting their turn. Avoiding their eyes, he shambled briskly up to the receptionist’s window and gave her his name, then turned to go and sit down, expecting a long wait. He was pleasantly surprised when the receptionist smiled up at him and said, “Wait right there, I’ll tell Dr. Kingsbury you’re here.”

Nick stood where he was, and only a minute later, a nurse came into the waiting room. “You can come on back now,” she said quietly to him, motioning for him to follow her. As he limped after her through a doorway leading into a hall, he heard one of the people still waiting gripe, “Why the hell does he get to go back first? I’ve been waiting

here half an hour already!”

His cheeks reddening, Nick pretended not to hear and picked up the pace as he followed the nurse out of the waiting room. In the safety of the hallway, he asked, “How come I didn’t have to wait like everyone else?”

The nurse smiled sheepishly. “Well, we figured you wouldn’t want to recognized, so we tried to get you in as soon as possible so you wouldn’t have to sit out there.”

“Oh... well, thanks...” Nick struggled, “but... I don’t think that’s really fair. You don’t have to do that next time; I’ll wait. People will know about this soon enough, I guess.”

The nurse nodded and smiled. “I guess you’re right. Thank you for being so humble. I’ve never treated a celebrity before, and I have to admit, I didn’t expect you to be down-to-earth at all.”

Nick smiled tightly. “Well, not that I’ve ever intentionally acted bigheaded, but, hey, getting cancer is a humbling experience, I guess. We celebrities are people too; we can get sick just like anyone else.”

A flicker of sadness passed through the nurse’s eyes, disappearing as quickly as it had come. “Well, Mr. Carter, come on back with me, and I’ll take your vitals and everything before Dr. Kingsbury comes to examine you.”

“Okay. And you can call me Nick, by the way, I hate the whole ‘Mr. Carter’

thing.”

The nurse smiled. “Okay, Nick,” she said. “And my name is Debbie.” Once they had been properly introduced, Debbie took Nick to a small examining room at the end of the hall, where she sat him down on a padded table with that crinkly white paper on top and took his temperature, blood pressure, and pulse. It all gave him a sense of déjà vu as he thought back to the innocent clinic visit that had started this whole nightmare.

“Your vitals are all great, Nick,” Debbie said, making notes on his chart. “How are things going with your Groshong device?”

Subconsciously, Nick’s fingers traveled to the left side of his chest, where his catheter was hidden beneath his t-shirt and a large gauze bandage. “It’s okay,” he said.

“Not so tender anymore.”

“That’s good. So you’re taking good care of it? Changing your bandages when you’re supposed to and everything?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nick replied brazenly.

Debbie gave him a smile. “Good. Well, I’ll go tell Dr. Kingsbury you’re ready, and she should be in to check you out in a little bit. While I’m gone, you can change into this gown.” She picked up a folded hospital garment from the small counter area in the room and tossed it to him. Nick caught it easily and made a face.

“Aww, do I have to?”

Debbie offered him a shrug and an apologetic smile. “Hospital policy.”

“But I thought I got special treatment...” Nick endeavored, giving her a toothpaste commercial smile.

“Nice try, but no can do. Put on the gown,” Debbie replied with a smirk and left.

Groaning resignedly, Nick sighed and pulled his shirt over his head.

***

Chapter 25

“Hi, Nick, how are you doing today?” asked Dr. Kingsbury with a warm smile, as she entered the room a few minutes later.

“Okay,” Nick replied. “Of course, this is probably gonna be the last time I’ll be able to say that for awhile, right?” He smiled good-naturedly, trying to hide his apprehension of the chemo and the pump and the whole rotten deal.

Dr. Kingsbury smiled back sympathetically. “I know you’re not going to feel 100% all week, but hopefully you won’t be miserable. Because you’ll receive a steady flow of chemo from your pump for about a week rather than an hour of chemo three times a day, the dosage won’t be as high, and your body should react better than it did while you were in the hospital. I’ll also prescribe some medication to help with the nausea.”

Nick nodded. “Okay.”

Dr. Kingsbury gave him a brief exam, then brought out a small, black pouch which looked similar to a camera case, only smaller. “This holds your pump,” she said, holding it up for him to see. “It attaches to your belt and hopefully won’t be too noticeable if you wear a shirt that will hang over it. Now this is the actual pump...” She unattached the velcro holding the pouch closed and pulled out a small tube-like device.

“It has a small line attached to it that will connect to your catheter to distribute the medication. The cycle will run for about a week, until the medication runs out. When that happens, you will simply detach the pump and dispose of it – I’ll show you how to do all that – and then you will have two weeks off chemo. Then you’ll come back to get a new pump with another week’s dosage and so on. Make sense?”

“Yeah, gotcha,” Nick replied.

The doctor smiled. “Great. Well, if you’re ready, I’ll just hook this up to you, and we’ll get you started. The sooner the better, right?” With a wavering smile, Nick managed a nod. “Right.”

***

By that afternoon, Nick was on his way back to Orlando. He drove a good twenty miles above the speed limit most of the way there, hoping he would make it before whatever nausea he might get this time set in. Dr. Kingsbury had lectured him when she found out he had come alone, saying next time he should have someone there to drive for him in case he felt sick. He promised he would, not knowing if that would happen or not. It all depended on how long he could keep this charade up...

By the grace of God, Nick felt pretty good for most of the drive. It was just as he was nearing the exit for a rest stop just outside of Orlando that he felt the first quivering sign of queasiness rock his stomach. Immediately, he signaled and took the exit, speeding to the parking lot of the first place he saw, a McDonald’s. By the time he was out of the car and dragging himself through the parking lot as fast as his crutches would take him, he had his mouth clamped firmly shut and was using all of his willpower to keep from throwing up right then and there.

He stumbled clumsily through the door of the McDonalds and headed straight for the bathrooms in the back, his queasiness coming to a head as the sickeningly greasy aroma of french fries assaulted his senses. Bursting into the men’s room, he made it

into the nearest stall just in time. Ignoring the sharp pain in his shin as he tried his best to kneel down, he leaned over the grimy-looking toilet just as his stomach exploded on him, and he began to heave, the fiery bitterness of vomit stinging his throat When he was finished, he grabbed a wad of thin, economy toilet paper and wiped his mouth, then flushed. Feeling much better, he couldn’t help but peek under the stall to make sure no one else had been in the bathroom to hear his episode. Luckily, there were no feet. He stood up, feeling clammy and weak, but calm-stomached, and left the stall.

Stopping to wash his hands and splash cold water on his face, he made a face at his reflection in the mirror over the sink. His skin looked sallow and pale, dashed with trickles of water and cold sweat. He absently ran a hand through his limp-looking blonde hair, then stopped abruptly and inspected his hands, terrified he would find himself clutching a handful of flaxen locks. But to his relief, his hand was bare, and his head of hair looked just as full as ever. The hair loss hadn’t started yet, and maybe he would be one of the lucky few who didn’t lose their hair from the chemo. Doubtful, but one could always hope.

With a sigh, Nick grabbed his crutches and hobbled back out of the bathroom, heading straight back for his car. He wanted to make it to the hotel before he was hit with the next puke attack.

***

Nick had never been so relieved to see a hotel as he was when he pulled into the sweeping parking lot of the Clandestine. He quickly shut off his ignition and climbed out, glad he had crutches to help him walk, for even his good leg was wobbly. Suddenly as weak as if he had the flu, Nick slowly set off for the entrance of the hotel, praying he wouldn’t be recognized and spoken to. By some miracle, he made it to the elevator in the lobby without being hassled and took it upstairs to his suite on the top floor.

Lurching to a stop (his stomach lurching dangerously with it), the elevator dinged, its double doors sliding smoothly open. Relieved, Nick hobbled out only to spot none other than Brian Littrell moseying down the hall toward him.

“Hey, Nick!” he called, jogging down the hall. “Did you just get back? How was your appointment?”

“Yeah. It was fine,” Nick mumbled.

“That’s good. Well, listen, Howie and I went to the studio and laid down a demo for that song we wrote. Come on and hear it; we think it turned out pretty good!” Nick swallowed a groan and shook his head. “Eh, I better not right now, dude.

I’m not feeling so hot,” he confessed.

Brian cocked his head in concern. “Oh? What’sa matter?”

“Uh... car sickness, I guess,” Nick fibbed. “I just started feeling sick on the way home.” Well, that was the truth anyway.

“Car sickness? I didn’t know you got car sick,” Brian said in surprise. “Air sickness, sure, but car sickness? Especially when you’re the one driving.”

“Yeah, it’s weird, I dunno what’s up with that either,” Nick said with a wan smile and a forced laugh. “But, anyway, I think I’m gonna go lie down for awhile. I’ll come hear the demo later, okay?”

“Okay. Hope you feel better soon, man.” Brian gently clapped Nick on the

shoulder and continued past him, letting Nick retreat to the comfort of his own room, where he made a pit stop in the bathroom, then collapsed into his bed and promptly drifted off into a light sleep.

***

Chapter 26

Later that evening, Nick woke up, relieved to find that he had not asphyxiated on his own vomit in his sleep. Slowly, he pulled himself into a sitting position and waited, testing to see if his nausea would return or not. It didn’t. Feeling much better than he had hours earlier, Nick rolled out of bed and decided to go see what the other guys were up to while he still felt decent.

Stopping in front of the full-length mirror mounted on the bathroom door, Nick adjusted his baggy t-shirt, making sure it fully hid the black pouch for his chemo pump, and combed his fingers through his flattened hair, trying unsuccessfully to smooth down the cowlick that was sticking up on one side. All of a sudden, a pulse of terror rippled through him, and he pulled back his hands and held them out in front of him, palms up, expecting to find them covered in blonde hairs. Once again, though, they were bare.

Letting out a gusty sigh, Nick wiped them on his pants anyway, gave his reflection a final once-over, and hesitantly left the refuge of his room.

Wobbling down the hall on his crutches, Nick stopped outside the door to Brian’s suite and rapped his knuckles lightly against it. He heard muffled noises from inside, and then the door swung open.

“Hey, Nicky!” Howie exclaimed with a grin. “Come on in!” Nick managed a smile in return and made his way into the room to find Brian, AJ, and Kevin sprawled out on the floor in front of the TV, watching Adam Sandler’s Eight Crazy Nights, which they had evidently ordered on pay-per-view.

“Hey, Nick, you feeling better?” Brian asked, taking his eyes off the screen for one minute to glance at Nick.

“Yeah,” Nick replied plainly, sitting gingerly in a chair that was pushed up against the wall, somewhat apart from the others. “Uh... may I ask why you guys are watching a Hanukkah movie when it’s March and none of you are Jewish?” They all ignored him, Brian and AJ suddenly exploding into gales of raucous laughter at whatever had just happened onscreen. Shrugging, Nick focused his attention on the movie as well, figuring the longer he could sit there in silence and not have to do or say anything, the better.

Unfortunately, in less than an hour, the movie had ended, and just as Nick was feeling the now familiar pangs of nausea assaulting his stomach again, Brian asked, “So, Nick, you ready to hear me and Howie’s new demo?”

“Uh... yeah, sure,” Nick replied.

“Great.” Grinning like a kid on Christmas, Brian jumped up, ran over to the CD

player he had set up on the desk, and tapped the play button. Melodic piano music issued over the speakers, soon accompanied by Brian’s soft voice. Vaguely Nick heard Howie join in, his voice blending and harmonizing with Brian’s, but the queasiness in his stomach was increasing, seeming to pump bile up his throat.

One hand lightly massaging his stomach, he clamped his jaws shut and closed his eyes, praying he would not throw up. As he took deep breaths and struggled to hold power over his digestive system, he decided that that feeling, the feeling of having to throw up and not being able to, was one of the worst feelings in the world.

Ironically, as Brian and Howie’s song faded away, Nick’s nausea began to fade too. Relieved and congratulating himself on holding his own, he opened his eyes to find the others, mainly Brian and Howie, looking expectantly at him. He squirmed under

their gaze, realizing he really hadn’t paid a bit of attention to the song. He couldn’t even recall the chorus.

“Well? What did you think?” Brian finally asked, waiting for Nick’s feedback.

“I... I liked it,” Nick said lamely.

Brian could tell he wasn’t being sincere; Nick saw the wounded look in his eyes.

But Howie leaned forward and persisted, “So do you think it would be good for the album?”

“Um...” Nick struggled. “Yeah, maybe.”

Howie and Brian exchanged glances. AJ let out a snort. “Why don’t you say what you really mean, Nick?” he said sarcastically.

“It’s okay if you didn’t like it, Nicky,” Howie said quickly, jumping to Nick’s rescue. “Is there anything you think we could change to make it better? It’s only a rough cut, so maybe if we just-“

“No, I did like it!” Nick quickly insisted.

“You don’t have to cover it up, Nick, it’s okay,” Brian said calmly, but Nick knew that although his friend was trying not to show it, he was disappointed by the lack of enthusiasm with which his song had been met. Despite the fact that they had somewhat drifted apart over the past two years, Nick could still read Brian like a book, and he thought the ability was mutual. But apparently it wasn’t, for Brian didn’t seem to realize that Nick felt like crap and hadn’t even listened to enough of the song to form an opinion. Then again, that was a good thing, for it meant Nick was successfully hiding his illness.

“Well, I thought it was great,” AJ piped up, glancing darkly in Nick’s direction.

Nick shot him daggers, wondering when the hell he had turned into such an asshole.

“Shut up, AJ,” Kevin muttered, his hawk eye immediately spotting the exchanged looks. “We don’t have to make any decisions yet. Let’s just leave this one as possibility, and we’ll come back to it later.”

The others slowly nodded, and Nick was off the hook. But he could feel the nausea making a reappearance, and he sighed, knowing he was going to have to get out of there. He couldn’t hold it back all night.

“I think I’m gonna head back to my room now,” he said quietly, slowly standing up. His stomach churned, and his shin burned, and he yearned to return to his room before the guys grew concerned and learned what was going on. He turned to get his crutches and earned a spurned look from Kevin, who said, his voice stern, “Uh, I don’t recall this meeting being adjourned yet, Nick.”

Nick gave Kevin a look of contempt and shot back, “We’re not the fucking Babysitter’s Club, Kev, and I didn’t realize this was a ‘meeting’. Yeah, some meeting - we all sit on our asses and watch fucking Hanukah movies, and then when I wanna leave, you decide I can’t because all of a sudden we’re doing something important. Well, screw that, I can fucking leave if I want to.”

The four others just gaped at him, Brian’s mouth slightly open in astonishment.

“Ooookay then,” Brian finally broke the silence, still staring at Nick with raised eyebrows.

AJ burst out laughing. “Damn, somebody’s hormonal! Is it that time of the month, Nicky? You PMSing, bud? Sheesh, go down a couple Midols and quit bitching, why don’t you?” he teased scornfully.

“Shut the fuck up, AJ,” Nick replied testily and started to hobble away from

them.

“You know, Nick,” Kevin started after him, “the only reason we were watching a movie is because we were waiting for you to get your ass out of bed and come join us.

Then as soon as you do, you’re ready to leave again. What the hell is going on with you?

If you don’t want to do this, just say it now because the rest of us are pouring our hearts and souls into this, and we don’t want you around if you don’t give a shit.” Nick hesitated, wanting to turn around and tell the truth, explain to them why he was acting the way he was, admit that he was sick and about ready to throw up because of the chemotherapy he was on for his bone cancer. But he didn’t. Keeping his mouth firmly shut to keep from spilling his guts (figuratively and literally), he only shook his head angrily and kept on walking, bile rising in his throat, and tears rising in his eyes.

***

Chapter 27

The rest of the week wasn’t much better. Nick continued meeting with the others, continued insisting he did want to be there, that he did care about the album. And the last part was true. He had missed the guys and wanted to put out at least one more album with them. Music was his life, and it was one of the few parts of it that still seemed to be going right. Or it would be once he got off the chemo and started feeling better anyway. He didn’t want to screw that up. And that was another reason why he was still hiding the truth from the guys – he knew the album would no longer be a priority if they knew he had cancer, and he didn’t want that, partly for his own sake and partly for the others’. They all cared about this album too, and it would be selfish of him to let them quit now on his behalf.

And so, he hid his symptoms as best he could, taking more than the prescribed amount of anti-nausea drugs Dr. Kingsbury had given him, which did help slightly with his vomiting. The week as a whole was not very productive and ridden with tension and arguments, but as the saying goes, “This too shall pass.” And pass it did. By the end of the week, Nick had finished his second round of chemo, and right away, his symptoms disappeared. He was still tired and weak, having not been able to eat much in the past week, but his stomach was finally at ease, and his hair was all still there, and he couldn’t have been happier at the moment.

Though they had no idea what had caused it, Brian, AJ, Howie, and Kevin noticed the change as well.

“Well, you’re sure chipper today, Nick,” commented Kevin, smiling amusedly across the table at Nick, who sat absently humming to himself.

“Huh?” Nick looked up. “Oh... yeah, guess so.” He smiled genuinely and glanced down at the large menu in front of him. “Man, I’m hungry,” he said, feeling the familiar pangs in his stomach. He had not felt them all week, for the nausea had stolen his appetite. But here they sat at the Denny’s a few blocks down from the hotel, waiting to order breakfast, and he was suddenly starving. Pleased at the thought of food actually sounding good once again, he flipped through the menu, practically drooling over the pictures of greasy bacon and stacks of waffles smothered in whipped cream and strawberries.

“Well, good,” AJ said snidely. “You were worse than Sarah when Aunt Flo’s in town.”

“Shut up,” Nick muttered, rolling his eyes in AJ’s direction. But he left it at that, not wanting to let anything spoil his good mood.

***

That night, after a long day of hard work on the album, Howie said, “Hey, guys, why don’t we all go do something together tonight? You know, like old times?” The others exchanged glances; they hadn’t really gone out all together the whole time they had been in Orlando.

“Where would we go?” Brian asked.

“Uh... well... we could hit a movie, maybe, or...”

“Nah, I don’t feel like sitting through a movie. How about a club?” Nick suggested.

The others looked at him in surprise, and Brian immediately took on the big brother role. “Aw, Nick, I dunno... your leg... and...” He glanced warily at AJ. “Well, I dunno, I just don’t think clubbing is such a great idea.”

“Hey, don’t worry about me,” AJ said quickly. “We can go clubbing if you all want to. I’ll be the DD.” He smiled resignedly.

“No, Brian’s right,” Kevin butted in firmly. “Nick, you don’t want to go clubbing on crutches, do you?”

“Yes, I do,” Nick replied determinedly. “I haven’t been clubbing in forever.” This was true; after weeks of leg pains, weeks in the hospital, and weeks on chemo, he hadn’t been out much at all in almost two months. He felt fine, except for the throbbing that almost always accompanied his left leg, but he had pain medication to dull that. He wanted to take advantage of this sudden vitality while he still had it.

More torn looks were exchanged between the group members. Finally, Howie, who seemed to be the swing vote, said, “Hey, if Nicky wants to, I’m in.”

“Aje, you sure you don’t mind?” Brian asked cautiously.

“Nah, it’s all good,” replied AJ.

“I won’t drink either, J,” Nick blurted out. “We can chill together and knock back a couple of Dews, ‘kay?”

Kevin looked at him in surprise. “Since when do you not drink, Mr. I Got Myself Arrested For Getting Drunk Off My Ass And Smarting Off To Cops?” He grinned, his green eyes sparking teasingly at Nick.

“Funny,” Nick smirked. “Actually, I’ve decided to cut back on the drinking, thank you very much.” He crossed his arms smugly over his chest, as if this had actually been a choice he had made on his own. It had not been, of course. He had only been strictly warned by Dr. Kingsbury not to drink during the months he was on chemo, for the alcohol could have a bad reaction with the chemotherapy drugs.

“Oh... well, that’s great, Nick,” Kevin said, looking both perplexed and impressed at the same time.

“Yeah, it is,” AJ added, seemingly much happier himself. “So, Kev... Bri... you in?”

“I’m in,” Kevin replied, and four pairs of eyes turned on Brian.

“Eh, I dunno...” he said, shifting his weight. “Why don’t you four go on ahead? I think I’m just gonna hang here and call Leigh.”

“That figures,” muttered Nick before he could stop the words from escaping his lips.

Brian retracted, his blue eyes turning icy with hurt. “What did you say, Nick?”

“Nothing,” Nick mumbled. “Sorry.”

“Come with us, Rok,” Howie urged. “Let’s all go together; it’ll be fun.” Brian nodded. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go.”

They separated to get ready and were on their way within half an hour. They decided to hit a small club called The Rogue first, hoping it would be relatively uncrowded to reduce their chances of getting recognized. Apparently, another local celebrity had the same idea in mind, for they had no sooner sat down with their drinks when they heard a voice say, “Yo, ‘sup, fellas?”

His stomach lurching at the gratingly familiar voice, Nick looked up from his Mountain Dew to see none other than Justin “I Screw Other People’s Girlfriends” Timberlake standing beside their table, an awkward expression on his face, which Nick

desperately wanted to mangle with his fist.

“Hey, Justin!” Howie said with faked enthusiasm, and a forced, yet polite smile.

“What’s up? I haven’t talked to you in awhile.”

“Yeah, I know,” replied Justin. “I just been chillin’ out here, you know what I’m sayin’? So what’s been up with y’all?”

“Working on our next album, actually,” Howie said.

“That’s cool, yo. Hey, yo, Carter, ‘sup?”

“Nothing,” Nick said stiffly, avoiding Justin’s eyes. He felt Kevin’s elbow jab into his ribs, as if to say, “Be nice; we’re supposed to all be friends, remember?” Yeah, well, friends don’t sleep with friends’ girlfriends, Nick thought bitterly.

“Yo, Nick, can I talk to you a minute?” Justin asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Nick glared sullenly up at him for a moment, then finally said through clenched teeth, “Sure.” Feeling the others’ eyes on his back, he got up and followed Justin away from the table, to a secluded corner of the bar. “What the fuck do you want?” he demanded, as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Yo, chill out, dawg. Look, I just wanted to say... I’m sorry, dude. I didn’t know she was your girl, dawg, I swear! She didn’t tell me or nothin’! She was all hittin’ on me, and I just thought she was some single chick, you know what I’m sayin’? I’d never try to steal your woman; I ain’t like that.”

“No, you’re just the scumball that gets a some random girl drunk and follows her back to her hotel room to fuck her. You should be proud.” Justin blinked and opened his mouth to retort. But after a few seconds of standing there, gaping like a frog, all that came out was a random, “Drums.” Actually, Nick was not sure if that really happened or not because he had already turned and stalked away, leaving Justin to pull his Michael Jackson wannabe dance moves and smack all the ghetto ho’s he wanted to that night. He wanted nothing to do with that little prick ever again. Justin Timberlake could go fuck himself, for all he cared.

“What was that all about?” AJ asked curiously, when Nick returned to his seat.

“Nothing,” Nick replied briefly, taking a long swig of his soda. “Nothing at all.”

***

Chapter 28

After one more carefree week, Nick headed back to Tampa for another doctor’s appointment, at which he would be put on his third round of chemo. “Just another check-up for my leg,” he informed the guys, and they accepted his lie without suspicion.

Now, as he stepped through the doors marked Oncology at Tampa General Hospital, he was returned to the world he had managed to escape for the past two chemo-free weeks, the world of cancer.

Going to the waiting room, he signed in with the receptionist and took a seat, remembering his request to be treated just like any other patient and forced to wait to be seen. Noticing a round-faced young woman watching him from one side of the room, he began to regret this decision. He still had not told anyone about his cancer, and if one of these people leaked it to the press...

Nick quickly sat down in one corner, swiped a random magazine from the rack next to him, and bent over it, hiding his face. Looking down at it, he realized first that it was upside down and second that it was one of those maternity magazines. Feeling his face grow hot, he quickly turned the magazine right side up and hoped anyone watching him would just think his wife was expecting. He tried to focus his attention on an article called “Breast Feeding: Ten Tips For You and Your Baby” and ignore the few others waiting in the room.

Just as he was staring at the illustrations accompanying the article, a female voice said, “Nick?” Nick jumped, and the magazine fell from his hands, landing in a crumpled heap on the floor and making a lot of noise in process. He looked up at the door leading to the examining rooms, but there was no nurse standing there.

“Nick?”

Nick’s head jerked in the direction of the voice and found himself looking over at the girl he had noticed when he came in. She was sitting a few chairs down from him, a magazine turned face down in her lap, marking her spot. She snickered at him and grinned. “Hi.”

“Oh... hi,” Nick said back, still a bit discombobulated and feeling quite stupid.

He quickly bent down, red-faced, grabbed his magazine and hastily shoved it back onto the rack. When he glanced back at the girl, he found she was still looking at him. “Um...

you... you recognize me, don’t you? You want an autograph? I’ll give you whatever, just, please, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell-“

The girl smiled and interrupted him with, “You don’t remember me, do you?”

“Uh...” Nick stared at her. She was obviously a cancer patient, her head covered in a baby blue scarf patterned with small white clouds. Her skin was dull and putty-colored, brightened only by light blue eyes that looked oversized and out of place under barren eyebrows and lashless lids. It was the eyes, though, that suddenly made him realize who he was talking to. “Oh! Uh... Claire, right?” She smiled bashfully. “Yeah. Sorry to put you on the spot... I guess I look a lot different then I did when we met. They’ve got me on some new drugs, and this is one of the side effects.” Grimacing, she looked down at her body, which was no longer that of the frail, gaunt girl he had met at his first chemo session. She now looked to be a good thirty or forty pounds heavier, and her face, which once had been so thin he could make out her cheekbones, resembled a moon pie.

Nick couldn’t help but gape for a few seconds, shocked and frightened by what

had happened to her. He had thought cancer drugs made you lose weight, not gain it.

Selfishly, he couldn’t help but wonder if this would happen to him. God, that was the last thing he needed. He had been teased enough about his weight already. The thought of looking all fat and bloated and bald like the girl sitting next to him made him sick to his stomach.

“Well... sorry to bug you... I just wanted to say hey.” Claire shrugged and picked up her magazine, suddenly looking very interested in it. Nick noticed her pale cheeks turning scarlet and realized he had embarrassed her.

Humiliated by his rudeness, Nick quickly said, “No, you’re not bugging me. I’m sorry, my mind’s a million miles away. Anyway, it, uh, good to see you. How are you doing?”

She shrugged. “Oh, I’m hanging in there,” she replied. “Still not in remission, but hey, they’re trying.” Her voice was bright and flippant, but he could hear the quiver of worry embedded in it. Again, his stomach lurched with trepidation. Was she losing the fight? Would he?

“So, anyway, how are you? Still got your hair, I see.” She smiled slightly at him.

He chuckled, nervously touching the blonde strands. “Yeah... for now. I’m doing okay, I guess. Chemo sucks, but I guess you already know that.”

“Yup,” she laughed. “So... what kind of chemo do you get? Oral or IV?”

“Oh... uh... IV... I’ve got a... a catheter thingie...” He shifted, uncomfortably aware of the small device poking out of his chest.

“Ohh, lucky you. I’ve got one too.” She pulled her t-shirt taut over her chest, and he could make out the tiny bulge. He chuckled nervously, awed by how comfortable she was with the whole thing. He was forever tugging on his shirt, making sure it was loose enough to hide the catheter.

The door leading to the exam rooms opened with a click, and a nurse stepped into the room. “Claire? You can come on back now.” She smiled pleasantly in Claire’s direction, and Claire stood up.

“Well, see ya around, Nick,” said Claire, smiling at him.

“Yeah, I’ll see ya,” Nick replied, returning the smile as Claire followed the nurse out of the waiting room. Reaching over, he picked up the magazine she had left lying on her empty chair, a tattered copy of Reader’s Digest. He flipped it over. It was open to a section called “Laughter is the Best Medicine.” Smiling, Nick decided this was better than reading about breastfeeding and began to read the short entries. He could use a laugh.

***

Chapter 29

When Nick left the hospital later that day, he had traded in his crutches for the dreaded chemo pump. As he made his way out to his car, the switch almost seemed worthwhile, for it felt extremely nice not to have to haul himself around on crutches.

According to Dr. Kingsbury, the fracture was healed, and he could put weight on the leg again. This was easier said than done though, for his leg was weak from six weeks of not using it, and he still had to wear the brace for another week. His gait resembled that of a crippled robot as he painfully limped through the parking lot and prayed no one was watching.

As he climbed into his car, his stomach rumbled with hunger. He had not eaten breakfast that morning out of nerves, and now that the appointment was over, he was famished. He considered stopping for a late lunch on his way out of town, but opted against it. He wanted to make it back to Orlando before the nausea started and also knew that whatever he ate would only come back up again later.

He made it back to the Clandestine in record time and even managed to beat the nausea. Still, though he felt fine at the moment, he decided to retreat to his room rather than tracking down the others, not wanting to take any chances of getting sick while they were around.

He made it up to the suite without being spotted, hung the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the doorknob, and went inside, immediately unstrapping the brace from his leg and pulling off his jeans. He left both in a heap on the floor and climbed into his bed, which a maid had already been by to change.

Slipping between the freshly laundered sheets in just his t-shirt and boxers, he let out a relieved sigh and closed his eyes, hoping he could sleep through the queasiness that he knew would rear its ugly head sooner or later.

***

Nick was awakened by muffled screams and crashes. Sitting up in confusion, he realized the sounds were seeping through the thin wall behind him, from the adjacent suite... AJ’s room.

“What the fuck is he doing in there?” he muttered out loud. He tried to lie back down, but now he could not sleep. Grunting, he rolled over onto his stomach, reached up, and slapped his palm against the wall as hard as he could, several times. Maybe that would get the point across. He waited, listening for a moment, then hit the wall again.

Suddenly, the sounds stopped, and the room felt into silence. With a sigh, Nick rolled back over and slid down into the little cocoon he had created beneath the covers, anxious to return to the dreamless escape AJ had abducted him from.

No such luck. No sooner had he gotten comfortable and let his eyes fall shut then they flew open again at the sound of loud knocking on his door. “Go away,” he murmured groggily, burying his head in his pillow and willing his visitor to leave. But the knocker was persistent and kept beating on the door.

Groaning, he rolled out of bed. As soon as he stood up, pain ripped through his left shin, and his stomach was gripped with nausea. “Shit.” Gritting his teeth and holding his stomach, he shuffled across the floor, not bothering to put on his pants. He flung open the door to find, as expect, AJ standing in the hall. But it was not just AJ –

Brian, Kevin, and Howie were right behind him.

“He emerges!” cried AJ melodramatically.

“What do you want?” Nick muttered flatly.

“What do you want? You were the one beating on the wall.”

“Only to get the noise to stop. What the fuck were you doing in there?”

“Watching ‘Godzilla.’ AMC’s having a cheesy old Asian horror movie marathon!” AJ announced gleefully. In a terrible Japanese accent, he pointed down the hall and screamed, “Godzilla! Godzilla!”

“Shh, AJ, we’re in a hotel!” Kevin hissed, but Brian laughed and started imitating the way the dubbed voices didn’t match up with the people’s mouths in the movie.

Nick just stood there, his mouth pressed into an expressionless line. “Well, could you maybe keep it down in there? Some people are trying to sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the afternoon; why the hell are you sleeping?” asked AJ.

“I don’t feel good, okay?” Nick snapped. “Now leave me the fuck alone.”

“You don’t have to talk to us that way - we get the point, Nick,” Brian said irritably, while AJ just flashed Nick his middle finger behind Brian’s back.

“Sorry,” Nick mumbled unapologetically. “I’m going back to bed; please don’t bug me anymore.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” scoffed AJ, rolling his eyes.

And then he left, the others following without a backwards glance. Only Howie stopped and said quickly, “Hope you feel better soon, Nicky,” then continued on back to AJ’s room.

Nick shook his head, turned, and went back into his own room, shutting and bolting the door behind him. He climbed back into bed and listened, half-expecting AJ

to crank up the volume on his TV again just to piss him off. But, straining his eyes, all he could hear were muffled voices coming from behind the paper thin wall. He started to bury his head in his pillow once more and go to sleep, but when he heard one of those voices say his name, he perked up in interest. Knowing he shouldn’t be trying to eavesdrop, yet too curious not to, he sat up and leaned against the wall, pressing one ear up to it.

He could just barely make out what they saying, but it seemed to go something like this...

“What the hell is going on with him?”

“I dunno... but he looked like crap. Is he sick?”

“Again? He was just sick like two week ago!”

“You know, maybe this is just some scam to get out of doing the album. Maybe he wants out of the group and just doesn’t want to tell us.”

“AJ, Nick wouldn’t do that.” That was Brian. Nick smiled a little, grateful to his best friend for jumping to his defense. “No, I think there’s something more than that going on.”

“But what?”

If only you knew, Nick thought, slowly sliding back down onto the bed. He had heard enough. They were suspicious, and he knew that this was the end of the road. He was going to have to come clean with them, and soon, or they would find out themselves. This week. He had to tell them the truth.

Tomorrow, Nick thought with a yawn, nausea still panging his stomach. He curled up on his side in the fetal position, one arm gently massaging his tender stomach,

and closed his eyes, willing sleep to overtake him.

***

Chapter 30

It was a good thing Nick had taken a nap that afternoon, for the night following it was spent praying to the porcelain god. Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, a weary Nick fell into a restless sleep.

He woke up hours later, feeling not the least bit refreshed. Still, not content to lie in bed all day, he decided to get up. Dragging himself blearily out of bed, he did not notice the wisps of blonde hair that covered his pillow. He felt like utter crap and decided a nice hot shower was the best hope for relief, so he staggered into the bathroom, turned on the spray, shed his clothes, and climbed in.

Sighing through the steam as the warm water massaged his body, Nick took the bar of soap and ran it over his skin, cleansing himself of the previous night’s torment.

Then he squirted a liberal amount of shampoo into his hand, rubbed his palms together, and raked his fingers through his hair, smoothing in the shampoo. Closing his eyes, he continued to knead his scalp. Finally, he pulled back his sudsy hands and placed them under the jet, opening his eyes to watch the white foam wash away. But when he looked at his hands, he was shocked to see that shampoo suds were not all that covered his palm. Stringy, wet, hairs were plastered to his skin.

“Oh my God...” Nick’s voice was trembling just as much as the rest of him as he stared at his hands. Putting them back under the water, he rubbed them together furiously, scrubbing at them, trying to wash the hair off. The wet strands slid off his skin and landed on the smooth white bottom of the tub, working their way down to the drain with the flow of the water.

“Please, no, not yet...” Nick whimpered, gingerly reaching up to his head. With his thumb and forefinger, he delicately touched a small lock of hair. Separating a few hairs from the rest, he gave them a friendly tug. Instead of clinging fast to his scalp, they slid out easily between his fingers. Flicking the hair away in disgust and watching it wash down the drain with the rest, Nick could feel himself rapidly losing it. Tears stung his eyes and slid down his cheeks, mixing with the shower water.

This was it. The much dreaded side effects were starting, and his hair was going.

There was no more denying what was happening to him, and soon, he feared, the whole world would know.

Crying, Nick sank down to a squat, hugging his knees to his chest. His shin throbbed under his weight, but he welcomed the pain. Staring down at the hair flattened against the bottom of the tub, blemishing its pure porcelain whiteness, he felt sick to his stomach. He was not sure if it was just another side effect of the chemo or the product of his own distraught state, but all of a sudden, he let loose, retching onto the tub bottom. The watery beige vomit blended with the water, staining it light brown, and slowly washed away.

With one trembling hand, Nick reached forward and turned off the tap.

Immediately, the water that rained down on him like tears from Heaven stopped, and he was left with his tears alone. The desecrated mix of water, suds, vomit, and hair washed away, but Nick remained, curled up in a ball on the tub’s cold, hard bottom like a frightened child. Only when his skin was dry and covered in goose bumps did he slowly rise and climb out, only to throw a towel around his quivering shoulders and perch on the edge of the tub to wallow in his own misery.

***

Nick emerged from the bathroom awhile later feeling rather depressed, but also extremely foolish. What was wrong with him? He had broken down and bawled like a baby... over hair? Sure, he liked his hair, and he knew plenty of teenage girls liked it too... but it wasn’t the end of the world. It wasn’t even the end of his hair... sure, it would probably all fall out eventually and leave him bald, but it would grow back. And that was better than slowly going permanently bald... which was what he was sure was happening to AJ, whose hairline was probably receding due to excess use of hair dye.

Nick couldn’t help but smile at that; it was one of the few things the guys could tease AJ about. Yes, AJ’s hair, Howie’s random winking, Brian’s Christianity, Kevin’s eyebrows, and Nick’s... well... Nick’s any number of things – his “difficulties with words”, his lack of geographical knowledge, his arrest, his dancing, his former girlfriends, his constipated facial expressions in the “Quit Playing Games” video, his horrible German pronunciation, the pooping in the sock incident, his weight... the list went on and on.

At least his weight wouldn’t be an issue anymore. That was the one good effect of his cancer – he had lost at least forty pounds by now, though the guys had yet to say anything. Then again, he wore his clothes big and baggy now to hide the catheter and the infusion pump bag, so maybe they hadn’t noticed. He just hoped he wouldn’t be put on whatever the hell that Claire girl was taking, or he’d gain it all right back again and then some.

But the issue at hand now was not his weight, but the episode he had just had in the shower. What the hell was that? Was the chemo messing with his emotions now too? He felt like a pregnant woman (or how he imagined a pregnant woman might feel, though he had no real experience in that issue), overly hormonal. Now AJ would really say he was PMSing. If only he would get the food cravings... that would definitely be nice, for when he was on chemo, food lost all its appeal. And to Nick, that was a tragedy.

Nick liked food.

He also liked Nintendo, and that’s what he decided to do next. It would help him take his mind off everything, including his impending nausea. So, turning on the TV

and the Gamecube he had hooked up to it, he grabbed his controller and lowered himself painfully to the floor, stretching his legs out in front of him. He realized his left leg still looked puffy and bigger than the right one. Remembering he had forgotten to put on his leg brace after getting dressed, he half-crawled, half-dragged himself across the floor to retrieve it from the spot where he had dropped it the previous afternoon. He strapped it tightly around his left leg to hide his swollen shin and eased himself back into his spot in front of the television.

Within minutes, he was totally entranced in the game and had forgotten about everything – his leg, his hair, his nausea, his chemo, his cancer, his career, and even his bandmates.

Blasting away an oncoming monster with a big gun, he couldn’t help but smile.

Nintendo ruled.

***

Chapter 31

Nick’s Nintendo-playing was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. Groaning, he paused his game, tossed down his controller, and, with difficulty, got to his feet. He limped to the door and opened it to find, once again, all four guys standing in the hall.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Just wanted to see if you were up yet,” answered Brian. “Come on, we’re gonna go get some breakfast.”

“Eh... I’m not very hungry,” Nick said slowly, his stomach protesting the word

‘breakfast’.

“Come on, Nick, you have to eat breakfast,” Kevin insisted, and just when Nick thought he was going to go into a whole spiel about how breakfast was the most important meal of the day, Brian interrupted and spared him the lecture.

“You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to; just come with us.” Nick really didn’t think that was a good idea, but judging by the looks on their faces, this was something he probably wasn’t going to get out of. So, with a sigh, he replied, “Fine.”

“Good,” said Brian. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah, just let me turn off my game and get some shoes,” Nick muttered, trudging back into the room. He shut off the Gamecube and TV and slipped on a pair of Adidas sandals. Then he started to head to the door, but, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror hung near the door, he stopped and went back to his overflowing suitcase. Digging through the unruly heap of clothes, he found what he was looking for: a squashed Tampa Bay Bucs baseball cap. Tugging on it to reshape it, he jammed it over his still-drying hair, not caring that it clashed with his orange t-shirt.

“You coming, Nick?” called AJ.

“Yeah!” Nick shouted back. He stopped at the mirror one last time, pulling the baseball cap low over his ears and giving his baggy t-shirt a tug, making sure it was successfully hiding the small black pouch strapped to his waist. Then he left the suite.

“About damn time,” AJ teased, playfully slinging an arm around Nick’s shoulders. Nick immediately stiffened, terrified AJ was going to pull off his cap and give him a noogie. But AJ only let go of him and stared at him in concern. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “I’m only playing; why are you so tense?”

“Sorry,” Nick muttered. “I just don’t feel much like playing.” Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the others exchanging worried looks.

“Are you sick, Nicky?” Howie finally asked.

“Yes,” Nick answered, then added, “I think I’m coming down with flu.”

“Didn’t you just have the flu a few weeks ago?” Kevin asked suspiciously.

“Yeah... guess it’s still going around.”

“Maybe it’s not the flu. Maybe it’s mono or something,” Brian suggested.

“Mono? Ain’t that the ‘kissing disease’ or whatever?” AJ scoffed. “Who ya been kissing, Nicky?”

“Ooh, I know who,” Howie jumped in, grinning. “Leah, right? Wasn’t that her name?”

“Ohh yeah, the stripper!” AJ exclaimed, eyes gleaming. Snorting, he added, “Bet mono’s not the only thing he got from her.”

Nick stared at the two of them in shock... how did they find out about Leah? He

hadn’t told anyone about her, except for...

“Brian! Why the fuck did you have to tell them about her?” he accused, angry and embarrassed.

“Nick... I’m sorry... I didn’t know it was that big of a deal. If you had stayed with her, they would’ve found out anyway,” answered Brian calmly.

“Yeah, but they could have found out from me. I don’t like you discussing my personal life with other people. Jeez, you’re worse than a girl with all your damn gossiping.”

“Oh, Nick, chill,” AJ snapped. “We’re just playing with you. What the fuck is wrong with you today?”

“I told you, I DON’T FEEL GOOD!” Nick shouted. “God, I can’t deal with this crap today. Go get your damn breakfast; I’m going back to my room.” He pivoted and started to walk in the other direction, but Kevin grabbed his shoulder. “Oww,” Nick whined, squirming to get out of his grasp.

“Nick, stop it. We’re going out for breakfast as a group, and if you’re still a part of this group, you’re coming with us,” Kevin said firmly, his fingers digging into Nick’s flesh.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘if I’m still a part of this group’?” Nick questioned angrily.

“Well, you haven’t been acting like you’re a part of the group. What is going on with you? One minute you’re happy and eager to participate, and the next, you’re pissed off and wanting to hide in your room all day. What’s the deal with all the mood swings?

Are you bipolar or something? Do we need to get you help?” His tone was calm, serious, and matter-of-fact, but he was only pissing Nick off.

“Butt out, Kevin. You’re not my dad, and it’s none of your business. And no, I’m not bipolar.”

“All right.”

“Can we go now? I’m starving,” complained AJ.

“Yes,” Kevin said. “Let’s go. Come on, Nick.”

Sighing heavily, Nick reluctantly followed them down the hall.

***

Awhile later, the five of them sat in a booth at IHOP, waiting for their breakfast to arrive. Somehow, Nick had gotten scrunched in between Brian and AJ, where he sat, queasy and claustrophobic, ignoring the others’ conversation and praying for a fire or anything else that would offer him an escape.

Kevin brought him out of his spaced out state by nagging, “Nick, take off that cap.

Don’t you have any manners?”

“You’re not my dad, Kev,” Nick reminded him sullenly.

“Cripes, Nick, just take it off!” AJ exclaimed, reaching over and batting the cap off Nick’s head.

“No!” Nick cried, hands immediately covering his hair, his heart pounding fearfully.

“What? What’s wrong?” said AJ.

“Nick?” Brian asked in concern, while Kevin and Howie just stared across the table at him.

Nervously, Nick let his hands fall and waited, watching their faces. They only looked at him, perplexed, and he exhaled in relief, deducing that there must not be any noticeable bald patches on his head yet.

“Uh... here...” AJ said uncomfortably, handing Nick his cap back.

Nick took it wordlessly and set it on his lap, his heart still racing from the scare.

He knew he couldn’t keep doing this. Close calls were more and more frequent now, and if he did not tell them, they would soon find out the truth by accident. But breakfast was not a good time to do that. He would procrastinate further.

Their waitress soon came, balancing a huge tray carrying five plates of food. Nick held his breath as she placed a dish of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast in front of him, trying not to inhale its scent. The others (mainly Kevin and Howie) had forced him to order something. “You’ll be hungry by the time we get the food, Nick,” Howie had said, while Kevin continued to insist that Nick needed to eat breakfast.

Unable to hold his breath forever, Nick slowly exhaled, and the food smell immediately wafted into his nostrils. Normally, the scent of sizzling bacon, browned toast, and hot coffee would be scrumptious, but now it only triggered his nausea. Afraid he was going to throw up right onto his eggs, he quickly said, “I gotta go.” AJ, who was sitting on the end, said calmly, “Go where?”

“Bathroom. Move!” AJ only snickered at his forcefulness. Annoyed and desperate, Nick gave him a shove, sending him spilling of the booth onto the floor.

While the others laughed hysterically, and AJ sputtered in shock, Nick slid out of the booth, stepped over AJ, and took off hobbling as fast as he could on his stiff leg to the bathroom.

***

Chapter 32

In the empty men’s room, Nick sank to his knees on the grubby, tiled floor and retched over the toilet bowl, not really bringing anything up, for his stomach was empty and had been for over a day. Through his gagging, he heard the door swing open.

Unable to do anything, he continued throwing up until his stomach finally settled. As he tore off a piece of toilet paper to wipe his mouth, he heard the apprehensive voice of his best friend ask, “Nick?”

“Bri?” he choked out, his voice shaking.

“Buddy, are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Then why did you ask if I was?

“I told you, I have the flu.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“Aww, I’m sorry. You want me to run you back to the hotel?” Yes, yes, please!

“What about the rest of the guys?” Nick asked weakly.

“I can come back and pick them up.”

“Okay...”

“Okay? Well, you come out when you’re ready. I’ll go wait back at our table, all right?”

“’Kay.”

He heard the door open and bang shut as Brian left and sighed in relief. Weak and shaking, he got to his feet, flushed the toilet, and came out of the stall. As he washed his hands at the sink, he couldn’t help but glance up into the mirror. His face was white and covered in perspiration. Moaning, Nick cupped his hands under the faucet and splashed cold water onto his face. It made him feel a little better. Then he retreated from the bathroom, wanting to get back to the hotel as soon as possible.

No one spoke when he made it back to the table. Brian just stood up and said softly, “Come on, Frack.” Putting one hand gently on Nick’s back, he walked him out of the restaurant and to their rented Durango.

The ride home was silent. When they made it back to the Clandestine, Brian and Nick took the elevator to their floor and went to Nick’s suite.

“What are you doing, Bri?” Nick mumbled when Brian followed him into the room.

“Taking care of you. Come on, get into bed,” Brian said, nudging Nick into the bedroom.

“I’m not a baby; I can take care of myself,” Nick protested, but Brian ignored him. Without a word, he turned down the covers of the bed. Nick climbed in awkwardly, and Brian pulled the covers up around him like a mother tucking in her small child.

“Go to sleep,” Brian said gently. “You’ll feel better.” Nick nodded, rolling over so that his back was to Brian and closing his eyes. “Nick, I think I’m just gonna hang out here until I go pick up the guys at the restaurant. You know, in case you need me.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Nick murmured weakly.

“No, I want to.”

Brian went into the other room, closing the bedroom door behind him, and Nick snuggled up beneath the covers, trying to fall asleep. He was just dozing off when he heard Brian’s cell phone ring in the adjacent room.

“Hello,” Brian answered the phone. “Yeah, we’re here. Nick’s sleeping. Mm-hm.”

It was one of the guys. Nick lay awake, listening attentively to the one-sided conversation.

“Yeah... I don’t know... he swears it’s the flu, but... yeah, I... hang on a minute...” Suddenly, the door to Nick’s bedroom opened again. Nick quickly clamped his eyes shut and breathed slow and deep, feigning sleep. He heard Brian say, “okay, sorry, I just wanted to make sure he was asleep.” The voice faded as Brian stepped out of the room and closed the door again. Still, Nick could hear his muffled voice from the other room.

“Yeah, I’m in his room... didn’t want to leave him alone... anyway, yeah, I’m really worried about him too... he’s been so moody lately... and yeah, I know, he looks like he’s lost weight, and now he’s throwing up. You know, I hate to say it, but I’m beginning to wonder...” He dropped his voice a notch, but it was just loud enough for Nick to make out his next words. “... maybe he has some kind of eating disorder.” Nick’s eyes flew open, and he had to stifle back a laugh. Eating disorder? Yeah, right. Rather amused, he listened to Brian keep talking.

“Well, it fits, doesn’t it? Nick’s always been self-conscious of his weight, and now he’s lost a bunch... and have you seen the clothes he’s been wearing lately? They’re all about two sizes too big for him... to hide the weight loss, I guess... and he doesn’t want to eat, and now he’s throwing up... what, does the sight of food make him hurl now?

Yeah... yeah... I think we do need to confront him about it. If he’s like bulimic or something, we need to get him help... psh, yeah, the press would have a hay day with that one...” Brian let out a sigh. “Well... I guess I’ll let you go then... just call when you’re ready to leave, and I’ll come get you... ‘kay... bye.” Nick heard the cell phone click off and sighed. Now they thought he was bulimic?

What a joke. Still, he could see now just how worried about him Brian was, and he knew it was time to tell the truth. He would do it later, once all the guys were back.

A feeling of dread gnawing at his insides, Nick tossed and turned, unable to sleep with this task looming before him. Of course, he would not have been able to get much sleep anyway, for the gnawing sensation quickly turned to the churning nausea to which he had grown so accustomed. With a moan of discomfort, he forced himself to sit up and struggled to get out of bed. Somehow, in all his tossing and turning, he had managed to entangle his legs in the sheets. His left shin aching and his stomach rippling dangerously, he struggled to free himself and finally ended up tumbling out of bed.

“Fuck!” he screamed, grabbing his swollen leg. Then he quickly let go and clamped his hands over his mouth again, for his stomach had not agreed with being jostled in the fall, and he could feel the burning sensation of vomit alighting his throat.

Just as the door to the bedroom burst open and Brian ran in, Nick threw up, the sour, liquid substance spilling all down his front.

“Oh, Nick!” cried Brian, hurrying over to him. Nick looked up to see an expression of disgust cross his friend’s face, but it vanished quickly. “Come on, Nick, let’s get you to the bathroom.” Brian held out his hand, and Nick took it, letting Brian pull him to his feet. With Brian’s arm around his waist, he limped weakly into the bathroom and sat down on the closed toilet seat.

“Are you done?” Brian asked, wetting a washcloth and handing it to Nick.

Nick nodded, wiping his mouth off with the cloth. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t make it in time.”

“It happens,” Brian said with a slight smile. “And don’t worry about me – I’m used to puke by now. I never realized how often babies spit up.” Nick smiled wanly. “Well, I’m not a baby. You don’t have to hang around and take care of me like Baylee; I’m a big boy.”

“I know, Nick, but...” Brian hesitated, looking mournfully down at him. “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m not bulimic, if that’s what you think,” Nick said with an emotionless chuckle.

Brian paled. “You heard me talking on the phone?”

“Sorry.”

Brian sighed. “It’s okay. Sorry for thinking you were bulimic. I just... well, you look like you’ve lost weight lately, and your clothes are... speaking of clothes, you, uh, ralphed all over your shirt.” Smiling, Brian pointed at Nick’s soiled t-shirt. “Here, let’s get that off of you.” Before Nick could protest, he reached forward, grabbed the bottom of Nick’s t-shirt, and begin to pull it up.

“No,” Nick cried, quickly grabbing the t-shirt, but not before the damage was done. The material fell out of Brian’s hands, and Nick looked up to see a bewildered expression on his face.

“Nick...” he started, staring at the small black pouch that had now been revealed.

“What is that?”

Sighing, Nick carelessly pulled his t-shirt up and over his head, fully exposing not only the pouch, but the catheter, out of which an IV line ran, feeding into the pouch and connecting to the chemo pump. He watched as Brian’s mouth dropped open in shock, and fear flickered in his blue eyes.

“Nicky...” he breathed, and Nick’s heart ached, for Brian almost never called him Nicky. “Nicky... what... what’s wrong with you?”

Inside, Nick was struggling to hold back tears, but his voice was quite calm when he opened his mouth and spoke those horrible, fated words to his best friend.

“I have cancer.”

***

Chapter 33

Brian’s eyes, light blue orbs of shock and fear, flitted back and forth, searching Nick’s face for any sign that this was just another of his infamous practical jokes. But there was not even a hint of Nick’s devilish grin, and it only took seconds for reality to sink in. Nick could almost see it happening, the realization dawning on Brian. He waited for Brian to speak, and finally, he did.

“What... what kind of cancer?” His voice was almost whisper-soft, and Nick had to strain his ears to make out his best friend’s words.

“Ewing’s Sarcoma,” he replied. “It’s a kind of bone cancer.” Brian’s gaze sharpened, his forehead furrowing as he stared at Nick. Then, slowly, his eyes fell upon Nick’s leg, then snapped back up to his face. “You mean... your leg... it wasn’t...”

“Wasn’t just a stress fracture,” Nick finished guiltily. “No, it was a fracture all right, but it wasn’t caused by overuse. Cancer’s been eating away at my bone.” Brian drew in a breath. “Nick... how long have you known?” His tone was not accusing, only shocked and sorry.

Nick averted his gaze and mumbled, “Couple months.”

“A couple months? Nick! H-how could you not tell us?!” Brian’s voice jumped an octave, and the pained look in his eyes hurt Nick even more than his words.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, staring at his feet. He had been a head taller than Brian for years, but now, suddenly, he felt much, much smaller. “I know I should have told you, and I wanted to... but then I didn’t. I kept it from you as long as I did because... because I didn’t want you to treat me differently. I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me and get all anal and overprotective of me and all that.”

“Oh, Nick...”

His head hung, eyes on the floor, Nick expected Brian to continue, to say something like, “We would never treat you any differently,” but he didn’t. There was a long pause, and just as Nick started to raise his head, a pair of arms gently enveloped him.

Swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat, Nick smiled sadly and wordlessly returned the hug.

***

Nick was lying in bed when the knock sounded on his door. He took a deep breath and climbed off of the bed. Slowly, hesitantly, he walked to the door, his palms sweating, his heart thumping against his ribs.

Brian had left half an hour earlier to pick up the others at the restaurant. “Will you tell them for me?” Nick had begged him.

“Yeah,” Brian had relented glumly. “I’ll tell them.” Now they were back, and Nick knew that, like it or not, he was going to have to face them. Swallowing hard, he opened the door. And there they were, all four of them, looking lost.

“Come on in, guys,” Nick mumbled, standing back and opening the door further to let them in.

Brian stepped inside the suite first, meeting Nick’s eyes as he did so. Nick

blinked and looked away; the grave expression clouding those blue eyes was too much for him to bear.

Kevin, Howie, and finally, AJ followed Brian in. They sat down silently, their expressions grim. Nick figured Kevin would say something first, but surprisingly, it was AJ who started the conversation.

“Nick... please tell me this is some fucked up prank you and Brian cooked up,” he blurted, his voice angry, yet pleading, his eyes boring into Nick’s.

Nick wished he could tell his friend anything other than the truth. But he could not. Hanging his head, he replied softly, “It’s not a prank. I have cancer.” Glancing up, he saw AJ recoil as if he had been slapped, a look of anguish twisting his features.

“Nicky, we want you to know that you don’t have to go through this alone anymore,” Howie spoke up, his voice sounding strained. “We’re here for you, and we’ll do whatever we can to help you through this.”

Nick nodded and tried to smile in gratitude. “Thanks, guys,” he said, knowing they were only trying to be caring and supportive.

“So, Nick,” said Brian, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “Um... I take it your family doesn’t know about this either, do they?”

Nick shook his head and stated flatly, “My mom’s a psychotic bitch.” AJ snorted, but a warning look from Kevin made him stifle his laughter. Seeing this silent exchange, a lump rose in Nick’s throat. This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted them to know. No one could act normally now that something so abnormal was in their midst. There would be no more laughing, joking, roughhousing. Conversations would be solemn and strained; long silences would become frequent. No one would go for long without remembering that Nick had cancer. Poor Nick, poor little Nick...

“You can still laugh, you know,” Nick muttered, rolling his eyes. But AJ didn’t start laughing again. Instead, he exchanged wary glances with the others and focused his attention on his lap. Nick sighed. “Or don’t. Whatever.”

“Nicky... talk to us,” said Howie, leaning towards Nick, his expressive brown eyes locked on Nick’s face. “We all want to know exactly what is going on... when Brian told us you ha-... well, when he told us... he was clueless. We’re all kind of still in the dark about this right now. I mean... if you don’t mind my asking... how... how bad is this?

And how are they treating you? And...” Howie trailed off, shrugging.

Nick took a deep breath and steepled his hands in his lap. “Okay,” he sighed.

“Here’s the deal. I have Ewing’s Sarcoma, bone cancer. It’s in my left leg, in my shin bone. But that’s the only place – it hasn’t spread yet, which is good.”

“Thank God,” breathed Brian.

“As far as treatment goes,” Nick continued, “I’m on chemo at the moment.” A sharp intake of breath from the others made him smirk. “Yeah, chemo... it’s a bitch.” With a sigh, he reached up, carefully sorted out a thin lock of hair, and gave it a yank.

He was met with some resistance, but not much; the hair slipped out of his scalp and ended up loose between his fingertips. Grimacing, he held the tendril of blonde hair up and gave it a careless toss, the wispy locks flying from his fingers and floating to the floor.

“God... your hair...” AJ shook his head regretfully as he watched the thin strands touch the carpet.

“Told you it was a bitch. On top of that, I’ve been puking my guts out on a weekly basis. Because of chemo. Not because I’m bulimic.” Glancing over at Brian, he

saw his friend’s face blanch in guilt. The others squirmed uncomfortably, and Nick realized they had probably all been suspecting the same thing. He shook his head in annoyance, then realized it was all his own damn fault for deceiving them.

“Anyway,” he went on, “this is how I get the chemo.” Swallowing, he grabbed the collar of his t-shirt and stretched it down far enough to expose the small tube protruding from his skin, just beneath his collarbone. A collective gasp sounded, but Nick ignored it, rather enjoying freaking them out, and proceeded to finger the narrow IV line attached to the catheter tube, explaining, “This line connects to a chemo pump.” Letting go of his collar, he lifted the bottom of his shirt to show the little black pouch that the IV

line disappeared into.

There was a long silence, and then AJ burst out, “Oh my God... how in the hell did we not know about this?!”

Nick smirked. “Guess I’m a good actor.”

“Nick-“ AJ’s voice was tinged with annoyance. “You shouldn’t have to act around us. Why didn’t you just tell us as soon as you found out?” Nick shrugged, looking away. “I just didn’t want things to be different between us,” he murmured. “I didn’t want you guys to start acting all weird around me... and...

and feel sorry for me.”

“Then we won’t,” AJ said firmly. “But please, Nick... don’t hide shit from us like this. We’re friends... brothers, actually... and we need each other. I... I know how much I needed you guys when I was going through rehab, and you were there for me. Now you need us. Please, let us be there for you. I know that I don’t know firsthand what it’s like to have cancer... but I know what it’s like to try to go through shit alone. It sucks, man. I know; I’ve been there. Don’t try to deal with this yourself anymore. You need help, you need support... isn’t that right, Kevin? You would know – didn’t your dad need his family when he... Kev?”

As AJ trailed off, Nick looked up and followed his gaze over to Kevin, who, he suddenly realized, had not said a word the whole time they had been sitting there. Now, studying the slumped figure, he was shocked to see tears brimming in the older man’s jade eyes.

“Kevin?”

***

Chapter 34

At the sound of his name, Kevin stood up abruptly. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled hoarsely and bolted, escaping the room before anyone had a chance to stop him.

Nick looked from AJ to Howie to Brian in bewilderment. “What the...” Brian cleared his throat. “He hasn’t said much of anything since I told him. I, uh... I think this has something to do with his dad.”

“Aww, crap. I’m sorry, Rok, I shouldn’t have even brought that up,” AJ

muttered, abashed. “I didn’t think he would react like that... I mean, I thought he was over his dad...”

“He is. Or he was,” said Brian. “But, um...” He shot Nick a sideways glance. “...

now that Nick has... well... you know... I think it’s reopening some wounds. You know what I mean?”

AJ nodded silently.

“Nicky, maybe you should go talk to him,” suggested Howie.

“What am I supposed to say?”

“Well, I dunno... tell him... tell him you’re not going to be like his dad. You’re going to beat this thing.”

Nick stared squarely at Howie. “And how do you know that?” Howie drew back. “Nick, don’t say things like that. Of course you’re going to beat it. You’re a fighter; you’re not going to give up.”

“And Kevin’s dad didn’t fight?”

“That’s not what I meant! I... oh, I dunno... I’m sorry, Nicky... forget I said anything...” Howie sighed, running his hands through his black hair.

Nick shook his head. “It’s okay,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry too... guess I’m just not Mr. Optimism at the moment... I’m more in ‘glass is half empty’ mode.”

“Nick... I know it’s hard, but... you have to be optimistic,” Brian said quietly.

“You have to have faith. This is a serious disease, but it is beatable. This isn’t going to be like what happened to Uncle Jerald. He had colon cancer; it’s entirely different.

You’re going to get through this.”

Nick offered his friend a tiny smile and nodded. If any one of them had enough faith to get them all through this ordeal, it was Brian. Nick only hoped he was right.

***

“Kevin?” Nick rapped his knuckles impatiently against the door. “Train, come on, open up.” Heaving a sigh, he knocked again, louder.

After a minute, the door abruptly swung open to reveal a disheveled Kevin, his eyes bloodshot and watery.

“Kev...” breathed Nick, his eyebrows rising in concern. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry,” croaked Kevin. “What are you sorry for?”

Nick shrugged. “I’m sorry you’re upset. I understand... this is about your dad, isn’t it?”

Kevin didn’t reply, only stepped back to let Nick in the room. Closing the door after Nick had come in, he wordlessly walked back to the couch and took a seat, propping his elbows on his knees and resting his chin in his hands.

“Kevin,” Nick tried again, “I know this is probably really hard for you... after

watching your dad die from cancer, I mean. But... I...” He swallowed hard, squared his jaw, and continued firmly, “I’m not going to die. I’m gonna be fine.” Kevin looked up, fresh tears springing into his eyes as he gazed at Nick. His voice a mere whisper, he whispered, “I hope so.”

***

“It’s just a flesh wound,” mimicked Brian, AJ giggling, as the five of them sat around Nick’s suite watching Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Desperate to take their minds off the obvious, they had opted to spend the night together, like old times, and have a comedy marathon. Brian and AJ had gone out hours before, returning with rented classics such as Monty Python, Airplane, Vacation, and Dumb and Dumber, and a superb assortment of junk food.

Nick sat propped up in bed, while the others took to the floor, sitting amongst crunched in chips and popcorn kernels.

“Ugh, could you guys not do that,” he complained as Brian and AJ catapulted cheese balls at each other, trying to catch them in their mouths. The smell of that artificial orange cheese powder was not helping his already-turbulent digestive system.

“Sorry,” mumbled AJ, his cheeks puffed out with cheese balls (he and Brian had apparently decided it was a good idea to see who could fit the most into their mouth).

“Hey, Nick,” garbled Brian, his mouth also filled, “Ya like sea food?” Knowing exactly what was coming, Nick tried to look away, but not before Brian had opened his mouth wide and stuck out his tongue, exposing an orange mouth of slimy, chewed up Cheetos, some of which were plopping to the floor in spitty blobs.

While Brian laughed like a little kid, Nick clapped his hand over his mouth and got up as fast as he could, stumbling off to the bathroom. As he slammed the door shut behind him, he heard AJ comment, “Jeez, Brian, that joke is so old!” The image of half-dissolved cheese balls forever engrained in his mind, Nick sank to his knees, his shin screaming in protest, leaned over the toilet bowl, and retched. As he was finishing, the door slowly opened. Wiping his mouth off, Nick turned to see Brian hesitantly come in, his mouth empty and cheese-free, his expression solemn.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, Nick,” he said, stricken. “I... I wasn’t thinking... it’s like I almost forgot, you know?”

Nick sighed. “It’s okay,” he said. “I want you to forget. I want to forget. That was the whole purpose of this night, right? Guess it worked.” Forcing a smile, he painfully climbed to his feet.

“Are you okay?” Brian asked nervously.

“Dude, I’m fine,” Nick insisted. “See what I mean? Now you’re gonna feel like you can’t have fun with me anymore. Don’t be like that. It’s okay to joke around and gross me out.”

“I made you throw up,” Brian pointed out.

“I would have thrown up anyway at some point,” Nick said with a weary smile.

“It was only a matter of time.”

Managing a small smile, Brian reluctantly nodded. “Okay,” he said. “You ready to go back in there?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Reaching over to flush the toilet, Nick slowly followed his friend out of the bathroom and into the main room, where he was met with concerned

stares. The five men continued watching their movies after that... but there was a lot less laughter.

***

Chapter 35

The next day, it was back to business.

“We have some decisions to make,” Kevin said seriously, as he, Brian, AJ, and Howie sat crowded around Nick’s bedside. It was not a good day for Nick, who had lain in bed all morning, weak and nauseated. The anti-nausea medication Dr. Kingsbury had prescribed wasn’t working, and he was miserable. But, as always, the show must go on, and they had much to talk about.

“First of all,” Kevin went on, “when are we going to tell management and the record company execs about all of this?”

“And don’t forget the fans,” added Howie. “We’re going to have to do a press conference or something at some point. We can’t keep them in the dark about this for too much longer, or it’ll get out on its own. I mean, once it starts to get noticeable, it won’t be long before someone sees Nick in public and starts the rumors going.” He cast a wary look in Nick’s direction.

Nick only rolled his eyes. He didn’t have to look in the mirror to know how bad he probably looked. Although his hair loss wasn’t noticeable yet, his hair was probably limp and matted from sleep, his skin pale, with dark circles under red-rimmed eyes from lack of sleep.

“I know,” said Kevin. “The question is when. How long are we going to let this go before we tell the truth.”

“As long as possible,” grunted Nick.

“Like you did with us,” AJ said with a smirk. Nick did not reply, feeling a twinge of guilt.

“Well, I think it’s up to Nick,” Brian stated simply. “This is his illness; let him decide what and when and how to tell everyone.”

Nick snorted. “Well, if I had my way, it would be nothing, never, and no way.

But Howie’s right – everyone’s going to find out sooner or later, so I guess we can’t wait too long.”

Kevin nodded. “So... around when do you think we should do this? This week?

Next week? Next month?”

“I don’t know,” Nick sighed. He really did not want to think about this now.

“Um... I guess... let’s wait a couple more weeks. I have my next doctor’s appointment in two weeks; we can do it after that. Who knows, maybe I’ll be in remission by then, and we won’t have to mention it at all.” He grinned sheepishly, somehow knowing that wouldn’t be the case.

Kevin smiled slightly. “I hope that’s the case, Nick. We’ll wait a couple weeks and see then.”

“What about the album?” asked Howie. “Should we put things on hold?”

“No!” Nick said quickly. “No, I want to get this album done.”

“But, Nick... look at you... you don’t feel like working, do you? Not when you’re barfing your guts out all day.” AJ looked sympathetically at Nick.

“I’m only like this the weeks I’m on chemo, and that’s only one out of every three weeks. I’ll be fine,” Nick stated firmly, crossing his arms over his chest in an act of stubbornness. “We’ve waited too long to quit working now.”

“Are you sure?” questioned Kevin, arching one thick eyebrow at Nick. “Don’t feel like you have to be a trooper for us. You’re sick, Nick, you need to take it easy. We

underst-“

“I said no, damn it! We’re not stopping, and I don’t need to ‘take it easy’! I’m fine! Stop acting like I’m some delicate little pansy!” Kevin and Howie exchanged worried glances, but AJ only burst out laughing.

“That’s the spirit, kid! You heard him, guys, we’re not putting the album on hold, and that’s final.”

The corners of his mouth twitching upward, Kevin hesitated only slightly, then nodded. “All right then.”

***

Later that evening, Nick was in bed, flipping through the TV channels in boredom, when his cell phone rang. He debated over whether or not to answer it, then decided he probably should and hauled himself out of bed, staggering weakly over to his backpack. He removed the ringing cell phone from its pocket, flipped it open, and held it up to his ear.

“Hello?” he answered, easing himself back into bed.

“Nick! It’s Aaron,” came his younger brother’s voice.

Nick couldn’t help but smile, for he hadn’t talked to Aaron in weeks. He had been so distracted, he hadn’t really thought about it, but now that he had finally heard from him, he realized he had missed the kid. “Hey, AC! What’s going on, bro?”

“Oh, not much, just thought I’d call and see what was up with you. I haven’t talked to you in forever! How come you never call anymore?”

“I know, I’m sorry,” apologized Nick. “It’s just... I’ve been busy, with the new album, you know, and... well, Mom and I had a falling out a few weeks ago.” He heard his brother’s sigh on the other end of the line. “Yeah, I know. Believe me, we all heard all about it here. She is pissed at you.”

“Still?”

“I think. She doesn’t talk about you anymore though. And we’re not supposed to either, not around her anyway.”

“Oh.” Nick frowned, a lump rising in his throat. It was as if his own mother had disowned him...

“Sorry,” said Aaron. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that...”

“It’s okay. Screw her,” muttered Nick, but despite the anger he felt at knowing that Jane had forbidden even the mention of his name, part of him couldn’t help but be saddened by this... after all, she was his mother. And though she had never been the best mother to him, even during his childhood, he couldn’t help but want her there with him. He was sick, after all. He swallowed hard, imagining her wiping his clammy forehead with a cool, wet cloth and stroking his back as he threw up, then tucking him back into bed and smoothing his hair, the way she had done when he was a child and stricken with the flu. But now she was on the other side of the country, not knowing her eldest son was sick... probably not caring...

“Yeah, seriously,” Aaron agreed with a sigh. “I wish I could live with you instead.”

“Live with me?” Inwardly, Nick groaned. What was he supposed to say to that?

“Oh, Aaron, I don’t think that’s such a great idea...”

“Why not?” the fifteen-year-old demanded. “I haven’t seen you in freaking

forever; I miss you, Nick! And I didn’t get to tour with you, and then you said I could come visit after the tour, but then you never called, and I tried to call you, but you were never home, and your cell was never turned on, and-“

“Whoa, AC, chill!” Nick interrupted his brother’s distressed rambling. “I know I said you could visit, and I’m sorry I haven’t called you, but I’ve been really-“

“Busy, I know,” Aaron replied sharply. “That’s always your excuse.” Defiantly, Nick cried, “Aaron! I am! The guys and I have been working our asses off in Orlando for the past month on our next album. I do want you to come visit sometime, but now just isn’t a good time. Wait till I’m back home in Tampa, and then maybe you can come down.”

“Sure.” Aaron’s reply was flat and laden with sarcasm.

“No, really, you can come and stay with me, and we’ll do all kinds of stuff together. We can take the boat out, do some water skiing or scuba diving or whatever you want. Okay?”

“Whatever.”

Nick sighed and started to rake a hand through his hair, something he always had a habit of doing when he was stressed out by something. But now, remembering that his hair was falling out, he retracted his hand just in time and slammed it against the bed instead. “Fine, whatever, Aaron. You don’t have to get all pissy with me. I really can’t take this crap from you right now.”

“Of course not, you’re probably too busy, right?” Giving Nick no time to answer, he went on angrily, “Well, fine, I’ll just leave you alone then. Bye.”

“Aaron!” Nick protested, but a click told him his brother had already hung up on him. Heaving another sigh, he shut off his own cell phone and dropped it at his side.

“Great... now another member of my family hates me. What else can go wrong?”

***

Chapter 36

“Nick, are you sure you feel up to this?” Kevin asked for the about the ten millionth time since they had arrived at the studio.

With a roll of his eyes, Nick retorted, “For the last time, yes! I’m fine.” Adjusting his headphones, he perched on the edge of the tall stool and closed his eyes, willing the queasy sensation that rocked his stomach to just go away and leave him alone. The group had decided to go to the studio that day to record a demo for one of the new songs they had written together. Kevin, always the worrywart, was convinced that Nick would not feel well enough to record. Nick, on the other hand, was ready to prove that he could. He had sung sick before; this was nothing.

If only he didn’t on the verge of throwing up every few minutes...

“Okay, you ready, guys?” asked Bruce, their producer, from the other side of the glass partition. Inside the sound booth, the five men nodded. The track began to play; it was a fast tempo that would require a great deal of energy and support. As AJ took a breath and started the opening solo, Nick inwardly groaned. Oh, why had he agreed to do this? This song - an up-tempo in which he had a solo part - on this day, one of his chemo days.

The chorus came, and Nick harmonized along with the others, keeping his voice low, saving his energy for the next verse. He could not let them down now, not after he had insisted to Kevin so many times that he would be fine. Sucking in a great breath of air, he opened his mouth and let the music pour out, focusing on the beat of the music and not the pulse of his nausea.

It was not his best, but it was not his worst either. He made it, and that was what counted. As AJ took over for him, singing the next verse, Nick sat back in relief.

Glancing over at Kevin, he saw the older man smile at him and flash a thumbs up. Nick grinned weakly back. He could do this... no problem...

“That was pretty good, guys,” said Bruce when the song came to a close. “Shall we try it again?”

Oh no, not again, not again, Nick chanted inwardly, closing his eyes.

“Um...” He could hear the hesitation in Kevin’s voice and quickly snapped his eyes back open.

“Yeah, let’s do it again,” he said quickly, nodding in Kevin’s direction. This was part of the job; very rarely did they get a perfect take on the first try, and even when they did get a good one, they liked to go back and try it again. There was always room for improvement. It was only a demo, but Nick wanted it to sound good. And if they had to do it again, so be it. He could tough it out.

***

“All right, let’s try another take. That one wasn’t as good as the last one. Nick, you were flat,” Bruce stated matter-of-factly.

Crap. “Sorry, guys,” Nick muttered.

“It’s okay, Nick,” Howie replied cheerfully, while AJ only scowled through the glass at Bruce.

“Didn’t sound flat to me; I thought it was fine,” he argued.

Bruce gave AJ a patronizing look. “Trust me, it was flat. Things sound a lot

different outside the recording booth.”

“He’s right, AJ,” Nick said tiredly. “Let’s do it again.”

“You sure?” Kevin flashed Nick his fatherly look of concern, which Nick chose to ignore. AJ, on the other hand, refused to let the issue drop.

“Look, Bruce, it’s only a fucking demo. Why don’t we just use the first take; that one wasn’t flat, was it?”

“No, but not all the parts were lined up exactly right either. You’re doing it again,” Bruce said firmly, a “cut the crap” expression flickering in his eyes as they bored through the glass at AJ.

AJ opened his mouth to protest again, but Kevin cut him off, simply muttering,

“Drop it, ‘J.”

“It’s okay; we can do it again,” Nick jumped in, his stomach protesting every word. “We want to do our best, even if it is just a demo.” AJ rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine, we’ll do it again.” The music was again cued, and they started the song for a third time. Nick mostly mouthed rather than sang, for the notes just did not want to come out, and when they did, he knew they were less than satisfactory. When they reached his solo part once again, he took a deep breath and, squeezing his eyes shut, belted out his part. Whether it sounded decent or not, he did not know, for just the effort of it sent him into a coughing fit that disrupted the rest of the song.

“You okay, Nick?” Brian asked, as Nick coughed and gagged.

“No,” Nick gasped, holding his precariously gurgling stomach. Sliding off the stool, he glanced back at Brian and mouthed “bathroom,” then took off without a word.

“Where is he going?” he heard Bruce demand as he burst from the booth and took off on running on his peg-legged gait to the nearest restroom, not sticking around to wait for the guys’ explanation.

Once in the sanctuary of the unoccupied men’s room, Nick hurtled himself into one of the stalls, collapsed to the ground, and practically buried his head in the toilet bowl, retching so intensely he was sure he was throwing up major internal organs along with everything else. When he had vanquished his digestive system’s wrath, he cleaned himself up, flushed the toilet, and weakly hauled himself up.

As he started to unlock the stall, the door of the restroom swung open.

Immediately, Nick froze, holding the door of his stall shut. His heart slammed wildly around in his chest, and little beads of cold sweat slimed their way down his back. He knew he must look horrible and did not want to let whoever had come in see him, not unless it was one of the guys.

“Nick? You okay?”

It was Brian. Breathing a sigh of relief, Nick let the door fall open and timidly emerged to face his friend.

“Oh jeez, Nick, you look like hell. Come on, come here.” Putting a strong arm around Nick’s back, Brian guided him to the bank of sinks, where he stood gazing at his macabre reflection while Brian hastily pumped out a long sheet of paper towels from the dispenser. Ripping off the coarse brown paper, Brian turned on the cold water and ran the bunch of paper towels under it, lightly wetting them. Nick stood stiffly while Brian ran the soggy bundle over his face, wiping the perspiration and heat from his skin.

“This is so stupid,” Brian said, shaking his head disapprovingly, as he stared at their reflections, side by side in the mirror. Nick stared too, comparing his sallow,

unhealthy pallor to Brian’s vital, tan complexion. “We should not be trying to record today,” Brian went on. “You should be in bed, not in a recording studio trying to sing.” Nick shook his head. “We can’t put this off because of me. I’ll be fine. I just needed to take a puke break. I feel much better now.” He smiled weakly, but Brian only frowned.

“Stop trying to play it off like it’s nothing. Come on, we are going back to that sound booth, and we’re telling Bruce that we’re done for today. You’re going back to the hotel and getting straight into bed.”

“Damn, Bri, you’re worse than Kev,” Nick joked lightly. “You ain’t my mom.”

“Aren’t, Nicky,” Brian corrected teasingly in a mother/teacher tone. “But,” he added, turning serious, “somebody’s gotta be, don’t they?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, where the hell is your mother?”

“Out in LA, basking in the luxuries my cash has gotten her,” Nick replied dryly.

“Nick,” Brian sighed, “I know you and your mom have had difficulties, and I admit, I’m not crazy about her either. But she’s your mom. You have to tell her about this. And your dad and your sisters and brother. Don’t you care about them? Don’t you want their support?”

“Brian, you’re my brother. You, AJ, Howie, and Kev. I don’t need anybody else.”

“That’s nice of you to say, but you need your family. I think you should call them later today, once you’ve rested up a bit.”

Nick shook his head. “You and the guys are more my family than they are.” Another sigh from Brian. “All right, whatever, Nick. Come on, you ready to go?”

“Back to the sound booth or back to the hotel?”

“Whatever you want.”

Nick hesitated; he really did want to go back to the hotel... but that would mean another day wasted. He’d be letting them down.

“And I know what you’re thinking,” Brian added. “You’re not going to let us down if we go back to the hotel.”

Nick cocked his head in disbelief. Good old Frick... he’d always been able to read Frack like a book. “Okay,” he relented finally. “Let’s head back to the hotel then.” Brian smiled. “Good. Come on.” Putting an arm around a slightly shaky Nick, the two friends slowly headed back to meet the others.

***

That night, Daddy Kevin called a “family meeting” in Nick’s suite.

“So, what’s this little pow-wow all about?” AJ asked, when they were all settled around the living room area. Nick, who lay stretched out on the couch, didn’t know, but he had a feeling it had to do with him.

“I think we need to take a break,” Kevin announced without hesitation.

“What do you mean, ‘take a break’?” Nick asked apprehensively.

“I mean just that – take a short... hiatus, if you will. A couple weeks, maybe?”

“Why?”

“I think we need it. We’ve been working our asses off, and we just need a break from the work and from each other,” Kevin replied. “Besides, I don’t know about you guys, but I’d like to go home and see my family.”

Nick watched as Brian, Howie, and AJ exchanged glances. He could see the longing in Brian’s eyes in particular and knew his friend was yearning to go home to Georgia and be with his wife and son. He hadn’t seen them in weeks; none of them had seen their families in weeks. As for Nick, he hadn’t seen his family in months, but he wasn’t sure they actually counted as “family.” Well, Aaron did... and sometimes their father... but other than that, to hell with them.

“If this is about family, I think it’s a good idea,” he spoke up. “But I hope this isn’t because of what happened in the studio today. I know I sucked, and I’m sorry, but I tried my best, and if you’d just give me a few more days, till I’m off chemo, I’ll be-“

“Nick, stop!” Kevin interrupted. “This isn’t about what happened today at all.

You’re a trooper, buddy, and we appreciated you dragging yourself in there today. But we all need a break. You... don’t you want to go home to Tampa and your dogs and your boat and the ocean and all that?”

As soon as Kevin said those words, Nick’s heart swelled with desire. Yes, he did want to go home... play with his dogs, sleep in his own bed, go out in his boat (when he wasn’t on chemo, that was – he didn’t think the rocking sea would do much for his nausea). “Yeah,” he said wistfully, “I guess I do.” Kevin smiled. “Guys? Any objections?” he asked the others.

AJ shook his head immediately, and Nick knew he was thinking of Sarah. But Brian and Howie both hesitated.

“Nick,” Brian finally said, “are you sure you’re gonna be okay at home by yourself?”

Nick sighed heavily. How did he know that was coming? “Aw, c’mon, Bri, I’m not a baby. I’m an adult now, for crying out loud, I can take care of myself.”

“I know, Nick, but you’re sick and puking your guts out all day, and... what if something happens?”

“It won’t,” Nick said firmly. “So what if I throw up? Big deal – barfing ain’t gonna kill me.” Brian only sighed, not looking convinced. “Brian... you know you want to go home and see Leigh and Baylee, you know you do. So just go to them. It’ll only be for two or three weeks, right? You can call me whenever you want. I can handle myself.”

“Nick, what if I came home with you?” Howie suggested, and Nick knew he had been worrying about the same thing. God, Brian and Howie... the two them put together were worse than Kevin sometimes.

“I don’t need a babysitter, D,” Nick replied grudgingly. “Go home to your mama, enjoy that home cooking while you can.”

“Well... why don’t you come with me then?” Howie offered brightly. “You could stay at my place.”

“No, I want to go home, to Tampa, to my house.”

Kevin nodded. “Well, I think that settles it then, doesn’t it?”

“When are we leaving then?” asked Brian.

“We’re supposed to be in the studio again tomorrow... so how about the day after that?”

“Sounds good.”

And so it was settled. They were going home, Kevin back to Kristin, Brian to Leighanne and Baylee, AJ to Sarah, Howie to his family, and Nick to...

No one.

***

Chapter 37

As it turned out, there were people awaiting Nick’s return, and they called him up his first night back.

“Nickay! Good to talk to ya, dude. How ya been?” boomed the jovial voice of Nick’s longtime friend Brent.

“Fine,” Nick replied dishonestly. “You?”

“Great. Me and the guys are goin’ out on the town tonight, wanna join us?” Nick groaned inwardly; he had a feeling that’s what Brent had called to ask him.

He missed their wild, drunken, “guys night out” escapades, but at the moment, going clubbing and drinking was the last thing he felt like doing. He was still finishing up his third round of chemo and didn’t feel well, not to mention he wasn’t supposed to drink alcohol.

“Aw, Brent, thanks, but no thanks,” he replied. “I’m not feeling so hot right now.

Probably jet lag or something.”

“Jet lag? Didn’t you drive?”

“Oh... uh...”

“Gotcha.” Nick could just picture Brent’s grin on the other end.

“Okay, so it’s not jet lag,” he admitted. “But I think I’m coming down with the flu...”

“Aww, quit being such a pussy. Come hang out with us. We haven’t seen you in months, bro.”

Nick sighed. “Can’t we do this next week?”

“Just for awhile? Come on, we won’t keep you out too late. It’ll do you good to get some fresh air.”

“Fresh air? In a bar? More like stale, cigarette smoke-filled air.” Brent chuckled. “Okay, you win. I guess we’ll just have to go without you then, man. Drinking... hot chicks... you’re gonna miss out! Are you sure you don’t wanna come?” he asked enticingly.

Nick hesitated. “Maybe... but I’m driving.” That way he could go home when he wanted, he figured.

“Hey, cool with me. Pick me up at eight, okay? James, Frank, and Lane are coming too.”

“Okay,” Nick agreed. “See you then.”

“See ya.”

Brent hung up with a click, and Nick shut off his own phone with a sigh. Why had he said he would come with them? He liked hanging with the guys, but it was the last thing he felt like doing that night. But he just couldn’t refuse.

***

“You sure are quiet tonight, Carter,” Frank commented later that night, as the five men sat at the bar of Charlatan’s, a club Nick came to often. He had once taken Leah there, he remembered. Strange, how that was the first thing he thought of when he thought of Charlatan’s. He’d been there many other times with different people, usually Brent and the guys, so why did it bring back memories of Leah?

Maybe he wasn’t over her yet.

Yes I am, he assured himself. It’s been months. She’s a bitch, I hate her guts, and I have plenty of other crap to deal with. I don’t need to be obsessing about her on top of everything else.

“Yo, Nick!” Frank shouted, finally grabbing his attention.

“What?” Nick asked dazedly.

“I said, you sure are quiet tonight. What’s up?”

“Nothing... I’m just tired.” The excuse sounded lame, even to Nick, but Frank shrugged and didn’t press the issue.

Taking a sip of his Pepsi, Nick smiled inwardly, thinking how Kevin would probably freak out if he had made that statement. “Tired?” he could imagine Kevin repeating, eyes growing large, “Well, maybe you should go lie down. You want me to call your doctor? Are you supposed to be this tired?” He was actually surprised Kevin or Brian hadn’t called his house yet to ask him how he was feeling. They had both hinted that they would at the airport before his flight departed. Normally, when the group flew home after weeks or months of being together, their goodbyes were fairly short, for they were usually so sick of each other, they couldn’t wait to board their separate planes.

This time, however, the goodbyes were different.

“Take care of yourself, Nick,” Kevin had said, his green eyes dark and serious.

“Call me if you have any troubles or if you need anything. I’ll be in touch.” Brian had given Nick a hug, which was normal of him, but unlike the normal, brief, brotherly hug, Brian pulled Nick close and held on to him like he was afraid to let go.

“Uh... Rok?” Nick had finally spoken up after awhile of this. “You might wanna let me go now, or those rumors about us being gay are gonna start springing up again.” Brian pulled back and smiled up at Nick, his blue eyes rather cloudy. “I’ll see ya, Frack. You give me a call if you wanna talk or anything. And if you need me, I’m only a state away.” He flashed a cheesy grin, but Nick had a feeling that was only a way of covering up another emotion.

“Hey, don’t start acting like your cousin, Rok,” Nick said lightly. “I ain’t gonna die on ya or anything.” It was meant to be a joke, but no one had laughed. No one had even smiled. Shifting uncomfortably, he added, “Go on, Bri, get home to that wife and kid of yours.”

That brought a smile to Brian’s face, and he could see the excitement dancing in his eyes.

“Give Baylee a kiss from his godfather.”

“Will do,” replied Brian, clapping Nick’s shoulder. His hand lingered there a little longer than usual, finally giving Nick’s shoulder a light squeeze and dropping to Brian’s side. “Bye, Nick.”

Nick smiled. “Bye, Bri.”

Smiling again now at the recent memory, Nick wondered if he’d have an answering machine full of messages from the two of them (or maybe three – Howie could be a major worrywart sometimes too) when he got home.

“What are you grinning about?” asked Brent, bringing Nick back to the present.

“Nothin... just thinking.” Nick left it at that, and Brent didn’t ask what he was thinking about. Nick took another drink from his glass of Pepsi, absently staring at the wine rack and decorations on the wall behind the bar.

“Nick,” Brent said suddenly, grabbing Nick’s shoulder. “Ain’t that your ex over there?” Spinning Nick around to look, he pointed. Squinting and following Brent’s line of vision, Nick felt his heart leap into his throat.

There, sitting at a small table across from some dorky-looking guy, was the one person he never wanted to see or even think about ever again.

Leah Gaylers.

***

Chapter 38

“Yeah,” Nick gulped, “that’s her.”

Brent laughed. “Who’s that dude she’s with? That the guy she cheated on you with?”

Nick could feel his face turning red; Brent had gotten it out of him shortly after the break-up that Leah had slept with another man. What he didn’t know was that the man in question was none other than Justin Timberlake, Michael Jackson wannabe, ghetto, white trash little prick that he was.

“No,” he answered, staring at the young man sitting with Leah. He looked nothing like Nick; dark-haired and wiry, wearing glasses, and dressed in some preppy ensemble that belonged in a Gap ad. He made a face; what was she doing with some drab, preppy kid like that?

As soon as this thought hit his mind, another one flashed through, this one even more unnerving – Oh my God, I’m actually jealous of him! Scowling, he spun back around on his bar stool, putting his back to Leah and hoping she hadn’t seen him looking at her and Mr. Goody Two Shoes over there.

“You should go talk to her,” Brent suggested, an amused smile creeping over his face.

“I’m not gonna go talk to her,” Nick said flatly, rolling his eyes and taking another swig of his Pepsi. “I’m over her. She can rot in Hell, for all I care.” Brent’s grin grew even wider, but all he said was a skeptical, “Okay...” and turned to Lane, who was sitting on the other side of him. The two got lost in their own conversation, and Nick ignored them, glad to drink his soda and stare into space in private.

A light tap on the shoulder interrupted his thinking. Jerking out of his daze, Nick spun around, nearly choking on a mouthful of Pepsi as he saw who was standing behind him.

It was Leah. Hand in hand with Preppy. The nerve of her! Nick thought, seething. But, choosing the mature path, he turned his lips up in a cool smile and said simply, “Leah.”

“Nick,” Leah returned, smiling. “I thought that was you. How are you doing?” Instinctively, Nick’s hand went to the hem of his shirt, giving it a tug to make sure it covered his chemo pump. “Fine,” he answered stoutly. “And you? I see you’ve found yourself a new toy.” He nodded to Preppy.

Leah’s smile faded momentarily, her brown eyes blazing. But almost instantaneously, the anger in her eyes flickered out, and another smile came over her lips, the same lips Nick had touched with his own, many a time. God, how he loved her lips...

Stop it! You do not! You hate her; you hate every thing about her!

“Nick Carter, meet David Hammond.”

David politely held out his hand to shake, but Nick ignored it, muttering only a

“hi” in his general direction. Only when his hand fell did Nick steal a peek at David. The first thing he noticed was that this kid (man, really – his age was more apparent up close, though he still sported somewhat of a baby face) had money. His preppy gear was Armani, and the gold watch on his wrist was surely a Rolex.

Probably all Daddy’s money, Nick thought nastily, with a smirk of self-

satisfaction. At least he had earned his own wealth.

“David, would you order me another drink?” Leah asked sweetly, and David immediately went to the bartender to fulfill her wish. Nick rolled his eyes.

“Nicky,” Leah said, her voice low.

“Don’t call me that,” Nick hissed.

“Nick, sorry. I want us to talk sometime. Maybe we could go out... for coffee or something, maybe? Whatever you want. I just... don’t like leaving things unsettled like they were with us, you know? I have some things to explain, and-“

“We didn’t leave things unsettled,” Nick said through gritted teeth. “I told you to get the hell out of my life and leave me alone. Did you not understand that?”

“Nick, I-“

“I meant it then, and I still mean it now, Leah. You’ve got that David guy, so why are you still after me? Let it go.”

“I’m not ‘after you,” Mr. Ego. But I still care about you as a friend, and I don’t want you to be an enemy. Can’t we just talk?”

“We’ve talked enough.”

“Nick...” She stared at him, her eyes pleading.

“Look, maybe, okay? I gotta go.” Before she could say another word, he slipped off the stool, brushed past her, and hurried off to the bathroom.

“Nick!” she called after him. “What happened to your leg?” Ignoring her, he pushed his way through the crowded bar until he made it to the smoky men’s room, where he threw himself into one of the stalls and locked the door, fighting to keep a hold on the jumble of emotions that seeing Leah again had evoked.

He stayed in the restroom for a good five minutes and then emerged hesitantly, checking to make sure Leah had gone before he went back to the guys. She and Preppy were safely back at their table, so, hoping they would stay there, he made his way back to the bar and took his seat.

“You okay, man?” Brent asked, as Nick hoisted himself up onto the bar stool.

“What was all that about with that Leah chick? She want you back, dude?”

“I think so,” Nick muttered dryly. “But I don’t want her back.”

“Haha, isn’t that one of your songs? ‘Don’t Want You Back’?” Nick rolled his eyes. “No pun intended.”

“Here, the bartender refilled your drink,” Brent said, sliding the tall glass of fizzing brown liquid in front of Nick.

“Thanks.” Not really thirsty, Nick absent-mindedly picked the glass up anyway and took a drink. He couldn’t really say he was enjoying himself, but then again, he wasn’t completely miserable either. At least he wasn’t throwing up. That had been the biggest of his concerns, so he had taken double the usual dosage of his anti-nausea medication. It had proven effective. He wondered if Dr. Kingsbury had prescribed the wrong dosage because the medication normally wasn’t much help.

Making a mental note to ask her about that at his next appointment in two weeks, he swallowed another mouthful of Pepsi, deeply wishing it was beer instead. Everyone around him was drinking, but he had volunteered to be the designated driver for the group that night, his excuse for not drinking. They had only given him strange looks, for no one actually volunteered to stay sober – it was an assigned duty. But, relieved to be free to drink to their hearts contents, they had accepted it without question. And now he was the only sober one, the odd man out.

As he knocked back the rest of the Pepsi, he began to feel ill, the familiar pangs of nausea creeping up on him. He waited it out, hoping it was just from drinking too much soda. But when a few hearty belches did not relieve the sensation, he knew it had nothing to do with the Pepsi. Apparently he had jinxed himself; the double dose of anti-nausea drugs hadn’t worked so well after all. He sat stock still on the bar stool, breathing deeply, fighting the urge to run to the bathroom and throw up. He really didn’t want to end up hanging his head over another public toilet, especially in some grungy bar bathroom.

But eventually, it became too much to bear. Shaky and light-headed with queasiness, Nick mumbled a brief, “Be right back,” in Brent and Lane’s general direction, not even checking to see if they heard him, and slid off his stool, slinking immediately off to the restroom and praying it was unoccupied.

God was with him at that moment, for miraculously, the bathroom was deserted.

Ducking into one of the empty stalls, Nick slammed the door shut, hastily locked it, and knelt down in front of the toilet. He had no sooner got to the ground than the dam broke, and he began to vomit. The bitter substance, tinged brown from the cola, burned as it ripped up his throat. Choking and gagging, he violently retched, finally expelling all the contents of his stomach.

The panging ache in his stomach fading slightly, he sank to the ground, weak, dizzy, and out of breath, not caring how dirty the floor might be. Sitting with his back pressed against the stall wall, he cleaned his face with a trembling hand. He pulled at his t-shirt, which was now sticky and damp with perspiration. God, it was hot in there...

Desperate for fresh air, he dragged himself up, panting with the effort. He flushed the toilet and turned, about to leave, when another wave of nausea hit him with full force. Gagging, he turned back just in time to make it to the toilet, his vomit swirling away with the still-flushing toilet water. He threw up again, and just when he thought, once again, that he was done, he threw up even more, not knowing what he could possibly have left to regurgitate.

Finally, he was left in dry heaves, retching and choking, yet getting nothing up.

Moaning in agony, he pulled himself away from the toilet and slumped back onto the ground, the tiny stall seemingly gyrating around him, the walls coming nearer...

Overheated and dizzy, too weak and sick to move, desperate for some kind of relief, Nick let his eyes fall shut. The utter misery of that moment was the last thing he remembered before passing out right there on the bathroom floor.

***

Chapter 39

Nick awoke to the sound of voices, which seemed to fade distortedly in and out.

“How much did he have to drink tonight?” That was a female voice, an unfamiliar one.

I wasn’t drinking, Nick wanted to respond, but his mouth didn’t want to form the words, and his eyelids felt too heavy to open.

Someone else answered for him anyway. “Not a lot... all he had was one Pepsi with gin, that’s it!” That was Brent.

Wait... gin? The thought burst through the fog in Nick’s brain, and his mind raced. I didn’t have gin in it... I didn’t have any alcohol... can’t drink... chemo...

“He’s dehydrated. Raul, start a line of saline.” Nick winced as he felt a sharp prick in the crook of his arm.

“He’s coming around... Nick! Nick, can you hear me?” Finally, Nick managed to open his eyes. As his blurred vision cleared, he found the face of a middle-aged woman staring down at him. Paramedic, he realized. He looked around to find that he was lying on his back in the bathroom. Someone had dragged him out of the stall, apparently, because now he was out in the open, in front of the urinals. Another paramedic was tending to an IV line that had been put into his arm, and over the top of the female paramedic’s head, he could see Brent, Lane, Frank, and James hanging back, looking slightly terrified.

“Nick, you know where you are?” asked the woman.

“Charlatan’s... in the bathroom...” Nick replied, the beginnings of embarrassment coming over him. God, the guys must think he was a total freak, passing out in a bathroom. He’d never passed out before in his life. Fainting was such a pussy thing to do.

“Good. What did you have to drink tonight, Nick?”

“Just Pepsi.” Brent’s comment came back to him – All he had was one Pepsi with gin, that’s it! “I didn’t have any alcohol.”

“Your friend over there said you had gin in your Pepsi – is that right?” Nick started to shake his head when he saw Brent blanch. “Uh... Nick? We kinda... uh... had the bartender add a little something to your drink... thought it would lighten you up a little bit.”

Oh shit. So he had had alcohol... and this was probably why he had been warned not to. Because he would end up puking his guts out and then passing out in a bathroom. Fun.

“Damn it, Brent,” he murmured. “Why the hell did you go and do that?”

“It was Frank’s idea,” Brent immediately said.

“Hey! Don’t blame it all on me, asshole!” retorted Frank, giving Brent a shove.

Brent immediately shoved him back, and Lane and James had to immediately jump in the middle and break it up.

“Hey, get out of here, all of you!” the woman shouted angrily, turning to watch the four of them stagger out of the bathroom. Looking back at Nick, she said, “Okay, Nick, we’re going to take you to the hospital. You’re dehydrated, and since you passed out, they’ll probably want to check you out.”

Nick only nodded compliantly, as the two paramedics lifted him onto a stretcher.

As they wheeled him out of the bathroom and through the bar out into the warm night

air, he couldn’t help but wonder if anyone had recognized him. Would this be in the news the next morning?

As he was loaded into the ambulance, he tried not to think about it. No use worrying over something he couldn’t control.

Although these days, it seemed like he couldn’t control anything.

***

In the Tampa General Emergency Room, doctors and nurses bustled around, barking out orders, poking and prodding, taking Nick’s vital signs. A pair of nurses set to work on removing his clothes, and that was when one of the nurses exclaimed, “Oh!

You have a Groshong!”

He knew she was talking about his catheter, and he nodded. “I’m on chemo,” he told her weakly. “For Ewing’s Sarcoma.”

“You have Ewing’s, Mr. Carter?” a man in a white lab coat repeated.

“Yes.”

“Have you been treated at this hospital before?”

“Yeah. My doctor’s Dr. Kingsbury.”

“Oh, Barb Kingsbury, yes. I know her. Sandra, page Dr. Kingsbury and pull up Mr. Carter’s chart, would you?”

“Sure, Dr. Lanville.”

“Are you experiencing any pain or shortness of breath, Mr. Carter?” asked Dr.

Lanville, listening to Nick’s chest with his stethoscope.

“No... just a little light-headed,” murmured Nick. The overhead lights were too bright; they were giving him a headache. He closed his eyes briefly.

“Well, you’re severely dehydrated. Have you been vomiting?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, from now on, try to drink plenty of clear fluids, especially when you’re on chemo. And avoid carbonated drinks; they actually dehydrate the body even more.

We’ll get you rehydrated and go from there. I’ll be speaking with Dr. Kingsbury, and we’ll decide what else needs to be done.”

“I’m okay,” Nick said stubbornly, wanting to avoid having to spend any considerable amount time in the hospital at all costs. “I feel much better now.” The doctor gave him a tight smile. “We just want to make sure of that.”

***

"Hey, missed me, did you?”

Nick smiled tiredly as Dr. Kingsbury bustled into the room. “Something like that,” he replied.

She chuckled. “So, I hear you passed out tonight?”

Nick groaned, still humiliated by that. “Yes,” he admitted. “I’m okay though –

they said I was just dehydrated.”

“Well, yes, that was probably just it. Have you been vomiting a lot then lately?”

“Yeah... oh, I was gonna ask you about that. That anti-nausea stuff you gave me

– it’s not really working.”

Dr. Kingsbury gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry,” she said. “They don’t

have the same effect on every patient.”

“Well, can I take a higher dosage then or something?”

“I’m afraid not. Keep taking them; I’m sure they’re helping somewhat. I see you’re having to deal with some of the other side effects, too.” Nick stared blankly, wondering what other side effects, when he saw her eyes travel upward to his head.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “My hair’s falling out.” He raised his hand self-consciously, his thinning head of hair feeling bald without the usual hat he wore. The nurse had removed the hat he had had on earlier; it was now shoved in a bag under the bed, along with his other clothes.

“I know that’s got to be tough, especially for you,” Dr. Kingsbury said knowingly.

But Nick was offended. What did she mean, ‘especially for you’? Did she think he was some vain, arrogant, self-worshiping prick? She must have noticed his expression, for she quickly added, “I just mean because you’re such a celebrity and a heartthrob.” She batted her eyelashes exaggeratedly, gaining a laugh from Nick.

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, heartthrob, that’s me,” he muttered sarcastically. “Not anymore.”

Dr. Kingsbury smiled sadly. “You haven’t, uh, told the public about this yet, have you?” Nick shook his head, looking down. “I didn’t think so. I hadn’t heard about it on the news or anything yet. Not that I really keep up with the entertainment business much anymore, but... well anyway, if you’re planning to hold a press conference sometime and want me to speak, let me know.”

Nick smiled graciously. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem. Now,” she said, “getting back to business here, have you had any other symptoms lately? Dizziness, shortness of breath, bruising, pain?”

“No, not really,” Nick said. “It’s mostly just the nausea. And I’ve been really tired all weak, but that’s from the chemo too, right?” She nodded. “Well, I don’t want to keep you here for too long then. I’d like to do some bloodwork, just to make sure things look all clear, and we’ll probably keep you overnight just to check on you, but you’ll be able to go home bright and early tomorrow.

We can save the usual round of tests for your appointment in two weeks.” Nick nodded, relieved.

“I’ll have a nurse come in shortly to take blood, and then you’ll be moved to a room upstairs so you can get some sleep. It’s late, and I’m sure you’re exhausted. I’ll be in to check on you in the morning.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Dr. Kingsbury left, and Nick let his eyelids fall closed, relieved to be left alone.

The doctor was right; he was exhausted.

***

Chapter 40

Nick awoke the next morning feeling much better than he had the night before.

His nausea was gone for now, and he felt rejuvenated. Slowly sitting up, he looked around the small, private room he had been moved to late the previous night. It was on the Oncology Floor; apparently they had decided that because he had cancer, he automatically belonged in the cancer ward, no matter why he was in the hospital. He couldn’t complain much though; at least he was fairly familiar with many of the nurses on that floor.

Bored now that he was awake, Nick turned on the television and started flipping, checking out the channel selection. Being a Friday morning, not much was on. Most of the shows were catered to the little kids, stay-at-home moms, and old people that were home in the mornings. By some miracle, MTV was actually playing videos, something Nick hadn’t been witness to since the early 90’s. As it turned out, so was VH1, but since VH1 was still living in the 80’s, Nick settled on MTV, watching both amusedly and disgustedly as that damn Timberfuck beat-boxed his way around a room of multi-colored lights in whatever his latest video was. Nick wondered vaguely if he’d gone to see the new movie “Malibu’s Most Wanted” yet. If he hadn’t, he definitely should, ghetto white trash wannabe that he was. God, how Nick hated that self-centered, obnoxious, whiny little prick.

When Justin’s video ended, it naturally went to a commercial break (Nick couldn’t understand why there had to be a commercial break after every video), and he was about to flip when the flashy MTV News intro came on. He hesitated, setting down the remote long enough to watch the news brief, in case something actually interesting had happened in the music business.

Some black guy that called himself Sway reported the news, while Nick sat wondering what had happened to Kurt Loder and John Norris (had he really been out of the loop for that long?). He spaced out while the Sway dude rambled about Fifty Cent, but when he heard the words “In other news, Backstreet Boy Nick Carter...,” he immediately looked back up at the TV, his heart racing in trepidation.

“... was hospitalized last night, according to our sources, after passing out in a Tampa bar. The name of the hospital has been withheld, and hospital officials declined comment when asked about Carter’s condition. We will update you on this story as we know more.”

Shit.

How did they find out?

Don’t be stupid; there were lots of people in that club; someone probably recognized you and spilled to the media.

Nick groaned. He knew he could just play it off, say he’d had too much to drink.

But that would be lying. Fans would want to know what had happened, and he didn’t want to lie to them. When Brian had had his heart surgery, they had told the truth.

When AJ had gone into rehab, they had told the truth. Now Nick had bone cancer.

It was time to tell the truth.

***

As promised, Nick was discharged from the hospital later that morning. He came

home to find an answering machine full of messages, which he grudgingly played. Only three really caught his attention – one from Brent, one from Howie, and one from his mother.

“Hey, Nick... dunno when you’ll actually hear this, but it’s 10:00 on Friday morning, and I’ve been trying to call the hospital since last night, but they won’t let me talk to you, so... um... call me if you get home and get this, and I don’t hear from you later today, I’ll come try to visit you at the hospital... if they’ll let me. Damn you for being Mr. Celebrity.” Brent laughed lightly. “Oh well, if you’re listening to this, hope you’re feeling better. Call me.”

Nick sighed. He would call Brent when he was done listening to the other messages. And he would tell him what was going on. What was really going on.

“Nicky, it’s Howie. Listen, I heard on the news that you were taken to the hospital last night, and I don’t know if it’s true or what, but I’ve been trying to call all the Tampa hospitals, and no one will tell me anything – they don’t believe me when I say who I am – and I tried your cell, but it was turned off, so I figured I’d just leave a message here. When you get this, give me a call and let me know what’s going on. I hope you’re all right...” Howie trailed off, his voice worried, and then there was a click, and the message stopped. Nick made a mental note to call Howie back too. Knowing him, he had already called Brian, Kevin, and AJ, and they were probably all worried about him too.

There was a beep, and the last message played. “Nick, this is your mother. Call me the instant you get this; there are rumors going around that you passed out in some club last night and were taken to the hospital. If that’s true, you were probably drinking too much again, weren’t you? You’d think you’d have learned something from AJ’s experience with alcohol. I don’t know what the hell has gotten into you, but I don’t like it at all. I didn’t raise you and your sister to turn into wild, irresponsible, drug-using, binge drinking party animals.” There was a heavy, irritated sigh, and then she finished,

“I mean it, you better call back and not ignore this like you did before, or there will be hell to pay.”

“Thanks, Mom, for your concern,” Nick remarked dryly, deciding to ignore that message. Hell to pay – yeah, right. She couldn’t do anything to him.

He was already in Hell.

***

“I want to have some kind of press conference. It’s time to come clean with the fans.”

Howie’s reply was simple. “Okay, Nick. Tell me when and where, and I’ll make sure the arrangements are made.”

Nick felt an overwhelming sense of relief, though he was not sure why. “Thanks, D. I want to do it soon... this week sometime.”

“I think that’s a good idea. Where should we have it? Tampa?”

“No...” Nick sucked in a deep breath. “I want to do what we did with AJ.” There was a pause, and then Howie exclaimed, flabbergasted, “Go to TRL?!” Nick smiled, imagining his friend’s eyes bulging out of his head on the other line. “Yup.

Is that a problem?”

“No, of course not! But, Nick...” Howie fumbled for words, “that was so hard

then, and this time... it would be even harder. Much harder. Are you sure you want to appear on live TV? Maybe we could just call in... or the guys and I could go ourselves...”

“No, Howie, I wanna go,” Nick said firmly. He really didn’t, not at all, and the thought of just talking over the phone or sending the rest of the group in his place was too tempting. But this was for his fans... he had to be there, live, on TV, and break the news to them. He had to show them that he was okay... that he would be okay... that they weren’t covering up anything.

“Well, okay, Nick,” Howie accepted reluctantly. “I’ll call the other guys and let them know, and then one of us will get in touch with MTV. I’ll get back to you when everything’s set up, okay?”

“Sure. Thanks for doing this for me.”

“No problem!” Howie sputtered quickly. “If there’s anything else you need, let me know.”

“No, I’m good,” Nick replied. But as soon as the words had left his mouth, he did think of one thing... “Oh, wait, Howie?”

“Yeah?”

“There is something... when you call MTV, will you see if they can get Carson to host that day? Or... or John Norris? None of those new weird VJ’s...” Carson got on his nerves sometime, but at least he was a familiar face... he had been there when they broke the news about AJ, when Nick had been sitting there, struggling not to cry on live television... and John, John Norris, he was a good guy... he understood... unlike so many others, he cared.

It was sort of a stupid request, Nick realized as he asked it, but even something small like that might make the horrible experience just a tad bit more bearable.

Howie laughed. “Sure, Nicky. I’ll see what I can do.” Nick forced a laugh. “They damn well better be able to get one of those two on...

after all these years... and all those number one videos...” Another chuckle from Howie. “Damn straight. Don’t worry, Nicky, I’m sure they’ll come through.”

“Yeah...”

“Well, I guess I’ll let you go then so you can rest.” Instantly, the amused smile vanished from Nick’s face. There it was again. “So you can rest” – God, how he hated phrases like that. He was not an infant, nor an invalid.

But what he hated worst of all was not those words, but the fact that they were actually justified. A nap sounded like Heaven to him. He was exhausted, fatigued from the previous night’s excitement and from the chemo in general.

In fact, he was sick and tired of the whole rotten deal. Yes, that’s what he was.

Sick and tired.

***

Chapter 41

Brent came over later that day. Nick had returned his call and invited him, not wanting to break the news to his longtime friend over the phone. Though it would be easier, it was just not the right thing to do, and Nick knew it. So, Brent arrived, mildly concerned about Nick, but completely oblivious to the fact that anything was really wrong.

“How ya feeling, man?” he asked, slapping Nick’s back as Nick led him into the living room.

“Okay,” Nick replied.

“Look, I’m really sorry about last night. For the alcohol, I mean... I didn’t know it would make you sick. You just looked like you weren’t having much fun, and we thought it would help. We weren’t gonna get you drunk or anything; you were the DD.

We just wanted to loosen you up a little, you know?”

“I know.” Nick sighed. “I’m not mad. I just... I’m not supposed to drink right now, and it messed up my system.”

“Why aren’t you supposed to drink?” Brent’s forehead creased with worry, and his eyes registered confusion. The concept of not being able to drink was foreign to him; to him, James, Lane, and Frank, clubbing and drinking were about the second most important thing in their lives, proceeded only by their band, Born Into Kaos.

There was a time, only months before, when Nick had been right there with them, barhopping into the wee hours of the morning and coming home plastered, when he was not on tour. How carefree he had been then... he had had problems to deal with, of course, he always did, but nothing compared to this. He longed to go back to those days, when singing was his life, drumming and boating his hobbies, and Nintendo and drinking his other favorite pastimes. Back to the days when cancer and medicine didn’t control his life, when he didn’t have to plan his schedule around chemo weeks, not knowing how sick he would be then, when he didn’t have to worry about cleaning a catheter every week and going for check-ups every three, and when he still had a full head of hair.

He was beginning to despise baseball caps. AJ had loaned him a few skull caps that clung tightly to his balding scalp. They covered his head all right, better than the baseball caps, but somehow, they just didn’t look as good on him as they did on AJ.

“Nick? Why aren’t you supposed to drink?”

With a start, Nick realized he had let his mind wander. Flustered, he replied,

“Um... I’m on some meds... alcohol doesn’t mix well with them.”

“Meds? For what? Migraines?”

Oh, how Nick wished it was only migraines. “No,” he replied. “Um... Brent? This is... this is r-really hard to say, but...” He swallowed hard, forcing himself to continue, to say those dreaded words. “I’ve been diagnosed with... cancer.” He waited for the look of shock to appear on Brent’s face, and it did immediately.

But, just as quickly, it vanished, and his friend burst out laughing. “Ha ha, nice one, Carter,” he laughed dryly, smirking at Nick. “Damn, don’t say shit like that – I almost thought you were for real for a sec there!’

Nick did not laugh. Silently, he just stared at Brent, hoping his eyes would deliver the message. Finally, it did. The color drained from Brent’s face, his eyes bugging out of his head as he slowly realized Nick was not kidding.

“No,” he said hoarsely. “You’re not serious...” Looking away, Nick only nodded.

“Oh my God... oh my God... Nick... h-how could you get cancer?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nick muttered emotionlessly. “Like celebrities can’t get cancer? I’m just a normal person like anyone else, Brent, you of all people should know that. Of course I can get cancer.”

“I didn’t mean that... I just meant, you. I mean, you’re healthy! You’re athletic, you work out... okay, so you don’t really eat right, but who does? How could this happen to you? I don’t understand...”

Nick only shrugged. “I don’t know either, but it did. I’m sorry for not telling you earlier, but I just didn’t want things to get weird between us, you know?”

“Well, how long have you known?”

“Couple months.”

Nick said the words quickly, guiltily avoiding Brent’s eyes. But Brent did not explode and ask why Nick had waited so long to tell him. He only nodded. “This really sucks, man.”

Nick snorted dryly. “Tell me about it.”

“So does Brian and the gang know yet?”

“Yeah... I couldn’t hide it from them for too long.”

“Yeah... so... you gonna tell the guys?”

He meant James, Lane, and Frank. Nick sighed. “Maybe you could tell them...

it’s hard, you know?”

“I bet. Yeah, no prob, dude, I’ll tell ‘em.”

“Thanks, Brent.”

Brent stayed for a short while after that, but within half an hour, he had left, once Nick had promised he didn’t need anything and was fine on his own. He could see that despite wanting to be there to support him, Brent was uncomfortable. As much as he disliked that, he couldn’t blame him.

As a Backstreet Boy, he and the guys had taken many charity trips to hospitals, where they had visited sick children, including cancer patients. While he had always enjoyed cheering them up, he had also been relieved when it was time to leave; hospitals and sickness and those poor children, all sallow-faced and gaunt and bald and tethered to IV’s, unnerved him.

And now, thought Nick with a sardonic laugh, the tables had turned. He was one of them.

***

Howie called back awhile after Brent had left.

“The plans are all made,” he announced. “We’re scheduled to appear on TRL on Wednesday. They’ll be publicizing our ‘big announcement’ so all the Bsb fans will tune in.”

“Did you tell them what the ‘big announcement’ was?” asked Nick.

“No way... they’ll be finding out along with everyone else. I’m sure they think it’s that we’re breaking up though.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Probably. Assholes.”

Howie laughed, and Nick could just picture his smile. “That’s the spirit, Nicky.

So anyway, I’ve already called Kevin about this, and he said he would call Bri and J, but

we were thinking maybe we could meet in New York on Tuesday and maybe have a night to ourselves, get mentally ready for this. Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah, that’s cool,” replied Nick. “Do I need to call and get a plane ticket then?”

“Already taken care of.”

“Oh, okay... so everything’s set then?”

“Everything’s set. All you have to do is show up, buddy.” Nick smiled tightly and heaved a sigh. “Will do.”

So there it was. He would be leaving for New York City in three days, and after Wednesday, the whole world would know.

***

Chapter 42

“Can I have your name, please?” The thirty-something-year-old receptionist smirked.

Nick smirked back. “Yeah, it’s Art Crenick.” The alias was one of many that he used to sign into hotels; this one was not as creative as some, only the letters of his name rearranged. But it worked.

“Okay, Mr. Crenick. Welcome to the Revelation. Here’s your room key. Suite 8B.”

“Thanks.” Nick took the key card from the woman’s hand and flashed her his infamous half-smile; he was well aware of the fact that that smile worked wonders on many women and used it to his full advantage. Now it was one of the few aspects of his looks that he still had left; his blonde hair was nearly gone, its sorry remains hidden by a baseball cap pulled low over his face.

His face... yeah, the “baby face” the teenage girls all thought was so adorable was no longer full and vibrant, but thin and pale. And that was not the only place his weight loss over the past few months was showing. His clothes all hung on his frame. He figured people would talk about that when they saw him on TV. Some would think he had been taking care of himself, dieting and exercising to lose the weight. But he knew otherwise; this weight loss was not healthy.

For once, he was glad they had make-up people; they would be able to cover his sallow complexion and make him look as close to his old self as possible for the TRL

appearance. But at the moment, he looked pretty grim, and he just hoped no one would find out what hotel they were staying in. He really didn’t want to be seen this way, not until the news was out. Then they would understand. But if they got a good look at him now, rumors would run rampant... drugs, alcohol, eating disorders... God knows what the press would say about him.

A bellboy came immediately to take his suitcase. Normally, Nick would have waved him off and carried the luggage himself, especially with it just being one suitcase and the carry-on duffel bag from his flight. But, tired and weak from the after-effects of the chemo, he gratefully surrendered his burdens to the hotel employee, who escorted him to his suite.

“You can just set them down here,” said Nick as they reached the door to his suite. Pulling out his wallet, he gave the bellboy his tip, and when the man had left, stuck his keycard into the slot, unlocking the door. Clutching the knob with one hand, he hauled up his suitcase and duffel in the other, grunting at the effort of it, and started to open the door. He was completely shocked when the door quickly swung open from the inside, almost pulling him down with it.

“Nick, there you are!”

It was AJ, standing in the doorway with a wide smile spread over his face.

“AJ! Jesus, you scared the hell outta me! I’m gonna have a heart attack!” Nick cried, his heart racing from the startle of having someone else open the door from inside his suite.

AJ’s eyes widened, and Nick could have sworn his face paled a shade or two. “I’m sorry! Are you okay??” He looked truly worried, and Nick stared at him in surprise.

“Dude, I’m fine! I was just kidding about the heart attack thing...”

“Are you sure?” AJ asked warily, studying Nick as if he expected to keel over at

any minute.

Nick just stared. “AJ, what the hell? Cancer doesn’t give you heart attacks, you know.”

“Shh!” came a hiss from behind AJ, and then Kevin appeared. “Cripes, Nick, don’t say that in the middle of the hall! What if someone heard you?” Nick checked quickly; the hall was empty. “It’s fine, Mr. Anal. Anyway, they’re gonna find out tomorrow, so who gives a shit. And what the hell are you two doing in my room anyway? Not that I’m not glad to see you, but-“

“Actually, this is our suite,” corrected AJ. “All five of ours.”

“What?! We’re sharing? Where the hell is Howie?”

“Uh, actually, it was my idea, Nick.” A meek Brian appeared between Kevin and AJ, smiling sheepishly at Nick. “I just thought it would be nice if we all shared a suite, like old times.” He shrugged, offering Nick a cheesy grin.

AJ snorted. “We didn’t share a suite in the old times anyway, Rok, it was a room.

A tiny, crappy room with two double beds if we were lucky. And you want to recreate that experience because...?”

Brian rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “So sue me. I just thought it would be fun, and Howie agreed, so there.”

“Well, what does Nick think?” AJ shot back, and of course, they all turned to Nick, even Howie, who had come up with the other four.

“Uh... I dunno, I think it’s cool,” Nick said finally. Really, he had to admit that he did like Brian’s idea... he had fond memories of the “old days,” the nights they would spend cramped all together in dingy hotel rooms, staying up talking and playing Nintendo into the early morning hours, almost like a slumber party. Of course, anal Kevin would eventually try to force them all to go to bed, and then Brian, AJ, and Nick would tease him and purposely disobey and annoy him further, but hell, that was half the fun of it.

Now that he thought about it, he actually missed those days... back when things were simple and uncomplicated, when he was just a teenager with nothing on his mind but girls, money, and the lifelong dream of fame that seemed on the verge of coming true.

“See? Ha!” Brian gloated, laughing in AJ’s face. Playfully slinging an arm around Nick’s shoulders, he led his younger friend into the suite. “It’s a little more swanky than what we had in the old days, huh?”

“Yeah...” Nick agreed, checking out the bedroom, where there were two queen size beds. “Wait,” he said suddenly. “We’re not actually gonna sleep together, are we?

That’s so...”

“Gay?” offered AJ with a smirk.

“Uh, yeah, very. I think I’ll take the floor.”

“Aw, Nick, you don’t have to do that,” Brian said quickly. “You take one of the beds, and somebody else can have the other one. Then the couch in the living room is a hide-a-bed, so someone can have that. And the other two will just sleep on the floor.

We did that in the old days, too, no big deal.”

“I call bed!” AJ and Kevin both shouted at the same time.

“Sorry, J, I’m older, I get it,” Kevin claimed, crossing his arms over his chest smugly.

AJ rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, old man. I’ll just take the couch bed then.

Rok and D, guess you’re stuck on the floor.”

“That’s fine,” conceded Howie with a shrug, and Brian nodded.

“I can sleep on the floor too if one of you guys wants the bed,” Nick offered.

“No, no, Nicky, take the bed,” Howie insisted, and Nick scowled. In ordinary circumstances, he would have been forced on the floor simply because he was the baby of the group. Now he was being treated differently... and he knew exactly why.

“No way, you take it. I’m the youngest, and Howie, you’re gonna be hella stiff if you spend the night on the floor, old man.”

“Old man?!” Howie exclaimed, mouth dropping open in indignation. “That’s Kevin!”

“You’re gettin’ up there too, dude. Who’s turning the big 3-0 this year, huh?” Howie rolled his eyes. “You’ll be there too before you know it, kid.” Nick laughed lightly, but no one else did. As silence fell, he couldn’t help but notice the looks exchanged between the others. What, did they think he wasn’t going to live to see thirty? Wow, way to be optimistic, guys. Well, he would show them. He wasn’t going to let the cancer take his life, oh hells no. He was gonna beat Ewing’s sarcoma’s bitch ass. Yeah... take that...

Sure... right... as if he really had any control. Like it or not, he couldn’t help but admit that he really had no say in what happened to him. His future now lay in God’s hands alone, and only He could decide whether Nick would win the fight for his life... or lose it.

***

Chapter 43

“It’s been almost two years since their last TRL appearance, but today, Backstreet is back! Please welcome Kevin, Howie, Brian, AJ, and Nick to the show!” The Total Request Live studio in Times Square erupted into wild cheers and screams and random squeals of “Bsb rules!” and “I love you, Nick!” Pasting a smile on his face, which had been brightened by makeup, Nick followed the rest of his group mates into the study, touching the excited fans’ hands on the way.

The five men were seated on stools next to Carson Daly, whom MTV had recruited to host the show that day, a rare occurrence these days.

“Welcome back to the show, guys,” Carson said as the audience died down, shaking the Boys’ hands. They mumbled their thanks, and Carson continued, addressing the viewers, “The Backstreet Boys are here today to make an important announcement, which they’ve kept top secret. Not even we here at MTV know what it is yet, but they called last week asking to say it first here on TRL. The last time they did this was, of course, a couple years ago when AJ checked into rehab for depression and alcoholism. AJ, how are things going with you now?” AJ cleared his throat, but when he spoke, his voice was still raspy. “I’m doing okay, Carson, thanks. Actually, what we want to talk about today has to do with Nick.” He paused, and Nick saw him look to Kevin for help. Kevin, their fearless leader, took over with only a slight hesitation. Also clearing his throat, he continued, “Uh, as y’all might have noticed, Nick’s leg is in a brace.” He motioned to Nick’s left leg, which stuck out awkwardly in front of him, stiffened by the immobilizor brace. “Nick fractured his shin bone back in... what, mid March?”

“Yeah, March,” Nick echoed hollowly.

“March, yeah... so a little over two months ago... anyway, he, uh... he went to the doctor, and they found that he... that he...” Kevin trailed off, his voice beginning to choke up. As he looked away, pinching the bridge of his nose, Howie continued, surprisingly calm and controlled.

“They found that the fracture was caused by a small hole in bone, and, uh... th-the hole was caused by a... a disease called Ewing’s Sarcoma. It’s... um...” Howie swallowed. “It’s a form of cancer.”

Nick could hear an ensemble of gasps from the audience, which was all teenagers, most of them female. The tears started instantly, girls hugging each other and wiping their eyes, tears leaving black trails of mascara down their cheeks. He found he could not look at them; turning away, he fixed his gaze on the floor of the studio, afraid to look up for fear he would lose it himself.

Fans were crying... hell, Kevin was almost crying, and Brian probably was too, if Nick knew him as well as he thought he did. Howie seemed to be holding it together, and AJ... well, who knew. Nick wouldn’t look over at him to find out... for the thought of seeing AJ cry... well, hell, AJ almost never cried. The last time Nick had seen him in tears was when he told them he needed help for his alcoholism. He never wanted to see that again.

The studio was filled with a torturous silence, which was finally interrupted by Carson’s quiet words, “I’m so sorry, guys... Nick...” You gotta be tough, Nick told himself. For the guys... and most of all, for the fans... He looked up, swallowing hard, blinking away the mist from his stinging eyes.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he said, trying to strengthen his shaking voice. “I’m... I’m on c-chemotherapy now, and I’m... I’m doing great, so... yeah... I’m gonna beat this thing.” He pasted a smile on his face, knowing it didn’t look genuine, yet not caring.

Carson smiled too, though his smile looked just as fake. Beneath it was a grave, concerned expression. “Well, we here at MTV will be praying for you, and I know all your fans will be, too.” The crying girls in the audience nodded vigorously.

“Thanks, guys,” murmured Nick, wishing they could get out of there now.

“So, um... if you don’t mind my asking, what does this do to the future of Bsb?” Carson pried, ruining the moment.

Kevin didn’t look quite composed yet, so Howie answered this one as well. “Well, we thought about putting the next album on hold, but Nicky’s been a real trooper... he’s adamant that we don’t go on another hiatus because we’ve been out of the scene for so long, so... we’re gonna try to keep working on the album, and we’re looking at a release date sometime this year still, hopefully in the fall.” Carson nodded. “Well, that’s great, guys, we’ll be looking forward to it. Anything else you’d like to say?”

“No, I guess that’s about it,” Howie replied, looking to the others for confirmation. Nick nodded; Brian, AJ, and Kevin did not respond.

“Okay. Well, again, I’m so sorry to hear this bad news, but thank you for announcing it here on MTV first.”

Howie nodded. “No problem. We wanted to get it out, let the fans know before the rumors start spreading.”

“Yes, you guys have always been great about being honest with your fans. Well, thanks for coming to the studio today, guys. Sorry it had to be on such bad terms.

Hopefully you’ll be back this fall when your album is released, and Nick will be in good health.”

Forcing another smile, Nick gave a short nod, hoping the same thing. He would gladly tolerate another two-hour MTV special full of psychotic fans, prying and/or stupid questions, and cheesy trivia games that made him look like a total moron if only he could have his health back.

“Well, again, thanks to the Backstreet Boys, and good luck to Nick. Now, falling back to number two, here’s Justin Timberlake with ‘Rock Your Body’...” Oddly enough, there was no screaming, no cheering, as the video came on, and the Backstreet Boys walked out.

And that was that.

***

Chapter 44

Much of the rest of that day was spent on the phone. The Boys had been flooded with calls following their TRL appearance. Management was outraged that they had to find out the news through MTV, other artists were calling with their sympathies, as well as the guys’ families... and then there was Nick’s family.

Nick had been dreading the call from his parents that he knew would come, and sure enough, it came shortly after they had left MTV studios. Sitting in silence in the back of a limo, riding to their hotel, Nick’s cell phone rang. Flipping it open, he sighed and answered it with a weary, “Hello?”

“Nicky!”

It was his mother, and naturally, she sounded distraught. It had been months since he had talked to her, months since he had hung up on her, swearing to himself that he would never speak to her again. She had not called since, and he had not cared, not really. And he could not really say whether he was glad she had called now or not... in fact, he felt completely void of any emotion as he said quietly, “Hey, Mom.”

“Nicky, please tell me this isn’t true... Angel saw you on TV, and she called me in, and I... oh God, Nick, this can’t be happening.”

“It is.”

“Well, why didn’t you tell me then?!” In a flash, her tearful, plaintive stammering had vanished, overtaken by hysterical screaming. “I’m your mother! Why didn’t you tell me?” She was sobbing now, and he could not tell if she was really angry with him or not.

He did not answer, just listened guiltily to her heavy breathing and muffled cries.

He felt the urge to comfort her somehow, but what could he say? What could he do? He was on the other side of the country. And he had hurt her. It was his fault. He had caused this.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, but the words had no meaning.

“Nicky... your father and I... we’ll... we’ll come to Florida... I’ll take care of you,” she said, her voice shaking with tears.

“No, don’t do that. I’m fine. I don’t need taking care of. And anyway, I’ve got the guys.” That was not exactly true, but the thought of having his mother fussing over him, breathing down his back 24/7, was torturous.

“No... you need your mother!”

You’re not my mother. The words formed in the back of his throat, but he swallowed them away, refusing to let himself say them. He would only hurt her more.

And he could not do that.

“Mom, you’ve got the other kids to take care of in LA. Stay there. I’ll be fine. I’ll come out and visit you sometime.”

“When?”

“I dunno, when I can. Look, Mom, I gotta go now. Talk to you later.” He heard her start to sputter a protest, but he terminated the conversation and snapped the phone closed, breaking off his ties with her, shutting her out of his life.

***

The next week was utter chaos. After a few more days in New York together, the

guys had gone their separate ways again, promising to keep in touch and get together again later to resume work on the album. When Nick returned to Tampa, he found himself being harassed by paparazzi on a regular basis. He declined interviews and refused comments, not wanting to encourage anyone, but it didn’t seem to be working.

And when the press was not calling, his family members were. Jane called almost every day, but when he chose to answer the phone, their conversations were always short and strained. He discovered that the line “I’m tired; I think I’m gonna go take a nap” was a great way to blow her off.

After over a week of staying cooped up in his house, hiding from the media, Nick was forced to emerge. It was time for his three-week check-up and the fourth round of chemo to begin. Oh joy. He couldn’t have been more thrilled.

Luckily, the paparazzi had backed off a bit, for apparently his cancer wasn’t such big news after a week and a half, so the journey to Tampa General was fairly uneventful.

For once, Nick felt almost comfortable going up to the Oncology floor, not terrified that he would be recognized. So what if he was? The world knew now; it would be perfectly acceptable for him to be seen there.

The waiting room in the oncology department was once again fairly uncrowded, and Nick couldn’t help but wonder if it had been arranged that way on purpose to save him from being bothered by a bunch of other people while he waited. If it was, he had to admit he was grateful.

Glancing briefly around the room before he took a seat, he noticed Claire, the girl he had met twice before on the oncology floor, sitting on one side of the room, engrossed in a copy of Redbook magazine. He crossed the room and sat down near her, leaving one empty chair between them. She looked up as he took a seat and smiled. “Hi, Nick.”

“Hey, Claire. Looks like they’ve got us on the same schedule for doctor’s appointments.”

Claire laughed. “Yeah, I begged my doctor to look up what time you were supposed to come for appointments and schedule me for the same time. I... I just can’t get enough of you. I tried to get her to look up your address and phone number for me too, but she wouldn’t. I’m sure I can find out where you live though; I heard they give tours.”

Nick blinked, completely unnerved, and couldn’t help but shift to the side of his chair farthest away from her. Seeing the bewildered expression on his face, Claire immediately burst out laughing. “Oh my God, relax, I’m just kidding! I’m not a stalker.

As far as I know, this scheduling thing is pure coincidence. Or maybe,” she added, smiling suggestively, “it’s fate.”

Nick was not quite sure what to make of that, so he just smiled and expelled a weak, “Oh.”

Claire’s expression turned serious. “Sorry,” she said with an apologetic smirk.

“Didn’t mean to freak you out. I was just messing with your mind.” She shrugged.

“Gave me something to do. If you haven’t noticed, this place is extremely boring.” Nick laughed. “I’ve noticed.”

“Yeah, so anyway... I’m sorry. I’m really not a stalker... in fact, I’m not even a fan, really. No offense or anything. I just like ‘N Sync a lot more.” Nick must have made some sort of disgusted face at that comment, for she burst out laughing yet again and added, “Just kidding. God, I can’t stand them. I’m not really into much pop though... I’m more of a rock person. Sorry.”

“No, no, that’s cool!” Nick said, relieved. “I am too.” Then, realizing that sounded sort of strange, considering he was a Backstreet Boy, he added, “I just sing pop.

Go figure.”

“So, who’s your favorite rock band then?” Claire asked. “Sorry, I know your fans probably already know this by heart, but, like I said, I’m not really a fan.” She smiled impishly, and Nick couldn’t help but grin back.

“Probably Journey or Nirvana,” he replied. “You?”

“Oh, that’s cool. I like both of those groups too, but I’m more into modern stuff lately. Linkin Park and other bands like that.”

“Oh yeah, Linkin Park’s great. Their new album kicks ass, do you have that?”

“Oh yeah, bought it the day it came out. It’s awesome!” Another pair of smiles were exchanged, but then, before the conversation could continue, the door to the waiting room popped open, and a nurse stepped in. “Claire?

You can come on back now.”

“Oh yay,” Claire remarked dryly, rolling her eyes in Nick’s direction. “Well, see ya later.”

“Yeah, see ya. Good luck.”

Claire smiled. “You too.” And she followed the nurse back, leaving Nick to himself. While he used to enjoy his privacy and solitude, especially in awkward places such as this, he now found he actually enjoyed her company. She was not the type of girl he would normally even give the time of day, but exchanging small talk with her as they both waited comforted him somehow. Maybe it was because, despite the fact that they barely knew each other and didn’t even really talk about it, he knew they had something in common. They shared the same curse, the curse of cancer.

***

Chapter 45

“Hi, Nick, how are you doing today?” Dr. Kingsbury asked kindly, smiling at Nick as she entered the small examining room where he sat, feeling awkward in a backless hospital gown.

“Pretty good,” he replied automatically, knowing he wouldn’t be able to use that same answer within a matter of hours. So, what are your plans for the afternoon, Nick? Well, I’m gonna go home and barf my guts out all day, how about you? Fun, fun.

“... complaints?”

“Huh?” Head jerking up, Nick realized he had been spacing out again and had no idea what the doctor had just said to him.

Dr. Kingsbury smiled patiently. “How have you been feeling lately? Any complaints?”

Nick shrugged. “Nah, I’ve been okay, I guess.”

“How’s your leg been? Any pain?”

Nick grimaced. “Yeah, it still kinda hurts when I walk on it, and other times, it just throbs, even when I’m just sitting there. The painkillers help kinda, but not all the way.”

She nodded. “Well, we’ll do the usual x-ray on your leg, and then I’d also like to get some other tests run today as well. A CT scan, bone marrow, and a chest x-ray.” Bone marrow. Those two words screamed through Nick’s brain, and he could have sworn he heard a mental “dum dum dum” of doom accompany them, but maybe that was all in his head. In fact, maybe the whole thing was just in his head... maybe she hadn’t said those words at all... maybe...

“Nick? Did you hear me?”

“Uh...” Nick felt his cheeks turn crimson, “did you say a bone marrow test?”

“Yes.”

NOOOOO!!! “Again?! But... but I just had one!”

“Over two months ago, you did. But I need to do another one, just make sure we’re still in the clear. To make sure the cancer isn’t spreading.”

“Spreading? But I thought that’s what the chemo was for! To keep it from spreading!”

“Shh, calm down.” Dr. Kingsbury rested a gentle hand on his shoulder and continued, “That is what the chemo is for. I just want to make sure it’s doing its job, that’s all. You’ll be having these tests every few appointments until you go into a good remission. I know it’s not exactly fun, but it’s important. Early detection is crucial, as I’m sure you know.”

He had stopped paying attention at the word “remission,” his mind beginning to wander again. Remission. The word was an oasis, a slice of Heaven in the midst of Hell, a destination that lay just behind the horizon in a place he was sure he would never reach. It was the lighthouse shining from the rocky coast, beckoning to him as he struggled against the relentless waves to row to shore, throwing his whole weight into each stroke of the oars only to be pitched right back again by the rapid waters. It was the top of the endless stairs in Super Mario 64, which you could only reach by getting the required seventy stars; otherwise you would just keep going and going and going, like the small, Italian version of the Energizer bunny, never quite able to reach the

gateway to the third and final Bowser level that lay at the staircase’s pinnacle.

“Nick?”

“Oh. Sorry. I’m listening.” Nick blinked, forcing himself to focus on what Dr.

Kingsbury was saying. God, he had to have the world’s shortest attention span... maybe he had ADHD...

“Good. All right, so anyway, I’ll do a quick physical exam, and then I’ll take you for your x-rays and CT scan. We’ll save the bone marrow aspiration for last.”

“Oh yeah, gotta save the best for last,” Nick muttered dryly.

Dr. Kingsbury just gave him a sympathetic smile and slid her stethoscope into her ears. She slipped the other end down the front of Nick’s gown; he winced as the cold metal touched his skin. “Now take a deep breath...”

***

The chest x-ray and the scans of his leg were simple and painless, but, sitting nervously in the exam room an hour later, Nick knew the upcoming bone marrow test would not be. He was dreading it with every fiber of his being, even more so than he had done the first time around. The first time, he had gone into it naïvely, ignorant to the massive needle and crushing pain that went along with it. Now he knew. And he was scared shitless.

He swung one of his long legs back and forth, the other held stiffly in place by the brace, and prayed for a fire drill or a bomb threat or anything to get him out of that godforsaken place and save him from that hellish procedure.

No such luck, he realized unhappily as Dr. Kingsbury came back into the room.

“All right,” Dr. Kingsbury sighed. “Just this last test, and then I’ll get your pump attached and turn you lose, okay?”

“Yay,” Nick replied without emotion.

She just patted his shoulder and helped him lie down on his stomach on the padded examining table. His heart pounded, slamming crazily against his ribcage as panic crept up on him. All of a sudden, a high-pitched beeping sounded.

“Oh, my pager,” said Dr. Kingsbury, and Nick looked over his shoulder to see her remove the beeper from her pocket and look at it. “Oh no, it’s the ER...” She sighed.

“Oh, Nick, I’m going to have to run down there and see what they need. Do you mind waiting a little while, or do you want me to just get a nurse to do the bone marrow?” He quickly considered these options and quickly made his choice. “I’ll wait for you,” he replied. This was good because A) Dr. Kingsbury was a doctor, not a nurse, so maybe it wouldn’t hurt so bad when she did it, and B) this would give him longer to stall, maybe even escape.

“Are you sure? It could be awhile...”

“It’s cool. Don’t got any other plans for today,” Nick said, flashing her the Carter half-smile, which she couldn’t help but return.

“Well, all right. I’ll try not to keep you too long. Be back as soon as I can. You just relax.” Then she darted out of the room.

***

Chapter 46

Nick flipped himself over and sat up, dangling his legs off the table once more.

Looking around the room, he wondered what would happen if he was not there when she returned. Stupid bone marrow test... he didn’t need one of those... maybe he could just slip on out of there... but not right out the open door, that would be too easy. No, maybe he could climb out the window... hm, too bad it was on the fifth floor... he laughed, picturing himself repelling down the side of the building on a rope made of bedsheets in his leg brace and hospital gown, his boxer-covered ass to the wind.

“What’s so funny?”

Shocked to hear a voice that was not his own, he jerked his head toward the door, where Claire Ryan stood, leaning casually in the doorway, a wry smile playing on her lips.

He grinned sheepishly. “Nothin’. So, you all done?” She was dressed in street clothes, purse slung over one shoulder. It was a pretty safe bet that she was on her way out.

“Yup. How about you? Almost done?”

He shrugged. “Basically... still got the, uh, bone marrow test to do... Dr.

Kingsbury’s gonna do it, but she got called to the Emergency Room.” Claire grimaced and gave him a sympathetic look. “Ugh, bone marrow, huh?

That sucks the big one. Have you had one before?”

“Oh, yeah, once,” he said, trying to be casual, as if it was no big deal. He didn’t want her to know what a big baby he was.

Claire gave him a skeptical look. “Oh yeah, right, like you’re not freaking out.

Don’t even tell me it didn’t hurt. They always say it’s not supposed to, but I beg to differ.”

He quickly ended the macho act and gave her a wavering smile. “Uh, yeah,” he admitted. “It killed. It was horrible.”

“Ha, I knew it.” She smiled triumphantly. “I knew you weren’t so tough, Mr.

Backstreet Boy.”

“Hey! I resent that! We Backstreet Boys are tough! We’re, like, you know, from the streets. The-“

“back streets,” they said in unison, and Claire giggled. “Oh yeah, you guys are real ghetto all right,” she teased, and Nick just laughed. It felt good to do that, and for a moment, he almost forgot the terror of the bone marrow exam. Then there was a pause, and the feeling of panic came back in full force. Damn.

“I saw you guys on MTV last week,” Claire said, her face sobering. “I gotta say, I think that was really cool of you, going on live television in front of all those people and telling them this. I think I would’ve rather crawled in a hole and died.” Nick smiled, somewhat flattered by this. “Really? You don’t seem like the type to be all embarrassed.”

Claire blushed, refuting that statement just by body language. “Nah, I would be...

I try to be outgoing and stuff, but that’s just a way of covering up being self-conscious. I literally would have died up there in front of all those people.”

“Well, I seriously was about to,” Nick laughed. “Talk about being self-conscious.

Y’all probably think I’ve got it all together and am all confident and shit, being a popstar, but I’m not. Not at all.”

“That’s good to know.” Claire smiled. “Nice to know that you’re human, I mean.

I don’t like guys that are too overconfident and all egotistical. And I have to admit, I used to think that you would be that type. Hell, that’s part of the reason I started talking to you that day we met in the chemo room. I mean, I recognized you and all, and I wanted to see what you were like. Well, that and the fact that I was the only person in there, and it was boring, and I wanted someone to talk to.” She shrugged, grinning.

“Well, that’s fine by me. I’m glad you did. You’re like my little cancer buddy now.”

“’Little cancer buddy?’” she repeated, feigning an offended look. “Gee, I feel special.”

He laughed. “Well, I didn’t mean it like that... sorry... I’m not too good with words.”

She snorted. “I can tell. Nah, it’s all good though. Maybe I can just be your buddy though? The cancer part’s kinda... I dunno... morbid? And, well, I’m not exactly

‘little’.” She glanced down at herself, and suddenly, Nick saw what she meant about being self-conscious.

“Hey,” he said softly, “don’t diss yourself. You look fine... and besides, you can’t really help it, can you? It’s the medication?”

“Yeah... but still, I kinda look like a chipmunk at the moment... and I feel like a lard ass. I’m actually much thinner normally... you’d just never know it from looking at me now.”

“Oh no, I knew that... you were a lot skinnier when I met you before.” She smiled sadly. “I know. I used to be almost disgustingly skinny, all gaunt and stuff from the chemo. Now it’s the total opposite. Just another lovely side effect – isn’t chemo great?”

He laughed cynically. “Well, it’s made me lose weight... so that’s good, I guess...

but other than that, hells no.”

“Got that right,” Claire giggled.

There was another brief silence, and, watching her standing there in the doorway, Nick suddenly felt guilty for keeping her there. “Hey, you can go anytime, you know.

You don’t have to stay and talk to me if you don’t want to; I can wait here by myself like a big boy.”

“Oh yeah,” Claire laughed. “I’d leave, and the next thing you know, you’d be scaling down the building, trying to escape.”

Nick stared. “Dude... I was just thinking the same thing!” he exclaimed in amazement. Chuckling, he added, “That’s what I was laughing about when you came by.”

“Oh,” Claire laughed. “That’s weird. Great minds think alike, I guess. Believe me, I’ve considered formulating an escape plan many times too. But anyway, do you want me to go?”

Well, how was he supposed to answer that? If he told her yes, she would think he didn’t want her there, which wasn’t the case, for he rather enjoyed talking to her, and it was definitely helping to take his mind off the bone marrow aspiration. On the other hand, if he said no, she would feel compelled to stay, and he didn’t want to make her stay there if she didn’t want to. And why would she?

“Um... well... I don’t care,” he finally answered. “Totally up to you. If I were you, I’d get my ass out of here as quick as I could – which wouldn’t be that fast, on this leg –

but I don’t mind you being here if you wanna stay. Helps get my mind off the damn bone marrow thingie.”

She smiled. “That’s kinda what I thought... well, I can stay, if you want me to. I’ll even hold your hand, if that would help.”

“Hold my hand?” Nick repeated doubtfully, feeling like a five-year-old. He laughed, “Uh, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Why not? My older brother used to always come with me and hold my hand. It helps, trust me. I probably almost broke his hand, I squeezed so damn hard, but hey, it kept me from screaming.”

Nick laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t wanna break your hand...” She grinned. “Hey, I’m tough, kid.”

“Kid? Who you callin’ kid? How old are you, anyway?” He began to realize how little he knew about her.

“Twenty-three. You?”

“You’re twenty-three?” She really didn’t look it; he had always thought she was more like nineteen, twenty at most.

“Sure am. How old are you?”

“Heh, I’m twenty-three too. Not such of a kid, huh?” She smiled. “Guess not.”

All of a sudden, they heard footsteps coming down the hall, and Nick’s heart begin to race again, thudding around in his chest in rhythm with the approaching footsteps.

Claire peeked out into the hall and then looked at Nick, grimacing. “I think that’s your doc.”

“Aww...”

“Okay, I’m back,” Dr. Kingsbury announced breathlessly as she breezed into the room, followed by a nurse whose name Nick did not know. “Oh!” Dr. Kingsbury stopped abruptly, noticing Claire standing just inside the door. “Well, who are you?

Girlfriend?”

Claire laughed, her cheeks turning red. “Not quite. Just his... buddy.” She winked at Nick, who couldn’t help but smile, despite his nerves.

“Yeah, uh, she’s gonna stay in here with me... if that’s okay.” He looked hopefully at Dr. Kingsbury, who nodded casually.

“Sure, that’s fine. Nick, if you could just flip back over on your tummy again, and... sorry, what was your name, hon?”

“Claire.”

“Claire – if you could just go on this side of the table... that’s the way. Okay. Let me just get set up here, and we’ll get this over with.”

“Great,” grumbled Nick, rolling over so that he was lying face down. Claire pulled up a chair next to one side of the table, and Dr. Kingsbury and the nurse stood on the other side.

“All right, Nick,” Dr. Kingsbury said after a moment. “Debbie here is just going to help keep you lying still-“ A.K.A. hold me down, Nick thought. “-and I’m going to give you a little shot of anesthetic to numb your hip.” Yeah, that was the easy part. Nick barely flinched when the small needle slid into his hip, knowing the second needle was going to be much, much worse. Wordlessly, he felt Claire take his hand, and he let his fingers wrap around hers gratefully.

“Okay, Nick... you’ll feel some pressure now... hold very still...” He squeezed his eyes shut, gripped Claire’s hand (trying not to hold it too tight), and waited for the pain. And it came, and it hurt like a bitch, just as much as last time, even with Dr. Kingsbury doing it. His eyes began to water, and he unintentionally cut off the circulation in Claire’s fingers, but in some small way, it helped just having her there. It didn’t relieve the pain, but it somehow made it more tolerable. Maybe it was because he knew she had been through the same thing, more times than he had. She knew. She empathized.

She understood.

***

Chapter 47

“You feeling better, Nick?”

It had been half an hour since the bone marrow aspiration, and Dr. Kingsbury had let him lie in the examining room for a short while to recuperate before he attempted to drive himself home. Claire had gone; Nick insisted she didn’t have to stay any longer, feeling bad for keeping her there as long as he did. He didn’t mind anyway; somehow he didn’t feel like talking as much when his hip was searing with pain. He was more content to just lie there and moan and bitch in his head about how much it sucked.

“Yeah, I’m feeling better,” he answered now, and truthfully, he was. He was sore, but the pain had dulled to a weak throb that was definitely tolerable, considering that’s what his left shin basically felt like all the time. With some difficulty, he managed to sit up.

“Okay. Well, let me get your new infusion pump going here...” He untied his hospital gown and pulled it down in front so that she could get at his catheter. With the nimble fingers of an expert, she quickly hooked the thin line of the new pump into the catheter.

“There you go, sir. Your clothes are over there,” she said, pointing, “so go ahead and get dressed, and you can go.”

“Okay,” Nick said. “I’ll see you in three weeks then.” Dr. Kingsbury nodded, smiling, and started to leave the room so he could get changed. Then, she stopped. “Oh, wait, one thing,” she said, turning back. “The results of your tests won’t be in till probably tomorrow morning, and I’m sure things will be fine, but if anything looks out of the ordinary, I’ll give you a call, okay?”

“Oh, okay,” Nick replied casually, not thinking anything of it.

But the doctor called him the very next day.

***

It was almost noon when the phone rang, but Nick was still in bed, battling nausea. “Go away,” he mumbled, groaning as the phone’s shrill, constant ringing plagued his ears. With a sigh, he rolled over and blindly reached for the cordless on the night stand next to his bed; he managed to grab it from its cradle, and, squinting tiredly, looked at the caller ID in the little window on the phone. Reporters had been calling him pretty much everyday since the TRL appearance, but he had done his best to ignore them all. He sure as hell didn’t want to talk to one now.

But the caller ID did not register a private or blocked call, which was usually what it said when it was a reporter or solicitor. Instead, it said Tampa General. Immediately, a wave of nausea rippled through Nick’s stomach, but this time, he was sure it wasn’t from the chemo. A sheet of cold sweat broke out on his skin, and with a shaking finger, he punched the “talk” button on the phone and held it up to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Nick?” It was a woman’s voice, and he knew, just as he had suspected, that it was Dr. Kingsbury.

Oh God, oh God, why is she calling? His mind raced, coming up with all the worst possibilities. What had his tests shown? That the cancer had spread? Oh God...

how bad was it? Is she gonna tell me I’m going to die?

“Hello? Nick?”

“Oh, yeah, this is Nick,” Nick said quickly, heart pounding erratically.

“Oh, good morning, Nick. This is Dr. Kingsbury.”

“Hi...”

Dr. Kingsbury must have sensed the uneasiness in his voice, for she continued quickly, “Nick, I know I said I would call you if anything turned up in your test results, and I don’t want to scare you. Your chest x-ray and bone marrow biopsy both looked great; no cancer cells. But the x-ray and CT scan of your leg show that the hole has not been reduced by as much as I would have expected.”

“So what does that mean?” Nick asked, wondering if he was supposed to feel relieved or not.

“It means that the chemo is not working as well as it should be. I’d like to try you on some stronger drugs to see if that helps.”

“Stronger drugs?” Nick repeated in dismay. “Will that make me even sicker than I am now?” Nausea coursed through his body, reminding him just how much the stuff he was on now sucked.

“Probably, yes. And I know that’s no fun, but Nick, we need to try it. The therapy you’re on now just isn’t doing the trick, and I’m afraid if we don’t try a more potent drug combination, the hole will get bigger, and the cancer will begin to spread.

We need to keep it contained. You understand?”

“Yeah,” Nick replied glumly. “So when would I start that stuff? In three weeks?”

“No, I would prefer you start on it this week. And I’m afraid you’ll need to stay in the hospital for a few days while you adjust to it.”

“What?!” Oh man, this was sucking worse and worse with each passing moment...

Dr. Kingsbury chuckled. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t like that. I’m so sorry, Nick, but that’s just the way we have to do it. I can’t just give it to you in a pump the very first time and send you home with it. We have to observe you here at the hospital to make sure you don’t have a bad reaction to it.”

“What, you don’t call throwing up and having your hair fall out a bad reaction?” Nick snapped. On the other end of the line, Dr. Kingsbury was silent, and he immediately felt a bit guilty for giving her a hard time. It wasn’t her fault; he knew she was only trying to do what was best for him. “Sorry,” he mumbled an apology.

“That’s all right. I understand,” said Dr. Kingsbury gently. “What are your plans for the week? Are there two or three days you could set aside to check into the hospital?”

“Yeah,” Nick sighed. “I haven’t made any plans for this week; I try to keep the chemo weeks free cause I usually feel too shi- I mean, bad - to do anything.”

“Okay... so... when should we get this show on the road?” Show on the road... bad choice of words... how he wished he were on the road now, with the guys, touring, instead of here... would he ever be able to tour with them again? Or would this stupid disease always be here to ruin all his plans?

“Nick?”

“Oh, sorry... um... I guess let’s get it over with as soon as possible... can I come tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow would be fine. I’ll make all the arrangements, and you can check in tomorrow morning. Okay?”

“Sure,” Nick replied dully.

“Great. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow then, and if things go well, you’ll be out of the hospital by Wednesday morning.”

“Okay. Bye, Dr. Kingsbury.” He hung up and lay back down in bed, burying his face in his pillow. He closed his eyes, but could not go back to sleep. The queasy sensation of wanting to throw up, mixed with his newfound worry, kept him wide awake.

***

Chapter 48

Brian called that evening, asking how Nick’s doctor’s appointment had gone.

“Sucked ass,” Nick replied flatly.

“Why, what happened?” Brian asked cautiously. “Was everything okay?” Nick sighed. “Well, the chest x-ray and bone marrow looked good, but the CT sc-

”

“Whoa, whoa, what? Chest x-ray? Why did they do that?” Brian interrupted, and Nick realized just how in the dark he was about this whole thing.

“To see if the cancer’s spread to my lungs,” he explained and heard Brian suck in a nervous breath of air. “Don’t worry,” he added quickly. “It hasn’t. But anyway, the x-rays they did on my leg showed that the hole hasn’t closed up that much yet, so my doctor wants to put me on some new chemo drugs that are more powerful than the ones I’m on now.”

“Oh no... will that make you sicker?”

“Yup. Sucks, don’t it?”

“Yeah... so when will you start that?”

“Tomorrow. And they have to put me in the hospital to do it – something about to see if I have a reaction to the new drugs.”

“Oh my gosh... that sounds serious...” Brian remarked, his voice filled with apprehension. “Do... do you want me to come stay with you?”

“Oh, no way, dude, I’m cool,” Nick said quickly. It really didn’t sound like such a bad idea to him, but admitting that would be selfish. Brian had a wife and kid now; he needed to be with them in Atlanta. Besides, Nick didn’t really need Brian seeing him stuck in a hospital bed, all sick and puking like that. Let him stay home and see Baylee crawl or whatever it was he did instead. Speaking of Baylee... “Hey, what’s my godson been up to lately?” he asked, changing the subject. “Can he talk yet? You gotta teach him to say my name, man.”

Brian laughed. “Nick, he’s only six months old... babies don’t talk till they’re like one.”

“Oh.”

“Dude, you’re the one with all the younger siblings. Don’t you remember anything?”

“Hells no, how would I remember that? I was like seven when Aaron and Angel were born; that’s too young to remember when they started talking and shit.”

“You know, you better work on that potty mouth of yours before I let you near my son again,” Brian teased. “When he does start talking, I don’t want his first words to be ‘hells no’ or ‘and shit’.”

Nick laughed. “Ya know, maybe you shouldn’t have made me his godfather then.

I’m a bad influence.”

Brian chuckled. “Yeah, but AJ’s probably worse.”

“What about Howie? Howie don’t swear.”

“Yeah, and he doesn’t say ‘Howie don’t’ either. Great, now my kid’s gonna pick up bad grammar from you, too.”

“Huh?”

“’Howie doesn’t,’ Nick,” Brian lectured. “It’s ‘Howie doesn’t’.”

“Oh. Whatever.”

Brian just laughed. “So anyway,” he said, “how long will you have to stay in the hospital?”

“I dunno, a couple days.”

“That sucks... are you sure you don’t want me to come visit?”

“No, Rok, seriously, I’m fine. I’m a big boy now; I can handle this on my own.”

“Maybe, but you shouldn’t have to. Being in the hospital sucks no matter what, but it’s worse on your own. When I went in for my surgery, I don’t know what I would have done without you guys and my family being there.”

“Well, yeah, but that was different. This ain’t that big of a deal. I’m not having surgery or anything, and it’s only for two days. I’ll be fine,” he said again.

“Well, all right,” Brian finally relented, “but, listen, you call if you need anything, okay? I’m just a state away.”

Nick smiled. “Okay, Bri. Thanks.”

“No problem, bud. I’ll let you go now then; I’m sure you’re not feeling too well.

Talk to you later?”

“Yup,” said Nick. “Talk to you later, man. Bye.”

They hung up, Nick smiling. That was Brian for you, taking after his cousin, always a little overly concerned when it came to Nick. Sure, it got annoying at times, especially now that Nick was all grown up, but still, he had to admit... he liked it that way. Brian truly cared. And that was what mattered.

***

Checking into the hospital the following morning was something like willingly going to jail. ( Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200. ) The hospital was his prison, the room on the oncology floor his cell. He was issued the standard garb, a paper-thin patterned gown, and sent to bed, where he awaited Dr. Kingsbury’s visit.

“Good morning, Nick,” she greeted him with a smile. “How are you feeling?” Nick shrugged. “All right, I guess,” he muttered unenthusiastically. He noticed that she was carrying an IV bag filled with fluid and asked, “So, is that the new stuff?”

“That’s it,” answered Dr. Kingsbury and hung the bag on an IV stand next to his bed.

“Ohh man, are you gonna have to put one of those IV’s in my hand again?” Nick asked, filled with dread at the thought a needle sliding into his vein. He had to admit, it really didn’t hurt once it was in, but boy it sure stung as it was going in.

“No, actually, I’ll just attach it to your catheter. Lucky you, huh – that central line comes in handy.”

“Yeah,” Nick said, relieved. He watched with mild interest as Dr. Kingsbury hooked a line from the IV bag to the tube in Nick’s chest. She made some adjustments, and moments later, the fluid began to drip from the bag and run through the thin tube into his catheter.

Dr. Kingsbury stood and watched it for a few minutes, then asked, “How are you feeling now? Everything okay?”

“Yeah...” Nick answered cautiously. “Why? Is this stuff gonna make me turn freakin’ purple or something?”

Dr. Kingsbury laughed. “No, but some people feel a burning sensation when the

chemo goes into their bloodstream, and others get physically ill right away.”

“Oh... well, I feel okay...” Nick said hopefully. Grinning mischievously, he added,

“So can I go home now?”

“Haha, nice try. No, like I said, I still need to keep you here to observe how you tolerate the chemo. It’s great that you feel fine now, but – and I hate to say this – you’ll probably feel a lot worse by this afternoon.”

Nick nodded dolefully and knew she was probably right. He hated it, yet if this new medication did the trick, put him in remission, and cured his cancer, it would be worth the misery, right?

That’s what he tried to keep telling himself anyway.

***

Chapter 49

The effects of this new chemo came even more quickly than Nick had expected.

Within half an hour, he was already throwing up, and something told him he was in for a hell of a ride.

“God... this... sucks,” he choked, as he doubled over an emesis basin, purging the contents of his stomach.

“I know, sweetie,” whispered Nichole, one of the nurses, who comfortingly rubbed his back in small circles as he vomited. “Just let it all out.” He didn’t seem to be having any trouble doing that; his body was going to let it all out whether he wanted to or not.

The intense sensation of nausea lasted the entire day, accompanied by frequent bouts of vomiting. Around 5:30 that evening, an orderly brought in Nick’s dinner tray.

“No thanks,” he muttered weakly as the orderly set the tray of covered dishes upon the tray attached to Nick’s bed.

“You should try to eat something,” the orderly advised.

“I’ll just puke it right back up again,” Nick retorted sullenly, trying to hold his breath to avoid inhaling the scent of food, knowing it would probably just set off his stomach again. “Can’t you just take it away? It’s making me sick.”

“Sorry, not yet. Try to eat; you might be surprised,” the orderly replied casually and left.

Glaring at the tray in front of him, Nick let out a breath and was immediately greeted with an odd smell that reminded him of dirty dishwater and wet dog.

Appetizing. Deciding to not reveal the mystery that lay beneath the covers on all of the plates, he pushed the tray away and rolled over so that he could not see it. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

Wrong.

Within seconds, he was retching into the basin again, not sure whether it was the food or just the chemo that had triggered the vomiting again. Wiping his mouth off with a tissue, he collapsed miserably back into bed and rang for a nurse to come rinse the basin, only to have him dirty it up again in a few minutes.

A young nurse that he had not seen before appeared in his doorway right away, almost too soon. She didn’t look any older than him, and he felt his cheeks go red, embarrassed to be seen in that condition by one of his peers. The middle-aged nurses he did not mind; they were like mothers to him, and they understood. But to younger generations, he was Nick Carter, the Backstreet Boy, the celebrity. He was not supposed to be lying in a hospital bed, mostly bald and puking nonstop.

“Here,” he mumbled, holding the filled basin out toward her without looking at her.

“Oh! S-sure! I-I can rinse that out for you.” He felt her take the basin from his hand and chanced a look at her, only to catch the look of surprise on her pretty, young face.

“Sorry, guess you’re not used to this.” He gave her a wan smile.

“Oh, no, it’s... it’s not that,” she said quickly. “I just came b-because, um, well, I know you’re not accepting phone calls, but B-Brian Littrell called, and he begged me to come see if you would take his call.” She said this last bit very fast, and he noticed her face turning bright red. He recognized the starstruck look of a fan and smiled, relaxing a

bit.

“Oh. Well, thank you. Yeah, I’ll take his call.”

She grinned. “Okay. Here you go.” She picked up the phone from the bedside table, pressed a button, and handed it to him.

“Hello?”

“Nick, finally! You wouldn’t believe the hoops I had to jump through just to get you to answer!” came Brian’s Kentucky drawl.

Nick laughed weakly and said, “Just a minute, Rok.” Cupping his hand over the mouthpiece, he asked the nurse, “Would you get me a pen when you bring that back?”

“Oh, sure!” She hurried away with his basin.

Smiling slightly, Nick put the phone back to his ear. “’Kay, I’m here. Sorry, one of the nurses is a fan.”

Brian chuckled. “Yeah, must be the one I talked to. I had to sing to her over the freaking phone to get her to believe who I was and come get you to talk to me.” Nick laughed. “Did you really?”

“Sure did.”

The nurse came back then and gave Nick the empty basin and the pen with a hurried, “There you go.”

Blushing, she started to turn away and leave again, but Nick mumbled a quick,

“Hang on again, Bri,” and said to the nurse, “Hey, wait a minute.” She turned back. “Yeah?”

He swung his tray in front of him, grabbed the napkin from his dinner plate, and checked her nametag. Samantha was her name. Smiling, he scribbled a quick note to her on the napkin and scrawled his signature across the bottom, handing it to her along with the pen.

Glancing down at it, she grinned and whispered, “Thank you!”

“No problem, hon,” he replied, managing a slightly feeble version of the Carter half-smile that he knew his adoring female fans all loved so much. The look on her face was priceless and brought a genuine smile to his own as she uttered another empathetic thanks and left the room, positively glowing.

Once he was alone, he brought the phone back up and said, “’Kay, I’m back. I just signed her a quick autograph.”

“That was nice of you.”

“Well, you know me,” Nick muttered sarcastically. “So, what’s up?”

“That’s what I was calling you for. Nothing much is going on here; Leigh’s finishing up dinner, and Baylee’s playing here in front of me, and I thought I’d call and check up on you. How you doing?”

“Eh... okay...” Nick said slowly.

Brian could see right through him, even over the phone. “Yeah, right. You don’t sound like you’re okay. How are you really?” he pressed.

“To be honest? Sick. I never knew a person could throw up so much in one day,” Nick admitted, seeing no point in trying to hide the truth from his best friend any longer.

“Aww... Nick, are you sure you don’t me or somebody to come down there?” How many times was he going to ask this? “For the last time, no,” Nick replied, half irritated, half flattered that Brian cared so much. “Jeez, Brian, I think you’re turning into your cousin.”

“NOOO!” Brian screamed in mock horror, and Nick laughed.

They say laughter is the best medicine, but all that jostling wasn’t really too good for his stomach. Suddenly very queasy, Nick choked out, “Oh God, hang on,” tossed the phone down, and leaned over the clean basin once more, vomiting a pale yellow solution of stomach acid and not much else, for he hadn’t eaten a thing all day. It burned as it went up his throat and left a bitter taste in his mouth, which he rinsed out with water.

He carefully set the basin aside and picked up the phone again. “Sorry,” he said weakly.

“Are you okay? Were you just throwing up, Nick?”

“Maybe...”

“Nick... God, somebody should be there with you. You know, your mother should be with you. Why isn’t she?”

“Cause she don’t know I’m here, and I don’t want her to. I don’t talk to her anymore.”

Brian sighed heavily. “You are so damn stubborn. Well, listen, I know you probably feel like crap now, so I’ll let you go. Try to get some sleep, and feel better, okay? Call if you need anything.”

“Okay,” Nick replied. “Bye, Bri.”

“Bye, Nick.”

They hung up, and Nick lay down in bed, waiting desperately for his stomach to settle.

At some point, he must have fallen asleep, for when he closed his eyes, it was growing dark, and when he opened them again, it was light. He wondered vaguely if he had been given something to make him sleep. Still groggy, he looked around the room and was startled to see a figure slumped in a chair in the corner of the room. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he stared in astonishment.

“Mom?”

***

Chapter 50

At the sound of his voice, Jane Carter shifted in her chair and opened her eyes.

“Nicky,” she whispered, smiling tiredly. Rising slowly, she dragged the chair over to his bed and sat down again. “How are you feeling?”

“What are you doing here?” he asked her, ignoring her question.

“What do you mean, what am I doing here? I came to see you, of course,” she replied matter-of-factly.

“Well, yeah, I figured that, but... why? I mean... how did you know I was here?”

“Brian called. He said... uh... he said you weren’t doing too well...” She studied her manicured fingernails, purposely avoiding his eyes as her voice tapered off.

Nick rolled his eyes, muttering crossly, “Brian overreacts.”

“Not by the looks of things.”

Nick’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jane glanced up quickly, then looked away as soon as their eyes met. “I just mean that you don’t... well... you... you don’t look good.” Nick sighed in disgust. “Is that the only thing you care about? What I fucking look like? Yeah, I look like shit, okay, I know! I can’t help it – it’s the damn chemo.”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant-“

“Well, I lost weight, I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear that. Look, you see!” He tore off the covers, exposing his body, which had thinned considerably since the last time she had seen him. “At least now you can’t badger me about my weight anymore.” A hurt look crossed his mother’s eyes, and part of him felt guilty. But secretly, another part was glad. Half of him wanted to hurt her, wanted to make her feel bad.

She had done it to him so many times before... she deserved it, as far as he was concerned.

“Nicky-“

“Don’t call me that; I’m not five anymore. I don’t need to be babied, and you don’t have to come all the way to Florida, pretending to be my mother, just because I’m sick.”

He knew he should stop saying things like that; he was going too far, he was crossing the line. But at the moment, he didn’t care. Caught up in the moment, wanting to release the months of pent-up anger at her, he kept firing his mouth off, not thinking, not taking her feelings into consideration at all.

She was crying now, silent, her head down, forehead resting against the heel of her hand. He stopped. “Mom?” he asked, his tone softening. She did not respond.

“Mom?” he said again. “I’m sorry. I...” He started to go on, to apologize, to tell her he hadn’t meant most of the things he had said, but the intense emotions seemed to have caught up with him, and he suddenly felt extremely nauseous. Not again, not now, he thought miserably, diving for the emesis basin. He retrieved it just in time and slanted over it, heaving.

He could not see much while he was doubled over, choking and retching, but all of a sudden, he felt a hand lightly touch his back. Too weak to pull away, he continued to throw up, allowing her to gently rub his back. When he was done, she said softly,

“Here, let me take that” and placed the basin on the bedside table. Then she eased him back down into bed and whispered, “Hang on just a minute.” She left his side and went into the bathroom, where he heard water running. Then she returned, carrying a warm,

damp cloth, which she handed to him to wipe his mouth with.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, too drained to be angry with her anymore.

She only sat back down, and silence filled the room. It was broken by her quiet inquiry, “How often do you throw up like that?”

“I dunno... a lot,” he answered tiredly. “It’s no biggie; I’m pretty much used to it by now.” This, of course, was far from true, but he couldn’t let her know that. He was a grown man; he couldn’t be bitching and whining about throwing up. That would only make her worry more, if indeed she really was concerned about him. He kind of figured she had to be though, to come all the way from California. Either that or this was all some publicity stunt. He tried to push that possibility far from his mind and be optimistic.

“Oh, baby...” Jane whispered, her voice filled with sorrow. Gingerly, she reached out and touched his bare left shin. Running her fingers lightly over his skin, she said,

“So this is where it all started, huh?”

“Yup.”

“How does your leg feel? Does it hurt?”

“Yeah. It still hurts to walk on it, and it throbs sometimes, you know. I got pain meds for that though, and they help.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

The small talk diminished, and Jane sat back in her chair, nervously biting her lip, not knowing what to say. Racking his brain, Nick asked casually, “So, how’s the rest of the family? They’re all still in Cali, right?”

“Yeah, they stayed behind this time,” replied Jane. “I thought it would be better if maybe I just came to see you at first. But if you want them to come-“

“No, not now,” Nick interrupted quickly. “They don’t need to see me like this...

‘specially the kids, you know. Aaron and Angel. It’ll probably freak ‘em out.” Jane nodded. “I think your brother’s plenty freaked out already.”

“Is he?” Nick felt bad, wishing he’d called Aaron, talked to him about this. The last time he had heard from his brother was before the TRL appearance, before the whole world found out about his cancer.

“Yeah... he doesn’t really talk about it though. You know boys – never want to share their emotions.”

Nick smiled. Well, that was definitely true. “I’ll call him sometime, when I’m feeling a little better,” Nick promised.

“And when will that be? When will you get out of here?” Jane wondered.

“Probably tomorrow morning. I’m just in here so they can test the new chemo.”

“Yes, that’s what Brian told me. Well, that’s good.”

“Yeah.”

Again, they drifted off into silence. For the past few years, Nick’s relationship with his mother had been strained at best, so this conversation was really not much different from the usual ones. Small talk or arguing – that’s usually what their conversations consisted of. At least the cancer hadn’t changed that. Nick only hoped that maybe, somehow, his being sick would help bring them back together, repair their broken relationship.

Their broken relationship... it seemed everything in his life was broken these days... even his life itself. Nothing was going right anymore. There was a time, just a

few months ago, when he had been on top of the world. Now his love life was nonexistent, his family ties were frayed, he felt suffocated by his bandmates and separated from his other friends... not to mention, he was suffering from a life-threatening illness. His whole world was crashing down, falling apart. Breaking.

Could it ever be fixed?

***

Part II: Blind

Chapter 51

Birds chirped lightheartedly, and a warm summer breeze wafted through the slightly open window, rattling the mini-blinds and freshening the small, stuffy room.

The sun shined through the slates of the blinds, creating strips of light amidst the shadows across the tiled floor of the dimmed enclosure. It was a perfect June day in Tampa, Florida, and had it been a normal one, Nick Carter would have been out in it, probably cruising in one of his boats.

But, of course, it was not a normal day, just as no day had been normal since that fateful one in March, when he had been told he had Ewing’s Sarcoma, a form of bone cancer. And now, on this beautiful summer afternoon, he was cooped up inside a hospital, fighting nausea, battling chemotherapy, combating cancer.

His mother had been there with him, but she had gone for lunch at his insistence, and he was rather glad. Though she had only been there a matter of hours, he was already sick of her hovering over him and somehow knew that deep down, she was probably enjoying their brief separation just as much as he was.

This whole scenario – the hospital, the medications, and naturally, the big c-word

– made her very uncomfortable, he could tell. Although she tried to hide it, he could see it in her eyes whenever she looked at him. Every time a nurse came to check on him and adjust his IV, he noticed her gaze drift down to the catheter implanted just below his collarbone, where an IV line ran into him and dispensed his chemotherapy drugs, the drugs that had been making him violently ill and constantly nauseated for the past two days. It scared her, he knew, though she would never admit it. And he felt bad, but it wasn’t like there was a thing he could do about it.

The truth was, it scared him too. Not the catheter and the tubes and the stench of medicine – no, he was used to all that by now. It was simply the cancer that terrified him and the possibility that it would take away the rest of his life. He was only twenty-three, far too young to die, and yet, he very well could. His chances of beating the cancer were good; at least that’s what Dr. Kingsbury told him. But still, he had cancer, and cancer killed. That was the grim reality of it. And that was what scared him.

The door to his room clicked open, offering a welcomed intrusion into his bleak thoughts. He looked up, expecting to see his mother back already, but instead, a nurse walked in. Slightly relieved, he pasted on a pleasant smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and mumbled a “Hi” in greeting.

“Hello,” replied the nurse, whom he hadn’t seen there before. He glanced at her nametag – Karen. “I’m just here to check vitals.” She had a cute accent... Australian, maybe?

“Hey, where you from?” Nick asked. “You from Down Under? Crikey!” he added, doing his best Crocodile Hunter impression.

A smile tugged on the corners of her mouth as she tried to keep a straight face.

“Uh, no, I’m English, actually,” she replied.

“English? Oh, like from England?”

“Yes, England.”

“Oh. Like the Bayt-uhls.”

“Yes,” Karen replied, her eyes twinkling, smiling at him in a way that made him feel rather stupid. He shot her his half-smile, hoping to make up for it. “So, how are you feeling?” she asked, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm.

Pausing to survey his symptoms, Nick was surprised to realize that he really didn’t feel too nauseous at the moment. He didn’t exactly feel good, for he was tired and weak and sort of clammy, but still, it was an improvement over the way he had been feeling earlier. Maybe he was adjusting to this new chemo after all.

“Okay, I guess,” he answered, as Karen pumped the cuff until it was uncomfortably tight around his arm.

“Your BP’s 120/70 – that’s very good,” commented the nurse as she unstrapped the cuff.

“Oh,” replied Nick. “Uh, good.”

“Now let me just check your temp...” She stuck a thermometer in his ear, and seconds later, it beeped. Pulling it out, she held it up and frowned at the reading on it.

“Don’t tell me I’ve got a fever,” Nick groaned, watching her expression carefully.

Karen bit her lip. “Let me take it again; this device is a bit dodgy at times.” She put the thermometer back into his ear, and again, the reading was met with a frown.

“Well,” she sighed, “it looks as if you have a fever, Mr. Carter. 100.2.”

“Oh,” said Nick, “well that ain’t that bad. I’ve had temps much higher than that before. One time, a few years ago, I had the flu, and it was like 103-“

“I hate to tell you, but it could be serious,” Karen interrupted him grimly. “Fever is a sign of infection, and the chemotherapy lowers your white count, which makes it much more difficult for your body to fight infection. I’ll fetch a doctor.” She bustled out of the room, and something about the way she was hurrying made an icy block of fear form in the pit of Nick’s stomach.

And suddenly, he didn’t feel well at all. Maybe it the effects of fever setting in, or maybe it was only psychosomatic, but all of a sudden, he was not only nauseous, but dizzy and trembling, cold one minute, hot the next. It felt no different than having the flu, but the flu was nothing, and this, according to the nurse, could be something.

Karen returned a few minutes later with a Hispanic man in a white lab coat – the doctor, Nick assumed. She was speaking rapidly to him in her quaint British accent. “I took it twice, Gustavo, and the reading was the same – 100.2 degrees Fahrenheit.”

“You are right; it could be an infection,” replied the unfamiliar doctor in a heavy Spanish accent.

Deliriously, Nick smiled, finding it interesting to hear the two very different accents blending together as the nurse and doctor conversed. But immediately, the doctor’s attention was turned to him, and the serious expression on his face wiped the hint of a smile from Nick’s.

“I am Dr. Lugo, Mr. Carter,” the doctor said.

“Uh, hi... where’s Dr. Kingsbury?”

“She’s not on call at the moment. She should be here later this evening. But do not worry, I will care for you until she arrives,” assured Dr. Lugo, leaning over Nick’s bed and pressing his fingertips into Nick’s neck, feeling all down his jawline. His hands were cool and felt nice on Nick’s warm skin. “Your glands are swollen. You are developing an infection.”

“So what does that mean?” Nick asked nervously.

“It means we are going to move you into the Intensive Care so that we can

observe you more closely.” Nick’s heart thudded rapidly in his chest; he didn’t like the sound of that. “Karen, order a CBC and lytes and call transport.”

“Certainly, Dr. Lugo.” Karen walked out, leaving Nick alone with the doctor.

“Are you moving me now?” he asked.

“In a little while, when transport comes to take you to the ICU. I need to get going now, but I will come to check on you later. Your nurse Karen will be back to take some blood in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” Nick said grudgingly, and Dr. Lugo left the room as well. He lay there, nervous and frightened, until Karen returned.

“I just need a blood sample,” she said, “and I can take it from your central line without having to stick you.” Nick nodded, used to this by now. He tugged the strings tying his hospital gown in the back until they came undone and let her slide the gown off his chest and shoulders so that his catheter was exposed. Karen expertly inserted a needle into the port, and a few minutes later, she had a small vial of his blood. “I’m going to take this to the lab now,” she told him. “Someone should be here to take you to ICU in just a bit, Mr. Carter.”

“Thanks,” Nick replied dully and watched her leave again.

Lying alone in his bed, feeling weak and feverish, he thought of his mother and wondered if she would be back after lunch. Suddenly, he wanted her there with him.

The prospect of being shipped off to the Intensive Care ward by himself scared him.

ICU – that was for really sick people. He didn’t like to think of himself as “really sick.” But the reality was slowly sinking in – he was really sick. Not only did he have cancer, but now an infection... an infection that, according to the doctor and nurse, could be very serious. They both seemed worried, which made him terrified. Infection, intensive care... God, what if he died?

His whole body felt like it was on fire, and then, suddenly, he was cold again.

Shivering under his meager bedcovers, he was suddenly painfully aware of his own mortality. He had been ever since the diagnosis of Ewing’s Sarcoma, but now, listening to his heart beat erratically in his ears and feeling the perspiration slide down his burning forehead, he really felt it... the fear, the fear of death.

“Are you Nickolas Carter?”

Nick looked up to see a short black man in navy blue scrubs standing in his doorway.

“Yeah,” he said weakly, and the man nodded and came further into the room, wheeling a gurney with him.

“Can you slide on over to this for me?” the man asked, positioning the gurney right next to Nick’s bed. Nodding, Nick painfully eased himself onto the gurney, realizing just how weak he had become. The man covered Nick in a thin sheet, tucking it around his chest and put the sides up on the gurney, making Nick feel somewhat like an infant in a crib. Then, without a word, he wheeled Nick out of the safety of his room and off toward the unknown world of Intensive Care.

***

Chapter 52

In the ICU, there were no private rooms, just glass cubicles for each patient. Nick was taken to one in the far corner and helped from the gurney onto the bed.

Immediately, a nurse came up to his bed.

“Hi, Mr. Carter, my name is Mersey, and I just need to get you hooked up to some monitors so we can keep track of everything that’s going on with you better,” she said and immediately started bustling around him. Hooking up an IV line to his catheter port, she explained, “We’re going to start you on antibiotics to help you fight the infection.”

Nick nodded, watching as Mersey hung a bag of liquid on the IV pole beside his bed. Then she started sticking small, round leads to his chest. Even before she went to explain what they were for, he blurted, “Is there something wrong with my heart?”

“Oh, no, sweetie,” Mersey said quickly, smiling down at him. “We just like to keep track of everything here in ICU, and your heartbeat is one of them.” She flipped a switch on a machine somewhere above his head, and he heard the familiar “blip... blip...

blip” of a heart monitor. And though she said it was routine, it scared the shit out of him, reminding him just how much he hated hospitals and all things medical.

By the time Mersey was done, he had several IV lines coming out of his catheter, giving him various intravenous drugs, and was attached to numerous other monitors. A thin canula had been put into his nostrils, giving him oxygen. It tickled and made him want to sneeze, but when he complained that he could breathe just fine, Mersey only shook her head and replied, “Sorry, it’s pretty much standard that all ICU patients go on oxygen.”

She finally left him alone, but he didn’t feel alone at all – in fact, he now knew what it might feel like to be a goldfish trapped in a fishbowl, for that’s exactly what he felt like trapped in that glass cubicle. Doctors and nurses bustled all around, checking on patients, and when he had strength enough to keep his eyes open, he could see everything. The only good thing was that most of the other patients there were probably too sick to care that he was Nick Carter, Backstreet Boy, so no one bothered him.

As promised, Dr. Lugo came to see him shortly after he had gotten settled in.

“We’re still waiting on your lab results,” he told Nick. “How do you feel?”

“Like crap,” Nick admitted honestly.

“I’m sorry. The antibiotics should help make you feel better,” the doctor replied, motioning to the IV. As he flipped open Nick’s chart and started to scribble something on it, Nick heard a familiar voice talking loudly to a nurse outside his cubicle. Looking up, he saw his mother brush past Mersey and burst in.

“Nick!” she cried frantically, dashing up to him. “Oh God, baby... what happened??”

“I have some kind of infection,” Nick murmured quietly, as his mother fussed over him, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead and brushing back the last wispy tufts of hair that clung to his almost-bald scalp. At some point, he had been wearing a bandana to hide that, but it had been removed sometime during all the hubbub when he got to the ICU. By now, he felt too ill to care.

“That’s what that nurse told me, but how?” Jane Carter demanded, looking from Nick to Dr. Lugo. Speaking more to him than to Nick, she said, “He was perfectly fine when I left an hour ago, and now he’s in Intensive Care. What the hell happened?”

“Your son has probably been battling this infection for awhile longer than that, Mrs. Carter, but the symptoms did not start to appear until a short while ago. We have him on antibiotics now though, and hopefully they will combat the infection.”

“Hopefully? What do you mean, ‘hopefully’? They damn well better get rid of the infection!” Jane cried hysterically, her eyes blazing.

“Mrs. Carter, please calm down,” Dr. Lugo said patiently, his mellow accented voice never rising. “We will not know what kind of infection it is until we get Nick’s bloodwork back, but it does not seem too critical at the moment.” Jane nodded, some of the color leaving her cheeks as she settled down and focused her attention back on Nick. “Do you need anything, sweetheart?” she asked, a tone of false cheeriness creeping into her voice.

“I’m kinda cold,” Nick shivered.

Turning to Dr. Lugo, she snapped, “Did you hear him, he’s cold! He needs another blanket!”

“I’ll have a nurse bring one, ma’am,” Dr. Lugo said with a nod and ducked out of the room, looking slightly intimidated. Nick rolled his eyes and then shut them all together, remembering why he hadn’t wanted his mother around earlier. This was going to be a long afternoon.

***

“So, it’s true. I’m off for one morning, and you totally fall apart on me. What is going on, Nick?” teased Dr. Kingsbury, eyes sparkling mischievously as she smiled down at Nick. Just as Dr. Lugo had promised, she had come on duty that evening and had stopped by right after dinner to check in with him. Jane had gone to the bathroom, and he was glad to have a chance to talk to Dr. Kingsbury before his mother could harass her the way she had the rest of the staff the entire day.

Nick managed a weak smile. “Well, hopefully now that you’re here, you can fix me up,” he said softly, his voice hopeful.

“Well, Nick, your bloodwork came back, and I just saw it. It looks like you have the flu.”

“The flu?” Nick repeated. “Well, that ain’t that bad.”

“Well, it could be worse, at least it’s not pneumonia. But the thing is, influenza –

the flu – is a viral infection. That means it can’t be treated with antibiotics like a bacterial infection can. So all we can do is keep you hydrated, try to keep your fever down, and wait it out.”

“Oh. That sucks,” Nick sighed tiredly. “So when can I go home?” Dr. Kingsbury pursed her lips. “Not for a few more days at least. Once you’re through the worst of this, I’ll probably be able to release you, but it’s too risky right now.”

Nick sighed again. “That’s what I figured.”

“Well, look on the bright side,” Dr. Kingsbury said with a sympathetic smile, “we did stop your chemo to give you a chance to recover.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” Nick muttered, but really, it made no difference to him. He was still nauseated, only now it was because of the flu, not the chemo. Big deal.

Over the beep of the heart monitor, he heard the familiar rapid clicking of high heels on the tiled floor and knew that his mother was returning.

“Oh!” exclaimed Dr. Kingsbury in surprise when Jane entered Nick’s cubicle.

“You must be Mrs. Carter.”

“Yes,” Jane said, eyeing the other woman. “Are you Nick’s doctor?”

“Yes. Barbara Kingsbury,” Dr. Kingsbury introduced herself, extending her hand to Jane.

Jane shook it and promptly said, “Nick’s still not feeling well. What can you do to make him better?”

“Well, as I was just telling your son, his labs are back, and it looks like he has the flu. It’s serious in chemo patients, but it could always be worse. The problem is, it’s viral, so it can’t be treated with antibiotics. So we’ll be taking Nick off the antibiotics.”

“Then how will you get rid of it?” Jane demanded.

“The only thing that will take care of the flu is time. We just have to keep Nick as healthy as possible and wait it out,” Dr. Kingsbury explained.

Jane’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Of course I do,” Dr. Kingsbury replied evenly. “Ask anyone – there is no treatment for the flu other then plenty of fluids and rest. And that’s what Nick is getting now. So we’ll keep him here a few more days until his body is able to fight it off.” Nick half expected his mother to question the doctor again, but she did not.

Instead, she smiled, took Nick’s hand, and said, “Did you hear that, honey? You’re going to be better in a few days.”

“I heard, Mom, I’m not deaf,” Nick muttered dryly, sick to death of her bitching at the hospital staff one minute and treating him like a little boy the next. Why couldn’t she just accept that the staff was qualified and he was an adult and just treat everyone respectably for a change?

“Don’t smart off to me,” Jane snapped, giving his hand a hard squeeze, then dropping it.

“Whatever. I’m going to sleep.” Half because he truly was tired and half out of defiance, Nick closed his eyes. Dr. Kingsbury left, and he feigned sleep, faking it until he really did drift off into a fatigued slumber.

***

Chapter 53

Nick woke up completely disoriented. Taking a moment for his senses to absorb everything around him, he became aware of the steady, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor, which brought the previous day’s events all back to him. He was in ICU, sick with the flu. And at some point, he had falling asleep. He looked around for his mother, wanting to know the time, but she was not in the cubicle with him anymore. And, seeing as there were no windows in the ICU, he had absolutely no idea what time of day it was or how long he had been out.

He heard murmuring voices outside his cubicle, and, looking in their direction, he saw the nurse from the day before, Mersey, talking to another nurse. He recognized the other as one of the Oncology nurses, the young pretty one for whom he had signed an autograph. Samantha was her name, if he remembered correctly.

Samantha glanced over him now, her features brightening when she saw that he was awake. She and Mersey both came into his cubicle.

“I was wondering when you were going to wake up,” Mersey said with a smile, coming up to his bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Kinda crappy,” replied Nick. Totally shitty was better phrase to describe how he was feeling. He felt shivery and weak all over, and even though he was lying down, a slight sense of dizziness plagued him. His chest was tight, and there was an odd buzzing in his head. Surprisingly, his stomach felt fairly calm, thanks to the termination of his chemo treatments. He was grateful for that much.

“What time is it?” he wondered.

“Just after ten.”

“Oh my God... I slept a long time then,” said Nick in surprise.

“Yes, you did. That’s good though; it will help your body fight the infection. Can I get you some water or ice chips or anything?” Mersey offered.

“Water would be good,” said Nick, licking his dry lips. Mersey nodded and left the cubicle, and Samantha stepped forward.

“Hi,” she said. “How are they treating you up here?” Nick smiled. “Just fine,” he assured her tiredly.

“That’s good. Well, I just wanted to let you know that there’s someone here to see you, if you want. Do you feel up to a visitor, or should I tell her you’re not feeling well?”

Her? “Who is it, my mom?” Nick asked curiously, somehow doubting it was his mother. She came and went as she pleased; no one ever asked for his permission to let her visit. But who else could it be? He didn’t really have any close female friends, his sisters were in California, his love life was now nonexistent, and certainly they wouldn’t let a fan up to visit.

“No, I saw your mom in the cafeteria; she’s getting breakfast,” replied Samantha.

“This is Claire Ryan; she said she’s a friend of yours?”

“Oh,” Nick said, brightening. “Yeah, let Claire in.”

“Are you sure? Because technically, only immediate family is supposed to be allowed in here. But she begged me to tell you she was here, and you know Claire, she just has a way about her.”

Nick chuckled. “Yeah, I know. Let her on in; I’ll just say she’s my sister if anyone asks.”

Samantha smiled. “Okay. I’ll go bring her in.”

“Thanks, hon.” Nick flashed her the half-smile, causing her to blush, and then watched as she walked quickly away, his gazed focused right on her ass. Hm, not bad, he thought, wondering vaguely if there was some rule about nurses and patients having relationships.

Ha, as if. Like any woman would ever be attracted to him now. He knew if the fans got a load of him, of his nearly bald head, his pallid skin, and the small tube coming out of his chest, among other things, they would be disgusted.

He knew he was being shallow, but God, he missed his looks. He had taken them for granted, not really seeing himself as “cute” or “hot” or “fine” or “sexy” or whatever the fans liked to call him. He had often wondered what it was they saw in him. He’d never really figured it out; he’d just come to realize that if he did the half-smile or stuck his tongue out, he could get a good reaction out of most girls, both young and old.

But now, when he looked into the mirror, he saw a hideous wreck of the man he used to be, a deterioration of the old Nick. No one would say he was “hot” now, and it made him yearn for the blonde hair he had haphazardly spiked with gel every day without thought, the tan he had gotten without really noticing just from being out in the Florida sun. It was stupid, he knew, to be thinking about what he looked like when he was so sick. But he couldn’t help it.

Samantha returned, Claire in tow. Her head was covered with a bandana, as always, and today, she wore a surgical mask over her mouth and nose.

“Heya, Baldy,” she teased, blue eyes sparkling, as she plopped down in the chair beside his bed that Jane had formerly occupied.

“Baldy?” Nick repeated indignantly, trying to play it off, as if the name didn’t really sting. He knew she was just playing with him, but he was self-conscious. “Who you callin’ Baldy?” Playfully reaching up, he quickly swiped the bandana from her head, exposing her shiny, bald scalp.

“Hey, give that back!” Claire squealed, laughing as she grabbed the bandana from his hand. But she did not put it back on, only dropped it to her lap.

“So, uh, what’s with the mask?” Nick asked casually.

“Oh, well, I didn’t wanna pass any of my cooties on to you, and I didn’t want to catch the flu from you either.”

“Oh, why not? It’s great fun,” Nick remarked sarcastically. “You could get the cubicle next door to me.” With a wave of his hand, he motioned to the area on the other side of the glass partition.

“Sorry, I think I’ll pass.”

Nick smiled. “So... what are you doing up here? Came all the way to see me, did you?”

She laughed. “Not quite. I was in oncology, and I heard one of the nurses say that you were in ICU.”

“Oh, did you have an appointment or something today?”

“No, I was just visiting some of the kids there. I come up a lot when I’m not working and hang out with them, read to them and stuff. It gets boring, you know, and the nurses and people don’t have time to keep them occupied.”

“That’s really sweet of you,” Nick said sincerely. “You know, it gets boring here too...”

“Want me to read to you?” Claire laughed. Bending down, she opened up her

bag and pulled out a thin, yellow book. “’Curious George Flies a Kite’,” she said, holding it up. “It’s a masterpiece.”

Nick chuckled. “So you like kids, do you?”

“Sure, love ‘em. How about you?”

“Yeah... I like kids,” Nick replied, and his mind wandered to Brian’s son, his godson. He hadn’t seen Baylee in months; maybe he would look into making another visit to Atlanta when he was better and out of the hospital. He was sure Brian wouldn’t mind.

“So anyway,” Claire said, “when do you think you’ll get out of this place?” Nick shrugged. “I dunno... Dr. Kingsbury said probably not for a few days.”

“That sucks. Well, I’ll come hang out with you if you want,” she offered.

He smiled. “That would be cool. You’re a lot better to hang out with than my mom. I dunno why, but all of a sudden, she’s gotten very...” He searched for the right word, “... clingy.”

Claire nodded knowingly. “Yeah, I bet. My mom’s the same way. Good thing she and my dad are living in Gainesville; otherwise they’d be at my place all the time. It’s bad enough that my mom calls almost every day, just ‘checking up on me’.” Nick chuckled. “Well, my mom-“ And then he stopped, for as he said the words, he noticed her walking through the ICU toward his cubicle. “Speaking of which...”

“Oh, you’re awake!” Jane exclaimed brightly when she got inside the cubicle, hurrying over to his bed and kissing his forehead. That was strange, for he couldn’t remember the last time his mother had kissed him. It had been a very long time. “And who are you?” Jane asked flatly, as if suddenly noticing Claire was sitting there with him.

“My name’s Claire Ryan,” Claire introduced herself, offering her hand for Jane to shake.

Jane just looked at it a moment and ignored it, asking instead, “Are you a patient here?”

“Off and on. I’m not now though. I was just here visiting some other people and heard that Nick was up here.”

“Only family members are supposed to be allowed back here,” Jane said coldly.

“It’s okay, Mom,” Nick broke in quickly. “Claire’s a friend; I don’t mind. We talked one of the nurses into letting her come back; she’s supposedly my ‘sister’.” He smiled, but Jane did not return it.

“Um, I’d better go now anyway,” Claire said, standing up and glancing at Nick.

He saw the uncomfortable look in her eyes and felt a flash of rage streak through him.

“You don’t have to go,” he said sharply, glaring at his mother and then looking back at Claire.

“No, I really should get home anyway,” she said. “You take care of yourself, Nick, and feel better. I’ll see you later.” She winked, and Nick managed a small smile, still pissed at his mother.

“Okay,” he said reluctantly. “See ya, Claire.”

Claire left, and as soon as she was out of earshot, he turned to his mother, eyes blazing. “What the fuck was that all about?” he demanded angrily.

“What was what about?” Jane asked innocently and then reprimanded, “And don’t swear.”

“You know what I’m talking about. You were rude; you treated Claire like crap.

You practically kicked her out.”

“I did not,” Jane said haughtily, nostrils flaring in indignation. “She just didn’t look well to me, that’s all. I didn’t want her getting sick from you.”

“Yeah right,” Nick muttered. “She didn’t look well cause she’s got cancer, and she had a mask on specifically so she wouldn’t get sick from me. You were just treating her the way you treat any girl you see me with.”

“Well, she’s not a whore, is she, not like that last girlfriend of yours?” Nick sighed heavily. “I wish you’d drop that,” he said through gritted teeth. “And for your information, Claire is not a stripper, and she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Good,” Jane said quickly, angering Nick even further.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” he spat. “Good that she’s not a stripper, or good that she’s not my girlfriend?”

“Both,” Jane said simply.

“Why? ”

“Oh, Nick, honestly!” Jane exploded, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

“You have a reputation to uphold – what would people think if they saw you with a girl like that?”

Nick’s mouth dropped open. He was utterly speechless – she did not just say that. “Oh my God, Mom... get out!”

“Nickolas-“

“No, get the fuck out of here! I cannot take this shit from you anymore! Get out!” he screamed, wrenching himself up into a sitting position, his chest heaving.

“Nicky, don’t, you’re getting yourself all worked up,” Jane said fretfully.

“GET OUT!” he shouted.

Mersey, his nurse, dashed into the cubicle. “Is there a problem?” she asked, looking from Nick to Jane and back to Nick.

“No-“ Jane started to say, but Nick interrupted her.

“Yes! I want her out of here!”

Mersey nodded. “Mrs. Carter, why don’t you step outside with me. Maybe you can go and get some coffee, take a little break.” She put her hand on Jane’s shoulder to guide her out, but Jane pushed her away.

“I just had coffee; I’m staying with my son!” she protested defiantly.

“Mrs. Carter, your son has requested some time alone. We have to obey his wishes. Please come with me.” Again, Mersey reached out to touch Jane, but Jane ducked away from her grasp. “Mrs. Carter, if you don’t leave the ICU with me right now, I’ll have to call security.”

That stopped Jane. Smoothing her clothes, she nodded and composedly followed Mersey out of the cubicle, her head held high, refusing to look at Nick as she left. He was glad; he didn’t want to look at her either.

When she had disappeared, he sank back down into bed. Oh God, he really didn’t need all that. He felt truly horrible now, hot and light-headed and short of breath. His chest felt as if an elephant was perched on it, pressing down on his ribcage, and it was hard to breathe.

“Are you all right, Nick?” Mersey asked, breezing back into the cubicle.

“No,” Nick said, beginning to cough. “I don’t feel so good,” he managed to choke out, violent coughs racking his body. “I can’t... breathe...” He started to pull himself up, panicking.

“Shh, calm down...” Easing him back down, Mersey quickly pressed a stethoscope to his chest and listened. A look of alarm crossing her face, she said quickly,

“I’ll be right back. I need to get a doctor.” Then she ran from the cubicle, leaving him struggling for air, terrified, well aware of the fact that something was very wrong.

***

Chapter 54

“You have pneumonia, Nick,” Dr. Kingsbury said, listening to Nick’s chest with her stethoscope.

“Pneumonia?” Nick gasped, coughing.

“Yes. The flu has progressed to pneumonia. I know you’re having trouble breathing, so we’re going to try an oxygen mask, and if that doesn’t work, we might have to put a tube down your throat to help you breathe.” Oh no, that really didn’t sound good. “No,” Nick rasped, “I think I’ll... be okay. I just need... a minute to... catch my... breath.”

Dr. Kingsbury just shook her head and covered his mouth and nose with an oxygen mask. Nick hated it immediately, but after a short while, breathing became easier, and he was able to relax.

“There you go, that’s better,” Dr. Kingsbury said soothingly. “Now you keep this on, and I’ll be back to see how you’re doing in a little while.” She smiled down at him, and he nodded, waving her off. She left.

So he had pneumonia. Well, that was just great. It seemed he was never going to make it out of this place – first he was only going to have to stay two days for the chemo, then a few more days for the flu, and now who knew how long he would be stuck there, fighting pneumonia. Pneumonia was very serious, he knew. People could die from pneumonia, even people who weren’t on chemo or anything like that.

If having the flu had scared him, it was nothing compared to the fear he felt at the prospect of dying from pneumonia. And now he was all alone – his mother was gone, Claire was gone... he had no one. What if he died there, alone in the fishbowl that was ICU? He thought of the many goldfish he had kept as pets during his youth and how, eventually, he’d found each one floating lifelessly on its side on top of the water, dead as a doornail. If he could not fight off the pneumonia... that would be him (except for the floating on top of the water part).

***

“Dr. Kingsbury, his sats are down to 85.”

“Thanks, Mersey. Get me an intubation tray,” replied Dr. Kingsbury.

“What does that mean?” Nick wheezed through the oxygen mask, as the nurse left his cubicle.

“It means you’re not getting enough oxygen,” replied Dr. Kingsbury. “I’m going to have to put that tube I mentioned down your throat.”

“Oh no,” Nick moaned. “I... I don’t want that...”

“Nick,” Dr. Kingsbury said seriously, looking him right in the eyes. “I know that doesn’t sound like much fun, but if we don’t intubate, you will probably go into respiratory distress from the pneumonia. And then you could die.” Die. The very word sent icy chills up and down Nick’s body, and he nodded his understanding. “Okay... put the tube in then.”

Dr. Kingsbury nodded, giving him a tight smile. “Now, when Mersey gets back with my supplies, I’m going to inject some medication into your IV that will put you to sleep. When you wake up, the tube will be down your throat, and you will have a respirator breathing for you. It can be a strange feeling, so we will probably keep you

sedated until you can come off the respirator. You’ll probably be a little out of it for the next few days.”

Nick nodded, trying to hide his terror.

Mersey returned, and Dr. Kingsbury set to work, assembling supplies and instruments on a stainless steel tray beside the bed. Nick closed his eyes, not wanting to watch.

“Okay, Nick,” the doctor said finally. “I’m going to inject this into your central line, and you’ll start to feel very sleepy. Just relax, okay?” Weakly, Nick nodded and closed his eyes, while she pulled back his gown to access his catheter, a small syringe in one hand. “There,” she said a moment later, backing away.

The effects of the medication were almost instantaneous. Suddenly, Nick could barely keep his eyes open. He let them fall shut, and before he knew what was happening, he was carried away into a drug-induced sleep.

***

The water was gray and murky, wind-tossed. Choppy waves rolled toward him, high and swift, some carrying him with their power, others washing over his head, drenching him in cold salt water that seemed to seep right through his skin, chilling him to the bone. He coughed and choked as he was hit with another face full of water. The force of it left his cheeks raw and stinging, his eyes burning, the taste of salt on his tongue.

He continued to tread water, keeping himself afloat, trying to dodge the waves, but he was growing steadily more tired. His arms ached, but still, he kept them moving, knowing they were his only lifeline. He looked around again, squinting into the horizon, frantic, searching for any sign of land or life. But all around him, he could see nothing but ocean. The very ocean that had been his friend for so long was now his mortal enemy, desperate to claim his life with its wild, tossing waters.

“Help me!” Nick gasped, his shout cut short as his mouth filled with salty water.

He spat it out, gagging, coughing, still bobbing in the relentless waves.

His arms were betraying him now, his strength and endurance rapidly leaving him. Again, he searched the wide expanse of water for a boat, and when he did not see one, he raised his eyes to the stormy skies, praying for a helicopter. Lightning forked across the dark clouds, but there was no aircraft.

He was growing panicky now, his eyes filling with desperate tears, which spilled down his already wet cheeks, mixing with the salty sea as they dripped from his chin. He took one last desperate survey of the scenery around him, praying for a way out, for a rescue. And that’s when he saw it – something small gliding fluidly through the water toward him.

Not a boat.

A fin.

“Oh my God,” he breathed, taking in another mouthful of seawater. He froze, his whole body tensing up, his pounding heart the only muscle moving within it. It was a shark; it had to be a shark. His greatest fear. And it was coming right at him.

He could see the fin rise and dip below the surface of the water, waves crashing over it, hiding it from his view. But he knew it was there, swimming nearer and nearer,

hunting him.

His mind seemed to freeze up right along with his body, and he had no idea what to do. Swim? But where? If not... stay? Try to keep still, hope that he would not aggravate the carnivorous creature into attacking?

Too scared shitless to hold still and stay near that animal, he chose the former and, boosted by a sudden rush of adrenaline, took off swimming, his arms flailing like a windmill, his legs kicking frenziedly behind him. He was terrified the shark was right behind him, coming after him, but he refused to look back. He just kept swimming, blindly, thoughtlessly, acting on pure instinct, the instinct that all creatures possess – survival. The will to live.

He was slowing down, his lungs burning, his stomach cramping, his muscles weakening. Water rushed over his head as he sank in the water, struggling to keep his head above the surface, struggling to keep swimming. Hysterical, he chanced a look back just in time to see the fin sink swiftly beneath the dark water just a few feet away.

And before his mind had time to truly realize what was happening, he felt it. A pinch on his left foot. And he knew...

Just as he realized the shark had nipped him, it came again, only this time, it was not a pinch, but a sharp stabbing sensation, like a thousand knives being plunged into his shin. And then came the tug. Before he could resist, his exhausted body was yanked below the surface, the pressure and pain in his leg increasing. He struggled, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, waving his arms blindly, kicking his right leg. His foot connected hard with something, and then the pressure on his other leg vanished.

His heart thudding crazily inside his chest, his lungs screaming, desperate for oxygen, he used his arms to pull himself back to the surface. Breaking through the water, he gasped and choked, sucking in mouthfuls of air. As the pain in his lungs vanished, his leg began to sear with pain. Forcing his eyes open, he chanced a look down and saw that the water around him was turning a deep shade of red, dyed with blood. His blood.

Gritting his teeth, exhaustedly paddling his arms to keep himself afloat, he tried to lift his leg, only to find that he could not feel it. The pain was agonizing, but...

something was not right... With a shaking hand, he reached below the surface and gingerly felt his thigh. His fingertips traveled down it, reaching his knee, but when he tried to feel lower... nothing.

Crying out, he jerked his hand out of the water. His fingertips were tinged light pink with diluted blood. Panting, he threw back his head and floated on his back. And then, he tried again to lift his left leg. Pulling up his head as his body began to sink, he caught a glimpse of his leg raised above the water, and he saw it... the stump. The bleeding stump of a leg, severed below the knee.

His stomach rolled, and he became violently ill, throwing up right there in the water. He bobbed up and down, tossed by the waves, growing dizzy from shock and blood loss, knowing in some far region of his mind that he was about to die. Weakly closing his eyes, he gave up, quit his struggle, letting himself sink beneath the stormy waters. But just as his head went under, he heard it.

A voice.

“Hello!” it called, a female voice with a strong British accent.

Up, he urged himself, struggling to reach the surface in a last ditch effort to live.

Weakly lifting his head above the water, he looked in the direction of his voice and saw

a large rowboat coming toward him, the waves tossing it roughly from side to side.

“Is anyone alive out there?” called the British voice. “Can anyone hear me?” He was taken back to the movie “Titanic,” which was odd because he had only seen the movie once, many years ago when it came out, and he had spent most of the end making fun of Howie for crying at it. And why he was remembering this now, when he was near death, was beyond him, but the mind works in mysterious ways.

“Help!” he screamed, his breath coming in shallow gasps, water rushing into his mouth and nose and covering his head. “Help me!” With the last tiny bit of strength, he reached one arm high above his head and flailed it back and forth above the water, the desperate signal of a drowning man. As he was heaved up and down with the waves, he caught glimpses of the boat coming nearer and nearer. Then...

“We’ve got you,” said the British woman, and he saw hands reaching out to him. Frantically, he reached out to them, and they grabbed him, pulling him up out of the water and hoisting him into the boat. As his body hit the hard bottom of the boat with a painful thud, he looked up to see familiar faces hovering over him... Brian...

AJ... Kevin... Howie... Karen, the British nurse from Oncology... Samantha, the young cute nurse... Mersey, from ICU... Dr. Lugo, the Spanish doctor... Dr. Kingsbury... and...

Claire.

“He’s lost his leg,” he heard Samantha whimper.

“Never mind that,” said Dr. Kingsbury. “It’s the infection we have to worry about.”

“No, not the infection,” said Claire, speaking in a low, droning voice. “The evil...

it lurks down deep within... hiding till the strike begins... growing stronger every day...

it shall take your breath away...”

“We need to intubate,” Dr. Kingsbury interrupted, pushing Nick’s head down.

“Mersey, the tube.” And Nick watched in horror as the nurse handed the doctor an empty brown cardboard paper towel roll.

“No!” he cried. “That won’t fit down my throat!”

“Just relax, Nick...”

“No! No, stop, don’t!” he screamed, as Dr. Kingsbury hovered over him, tipping his head back and trying to force his mouth open.

“Cut it out!” shouted Claire suddenly. “CUT IT OUT!”

***

Chapter 55

“CUT IT OUT!”

The forceful words echoing hauntingly in his mind, Nick’s eyes flashed open to find that the dark ocean, the boat, Claire and the rest... they were all gone. The walls of bare whiteness and glass, the sterile smell, and the high-pitched beeping reminded Nick of where he was – the hospital, ICU. It had all been a dream, a horrible nightmare.

He took a moment to let this sink in, then, concentrating hard, tried to lift his left leg. He saw it rise slightly beneath the bedsheets, the whole long thing, and although it hurt to do so, he felt immediate relief. Wondering if the drugs they had given him had caused him to dream such scary shit, he looked around, wondering where his nurse was.

Something in the very corner of his cubicle catching his eye, he glanced over and jolted in surprise when he saw a figure curled up in a chair. On second inspection, he realized that it was Howie, and that he was sound asleep, scrunched in a very uncomfortable-looking position in the stiff chair.

“Howie,” Nick tried to say, but his throat felt funny, and no sound would come out. Alarmed, his hands flew to his mouth and were met with tubing. The respirator.

So they had put a tube down his throat. He let his hands drop and assured himself that at least it was not a paper towel roll, like in his dream. Still, he couldn’t talk, and he had to find a way to get Howie’s attention.

His fingers crawled blindly down his neck and to his chest, where he touched one of the wire leads stuck to him, measuring his heartbeat. He gave it a pull, and off it came, the others pulling off along with it. Immediately, he heard the short, steady beeps of the heart monitor transform into one, long, continuous wail.

Flatline.

Well, that was cool. He glanced over at Howie to see if the sudden change in noise would awaken him, but his friend did not stir. Damn Howie. What if his heart really had stopped beating? He’d be dying over there, and Howie would still be sitting on his ass, sound asleep. Some friend he was.

Vaguely, he heard a voice call over some intercom, “Code Blue to ICU 9! Code Blue to ICU 9!” It didn’t occur to him that ICU 9 was his cubicle or that a whole team of doctors and nurses were running to it at that very moment, ready to resuscitate him.

Clear! Nick thought and secured the leads back to his chest. The short, steady beeps returned. We got him back, Nick thought, thinking it might be fun to be a doctor.

Maybe he could persuade that cute nurse Samantha to let him play with some of those shocking paddles when he felt better.

At that moment, the code team burst in, lead by Mersey, the only familiar face of the bunch.

“Nick!” she gasped when she saw that he was awake. “Are you all right?!”

“Where’s the code?” a man behind her asked, looking around in confusion.

“No code,” Mersey said breathlessly. Striding up to Nick’s bed, she checked the wire leads on his chest and frowned, apparently seeing that they were not placed in the same spots as they had been before. “Did you pull these off?” she asked him.

Nick nodded guiltily. Whoops. Maybe that hadn’t been such a good idea.

It did its job though. Amidst all the commotion, he looked over at Howie to see his friend leap out of his chair, a befuddled expression on his face.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice high and frantic. “Nick!”

“Nick is just fine,” Mersey said dryly. “He only pulled the leads off his chest and gave us quite a scare.”

“But he’s awake?” Howie asked, hurrying over to Nick’s bed.

“Hey, Howie,” Nick started to say, then remembered he couldn’t talk.

“He’s triggering the vent,” said Mersey, glancing back at one of the men in white coats that had come charging in with her. “Should we extubate?” The man came up and looked at Nick’s monitors. “Yeah, I think he’s ready.” Looking down at Nick, he asked, “Do you want me to take the tube out of your throat?” Vigorously, Nick nodded, his eyes pleading. “Okay. Then when I say so, I need you to blow, like you’re blowing out a candle. Got it?” Again, Nick nodded, and the doctor took hold of the hose coming out of his mouth. “Ready? Now – blow out.” Gathering together all of his strength, Nick blew, and the doctor pulled the tube from his throat. Immediately, he was sent into a violent coughing fit, his throat burning.

He gasped for breath, choking, hacking, trying to fill his lungs with a single precious breath of air.

“Just relax; it’ll pass,” urged the doctor. “Mersey, get him on a mask.” The nurse covered Nick’s mouth and nose with an oxygen mask, and a moment later, he lay back in relief, the sweet oxygen pouring into his lungs. He took a few deep breaths, and his coughing ceased, though the fiery sensation in his throat did not.

“M-my throat,” he rasped, his voice soft and hoarse, as if he had a bad case of laryngitis.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” said the doctor. “Don’t worry; it will feel better in a few days. Your voice will recover too. I know that’s important to you, being a singer and all.” He gave Nick a knowing smile.

“Good,” Nick whispered, although singing was the last thing on his mind. He hadn’t thought about singing or the Backstreet Boys or the new album in a long time.

His career seemed to be growing forever more distant to him, something that lay just beyond his reach. Would he ever be well enough to record and tour again with the group? Maybe he should tell them to just go on without him...

“How do you feel, Nick? Are you in any pain?” Mersey asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Not too bad, I guess,” Nick answered. “My chest is kind of tight, but that’s just the pneumonia, right?”

“Yes. But that should go away in a few days. You’ve gotten through the worst of it now.”

The nurse’s words struck him as strange, and he looked up in confusion. “How...

how long did I sleep?” he wondered.

“You’d been out of it for about a week,” replied Mersey, and Nick’s mouth dropped open in utter shock.

“A week!” he cried. It had only seemed like a few hours! “W-was I in some kind of coma or something?”

“Not a coma, just unconscious,” she said. “You drifted in and out, but we had to keep you sedated most of the time because you kept thrashing around and trying to pull out your tubes and things.”

He shook his head, his head still spinning with this knowledge. A whole week...

he had just slept through an entire week of his life.

“Well, if you’re feeling better, Dr. Dunn and I will go and let you visit with your

friend.” Mersey glanced over her shoulder at Howie, who had retreated back from the bed.

“Oh... okay.” Nick watched as the doctor and nurse left the room and then looked to Howie. “D... what are you doing here?”

Howie smiled slightly and dragged a chair up to Nick’s bed, into which he then lowered himself. “Your mom called,” he replied. “Well, really she called Brian, and Brian called me and the guys. She was really freaked, and she thought we would want to come and be with you.”

“So are the other guys here too then?” Nick asked, surprised that his mother had called them. Had he really been that sick?

“Just Brian. AJ and Kev are still out in California, but they’ve been calling every day to see how you’re doing.”

“So I guess I was pretty sick then, huh?” Nick said slowly as he absorbed this information.

“Yeah,” Howie answered, his brown eyes wide and serious. “You have pneumonia, Nick. That can be pretty serious anyway, but in your case... well...” Nick nodded. “I know. I just didn’t know it was that bad... and I didn’t think I’d been unconscious for a whole freaking week! It seemed like I had just slept for a few hours... I had this dream... God, it scared the shit out of me.” Howie frowned. “What did you dream about?”

Nick snorted. “You’ll just laugh.”

“I won’t laugh. What was it about?”

“It was another shark dream. Where I’m swimming, and a shark’s after me.

Man, I haven’t had those since I was a kid.”

“I know,” said Howie, both of them remembering how Nick had had nightmares about sharks when he was just a teenager and homesick on tour. Sharks – they had always been the one thing he feared. Some people had nightmares about vampires or spiders or clowns. Nick dreamed about sharks.

“Yeah... this one was hella freaky though. The shark... it... it bit off my leg, dude.

And, God, the blood... it was fucking gory!”

“Ew.” Howie shuddered. “Don’t tell me any more, man, I don’t wanna hear it.” Nick smiled. “They musta given me some pretty strong drugs to make me dream all that whacked out shit.”

“Yeah, it was probably the sedatives,” Howie said with a grin. “God, I’m glad you’re back, Nicky. You scared me, you know? You scared us all.” Nick shifted uncomfortably in the bed, embarrassed. “Sorry.” Howie laughed. “No, don’t be sorry! Not like you could help it. Anyway, I better go call the hotel – your family and Rok will want to know you’re awake.”

“My family?” Nick repeated. “They’re here? All of them?”

“Everyone except BJ. Your mom said she had some kind of modeling something or other, I dunno.” Howie shrugged. “But yeah, your dad and Leslie and Aaron and Angel all got in the same day I did. So anyway, I’m going to go call them, okay?” Nick nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Howie smiled and started to leave the room. Then he stopped, turned back, and walked back to Nick’s bed, bending over and gently wrapping his arms around him.

Surprised, Nick patted Howie awkwardly on the back until Howie finally pulled away.

“What was that for?” he laughed slightly.

“Sorry.” Howie smiled sheepishly. “I just... well... like I said... you scared us, Nicky. It’s good to have you back.”

Nick smiled blankly and nodded. “It’s good to be back.”

***

Chapter 56

“Oh, Nicky, thank God.” Those were the first words out of Jane Carter’s mouth when she came into Nick’s ICU cubicle later that day. Hurrying up to his bed, she bent over him, hugging him as best she could with him lying down in bed. “How are you feeling, baby?”

No apology, no excuses, no words about what had happened the last time they had spoken. She just pretended like it hadn’t happened, which was what she always did.

This time, Nick didn’t really mind. Although very weak and tired, he was feeling better than he had before and was just glad the worst was over. Now was not the time to be arguing with his mother. So he returned the hug and pasted a smile on his face.

“Better,” he answered her question truthfully.

Jane smiled, misty-eyed, as she looked down upon him. “What a relief,” she said.

“The sooner you get better, the sooner you can get out of here and start working on the new album again with the boys.”

Nick stared up at her. The album? So that was top priority with her, huh? It was important to him, too, it really was, and he did want to get back to working on it, but, come on, he had just woken up from a coma (or close enough), and she expected him to start thinking about working again? But of course, that’s just how Jane Carter was.

Business-oriented and money-loving. He could have retorted something about that, too, but he chose not to this time. No need for an argument right then.

“Yeah,” he murmured vaguely, then added, changing the subject, “So where’s the rest of the family?”

“Outside,” replied Jane. “You want me to bring Dad in? The nurse said we could only have two people visit at a time.”

“Oh okay. Yeah, let Dad come in then,” Nick replied.

His mother disappeared, returning with his father. And after about ten minutes, they left and sent Leslie and Angel in. Angel cried when she saw him, and Leslie looked like she was about to pass out, so they left after only a few minutes. And then in came the two people that meant the most to him of the bunch – Aaron and Brian.

His best friend came in first, his younger brother hesitantly following behind.

"Hey, Nick!" Brian said brightly, immediately dropping down into the chair next to Nick's bed. "Good to see you awake finally. How are you feeling?"

He spoke with ease and smiled as if he was totally relaxed, but Nick knew his friend better than that. Brian hated hospitals as much, maybe even more, than he did.

Then again, who actually did like hospitals? Maybe the people that worked in them, but Nick doubted too many other people did. Brian was doing a good job at trying to hide his discomfort though.

Aaron, on the other hand, was not. He remained in the doorway, arms crossed stiffly over his chest, head down, looking rather lost.

"Hey, Bri." Nick smiled. Then, looking over Brian's shoulder, he called, "Yo, AC, c'mon in here!"

Aaron took a hesitant few steps forward, stopping a good three or four feet shy of the foot of Nick's bed. Nick laughed. "You can come closer than that if you want, dude.

I ain't gonna bite you."

He happened to glance over at Brian, who shook his head very slightly, giving Nick a look that said, "Don't push him." Aaron took one more baby step toward the bed

and stopped, frozen. Nick frowned, but didn't say anything else.

"So, Nick, how are you feeling?" Brian asked again, having not gotten a reply the first time around.

Nick shrugged, about to admit that he was still feeling pretty crappy (even if it was less crappy than before), when he recognized the worried look on Aaron's face.

Twisting his lips up in a smile, he answered instead, "Pretty good actually." He watched Aaron carefully to see if his brother relaxed, but he really didn't. Nick figured he probably looked pretty bad, possibly even worse than he felt. Not mention, his voice was still raspy and hoarse, very unlike his own. Maybe that was it - he just didn't seem his old self, and unfamiliarity was what was making Aaron so distant.

Deciding to worry about Aaron later, he focused on Brian instead, asking, "So where's Leigh and Baylee? Home in Atlanta still?"

"Yeah," Brian replied. "Leigh told me to tell you she hopes you're feeling better soon. She wanted to come see you, but I wasn't so keen on putting the baby on a plane, you know?"

"Oh, I know. That's okay," Nick said, not really caring. Leighanne was cool, and Baylee was cute and all, but he'd rather have Brian to himself.

"Yeah..." Brian glanced over his shoulder. Then, with a meaningful look at Nick, he added casually, "Well, I just stopped in to say hey and see how you were. I'll let you and AC hang out for awhile now, and I'll be back later, 'kay?"

Nick smiled gratefully, silently thanking Brian for understanding. He hadn't even spoken to Aaron in months, and he felt bad for it. He knew he really needed to have a one on one with his brother, and Brian knew it too.

"He's all yours, kiddo," Brian remarked to Aaron on his way out of the room, playfully ruffling Aaron's blonde hair. Aaron opened his mouth, as if to protest, but before he could say a thing, Brian ducked out of the room, and Aaron was left alone, looking trapped.

Rather hurt, Nick said softly, "C'mere, Aaron" and motioned for him to come up to the bed. Reluctantly, the fifteen-year-old walked up and perched himself on the very edge of the chair Brian had been sitting in. "Look, bro, I dunno what your problem is...

if you're mad at me, that's cool, I understand. Or if it's just cause all this," he waved his hands in vague circle that included all things medical and everything having to do with his altered physical state, "then I understand that too. I know I look like shit, and my voice ain't quite right yet, but I'm still your same dumb old brother."

That brought a slight smile to Aaron's lips, and as the teenager's brown eyes met Nick's blue ones, Nick knew instantly he had hit the nail on the head.

Clearing his throat, Aaron finally spoke. "Are you really feeling okay?" he asked, eyeing Nick warily.

"To be honest?" Nick smiled sheepishly. "I feel kinda crappy. But better than before," he added quickly. "Don't you worry about me; I'm gonna be just fine, okay?

Hey, and now that you're finally in Tampa, we can hang out like I always said we were going to... play some Nintendo, shoot some hoops, take the boat out..."

"Can you do all that?" Aaron interrupted it.

Nick frowned. "'Course I can do all that," he said stubbornly. "I ain't handicapped, for God's sake. I'll be out of this dump in a few days, once the pneumonia's all gone, and then I can do whatever I damn well please."

"Sorry," Aaron mumbled, sending Nick into a fit of guilt for snapping at him. Not

like it was his fault.

"Nah, 's okay. I'm just kinda pissed off at this whole thing, ya know? It sucks."

"I know, it sucks ass!" Aaron burst out, and Nick had a feeling the kid had been waiting to say that for a long time. Well, he was right, it did suck ass. Major ass.

***

Chapter 57

Nick was discharged from the hospital on a Friday. After spending eleven days in the hospital (eight more than he had expected), he couldn’t wait to get home. He was still weak, but the pneumonia was gone, and he was feeling much better.

Unfortunately, that feeling would only last another week. He had another doctor’s appointment scheduled the following Saturday, and he would begin his next round of chemo then. And then it was back to the nausea and throwing up. Fun, fun –

he could hardly wait.

Nick and the rest of the family were escorted back to his home in a limo. This was something Nick’s mother had arranged, despite his objections.

“We’ve already taken your car back to your house, and I don’t want you driving anyway, not when you’re so weak,” she had told him firmly.

The family was also now coming to stay at his house for the remainder of their time in Florida. This, too, his mother had arranged. In other words, she had invited them herself.

“Why, it’s just silly for us to be cramped in some hotel when you’ve got plenty of space for us in your house,” she had said, leaving him no choice but to say they could.

Nick really only half-minded though. He hadn’t spent time with his brother and sisters in a long time, and it would be nice to have them around. And as for his parents... well, he could tolerate them for a few days, which was how much longer he hoped they were going to stay, although he wasn’t sure.

Inside the limo, Nick leaned back, resting his head tiredly against the seat, anxious to reach home. The first thing he was going to do was take a shower and wash the smell of hospital from his body. Then he was going to crash in his own bed. God, that would feel good after over a week of sleeping in a tiny, railed hospital bed.

Unfortunately, things did not quite go as planned. As soon as the limo reached the tall gates encircling Nick’s yard, he could see that there was going to be trouble.

Camped out on the lawn in front of the gates were a whole flock of reporters, their cameras and microphones ready.

“Oh my God,” Nick groaned, peering out the tinted window at them all. How did they know he was coming home that day? In fact, how did they know he was even in the hospital? He had been avoiding the media since long before his hospitalization, with the exception of TRL, and as far as he knew, the only people were aware of the fact that he had been in the hospital were his family and his friends. He hadn’t told anyone else, and he was sure none of the people he loved would do that either. Unless...

“Just park it here, this is fine,” Jane was telling the limo driver. “Bob, come on, let’s get out and help Nicky out. Kids, you follow after we get Nick out.”

“Mom?” Nick asked through gritted teeth. “What are all these damn reporters doing here?”

“Oh, I’m sure they’re just here to see how you’re doing, maybe get a few comments from you,” she replied flippantly and opened the car door before he could get another word out. His father followed her out, and immediately, the press swooped down on them like buzzards, thrusting microphones in their faces, snapping pictures with cameras, video cameras filming the whole scene.

Jane reached a hand back into the limo and patted Nick’s knee. The bad one. He winced as it throbbed with her touch, but she was too caught up in the moment to

notice. “Come on, honey,” she said. “Let me help you out.”

“Get them out of here,” he protested, not budging.

“Nick, they’re just concerned about you. You don’t have to give them any long interviews, just a comment and a few pictures, okay? Your fans are concerned about you, you know. They want to know that you’re all right.”

“Do I look all right to you?” Nick exploded. “God, Mom, how blind are you? I look like a freak – you think I want my fans to see me like this?”

“They love you, Nick, they won’t mind,” she replied. “Now, come on.”

“You brought all these people here, didn’t you?” he accused. “What the fuck are you trying to do?”

“Watch your mouth. Of course I didn’t bring these people here. They found out you were being discharged and came here to wait for you; I can’t help that. But the least you could do is give them what they’re asking for.”

“Well, how did they find out I was being discharged?” Nick pressured. “Did a certain someone tip them off?”

“Nickolas Gene Carter!” His mother feigned a wounded look. “I can’t believe you think I would-“

“Yeah, whatever, Mom.” She had done it, he knew she had. But it was too late now – he really had to get inside the house, and it was apparent that these reporters weren’t going to leave until they had caught a glimpse of him. Might as well get it over with.

Pulling his baseball cap low over his head, he pushed away his mother’s outreaching hand and stood up on his own accord, ducking as he climbed carefully out of the back of the limousine. Jane’s arm came protectively around his waist as he stood, squinting in the bright sunlight and trying to avoid the cameras that were all focusing on him.

“Nick!” shouted one reporter, practically shoving his mic up Nick’s nose. “Your mother tells us you were in the hospital for cancer treatments and pneumonia. Is that accurate?”

Nick shot Jane a look. Yeah right, you didn’t tell them. “Yes,” he told the reporter grudgingly. “I came down with pneumonia, but I’m better now.” With that, he started to push his way through the crowd, trying in vain to get to the gates, but the paparazzi blocked his path, and his mother clutched him tightly.

“Nick, how are your treatments going?” another reporter asked. “Is your cancer in remission?”

I wish, he thought wistfully, ignoring the question all together.

“Nick, have the other Backstreet Boys been around during your ordeal? Are they being supportive?”

“Yes,” he muttered.

“And how about your family?”

He didn’t answer. Jane prodded him in the ribs, but he ignored her. Finally, she took over, answering in a weepy voice, “Nick’s father and I brought the children all the way from California to be with him. We’ve been at his side day and night through this horrible ordeal.”

The reporter nodded, a look of sympathy crossing her heavily made-up face. “I’m sure this has been very difficult on you all, hasn’t it?”

“Oh yes,” answered Jane emphatically. “We’ve spent almost all our time at

Nick’s side, camped out at the hospital. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in months, ever since I found out about the cancer. You just can’t imagine what it’s like to... to...” She trailed off, her voice sounding choked. Nick glanced down to see tears welling in his mother’s eyes and couldn’t help but wonder if they were real, or if she had forced them.

“I’m so very sorry,” said the reporter, and then a younger man pushed her out of the way to get through to Nick.

“Nick, I notice you’re wearing a baseball cap – have you lost your hair? How do you think having cancer is going to affect your image and the public’s opinion of you?

What do the fans think?”

“Oh, fuck off!” Nick cried, giving the man a shove. It was a feeble attempt though, not forceful enough to knock him off his feet. Damn.

“I’m sorry, we need to get Nick inside now,” Jane said, her voice ringing out loudly. “He’s still very weak from his illness; I’m sure you understand.” Yeah, right, Nick thought, but surprisingly, the waters parted as the reporters reluctantly backed away, clearing a path to the gates. Bob opened them, and Jane escorted Nick slowly through, her arm still wrapped tightly around him.

“I can walk on my own, you know,” he hissed under his breath, annoyed with her. But she ignored him, continuing to hold on to him until they were out of the reporters’ line of vision. Then she let go.

***

Chapter 58

“That doesn’t count, Angel, I was further back than that!”

“You were not, you were right in front of that crack!”

“Nick? Wasn’t I further back than that?”

“I dunno, Aaron, I wasn’t looking.” Sick of listening to the twins bicker as they played HORSE with Nick’s basketball in the driveway, Nick climbed painfully to his feet.

“I’m gonna go in and get something to drink,” he announced. “You two want anything?” But they were too busy arguing about whether Angel’s shot had counted or not that they didn’t hear him. Rolling his eyes, he turned to go into the house, but the sound of a car approaching stopped him. He glanced back to see a black jeep pulling up and could just pick out Brian and Howie in the front seat. Abandoning the idea of getting a drink, he limped painfully off the front porch and started down the driveway to meet them.

“Hey, guys,” he greeted them, smiling. “Wassup?”

But neither Brian, nor Howie smiled in return. Grim-faced, Brian said nothing, just thrust something into his hand. He looked down at in surprise – a magazine. Not just a magazine, but a tabloid. The National Enquirer. A picture of a sweaty Justin Timberlake and Christina Aguilera arm in arm graced the cover, accompanied by the headline, “Justin and Christina: Things Heating Up On the Justified/Stripped Tour.”

“What the hell is this?” Nick asked, his nose wrinkling in distaste. “Like I care who that fucker Timberlake is bon-“

“Not that,” Brian said impatiently, ripping the magazine from Nick’s hands.

Flipping through it so fast Nick could hear the sounds of pages tearing, Brian got to the page he was looking for and handed it back. “This! ” Nick saw what “this” was as soon as he looked down at the spread. The title on the left page read “Backstreet Boy’s Heartbreaking Battle” and under it were two pictures, side by side – one of his parents sitting in chairs, his mother’s face buried in her hands, his father’s arm around her shoulders, and the other of...

“Where the fuck did they get these?!” Nick exploded, as he looked down in horror of a picture of him lying unconscious in the bed in ICU, a tube coming out of his mouth and his molting head uncovered for the world to see.

“I don’t know,” Howie said carefully, “but I have an idea.” He pointed to the caption below the picture of Nick’s parents, and Nick read it, seething. “Nick’s parents struggle to keep their composure as they wait for word on their son’s condition. ‘It’s just so hard,’ sobs a tearful Jane Carter. ‘We just keep praying that our baby will make it through this.’”

Nick’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my God... she didn’t...”

“Unless they just randomly quoted her, she did,” Howie said gently. “And where else would they have gotten the pictures. Hospital security was tight around you, Nick.

They couldn’t have gotten in unless a family member let them... unless she took them herself.”

Nick shook his head, unexpected tears rising in his eyes, distorting the magazine article. “I can’t believe she did this,” he said hoarsely, drawing the back of his hand across his eyes.

“It’s okay, Nick,” Brian said gently, slinging an arm around him. “It’s out now, and there’s nothing you can do about that, so forget about it. But you can do something

about the cause of all this...”

“Yeah,” Nick said, squaring his jaw and nodding. “Yeah, I can. And I will. She’s screwed me over one too many times. This is the last straw.” Exchanging glances, Howie and Brian nodded regrettably. Nick knew they couldn’t relate. Both were “mama’s boys” themselves; they came from nice, normal families and had nice, normal mothers who loved them rather than take advantage of them for money or attention or whatever it was Jane Carter was in search of.

Why did he have to get stuck with such a screwed up, dysfunctional family? He loved them, he really did, but they, his mother in particular, got to be too much at times.

This time was the worst though. He had been pissed off enough when she had gone to the Enquirer with her sob story about how he had chosen Mandy over her and deserted his family at Christmas. But this... this was a million times worse than that. She had exploited him, put him on display, and all so that she could sob about how rough she had it and gain some sympathy from the world. And he hated her for it.

He had said he hated her many other times, even believed it sometimes. But now, he was sure of it.

He hated his mother. Hated her with every fiber in his being.

And he wasn’t going to put up with her anymore... her fakeness, her lies, her backstabbing.

He was through.

She was out.

***

“OUT!” Nick screamed.

“What?!” Jane gasped. “What did you say to me?”

“I think you heard,” growled Nick. “I said, OUT! GET OUT!”

“Nicky... what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? THIS is what’s wrong!” He tossed the magazine at her, and it hit the kitchen floor with a splat, landing in a crumpled heap. “You went to the fucking National Enquirer and took pictures of me while I was fucking comatose?!”

“Oh, Nick, it wasn’t like that,” Jane tried to defend herself. “I did it for your fans.

The press had been relentless, trying to contact you for interviews and things, and I thought doing this would stop-“

“For my fans? Oh yeah, it was so great for all the little ten-year-old girls to see pictures of me like that! You probably scared the crap out of them! And that’s not even half of it! What about me, huh? My personal life? My body? My rights? You totally exploited me!”

“Nick-“

“I’m your son! How could you do that?!” He was near tears now; he had never been so enraged with her in his life. Then again, she had never done anything so horrible to him.

“Nick, I...” She shook her head, at a loss for words. He had rendered her speechless. Well, good, he was tired of all her lame excuses. For the fans, his ass. It was for her, all for her. She craved attention and apparently was milking his cancer for all it was worth, trying to be the victim, the oh-so-supportive, loving mother that everyone pitied for having such a burden upon her. Not to mention, she had surely been paid a

hefty price for those rare photos, and he knew how important money was to her, even though she was already swimming in it, thanks to him.

“You need to pack your things,” Nick said slowly, his teeth clenched, his shaking hands balled into angry fists at his sides, “and get the fuck out of my home. Don’t call me, and don’t email. As far as I’m concerned, you are no longer my mother.” Jane’s eyes were bright with tears, but they did not affect him. He no longer cared. She had hurt him so badly that he wanted to hurt her back and felt no remorse when he did so.

“Fine,” she whimpered quietly, turning on her heel and leaving the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight, he left the room himself, storming upstairs to his bedroom and slamming the door shut, locking it behind him.

Ten minutes later, there was a knock. He ignored it.

“Nick?” came his brother’s voice. And still, he ignored it

“Nick, come on, let me in!”

Aaron sounded upset, and his love for his brother giving in, Nick grudgingly hauled himself off his bed and went to the door, unlocking it and opening it a crack.

Peeking out into the hall, he checked to make sure Aaron was alone and then opened the door wider, letting his brother in. He closed and locked the door behind him and sat down beside Aaron on the bed.

“Go apologize,” Aaron urged him. “Mom’s a mess; she’s all crying and stuff.

She’s making us get all our stuff together; she said we’re going home on the next flight.”

“Yeah,” Nick said tonelessly.

“I don’t wanna leave!” Aaron cried. “I haven’t gotten to spend any time with you, and if you and Mom don’t make up-“

“I’m sorry, bro, I really am,” Nick interrupted. “But this is her doing, not mine.

Can’t you just stay here with me?”

“I asked; she said no. She’s making us all leave.”

“Sorry.”

“Nick!”

“Aaron, I can’t! Don’t you get it? Don’t you realize what she’s done to me? I’m not going to apologize, and I’m not going to give her a second chance. She’s had countless second chances, and she’s blown them all. This is it – she’s no longer my mother, and I’m not her son.”

“You don’t mean that...”

“Yes!” Nick shouted. “Yes, Aaron, I do!”

Aaron was silent. “Fine then,” he sniffed after a moment. “Then I guess I’m no longer your brother.”

“Now stop, you know that ain’t true, AC,” Nick said. “You’ll always be my brother, and no matter what happens with the rest of the family, I’ll always love you, Squirt. You know that, right?” Aaron just shrugged, sniffing again. Was he trying not to cry? Nick felt bad. “Aaron...” He put his arm around his brother, hugging the lanky teen close to his body. “Come on, AC, don’t be sad. This sucks, I know, but I ain’t gonna lose touch with you, okay? You call me whenever you want, and we can email...

whatever you want.”

Aaron shook his head. “It’s not the same.”

“I know. But things can never be the same now, after what she’s done to me.” They left it at that. Aaron shrugged out of his embrace and stood up, wordlessly

walking to the door.

“Aaron,” Nick called as he started to unlock it. His brother looked back. “Don’t let her do it to you, man,” Nick advised. “Listen, if she gets to be too much, you call me.

I’ll make the arrangements, whatever, I’ll fly you out here, help you escape.” Aaron nodded, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “Okay.” Nick smiled. “C’mere.” Reluctantly, Aaron walked back to him, and Nick hugged him tight. “Take care, okay? I’ll see ya, Squirt.”

“You take care too,” came Aaron’s muffled voice as he buried his face in Nick’s shoulder. “If you... if you, you know... get sicker... or something... please call me.” Pulling away, Nick looked down to see tears in his brother’s eyes. He smiled sadly. “I will. But that ain’t gonna happen. I’m gonna be better soon, I promise. And you know what? I’ll call you when I’m all better. When things are back to normal. And then maybe I can get you back out here to visit, and it’ll be so much more fun than it was this time.”

Aaron nodded. “Okay,” he said, managing a tiny smile. “Yeah, you do that. Call when things are back to normal.”

He left then, and, locking the door again behind him, Nick couldn’t help but hear his own words echoing in his head. But things can never be the same now. Deep down in his heart, he knew it was the truth. Call when things are back to normal. Yeah, right.

Things would never be normal again.

***

Chapter 59

Nick was not at all surprised to find Claire in the waiting room of the outpatient clinic on the oncology floor that Saturday.

“Hey, you!” she called when he walked in, patting the empty chair beside her.

Grinning, he quickly signed in and then took a seat.

“Hey,” he said.

“How are you doing?” Claire asked, her blue eyes expressing concern. “I heard you had pneumonia.”

“Where did you hear that? I thought patient information was confidential,” Nick teased.

Claire blushed. “Oh, I got connections,” she replied with a sheepish smile. “But seriously, how are you doing? Pneumonia... that’s pretty bad...”

“Yeah,” said Nick. “But I’m over it now. Feeling much better.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.” There was a pause, and then Nick asked, changing the subject, “So, what have you been up to? Oh, and sorry my mom kicked you out that one day.” Claire laughed. “Love how your mind just jumps from one thing to the other.

And that’s okay.... But anyway, I haven’t been doing much, just working, hanging out, you know.” She shrugged.

“Where do you work?” he wondered.

“Why, you wanna drop by and pay me a visit sometime?” she asked, smiling suggestively.

He laughed. “I dunno... maybe... where do you work?”

“The office of Dr. Barry Somers, D.D.S.”

Nick cocked his head in surprise. “You work for a dentist?”

“Yup. I’m a dental hygienist,” she replied.

“Oh... wait, you mean you stick your hands in people’s nasty mouths all day?” he asked in disbelief. Why anyone would want to do that was beyond him. He thought it sounded totally gross.

“Something like that,” she laughed. “My dad’s a dentist, so the dental thing kind of runs in the family, I guess you could say.”

“Oh... I see.”

They were submersed in silence once again. Giggling nervously, Claire held up the copy of People she had been reading before he had come in. “Magazine?”

“As long as it ain’t The National Enquirer,” Nick replied dryly, setting the tattered magazine on his lap.

Claire grimaced. “I was wondering about that... I take it that wasn’t your doing?”

“No,” Nick snorted, his eyes darkening. Smiling sarcastically, he elaborated, “My mother. She’s trying to live out her lifelong dream of being famous through me, trying to earn the sympathy of all the Enquirer readers... ‘oh, poor Jane Carter, having to deal with her famous son’s sickness. She’s such a strong woman.’ Ha, yeah right. I should invite those people back out so they can interview me. You think that would make a good story? ‘The Cold, Black Heart and Evil Soul of Jane Carter: Secrets Only A Son Knows’.”

Claire only smiled awkwardly and did not reply.

“Sorry,” Nick said with a sheepish grin. “Didn’t mean to dump my family

problems on you. Anyway, it’s taken care of now – I’ve kicked her out of my life. Now I just need to kick her out of my thoughts too.”

And at that very moment, in walked just the distraction Nick needed, in the form of his azure-eyed, wavy-haired, five foot seven inch best friend, Brian Littrell. He had talked Nick into letting him tag along for his doctor’s appointment that day and then insisted on dropping Nick off at the front of the hospital and parking his rented jeep himself. Although Nick had told him how to get to the oncology clinic, he had begun to think Brian would never make it there. Maybe he had been abducted by aliens or something... or, of course, simply getting lost was always possibility as well.

“Jeez, Carter, you didn’t tell me it was like a maze getting up to this place,” Brian said as he strode into the waiting room, looking around as he sank into a chair on the other side of Nick.

“Did you have some trouble finding the place?” Nick laughed. “Gee, I’m sorry, Bri, but I’ve always managed to find it okay. Guess you’re just not good with directions.” Brian rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, Mr. “Is Norway in Sweden?” Like you’re so good with directions yourself.”

Leaning forward in her seat, Claire watched the two friends exchange their playful banter, her eyes alight with amusement. “Brian, right?” she asked finally, when it became clear that Nick had forgotten all about introductions.

“Oh!” Nick exclaimed, embarrassed. “Sorry – yeah, this is Brian Littrell. Bri, this is Claire Ryan.”

“Nice to meet you,” Brian said cordially, shaking Claire’s hand.

“You too,” she replied with a smile.

The door on the other side of the waiting room popped open, and a gray-haired nurse stuck her head in. “Claire? You can come on back now.”

“Well, nice meeting you, Brian. See ya, Nick,” Claire said as she stood up, slinging her purse over her shoulder.

“Later, Claire,” Nick replied as Claire followed the nurse out of the waiting room, the door falling closed behind them.

“So,” Brian said, looking at Nick with elevated eyebrows. “I didn’t know there were girls your age around here. No wonder you didn’t want me to come along – didn’t wanna share. So... Claire, huh?”

Wrinkling his nose, Nick slugged Brian playfully in the shoulder, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, Rok, like I’d come here and bone some chick with leukemia.” He shook his head.

“Probably healthier than gettin’ it on with that stripper girlfriend of yours. Lord knows what STD’s she might’ve been carrying,” Brian smirked.

“Now you sound like AJ. And for your information, it looks like Leah’s doing pretty good. Last time I saw her, she was with some rich little prick,” he remarked, inwardly seething at the memory.

“You keeping tabs on her now?” Brian laughed. “And, excuse me, ‘rich little prick’? How is that different than you?”

“Uh, excuse me?” Nick sniffed, feigning offense. “I am not a prick, and I sure as hell am not little, as we all know.”

Brian smiled uncomfortably. “Well, you’re littler now than you used to be... if you don’t watch out, you’re gonna have scrawny little chicken arms again,” he said, playfully squeezing Nick’s upper arm, which had noticeably less muscle tone than it had months earlier. The comment had only been made jokingly, but it stung because Nick knew it

was true. First he was fat; now he was much thinner, but a lot less muscular too. He wasn’t sure which was worse. He really needed to get off his ass and work out some more. Screw the weakness and nausea – he could tough it out.

“Hey, you okay? I was only playing,” Brian said in concern.

Nick pasted on a smirk and quickly retaliated with, “Sorry, dude, just thinking about how I better start lifting again cause I sure as hell don’t want looking like you –

talk about scrawny little chicken arms!”

“Hey!” Grinning, Brian pushed up the sleeve of his t-shirt and flexed his bicep.

“Yeah, who’s talking now? Look at that, would you? Hoisting a baby around’ll do that too you.”

Nick smiled. “Maybe I should come up to Atlanta then, let little Bayleemeister give me a workout.”

“You should,” Brian said seriously. “I’m headed home on Monday – come home with me, why don’t you?”

“Nah... maybe some other time, but not this week. I got a million things to do. I really need to call Brent and the fellas... I haven’t hung out with them in awhile.”

“Oh.” Brian nodded, understandingly. “Okay. Well, another time then.”

“Right.”

Another nurse came into the waiting room then, this one young and brunette.

“Mr. Carter?” she called.

Nick slowly stood up and crossed the room to her, a gnawing feeling of dread in his stomach. Brian followed.

“Oh, you brought a friend with you,” commented the nurse, eyeing Brian with interest.

Nick smirked. “Yup.”

Brian held out his hand. “I’m Brian,” he introduced himself.

“I know,” smiled the nurse. “My name’s Kathryn... most people call me Kat though,” she added, shaking his hand, her brown eyes never leaving his blue ones. Nick had to struggle to keep from cracking up; it was obvious that this girl was a Brian fan.

“Nick, I’m going to take you to the room at the end of the hall, straight on back,” Kathryn said, her professional manner returning. Nick nodded, and he and Brian followed the petite nurse down the hall.

Kat, he thought... “Meeeow,” he uttered, doing his best cat noise. The nurse spun around with flashing eyes, and Nick immediately looked at Brian, doing his best to act surprised. Brian looked over at him, just as shocked, and then looked back at Kat to see her eyes fixed on him. She was struggling to look offended, but Nick could see a smile tugging on the corners of her mouth. Brian’s face turned beet red as he realized Kat thought he had done it. He opened his mouth, but she turned back around before he could say anything.

“Ow,” Nick hissed as Brian elbowed him in the ribs, hard. He looked over at his friend, smirking, trying not to giggle. As they walked on, he considered reaching out and grabbing the nurse’s ass, then blaming it on Brian again, but he didn’t for fear of being slapped... because somehow he doubted she would slap Brian.

“Right in here.” Kat held the door to the exam room open and ushered Nick in.

She placed a folded hospital gown in his hands and said, “Strip and change into this. I’ll be back in a few minutes to get your vitals.”

“You want me to wait out here, Nick?” Brian asked.

“Nah, ‘s okay, you can stay. Not like you haven’t seen me in my boxers before,” Nick replied, stressing the word boxers and watching as the nurse’s cheeks grew pink.

Haha, that was fun.

***

Chapter 60

“Well, that wasn’t so bad, Nick,” Brian commented as he drove Nick home from the hospital later that day. “I thought they were going to stick needles in your hip and stuff... the bone marrow test you told me about...”

“No, that’s only every few times I come, thank God,” Nick muttered. “Come down here in about six weeks if you wanna see me go through that torture again.” Brian frowned, but didn’t reply. They rode in silence for a few minutes, Nick enjoying the peace and quiet. He tried to focus on that rather than the moving car and passing scenery; it only made him queasy.

It was his first round of the new chemo on his own, out of the hospital, and already, he could tell it was going to be pure hell. He could feel the sickness creeping up on him, and they had barely gotten out of the parking deck. He cursed the potent chemicals flowing into his bloodstream by way of the catheter, cursed their very existence.

It just wasn’t fair – he had felt so good coming here, and now he felt so bad, and it was only going to get worse. He had a long week ahead of him and could only look forward to a week from that day, when he would be free of the chemo and back to feeling fairly decent, or as decent as a person with cancer could feel, he supposed.

He slumped over against the door, pressing his cheek up to the cool window glass. It felt good on his skin, which had grown hot and sweaty as the nausea worsened.

He closed his eyes, the darkness soothing.

It was only a matter of minutes before Brian glanced over and noticed his change in posture.

“You all right, Nick?” he asked, a tremor of fear rocking his voice.

“Yeah,” Nick murmured, not moving. “Just a little woozy.”

“Well, are you gonna be okay? You need me to stop?” Brian’s voice rose with mild panic as he fired concerned questions at his sick friend.

A weak chuckle escaped Nick’s throat. “Nah, I’m good for now,” he replied lethargically. A moment later, as nausea rippled through his system, he mumbled, “Just please hurry, ‘kay?”

“I’m tryin’, buddy,” Brian assured him worriedly. Giving Nick a sidelong glance, he added, “Whatever you do, don’t throw up in the jeep, all right? The rental place’ll probably charge me big bucks if I bring it back all puke-stained and smelling like ass.” Nick smiled wanly. “I’ll try not to.”

But that got harder and harder to do as they got closer and closer to Nick’s beachside residence. As soon as Brian had parked in the drive, Nick was out of the car, staggering dizzily up the walkway to the front door, desperate to get to a bathroom.

He didn’t make it.

Leaning off one side of the porch, he heaved and retched into the landscaping.

Almost instantaneously, Brian had leapt out of the car and sprinted up to his side. Now he stood with one arm on Nick’s back, rubbing it in small circles as Nick threw up.

“Thanks,” Nick mumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he straightened himself.

“Come on, buddy,” Brian said softly, guiding Nick into the house. He walked Nick slowly up the staircase and into his bedroom, where he pulled back the sheets and light comforter covering Nick’s king-sized waterbed and eased him down into it.

“You don’t gotta tuck me in, Brian, I’m a big boy now,” Nick murmured hazily, drawing a hand over his pale, sweaty face.

“Lie still,” whispered Brian. “I’ll be right back.” He ducked into Nick’s bathroom, where he retrieved a clean washcloth from the linen cupboard and dampened it with cool water. He brought it back into the bedroom and handed it to Nick. “For your face.”

“Thanks.” Nick took the cloth and dragged it slowly over his face with one trembling hand, savoring the clean, cool moisture against his perspiring skin. Brian took it when he was finished, leaving it draped over the bathroom faucet to dry.

“You can go back to the hotel now if you want,” Nick said when he came back into the bedroom. He knew Brian would probably protest, but he would rather be alone, crappy as he was feeling and embarrassed as he was to be seen so weak and miserable.

It wasn’t like Brian had never seen him throw up before; in fact, it had been a group joke for years now that Nick had the weakest immune system of any of the Backstreet Boys –

he was always coming down with something or the other. But no one, certainly not Nick himself, had ever dreamed that he would come down with this, cancer of all things.

Brian shook his head mulishly, just as Nick knew he would. “No,” he said firmly.

“Sorry, Nick, but I’m not leaving yet. You’re sick and weak, and there’s no way you should be up here all by yourself. If something were to happen...”

“Bri, nothing’s gonna happen,” Nick said irritably, but he knew it was a lost cause. Mellow as he usually was, Brian could be extremely stubborn when it came to certain things, and Nick’s well-being was one of those things.

Brian only smiled. “Sorry,” he repeated flatly. “Tell you what – I’ll just go out on your balcony, okay? That way you can be alone and get some rest. If you need me, just call, I’ll hear you.”

Nick nodded. That sounded reasonable. “Okay,” he relented. He watched as Brian unlocked the curtained french doors that opened up onto a small balcony overlooking the backyard and Nick’s private beach, which led right out into the ocean.

It was a beautiful view, and for a fleeting moment, Nick felt almost envious, wanting to go out and enjoy it with his best friend. He recalled sitting out there many an afternoon, letting the hot sun bronze his skin and the oceanic breeze ruffle his hair, inhaling the salty scent of the sea. But today, the heat and the bright sunlight would only irritate him, he had no hair left for the wind to tease, and the stench of salt and fish would probably just worsen his nausea. Better to stay inside, in the darkened, air-conditioned sanctuary that was his bedroom.

He watched as Brian pulled the door shut behind him and disappeared behind the lightweight drapes, which provided a barricade against the afternoon sunlight which streamed brilliantly through the windowed doors. Then he closed his eyes, willing sleep to take him away, to deaden his nausea and camouflage his weakness.

But it didn’t happen.

Kept awake by his discomfort and the threat of throwing up, he lay flat on his back, unable to toss and turn for fear of unsettling his already unsettled stomach. He became aware of a bad taste in his mouth, the sour taste of vomit, and he swallowed hard, trying to wash it away. His throat felt dry and parched, and swallowing was difficult. He needed a glass of water.

For a moment, he considered calling Brian, but then he decided that was stupid –

the bathroom was just a few feet away, and he always kept a drinking glass by the sink,

too lazy to go downstairs to the kitchen for a drink in the middle of the night. Very slowly, he sat up and gingerly swung his long legs over the side of the bed and set his feet on the floor. He sat there a moment, waiting for the vertigo he felt to go away, and then he stood up, clinging to the bed with one hand to keep from losing his balance.

Chemo really took a lot out of him, he realized yet again, as he padded slowly across the lushly carpeted floor.

He made it to the bathroom and filled the small glass with tap water. He took a sip, swished it around his mouth, and spat it out into the sink. Then he took a long swallow from the glass, which helped immensely. He downed the water, hoping it was not a mistake to drink so much, set the glass back down on the counter, and shuffled back out again. His stomach churned precariously with each step, but he told himself fiercely, You’re not gonna puke... you’ll feel better once you’re lying still again...

Mind over matter, right? That’s all there was to it.

He reached his bed and climbed slowly into it, lying perfectly still until the soft rocking of the waterbed ceased. And amazingly, the rocking of his stomach ceased along with it. Relieved, he closed his eyes again, concentrating on sleep.

And finally, it took him.

***

Chapter 61

Nick woke up totally disoriented. His mind in a fog, he looked around and realized he was in his own room, in his own bed, entangled in his own covers. How long had he been out? Struggling to sit up and free himself from the sheets that had somehow gotten twisted around his legs, he squinted over at the clock on his night stand.

“6:05?” he read. “Damn...” He had slept for a few hours, and now it was dinnertime. Not that he’d be eating anything.

Though he was still a little dizzy sitting up, he realized that the nausea had passed for now and decided to take advantage of it by getting up for a bit. Slowly and carefully, he eased himself out of his big bed and rose upon shaky legs. Standing still a moment, he waited until he was steady and balanced, then progressed across his bedroom floor with slow, measured steps.

Clinging to the banister for support, he made his way down the stairs. As he neared the kitchen, he was shocked to hear muffled voices. Stopping to listen, he recognized them as Brian’s and Howie’s and went ahead into the large room.

His two friends were sitting at his small kitchen table, talking quietly. Brian was fiddling with the tab on a can of Coke, and Howie had a half-eaten banana in one hand, which he was unconsciously waving around as he talked. They did not even notice Nick standing in the doorway until he cleared his throat, and then they looked up in surprise.

“Nicky!” exclaimed Howie. “You’re up! How are you feeling?” How had he known that question was coming? Fighting to keep from rolling his eyes, Nick only smiled tightly and replied, “Oh... okay.”

“Really? That’s good,” Brian said with a smile. “Wanna come sit down?” He eyed the empty chair across the table from him.

“Yeah, sure.”

“I didn’t really feel comfortable leaving you here alone,” Brian said apologetically as Nick shuffled across the tiled floor to the table, “so I invited Howie over to keep me company. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, ‘s cool,” replied Nick, pulling out the chair and easing himself down into it.

Howie took a bite out of his banana and then said, swallowing, “So, Nick, um, how long are you on this chemo thing for?”

“A week,” said Nick, the familiar scent of banana wafting down the table and entering his nostrils. Normally, he wasn’t too bothered by bananas, but right then, all he could think of was that powdery stuff that school janitors sprinkle on the floor when somebody barfs. It smelled like bananas. At least the stuff the janitors at his school had used did. It had been a decade since he had been in real school, and yet, he could still remember that odor, always associated with the unpleasant aroma of fresh vomit. And thinking of it now made him want to do just that – vomit.

Holding his stomach, he slid his chair back and stood up more quickly than he had moved all afternoon, ignoring the immediate dizziness and staggering across the room to the kitchen sink, which was surprisingly and luckily empty, for it seemed Brian and Howie had put themselves to work and done his dishes for him. He leaned over the sink now and emptied the contents of his stomach, the pale yellowish-brown liquid that came up staining the white porcelain. When he was finished, he turned on the faucet, first dipping his head under to rinse his mouth, then letting the water run into the basin,

washing the last traces of his vomit down the drain.

He felt Brian’s hand on his back and the quiet question, “You okay, buddy?” Nick nodded. “Howie,” he said through clenched teeth, “Could you please get rid of that?”

“Get rid of what, Nicky?” Howie asked innocently.

“The banana,” Nick muttered. “The fucking banana. It’s making me sick.”

“Oh... oh, God, Nick, I’m sorry!” Howie apologized, quickly dumping the unfinished piece of fruit into the garbage. “I’m really sorry,” he said again, coming up to stand beside Brian at the sink. “Are you gonna be all right now?”

“I guess.” Nick started to run a hand through his hair, a gesture he always did when he was frustrated. But he was greeted with nothing but a few soft wisps covering a hard scalp. “Fuck,” he whispered, letting the hand drop.

“What? Your hair?” Brian asked knowingly.

Nick only nodded, not trusting his voice to speak, suddenly caught up in emotion.

“I’m sorry, man,” Brian whispered. “If there’s anything we can do...”

“There is,” Nick said suddenly, an idea popping into his brain. “I want you to shave it.”

“Shave it?”

“My head, shave my fucking head. Get rid of what’s left on it cause I can’t stand it looking like this anymore. I just wanna get it over with and be totally, fucking bald.” Brian blinked. “You serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious! I’ve got shaving cream and a razor upstairs in my bathroom; would one of you go get it please?”

Brian and Howie exchanged glances. “I’ll go,” Howie volunteered and disappeared, heading back up the stairs. He returned a few minutes later with a regular old razor and a can of shaving cream.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked uncertainly, as Nick sat back down at the table, a dishtowel draped over his shoulders.

“Positive,” Nick said firmly. “You ain’t gonna hurt anything; I’d eventually be totally bald anyway. You’re just speeding up the process a little.” Howie bit his lip, then offered the supplies to Brian. “You wanna do it?” he asked.

“Whatever.”

Brian started to reach for the razor and shaving cream, but Nick interrupted with,

“No, D, I want you to do it.”

Howie and Brian both looked at him, Howie beginning to laugh. “Me? Why?”

“Yeah, why?” Brian repeated, trying to look offended. “I can do it.”

“Howie, you spend an entire freaking hour on your hair alone every morning. I know you’ll be able to do this,” Nick replied matter-of-factly. Brian burst out laughing, while Howie just looked as if he were trying to tell whether that was a compliment or not.

“Okay,” he sighed finally. “I’ll do it.” He paused. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” Nick repeated. “Just get on with it before I have another puke attack.”

“Fine.” With another sigh, Howie popped the lid off the can of shaving cream and squirted a liberal amount into the palm of his hand. Rubbing his hands together, he gingerly smoothed the thick foam over Nick’s head. Nick shivered; it was cold and

tingled his scalp.

“Be careful now, don’t nick me,” he advised, as Howie wiped his hands off on a towel and picked up the razor.

“He won’t nick you... Nick,” said Brian and then began to laugh. “Get it? He won’t nick you? Nick?”

“Funny, Rok,” Nick said dryly, but he couldn’t help but smile. Brian was so retarded sometimes.

“All right,” sighed Howie, holding up the razor. “This is it.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Howie,” Nick said with a roll of his eyes. “Just do it already.”

Smirking, Howie just shook his head and took a deep breath, then lowered the razor to Nick’s head. He dragged it slowly and gently down the middle, parting the layer of shaving cream and revealing a stripe of pale, hairless skin. Nick studied Brian while Howie worked, watching him wince every time Howie rinsed off the razor in a bowl of warm water, leaving leftover mounds of shaving cream and tufts of blonde hair floating behind.

When the job was done, Nick stood up without a word and headed straight for the small guest bathroom on the downstairs floor. He flipped on the light and braced himself for what he would see when he looked in the mirror. Swallowing hard, he sidestepped in front of the vanity and gazed into the mirror at his reflection. When he first caught sight of his glistening, bald head, he felt a tremor run through his whole body. But the more he looked, the more he got used to it. It certainly looked better than it had before anyway. But still, it was unnerving to see all of his hair gone, his head completely bare.

“You all right, Nick?” a voice interrupted Nick’s scrutiny, and he looked over to see Brian standing in the doorway, Howie peeking in from over his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” he replied, nodding at his reflection in an assured way. “Almost looks like I did this on purpose, you know... like I wanted it like this...” He ran a hand slowly over his head, reveling at its smoothness and how odd it felt to his fingertips, which were so used to raking through his thick, blonde locks.

Brian smiled. “Sounds like something AJ would do.”

Nick snorted. “Yeah. Boy, won’t he be jealous when he sees this bad-ass ‘do.

Quite the trendsetter now, aren’t I?” he remarked sarcastically. He flashed a big cheesy grin and double thumbs up at his reflection and heard Howie and Brian’s relieved laughter. But, staring at his mirror image, he saw that the smile did not carry to his eyes, which showed every feeling of self-consciousness, insecurity, and humiliation that he possessed. The smiled wavered, and he began to feel sick to his stomach. Whether it was just the chemo or the visual representation of what the chemo was doing to him, he did not know. All he knew was that he needed to throw up, and now.

“Just a minute, guys,” he moaned, suddenly diving for the door and slamming it closed, practically right in their faces. He heard their dumbfounded voices call out his name in concern, but all he could think about was getting to the toilet. Sinking to his knees in front of it, he threw up the lid and buried his face in it, while his ravaged body raised holy hell once again.

***

Chapter 62

By the end of the week, Brian and Howie had gone back home, and Nick was alone again. And once he was off the chemo and feeling better, it wasn’t just the loneliness that plagued him, but boredom as well. He was sick and tired of lying around, cooped up in his house all the time. Yet the thought of going out in public scared him. He hadn’t been able to go out and do normal things for years anyway because of his celebrity status, but now it was even worse.

Sometimes he still caught paparazzi or fans lurking on the edge of his property, and he knew all the major magazines and networks were itching to get an exclusive interview with him. They had been calling nonstop for weeks and weeks, and when he did actually pick up the phone – which was rare – he always told them no. Not yet, anyway. Maybe in the future, when he was in remission and looking normal again, he would make appearances and talk about his experience. It was not something he wanted to do; it was something he knew he should do. For the fans.

He knew they were worried about him; he had gotten tons of cards in the mail and presents and flowers sent to his home from the obsessive fans who knew where he lived. And according to Jive, his fan club had gotten millions more cards and get-well gifts, some of which had been forwarded to him. He was appreciative of the support and wanted to give something back, but not now.

The truth was, superficial as it sounded, the thing that bothered him the most was what the fans would think if they got a good look at him. He looked nothing like the blonde, blue-eyed, baby-faced Nick Carter they were used to. If he had looked bad at his TRL appearance, it was nothing compared to how he looked now.

He had weighed himself that morning, just for kicks, and calculated how much weight he had lost since his diagnosis. It had to be around thirty pounds. Add that to the twenty-five he had lost over the course of his tour (which seemed like decades ago, but had really only been about three months), and he had lost close to sixty pounds total. No one could call him fat anymore.

His clothes hung loose and baggy on his lanky frame, and he had been forced to buy new pants to accommodate his thinner waistline. His stomach, which he had always been horribly insecure about, no longer stuck out (which meant AJ could no longer poke him and go “Hoo hoo!” like the Pillsbury Doughboy, a great disappointment for sure). It was flat now, and when he had used to be able to pinch rolls of fat away from it, he could now only come up with folds of loose skin. His arms were like sticks, and his face had thinned considerably, to the point of looking gaunt. His cheeks were hollow, and his skin was a pasty shade of white.

With his newly-bald head, he thought he looked like an old man, not the vibrant twenty-three-year-old he had once been. All he needed now was a cane, and some days, he didn’t think that was such a bad idea. The fracture in his leg had healed now, but the bone was still weak from the tumor that had eaten away at it, and it still gave him pain.

Some days, when his leg was throbbing, and his stomach was churning with nausea from the chemo, even getting out of bed seemed an impossible task.

But today, it was different. For the first time in a week, he actually felt pretty good. His appetite hadn’t quite returned yet, and he was still very weak from the seven torturous days he had barfed his way through, but hiding out in the house just didn’t sound too appealing that day. For a moment, he considered calling up some of the guys

and going out that night... but then his thoughts drifted back to his grim appearance and the vultures who continually stalked him, and he grew doubtful.

Sighing, he got up and wandered into the kitchen. He opened up the refrigerator and saw a jug of lemonade sitting on the top shelf, practically beckoning to him. He pulled it out, poured himself a glass, and sat down at the table to drink it and think.

Jiggling the glass so that the ice clunked against the sides, he contemplated his options. Go out with the guys and risk getting recognized, harassed, and mobbed? Or stay home by himself and be bored to tears?

Lifting the glass to his lips, he tipped it back and took a large drink of the cold lemonade. But as soon as he swished the tart yellow liquid around in his mouth, he knew it was a mistake. He had forgotten the most recent side effect of the new chemo he had been put on - canker sores. Lots of them - big ones - had formed on his gums and the inside of his cheeks. They had not been so noticeable while he was on chemo and not eating, but the sour lemonade made the them sting horribly.

Wincing in pain, he impulsively spit out the lemonade, letting it spray all over his kitchen table, and hurried over to take a sip of water from the faucet to rinse his mouth.

He dumped the rest of his lemonade down the drain and then walked back to his table, which was now wet with sticky lemonade.

“Shit,” he muttered, sighing heavily as he looked down upon the mess he had made. And that’s when he knew he had to get out of the house. He couldn’t take it anymore; he needed to escape, to go somewhere and take his mind off all the crap.

Not bothering to clean up the lemonade, he took off for his “office,” which served no purpose except to house his laptop, which lay untouched on the desk he rarely sat at.

But he sat there now and rummaged through the drawers in search of his address book.

He found the thin, navy blue leather book, pulled it out, and flipped it open, leafing through the pages until he found Brent’s phone number. Picking up the phone, he punched in the digits and listened to the phone ring.

“Hello?” Brent answered finally.

Nick cleared his throat. “Hey. It’s me, Nick.”

“Nick!” Brent sounded surprised to hear from him, and Nick couldn’t blame him. The two hadn’t talked or seen each other in quite awhile. After Brent found out about Nick’s cancer, their friendship had seemed to taper off. Nick knew it was half his fault for never getting in touch with Brent, but he couldn’t help but wonder if Brent wanted it that way, if he wanted to distance himself from Nick. If that was true, well...

again, Nick couldn’t blame him. It hurt, oh yes, but he also understood. It had to be hard to sit there and watch one your closest friends slowly deteriorate from a scary thing like cancer.

Nick remembered feeling sort of the same way after Brian’s heart surgery five years earlier... after the surgery, he would have avoided that hospital like the plague if Kevin and the others had let him, but of course, they didn’t, forcing him to come along on their daily visits. Nick remembered vividly the awkwardness he felt, perched in a stiff-backed chair as far away from Brian’s bed as he could get, barely even making small talk with the man that was his best friend. It wasn’t Brian that was the problem; it was what had happened to Brian. It had scared Nick to death, seeing Brian so pale and weak and imagining someone actually cutting into his chest, into his heart. He felt horribly guilty, but he couldn’t deny the fact that just being around Brian freaked him out. This had lasted for about a week, and once it began to sink in that Brian really was all right,

he had begun to relax, and their relationship had gone back to normal.

Nick was hoping the same thing would happen with him and Brent (and his other friends as well). That was another reason he was calling – he hoped that hanging out with Brent would help prove to his friend that he was all right, that he was still the same old Nick, despite the fact that he looked like a freak.

“Hey,” Nick said again with a little chuckle. “Wassup?”

“Oh, uh, not too much, man. How about you? How’s it going?” Brent asked casually, making standard small talk. Nick smiled a little on his end of line, knowing instinctively that “How’s it going?” meant so much more than that. It meant, “how are you feeling”... “no, how are you really feeling?”... “how’s your cancer?”... “are you getting better?”... “are you dying?”... “how are you dealing?” and so on.

“Okay,” Nick replied, knowing that saying, “Oh, it’s going good” would both be and sound like a total lie.

“That’s good.”

“Yeah... so anyway, you doin’ anything tonight?” Nick asked, deciding just to get to the point and not bother with the strained small talk any longer.

“Oh... um...” There was a long pause, and finally Brent said, “yeah... me and some of the guys are gonna hit a few clubs and stuff.”

“Sounds like a good time,” commented Nick, expecting to be invited along. He knew that if he was working or on tour and called Brent up on a free night in Tampa, he would be asked to go with them in a heartbeat. But that was not the case this time.

“Yeah, well, you know...” Brent trailed off unenthusiastically. “It’ll be the same old, same old. Lots of drinking and dancing with the chicks and stuff...” He was trying to make it sound uninteresting, probably so that Nick wouldn’t want to come. Nick knew how that kind of thing worked.

“Yeah,” he played along. “I’m sure you’ll have a good time though.”

“We’ll see,” replied Brent, then added hurriedly, “too bad you can’t come. I know you’re not supposed to drink, and I’m sure you don’t feel up to going out dancing and stuff.”

“Yeah,” Nick said hollowly and did not elaborate. He considered insisting that he did feel up to going out and inviting himself along, but it was apparent that Brent didn’t want him to go. And when he thought about it, Brent was probably right. He now knew firsthand why he wasn’t supposed to drink while on chemo, and he sure as hell didn’t want to repeat that experience. And spending the night in an array of equally stuffy, crowded clubs didn’t sound all that appealing either. He wanted to go out, but that wasn’t quite what he had had in mind.

Suddenly, he didn’t feel like talking much anymore. “Well, I gotta go now,” he said quickly to Brent. “Just wanted to call and say hey.”

“That’s okay,” replied Brent. “I gotta go anyway. Talk to ya later, dude.” He hung up with a click, and so did Nick, a range of emotions brewing within him. Angry, hurt, and left out, he shoved the address book back into his drawer and slammed it shut. There was no use trying Lane, James, or Frank; they were surely some of “the guys” Brent had mentioned.

So much for going out that night.

He supposed he’d just stay at home with his dogs and his Gamecube after all.

Maybe he’d order a pizza. Or maybe he’d just heat up a frozen one to avoid scaring away the pizza delivery boy.

All alone with a box of pizza, a stack of video games, and his pugs for company.

How sad.

That thought just depressed him, so he yanked open his desk drawer once more, determined to find someone to hang out with that night. But as he paged through the address book, he realized that Brent, Lane, James, and Frank were pretty much the only close friends he had nearby anymore.

It was hard to keep friends when you were a celebrity; he had found that out the hard way. Not that he had ever had a lot of friends anyway; in fact, he had been something of a social reject growing up, always picked on and excluded from his classmates at school. His best friends had been, for the most part, his siblings. Sad, but true. But that made it even better when he had become a Backstreet Boy – he had gained not only a career and fame, but four best friends and “brothers” and the privilege of being able to gloat at the people who had tormented him as a child. Too bad he wasn’t so lucky anymore...

With a sigh, Nick slowly slid the address book back into its drawer and started to close it, resigning himself to the “pizza, Nintendo, dogs” idea. But then he was hit with an idea. Tossing the address book aside, he hoisted out the fat, heavy, Tampa phonebook instead and flipped it open. He found what he was looking for, picked up the phone again, and started dialing.

***

Chapter 63

“Hey, thanks for meeting me here tonight,” Nick said, feeling almost shy as he looked over at the girl sitting across the table from him.

Claire Ryan smiled. “No problem. I’m always in the mood for pizza – well, almost always – and I could never pass up coming to Leonardi’s.” Nick nodded. “Yeah, this place is perfect,” he commented.

The small pizza parlor had been Claire’s idea. “You’ll love it,” she had told Nick enthusiastically over the phone when he had suggested meeting at a place that was small and secluded, a place where he was not likely to be recognized or mobbed. “It’s my favorite restaurant in Tampa; I always end up going there when I don’t feel like cooking.

It’s not too classy or anything, but the food is great, and it’s cheap. Not to mention, it’s never too crowded. It’ll be perfect.”

Taking another look around, Nick couldn’t help but agree totally with her.

Leonardi’s was old and shabby, but clean. It was a no-frills kind of place – sparsely-decorated, paneled walls, simple wooden tables and chairs covered with red-and-white checked plastic table clothes in the middle and booths along the walls, the wooden tabletops also covered in plastic tablecloths, the vinyl upholstery of the seats torn in various spots.

Nick and Claire had taken the large, wrap-around booth in the very back corner, as far away from the few other diners as they could get. Nick had worn sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled low over his ears, hoping to disguise himself as much as possible.

“I think you’re attracting even more attention to yourself in that get-up,” Claire had teased him good-naturedly when she saw him, whipping the sunglasses off of his face. He had only blushed and pulled his hat down tighter, trying to cover up the fact that he was bald underneath it.

He did this again now, running his hand over the top of the cap and smashing it down onto his head as far as it would go.

“Quit that, would ya?” Claire said, and Nick looked up to see a smirk playing on her lips. He smiled sheepishly, both unaware that he had been doing it and that she had been watching him. It had become a bad habit, the flattening and pulling of his baseball caps, probably a replacement for the nervous habit he had always had of running his hand through his hair. He did it without even knowing now, always unconsciously insecure of his appearance.

“Sorry,” he muttered sheepishly and forced his hands into his lap. Maybe if he just sat on them...

“You should just leave it off,” Claire suggested. “People would think you shaved your head on purpose. I know guys who’ve done that.”

“You’re forgetting one thing – I’m famous. The whole world knows what’s wrong with me; no one will think I did it on purpose.”

“True, but if everyone knows what’s wrong with you anyway, why do you care if they see your head? I mean, they would probably expect you to be bald, right?” He had to admit, she had a point. Still, he was self-conscious and couldn’t bear to be seen in public with a bare head. And apparently neither could she, for she was always wearing a bandana over her head. She must have had a million of them, too, because she always seemed to be wearing a different one. Tonight it was tiger-striped in vivid orange and black. It rather reminded him of AJ and his leopard-print cowboy hat.

“I dunno,” he answered her finally. “I just don’t feel comfortable with it yet, I guess.”

She smiled. “That’s okay. Neither do I, really. I was just giving you a hard time.” He grinned and studied her for a moment. “You ever considered getting a wig?” he asked her, his eyes following the jagged stripes of her bandana.

“Oh, I have one,” said Claire. “Just never wear it, except for special occasions – it itches my head.”

“Oh what, and tonight’s not a special occasion? Dinner with Nick Carter – I think that’s pretty damn special,” he teased.

“Oh yeah, you would. You and the millions of your adoring female fans. But not me; I have my standards,” she shot back haughtily, flashing him a grin.

He just smirked back at her. “So, what color’s your wig?”

“Guess,” she smiled.

“Blonde?” With her blue eyes and fair skin, she looked like a blonde.

“Nope.”

“Um... brunette then?”

“Wrong again. It’s black. Jet black,” she answered, beaming at the surprised look on her face.

“Black...?”

She giggled. “Yup. It makes me look really goth cause I’m so white...” She held out her arm and looked at it. “Well, not this pasty white usually, but still pretty fair.”

“So what are you naturally? Blonde?” he asked.

She cocked her head at him. “What’s the deal with blondes? You like blondes do ya... Blondie?”

“I like all ladies,” he retorted smugly. “But, no, you just look like you would be a blonde.”

She smiled. “Well, you’ll just have to wait and see if I am or not when my hair grows back.”

“Oh, I’ll look forward to it,” Nick remarked dryly, smiling back.

Finally, a waitress came to take their order. Speaking of blondes, she was very blonde herself, fair highlights accenting her natural golden shade of hair. Add this to the fact that she was young, tall, skinny, and blue-eyed, and Nick thought he had died, gone to Heaven, and met an angel. He wondered if he should try a line like that on her, then decided it probably wouldn’t be a good idea for two reasons - 1) Claire would most definitely laugh her ass off at him, and 2) the waitress would probably just look at him in disgust. If he had looked like the old Nick Carter, blonde and so-called attractive, it might have worked, but there was no way in hell it would work now. He resigned himself to that fact and kept his mouth shut.

“Hi,” the waitress said in a perky voice. “My name’s Jessica, and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you two some drinks to start off?” Nick motioned for Claire to give the girl her drink order first, and Claire nodded, saying automatically, “Sure... I’ll have a lemonade, please.”

“One lemonade,” Jessica repeated, scribbling it down on a little notepad she clutched in one hand. “And for you, sir?”

Well, he knew there was no way in hell he was going to have lemonade. “Um... I’ll just have ice water,” he said, deciding that would be safe.

“And one ice water. Got it. I’ll be back in a sec,” said Jessica as she walked away.

Nick studied her barely-there excuse for an ass for a moment and then decided he preferred the ghetto booty to the bony butt on her.

“Nick Carter, are you staring at her ass?”

Claire’s playful scolding made him jump and quickly avert his eyes. “Of course not,” he answered hastily, trying to hide his smile.

“Oh, you were too. Typical guy,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

Jessica returned with two dark red glasses, which she set down in front of them, placing two straws between them. “Are you ready to order yet?” she asked.

Nick and Claire exchanged glances; they had been so busy talking, they had barely even glanced at the menu. “What do you like on your pizza?” Claire asked him.

“Meat,” Nick said automatically. “Pepperoni, sausage, whatever. And cheese –

extra cheese.”

She nodded. “Sounds good to me.” Looking at Jessica, she said, “We’ll have a large sausage and pepperoni with extra cheese.”

“Okay,” Jessica said brightly, writing their order down, and walked away.

“Do you think one large will be enough and all?” Claire asked Nick after the waitress had left.

“A large? Uh, yeah, that should be plenty,” he replied.

“Okay, just making sure. I wasn’t sure if you could polish off an entire pizza yourself like some guys I know or not.”

Nick laughed. “Well, technically, I probably could or at least used to be able to, but I haven’t had much of an appetite lately.”

“Wow, wish I was you,” Claire snorted. “I guess you got the good drugs, the kind that take away your appetite. I got the ones that make it even bigger. I could probably eat the entire pizza if I let myself.”

“Really?” Nick laughed. “Wow, I think that’s the first time I’ve heard a girl say that. Most of the girls I’ve been out with just order salads for dinner and pick at them and then say how full they are. I’m like, “Yeah... sure you are...’.” Claire rolled her eyes. “Well, I’ve never been like that. I’ve always had a ‘healthy appetite,’ let’s just say. I used to be able to eat whatever I wanted though without it showing, but the chemotherapy I’m on now has totally been screwing with my system.

The appetite thing plus the water weight just makes me-“

“Hey, you think we can change the subject?” Nick interrupted, not really wanting to hear about things like bloating... it reminded him of when girls discussed “that time of the month,” a subject that always made him feel extremely uncomfortable. He knew was just a part of life, but sheesh, he didn’t want hear all the gory details.

Claire laughed. “Sure. Sorry,” she apologized quickly. “Yeah, let’s talk about happy things now.”

“Okay,” Nick said warily. “Happy things like what?” It seemed there just weren’t too many happy things in his life to discuss anymore.

Claire shrugged. “I dunno... like flowers and kittens and shit?” She grinned impishly.

“Kittens? Nah, I’m more of a puppy person.”

“Me too,” Claire laughed. “Cats are too damn temperamental.”

“Yeah,” agreed Nick.

“So...” Claire began, as the conversation faded to silence, “what else makes you happy, Nick Carter? What are you into besides the music thing?”

What else makes you happy, Nick Carter? her words echoed in his mind. It was a good question. It had been so long since he had considered himself truly happy that he almost didn’t know what to answer. But then he thought back to the one thing that had always made him happy...

“The ocean,” he said wistfully. “I’ve always loved the ocean. It’s like my... my sanctuary... the one place I can go to take my mind off of all the crap I have to think about and just chill, you know. It’s my escape.”

Claire nodded seriously, looking him right in the eyes as he spoke. It rather unnerved him; he wasn’t used to getting all deep and thoughtful, and having her look at him so intently made him feel self-conscious.

“Sorry,” he blushed. “Didn’t mean to go all fruity on you.” Claire frowned. “Why are you sorry? And I don’t think you’re fruity. That’s cool.

So I bet you’ve probably spent a lot of time by the ocean recently then.”

“Actually, no, I haven’t,” Nick answered truthfully, realizing just how long it had been. “My poor boat hasn’t been taken out in months.”

“Oh. Well, you should take it out. Clear your mind and all that.”

“Yeah...” Nick said slowly. “Yeah, I should...”

The service at Leonardi’s was much faster than most of the pizza places Nick had been to, and their pizza was brought to them in no time. It looked and smelled delicious, even to Nick. Covered in hot, bubbling cheese, browned to perfection, and piled with layers of pepperoni and sausage, it beckoned to Nick, and he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into a slice.

He slid a slice onto Claire’s plate and then took one for himself. Without hesitation, he picked it up and took a big bite off the end, eager to try it. It tasted like heaven in his mouth. Claire was right; Leonardi’s did make great pizza. He was surprised that in all his years of living in Tampa, he had never discovered this wonderful little place before. It was not until he started chewing and swallowed that he realized he had made a mistake. The hot, zesty pizza burned the sores in his mouth, making it too painful to enjoy. He swallowed with difficulty, grimacing.

Glancing up from her slice, Claire looked at him in concern. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Does it taste funny?”

“No,” Nick choked quickly, embarrassed. “No, it’s really good. Just, uh, a little hot.”

“Oh. Good,” said Claire. Shrugging, she added, “Some of the chemo drugs I’ve been on have screwed up my sense of taste, so I was just wondering if that was it.”

“Oh, no,” Nick shook his head. “No, it’s not that.” He forced himself to take another bite, somehow feeling as if he would disappoint her if he did not eat. Trying not to wince, he chewed carefully, strategically trying to avoid the sores. But that was impossible, for they had cropped up all over the inside of his mouth.

He glanced up, only to see Claire watching him again.

“What?” he asked, swallowing again. “Do I got cheese hanging off my chin or something?” He swiped at his mouth with his napkin.

“No... you just... never mind,” she said, going back to her pizza and chewing in silence.

He just stared down at his own, hungry and wanting to eat it, but dreading it at the same time. God, this sucked. Wasn’t the baldness and barfing enough? Wasn’t it bad enough that he could barely eat for a week because he was so nauseous, and now,

when he finally did have an appetite again, he couldn’t eat because his mouth was full of raw canker sores?

After a few minutes of silence, Claire let her half-eaten slice of pizza drop to her plate and looked at Nick. “Is it mouth sores?” she asked, as if she could read his mind.

Nick stared at her. How did she do that? “Yeah,” he admitted. “The pizza’s really good, but I just... it hurts to eat it...”

Claire smiled sympathetically. “Just a minute,” she said. Then she called,

“Excuse me, Jessica?”

Their young, blonde waitress, who had just finished taking another table’s orders, hurried over. “Yes, can I get you anything?” she asked Claire.

“Yeah, two large milkshakes please. One strawberry and one-“ She paused and looked back to Nick. “What flavor?”

“Oh... uh, vanilla, I guess,” he answered in surprise.

“Coming right up,” Jessica said with a smile.

“They make awesome milkshakes here too,” Claire told Nick. “And they feel a lot better on your mouth, trust me. I’ve been there.”

She smiled understandingly, and Nick smiled back, reassured. It was odd, but he felt extremely comfortable around Claire, even though he didn’t know her that well yet.

He wasn’t even sure if they really had anything in common, except for the fact that they were both battling the same type of disease. But that was enough. It had created some sort of bond between them, and though she was still practically a stranger, Claire Ryan felt like a friend to him. A friend that understood what he was going through in a way none of his other friends could. Because as close as he was to Brian and all his other friends, he had a special connection with Claire that he would never have with any of them.

Jessica returned, balancing two tall fountain glasses on a tray. One was filled with light pink ice cream, the other with creamy white, and both were topped with copious mounds of whipped cream, a single cherry perched on the peak.

“Thank you,” Claire said and pushed her plate of half-eaten pizza aside.

“Do you want a box for that?” Jessica asked, eying the nearly-full pan of pizza.

“Yes, please,” answered Claire. “Actually, bring back two, would you?”

“Sure.” Jessica left and returned right away with two flat pizza boxes. Claire divided the uneaten pizza into halves, putting one half into one box and the other into the other box.

“You take half of it home,” she said to Nick, “so that you can eat it later if your mouth feels better.”

“Thanks,” said Nick, touched by her thoughtfulness. He took a slow sip of his milkshake, struggling to suck the thick substance through his straw, and swallowed carefully. Claire was right; the cold ice cream did feel a lot better swishing around in his mouth than the pizza had, and he eagerly drank some more.

“Hits the spot, doesn’t it?” Claire asked, plucking the cherry off the top of hers by its stem and twisting it around slowly between her fingers.

”Yeah,” Nick said earnestly. “You rule, you know that.”

“I know,” teased Claire with a grin, popping the cherry into her mouth.

Nick smiled, taking another sip from his shake, glad that he had gone out with her tonight instead of with his guy friends. Maybe he wasn’t off in some sleazy nightclub, plastered and surrounded by beautiful women, but he was having a good time

just the same.

“What would I do without ya, Claire?” he bantered, but really, he meant it.

Thinking back to their talks in the clinic waiting room and her visit to him in the hospital and, of course, tonight, he realized the whole sucky ordeal he had endured thus far would have been even suckier without her companionship.

***

Chapter 64

Nick followed Claire’s suggestion and took his boat out the very next day. And as he stood, slowly turning the wheel, guiding the large boat through the relatively calm waters, the breeze in his face and the sun at his back, he knew it had been a very good suggestion indeed.

It had not been until he had actually gotten out onto the water, felt the familiar rolling beneath his feet and smelled the familiar scent of seawater that he realized how much he had truly missed this. Besides music, being out on the ocean was his favorite pastime, his favorite means of relaxation. Even now, with the heavy burden he had carried on his shoulders for over three months, it did wonders to calm his nerves and soothe his worry.

It was a perfect day to be doing this. It was very hot outside, but being on the water cooled the temperature considerably, and Nick was quite comfortable. The sky was blue and cloudless; the sun shined brightly. This only served to compliment Nick’s unusually cheerful mood.

When he was far enough out to only be able to glimpse the shore in the distance, he shut off the motor and let the boat drift. He had discovered that he could only stand so long without feeling weak and was glad to sink down onto a seat and let the boat take him wherever it chose. He stretched back contentedly in his seat and flicked off his baseball cap, letting the breeze cool his head, which was beginning to sweat underneath the cap.

As the boat drifted lazily in the vast waters, Nick let his mind wander. Being out on the ocean, he thought first of his family, his father in particular, who had passed on a love for the water to his eldest son.

It had been almost two weeks since he had thrown his mother out of his home, and he had had no contact with her, his father, or any of his siblings since. He had not tried calling for fear his mother would answer or see his name on the caller ID; he did not want her to think he was looking to apologize because he wasn’t. He figured his brother and sisters were either mad at him or forbidden by Jane to call him, and he knew for a fact that his father probably wouldn’t call so long as he was still feuding with Jane.

Bob Carter was the opposite of his high-strung wife; he was very mellow and preferred to stay out of arguments, particularly family ones. But if it came down to taking sides, Nick knew he would always side with Jane, whether he truly agreed with her or not. Bite back his tongue and agree with his wife, and he would be safe. Disagree, and he would feel her wrath; there would be hell to pay. Bob was the only one Jane could always count on to back her up, and the power she had over him was more than Nick could overcome.

Rolling his eyes irritably at the thought of his mother, he forced himself to think of something else. A small stereo softly playing one of his old Journey albums brought to mind his biggest passion, even bigger than the ocean. Music.

Despite the lengthy Backstreet hiatus, Nick had not let the music die, going into the studio often to write, record tracks for “Now or Never,” or just experiment. And when the album had finally come out, he’d done heavy promoting, making television and radio appearances and performing. And then had come the tour, where he had spent nearly every night singing onstage. And even after his diagnosis, he’d been in the

studio, covering up his illness and dedicating every ounce of his energy to the music, giving it his all. But then they had decided to take a break. Just “a couple weeks,” Kevin had said, but it had been over a month, and no one had mentioned getting back together to work on the album.

His good mood beginning to fade as he slowly realized how long it had been since the Backstreet “family meeting” in Orlando, Nick sighed heavily. It was all his fault. He knew the only reason why they hadn’t gotten back together yet was because of him, because he was sick, and the others felt he wasn’t up to it. And maybe they had a point...

on the weeks he was receiving chemo, he knew it would be nearly impossible to get anything decent recorded in the studio – they had tried that, and it hadn’t worked. And even when he was not on chemo, he was tired, weak, listless, his body ravaged and struggling to recover from the previous week’s assault.

But he could do it. He could write, he could sing, he could do whatever they needed him to do. He had been with them for ten years now, and he was used to performing sick. It was just one of the downsides of being a Backstreet Boy –

appearances couldn’t be backed out of for a little thing like the flu, and concerts couldn’t be cancelled unless you were practically on your deathbed.

And he wasn’t.

No, he wasn’t at his best now either, but he was very much alive and suddenly filled with determination. He wanted to get back into the studio, to get the album done, to please both the guys and the fans, not to mention himself because he was looking forward to it too. A new album, a new tour... those things represented normalcy in his life, and he wanted them back. Restless weeks spent on a tour bus seemed like paradise compared to the torturous weeks he had spent in the hospital.

Someday, he assured himself, I’ll be out there on the road again with the guys.

In other words, someday things would be back to normal.

Confident in that thought, Nick propped up his feet and leaned back as far as he could in his seat, perfectly content for the first time in a long while.

***

Nick was not sure exactly how many hours he spent on the water, but by the time he was docking his boat, the sun was sinking low in the sky. Once home, he saw that it was just after seven and couldn’t believe he had been out so long. The picnic-style lunch he had brought onto the boat with him was long gone, and his stomach growled with hunger, reminding him that dinner was long overdue.

As he walked through the foyer, prepared to go into the kitchen and scavenger for food, something on the floor caught his eye, something he had not taken notice of in almost three months. It was the painting, the beautiful ocean landscape he had once had hanging on the wall there. He recalled slamming the door and causing the painting to fall, breaking its frame. He had set it down and ignored it ever since. Now, stooping down, his left leg aching in protest, he carefully picked up the painting and looked at it.

It was gorgeous, the golden sun setting behind the sparking dark blue ocean, its darkening rays reflecting on the water’s surface. His breath caught in his throat just looking at it and thinking of the ocean from which he had just come.

He knew then that it was time to get a new frame and put the picture back up.

Tomorrow, he told himself, carrying the delicate frame into the kitchen with him and

placing it where he would be sure not to forget about it.

Opening up the refrigerator, he stuck his head in and began rummaging around, frowning in dismay at the meager selection that lay before him. He sighed; nothing there looked particularly good to him when he thought of his mouthful of canker sores and the discomfort eating would put him in.

He slammed the fridge door shut and tried the freezer, hoping to find a carton of ice cream greeting him. Surprisingly, there was one – a tub of mint chocolate chip. It sounded like heaven to him, and he eagerly took the carton from the shelf and pulled off the top... only to find a very miniscule amount stuck to the sides and not even covering the bottom.

Damn.

Growling, he tossed the near-empty container into the trash and decided he was just going to have to go out and get himself some more ice cream because that was the only thing that seemed both edible and appealing to him at the moment, and he absolutely had to have some.

“How come ice cream places don’t deliver anyway?” he grumbled as he slid his feet into a pair of flip-flops. “Or what happened to the ice cream trucks with the little bells? That would be perfect right about now.”

He smiled slightly, remembering the ice cream man that had patrolled his neighborhood during the summers of his childhood, doling out ice cream cones and popsicles to eager herds of grubby children. Did such a thing even exist anymore? Not in his neighborhood. Then again, maybe that was because there were few children in his neighborhood. It was mostly older people enjoying luxurious retirements or wealthy, middle-aged business people who only emerged from their homes to go to work. He supposed an ice cream man wouldn’t be able to stay in business just by working the streets of his area... then again, old people loved ice cream too. His grandparents had anyway; they had always kept their freezer stocked with it for him and his younger siblings.

Realizing he was getting totally side-tracked, Nick forced himself to stop thinking and grabbed his car keys. He was halfway out the door before he remembered a hat; going to the grocery store with his clean-shaven head bared for the world to see would not be good. He realized the baseball cap he had been wearing earlier was still on the boat, so he grabbed a navy blue beanie instead and pulled it down snugly over his head.

The sensitive skin burned underneath the knit hat, and he wondered if he had gotten a little too much sun. Either that or it was razor burn.

Shrugging carelessly, he continued on out into his large garage and climbed into his dark green Durango. He was on a mission now.

***

Chapter 65

Standing in front of the freezer cases at one of the oldest, smallest, and least popular Tampa-area grocery stores, Nick contemplated his selection in peace, his eyes roaming the shelves of ice cream, his mind processing the various brands and flavors.

There were too many to choose from.

After a moment, he opened up one of the cases, reached in, and selected a carton of mint chocolate chip, his favorite. He hesitated a moment, then also grabbed a container of rocky road. And maybe... banana split? Ew, no, nothing with the word

“banana” in the title. Cookies and cream, perhaps? Or maybe strawberry cheesecake instead? Mmm... cheesecake... oh hell, why not both?

Smiling triumphantly, Nick grabbed one carton of cookies and cream and one of strawberry cheesecake and added them to the stack he was accumulating. I should have gotten a cart, he thought; the four tubs of ice cream he had in a death grip under one arm were painfully cold against his skin.

He started to hurry his purchases up to the cash registers at the front, afraid his arm was going to freeze to the side of the ice cream containers, and he’d have to pour scalding water all over his arm just to pry it off... that thought reminded him of “A Christmas Story,” when the kid gets double-dog-dared to lick the flagpole... he smiled to himself and did not realize there was someone behind him until a voice asked, “Hungry much?”

Startled, Nick spun around, almost dropping his ice cream in the process, and found himself face to face with Claire, of all people.

“I thought that was you,” she said with a smile, and her eyes traveled to the four cartons of ice cream in his arms. “Gorging yourself on ice cream, are you? Sounds like my kind of night.”

“Hey,” he said with a shaky laugh, still getting over his shock. “What are you doing here?”

She held up a frozen pizza. “Just got off work and thought I’d grab something to heat up for dinner when I get home.” Shrugging, she added sheepishly, “I’m not much of cook.”

He noticed for the first time that she was wearing hot pink scrubs, a white bandana dotted with tiny pink flowers wrapped around her head to coordinate. “Oh,” he said. “You don’t get off till seven? I didn’t think most dentists’ offices stayed open that late.”

“Oh, well, I actually got off at five,” she clarified. “But then I dropped by the hospital and hung out for awhile.”

He blinked. “You go to the hospital to hang out?” he asked. Wow, looks like someone needs a hobby.

“Well, yeah, I hang out with the little kids up in oncology,” she elaborated. “I read to them or play video games with them and stuff. It gets lonely up there; I’m sure you know that. And haven’t I told you all this before?” He shrugged. “Maybe... well, that’s cool of you.”

“Yeah...” She trailed off, studying him a moment, then asked, “So, what did you do today? Hang out outside all day?”

“Yeah, I took my boat out... how’d you know I was outside all day?”

“’Cause apparently you forgot the Sunblock, Lobster Boy.”

If Nick’s face had been red before, it became even redder now. “Really?” he asked, clapping a hand to his cheek. It stung with the touch and felt warm against his fingertips, and he realized he had gotten sunburned. He hadn’t even noticed it, having not glanced in a mirror since he got back (he tried to avoid mirrors as much as possible these days). It surprised him; usually he tanned very easily and rarely got burned.

“Ohh yeah,” said Claire. Her eyes scanning upward, she asked, “You did remember to cover your head, didn’t you?”

Nick grimaced, glanced around to make sure there were no other people in sight, and slowly tugged off his hat, the skin of his scalp tingling unpleasantly once again.

“How bad is it?” he asked, bending over so that she could see the top of his head.

There was silence at first, then a sharp intake of breath, and by the time he straightened himself back up to look at her, she had her hands over her mouth, stifling back giggles, her eyes wide.

“God, Nick,” she breathed after a moment. “It’s already blistering! That’s gotta hurt like a bitch.”

“Yeah,” he said, gingerly pulling the hat back onto his head. “It does...” He was just beginning to realize how much it stung now and wondered if the knowledge made it seem even worse.

“You should put Aloe on it,” Claire advised knowledgeably. “It’ll cool it off, make it feel better.”

“Aloe?” he repeated dumbly. “What’s that?”

“It’s like this clear stuff that you put on your skin... it’s good for sunburns.”

“Oh. Well, where do you get it?”

“You should be able to find it at any drugstore or some place like that. I’ve got some nice-smelling stuff from Bath and Body Works... I use it all the time, cause I burn so easily. Damn my white Irish skin,” she laughed.

“Bath and Body Works?” he repeated, wrinkling his nose. “Well, I sure as hell ain’t gonna set foot in there... that place freaks me out.”

“What, you don’t like to smell pretty after you shower?” she asked innocently and then giggled at the expression on his face. Then the smile left her face, and, suddenly seeming almost shy, she said, “Hey, if you aren’t doing anything tonight other than pigging out on ice cream... do you wanna come over to my place? I can, you know, let you borrow my Aloe...” One side of her mouth turned up in a half-smile.

He returned the smirk and quipped, “Only if I can bring my ice cream.”

“Oh, you bet! I wouldn’t let you come without it,” said Claire. “So... whaddya say?”

Nick grinned cheekily. “I say you’re on, girl.”

***

Chapter 66

“It’s not much,” Claire said, as she unlocked the door to her apartment, “but it’s all I can afford. I like to think of it as... cozy.” Having followed Claire from the grocery store to her apartment building, Nick now stood waiting as she jiggled the doorknob and slowly pushed open the door, interested to see what the apartment looked like on the inside. On the outside, the building was old and small, but well taken care of. The halls they had walked through were in need of a paint job and maybe some new carpeting, but other than that, the place seemed decent and clean.

As Claire led him inside her apartment and flipped on the light switch, he saw right away that the inside was nothing like the outside. “Cozy” was an accurate word to describe it, for it was indeed tiny. But whereas the halls leading to the apartment had been drab and dim, the apartment itself was bright and inviting, decorated in a cute, thrifty fashion.

The tiny kitchen was painted pale green, with speckled white Formica counters over white cupboards and a small, battle-scarred kitchen table made of blonde wood in one corner, two matching chairs tucked neatly under it. A small vase of flowers and placemats on the table added color to the room, while an amateur-looking still-life watercolor of a bowl of fruit mounted on the wall over the table gave the room charm.

“I painted that in one of my art classes in high school,” Claire said, noticing Nick looking at the painting. “I know it’s not very good, but my mom insisted I put it up.” She laughed, and he joined in.

“I think it’s good,” he complimented her. “I’m not much of a painter myself. I’m more into drawing and cartooning and stuff.”

Claire cocked her head at him. “Are you really?” she asked. “I didn’t know that.

That’s very cool. I should have you do a caricature of me sometime.”

“Sure,” he replied.

“Well, here, let’s put the ice cream in the freezer,” she said, taking his plastic grocery bags and stuffing them into her freezer, along with her pizza. “And I’ll show you the ‘living room’.” She made quotation marks with her fingers as she led him into the small room that served as a living room.

Its walls were painted a dark shade of purple, which normally Nick would have thought hideous, but somehow, it worked in this room. A big, slip-covered couch, accompanied by two side tables, took up most one wall, and a small entertainment center with a TV and VCR occupied the other wall. An old armchair sat under the window, a short bookcase beside it, filled to the brim with books and magazines. All around the room, seemingly wherever she could find room, Claire had placed colorful candles and lamps and other odds and ends, leaving the room crowded, but charming.

“I like it,” Nick said, looking around.

“Thanks,” said Claire. “It’s getting a little too cluttered looking, I think. I’ve got way too much junk. One of these days, I’m going to save up and move someplace bigger.”

Nick shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve never liked big houses. I bought myself this giant mansion as soon as I had the money, but I ended up selling it... it was just way too big to live in alone; I kept getting freaked out.” He laughed. “The house I live in now is smaller.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s still a glorified mansion compared to this,” said Claire.

“You should come see it sometime,” offered Nick.

“Okay,” Claire replied, apparently impressed by the proposition. “So... Aloe, right? I’ll run and get that; it’s in the bathroom. Make yourself at home. There’s the remote.” She pointed out the remote control sitting on one of the small tables beside the couch and walked down a tiny hallway leading off the living room, ducking into a room that Nick assumed was the bathroom.

Sinking down onto the couch, which turned out to be rather sunken in the middle, Nick picked up the remote and turned on the television. He was flipping absently through the channels when Claire came back and squealed, “ET!”

“Huh?” Nick looked at the TV long enough to realize that he had stopped on USA, and that ET was on, then said, “Oh, yeah. ET.”

“Aww, I loved this movie when I was a little kid,” Claire said fondly. “It was one of the first movies I saw in the theaters. My mom took my brother and I to see it when I was like two. Of course, I don’t actually remember that, but... you know...” Nick laughed. “Yeah. My first movie was I think The Fox and the Hound.”

“Aww...” Claire smiled. “That’s a great Disney movie... makes me cry.” She laughed.

Nick rolled his eyes. “Girls... But yeah, anyway, ET... man, I haven’t seen this in years,” he said, glancing back at the movie.

“Yeah, me neither.”

So, wordlessly, they agreed to leave it on.

“Here’s the Aloe,” Claire said, handing him a small bottle of pink-tinted, clear liquid with little blue sparkles or something floating in it.

“Ugh,” he said, reading the label. Sure enough, it was from the Bath and Body Works store, and it was pink. With sparkles. Could you get any girlier? “Dude, I dunno about this... I don’t wanna look like I put body glitter on my head...” he said uncertainly.

Claire laughed. “Don’t worry, it rubs in and doesn’t show. Here, take off your hat.” He slowly pulled his hat off and set it down on the table, while Claire positioned herself next to him on the couch, rising to her knees so that she could reach his head properly. She squirted a glob of the stuff into her hand, rubbed her hands together once, and laid them lightly on the top of his head.

“Shit, that stuff’s cold!” he exclaimed, shivers running down his spine.

“Sorry,” she said, rubbing it in with gentle hands. “But it feels good, doesn’t it?” He had to admit, it did feel good, cool and soothing on his hot skin. And it had a nice scent, too, like coconuts. It reminded him of the beach. “Mmm, that does feel good,” he said, closing his eyes as her fingers continued to massage his scalp. She paused to squirt some more into her hands and then kept going, rubbing the cool gel into his skin. After awhile, her fingers began to descend downward, gently kneading his neck and shoulders.

“Do you like that?” she asked softly.

“Oh yeah, that’s wonderful,” he breathed, eyes still closed in bliss. How long had it been since he’d had a girl massage his shoulders like that? Had Leah ever done that to him? He couldn’t remember... and didn’t really want to either, for thinking of Leah was still slightly painful. He forced the thoughts of Leah out of his mind, focusing instead on the feel of Claire’s fingertips on his skin. Damn, she was good. He decided they’d have to hang out more often from now on.

It had been awhile since he’d had a female friend. Most of the girls he was ever with wanted to be more than friends, and that caused problems because it always turned out that they were only interested in Nick Backstreet, not Nick Carter, and only wanted his money or a record deal, not his love. Or they just went and cheated on him, like Leah had. It was better just to stay friends with girls, like he was with Claire. It was a great relief to be able to hang out with someone like her and be assured that it was only a friendship, nothing more.

“You’re really good at this,” Nick commented.

Claire snorted. “Well, it’s not really an art or anything,” she laughed. “It’s just something you do...” She shrugged. “My friends and I used to take turns rubbing each other’s backs at our sleepovers when we were younger.” Nick glanced over at her. “Really...” he said interestedly. “Shirts on or off?”

“On,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Not to spoil whatever kinky lesbian fantasies you had going there, but yeah, we didn’t strip and have some back-rubbing orgy or whatever you were thinking.”

Nick laughed. “Well, that’s still a new one to me. Must be a girl thing cause the guys and I never did anything like that.”

“You mean the Backstreet Boys guys?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t cause then people really would think you guys were gay... well, even more than they do already.” She snickered.

“Hey! We’re not gay! And anyway, you said it wasn’t a gay thing to do!” exclaimed Nick.

“Whoa, chill, I’m kidding,” she giggled and let her hands travel down his back, rubbing it in small circles, using her fingernails. His skin tingled pleasantly with her touch. “Want me to keep going?” she asked.

“Ohh yeah... that is, if you don’t mind.” He shot her his half-smile. “It does feel really good.”

She smiled and nodded. After a moment, she said casually, “You know, it probably would feel better if you did take your shirt off.” Nick whipped his head in her direction. “Claire Ryan,” he said, feigning shock, really just teasing her, “are you trying to get me to strip for you?” His goal was achieved when her cheeks flushed bright pink. “No!” she protested quickly. “I just thought... never mind.”

“Nah, I’m just playin’ with ya,” Nick said. Actually, he had had the same idea in mind but didn’t want her to think he was trying to put the moves on her. As if he would.

“I think you’re right, actually. You wouldn’t mind, would you? If I took off my shirt?”

“No,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I minded. Go ahead; it’s no big deal to me.”

He nodded and took off his t-shirt, grimacing as he glanced down and saw the small gauze pad covering the exit site of his catheter. But his embarrassment faded quickly when he realized that there was no need to be embarrassed at all, for Claire had one too. That was the good thing about Claire – there was no reason to feel awkward or insecure around her because she was going through the same thing as he was.

“Scoot up,” she said, nudging him forward so that he was perched on the edge of the couch. Then she sank down so that she was sitting properly, turned him a little so that his back was facing more toward her, and pressed her fingers into his back again,

kneading his skin, working his muscles.

“Oh god,” he whispered. “That feels great... I’m gonna hire you to be my personal masseuse from now on, ‘kay?”

“Oh yeah? How much you gonna pay me?”

“Whatever you want,” he moaned as she dug her nails into his flesh. “Or I can just get you a record deal, if you want – that’s what most other girls want when they hang out with me.”

She burst out laughing. “A record deal? Me? Haha, you apparently haven’t heard me sing before.”

“Oh, you don’t have to be able to sing,” he assured her. “Look at Mand- I mean, Willa Ford. You think she can sing?”

“Good point,” snickered Claire. “But then again, Willa Ford’s a one-hit wonder, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Okay, so maybe being able to sing is fairly important.”

“Well then I’m out cause I’m fairly tone deaf,” Claire replied. “Ask any of my friends.”

He laughed. “Well now, I gotta hear that... we should hit a karaoke bar sometime,” he said, his eyes gleaming wickedly.

“Oh yeah,” she said sarcastically, playfully hitting his shoulder.

“You hit like a girl,” he told her matter-of-factly. “Now get back to that back-rubbing, woman.”

“Oh, woman, is it?” she repeated in mock offense. “Well, in that case, I think I’ll just stop...”

“No, don’t!” Nick begged. “Keep going, baby... all night long!”

“Nick!” she hissed. “Can you say that any louder? My neighbors are gonna think we’re up to something in here...”

“So let ‘em think it,” he replied deviously, moaning loudly, “Ohhh, Claire!” Smacking him, she tried to keep a straight face, but burst out laughing and, gasping for breath, screamed, “Ohhh, YES! YES! NICK!” Laughing, Nick said, “See, now we gotta go to your bedroom and jump on your bed... make the people below you think we’re really going at it.” She burst out laughing. “Uh, no, I don’t think so. You’re already shirtless – you don’t need to tempt me any more.” He must have blushed or gotten a look on his face or something, because she glanced at him and then started laughing again. “Whoa, chill, I’m kidding! I’m not gonna rape you or something, don’t worry. You’re not even my type.”

“Oh yeah?” he shot back defensively. “Well, what’s ‘your type’ then?”

“I dunno... I guess I like ‘bad boys’,” she said seductively. “And you... well, you’re kind of a pussy...”

“Hey!”

She started laughing again, holding her stomach as she did so, and when she finally stopped, she was breathless. Panting, she said, “Hey, how about some of that ice cream? I dunno about you, but I’m starving. I never did get around to putting that pizza in the oven.”

“Ooh yeah, I’m starving too. Ice cream sounds great,” he said, temporarily forgetting all about his massage and focusing on the next best thing – ice cream. They both got up from the couch and wandered into the kitchen, where Claire hauled out the

four cartons of ice cream, two spoons, and two bowls.

“There you go,” she said, slapping a bowl and spoon down on the counter in front of him. “Have at it!”

***

Chapter 67

“Well, I think I’m gonna go change my clothes,” Claire announced when they had finished their ice cream. “Be right back.” She headed off to her bedroom, and Nick remained on the couch, watching “ET”. When Claire reappeared a few minutes later, she had traded her dental hygienist’s scrubs for a pair of thin, cotton pajama pants and a ratty-looking t-shirt. Flopping down onto the couch beside Nick, she pulled her bare feet up with her, hugging her knees to her chest.

“Oh no!” she cried as her attention moved to the TV, “this is when they come to get ET!”

“I know,” Nick said.

“I always cry at this movie, when ET dies...”

Nick chuckled lightly, refusing to admit that he, too, had cried at the end of “ET” before. Of course, that wasn’t quite as bad as Howie crying at Titanic – Nick would never let him live that one down. A loveable alien was one thing, but Leonardo DiCaprio? Ugh.

After that, their conversation died down, and they watched the rest of the movie in silence, Nick stiffening awkwardly when he heard tiny sniffles coming from Claire’s side of the couch. Crying girls always freaked him out.

By the time the movie ended, it was ten p.m., and pathetic as it sounded, Nick was already getting sleepy. Normally he was more of a night owl, but the chemo had taken its toll, leaving him feeling tired almost all the time and ready to go to bed at early hours. Still, he didn’t feel like going home just yet, and Claire didn’t seem too anxious for him to leave yet either, so he decided to stay awhile longer. Flipping through the channels, Claire found back to back episodes of “The Man Show” on Comedy Central, and they settled back to watch.

I’ll go home when this is over, Nick told himself.

But eleven o’clock found both him and Claire sound asleep on the couch, his head leaning back against the sofa, mouth hanging open, snoring slightly, while Claire’s head had fallen onto his shoulder. And by the time Nick awoke and realized this, the sky was already beginning to lighten. Squinting groggily around the room in search of a clock, Nick saw that it was just past five in the morning. He had slept for six hours straight, sitting up, on a couch. How he had managed to do that was beyond him, but after so many years of touring and spending every night sleeping either on a bus or in one unfamiliar hotel bed after another, he supposed he had grown accustomed to being able to sleep anywhere.

Claire was still slumped against him in sleep, and he didn’t want to move and wake her, but he was dying to get up and stretch. Carefully scooting out from under her, easing her head down to the couch, he stood up, his muscles screaming in protest. He shook out his shoulders and rotated his neck, trying to get the crick out.

“Are you still here?” he heard a muffled voice say and turned to find Claire blinking tiredly up at him from the couch.

“’Morning,” he said with a sheepish grin. “Apparently we fell asleep. I just woke up.”

“What time is it?”

“Like five.”

“Wow...”

He chuckled. “Yeah... well... I guess I should just go then... you probably want to go back to bed.”

“Nah... I’m good for now,” Claire said, pulling herself up into a sitting position.

“Besides, I might as well make you breakfast before you leave.” He blinked. “Breakfast? I thought you didn’t cook.”

“I don’t,” she smiled. “But I can make eggs... or pancakes...”

“You don’t have to. If anything, I should be making breakfast for you. After that backrub last night...”

“Good point,” said Claire. “You cook.” She grinned expectantly at him, and he laughed.

“Well... okay...” Uncertainly, he wandered into the kitchen, where he stood blankly for a moment, wondering what to make and how to go about doing it. I can do this, he thought after a moment; he was not completely clueless in the kitchen. Living alone as a bachelor, he couldn’t afford to be; he had to provide for himself somehow, and he refused to act like some stuffy, snobbish rich person and hire a cook. He was not entirely helpless.

Pancakes sounded good to him, so he started opening cupboards in search of a box of Bisquik. Luckily, the kitchen was so small that there wasn’t much storage place, so he was able to find what he needed easily. Carefully following the pancake recipe on the side of the Bisquik box, he had a batch whipped up in no time and was flipping browning pancakes on the griddle (and feeling very domestic, mind you).

“Mmm,” Claire inhaled, coming into the kitchen just as Nick started piling the hot pancakes onto two plates. “Dang, Nick, those look good! I didn’t think you’d have a clue how to do that!”

“I used Bisquik,” he admitted, handing her a plate stacked with pancakes.

“So? I still didn’t think you’d be able to do it,” she laughed. “So Mr. Backstreet Boy does know his way around a kitchen... interesting.”

“Hey, I cook for myself at home,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Do you really? You don’t have someone to do that for you?”

“Nope.”

“Do you have a cleaning lady?”

“... Well, yeah...”

“Ha, gotcha on that one,” she said smugly. “Of course you’d have a maid.”

“Well, she’s not like a maid maid like you’d think... I mean, she doesn’t live with me and walk around in a skimpy black dress with a white apron and a feather duster all the time. She just comes once a week, ya know,” he explained.

“I see.” Claire smiled, glanced down at her plate, and then said, “Well, come on, let’s eat before these get cold.” She rummaged through the refrigerator and retrieved a tub of margarine and a bottle of maple syrup, which she placed on the kitchen table between them as they both sat down. His appetite aroused by the aroma of warm pancakes, Nick eagerly smeared butter across his stack and then proceeded to drench it in syrup, the thick, brown liquid flowing down the sides of the mountain of pancakes like hot lava on a volcano.

“So,” Nick said between bites, “what are you up to today?”

“Working,” replied Claire through a mouthful of pancake. Swallowing, she added, “I’m on at eight.”

“Oh, fun.”

“Uh, yeah. So, how about you? Doing anything interesting?”

“Probably heading to Michaels to pick up a picture frame for this painting I have, if that counts as interesting,” laughed Nick.

“Oh, I love Michaels!” exclaimed Claire. “I spend way too much money there on scrapbooking stuff.”

“Scrapbooking?”

“Yeah, I’m addicted to scrapbooking; it’s awesome! I should get you into it...”

“Ha, yeah right,” Nick chuckled. “Sorry, but I don’t think scrapbooking is really a

‘manly’ hobby, you know?”

“Oh, psh,” Claire replied with a roll of her eyes. “I don’t know why it’s considered girly to organize your pictures and memory stuff in a book.” Nick just shrugged; he could actually almost picture Kevin doing something like that... the guy was forever taking pictures and filming them with his camcorder, and he was just anal enough to want every photograph he owned categorized and organized neatly in a memory album.

When they were done eating, Nick asked, “You want me to help you with dishes or anything? I kinda made a mess...” He eyed the bowl he had used to mix the pancakes; it was now encrusted with dried batter.

“Nah, that’s okay. You cooked; I’ll clean,” she replied reasonably. “I’ll have just enough time to straighten up before I have to go get ready for work.”

“Well, okay... if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” she replied. “So, you gonna take off now?”

“Yeah,” Nick replied. “Hey, thanks for inviting me over last night. It was fun.” She smiled. “Yeah. We should hang out more... but at your place next time. You know I wanna see how the other half lives.” She winked, and he just rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, whatever.” He grabbed his flip-flops and as he slid them on, asked, “Hey, do you want my phone number? I mean, it’s unlisted, obviously, so you can’t just look it up like I can yours... just in case you wanna hang out or something.”

“Oh yeah, sure,” she replied. “Let me grab you something to write it down on cause if you just tell it to me, you know I’ll forget it in like two seconds.” She rummaged through one of her drawers and came up with a small tablet of paper and a pen, which he used to jot down his number.

“There ya go,” he said. “Well, I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, see you... on the nineteenth, if not before, right?”

“The nineteenth?” Nick repeated blankly.

“Doctor’s appointment? Or don’t tell me they messed up the scheduling this time around?”

“Oh!” Nick laughed. “No, I think it is on the nineteenth... so yeah, I guess I’ll see you then.”

“It’s a date,” smirked Claire with a roll of her eyes.

“Oh yeah... oncology clinic waiting room... great date,” Nick nodded sarcastically.

Claire giggled. “Well, you’d better scram now cause I gotta start getting cleaned up, or I’m gonna be late.”

“Yeah,” said Nick. “See ya later.”

“See ya.”

They exchanged smiles, and he left the apartment, trudging through the dreary hallway and down the narrow stairwell until he reached the small parking lot, where his

SUV was parked. Yawning, he climbed inside and started his engine, hoping he wouldn’t fall asleep on the drive home. It was way too early to be up.

***

Chapter 68

Nick trudged into the outpatient clinic on the oncology floor in a state of depression, July nineteenth having come sooner than he would have liked. The enjoyable two weeks he had just had were to be followed by another torturous week of chemotherapy, and he had to wonder, when would it all end? Three months of his life had been spent trapped in this relentless pattern so far. How many more months like this would he have to endure? Was the newer chemo even working?

Lost in thought, he absently crossed the small waiting room and signed in with the receptionist, not even noticing that Claire was there, as planned, until she said his name.

“Oh, hey, Claire,” he responded, offering her a slight smile as he slumped into the chair beside her.

“Hey yourself,” she replied. “What’s up? You look kinda... out of it.”

“Just been thinking,” Nick shrugged.

“Oh. Anything you wanna talk about?”

Typical girl, Nick thought, always wanting to ‘talk about it.’ Well, he didn’t feel like talking about it; in fact, he didn’t feel much like talking at all. “Nope,” he replied, hoping she’d take the hint. Apparently she did, for she left it at that and went back to the magazine she had been reading before he walked in.

He managed to find a dated copy of Sports Illustrated hidden among all the women’s magazines and picked it up, pretending to be immersed in an article about Tiger Woods. As he stared at the pages without really seeing them, he couldn’t help but realize how awkward the silence between him and Claire suddenly seemed. Though the two were still new friends, they always seemed to have something to talk about, and he felt comfortable telling Claire things he wouldn’t tell most of his other friends. Then again, who could really expect to have a good conversation in the middle of a doctor’s office waiting room, with the dreadful scent of rubbing alcohol permeating the air and the apprehensive butterflies that fluttered annoyingly in Nick’s stomach (and probably Claire’s as well)?

He hadn’t been sitting there pretending to read his magazine for long when Claire was called back. She stood up and followed the nurse out of the waiting room without a word to Nick, who began to wonder if his silence had pissed her off. He sat stewing about this for awhile until his own name was called and then followed the nurse, Marianne, to an examining room.

After he had changed into the usual gown, Marianne weighed him and took his temperature, heart rate, and blood pressure, then told him to wait for Dr. Kingsbury to come and see him. He knew the drill. He waited for a good ten minutes, and then Dr.

Kingsbury came into the room.

“Hi, Nick,” she said with a smile. “How have you been feeling?”

“Fine,” he replied, then added honestly, “Well, a little tired, you know. But other than that, I’ve been good.”

The doctor nodded. “The fatigue is just another side effect of the chemo, I’m afraid. Nothing to worry about though.”

“Oh yeah, speaking of side effects,” he brought up, “that new chemo stuff has been giving me horrible canker sores. Like so bad I can barely eat anything but ice cream.”

With a look of sympathy, she said, “Yes, that’s another side effect of some chemotherapy drugs. I know they’re a real pain – no pun intended – but all I can tell you to do is maybe try some of the over-the-counter products for mouth sores.” Nick nodded, sighing. The canker sores were long gone by now, but he had a nasty feeling that they’d crop up again in full force after this next round of chemo.

“So, no other complaints?” Dr. Kingsbury asked. “How has your leg been feeling?”

“All right,” Nick said with a shrug. “I mean, it hurts a little every once in awhile, but not like it used to.”

“Good,” Dr. Kingsbury smiled. “Well, I’m going to look you over real quick, and then we’ll get to your x-rays and scans.”

“No bone marrow this time?” Nick asked pleadingly.

“No bone marrow this time,” confirmed the doctor, adding with a wink, “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Oh yeah,” Nick scoffed, relieved.

“I probably will schedule you for one next time you come though,” Dr. Kingsbury told him, and he sighed resignedly.

The physical examination, as well as the tests done on his leg, went the same as always, and when everything was done, Dr. Kingsbury left Nick to wait in the examining room until the x-rays were back. He didn’t mind doing this, figuring if there was going to be bad news, he’d rather just hear it today rather than get another phone call later in the week.

The longer Dr. Kingsbury took to come back to talk to him, the more anxious he grew, becoming certain that there was a problem, that the chemo was still not working, that he was going to be given his death sentence. But when the doctor finally entered the room, her arms laden with charts and envelopes and the notorious new chemo pump to attach to his central line, there was a smile on her face.

“Hey, Dr. K,” he said casually, relaxing a little when he saw her smiling.

“Good news, Nick,” she replied brightly, dropping her burdens on one of the counters and sliding a few black, filmy x-rays out of a tall manila envelope. Sliding them onto the light board mounted on one of the walls, she flicked a switch, and the board flashed on, illuminating the dark slides. Nick squinted at the films of his knee and lower leg, trying to tell what they revealed. “The chemo is doing its job – the tumor in your leg’s shrinking.”

Nick smiled, exhaling in relief. “It is? Does that mean I’m in... remission?”

“Well... I wouldn’t say that quite yet,” Dr. Kingsbury replied hesitantly. “But I’d say you’re definitely heading toward a remission.”

Nick felt a slight wave of disappointment, but forced himself to concentrate on the good news and nodded. “That’s good,” he said.

“Yes, very good. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but if your progress keeps up, this week could be your last round of chemo. Intravenously, that is. Even after you go into remission, you’ll have to take chemotherapy drugs in pill form, but those don’t have near the side effects. So,” she said, smiling, “keep your spirits up. You’re reaching the final stretch here.”

Nick nodded, smiling back. “Thanks, Dr. K,” he said, and as she hooked him up with his new chemo pump, he didn’t even mind. This week would suck for sure... but after that, he would be just about home free. Or so he hoped.

Stopping only to set up his next appointment for the ninth of August, he took off for home in a race against the nausea that would soon accompany the toxic fluids that were now flowing straight into his bloodstream.

When he reached home, he was still feeling pretty well, but decided to go up to bed anyway, hoping to head the nausea off, for sleep was the only relief from it.

Removing all of his clothes, with the exception of his boxers, he sank beneath his sheets and closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind and lull himself to sleep. And he had almost succeeded, too, when the sudden ringing of the phone beside his bed jarred him awake.

“Damnit,” he mumbled, rolling over to grab the cordless, cursing himself for not just ripping the stupid cord off the wall. He glanced into the caller ID window and was surprised to see Claire’s name and number there. He knew she had probably been started on her next round of chemo that day too; why would she feel like talking now?

She’s probably just calling to give me crap for this morning, he thought irritably, remembering the strained silence in the waiting room, and considered just not answering. But, after the phone rang a second and third time, he finally sighed and clicked the Talk button, putting the phone to his ear and answering with a hassled, “Hey, Claire.”

“Nick?” came the voice on the other end, and in just that one word, he was able to pick out two things.

It was indeed Claire. And she was crying.

***

Chapter 69

“Claire?” Nick asked, his heart beginning to pound swiftly in his chest. “What’s wrong?”

“I just got home from the hospital,” she sniffled, her voice thick with tears.

“Yeah... what happened?” But in his heart, he already knew.

Her next words confirmed his worst fears. “It’s getting worse, Nick,” she sobbed.

“My bloodwork this time around was bad, and my doctor ordered a bone marrow stat, and it showed thirty-five percent blasts. That means thirty-five percent cancer cells.

Last time it was only twenty-five.” She dissolved into tears again.

Though he wasn’t entirely sure what those figures meant, just hearing the numbers climb made Nick’s blood run cold.

“God... I’m so sorry, Claire,” he said into the phone, feeling incredibly lame... but, come on, what was he supposed to say? Despite what they had in common, this was something he could not really relate to, especially when he had just given the good news that he was nearing remission.

“I’m sorry for calling you,” she said, “but I... I didn’t know who else to... to talk to, and you... well... you’re the only one who really understands. I haven’t called my parents yet...”

He cleared his throat. “It’s all right, Claire, I’m glad you called. I... I want to be there for you... the way you’ve been there for me.” He remembered how she had held his hand during his last bone marrow aspiration, visited him in the hospital, rubbed aloe on his sunburned scalp... she had done so much to make this easier for him, and he hadn’t done a damn thing for her, and now... well, he felt so helpless... what could he do? What could he say?

“Thanks, Nick,” she sobbed. “That mean so much to me... I’m so sorry for blubbering to you this way, but... I don’t know what I’m going to do... I... I’m so scared, Nick...”

Nick felt sick to his stomach, and he knew it was not because of the chemo.

Claire, the very same Claire who had had the nerve to strike up a conversation with him in the middle of his very first chemo session, the Claire who had always spoken so casually about her cancer and the problems that went with it, was scared. And hearing her admit it made it all the more real to him. He had always sort of looked up to her in a way, admired her not only for having the knowledge and experience that he lacked, but for being so comfortable with herself and so able to talk about the kind of things he would be mortified to discuss. He had thought her brave. And he still did, but the girl sobbing over the phone, crying as if her very soul had shattered, was not the Claire he knew. It was as if the hero had fallen.

He had to do something. Be there, at least. Not on the phone, but in person.

“Claire,” he said. “Do you want me to come over? I... I don’t want you to have to be alone.”

There was a pause in which her sniffling stopped, and then she replied in a tiny voice, “No, you don’t have to. You’re back on chemo now too, aren’t you? You probably feel like shit; I wouldn’t want you to-“

“Claire, I feel fine, and even if I was throwing up, it would be nothing compared to what you must be feeling,” Nick said. “I’m coming over.” To some it might have been a sacrifice, leaving the comfort of your own bed and

going to console a sobbing friend when you yourself weren’t feeling 100%. But to Nick, there was no choice in the matter.

He was going to Claire.

***

Half an hour later, Nick stood outside Claire’s apartment and knocked on the door. She answered right away, significantly calmer and more composed than she had sounded on the phone. Still, she looked a mess, her cheeks blotched with tearstains, her eyes red and puffy from crying. She was dressed sloppily in a pair of baggy gray sweat shorts and a red t-shirt that was ripped at the bottom. And, studying her, he noticed that she had removed the scarf she had been wearing around her head that morning.

He realized it was only the second time he had seen her without her head covered, and the sight of her pallid, perfectly bald head only added to her vulnerability.

The bright, colored, sometimes even outrageous bandanas she always wore added vibrancy and life to her appearance, and now, seeing her without one, he noticed how pale her cheeks were and how dull her eyes suddenly seemed. It was as if the spirit had gone out of her, leaving behind just a hollow shell of the girl he had sat next to just hours before in the clinic waiting room.

Smiling through her tears, Claire wordlessly stepped back to let him enter. He did not walk past her, but instead wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a gentle hug. She nearly collapsed into his embrace, her body leaning into his chest, her head immediately finding his shoulder. He felt her whole back trembling as she began to cry again in his arms, and he silently ran his hand slowly up and down it, letting her do so.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, pulling back at looking up at him sheepishly.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said firmly, putting his arm around her and walking her into the living room. They sat down together on the couch, and Claire sighed, but did not say anything. There was an awkward silence for a few moments, until Nick finally went ahead and asked the question he’d been afraid to ask the whole time. “So...um... what’s the plan?”

Claire sighed again. “There’s really only one option at this point,” she said softly.

“A bone marrow transplant.”

Nick nodded; he’d heard of bone marrow transplants before, but didn’t know much about what they entailed. “So,” he said, “how exactly would that work? Would you have to wait for a donor?”

“If none of my relatives are good matches, then yeah,” she replied. “They’ll test my family first.”

“When will they do that?”

“As soon as possible. Of course, I have to tell them first... God...”

“You should tell them today,” Nick said softly. “Let them know right away. Then at least you won’t have to worry about that on top of everything else, and I’m sure your parents will want to be with you.” How strange it was that he was telling her to do the very thing he had not done himself. He realized there were only two people he actually had told about his cancer himself – Brian and Brent. Everyone else that knew had been told by someone else – Brian had told the other Boys, Brent had filled in his other friends, and his family and everyone else in the world had found out on MTV.

“Yeah,” Claire said softly. “You’re right. I’ll call home later today. I...” She started to trail off, and Nick glanced curiously over at her to see that her face seemed to have gone even paler than before, if that was at all possible.

“Are you all right?” he asked apprehensively, and she slowly shook her head. She sat stock still for a moment, her mouth clamped shut, and then jumped up and took off, ducking into a room off the tiny hallway. Bathroom.

Moments later, muffled retching noises could be heard coming from behind the closed bathroom door. Just the sound made Nick feel very queasy himself, and he had a foreboding feeling he’d be next in line to puke his guts out in Claire’s toilet The sound of flushing could be heard, and Claire stumbled out, looking slightly green. “Sorry,” she muttered weakly, sinking back down onto the couch beside him.

“God, I can’t believe they’re still making me take chemo... the fucking stuff isn’t even working!” she cried, leaning over and resting her forehead against the heels of her hands.

“I know,” Nick whispered, lightly running his hand over her back again. “Do you want me to walk you back to your bed? Sleeping usually helps for me.” She hesitated a moment, then replied, “I guess so. If you don’t mind.”

“’Course I don’t mind.” Smiling slightly, Nick stood up slowly and reached out a hand to help her up. She took it gratefully, and he pulled her up from the couch.

Slinging an arm around her waist once again, he led her down the small hallway and through the other doorway.

Claire’s bedroom was small and cramped, but with the pale blue paint on the walls and the floaty white curtains billowing gently in front of the single window, it seemed more airy and spacious than it would have otherwise. A double bed took up most of the room, a dresser and desk being the only other furniture able to fit comfortably. Pulling down the cloud-patterned blue comforter and pale yellow sheets, Nick eased Claire down into the bed, where she immediately curled herself into the fetal position, hugging her knees to her chest and gazing plaintively up at him.

“You want the covers up?” he asked her.

She shook her head. “Too hot.”

“Okay.” Nick stood there in the center of the room, awkwardly shifting his weight from foot to foot and wondering what he should do or say next, when all of a sudden, he felt it creeping up on him. The nausea. He let out a soft groan.

“Are you all right?” Claire questioned, and just when he was about to answer that he was fine, it hit him full force as it had done to her minutes earlier. He ran out of the room and into the bathroom across the narrow hall, flipped on the light, and dropped down in front of the toilet, already gagging. There was an explosion as he vomited atomically into the toilet, his body heaving with each miserable retch.

When he was finished, he flushed and wiped his mouth with toilet paper, then turned on the faucet at the sink and dipped his chin to it, rinsing his mouth. With a heavy sigh, he turned off the light and staggered out, his body weakened from the attack.

“Oh, Nick,” Claire whispered, looking up at him with sympathy in her eyes as he shuffled back into her room. “I’m so sorry for making you come over here, Nick. You should go home.”

He shook his head. “You didn’t make me come over; I wanted to,” he told her.

“I’ll be okay. We’re in this together, right?” He offered her a weak smile, and she cracked one back.

“Right,” she whispered. “C’mere, Nick, come lie down on the bed.” Rolling over, she patted the empty space beside her and looked up at him expectantly.

Uneasy, he hesitated, and she laughed lightly. “Come on, it’s okay to lie on a girl’s bed without feeling like you have to have sex with her. We’re just friends; it’s cool, right?”

“I guess,” Nick smiled, the sound of her laughter comforting him.

“There you go,” she said as he kicked off his shoes and sank down onto the bed beside her. “Sorry, I was afraid you would pass out if I made you stand by my bed any longer. This is better, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he replied, lying back and rolling over to face her.

She smiled wanly at him. “Look at us... we’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” she said with a soft giggle.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Quite the pair.” He managed a smile in return, feeling more relaxed.

There was nothing to feel awkward about; they were friends, like Claire had said, and right now, they were seeing each other at their worst. Bald and pale, nauseated and throwing up, Claire crying, Nick worrying... they were both miserable, but misery loves company, and lying there, in the company of each other, things didn’t seem quite so bad.

***

Chapter 70

After that day, Nick didn’t see Claire for the rest of the week, and it was just as well. He spent most of the week in bed, too sick to stray too far from the bathroom, too weak to move anyway, and from the few phone conversations he had had with her over the course of the week, he knew that her parents had driven from Gainesville and were staying in a hotel, while her brother and his wife made frequent trips from their home in St. Petersburg, which was less than half an hour away.

According to Claire, the whole family was going to be tested that week to see if any of them would be good bone marrow donors. She promised to call and tell him the results when they found out, and for the first time in many years, Nick found himself praying, actually praying to God that one of her family members would work as a donor.

If none of them did, he figured it was unlikely any of her more distant relatives would either, and that would mean waiting for an unrelated donor, which he knew could take a long time. Time that Claire may not have as the leukemia continued taking over her body.

The thought of Claire dying was deeply frightening to Nick. Though they were still new friends, Nick had come to care about her. And in a way, he felt he needed her.

In the past few weeks, she had become his rock, his support, his one and only ally in the war against this disease. Recently, she had been there for him and made things easier...

and it scared him to think of how much harder dealing with this would become if she was taken away from him. Selfish? Maybe. But that was how he felt.

While the rest of the week had been a living hell, both physically and emotionally, the following Saturday proved to be a good day. The completion of what he hoped would his last round of chemotherapy left Nick in good spirits, relieved to wake up and not feel nauseous, to be able to eat and keep his food down (though the outbreak of canker sores in his mouth once again made eating difficult), and to be able to walk around the house without feeling like passing out from the dizziness and fatigue that always accompanied the nausea.

When the phone rang that afternoon, and Nick saw Claire’s name and number on the caller ID, he reached immediately for the phone, then hesitated. What if the news was bad? What if no one matched? Did he really want to hear that?

Well, he couldn’t just ignore her.

“Hello?” he answered cautiously.

“Hi, Nick,” came her familiar voice, and he tried to read the emotion in it. It was impossible – he couldn’t tell what kind of mood she was in or what kind of news she had for him.

“Hey, Claire,” he replied and waited.

“Well,” she started and sucked in a breath. He listened, impatient for her to continue. “Kyle’s a match,” she exhaled, saying the words all in one breath.

“Kyle? Your brother? He matched?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh thank God. That’s great, Claire! Aren’t you happy?”

“Oh yeah,” she replied, “I am. But, I dunno... I guess I’m just kind of overwhelmed right now. I just got back from the hospital. Dr. Rodrigo had all of us come in for the results of the blood and bone marrow tests, and after she told me that Kyle would be my donor, she filled me in on everything else that was going to happen.

God, it’s just...” She trailed off, sounding flustered.

“I’m sorry,” said Nick. “So what exactly does happen? And when?”

“Well, I have a week to think about it and decide whether or not I want to go through with-“

“What’s to decide about? You’re doing it, aren’t you?” Nick interrupted.

“Yeah, I am,” Claire said. “But, you know, they want to give you some time to prepare. So anyway, next Monday, I have to check into the hospital for ‘Phase 1’ of the transplant of the process, which is like where they run tests and crap to make sure I’m really a candidate... then ‘Phase 2’ starts a few days after that, and that’s when I’ll get the actual transplant.”

“I see,” said Nick.

“So you’ll come to see me in the hospital, right?” Claire blurted suddenly, a hint of laughter in her voice. He could tell she was smiling and couldn’t help but smile himself.

“Sure,” he replied. “You know how much I love to hang out at the hospital in my spare time. Oh no, wait, that’s you.”

“Aw, shut up.”

“So, you got any plans for tonight?” Nick asked.

“Not that I know of... why?”

“Well... I thought maybe we should celebrate... you know, celebrate you finding a match,” he suggested.

“Um, okay... what did you have in mind?” she wondered.

“I dunno, nothing big, I just thought we could go out for ice cream or something?

That’s about all I can eat at the moment, so...”

“Ice cream sounds great,” said Claire.

“Awesome. You want me to pick you up?”

“Sure, if you want. I haven’t seen any of your sweet rides yet, so that’d be good.” He laughed at the “sweet ride” comment and replied, “Okay... pick you up at eight?”

“Sounds good. I’ll see ya then.”

“Yup, see ya,” he said, and they hung up.

***

Chapter 71

After some debate in the car, Nick and Claire settled on the Dairy Queen, which looked relatively uncrowded. Ordering two medium-sized Blizzards, they selected a booth in the very back corner and sat down, Nick facing the back wall, Claire sitting across from him.

“Mm, this is just what I needed,” Claire sighed happily, plunging her spoon into her Reese’s Blizzard.

“Me too,” agreed Nick, taking a bite of his mint M&M one.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying their ice cream, when the door to the restaurant opened, and four teenage girls walked in. Nick glanced over his shoulder at them, then quickly looked away and sank low in his seat, hoping they would not notice or recognize him.

“I think you’re safe for now,” Claire said in a low voice, watching them over her shoulder. “They’re too busy talking to notice you.” He grinned sheepishly, feeling like she could read his mind. Then again, he supposed his body language had given his fears away.

A few minutes later, the same posse of girls sat down in the booth directly across from where he and Claire were seated. Trying to watch them without looking like he was watching them, he observed them to be high school age, probably around sixteen or seventeen. They were good-looking girls and were dressed to impress, all wearing tight, low-cut clothes, their hair done stylishly, their faces caked with too much make-up.

They were apparently deeply involved in a conversation, for they were all talking animatedly and not paying attention to anything around them as their voices carried to Nick and Claire’s table. As he played with his food, absently stirring his Blizzard and watching as the rainbow of colors from the M&M’s swirled with the green ice cream, turning it to a muddy brown, Nick couldn’t help but eavesdrop.

“Well, I think Ava should run for president,” one girl was saying, twirling a french fry in her French-manicured fingers as she spoke. “Then I’ll be vice president, and Taryn, you can be secretary, and Elle, you’ll be treasurer.”

“That sounds good,” said one of the girls sitting on the other side of the table,

“but how are we going to assure that we all win the election in the fall? Someone told me before school got out that that bitch Susi and her friends were planning on running this year. I’m sorry, but if I won, and one of them got on student council too, I’d just die.

It has to be all four of us; then we can have total control over the student council.” She attacked her little cup of ketchup, forcefully plunging a fry into it.

“Good point, Taryn,” said the girl sitting across from her, nodding her head.

“We’re just going to have to make sure we have enough people to vote for us.”

“How are we going to do that?”

“We’ll do whatever it takes... bribe them, threaten them, let them sit with us at lunch for a day... whatever. We’ve got to win at all costs.”

“Ooh, Ava... that’s scandalicious all right,” giggled the fourth girl.

Scandalicious. That was the name of one of Nick’s songs. He sank lower in his seat, watching the girls out of the corner of his eye, still listening to their conversation.

God, they’re shallow, he thought, as they went on listing people who would surely vote for them for student council. What he would give to only have to worry about such petty things as who would be elected as student council president.

“Oh yeah, Ashley totally would vote for us. And what about Laurie?”

“Yeah, there’s possibilities with her. Oh, and don’t forget Janelle; she’ll vote for us if I ask her to. I can probably even get her to make some campaign posters and stuff for us. She’s better at that than I am.”

“Oh yeah, speaking of the campaign, we should get somebody to be our PR

person, sort of. You know, they could, like, recruit more people to vote for us and get the word out that we’re running and stuff.”

“Oh yeah, great idea, Taryn! What do you think about that, Elle?” When the other girl did not answer, Nick glanced over and found her looking directly at him. His eyes widened as they met with hers, and he quickly looked away, turning his whole body to face the wall and hoping she did not recognize him.

“Elle? Hey, Elle, wake up!” Nick glanced back to see one of the girl’s waving her hand in front of Elle’s face.

“Sorry, Emily... what were you guys saying?”

Phew, Nick thought as the girls got back to their conversation. I guess she didn’t recognize me.

“Are you okay, Nick?” Claire asked, and he looked up to see a perplexed expression on her face. “You’re acting funny.”

“I’m fine,” he replied quickly, taking a bite of melting ice cream and trying to tune out the girls. But then the one called Elle said the thing he had been dreading.

“Hey, Emily... don’t look now, but you know the guy that’s sitting over there? Is that Nick Carter?” asked Elle in a whisper that still managed to carry over to Nick’s table.

Oh God, he thought with a groan, as all four heads turned in his direction.

“Oh my God, you guys, that is him!” hissed one of the others. “He looks awful!”

“I know... that’s so sad... look at what’s happened to him...” Nick could feel his face burning scarlet with humiliation. Meekly, he chanced a glance at Claire to see her face reddening too, but somehow, he sensed her flush was from anger, not embarrassment. He noticed her eyeing the girls’ table out of the corner of her eye, a frown distorting her features.

“You know, we can hear you over here,” Claire said loudly as the girls kept on whispering about him. At her words, all four of them stopped, their heads whipping in Nick and Claire’s directions, their cheeks turning pink as guilty expressions washed over their faces. They exchanged glances, but said nothing. “If you’re going to talk about someone behind their back,” Claire went on angrily, “at least do it where they can’t hear everything you’re saying!”

“S-sorry,” stammered the one called Ava. “We didn’t mean anything bad... we’re big fans of you, Nick. We were just wondering if that was really you.”

“It’s me,” Nick said flatly.

“Um... you think we could get your autograph?” Ava asked hopefully.

Claire’s mouth dropped open, and she stood up. “No, you can’t have his autograph! What the fuck is wrong with you little twits? First you insult him, then you ask him for his autograph? Leave him the hell alone!”

“And who the hell are you?” Ava asked, her eyes narrowing coldly. “His girlfriend or something?” She gave Claire the once over, her eyes traveling up and down her body, her lips contorting into a disdainful sneer.

“She’s my friend,” Nick spoke up, not about to let Claire fight his battles for him,

“and it’s none of your business anyway. Come on, Claire, let’s get the hell out of here.” Standing up abruptly, he snatched his half-eaten Blizzard and stalked up to the front of the restaurant. Claire grabbed her ice cream as well, and as she started to follow him, she mysteriously stumbled, and the cup of ice cream flew out of her hand, managing to bounce right off Ava’s chest and fall into her lap. As Ava screamed in horror and knocked the cup off, Nick saw a trail of sticky, dripping ice cream running all down her shirt, leading to a puddle of it her lap.

“Oh my God!” she screamed. “This outfit was brand new! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“Whoops, sorry,” Claire replied with mock sincerity. “Clumsy me.” With that, she turned on her heel and marched to the front of the restaurant, where Nick was staring at her in utter shock.

“I can’t believe you did that!” he exclaimed as soon as they had burst out the door, Claire laughing hysterically.

“I know! I’m evil, aren’t I? I’ve never done anything like that before!”

“Jesus, we’re never going to be able to come back here! First you practically cuss out some teeny, and then you drop ice cream all over her? They’re gonna have Wanted posters with your face plastered all over this place!” Nick cried, trying to sound serious, but failing miserably as he began to laugh out loud, tears filling his eyes as he pictured the expression on that girl’s face. “God, Claire, that was so fucking awesome!” She smiled, but as they got into the car, she said, “God, I feel kinda bad... I mean, that was really mean... I wasn’t really thinking, I just... did it.”

“Hey, don’t feel bad, that girl deserved it. Besides, it’s just ice cream, it’ll come out, won’t it? It wasn’t even chocolate,” Nick assured her as he stuck his key into the ignition.

“Hey, you better hurry up and drive,” Claire commented, glancing over her shoulder. “I keep waiting for her little posse to come out and chase us down.”

“Well, they ain’t gonna catch us in this baby,” Nick laughed, revving the engine of his sporty, black BMW and whipping out of his parking space, tires screeching as he put the car into drive and took off.

“We’re fugitives now, baby!” Claire shouted as they sped down the highway.

Adrenaline pumping through his body at the excitement of their “getaway,” Nick threw back his head and laughed, pressing his foot to the floor and feeling the car accelerate swiftly and smoothly. The yellow light at the intersection ahead put an abrupt stop to their adventure though. “Damn,” Nick muttered under his breath and dutifully put on the brakes as the light changed to red.

***

Chapter 72

Claire checked into the hospital at the end of July. Her hospital room, clean and cool and pristine white, contrasted sharply to the world outside the hospital, which was bright and unbearably hot, typical of a Florida summer. The sunlight streaming in through the open mini-blinds of Claire’s single window provided the only connection to the outside world, and as Nick sat in a chair beside her bed, his gaze kept flitting to that window. He wished he could be out there, particularly on his boat in the ocean, where the fresh aquatic breeze would keep him cool, and he would smell the salty sea, rather than medicine and antiseptics.

He liked Claire and all, but God, did he hate being here.

Still, a promise was a promise, and he had sworn to Claire that he would come here to visit her. Okay, so he didn’t remember actually swearing he would... but he had told her he would anyway, and that was about the same thing. And as much as he didn’t want to be sitting around a hospital, he knew it was just something he had to do. She had been there for him during his last hospital stay (until his psychotic mother had scared her out of the room, of course), and he would be there for her now.

“Anything interesting going on outside?” Claire asked, jarring Nick from his thoughts.

He glanced over at her. “Huh?”

“You keep looking out the window,” Claire pointed out with a slight smile.

Damn. She had caught him. Did the girl miss nothing?

“Oh, I was just watching a... bird. Yeah, there was this cool bird...”

“I see,” she smirked, looking as if she didn’t quite believe him. He did not reply, but forced himself to look back at the television. He had no idea that Monday afternoons were so lame. There was absolutely nothing on. Claire had finally found one of those stupid decorating shows on the Discovery Channel and was totally engrossed in watching some flamer reupholster a chair. Nick, on the other hand, was bored out of his freaking mind. Which was why he had gone back to looking out the window and wishing he could be anywhere but here. Until Claire had caught him.

“I can tell you’re not liking this. Want me to see if there’s anything else on?” Claire asked.

“Sure,” Nick replied dully and allowed her to flip through the channels again.

VH1, it seemed, was having yet another marathon of their “I Love the 80’s” series, which Nick had seen one too many times already (hey, when you’re stuck at home with nothing to do other than trying not to throw up, even VH1 can look good, and come on, reflecting back on the 80’s is funny), but it was better than Christopher Lowell and his “just raaavishing!” shade of magenta fabric. Exchanging glances and consensual shrugs, they settled on “I love 1987,” and Nick forced himself to watch it and not the “cool birds” outside.

“So,” Nick said as the show went to a commercial break, “they start your tests and stuff tomorrow then?”

“Yup,” replied Claire with a sigh.

“What kind of tests?” Nick asked, biting his lip at the thought of whatever torture they were going to subject her to.

She shrugged. “Basically everything, it sounds like,” she replied flatly. “And not just physical stuff... they’re supposedly going to send some psychiatrist to talk to me too,

to make sure I can handle the ‘emotional burdens’ of getting a bone marrow transplant.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes in exasperation.

He snickered. “What, do they think the ‘emotional burden’ of it is gonna make you freak out and try to hang yourself with your IV line or something?”

“Probably,” she laughed. “So yeah, anyway... should be fun.”

“Oh yeah,” he sarcastically agreed.

They fell into silence again, and Nick absently let his eyes travel back to the window. Watching the wispy white clouds drift lazily across the vast, blue sky, he became lost in his thoughts and was only yanked back into reality by the sensation of someone watching him. Suddenly, uncomfortable, he tore his eyes away from the window and looked at Claire to find her staring back at him. They both looked away as their eyes met, Nick immediately focusing his gaze back on the TV, watching it unblinkingly.

“Hey, Nick?” Claire’s voice drifted softly over.

“Hey, Claire?” he mocked, grinning.

Rolling her eyes, she smiled. “I was just gonna say... with all this going on now, I haven’t had a chance to ask you... how are you doing? I mean... well, you know... health-wise?”

Oh God, why did she have to ask that? What was he supposed to say? The truth?

That he was probably headed for a remission when she needed a bone marrow transplant to live?

The look on his face must have given him away, for, looking at him in concern, Claire asked, “Nick, what is it? You’re not hiding anything from me, are you? Come on, you know you can tell me anything.”

He sighed. “I know... I just... I didn’t want to say anything ‘cause it just didn’t seem fair, but-“

“Are you in remission?” Claire asked, her eyes growing round.

The corners of his mouth twitched into a guilty, crooked smile. “Not quite... but my doctor said I probably will be soon.”

Claire broke into a huge grin that lit up her face. “Nick! That’s awesome! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me all this time!”

“Well, I would’ve, but that was the day you got your... news... and, you know, I...” He trailed off, wondering how to put it into words.

“Felt guilty?” she finished for him, hitting the nail on the head.

“Yeah.”

“Nick Carter, don’t you dare feel guilty! This is great, and I’m so relieved! You should be happy, not all worried about what I think.” He smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “Well, I am, but... you know... it’s just not fair...”

“Hey, don’t worry. I’ve been in remission before too, and if this whole bone marrow thing works out the way it’s supposed to, I’ll be cured.” She grinned, but somehow, the smile didn’t seem sincere. He could sense the insecurity behind it and frowned.

“Really?” he asked. “If this will cure you... then why didn’t you do it before now?” It seemed the obvious choice to him – just get the whole thing over with from the start and be cured, not go through months of chemotherapy, only to go into remission, relapse three years later, and have to repeat the whole process. But there had to be a

reason...

“Well... it’s too big a risk, I guess. That’s why they try chemo and everything first. This treatment is just sort of a last ditch effort...” She went quiet, her voice trailing off into nothing, and he felt a tremor of fear ripple down his spine.

“What kind of a risk?” he asked. “I mean... how dangerous is this thing?” Her eyes locked with his, no trace of the usual twinkle of amusement alighting them. Instead, all he saw when he gazed into their light blue depths was fear. And he realized the truth... as hard as she was trying to hide it, as upbeat as she was trying to be, this was totally freaking her out.

She was scared to death.

“Claire?” he asked softly, not tearing his eyes from hers.

“Fifty-fifty,” she whispered, looking away.

His stomach lurched. Fifty-fifty. It was a coin toss. Heads, she won. Tails, she lost. And this was not just any game, but a battle of life and death. If she lost, she’d be losing her life...

He wanted to say something optimistic, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. He couldn’t find the right words; what was he supposed to say to that?

He chose to say nothing. Instead, he reached out and gently cupped her chin in one hand, tilting her head to look at him. When he met her eyes again, they were filled with tears. Sniffling and smiling sheepishly, she blinked, trying to force them back, but to no avail. All it took was one single tear to escape, staining her skin as it traveled slowly down her cheek, and the floodgates opened. She did not burst into tears and fall back dramatically on the bed like he saw in movies, but just sat there, crying silently and trying to avoid his eyes.

“Claire,” he whispered, getting up from his chair and perching himself next to her on the edge of her bed. He put an arm around her and hugged her close to him, letting her cry.

“I’m so sorry, Nick,” she whimpered. “I hate crying... especially in front of people... I can’t believe I’m doing this to you again.”

“Jeez, Claire, I don’t mind - you have a reason to cry,” he said exasperatedly.

“What, you think I didn’t cry when I found out I had... you know...” She pulled back and looked up at him, her eyes filling with fresh tears. “You did?” she sniffled, looking at him in sympathy.

“Yeah,” he admitted, oddly unembarrassed. “Right there in front of the doctor. I just... lost it...”

She smiled tearfully and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him close.

“Hey, wait... Claire?” he said, caught off-guard by this. “Um, I’m supposed to be comforting you here...”

Laughing, she pulled away and looked up to him, her eyes regaining some of their sparkle. “That’s okay. I think I’m done now. I just... get kinda depressed, you know, thinking about all this... it scares me, it really does. I mean, fifty-fifty... When you think about it, the odds could be much, much worse, but still... it’s like somebody with their hands behind their back going, ‘Pick a hand.’ And one hand has the cure in it... and the other one has... well, death. What if... what if I pick the wrong hand?” Her forehead creased with worry as the fright came back into her eyes. “I’m afraid to die, Nick. I know you’re not supposed to fear death, but... God, I’m twenty-three... I want to get married, have children, travel... you know, the usual kind of stuff. What if I never get to

do all that?”

You will, Claire. You’ll be able to do all of that. You’re not going to die, he wanted to tell her, but he knew she wouldn’t buy it. The truth was, he didn’t know what was going to happen any more than she did, and it scared him too. His life wasn’t at risk; he was getting better.

But he was in danger of losing the girl that was quickly becoming one of his best friends.

***

Chapter 73

Nick cleared his throat as he stepped up to the podium, behind which a man in a suit stood. “Hi,” he said. “Um, I’m supposed to be having dinner here with the Ryan party. Their reservation was for 7:30. I don’t know if they’re here yet or not, but...“

“Ah, yes, sir, they’ve already arrived.” He waved over a woman wearing black dress pants and a white blouse and said to her, “Could you please show the gentleman to the Ryan party.”

“Right this way,” the woman beckoned to Nick, leading him through the classy restaurant. Les Tambours was one of Tampa’s finest, and he was supposed to be meeting Claire and her family there for dinner that night. It was a Friday evening, and after a whole week of tests in the hospital, Claire had been granted a reprieve of sorts, an evening to leave the hospital. This had seemed somewhat strange to Nick, and when he had asked her about it, she had explained in her flippant, ‘I’m going act like this is all one big joke to cover up my real emotions’ kind of way.

“Oh, it’s going to be like the Last Supper... or the calm before the storm, maybe... anyway, they’re letting me out of this dump for a few hours because tomorrow I start ‘Phase 2’ of the BMT – bone marrow transplant, that’s what they call it - oh God, now I’m starting to talk like a doctor - not cool! Um, anyway, yeah, ‘Phase 2’ means going into isolation – new, special, super-clean, sterile, germ-free room –

and starting on chemo and immune suppressants drug, and then the actual transplant. Dr. Rodrigo said it’ll be at least six weeks before I can leave the hospital after the transplant, and that’s just if there’s no complications. So yeah, basically they’re giving me one last look at the outside world before they lock me away.”

“Whoa,” Nick said, blinking in astonishment. “Sucks to be you. So will you be allowed to have visitors during all that?”

“Supposedly only immediately family, but hey, the staff up there likes me. I’m sure I can kiss some ass, pull some strings, and get them to let you in,” she replied with a cheeky grin.

He laughed. “All right, you do that.”

Well, Claire was getting her “Last Supper” indeed, and her parents had picked a fine place to have it in. It reminded him of when he was little – every time he’d had to go to the doctor as a child, for physicals or immunizations or stitches or whatever, his mother had taken him straight out for ice cream or a toy right afterward. He wished it still worked like that, for he would have earned a buttload of ice cream cones and Nintendo games by now. Anyway, the fancy restaurant that Claire’s family probably never would go to normally was like a toy, some kind of bribe or reward for what she was about to go through. Well, as far as he was concerned, she more than deserved it.

The hostess led Nick to a large, round table in a far corner of the spacious restaurant, where five people were sitting. Nick hadn’t met any of Claire’s family before, so he didn’t know what they looked like, and he almost didn’t recognize Claire at first either. He was about to tell the hostess she had the wrong table when the black-haired young woman looked over at him and waved, smiling.

Stunned, he realized it was Claire and immediately hurried over, his face a mask of shock and surprise at her appearance. She had traded her usual bandana for a wig of sleek, raven black hair, styled in a perfectly straight, layered bob that fell to her shoulders. So this was the “goth” wig she had described at the pizza place that night, the

one she only wore for “special occasions”.

“Claire,” he gasped. “Your hair...”

“You like?” she smiled, self-consciously stroking one side of it.

Actually, he wasn’t sure he did. It was strange to suddenly see her with hair, and it looked kind of funny on her... maybe it was just that the color wasn’t right. It looked fake. But of course, he wasn’t about to tell her that, so he returned the smile and said,

“Yeah, it looks awesome!”

“Well, here, sit down,” Claire said, patting the back of the empty chair beside her.

“And let me introduce you to my family.” Nick sat down, smiling nervously at the four unfamiliar people, and Claire went around the table, introducing them all. “Nick, this is my dad, Kris... my mom, Carrie... my brother, Kyle... and Kyle’s wife, Amber. And guys, meet Nick Carter.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Claire’s father, a big man with dark, reddish-brown hair, said, shaking Nick’s hand.

“We’ve heard so much about you from Claire,” added her mother, who was small and blonde, offering a petite hand to Nick from across the table.

Claire’s brother, who had to be close to thirty and looked a lot like his father, with dark red hair and the physique of a football player, gave Nick a quick handshake and a hello, and his wife Amber did the same.

“So you’re going to be Claire’s donor?” Nick asked Kyle, but Claire answered before her brother could get a word out.

“Yes,” she said, “but we’re not going to talk about that tonight.” Smiling sweetly at Nick, she picked up her menu and glanced at it. “You ever been here before?” she asked him. “I haven’t – way too hoity-toity for me. Look, I even had to put on a dress tonight.” She looked down at herself, her lip curling in distaste. Nick followed her eyes to see that she was indeed dressed nicely in a short, halter-top dress made of red fabric with little white polka dots. That was a new one too – he’d never seen her in anything but t-shirts and pants before.

“You look nice,” he complimented her, sensing that she was feeling insecure.

“Well, thanks. You look nice too,” she returned, eyeing the button-up shirt and dark gray slacks he had grudgingly put on for the night and adding in a whisper, “And you look more comfortable than me too – my back is killing me. I just need to be lying down with my sweats on.” She stuck out her bottom lip in a pout.

“Ohh, that’s right. You doing okay?” Nick had almost forgotten about Claire’s

“harvesting operation,” which they had done Wednesday morning. It had been a very minor surgical procedure to take out some of her bone marrow. The intent was to keep it frozen and stored in case her body rejected Kyle’s marrow later; then they could put back her old bone marrow long enough to keep her alive until a new donor was found.

She had compared the operation to “about 50 million bone marrow aspirations,” and he bet she was pretty damn sore... he hurt bad enough after just one bone marrow test.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she said with a shrug. “But on top of that, this damn wig is itching the hell out of my head, my shoes hurt to walk in, and my bra feels like it’s about to fall down. Being a girl sucks sometimes, you know that?”

“Whoa, okay, TMI,” he said, holding up his hands in defense.

She giggled, looked at the menu in her hands a second time, and asked again, “So, have you been here before? What should I get?”

He had been there before, but it had been awhile. Picking up his own menu and

looking it over, he shrugged. “I dunno... I think I’m gonna go for the steak.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” she agreed, reading the description of the steak dinner in the menu. “I think I’ll have that too.”

“Cool,” he said, impressed. Most girls he went out to eat with ate like birds and ordered light things with chicken or just a salad or something.

“I told ya I have a healthy appetite,” Claire said with an impish grin. “Besides, this is going to be the last good meal I’ll have for awhile – better make the most of it, right?”

“Right,” Nick agreed. “You go for it.”

She smiled. “I think I will.”

***

“Oh my God, I’m stuffed,” Claire groaned to Nick awhile later, as the others finished eating amid light conversation.

“Me too,” he chuckled. He pushed back his plate and played with the cloth napkin in his lap, balling it up in his hands and twisting it around until he realized what he was doing and set it back on the table. Now that dinner was over, he was rather bored. He felt removed from the family’s conversations most of the time, not knowing any of them except Claire. Luckily, she was paying plenty of attention to him and seemed to notice he was getting restless (could it be the napkin-twisting that gave him away?)

“You wanna walk outside?” she whispered to him.

“Sure,” he replied.

Clearing her throat, Claire caught the attention of her mother and said, “Nick and I are gonna step outside. I want some fresh air.”

“Are you feeling okay?” her mother asked, her eyes boring into Claire with concern.

Claire rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. So we’ll be outside, okay?”

“All right, hon,” Carrie relented.

Claire started to get up from her seat, but almost immediately, her face contorted into a grimace of pain, and she sank back down again. “Claire, you all right?” Nick asked quickly.

“You sound like Mom,” Claire groaned, then added, “I’m fine... just the back, you know... I forgot how stiff it was...”

“Here,” Nick said, sliding his arm underneath hers and slowly helping her up.

“You good?” he asked when she was on her feet.

“Fine. Thanks,” she said sheepishly. “Come on, let’s go.” She started to walk quickly away from the table, but he noticed how she slowed down after just a few steps.

She was hurting and trying hard not to show it. He didn’t say anything when he caught up to her though and simply walked slowly alongside her as they navigated between tables and made it outside the restaurant.

“Phew, that’s better,” Claire said, inhaling deeply as they got outside. It was a beautiful night out, warm, but not too hot, a light breeze tickling their skin as they walked slowly down the landscaped sidewalk in front of the restaurant. “Look at the sky,” Claire sighed, glancing up. Nick followed her gaze to see a gorgeous array of twinkling stars spattered across the cloudless, darkening sky. On the horizon, the sun

was setting, a medley of golden and pinkish hues tingeing the sky around it and slowly melting into shades of blue, which dimmed to the velvety navy of night.

“It’s pretty,” Nick said softly. “Sometimes I take my boat out at night... you can really see the stars when you’re out on the ocean, away from the city and the lights and everything... they’re beautiful.”

“I’d love to see that,” she said huskily, and he smiled at her.

“I’ll take you sometime,” he promised.

“Okay... hey, mind if we sit down up here?” She had spotted a stone bench along the end of the sidewalk.

“No, sounds good to me,” he said, walking toward it with her. He noticed how her body was slightly hunched over, almost like an old lady’s, and knew her back must be just killing her. They reached the bench, and he helped her sit down, then sank down beside her. She was sitting stiffly on the backless bench, and, realizing her discomfort, he scooted back and slung one of his long legs over the other side of the bench, so that he was straddling it. “Here,” he said, “Turn this way and put your feet up.” He eased her back so that she was leaning against his chest, and she pulled her legs onto the bench, stretching them out straight in front of her. “Is that better?” he whispered in her ear.

“Much,” she said, glancing up at him, a smile on her face. “You’re good to me, you know that?”

“Well, you’re good to me too. That’s what friends are for, right?” he asked with a chuckle. “Cheesy, you know, but true...”

“Sure,” she agreed, laughing lightly.

They fell quiet, simply enjoying the pleasure of each other’s company and the silence, interrupted only by the soft chirping of crickets, the whispers of the trees as the soft summer breeze ruffled their leaves, and the occasional car passing by.

“Nick?” Claire said softly.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking...” Her voice trailed off, and he sat waiting for her to continue.

“About?” he prompted after a moment, when she did not go on.

She let out a sigh and slowly pulled herself off of him, painfully swinging her legs off of the bench so that she was sitting properly. She turned to face him, her blue eyes large and luminous in the soft glow of the moon and distant streetlights that played across her face, the sun’s dying rays bathing the world behind her in dim, golden light.

The smile she gave him was wavering and uncertain, but when she spoke, her eyes radiated conviction.

“I don’t know if it’s the right time to say this, but I just feel like... if I don’t say it tonight, I might not have another chance.” She bit her lip, yet never took her eyes off him, looking at him in a way that made him uncomfortable.

“So say it,” he whispered, perplexed. Honestly, he was anticipating another conversation like the one they’d had at the hospital on Monday, with her suddenly opening her heart to him and pouring out her feelings, how scared she was about what might happen to her... he braced himself for this and was fully prepared to take her in his arms again and let her cry. Crying girls made him uncomfortable, and he hated to see her in tears... but if any girl had a reason to do so, it was Claire. He didn’t mind.

He sat still and waited for whatever it was she had to say. But when she finally

did say it, it was the last thing on Earth he was expecting to hear.

“Nick,” she said softly. “I... I think I’m falling in love with you.”

***

Chapter 74

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

The words bounced around in Nick’s brain, jumbling themselves into an incoherent mass of sounds that he had to sort out all over again. But when he did, their message remained the same.

I think I’m falling in love with you.

Falling in love.

With you.

In love.

You.

Oh God. Had she really just said that? Did she really mean that? She was in love with him? When had this happened? How had he not noticed? How had he not foreseen this; how had he not known it was coming?

How had he been so blind?

She supposedly loved him... and he couldn’t even tell?

What was wrong with him?

He kept asking himself these questions, while she just sat there, her eyes still on him, waiting for some kind of response from him. But what was he supposed to say?

The truth was, he didn’t love her back.

She was a friend to him. He loved her like a friend. Nothing more. He wasn’t in love with her.

But she was in love with him?

He was so confused. How had this happened? Look at me! he thought incredulously. How could anyone love me now?

But she did, or so she said. And speaking of her, she was still staring at him... and he didn’t know what to do, what to tell her. The truth? It would crush her, wouldn’t it?

He knew what it was like to be rejected; he knew what it was like to be hurt. He didn’t want to put her through that.

But what was he supposed to do? Lie? Tell her he loved her too?

He knew he couldn’t do that. Ultimately, it would only hurt her more. He didn’t love her, and he couldn’t pretend he did. She’d see right through him... or worse, she’d believe him... and, inevitably, find out the truth later. That he never loved her. That he had lied to her. Somehow, he knew that would be worse for her than just hearing the truth now.

But - the same question came back to him again - what was he supposed to say?

In the end, he said nothing. And that turned out to be enough to get the message across.

After what seemed like an eternity of her staring at him, waiting for the reply that would never come, she looked away, nodding. “That’s what I thought,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

“Claire-“

“No, don’t. It’s okay, Nick, really. I... I probably shouldn’t have even said it, but I just... had to. Just... just in case. I’m sorry.”

“Claire...” He didn’t know what to do. With all his heart, he yearned to be able to look her in the eyes and tell her that he loved her too. But he couldn’t. Because he didn’t. Not in the way that she apparently loved him. He sighed. “Claire,” he said

honestly, “I don’t know what to say.” There, that was a start. Swallowing, he tried again. “I do love you, Claire... but not in that way... I... I...”

“You love me like a friend,” she finished for him, her voice flat and emotionless.

“Um...” He sighed. “Yeah.”

“It’s okay.” Finally, she turned her head and looked back at him. Her eyes were unnaturally bright and shiny, but oddly, she smiled. “Friends are good,” she said. “I love you like a friend too, Nick. I always will. And I hope we can stay friends... don’t let this make things weird between us, okay? I’m so sorry...”

“Claire, don’t be sorry,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You can’t fake your feelings. It’s okay.” Her voice was sincere and understanding, but he still felt horrible. He knew, deep down, that he had hurt her.

And yet, hurting her had been unavoidable, unless he had felt the same way she did and told her so. But he didn’t.

“I... I still want to be friends,” he offered hopefully. “I really do care about you, Claire. I don’t know what I would do without you... I mean, how could I have gone through all this without you there with me? I just... I’m not ready for anything more than a friendship right now.”

“I know, Nick. And I’m sorry if I freaked you out. I just had to get this off my chest. And I did. So we’re cool now, right?”

“Yeah,” he said dully. “We’re cool.” But he wasn’t sure. She was acting like she was okay... but was she? He almost wished she would just break down and cry... her strange sense of understanding was unnerving.

“Good,” she smiled. Glancing back at the restaurant, she sighed and said, “Well, we should probably head back. I bet they’re about ready to leave now. Back to the hospital I go.” Slowly, she pulled herself up. He jumped to help her, but she ignored him and stood on her own. As they started slowly back to the entrance of Les Tambours, he reached for her hand, wanting to give it a squeeze, to assure her he would still be there for her, that they could still be friends. But as soon as their skin touched, she pulled her hand gently from his grasp.

He said nothing, and neither did she. They just kept walking in silence.

They were side by side, their bodies so close that their arms almost touched as they swung slightly with each step.

But to Nick, they might as well have been miles apart.

***

Chapter 75

Nick headed up to the hospital around noon the next day. He assumed Claire had been moved into her new isolation room, and she was probably hating it already. He was determined to cheer her up... and hopefully ease the tension between them.

To be honest, Nick almost dreaded facing her after the night before, but he knew he had to. That day marked the beginning of a new sort of journey for Claire, one that not only going to be long and difficult, but dangerous as well, possibly even life-threatening. If she rejected Kyle’s bone marrow, or, worse, contracted an infection after the transplant, when her immune system was virtually knocked out, she could die.

He knew she was scared, and he was scared for her. And he vowed that no matter what happened, he would be there for her. She was his friend, and he wanted do for her what she had done for him.

Before taking the familiar route upstairs to the oncology ward, Nick stopped by the small gift shop on the main level and browsed through it, looking for something to bring her. There was a case of flowers in the back, and he immediately gravitated toward it, his eyes scanning the various floral arrangements. Immediately, he was drawn to a large bouquet of roses, all in striking shades of yellow, orange, and pink. The bright colors made him think of Claire and her bandanas, and he immediately opened the door of the glass case and picked it up off the shelf.

“That will be $39.95,” said the cashier at the counter. Nick handed her two twenty dollar bills.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, as she handed him a nickel in change.

“Have a nice day,” she said cheerfully.

“You too,” he said with quick smile, then picked the vase of roses up and carried it carefully out of the shop. He quickly cut across the lobby to the bank of elevators that would take him to the fifth floor. Juggling the large bouquet in one hand, he smacked the up button with the other and waited impatiently for an elevator to arrive.

“I hate elevators; they always take forever,” sighed a voice behind him, and Nick spun around, startled, to see a young girl standing a few feet away. When had she walked up?

“Yeah,” he replied, “I know.”

The girl, who looked about twelve or thirteen, clutched a cup that held two scoops of chocolate ice cream. While she waited, she dug a small plastic spoon into the dark, sticky mound and took a small bite.

“That looks good,” Nick said, as she swallowed and licked her lips. “Where’d you get that?”

“Spotted Cow,” she replied, taking another bite.

“Spotted Cow? Where’s a Spotted Cow?”

“Back that way,” she said, motioning vaguely somewhere behind her. “Kinda by the cafeteria.”

Nick blinked. “They have a Spotted Cow in the hospital?”

“Uh-huh.”

Well, how had he missed that? Then again, he’d never actually been anywhere near the cafeteria... despite having been at Tampa General Hospital all too frequently in recent months, he hadn’t been anywhere inside it except the ER and Oncology. Maybe he’d have to do a little exploring someday and uncover all of its mysteries. But not

today. Today he was there for Claire, and Claire only.

“Finally!” the girl exclaimed, heaving an exaggerated sigh as a pair of elevator doors slid smoothly open with a soft ding. Nick let her go in first, then stepped in after her. “What floor?” the girl asked, immediately taking over the control panel.

“Um, five.”

“Five...” she repeated, her eyes traveling to a spot above his head. He turned to see a large sign mounted on the wall behind him, containing a listing of all the floors of the hospital and what departments they contained. “Oncology?” she read. “Isn’t that for people with ca-“ She stopped suddenly and looked at him, her face reddening. Closing her mouth, she quickly turned away and punched in the number 5 and then the number 3.

“I’m visiting a friend of mine,” Nick spoke up. “How about you?”

“Oh... my little sister’s having her tonsils taken out,” the girl replied. “So is that who the flowers are for? Your friend.”

“Yup.”

“They’re pretty.”

“Thanks. So you think she’ll like them?”

“Yeah. So is she your girlfriend?”

He laughed. “No, not my girlfriend,” he answered quickly. “Just a friend... who happens to be a girl.”

She grinned. And then, all of a sudden, an expression of recognition crossed her face, as if a light bulb had just flickered on, and it had dawned on her who he was. He had half-expected it, based on her age. He’d found that most little girls around the age of thirteen recognized him. But, of course, that was when he looked... well, normal. She was good.

“Are you... are you Nick Carter?” she breathed, suddenly gazing at him in awe.

“Yeah, I am,” he admitted, blushing slightly. Why he was embarrassed to be recognized by a thirteen-year-old was beyond him, but it was the first time he had really had a close encounter with a fan since the world had found out he had cancer. And the way the girl was looking at him now was beginning to make him uncomfortable. “Um...

do you want an autograph or anything?” he offered kindly.

“Uh...” She hesitated, and he realized neither of them had a paper or pen. He took a quick look around the elevator, as if it would magically contain a random scrap of paper and writing utensil for him to use.

“Nothing to sign with,” he said, defeated. “Well, would a hug do?” The elevator lurched to a stop on the third floor, and the doors slid open.

Clutching his bouquet in one arm, Nick opened his other arm to the girl, but at this gesture, her eyes widened, and she quickly backed up.

“Um, n-no thank you,” she said, smiling in a forced way. “This is my floor, gotta go, nice meeting you!” she called in one breath as she darted out of the elevator. The doors closed behind her, leaving a very confused and slightly hurt Nick behind.

“What, do I smell or something?” he asked, annoyed, to no one in particular, as the elevator began to rise again. But then he realized... she had been afraid. Afraid to hug him.

“I don’t blame her,” he muttered dully as he caught a very distorted version of his reflection in one of the stainless steel walls. Pale and bald underneath his baseball cap, with the shrunken appearance of a large man who has lost a lot of weight in a short

time... who would want to hug him? He was absolutely gross-looking.

The elevator came to a stop on the fifth floor, its doors sliding open with another cheerful ding. His shoulders slightly slumped, Nick carried his roses out of the elevator and plodded down the hall to the nurses station, having no idea where he was to find Claire now that she had been moved to a new room.

There were two nurses sitting behind the round counter area, and neither were paying a bit of attention to him. One was hunched over the counter, her gray-haired head bent over some paperwork as she wrote furiously, while other was sitting in front of a computer, her eyes fixed on the screen, her fingers flying a mile a minute over the keyboard as she typed. He started to approach the older, gray-haired nurse, not wanting another encounter with the young redhead at the computer like he’d just had in the elevator. But then, taking another quick survey at the attractive young nurse, he recognized her. He’d met her the last time he’d been admitted to the hospital... she was a fan, he remembered. And what was her name? Something with an S... Sarah?

Stephanie?

“Um, excuse me, Samantha?” he asked, just able to read the nametag pinned to her scrub top.

Her head bobbed up, and her eyes went wide when she recognized him. “Hi!” she squeaked, maybe a little more excitedly than she had intended.

He smiled and swallowed back a chuckle. Well, at least someone still liked him...

“Hey,” he said back. “Uh, I was wondering if you could help me. I’m looking for a friend of mine, Claire Ryan? She’s been here all week, but she was supposed to be moved to a new room today, and I don’t know-“

“Oh, sure, Claire! That’s right, I forgot you two were friends. Anyway, yes, she was moved into isolation this morning. But, um, technically, only family members are allowed to... to visit her...” Samantha bit her lip and looked up at him apologetically.

“Yeah, that’s what she told me. But, um, technically, only family members are allowed to visit people in the ICU too, right? And if I remember correctly...” He trailed off, raising a nonexistent eyebrow and hoping she’d remember how she’d bent the rules and let Claire come see him when he was in ICU. And sure enough, her face went bright red. Taking full advantage of his, he flashed her the Carter half-smile and watched in amusement as her cheeks darkened another shade.

“Okay, okay, you got me,” she relented finally, throwing her hands up in defeat.

“I’ll call Claire’s room and ask her, okay? And if she says you can come, then-“

“Thank you!” Nick exclaimed, smiling broadly.

“But you owe me!” she insisted with a grin and a blushing wink.

“Anything,” Nick promised with a chivalrous tip of his head. “Hey,” he said, testing her now, “how about a hug?” Setting the roses down on the counter, he stepped back and opened his arms, waiting to see what would happen. Samantha cast a nervous look in the direction of the older nurse, who was still lost in her paperwork, and then jumped up from her seat. Trotting around to the other side of the counter, she just about flew into his arms, taking him by surprise. Laughing, almost in relief, he hugged her and let her hang on to him for quite some time before she got a grip on herself and pulled away.

“Thanks,” she said coyly, offering him a sheepish grin.

“Hey, no problem, babe,” he replied flirtatiously, giving her his most charming smile. “Thank you.”

***

Chapter 76

“Please try to be discreet about this,” Samantha said in a low voice as she led Nick around a corner. “Because, technically, I’m breaking the rules here.”

“You won’t get in trouble for this, will you?” Nick asked, feeling a little guilty.

“Probably not, but still...” She shrugged.

“Hey, no problem. If anyone asks, I’ll just say I’m her brother. Her, um... other brother.”

Samantha smiled. She took him down another hall and stopped outside a pair of doors that read ISOLATION. Samantha opened the doors and ushered him through.

She took him down a short hallway and stopped outside an unmarked door.

“Wait right here,” she told him, opening the door and stepping inside the room.

She returned a moment later with a sealed, clear plastic bag containing some kind of green garment. Stopping to size him up, her eyes traveling up and down his body, she said, “Here, I hope this will fit okay,” and handed him the bag.

On closer inspection, Nick saw that it contained a green surgical gown, like the kind surgeons wore over their scrubs to operate. Looking up at her with questioning eyes, he asked naively, “You want me to disguise myself as a doctor?” Samantha burst out laughing. “Oh, no! No, sorry, I thought Claire would have told you. You have to gown up to go inside her room. It’s sterile, and we don’t want any germs getting in because of the risk of infection. Just put the gown on over your clothes, and then there’s also a cap, mask, and “booties” to cover your shoes. You’ll need to put all that on too.”

“Oh... okay...” Ducking into the men’s restroom across the hall, Nick opened the plastic bag and removed the large, thin gown. It went on backwards, the opening in the back. Sliding his arms through the sleeves, he pulled it on and couldn’t help but remember art class in elementary school, when he and his classmates had brought old button-down shirts of their fathers and worn them as “paint shirts,” put on backwards to cover their clothes while they worked on messy projects.

Next, he pulled out the green surgical hat. Whipping off his baseball cap, he put it on, smoothing it self-consciously over his bald head. He slipped the thin mask over his head, but left it dangling around his neck, deciding he’d wait and put that on at the last minute. Finally, he pulled out the shapeless “booties” and put them on over his tennis shoes.

He turned to the mirror, feeling extremely strange dressed like that, and smirked at his reflection. Wow, he looked cool. Yeah, take that, Justin Timberlake. He pulled the mask up over his mouth and nose, just for kicks, and almost burst out laughing when he saw himself. The mask completed the look – he actually looked like a real doctor. Now, that was a scary thought...

Pulling the mask back down, Nick emerged from the bathroom. He felt rather stupid, but there was really no reason why he should... he was in a hospital, for crying out loud. He would blend in perfectly. Besides, it beat the embarrassment of one of the flimsy, ugly hospital gowns that he had been forced to wear as a patient. And Samantha seemed to like it, if the slow smile that spread across her face when she caught sight of him was any indication of that.

“Okay, ready to head down to her room now?” Samantha asked.

“Yup,” replied Nick. “Oh, wait, my flowers,” he said, picking up the large

bouquet up from the counter where he had left them.

“Oh, um... you won’t be able to bring those in with you,” said Samantha, biting her lip. “Sorry. They’re not sterile.”

“Oh.” Nick’s face fell. Well, there went forty dollars down the drain.

“There’s a window though,” Samantha said brightly. “In the hallway; I’ll show you. You can hold them up for her to see through that.”

“Oh... well, okay.”

“Come on.” Nick followed her down another hall, passing rooms marked

“Isolation.” The blinds hanging on most of the large windows looking into the rooms were closed, but in a few rooms, they were open, allowing him to peek curiously in on other patients, most of whom were bald and pale, the effects of cancer apparent on their gaunt bodies.

“Here we go,” said Samantha, stopping outside the door to a room marked 5-I6.

The blinds were open in the window next to the door, and Nick peered in to see Claire propped up in bed, looking down at something in her hand, a pair of headphones on her ears, her lips moving slightly as she sang along to whatever she was listening to. He smiled, knowing she had no idea he was out there watching her.

Pulling a surgical mask over her own mouth and nose, Samantha rapped lightly on the door and opened it, sticking her head in the room long enough to say, “Visitor, Claire!”

Nick grinned at Claire through the window and couldn’t help but notice how she hastily shoved whatever she had been looking at under her covers as she smiled back.

Before he went into the room, he paused long enough to hold up the vase of roses for her to see.

“I’ll take them down to the nurses station for you to get later if you want,” Samantha offered.

“Sure, thanks,” Nick replied gratefully, handing off the bouquet and slipping the mask up onto his face. As Samantha walked off with the flowers, he stepped into the room, closing the door quickly behind him.

“Nick, those flowers were beautiful!” Claire exclaimed as soon as he set foot in her room. “Jeez, you must have paid out the ass for them though. There had to be like two dozen roses in that thing!”

He shrugged nonchalantly, secretly pleased that she’d liked them.

“Well, pull up a chair and sit down,” Claire commanded, pointing to a couple of chairs shoved up against one of the walls. “Nice outfit, by the way, Dr. Carter.” He smirked, then realized she couldn’t see his smirk under the mask and winked instead. “Yeah... you know, green used to be my favorite color, but I think that’s gonna have to be changed, since it’s apparently the medical community’s favorite color too?” Claire laughed. “True.”

“So,” Nick said, plopping down in the chair. “How ya feeling, kid?” She wrinkled her nose, probably at being called “kid,” and replied, “Eh...” All it took was one wave of her hand to the emesis basin positioned strategically on her beside table, and he understood exactly what “eh” meant.

“Ohh,” he said with a groan. “Fun stuff.”

“Oh, you bet,” she replied sarcastically, offering him a wan smile.

“So,” he said, motioning to the headphones around her neck. “Whatcha been listening to?”

Almost instantaneously, her face went beet red, a mortified expression crossing her face. The temptation was too much to resist; with a wicked cackle, Nick wrestled the headphones and portable CD player away from her, slapped the headphones over his own ears, and pressed play, expecting to hear strains of “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go” by Wham, or something equally embarrassing.

What greeted his ears instead was the sound of his own voice, belting out “I Stand for You,” one of the songs he had proudly written himself for his solo album. He jerked his head up to look at her, his eyes round with surprise, his flattered grin hidden behind the mask.

“Hey, I didn’t know you had my album, Miss ‘I Don’t Like Pop’,” he said teasingly. He knew she was embarrassed to be caught listening to his album, and he was fully prepared to milk that for all it was worth.

Sighing heavily, she reached under the covers and pulled out the thing she had hidden there earlier, which turned out to be the CD jacket for Now or Never. It was opened to the lyrics page.

“Haha!” Nick roared. “You like it, don’t you? Huh? Don’t you?” he gloated tauntingly.

“It’s so-so,” she said coolly, smirking.

“Oh, whatever, you like it, and you know it,” he teased. “You want me to autograph it for you or anything?”

“Oh, shut up, Mr. Egomaniac! And anyway, I just bought it last week cause I had a gift certificate at Sam Goody that expires next week, so I had to use it, and I didn’t see anything else I felt like getting, so I wasted it on this.”

“Oh suuuure. You didn’t even buy it last week; you’ve probably had it since the day it came out. You’ve been a closet fan of me this whole time, haven’t you?” he accused mockingly, enjoying the agitated expression on her face.

Claire just rolled here eyes, shaking her head back and forth in exasperation.

“Celebs,” she muttered under her breath, catching his eye just long enough to wink playfully at him.

Nick chuckled, not noticing the way her face suddenly paled a few shades. He was busy trying to come up with another knock at her when she suddenly grabbed the basin off the bedside table and threw up into it, the horrible sounds of her retching making Nick wince. He thought about rubbing her back to comfort her the way he had during her last round of chemo, but, remembering how she had pulled away from him the night before, he decided against it.

“Ugh,” Claire moaned, wiping her mouth with a Kleenex. “See, that’s just how bad your album is, Carter. Bad enough to make me hurl.”

“Hey!” Nick exclaimed, his jaw dropping in mock offense.

Miserable and nauseous as she was, Claire still managed to crack a smile.

***

Chapter 77

Nick managed to visit Claire every day for the next week without getting caught (or without getting in trouble, anyway), but each visit grew both harder and shorter.

The medications they were now giving her made her so sick that she couldn’t keep anything down, so they had put in a feeding tube that ran into one of her nostrils and descended all the way into her stomach. The thought of that totally freaked Nick out, but Claire swore it wasn’t painful.

The drugs also made her swell with retained fluid so that she looked like she had put on another twenty pounds or so, and they made her so groggy that some of the time, she could barely carry on coherent conversation. He would sit at her side and hold her hand while she drifted off to sleep, hoping that once the transplant would be over, she would get better. He hated seeing her so sick and out of it.

When the day of Claire’s transplant rolled around, even Samantha cracked down on the visiting rules.

“Only immediate family members will be allowed in for at least a week,” Samantha told him seriously before he left on Thursday afternoon, the day before the transplant.

“Can I call her?”

“If that’s okay with her,” answered Samantha.

Nick was sure it would be. He knew how lonely Claire got in that place with only the doctor and nurses and her family to talk to (when she was awake and lucid, that was) and made a mental note to call her the next day.

The transplant would take place the following morning, but from what Claire had explained to him, it was very different from an organ transplant. Her brother Kyle would be put under anesthesia while the doctors extracted bone marrow from him, but Claire would be wide awake and receive the marrow through an IV, just like a blood transfusion. This put his mind to ease. At least they wouldn’t have to cut into her on top of everything else.

Nick called the hospital around eleven the next day and was put through to Claire’s room.

“Hello?” a female voice answered, but it was not Claire’s.

“Hi... this is Nick... um, is Claire there?” Stupid question, Carter.

“Oh, hi, Nick. This is Carrie,” answered Claire’s mother. “She’s right here; hang on, I’ll give her the phone.”

“Okay.” Nick waited, hearing muffled voices in the background.

A moment later, Claire got on the line. “Hello?” Her voice sounded weak.

“Hey, Claire? It’s me... what’s going on?”

“Hey... nothin’ much, just waiting.”

“Waiting?”

“For the bone marrow. Kyle’s not out of surgery yet.”

“Oh... okay. Well... hang in there.”

“I’m hanging.”

He chuckled, picturing her smiling on the other line. But then the tension overcame them both, and they fell into silence, neither knowing what to say. Nick couldn’t even imagine how nervous she must be; he was anxious enough himself.

“Oh my gosh,” Claire said suddenly, drawing in a sharp breath. “There comes my

nurse... I think this is it, Nick.” She let out a weak laugh.

“All right!” he said, clutching the phone tightly.

“Okay, I need to hang up now,” said Claire. “Talk to you later?”

“Sure,” Nick replied. “And, hey, I have my doctor’s appointment tomorrow, so I’ll drop by, okay? I know they won’t let me in your room, but maybe I can just wave through your window or something?”

“Yeah, do that,” said Claire eagerly. “You gotta let me know how your appointment goes.”

Nick drew in a breath. “Yeah, I will,” he promised. “Well, okay... I’ll let you go now. Good luck. You’re gonna be just fine.”

“Thanks,” Claire said shakily. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

They hung up, and Nick set to pacing back and forth across his kitchen, as if Claire would call back in the next five minutes to tell him whether or not the transplant worked. Ha, yeah right, as if it would be that instantaneous. He knew it would take a matter of days to tell if Kyle’s marrow was working at all, and even after that, there was still the risk of rejection.

He knew all of this, and still, he paced, not knowing what else to do. If it wasn’t bad enough to have to sit at home and wait while Claire went through all of this, the doctor’s appointment looming before him was beginning to make him nervous. He wanted so badly for Dr. Kingsbury to tell him that he was in remission, but what if she didn’t? That would mean more chemo and more worrying, and that was the last thing he needed right now. His nerves were shot enough as it was

***

“You’re awfully jittery today,” Dr. Kingsbury remarked the following morning, as she examined Nick.

“Sorry,” replied Nick, trying not to flinch as her ice cold stethoscope touched his skin. “I’m just kind of anxious, I guess,” he admitted.

“Anxious about what?”

“To find out if I’m in remission or not,” he said, looking at her hopefully.

“Well, I hope you are,” she said, giving him a smile, “but I don’t want to give you false hope. Things were looking good at your last appointment, but I won’t know anything definite till I get your test results.”

He nodded. “Um, what tests are you running today?” he asked in what he hoped was an offhanded sort of way. Really, the big question was would he have to endure another bone marrow? If his calculations were right, the last one had been at his third appointment with her, and this was his sixth. So if she wanted to continue doing them every three appointments, then that meant...

“I’m afraid it’s the works this time,” Dr. Kingsbury replied sympathetically. “CT

scan, chest x-ray, and-“

“Bone marrow,” he finished despondently for her.

“You got it,” she said with a nod.

“So if the test showed that the cancer had spread to my bone marrow, would I have to have a bone marrow transplant?” Nick asked.

Dr. Kingsbury nodded. “Once it spreads to the bone marrow, a transplant is

really the only treatment option. Chemotherapy can buy time, but it’s no cure.”

“Yeah,” Nick said dully. “A friend of mine just had a bone marrow transplant yesterday. She’s here in this hospital. Claire Ryan – you know her?”

“Claire Ryan... no, I don’t think so. Do you know who her oncologist is?”

“Um, I dunno, it’s some Spanish last name... Rodrigo, I think? Or Rodriguez?

Something like that?”

“Oh, Rodrigo, yes. Dr. Malee Rodrigo. She’s an excellent oncologist. She specializes in lymphomas and leukemia. Is that what your friend has?”

“Leukemia, yeah,” answered Nick. “So do you specialize in bone cancer then?”

“Yes,” said Dr. Kingsbury. “I’m officially called an orthopedic oncologist. I’ve had training to treat all kinds of cancer, but I mostly deal with kinds of bone cancer.” Nick nodded, wondering how she could stand seeing all those people with cancer.

It sounded like a horribly depressing job to have. Then again, she was making a difference. Without people like her, he might have been dead by then. The thought of that sent icy chills running down his spine, so he tried to push it away. Think happy thoughts, Nick. Happy thoughts.

Like what, the bone marrow test?

AHH!

It was a no-win situation. But hopefully, he would walk out of the clinic that day with some good news. And if he had to suffer through another bone marrow aspiration in order to get that good news, it was worth it.

There you go, Nick, he coached himself. Look on the bright side. Cup half full, right?

Yeah. Right.

All this thinking was making his head hurt, just like the worrying was making his stomach hurt. He would be very glad when this was all over.

***

Chapter 78

As Nick lay on his side, a nurse, Marianne, holding him still as Dr. Kingsbury prepared the injection of the local anesthetic to numb his hip, he couldn’t help but wish Claire was there with him. The last time he had gone through this, she had been, and she had held his hand... and although it hadn’t taken the pain away, somehow the procedure hadn’t seemed quite as bad as the first one he had endured in the hospital.

But Claire wasn’t there, and he would have to go through it alone this time.

Don’t be such a pussy, he told himself fiercely. You’ve been through this two times already; you can do it again, and you can do it by yourself.

He gritted his teeth as Dr. Kingsbury slid the small needle with the anesthetic into his hip. When she had retracted it, he let out the breath he had been holding.

“You doing all right?” Dr. Kingsbury asked while she waited for his hip to numb a bit.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he mumbled.

“Okay... the anesthetic should be kicking in now, so I’m going to put in the other needle. Marianne?” Nick felt the nurse’s hands tighten over his shoulder and back, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he sensed Dr. Kingsbury coming closer. The suspense he felt as he waited for her to put the needle into his hip seemed to grow each time he went through this, for whereas he had been completely clueless to what it might feel like the first time around, he was now all too familiar with the pain that would come with the needle’s insertion and dreaded it even more.

“Okay, Nick,” Dr. Kingsbury said softly, and he knew this was it. He felt a sensation of pressure as the needle went through his skin and into his pelvic bone. And then came the sucking, blinding pain, as awful as always. By the time Dr. Kingsbury pulled the needle out, his hip was burning unbearably, and his eyes were filled with tears of agony. He quickly blinked them away, taking deep breaths to slow his racing heart and ease the pain.

“There,” said Dr. Kingsbury, gently squeezing his shoulder. “Are you okay, Nick?”

He did not trust his voice to speak, so he only nodded.

“Okay,” the doctor said, her voice sympathetic. “You lie still and relax for a little while. I’ll be back to talk to you later.”

He nodded again and heard the squeak of shoes as she and the nurse walked out of the room. He was now alone and welcomed the privacy and silence. Lying perfectly still on the padded table, he closed his eyes again against the bright overhead lights and tried to think about anything but the throbbing pain the bone marrow aspiration had left him in.

Last one, he though pleadingly. Please let this be the last one.

He was trying not to get his hopes up, but deep down, he was praying with all his might that he would be able to walk out of the clinic in remission that day and never look back, that Dr. Kingsbury would tell him his cancer was gone, and that it would never return, that he would finally be able to wake up from this four-month-long nightmare in which he’d been living.

He clung to that glimmer of hope, trying to think positively, trying to block out the fiery claws of pain that slashed through his hip and the icy fingers of fear that squeezed his heart.

***

By the time Dr. Kingsbury came back, Nick was feeling better. His hip was sore, but he had managed to sit up and was now swinging his legs and jiggling his feet anxiously, his palms sweating as he waited for the verdict... would he get a pardon or a death sentence?

Dr. Kingsbury strode into the room, his chart and scans in her hands, and like the time before, she switched on the light board on the wall and slapped two x-rays onto it, side by side. Nick could see his own leg on both of the films.

“This x-ray,” Dr. Kingsbury said, pointing to the one on the left, “was the very first one taken of your leg, before your diagnosis. You can see the fracture running along here...” She pointed out the jagged, thin crack dividing the whiteness of the bone.

“And right here was your tumor.” With her finger, she circled the black spot in the middle of all the white.

Was... she said ‘was,’ Nick thought, his heart racing with anticipation. His eyes shifted to the x-ray on the right. The crack was gone from this one, the fracture having healed completely, and... so was the black spot? He stared, squinting, not breathing, not daring to speak. He waited for Dr. Kingsbury to explain it, which she did right away.

“This one,” she said, moving to the other scan, “is the one you had taken today.

Again, you can see your tibia, but there’s no fracture now, and as for the tumor...” Nick sucked in a shaky breath.

“... you can only just barely make it out. It’s shrunken to the point of being almost undetectable in an x-ray. The bone scan, which is more advanced, shows that it’s still there, but significantly smaller.”

It’s still there? Nick’s heart sank. “So what does that mean?” he asked warily.

“It means the chemo is doing its job. You’re not cancer-free yet, but the tumor has stopped growing and has actually shrunken a great deal. It’s gone dormant, and that means... you’re in remission.”

Nick exhaled, his whole body slumping in total relief at her words. “Remission,” he breathed. “So... so I’m done with the chemo then, right? The kind with the pump, I mean.”

“Right,” smiled Dr. Kingsbury.

“Well, what about this stup- I mean, this catheter?” Nick asked and flashed her a quick, sheepish grin.

“As for the ‘stupid catheter,” she enunciated, returning the smile, “I’d prefer if you left it in at least until your next check-up, which should be scheduled for about three months from now.”

“Three months? Or three weeks?” He wondered if she had made a mistake, but of course he was hoping she wasn’t. Three whole months without having to set foot in this place? That would be awesome!

“Three months,” she confirmed with another smile. “Now that you’re in remission and not going through IV chemo anymore, you won’t need to come back so frequently. You can make an appointment for sometime in early November, and unless you have any problems or notice your symptoms starting to reappear, you won’t have to come back until then.”

“Wow... okay,” Nick said in surprise.

“I knew you’d be disappointed by that,” said Dr. Kingsbury with a wink. “So... if you don’t have any questions or anything, I’ll just leave and let you get dressed, and then you can go. Stop by the reception area on the way out to schedule your appointment; I’ll let Laura know you won’t need to come back and see us for awhile. Oh, and I’ll have your prescriptions waiting there for you too. Make sure you get those filled right away, today if possible.”

“Okay,” Nick grinned. “Thanks, Dr. K.”

“You’re welcome. You take care of yourself, and I’ll see you in three months, hopefully not before.” She patted his shoulder in a comforting sort of way and then left.

Slowly, Nick lowered himself off of the table. His sore hip protested any kind of movement, but the pain was dulled by the ecstatic feeling that he could feel bubbling in his soul. Remission... he was in remission. No more chemo... no more clinic visits (not for another three months anyway)... he was home free. Well, okay, not quite, but close enough!

Nick changed out of the hospital gown and into his street clothes as quickly as he could, anxious to get out of there. He made a mental note to drop by the isolation ward on his way out, for he remembered promising Claire he would tell her his news, good or bad.

And of course, he would have some phone calls to make when he got home...

Brent and the other guys – Lane, Frank, and James... but then again, maybe he’d just call Brent and let Brent fill the others in... he hadn’t quite forgiven them for excluding him when they had gone out clubbing a month earlier (which was the last time he had talked to any of them). What about his family? He wanted to at least assure Aaron and the girls that he was going to be okay... but knowing his mother, she’d intercept the phone call, and he didn’t feel like telling her. If she was worried about him, then good.

Let her worry. He didn’t care. And if she wasn’t... then some mother she was. Either way, screw her.

Then there were the Boys - Kevin, AJ, Howie, and, of course, Brian. They were pretty much his only true friends (besides Claire), his only real family. They had been there for him these last few months, supported him without smothering him, been there without hauling ass down to Florida in a tizzy every time he so much as coughed, yet coming (or at least calling) when he really needed them. They would be the first people he called, and he couldn’t wait to hear their reactions when he told them the news.

He, Nick Carter, was going to be just fine. And even though Dr. Kingsbury had spoken with reservation, telling him that he wasn’t cancer-free quite yet, hinting that there could still be trouble ahead, he knew that he had beaten cancer. Kicked its ass, really. The pills he would be taking from now on would erase the rest of the tumor in his leg, and he would be cured.

And as he sauntered out of the outpatient oncology clinic that day, a handful of papers clutched in his fist, he truly believed that.

***

Chapter 79

Hours later, Nick sat at his kitchen table, warily eyeing the five brown prescription bottles sitting in front of him. Each of their names and dosages had been put onto a chart for him to follow, and studying it, he felt overwhelmed.

The only medications he’d ever been on were simple, everyday things...

antibiotics for strep throat and ear infections, pills for allergies and migraines... basic stuff like that. And now, suddenly, he had a strict schedule of various drugs to take, and from the looks of things, he had to stick to the schedule.

In the morning, before breakfast, he was to take Melphalan, a chemotherapy drug that came in the form of small, white capsules. Then after that came Zofran, an anti-nausea drug that would easily combat the mild side effects of the chemotherapy drugs.

At lunch time, he would swallow a tablet of Cytoxan, another anticancer drug, and at night, a second dose of Zofran and big blue horse pill called Lomustine. And every Thursday, he was to take six tiny yellow pills of a drug called Methotrexate.

It was just plain daunting.

How was he ever going to stick to this tight regimen once he got back to his usual busy life – traveling and working and such? Because he definitely would get back to doing all those things, as soon as possible. He had been stuck at home being sick for far too long; he was itching to get back into studio, dying to get back on stage. Cancer had knocked him down, that was for sure, but he would not let it keep him down. He was fine now, and he wanted to get his life back to normal.

And yet, as he stared at the four small medicine bottles, his name unmistakably typed across their labels, he knew things would never be completely normal again. Even if he was well again, he had had cancer, and he knew that was something he was never going to forget, no matter how much he wanted to. The medications, for one, would be a constant reminder that he was no longer the picture of health he had once been.

He glanced at the clock, deciding he’d forget about his noon pills and start out with the evening ones instead, since it was already almost one in the afternoon. After his appointment that morning, he’d stopped by the nurses station to ask for Samantha, who, beaming when she heard his good news, had no problem in taking him to the isolation ward. She would not, however, let him into Claire’s room, so he settled on visiting through her window.

“I’m in remission!” he had mouthed exaggeratedly, flashing her a wide grin and a double thumbs up and hoping she had understood. She apparently had, for her pasty, pinched face had broken into a toothy smile, and she had given him the thumbs up back.

He had left shortly after that, finding that it was really quite hard to mouth things so she could tell what he was trying to say and to read her lips in return.

That, and the fact that... well... she just hadn’t looked well. She had looked bad the last time he had seen her, two days earlier, but since the transplant... was it possible that she was worse? Her skin was just so pale... and she had seemed very weak, lying on her back in bed, her head just barely propped up so that she could see him at the window.

It made him uneasy, for despite her illness, Claire had always radiated so much energy... and now, seeing her so listless... well, it just hurt. Especially now that he was in remission himself and getting better. He desperately wanted the same thing for her, and he knew that if the bone marrow transplant worked, she would be cured. But so far, it

didn’t look like it was working too well.

Then again, he had never had much in the patience department, so maybe these things just took time. That was what he kept telling himself, that all Claire needed was a while longer to recuperate, and then she’d be better.

I’ll call her later, he thought to himself, figuring that maybe actually talking to her, hearing her voice, would put his mind at ease.

But first, he had to call someone else.

Picking up the phone, he punched in the familiar digits and listened to the phone ring on the other end of the line. Finally, a male voice answered in his light Kentucky drawl, “Hello?”

“Hey, Kev, it’s me,” Nick said casually, smirking as he tried his hardest not to blurt out the news.

“Nick? That you, buddy?” Kevin asked quickly.

“Yup. Wassup, old man?”

“Nothin’ too much, kid... how about you? I mean, um... how’ve you been doing?” Nick smiled; he had predicted that line. It was pretty much what all the guys opened their conversations with – “How have you been doing?” Or sometimes, for a change, “How have you been feeling?” It usually annoyed him to no end, but today, he didn’t mind one bit.

“Peachy,” he replied. “I just got back from my doctor’s appointment a little while ago.”

“Oh yeah?” Kevin tried sound casual. “And?”

“And...” Nick stretched the word out and left a hearty pause for good measure, leaving Kevin hanging. It was fun to mess with his mind. Then again, in this circumstance, it was also pretty mean, so he finished in one breath, “I’m in remission.”

“Remission?” Kevin repeated. “Oh thank God... thank God...” Nick wasn’t sure if Kevin was talking to him or actually thanking the Lord, so he just answered, “Yup.”

“Oh, Nick... this is just great... so what did your doctor say?”

“Uh, that I’m in remission.”

“Well, I figured that, dumbass,” Kevin said with fond exasperation. “But... I dunno, she didn’t say anything else?”

“Not really,” Nick replied with a shrug. “She gave me some prescriptions for all these drugs that I gotta take and said I don’t gotta come back for a check-up for like three months. Kick ass, right?”

“For sure, bro!”

“So, yeah, anyway,” Nick continued, “now that I’m good to go... when you wanna get back in the studio?”

There was a pause, and then, just as Nick figured he would, Kevin said sternly,

“The studio? Nick, you need time to recuperate... we can’t just get back in the studio right away. You just need to rest for awhile, man, get your strength back and everything.”

“I have been resting!” Nick protested. “What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing for the past two and a half months? All I’ve done is hang out at home and ‘rest’.

We have an album to finish!”

“I know, and I’m glad you’re so enthusiastic about it, but, Nick... it’s too soon.

Really. Take some more time off, and we’ll get back to work on the album when you’re

healthy again.”

“I am healthy again!” He was starting to sound like a child throwing a temper tantrum, but he didn’t care. He knew Kevin would be against the idea of working on the album so soon, but he was not backing down. He knew he wasn’t even close to being back to 100% yet, but he was sure he would be soon, and he couldn’t bear to put off the album any longer. Cancer had torn him down; now he needed music to build him back up. ‘Let the music heal your soul,’ right?

Kevin sighed loudly. “Okay, Nick. Listen, maybe the five of us can get together next week, just to talk about the album and figure out something. That sound okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” replied Nick.

“Have you called any of them yet?”

“Not yet,” Nick answered. Brian was next on his list, but he had decided to call Kevin first. Somehow, he knew that his bout with cancer had affected Kevin more deeply than any of the others. After watching his own father die of the dreaded disease, Kevin was probably terrified the same thing would happen to Nick. Not to mention that he had always had this paternal instinct when it came to the Boys, especially with Nick.

Nick absolutely hated it sometimes and loved it at others. Daddy Kevin... there was no one else like him. He had deserved to hear the good news first, and Nick was glad he had called him before the others.

“Okay... well, call me back later once you talk to them, and we’ll make some plans. I can talk to management for you if you want. They’ll probably want us to do a press conference or another TRL appearance or something.”

“Yeah...” Nick hadn’t really considered that, but of course, Kevin was right.

Somehow, the thought of going on TV or sitting in a room surrounded by reporters shoving microphones and cameras in his face wasn’t too appealing, especially with the way he looked now. Like a freak. The fans would probably be shocked when they saw him. But there was no getting around it; he knew they’d want to know he was okay, and to assure them of that, he’d have to be there in person, not just let the other guys give the news without him.

“Nick? That sound okay?” Kevin’s voice barged into his thoughts.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s cool,” said Nick. “Well, listen, I better call Bri now and tell him, okay?”

“Sure. Thanks for calling me, buddy. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Later, Kev.”

A slight smile turning up his lips, Nick turned off the phone, only to turn it on once again and dial Brian’s house.

***

Chapter 80

Though he had sworn to start taking his newly prescribed medications that night, Nick ended up missing his first round of pills. He was supposed to take his Lomustine and Zofran before bed, on an empty stomach, and fully planned on doing that. But the early hours of the morning would find him passed out cold in an unfamiliar bed, his head feeling like he had been struck repeatedly with a sledge hammer, the after effects of a wild “guys night out” on the town.

Brent had seemed leery of the idea of going clubbing that night when Nick had talked to him on the phone in the afternoon, but after telling his friend that he was in remission and wanted to celebrate, Nick had talked Brent into it, and Brent had called the others and convinced them as well. And so, Nick, Brent, James, Frank, and Lane had piled into Nick’s Durango and headed out for a night of bar-hopping that was sure to make Nick feel “normal” again at once.

Hours later, Nick sat at a nameless bar, drinking himself into a stupor and marveling at how much things could change in a single day. At this time the night before, he had been tossing and turning in bed, his anxiety over that morning’s doctor’s appointment keeping him awake. But tonight, he was wild and free, having a wonderful time without a care in the world. Alcohol had easily gotten rid of his worries, his insecurities. Oh, and of course that little thing called good judgment. Not that he realized that at the time.

With each drink he knocked back, his confidence grew, and he became more outgoing, distancing himself from the safety of his friends and branching out to flirt with women, many of whom were too drunk themselves to figure out who he was and remember that he, Nick Carter, had cancer.

But not anymore. His cancer was gone now, a thing of the past. He was determined to forget about it and go on with his life, and tonight was the first step. With a black beanie pulled low over his head and the dim lighting in the various bars hiding his haggard appearance, it was impossible for anyone to see how bad he looked. And he preferred it that way, keeping himself in the shadows and concealing his true identity from the people he conversed with.

And he was successful too; for a long time, no one recognized him, or if they did, they didn’t show it. Tonight, he was neither Backstreet Boy, nor cancer victim. Tonight, he was just a regular guy.

That was until she showed up to ruin the whole charade.

“Nick?” the vaguely familiar voice asked from behind as he sat at the end of the bar. He spun around (nearly toppling right off the bar stool in the process) and found himself gazing into a pair of gorgeous brown eyes that made his heart melt and his stomach constrict at the very same time.

“Leah,” he spoke her name softly.

“Oh my God,” she said, her hand slowly rising to cover her mouth as she peered at him with shocked eyes. “I... I thought that was you.” Nick didn’t answer at first, too busy taking in the appearance of the only girl who had successfully broken his heart not once, but twice. She looked irresistible, dressed in a tight, black skirt that showed every curve and stopped far above her knees, displaying her shapely legs, and a one-strapped red top that exposed her midriff, which was tanned and toned and enhanced by a glittering ring in her navel. He stared at her for a moment

longer, his eyes traveling up and down her body and finally settling on her face.

Offering her a crooked smile, he replied finally, “It’s me.” Leah bit down on her bottom lip, her teeth penetrating the sheath of dark red lipstick she had painted on, and her hand drifted unconsciously to her golden hair, running up and down it, coiling tendrils nervously around her index finger. “Nicky... I...

I can’t believe it...”

“Can’t believe what?” he laughed, casually taking a sip of his drink.

She pulled the unoccupied bar stool beside him nearer and perched herself on it, facing him, their knees almost touching. Resting her left hand on his thigh, she leaned over, looking closely at him, and asked in a solemn voice, “How are you doing?”

“Doing just great, thanks!” Nick answered light-heartedly, taking another swig from his glass. “And you? Where’s the boyfriend? Preppy.” Her eyes darkened. “We’re, um... we’re having problems,” came her quiet reply, as she looked away from him.

“Sorry,” Nick said flatly, not really sorry at all.

“But I don’t want to talk about me,” she changed the subject quickly, ignoring his lack of compassion. “What about you? I’ve been so worried about you ever since I found out...”

“Found out what?” He played dumb, hoping to ward off questions of his health and well-being and fake expressions of sympathy.

“Well... you know...” Her eyes darted back and forth, and, her voice so low he could barely hear her above the noise of the bar, she hissed, “Your... your cancer.”

“Oh, that,” he said nonchalantly. “Well, don’t you trouble your pretty little head over me, baby, cause I’m perfectly fine.”

She frowned. “Nicky, we should talk.”

“What’s there to talk about?”

“Everything. We left things off on such a bad note, and I... I really want to make things up to you. Especially now.”

“Ohhh, I see!” he exclaimed loudly. “This is a sympathy thing, huh? You didn’t care about treating me like shit before, but I come down with a little something, and you’re all over me, wanting to ‘make things up to me’. What’s up with that?”

“It’s not that, Nick! I just... I realized what a horrible mistake I made, and I wanted to really apologize to you. Please... hear me out.”

“I’m listening,” he said with a smirk.

“Not here... let’s go somewhere more private, okay? Come on.” Before he knew it, she had grabbed his hand and hauled him off of his stool. Stumbling drunkenly, he let her pull him through the crowded bar and out into the breezy night. The fresh air was a nice change from the hot and stuffy interior of the bar, and he sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“Let’s walk,” suggested Leah, her hand tightening around his as she led him slowly off down the sidewalk and turned the corner into the dark alley between the nightclub and the building next to it. He started to protest, suddenly wanting to get back to the people and the drinks within the club, but as he opened his mouth, she pounced, pressing her lips to his and sliding her tongue into the space between them.

He felt her arms slide around his neck, her fingers lightly caressing his skin as she deepened the kiss. His mind screamed for him to break away quickly, but his heart betrayed him, thumping excitedly in his chest as her tongue massaged his. And with his

brain as muddled as it was by all the alcohol he had consumed that night, it was not long before his heart won over, and he kissed her back, throwing his arms around her waist.

His hands explored her back, then quickly headed south, while his tongue tangoed with hers.

It had been far too long since he had shared a kiss like this – Leah was the last woman he had been with, and that was over five months ago. Now he kissed her hungrily, as if he had just tasted a dollop of rich, dark chocolate for the first time in his life and was now ravenous for more.

But then she pulled away, smirking at the surprised look on his face, wickedly enjoying leaving him so unsatisfied. She had transformed into the bully on the playground, teasing him, holding the one thing he wanted high above her head, just out of his reach.

“Whew,” she sighed, exaggeratedly feigning a yawn. “It’s late, isn’t it? I’m tired.

Guess I’ll just call a cab to take me home.”

“No!” he said quickly, sounding far more eager than he would have liked.

Straightening himself, he added suavely, “You don’t gotta call a cab. I’ll take you home.”

“Would you?” she asked sweetly, batting her heavily-mascaraed eyelashes at him.

“Sure, babe,” he replied, taking her hand. “My car’s... somewhere...” He really wasn’t sure where he’d parked the Durango, but after traipsing around for a bit, they found it and got in. He briefly remembered that he had brought Brent and the guys along with him that night and knew they’d wonder where their ride home had disappeared to... but screw them, they could get a lift elsewhere. This was one opportunity he could not miss, at least in his wasted mind.

Now, driving is hard enough when you’re drunk, but when you’re drunk and trying very hard to pay attention to the road and not to the hottie on your right, who keeps touching you and kissing you and... licking you (?)... as you drive, it’s a hell of a lot harder. Yet by some miracle, Nick managed to make it to Leah’s apartment all in one piece and without a speeding ticket or an arrest for DUI or any other such nuisance.

And that was a very good thing too, ‘cause it sure would have sucked if he had killed himself in a car accident on the very same day he was declared in remission from bone cancer.

Giggling, Leah led a staggering Nick up to her apartment, and once they were inside, she marched him straight back to the bedroom. Out of breath, yet so caught up in the moment that he completely forgot his medical problems ( former medical problems), he allowed her to push him back onto her bed and position herself over him, her fingers lazily undoing the buttons of his shirt. He grinned dazedly up at her and received her sexy smile in return, her eyes flashing deviously as she took her own sweet time undressing him, loosening the buttons one by one. It wasn’t until she pulled open his shirt and gasped that he was jolted back to the reality of the situation.

He had cancer. Or had had cancer. And had received chemotherapy. Through a catheter in his chest.

And it was still there.

He groaned inwardly at the expression of shock, horror, and disgust that distorted her pretty face, which had definitely paled a few shades in the last two seconds.

“Nick,” she said shakily. “What is that?”

Nick closed his eyes and prayed she wouldn’t reject him. Suddenly, he felt he needed her, now more than ever. In the short time since she had kissed him outside the

club, she had made him feel good about himself... more confident... loved... and, well...

sexy. It had been a long time since he had had any real self-confidence; cancer and chemotherapy had stripped him of what little self-esteem he had built up over the years, right along with his looks, and he had never imagined that a girl would ever find him desirable again. Well, except Claire, but whatever her attraction was to him, it wasn’t physical, he could guarantee that. And Claire was no Leah. Not by a long shot.

Leah had kissed him... touched him... (licked him?)... wanted him. But she wouldn’t want him anymore. How had he been so completely asinine, letting her discover the freaking tube that was implanted in his chest before he at least got a chance to explain? Now she was going to think he was a disgusting freak... which he was... and wouldn’t want to touch him, nor look at him, ever again.

But he answered her question anyway.

“It’s... um... it’s a catheter... it’s used for giving chemo,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes shut, not wanting to see the look on her face. He knew his own face was bright red and wished he could just sink into ground and die. Screw remission; let the cancer take him.

He heard her suck in a breath and opened one eye, chancing a glance. She was still staring at his central line with wide, unblinking eyes, but the horrified look on her face had faded somewhat, replaced by one of curiosity.

“So you were on chemo, huh?” she said softly, finally pulling her eyes from the catheter and focusing on his face. “And you lost your hair?” Lightly, she traced one finger across his forehead, where his eyebrows should have been, had chemo not done away with them.

He nodded wordlessly.

“Can I see?” Her fingers moved to his hat, tugging the stretchy knit material gently away from his forehead.

“If you want,” he replied dully, and she slid the hat off. He heard a sharp intake of breath from her as she saw his bald head for the first time. But then, she was running her hands over its smooth surface, and then lowering her lips to plant a tender kiss right in the middle. Blushing again, he felt her mouth descend lower, peppering his head and forehead with soft kisses, then pecking his nose and cheeks, and finally, meeting his lips.

“I don’t care if you’re sick, Nicky,” she whispered breathlessly between kisses. “I want to take care of you... make everything up to you... make love to you...”

“I’m not sick anymore,” he answered as her hands roamed his bare chest, carefully avoiding the entire left side, where the catheter was located. “I’m in remission now.”

“Really?” Leah smiled sensually. “Then even better.” And she pulled him in for another heated kiss.

***

Chapter 81

Nick awoke to the delicious smell of coffee. For a moment, he was disoriented; who would be making coffee? Then his eyes fluttered open, and he realized with a start that he was not in his own bed or even his own house at all. In a flash, some of the previous night’s events came back to him... meeting Leah at the bar, kissing her in the alleyway, taking her home... sleeping with her?

With a jolt, he jerked upright and looked all around, his eyes traveling instantly to the space on the other side of the bed. It was empty, but the sheets were wrinkled, and there was a slight hollow where a sleeping body had recently been.

As his groggy brain became more aware of what was going on, he realized with a flood of embarrassment that he was stark naked underneath the single sheet that covered the lower half of his body.

Oh god... so he had slept with her. Leah, the tramp. Leah, the slut. Leah, the cheat.

Leah, the babe.

The alcohol had made a good portion of the night very hazy to Nick, but never would he forget her passionate kisses, her caressing touch, the feel of her slender, firm body in his arms... a perfect fit.

He shook his head, refusing to admit that he had enjoyed the night. He was not going fall under the witch’s spell yet again. She may have worked her magic on him while alcohol had left him vulnerable, but it would not last. Now he was sober (and also very hungover, he realized, massaging his aching temples), and he was out of there. He climbed quickly out of bed to look for his clothes and had just spotted them in a heap across the room when the door swung open. He immediately ripped the sheet from the bed to cover himself, but Leah only smiled.

“Why so modest all of a sudden?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He swallowed hard, trying to keep himself from staring at her body. She was dressed in nothing but a short robe made of thin, white satin that was tied very precariously around the middle, exposing a lot of leg and a lot of cleavage. Forcing his eyes to stay trained on her face and not drift downward to the noticeable swell of her breasts, he muttered, “I gotta get going.”

“Already?” Leah stuck out her bottom lip, pouting. “At least stay for some coffee.”

“No,” Nick said stiffly.

“Why not?” she queried, looking at him through wide, innocent eyes.

“Listen, Leah... whatever happened last night, shouldn’t have. You’ve got a boyfriend, and I... well, I...”

“You enjoyed it,” Leah interrupted with seductive smile. “Don’t tell me you didn’t.”

“I wouldn’t know; I was too drunk to remember it,” Nick shot back truthfully.

“Well, trust me, you did.” A smug grin spread slowly across her lips.

“Whatever. I gotta go; I have a killer headache,” he mumbled.

“You want some aspirin?” she offered, her voice tinged with sympathy.

“No, I want to go home,” answered Nick firmly. Clutching the sheet tightly to his body, he crossed the room and picked up his clothes, then brushed past Leah and ducked into the bathroom, dressing quickly. He looked like hell, he realized as he

caught sight of his reflection in the vanity mirror. His skin pale, dark circles underscoring his bloodshot eyes. He turned on the faucet and splashed some water on his face, then pulled his hat tightly over his bare head and left the bathroom.

He met up with Leah in the kitchen; she was pouring coffee into two mugs.

“Here,” she said, handing one to him. “Black coffee. Drink.”

“No thanks.” He set it promptly back down on the counter and walked swiftly to the door. “See you around,” he remarked flatly and was out of the apartment before Leah could get another word out. He jogged down the hall, took the stairs to the bottom level, and went outside. The bright morning sunlight burned his eyes and made his splitting headache even worse, but he braved it anyway, desperate to escape.

What the hell was I thinking? he thought, angry with himself, as he climbed into his Durango and started the engine. He was really going to have to watch himself; no more binge drinking and then going home with random skanks he met in bars. Or worse, skanks that he knew, skanks who had already screwed him over in more ways than one.

So much for his celebration. Now he felt like shit, both physically and emotionally.

Not to mention, he realized as he got home and set foot in his kitchen, he had already missed two doses of his new medications.

Good going, Nick, he scolded himself, way to start off on the right foot with this remission business.

He felt absolutely disgusted with himself. He had been to hell and back in the past few months, and now that things were finally returning to normal, he was fucking up again, getting drunk off his ass, having unprotected sex with a cheating whore of a stripper, and neglecting the medications that would keep him in remission, if he was lucky.

Sighing, he glanced at the clock. It was almost eleven, too late for his morning pills. But he had another set to take at noon, and he vowed he would remember them this time.

He walked slowly out of the kitchen and into the foyer, kicking off his shoes by the door, the only spot he could ever seem to find them in. And as he turned to go upstairs, he caught sight of the picture hanging on the wall. The beautiful ocean scene that he had just recently reframed and put back up. It looked good as new, set behind a piece of clear, flawless glass and surrounded by a handsome frame. The water in the painting seemed to be beckoning to him, and he thought maybe he’d take his boat out later that day. The fresh air would do him good, maybe help to relieve his hangover.

And it would definitely help clear his mind.

But first, he needed a shower. He trudged slowly up the stairs, hoping the hot water would improve his mood, ease his headache, and cleanse more than just his body.

After the shower, he would emerge refreshed and rejuvenated, ready to take on the rest of the day and do his best to correct last night’s blunders.

He was bound and determined to get his life back in order. To make himself healthy again, to move forward with his career, and to reestablish everything else that had been put on hold while he was sick.

Cancer had struck him down and left him broken. Broken, but not beyond repair.

And now that he was convinced the worst was behind him, he was going to put himself back together.

***

Chapter 82

One hour, a shower, and three cups of coffee later, Nick sat at his kitchen table, a glass of water and bottle of pills in front of him. He played with the bottle, his fingers absently twirling the childproof cap. Then, realizing he was stalling, he popped open the top and shook one of the large Cytoxan pills into the palm of his hand. Grimacing, he put it in his mouth and quickly downed the water, drinking until he was sure the pill had gone all the way down. Swallowing several more times, just to be sure, he got up and put the prescription bottle back with the others, some of which he would have to take later that night.

I’ve gotta make sure I remember to bring all these next week, he thought to himself, making a mental note not to forget the medications that week, when he would meet up with the other Backstreet Boys in New York.

After talking back and forth the day before, the five of them had agreed that another live TRL appearance was completely out of the question. Nick was just not ready to put himself on display like that and face the screaming fans, not looking the way he did. Nor did any of them want to sit through some press conference. So they had made arrangements with MTV to have a private, sit-down interview with MTV News anchor John Norris. It would be just him, the five Backstreet Boys, and a small camera crew. It would take place on Wednesday and air on Thursday’s TRL.

Meanwhile, the Boys would remain in the city for the rest of the week, not to make appearances, but to make plans. Plans for the future. They had already decided on a group meeting with just the five of them on Tuesday, the day they were scheduled to arrive, and throughout the rest of the week, there were meetings scheduled with their managers and record company to discuss the album, appearances, a possible tour, and so on.

Nick was excited about the trip. Traveling... New York... meetings... the group...

that was his life. Not hospitals and medications and pain. And he was more than happy to get back to the real world and escape the nightmare one in which he had been trapped for the past few months. If only he didn’t have these stupid prescription bottles to tote around with him as a constant reminder of that nightmare...

***

The next day, Monday, Nick called the hospital, anxious to talk to Claire, for he hadn’t heard from her since Friday, unless mouthing things to her through a window counted. But when he reached her room, her mother once again answered for her.

“Hi, Mrs. Ryan, this is Nick,” Nick said. “Uh, can I talk to Claire?”

“Oh... well, she’s sleeping right now, Nick,” answered Carrie.

“Oh. Well, how’s she doing?” Nick wondered.

“She’s having a tough time of it right now,” Carrie replied honestly. “The new medications they have her on have been making her sick, and she’s been sleeping a lot.”

“Aw... well, I just called to tell her... I’m going to be in New York for the week, so I won’t be around. Tell her I’ll try to call her though,” said Nick.

“I will. Do you want me to have her call you later if she’s feeling up to it?” Carrie offered.

“Yeah, sure. Here, I’ll give you my cell phone number; that way you can call me

in New York just in case any... Well, just in case.” He recited his phone number to Claire’s mother and only hoped that she herself would not have to use it.

***

He lay on his back in the meadow, cushioned by tall green grass, which rippled daintily in the cool breeze. The azure sky stretching high above him was smeared with clouds, and he squinted up at them, his artistic mind sculpting them into hazy images.

A pair of larks rose out of the grass just yards away from him, their wings flapping as they gained altitude, then stretching out gracefully as they soared overhead. His eyes followed their path, a hint of a smile appearing on his lips.

The world around him darkened momentarily, as the sun passed under a large cloud. He continued to watch the birds fly away, their small bodies diminishing as they headed for the horizon. Distantly, he heard their sweet song.

But the smile was wiped from his face when, quite suddenly, one of the two birds dropped, plummeting straight down from the sky. He sat bolt upright in shock and quickly got to his feet. Then he was running, the soft grass tickling his bare feet as they crushed the fragile blades. Ahead, the second lark was calling mournfully, and as he followed its lament, he came across the fallen bird. Its wings were spread at awkward angles, the feathers ruffled, its feet in the air. Its tiny head was crushed.

He swallowed hard at the sight of the poor bird and frowned; what had done this so suddenly to the innocent creature?

The answer was given to him when he heard a childish laugh a ways away from him. Turning in its direction, he made out the silhouette of a small boy, his hands raising what was undeniably a slingshot in aim at the sky.

“Hey!” he cried angrily to the boy. He noticed the child’s head turn in his direction, and almost immediately, the youth was on the go, running away from him.

Enraged, he broke into a run himself, chasing after the perpetrator. But suddenly, he was weak; his legs were tired. After only a few feet, his left leg gave out on him, sending him sprawling face first into the grass, where he lay panting. He raised his head to spot the little boy continuing to run, his small form eventually fading from view.

Too tired to get up, he put his head back down and closed his eyes. All he could hear at first was the sound of the wind rustling the grass. At first, it sounded like whispering.

And then, he realized it was whispering. A human voice... telling him to get up...

to wake up...

He opened his eyes...

And found himself not lying face-down in a green pasture after all, but sitting upright in a seat in the first class section of an airplane. And a flight attendant was standing next to him, trying to get his attention, Nick quickly realized as his momentary disorientation faded.

“Sorry,” he mumbled groggily to her. “What is it?”

“Can I offer you something to drink, sir?” the perky stewardess inquired, flashing Nick a toothy, white smile as she motioned to the cart stopped in the aisle next to his seat. By habit, Nick opened his mouth to request a beer, then stopped.

“Uh... a Coke, please,” he finally responded dully and watched as she scooped ice into a glass and poured half a can of Coca Cola into it for him.

“There you go, sir,” she said brightly with another big smile, and he nodded his thanks. As she pushed the cart on to serve the people in front of him, Nick took an absent sip of his soda, the fizzing bubbles tickling his tongue. The Coke tasted good, a refreshment to his dry mouth, probably parched from hanging open as he napped, but he would have rather had a beer.

But alcohol, it seemed, was a no-no once again. Friday night’s escapades had been a nice escape from the dry months he had endured during his chemo treatments, but now it was back to staying sober, for after skimming the information sheet he had received along with his new medications, he had discovered that alcohol was forbidden with these drugs, just as it had been with the intravenous chemotherapy.

That would definitely cramp his style when he was with Brent and the guys back home. But for now, he didn’t really mind. He was on his way to meet the Boys in New York, and drinking was not something they did much of together anymore anyway, not since AJ had gotten out of rehab.

Wondering how much longer it would be before he arrived in The Big Apple, he called out to the flight attendant, who had just poured drinks for the older couple in front of him. “Excuse me, miss? How long till we land?”

“Should be in about half an hour,” she replied cheerfully.

Half an hour? Wow, he had slept through almost the entire flight; the last thing he remembered was closing his eyes as the plane took off, trying to ward off the nausea that often accompanied flying, for he was notorious for getting motion sickness, especially on airplanes. Luckily, his stomach had stayed fairly calm thus far, but maybe that was just because he had evidently fallen asleep not too long after that.

The medications he was now taking would do that; “fatigue” was listed as a symptom on pretty much all of them, as he remembered from his brief look at the information packet. So were a lot of other symptoms, all of them sounding much worse than a lack of energy. But so far, he had been lucky. In the three days he’d been sticking to the schedule, he’d felt pretty decent, and he was relieved. Even if he could not look his best, he wanted to at least feel up to par for the dreaded interview the following day.

After awhile, a voice came over the intercom on the plane.

“This is your captain speaking. We are about to begin our descent into New York City, the Big Apple. Please remain seated and fasten your seatbelts.” The seatbelt light overhead flashed on, and Nick dutifully buckled his belt. A few minutes later, he felt the plane begin to dip, his stomach dropping along with it in anticipation. He was suddenly a bundle of nerves, both anxious and excited to meet with his four brothers, whom he hadn’t seen all together in over two months. Ironically, the last time they had all been together was also in New York, when they had gone on TRL together and broken the news of Nick’s cancer.

Nick smiled slightly, glad that this time, they’d be meeting under better circumstances. It was a brand new day for the group, a step in the right direction.

Nick’s cancer had been a detour on the journey they had been on for over ten years, but, convinced that his health problems were behind him, Nick was sure they were back on the right road again.

***

Chapter 83

Nick tried to liven himself up as he trudged down the hall behind his bodyguard, Joe. The flight had left him exhausted, but now that he was here at the hotel in New York, he was determined to at least act perky and energized for awhile, for the guys’

sake. Brian and Howie had seen him at his worst when they had been down to Tampa a month and a half ago, and he wanted them, and AJ and Kevin too, to know that he was better, that he was getting back to his old self.

As they neared his suite, he realized he should have come up with some kind of prank to play on the guys when he got there, for he had always been a notorious practical joker. Hm, but what? Walk in wearing one of those frizzy red clown afros and say he had gotten himself a wig? Haha, now that could be funny... he was just about to ask Joe if he knew 1) where to find a Wal-mart in the middle of New York City (somehow, in all his visits there, Nick had never gone to a Wal-mart) and 2) if August twelfth was too early for Wal-mart to start selling Halloween stuff, when the large bodyguard stopped outside a room and slid his keycard into the door.

“There you go, Nick,” Joe said, pushing the room to his suite open. “You want me to carry your bags in?”

“No, I got ‘em,” Nick replied, taking his suitcase and carry-on duffle bag from the large man’s muscular arms. “Thanks, Joe.”

“No problem, kid.” Joe grinned, clapping Nick on the shoulder. “I’ll be around if you need anything.”

“’Kay.” Struggling with the weight of his suitcase (jeez, what the hell had he packed in there? He was worse than a freaking girl), Nick entered his suite... and received the shock of his life when a familiar figure emerged from the bedroom.

“Kevin?” he gasped. “Cripes, I thought you were some psycho waiting to kill me.

What the hell are you doing in my suite? This is my suite, isn’t it? Wait, unless... we’re not all sharing one room again, are we?”

As Nick babbled, he couldn’t help but notice the expression of shock that flickered across Kevin’s face when he got a good look at him. It had been awhile since the two had last seen each other, and though Nick hadn’t looked good the last time, he was sure he was even worse now, the baseball cap on his head not really hiding the fact that he was totally bald, the white t-shirt he was wearing probably making his complexion look even more washed out than usual, its bagginess only accenting the weight he had lost.

But the alarmed look quickly went away, and Kevin smiled. “Whoa, slow down, Nick,” he said, hurrying to take Nick’s bags from him and carry them into the bedroom.

“No,” he continued when he came back out, “we’re not all sharing, but you and I are.”

“Oh. Uh, cool.” Nick wanted to ask why, but he figured he already knew the answer. This was Kevin’s doing, his way of being able to keep an eye on Nick during their stay in New York. Well, whatever, Nick wasn’t going to complain, though he did wish he could room with Brian if they were going to be making him share anyway.

Kevin was the kind of person who didn’t approve of jumping on hotel beds, totally freaked out if you left drips on the bathroom floor after your shower (even though everyone knows it’s impossible not to with the sorry excuse for a bathmat they give you), and gave you a ten-minute lecture on organization if you tossed your clothes on the floor instead of folding them and placing them neatly in your suitcase (in the right color-

coded section if you were Kevin, who Nick swore was a reincarnate of Danny Tanner on

“Full House”).

“Howie and AJ are in the suite across the hall from us,” Kevin said, “and Brian, Leighanne, and Baylee are next door on this side.” He pointed to his left.

“Oh... I forgot Bri was bringing Leigh and the baby,” Nick mumbled, vaguely remembering Brian mentioning it as a possibility when they had spoken on Saturday.

He didn’t really mind Leighanne hanging out, and he would be glad to see his godson again, but he also sort of resented them being there. He had looked forward to hanging out with Brian, and now that his family was there with him, that just wasn’t going to happen, not like it would have if Brian had come alone.

“Yeah.” Kevin smiled. “When was the last time you saw Baylee? He’s gotten so big!”

“I bet,” Nick replied, returning the smile. “I think I’m gonna head over there to see him now.”

“Come with me down to Howie and AJ’s room first. Bri’s in there, and I said I’d bring you over when you got here.”

“Oh, okay.” Glad for the opportunity to see all four of his brothers at once, Nick eagerly followed Kevin out of the suite and went next door. Kevin knocked, and the door was flung open at once by Howie, who stepped back to let Kevin in and then seized Nick, pulling him into a bear hug.

“I love you too, Howie,” Nick laughed, awkwardly patting his friend’s back.

“How ya doin’, Nicky?” Howie asked, pulling back and greeting him with a wide smile.

“Good,” Nick replied, following Howie into the suite, where he was immediately met and hugged by Brian.

“So have you been feeling better now that you’re off the chemo?” Brian asked.

“You’re looking better than the last time I saw you.”

“Thanks,” Nick replied dryly, “and yes, I’m feeling better, but can we talk about something else? Where’s Leigh and that kid of yours, they in your suite?”

“Yeah, they are, and Leigh wants to see you, she’s been thinking about you, and Baylee’s grown so-“

But someone clearing his throat loudly in the background drowned out the rest of Brian’s sentence, and a familiar, distinctly raspy voice called out, “Yo, Kaos, did you forget all about me or what?”

Grinning, Nick brushed past Brian, Howie, and Kevin and found AJ perched on the arm of the couch, arms crossed, dressed in a black shirt and baggy jeans, a black skull cap pulled over his head and a pair of sunglasses perched on the end of his nose.

He surveyed Nick over the top of them, and Nick saw his brown eyes momentarily darken, then brighten again as he smirked.

“Heya, Egghead,” he remarked flippantly.

“Egghead?” Nick’s nose wrinkled. “Don’t that mean you’re smart?”

“No,” AJ said, sliding off the end of the couch. “It means your head looks like an egg.” And before Nick could duck out of the way, AJ sprung at him and flicked the baseball cap off his head. “See? You look like Moby.”

“Ha ha,” Nick said sarcastically with a roll of his eyes, smiling despite himself.

Thank God for Bone, he thought gratefully. AJ was the only one gutsy enough to start teasing him right off the bat, and Nick loved him for it. While the others hugged him

tight (but not too tight, in case he broke) and asked him about his health, the whole time looking at him with guarded expressions, AJ dealt with the awkward situation in the only way he knew how – humor. And Nick appreciated it, for at least AJ was treating him normally. The other three hadn’t quite mastered that one yet.

“So you think I look like Moby, eh? Well, look in the mirror buddy – a few more years down the road, and you’ll look like him too. Chemo took my hair – what’s your excuse, Mr. Receding Hairline?” Nick shot back jokingly. AJ had asked for that one, teasing him about his hair (or lack of it).

“Ex- cuse me?”

“Oh, don’t go all defensive on me... look here, fellas... prime example of male pattern baldness right here...” As the others watched in amusement, Nick grabbed the top of AJ’s skull cap and tugged it off, glancing over his shoulder to watch the guys’

reactions as he did so. But their smiles quickly faded as their mouths dropped open, and their eyes grew wide.

Nick glanced back at AJ... and gasped in total shock.

AJ’s hair, which had been short and bleached blonde the last time Nick had seen him, was gone. All of it. His head was now as smooth and bald as Nick’s.

“AJ!” Nick choked. “Wh-what did you do?”

AJ grinned sheepishly up at him. “D told me he shaved your head. So I shaved mine too. We just gotta go out and get us some matching outfits, Nickster, and we’ll be twins.”

The reality of what AJ had done sunk in then, and Nick shook his head in amazement. “You... you did this for me?”

AJ only grinned. AJ, who had always taken great pride in his hair... AJ, who had dyed it every color of the rainbow and experimented with all kinds of hairstyles... AJ, whose precious hair had already begun to recede, it seemed... had cut it all off, shaved his head clean... just so that Nick would not be alone.

To some, hair was just hair – no big deal. But to Nick, AJ had made a huge sacrifice in support of him. And as he studied AJ’s shining bald scalp, he was overcome with a sudden burst of emotion, moved by the poignant act of camaraderie.

“Thanks, ‘J,” he whispered, the lump in his throat making his voice hoarse. And feeling like somewhat of a pansy, yet not caring one bit, he pulled his big brother into a hug, the corners of his eyes prickling with tears.

***

Chapter 84

“So here’s what I was thinking,” AJ said loudly as he and Nick pulled away after their tender moment. “I was thinking you three-“ He pointed to Kevin, Brian and Howie. “- could shave your heads too, and we could paint our heads blue and call ourselves Blue Boys Group. Whatcha think?”

Blinking furiously, Nick glanced back to see their three bandmates shaking their heads in disbelief.

“Oh c’mon, it’d kick ass, right Nick? It’d be like a whole new image for our new album,” AJ rambled on, and Nick sensed he was just trying to hide his emotions again.

Perking up at the words “new album” though, Nick took the opportunity to ask,

“So, about the album - when are we gonna get back to work that?” All eyes immediately turned to Kevin, who shifted uncomfortably. “Well...” he said slowly. “I guess... Nick... whenever you feel up to it.” Nick smiled. “Great. Then whenever you guys wanna get together and hit the studio, I’m down.”

“We don’t want you to push yourself, buddy,” Brian spoke up. “The album can wait as long as-“

“We’ve waited three years,” Nick interrupted impatiently. “And now that things are back to normal, I wanna get it finished and put out ASAP. I’m fine now, and I’ve been dying to get back into the studio.”

The four other guys exchanged glances, smiles slowly spreading over their faces at his enthusiasm.

“Okay, Nick,” Kevin said with an authoritative nod. “We’ll get back to work on it whenever you want.”

Pleased with the sudden control he had been issued, Nick grinned. “Awesome.

Well, now that that’s settled, c’mon, Bri, I wanna go see my godson.” Brian’s entire face lit up, and he nodded eagerly. “Okay. Come on.” And the entire group trooped out of the AJ and Howie’s suite and across the hall to Brian’s.

“Oh, Nick, it’s so good to see you,” Leighanne gushed when Nick entered the suite, throwing her arms around him and patting his back as she hugged him. Nick couldn’t help but smile, rather touched by her show of affection.

“You too, Leigh,” he told her and then looked past her to where almost nine-month-old Baylee sat on the floor, his chubby hands awkwardly flipping the pages of one of those baby books made of waterproof plastic instead of paper. “Bay-lee,” he cooed, squatting down and lightly clapping his hands to get the baby’s attention. Baylee looked up at him through large, curious eyes. “C’mere, Baylee,” he said, holding out his arms. Glancing over his shoulder at Brian, he asked, “He can crawl now, can’t he?”

“Yup,” Brian said proudly. “Give him a couple more months, and he’ll be walking.”

Nick grinned. “Baylee,” he said again. “Come here, buddy.”

“Come on, Baylee,” Brian said from behind Nick, when Baylee did not budge.

“Come see Nick. Come see your god daddy.”

At the sound of his daddy’s voice, Baylee broke into a slobbery grin, exposing a few tiny baby teeth, and began to crawl across the floor. Nick intercepted him as he started to creep to Brian and rose from the floor, sitting down in a chair and positioning the baby on his lap.

“There, that’s better,” he said, grinning down at Baylee. Baylee turned his head in the direction of Nick’s voice, looking up at him with those same wide eyes. And then his lip began to quiver, and Nick groaned, knowing exactly what was going to happen next. And happen it did – Baylee screwed up his face and began to cry loudly.

Nick looked up at Brian in anxiety. “What’d I do?” he asked innocently, trying to pat the baby’s back, which only made him scream harder.

Brian smiled. “You’re fine,” he said. “He just doesn’t remember you. Give him some time, and he’ll warm right up to you.” He came forward and plucked his son off Nick’s lap, cooing softly, “Baylee... it’s okay, baby... it’s just Nick. Remember Nick?” Nick couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy as he watched the baby immediately stop crying in Brian’s arms. He wondered what it would like to be a father, to have a son, a baby that would be all his, a new life that he had created and would die to protect.

Leighanne came up, sliding one arm around Brian’s waist and smoothing Baylee’s fine blonde hair with the other. The three of them were so adorable and so utterly perfect together... mother, father, and baby... the all-American family.

Nick wanted to have the same thing some day... a wife, a child... but he wasn’t sure that would ever happen. He had been played and used by woman to the point where he didn’t trust many of them... nor did he trust himself, for he had a certain knack at being gullible and falling prey to the power beautiful women held over him.

And really, what woman would ever want to spend the rest of her life with him now? Even if his cancer never returned, no one was going to forget he had once battled it. It had left its mark... and even once the physical signs of cancer went away, that unseen mark would never disappear.

Nick Carter had once had cancer. And though he fully intended to get on with the rest of his life, he knew things would never be the same.

***

At 1:00 pm that Thursday came the moment of truth. The airing of “The Interview” on MTV’s Total Request Live. And the five Backstreet Boys gathered around the Littrells’ hotel room to watch it.

Nick felt nervous, and he wasn’t even sure why. The hard part was over; the interview was done. They had gone through with it the day before, and it had gone well.

John Norris had been there, and he had asked them good questions without prying too much. And Nick had surprisingly opened up to him, even pulling off his black beanie to show his hairless head (after which AJ had done the same thing, explaining his reasoning for shaving his own head). Nick had dutifully answered questions about his condition, and the group as a whole had dispelled more break-up rumors and confirmed that the album would soon be underway again.

They had discussed that topic together many times over the two days they had been in the city and agreed to go to Los Angeles to continue work on the album in two weeks’ time. That gave Nick time to return to Tampa long enough to tie up loose ends and then head out to California, where the boys hoped to complete the album, their hearts set on an early 2004 release.

“Well, you know we here at MTV will be looking forward to that, as I’m sure the fans will too,” John had replied to that announcement, and the interview had concluded shortly after.

Now they sat watching and waiting for it to air. Carson Daly was hosting that day, and they watched him plug the upcoming Video Music Awards and introduce the number nine video, waiting impatiently for him to get to their interview. He mentioned it several times over the course of the show, but of course, it didn’t air until the last twenty minutes. That was probably a good thing though – save the best for last, right?

Nick watched himself critically, grimacing at the way he stammered and stumbled over words, like he always did when he was nervous. He always sounded like such a moron in interviews, which was why the others tried to do most of the talking for him, but in this case, he had been forced to carry most of it on his own shoulders. But under the circumstances, he didn’t think he’d done too badly.

“That’s great news,” Carson said as the camera panned away from the TV screen showing the interview. “Congratulations to Nick Carter, and girls, it looks like Backstreet’s back... all right!”

The sound of the familiar high-pitched screaming filling the TRL studio put a wide smile on Nick’s face. Right on, Carson, he thought happily.

Backstreet was back.

He was back.

(All right.)

***

Chapter 85

The following day, Nick sat among the other Backstreet Boys in one of the hotel’s small conference rooms, which they had rented out for a meeting with representatives from their record company to discuss the album and their schedules for the upcoming months. The meeting had dragged on for a good half hour already, and Nick’s already short attention span was waning. He jiggled his legs underneath the long table they were sitting around and daydreamed, his mind miles away from the stuffy conference room.

He was quickly brought back, however, by the familiar ring of his cell phone, which he had accidentally forgotten to turn off.

“Oops,” he let out meekly, his face burning red as he pulled the phone out of his pocket. He debated over whether to just turn it off or answer it; then, deciding he might as well answer it, since he’d disrupted the meeting anyway, he stood up and ducked out of the room with a quick, “’Scuse me a minute.”

In the hallway, he let the door to the conference room close and then quickly punched the talk button on his phone. “Hello?” he answered, putting it to his ear.

“Hi, Nick? This is Carrie Ryan, Claire’s mom.”

Nick’s heart rate immediately went up, and his mouth suddenly felt as dry as cotton. Swallowing hard, he gulped, “Hi, Carrie... is something wrong with Claire?”

“She’s sick, Nick. She’s really sick,” Carrie answered grimly. “She has an infection, and it’s... it’s bad.”

“Oh God...” Nick murmured shakily, his mind racing. Claire... sick... infection...

bad... “H-how bad is it? I mean, they don’t think she’s going to... die... do they?” Carrie let out a plaintive sigh. “Dr. Rodrigo’s put her on all kinds of antibiotics, but there’s been no change yet... and if they don’t help... with her immune system wiped out, she can’t fight the infection... it’ll take over...” She was babbling, and Nick could tell she was distraught. Yet, as she trailed off, he knew exactly what she was saying. This was really serious. Claire was very sick indeed, and if the medications they were giving her didn’t do their job... she could die.

Immediately, he knew what he had to do. “Carrie,” he said firmly. “If Claire’s awake, you tell her to hang on, okay? I’m coming back to Tampa. Today.”

“Oh, Nick, you don’t have to rush down here. I-I didn’t want you to do that. I just thought you should know what was going on.”

“Yes. Thank you for telling me. But I... I can’t just stay up here and worry about her. I’m going to try to get on the next flight to Florida, and-“ A click behind him caused him to stop, and he turned to see Kevin step out of the conference room, a scowl on his face. He glared when he spotted Nick, pointed over his shoulder, and hissed, “Get off the damn phone and get back in there now!” Nick glared right back and purposely turned so that his back was to Kevin, speaking quickly into the phone. “Sorry, Carrie... um, okay, I gotta go now, but I’ll be down as soon as I can, okay? Tell her I’m coming.”

“I will, Nick,” Carrie replied compliantly. “I’ll see you when you get here; have a safe flight.”

“Thanks,” Nick mumbled into the phone, sensing Kevin approaching him from behind and quickly shut off the phone before the older man could grab it out of his hand and hurl it down the hall.

“Nick,” Kevin started angrily, as soon as Nick had shoved the phone back into his pocket and turned around to face him, “do you know how rude-“

“I’m sorry, Kev,” Nick apologized quickly, “but I gotta go.” Kevin stopped in mid-tirade, his mouth hanging open as he surveyed Nick in surprise. “You what?”

“I have to leave. I have to fly home, to Tampa,” Nick clarified. “Um, one of my friends is... is really sick, and I need to go down there.” He stared desperately at Kevin, silently pleading for his approval.

Kevin’s brow furrowed as he frowned. “Sick how?”

“She has leukemia,” explained Nick, “and now she’s got an infection, and she’s very sick. She could die, Kevin.” It hurt him to say those words, but he knew that was the reality of the situation, and if hearing that was what it took to get Kevin to let him go, so be it.

Kevin’s gaze softened. “And this is a friend of yours?”

“Yes,” Nick answered firmly. “She’s been with me through all kinds of shit these past few months, and now I need to be with her. I know these meetings are important, but, please, Kevin... this is more important than any meeting. I have to go.” Kevin nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “You do have to go. Go pack your stuff, and I’ll call the airport.”

Nick sagged with relief and impulsively threw his arms around Kevin, hugging his older brother quickly. “Thanks, Kev,” he said sincerely.

“No problem, buddy. Go ahead; I’ll tell the guys.” He patted Nick on the shoulder and turned to go back into the conference room. Meanwhile, Nick was already jogging to the elevators.

***

The flight back to Tampa that afternoon was pure hell. Nick hated flying with a passion, but never before had he felt so anxious on a plane. Of course, that had nothing to do with the plane itself. He was a bundle of nerves, and he felt sick to his stomach.

And he knew that it was not the turbulence of the plane, nor the side effects of the drugs he was on. He was scared, scared for Claire, and until he got to the hospital and saw her for himself, he could not relax.

Horrific thoughts kept running through his head.

What if she dies?

What if she’s dying right now?

And the worst - what if she’s already dead?

He had been nervous before the bone marrow transplant, but that didn’t even compare to how terrified he was now. The thought of losing Claire... the thought of never seeing her, never hanging out with her, never talking to her ever again... was unbearable. Yet he knew it was definitely possible. Being diagnosed with cancer had opened the doors to a whole new frightening world for him, a world where people got sick enough to die... and sometimes did.

And he feared Claire was becoming one of those people.

As soon he departed the plane, Nick was off running through the airport, his suitcase in one hand, his duffel bag in the other, not caring who saw him or how much his leg was paining him or how out of breath he was. He simply ran until he escaped the

large airport and flagged down a taxi.

“Tampa General Hospital, please, and hurry,” he panted to the cab driver, and they were off. He looked out the window as the outside world flashed by, gazing at it without really seeing it. People drove their cars and walked along the sidewalks, going about their business as usual, while Nick felt like he was in a race against time, struggling to make it to the hospital before the girl that had become one of his closest friends slipped away from him.

When the taxi pulled up in front of the hospital, Nick shoved a wad of bills into the cabby’s hand (carelessly tipping him way too much) and practically flew out of the backseat, grabbing his luggage and hurrying through the rotating glass doors leading into the hospital’s large lobby. He took the familiar trek to the oncology ward, riding the elevator up to the fifth floor, and hurrying to the nurses station, hoping to find Samantha or one of the other nurses he was familiar with.

To his relief, Samantha was there, and she looked up in shock when he came tearing up to the desk area.

“Nick! What are you doing here? I thought you guys were in New York – I saw you yesterday on MTV; we were all watching it up here.”

“I’m here to see Claire,” he said breathlessly. “I heard she... wasn’t doing so good.”

He saw the young nurse’s eyes flicker with momentary sadness, and she nodded.

“Well, come on... I’ll take you back to the isolation ward... but you won’t be able to go in her room.”

“Still? B-but...”

“I’m sorry, Nick,” Samantha apologized. “Come with me.” With a sigh, he trudged behind her as she led him into the isolation ward and down the hall to Claire’s room. He found her brother Kyle and his wife slumped in chairs outside the room.

“Hey, Nick,” Kyle said in a low voice when he approached.

“Hi,” Nick replied warily. “Um... how is she?”

Kyle shook his head, running his hand exhaustedly through his rust-colored hair.

“Not good,” he answered flatly. “No one knows if she’s going to pull through this or not.” Nick was silent, but Kyle went on, “God, I can’t believe this. Claire’s been through so damn much... and I really thought this bone marrow transplant was going to work wonders for her. But she’s sicker now than she’s ever been. I can’t help but think maybe this whole thing was a mistake. Maybe she shouldn’t have taken the risk.”

“B-but she would have died without it, right? Eventually?”

“That’s what the doctor said... but who knows. I don’t know what to believe anymore.” He heaved a frustrated sigh.

“Sorry,” Nick murmured and suddenly felt very uncomfortable, like he shouldn’t be there. This was Claire’s family, and he was not a part of it. He had only known her for a few months; what right did he have to be there?

At that moment, the door to Claire’s room slowly opened, and out came her drained-looking parents, Carrie and Kris.

“Oh, Nick, you’re here,” said Carrie with a weary smile.

“Hi,” he said. “Um... is Claire awake, or what?”

“She’s been drifting in and out,” Carrie answered solemnly. “They’ve got her heavily sedated, so she’s a little out of it. Do you want to go see her?”

“Can I?” asked Nick in surprise. “I thought...” He glanced back at Samantha, who bit her lip and shook her head.

“According to hospital policy, she’s-“

“Please, miss, he came all the way from New York. Surely he can go in to be with my daughter for a few minutes. Why should it matter if he’s related to her or not?” Carrie pressed.

“Yeah, what she said,” Nick added, putting on a pitiful version of the half-smile for Samantha, hoping that would win her over. The nurse’s lips twitched in the corners, and finally, she nodded, smiling.

“Fine,” she said. “Let me grab you a gown, and you can go in, Nick, but only for ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes it is then,” he replied agreeably.

Samantha got him a giant, flowing surgical gown like he had worn before and helped him into it, tying the straps in the back for him. He pulled on the hat, mask, and shoe covers, and when Samantha had made sure he was totally “gowned up,” she opened the door to Claire’s room for him. “Ten minutes,” she warned again before closing the door behind him.

Nodding, Nick slowly crossed the darkened room to Claire’s bed, his feet suddenly feeling like lead weights, his heart fluttering nervously. The last time he had seen Claire – through the window of her room the day he had been declared in remission – she hadn’t looked good. But now, as he came up to her bed and warily peered down at her, he saw the looked even worse than before.

She was lying on her side, curled into the fetal position, her eyes closed as she slept. She was hooked up to most of the same machines and monitors that he had been during his confinement in ICU, a heart monitor, oxygen, IV’s, the works, and the sight of her like that alarmed him. He remembered how lively she always was... what a good sense of humor she had, and how she had always made him laugh... but Claire lying on the bed here in front of him couldn’t be that same girl.

But she was.

She was the same girl who had been with him during his very first chemo session, who had visited with him in the waiting room at all of his check-ups, who had come to see him in the hospital. She was the girl who had gone out to eat and stayed in watching

“ET” and eating ice cream with him and who had dumped half a Blizzard all over that bitch at the Dairy Queen. And she was the girl who had cried in his arms on the middle of her couch and confessed her love for him under a starlit sky.

Now he looked down at her ashen, expressionless face with regret, wishing once again that he could feel the same way about her as she did about him. He loved her like a friend, even like a sister. But he didn’t love her.

But that didn’t matter now. All that mattered was her getting better.

He took her hand, delicately intertwining his fingers with her. “Claire?” he whispered.

At his touch and the sound of his voice, her eyelashes fluttered, and her lids rose to uncover faded blue eyes, which gazed unfocusedly at him. “Nick?” she rasped, her voice weak and hard to hear.

“I’m here, babe,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze.

“I thought you were in... New York... I saw you... on TV.”

“I was,” he confirmed with a smile. “But I’m back now.”

“Did you come... for me?”

“Nah, you kidding? Why would I drag my ass all the way back here just for you?” He studied her face and was relieved to see a hint of a smile on her colorless lips.

“Good point... God, I feel like shit...”

He chuckled; cussing had to be a good sign. “Aren’t they givin’ ya some good drugs to take the edge off?”

“Oh yeah... they make me feel gooooood,” she slurred in a Cartman-esque voice, offering him a painful, crooked grin.

“Hey, now... drugs are bad, ‘mkay? You shouldn’t do drugs.” She let out a soft giggle that made his heart soar. “I’ve got a few... South Park tapes... at home. Maybe when I’m... not so... out of it, I’ll get... Kyle... to bring them... we can watch them...”

“Sweet,” said Nick, Cartman-style. She smiled and closed her eyes, and after a moment, he thought she’d drifted off to sleep. Lightly, he touched her cheek, running two fingers up to her forehead, which was radiating with heat from a fever. She stirred, her eyes slowly opening again.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “I can’t stay awake... damn the... drugs...”

“It’s okay,” Nick replied. “You just go to sleep, okay? I can only stay for ten minutes anyway, and then they’ll come kick me out.”

“That sucks...”

“Yeah.”

Her eyes fell shut again, and this time, she really did fall asleep, her ragged breathing becoming slower and deeper. He could hear the air rattling in her lungs with each labored breath and knew she was bad off. He just hoped the drugs were doing their job.

They will, he told himself with stubborn fierceness.

They just had to. Because after what they had been through together, he wasn’t about to lose her now.

***

Chapter 86

Claire was getting worse. Nick knew it as soon as he set foot in her room the next day.

“She still has a high fever,” a tearful Carrie had told him outside in the hall. “And her breathing is getting worse. Dr. Rodrigo’s afraid she’s getting pneumonia.” And now, sinking heavily into the chair at Claire’s bedside, Nick could attest to that. Even though she was on oxygen, Claire seemed to struggle for every breath. He remembered how they’d sedated him and put a tube down his throat to help him breathe when he had come down with pneumonia and wondered if fate had the same thing in store for her. He didn’t envy her one bit, for that had sucked, but then again, if it helped her to breathe better...

“Claire?” He spoke her name in whispery tones, resting the back of his hand against one of her flushed, feverish cheeks. Letting out a soft moan, she opened her eyes, and her cracked lips turned up in a hint of a smile.

“Hey, you,” she said softly.

He started to ask how she was feeling, then remembered how much he had grown to loathe that question himself, so he simply replied instead, “Hey yourself. Been up to much?”

“Oh yeah... a buttload...” She closed her eyes momentarily, as if to recharge herself, and then opened them again.

He chuckled. “I’m sure. The nurses probably can’t wait for you to get better and get out of this place. I’m sure you’re a total pain in the ass to have around – am I right?”

“You... you know me,” slurred Claire, her voice thick, as if she were speaking through a mouthful of taffy. Smiling, Nick wrapped his hand around hers. Her hand was ice cold, and as he slid his fingers in between hers, he found them to be clammy and slick with cold sweat... butter fingers.

“Your hands are like ice,” he commented. “Are you warm enough?”

“Hot,” she murmured. Yet she was shivering beneath the thin blanket that covered her.

“Do they let you eat ice cream up here?” he asked offhandedly. “That’d cool you off.”

“Mmm... ice cream,” she mumbled. “With... caramel sauce.” He snickered. “Mm, yeah... and whipped cream, right? Gotta have that.”

“And... a cherry... on top.”

“Naturally.”

“We could... go and get some...” she mumbled.

“For sure. We will as soon as you’re out of here, ‘kay?”

“No... now.”

“I wish,” he chortled, “but I doubt that would fly with your doctor.”

“No, ‘sokay,” she insisted, weakly raising her head from her pillow. “Just lemme... get my... shoes... here... hold my jacket... and then...” He realized she was delirious and wondered what to do. “Claire?” he called her name loudly. “Honey, stay with me here. You’re in the hospital, you remember?

Claire?” But she was quickly growing more agitated, twisting restlessly on the bed and trying to sit up. The beeping of her heart monitor began to accelerate, and his own heart raced with panic. “Claire, no,” he said quickly, gently easing her back down onto the

bed, gripping her shoulders, holding her there while she moaned and tried to escape his clutches. “Shh, calm down,” he soothed, but it did no good.

“Home,” she murmured, looking wildly around the room with blank eyes that lacked any sign of recognition. “Wanna... go home...”

“I know, Claire, I know, but you can’t go home yet. You have to get better first.

Lie still,” Nick urged her, having no idea if her fever-poisoned brain was even processing his words. “Sweetheart? Please, relax.” Her heart monitor was beeping incessantly now, and he was scared. What was going on? Why was this happening to her all of a sudden? Was it the high fever?

He considered running out of the room to find a nurse, but he was afraid to leave her there alone, terrified she would pull out her tubes and IV’s or try to get out of bed and fall. The last thing she needed to do was make her condition even worse.

“Claire!” he hissed, lightly patting her cheeks, trying to get her to come back to him. “Claire, look at me – it’s Nick, can you hear me? Claire?” Finally, her trembling body began to relax, and she collapsed back against the bed, her eyes shut. “Claire?” he asked uneasily, afraid she had passed out. But her eyes popped open again at the sound of his voice, and her eyes scanned the room before coming to rest on his face. He searched them nervously and whispered again, “Claire?”

“Nick?”

He let out a breath of relief. “Thank God. You just scared the crap out of me.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” he smirked. She offered him a blank sort of smile back, but then her face contorted in pain, and she let out a groan. “How ya doing?” Nick asked, unable to help it. She looked like she was suffering. He grabbed her hand again and gave it a squeeze.

“I hurt... so bad,” whimpered Claire, and Nick felt a stabbing pain shoot through his heart at the sight of tears welling up in her pale blue eyes.

“D-do you want me to go find a nurse?” he asked unsurely. “Maybe you could get some more pain meds or-“

“No.” Her voice was weak, but her grip on his hand was surprisingly strong.

“Don’t go yet.”

“Claire, I’d be right back, I just-“

“No.”

Nick sighed, sagging in his chair. “Okay,” he said finally. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.” She smiled slightly, but he could tell she was still in an unspeakable amount of pain. And there was nothing he could do about it, nothing but stand by and watch her go through it. He was powerless, and it was killing him.

“You should go to sleep,” he told her in a soft voice. “Maybe you’ll feel better after you rest a bit.” When she grimaced in disgust, he realized he sounded exactly like Kevin and Brian. “Sorry,” he apologized with a smirk. “I know that’s the last thing you wanna hear, especially coming from me.”

“Got that right,” she rasped.

He smiled sadly and helplessly said, “I just... I wish there was something I could do to make this easier for you.”

“You are. You’re... here. That... that makes it... better,” whispered Claire with a wan smile.

He was forced to look away from her, feeling tears burning in the corners of his

eyes. He blinked them away furiously, determined not to let himself fall apart on her.

She needed strength right now, and he had to be strong, had to keep himself together for her sake.

He pretended to look at the clock on the wall, but its face was blurred with tears, and he could barely make out the time. “It’s been ten minutes, I think,” he said softly, not wanting to leave, yet almost desperate to get away from her, just long enough to compose himself. “They’re probably going to kick me out soon.”

“I know,” she said regrettably.

“Can I do anything for you before I go?” offered Nick, looking down at the bed and not at her, still trying to avoid her eyes.

There was a pause. And then, one single, simple word.

“Sing.”

Nick recoiled. “What?” he asked, not sure he’d heard her correctly.

“Sing,” she repeated, and finally, he forced himself to look at her face, thinking she had gone delirious again. But when their eyes met, he knew right away that she was totally with it.

“Y-you want me to sing?” he asked uncertainly.

“Yeah... I’ve never... heard you... sing. Not... not live... anyway. I want you to...

sing... for me,” she murmured, gazing at him earnestly.

He wrinkled his nose. “Sing what?”

“Something from... your album.”

He shook his head. This was not a good idea. He’d barely sang a note in months, and the last time he’d sung in front of another person was when he was in the studio with the Backstreet Boys, shortly after they found out about his cancer, three months earlier. No, this was definitely not a good idea. “I can’t, Claire,” he said almost pleadingly, hoping she’d take back her request. But she didn’t say a word, just looked at him with those large blue eyes, her lower lip protruding in a slight pout. And he was stuck.

“What do you want to hear?” he sighed grudgingly.

A smile lit up her swollen, pallid face. “Blow Your... Mind.” He blinked. “What?! Claire, I can’t s-” But one look at her face told him right away that she was kidding; her eyes were now sparkling with laugher and making him feel incredibly foolish. Blushing, he muttered, “Okay, so you were kidding. Never mind then.”

“No... I still... want you to... sing. Sing... whatever... you want.” He shook his head, his cheeks flaming red. He had sung a capella with the guys on the spot millions of times, but that was a lot different from this. Still, he knew he could not let her down. A sick realization told him this could be one of the last times he would ever talk to Claire, one of his last opportunities to be with her. He had to make the most of it and give her what she wished, just in case he never had another chance.

And so, he cleared his throat, and, relying strictly on the natural talent God had possessed him with, opened his mouth to sing, settling on the first song from his solo album that popped into his head.

“I stare at your face

Into your eyes

Outside there's so much passing us by

All of the sounds

All of the sights

Over the earth and under the sky”

The sounds coming from his mouth were nowhere near perfect, especially the way they were muffled by the mask he was forced to wear on his face... it was certainly not “the voice of an angel” or whatever the fans said about him (or maybe that was Brian?). But to his ears, he sounded surprisingly decent, and all it took was seeing the entranced look on Claire’s face to keep him going.

“Too much cold and too much rain

Too much heartache to explain

“Who needs the world when I got you

Switch off the sun, the stars, and the moon

I have all I need inside of this room

Who needs the world when I got you”

He was fully into it now, losing himself in the music, the moment. He owned it, and he knew he better never let it go. He only had one shot, and he couldn’t miss his chance to blow. Because opportunity comes once in a lifetime.

“I walk on the street

Talk in the dark

I see people’s dreams just falling apart

I open my arms

Tried to be true

Seems like my only truth is you

“Am I wrong

Or am I right

All I want is you tonight

“Who needs the world when I got you

Switch off the sun, the stars, and the moon

I have all I need inside of this room

Who needs the world when I got you

“Who needs the stars so bright and the grass so green and the morning light Who needs the wind to blow and the tide to rise

Who needs it... I don't know

I don't know

Yeah

“Who needs the world when I got you

Switch off the sun, the stars, and the moon

I have all I need inside of this room

Who needs the world when I got you

“Who needs the world when I got you

Switch off the sun, the stars, and the moon

I have all I need inside of this room

Who needs the world when I got you

Who needs the world when I got you”

When he was finished, he looked down to see that Claire had fallen asleep, her expression peaceful, a hint of a smile on her lips and a trail of tears staining her cheeks.

He smiled a little, not considering it a bad thing that she had gone to sleep in the middle of his song. That pain that had etched itself into her features had vanished, and for that, he was relieved.

Silently, he rose from his chair, knowing that he’d been there far past the ten-minute limit. He turned to the door and was startled to see the young nurse Samantha standing there, decked out in an overlarge surgical gown, cap, and mask, her eyes the only visible part of her face. And, as he walked sheepishly up to her, intending on apologizing for staying so long (and hoping his singing hadn’t disrupted any other patients), he saw that they were bright with tears.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I lost track of time.”

He could tell she was smiling beneath her mask. “Trust me,” she said, blinking.

“It’s okay.” Laying a hand lightly on his arm, she walked him out of the room, shutting the door tightly behind them. Once in the hallway, she turned to him and said in a hushed voice, “What you did in there was absolutely beautiful, Nick.” He felt his cheeks turn bright red and left his mask on, trying to hide it. “Nah...” he muttered modestly. “It probably sounded like crap; I haven’t sung in months. Sh-she just asked me to, and I... I didn’t want to let her down.”

“You didn’t,” Samantha said, pulling off her mask to reveal her smile. “And I’ll tell you, you certainly made my day.” With a wink, she grinned and walked away to get back to work, leaving him alone in the hallway, feeling a little stupid and a little flattered at the same time.

He left the hospital that day with a lightness in his step, wondering if he should rehearse that night in case Claire expected a whole concert when he returned the following afternoon. Maybe he should practice the “Everybody” dance, in case she wanted to see that as well?

He chuckled to himself, only kidding about the rehearsing, but fully intending to be at the hospital at the same time the next afternoon.

But a phone call early the next morning would change all that.

***

Chapter 87

The ringing phone jarred Nick awake. It continued to ring shrilly while he squinted at the bedside clock and groaned at the fact that it was only 8:04 a.m. But, grudgingly, he grabbed the cordless phone anyway and checked the caller ID before he answered.

Tampa Gen, the tiny window on the phone projected, and he knew what that stood for.

Tampa General Hospital.

His heart leapt into his throat, while his stomach dropped like a rock in water.

He immediately felt hot all over, but when he shakily pressed the talk button and put the phone to his ear, his hands were ice cold.

“He-hello?” he answered hoarsely, filled with a sensation of dread at the news that awaited him on the other end of the line. He knew it had to do with Claire, and he feared the worst. That something had happened, that she had gotten even worse.

That she was dead.

“Nick? It’s Carrie. I hope I didn’t wake you up,” came the voice of Claire’s mother.

“No... no, you didn’t,” lied Nick. “Uh... what’s up?”

“I just had to tell you the good news. Claire’s fever broke!” It took a moment for him to comprehend. Claire’s fever broke... Claire’s fever broke! That meant she was getting better! He let out the breath he’d been holding in a whoosh of relief. “That’s... that’s great!” he exclaimed. “So she’s going to be okay?”

“Well, she’s not quite out of the woods yet... there’s still the potential of another infection or rejection... but things are looking better. Her bloodwork looks good; her white count is down, meaning the infection is going away.”

“Oh,” Nick said knowingly, pretending he knew exactly what a “white count” was.

“Well, thank God.”

“I know,” sighed a frazzled-sounding Carrie. He could only imagine the amount of stress she’d been under these past two weeks. It was bad enough having to watch a friend go through what Claire had been through, but she’d had to deal with the threat of losing her only daughter.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Nick said gratefully, still overwhelmed with relief.

“I’ll be up to the hospital later to see her, if that’s okay.”

“That’s fine,” replied Carrie, and she sounded like she was smiling. “Thank you for being there for her. I know how busy you must be; Claire said you were getting ready to go into the studio with your band. I really appreciate you taking the time to visit her like this. You mean the world to her, you know.”

Nick’s cheeks turned pink as he smiled sheepishly, pressing the phone tightly to his ear. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Claire means a lot to me too. I’ll always be there for her.”

But in just over a week, he’d be on his way to Los Angeles, California, leaving behind his nightmare world of cancer and all that went with it... including Claire.

***

With Claire steadily getting better, Nick felt perfectly comfortable going to LA to

regroup with the Backstreet Boys and wrap up the album. He’d visited Claire every day since he’d returned home to Tampa, and since the early morning phone call from her mother, her condition had improved a little with each passing day. The infection was gone now, and all she had to do was gain back her strength and make sure that her body accepted Kyle’s bone marrow.

She expected to be in the hospital for another few weeks at least, and though he hated to leave her, she insisted that he go back to work and do the thing that made him happy – singing. She would have her family and other friends by her side, and so, after making sure that Carrie still had his cell number – “just in case” – he went ahead with the plans to get back into the studio.

The Boys would not be staying in a hotel this time around, but instead at AJ’s LA mansion, which had been occupied only by him ever since his ex-fiancée, Sarah, had moved out earlier that year. There was plenty of room for Nick, Brian, and Howie to stay. Kevin would not be sleeping there, since he had his own home in the area and wanted to at least spend his nights at home with Kristin, who AJ had kindly banned from coming over while they were working. Nick was relieved for AJ’s “no wives/girlfriends allowed” rule; he wanted it to be just the five of them. He had thought Brian would protest, wanting to bring Leighanne and Baylee out with him, but surprisingly he did not.

The album seemed to be top priority for all of them now, and they were excited to get it finished and put out. They were hoping for an early 2004 release, and even if they accomplished that, it would still be over three years since Black and Blue had come out.

Way too long of a hiatus, in Nick’s opinion. Though he had enjoyed his time off (except for the last five months, of course) and had been thrilled with the opportunity to become involved in other projects and put out a solo album, Backstreet would always come first with him, and there was nothing quite like singing in the studio with the five men who had become his big brothers and best friends.

Nick, Brian, and Howie arrived in LA on early flights, and so luckily, they did not have to battle much of a crowd as they met up with AJ and Kevin and tracked down their luggage. AJ complained loudly about how early in the morning it was, but Nick, who was still thinking in Florida time, was fine by now – it was three hours later in Tampa.

“How about breakfast?” Kevin suggested as they rode home from the airport in AJ’s SUV.

“I dunno about y’all, but I’m not too hungry,” admitted Brian. “I ate on the plane

– what about you two?” He looked from Howie to Nick.

“Yeah, they served us breakfast,” Howie nodded.

“Same here,” added Nick. “Maybe we could just stop and grab some munchies?”

“Sounds good to me,” said AJ and stopped at the next convenience store. Inside the store, they split up and set off in opposite directions, Nick and Brian immediately heading to the junk food aisles to stock up on chips, candy, and soda. They eyed the cases of beer, but decided against it, for they didn’t feel right drinking in front of AJ, and Nick wasn’t supposed to mix alcohol with his medications anyway.

They met up with the other three outside and got back into the car for the ride to AJ’s house.

“Damn it, Carter, you better not be getting fucking donut wax all over my seats,” AJ growled from the driver’s seat when Nick cracked open a box of Hostess chocolate donut gems in the backseat.

“Donut wax?” repeated Kevin, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“Yeah, donut wax. Haven’t you had those things before? I don’t know what in God’s name they’re made of, but they sure as hell ain’t normal donuts. They’re all coated in this wax-like shit.”

“Waxy delicious!” Nick called from the back, licking his fingers.

“Mmm,” Brian chimed in heartily, biting into a ding-dong.

“Same with you, Brian! I swear to God, if I find a bunch of ding-dong goo and cream filling encrusted all over the upholstery tomorrow, I’m gonna-“

“Why don’t you shut up and watch the road, Bone, not us!” Brian shouted as AJ

inadvertently coasted into the other lane.

“Fuck,” the younger man cursed under his breath as he swerved back into his own lane.

“And seriously, Bone, when did you get so anal and OCD? You sound like Kevin!” Nick called, and Brian laughed hysterically and slapped him a high five.

“As soon as I park this car, I’m gonna kick your ass, Carter!” threatened AJ, as Kevin suddenly comprehended Nick’s crack on him and issued an offended, “Hey!” The teasing continued for the whole rest of the trip, and for the first time in months, Nick felt like things were totally back to normal. Okay, so Howie, Brian, and Kevin had all asked him how he’d been feeling before anything else at the airport... but other than that, his cancer had not been brought up, and no one seemed to be afraid to joke around in front of him anymore.

Thank God, Nick thought happily, stifling a giggle as he watched Brian deviously flick tiny dollops of ding-dong cream into a clueless Howie’s hair. Thank God.

***

Chapter 88

By the time the guys had hauled all of their luggage up to the guest bedrooms and taken the grand tour of AJ’s home to see all that he had purchased and redone since their last visit, no one felt like starting in on the album work. Brian, Howie, and Nick were tired from their early flights, and Kevin and AJ were exhausted from getting up so early to pick them up at the airport, so they decided to take the first day off just to hang out and get working the following day.

After sitting around in AJ’s massive kitchen for awhile, just talking and eating, AJ

stood up and stretched. “You guys wanna hit the pool?” he asked through a yawn. “Or on second thought, maybe crash in a chaise lounge?”

“I could go for a swim,” Brian said with a nod. “How about y’all?” He looked from Howie to Kevin to Nick.

“I could definitely use a swim,” Howie said with an eager nod. Casting a dark look in Brian’s direction, he added, “I need to get this crap out of my hair.” He gingerly fingered his dark locks, which were crispy and sticky in spots from ding-dong cream.

Brian only returned his glare with a cheeky grin.

“We shouldn’t swim yet though, fellas, we just ate,” pointed out Kevin. “Give it half an-“

“Oh, cripes, Kev, who cares?” AJ interrupted him in exasperation. “I’m gonna go change into my trunks – meet you guys outside in a few?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” The others rose from their chairs and started to disperse, all but Nick, who sat planted at the table

“You comin’, Frack?” Brian asked, glancing back at him with a hint of concern in his blue eyes.

Nick squirmed uncomfortably under his friend’s scrupulous gaze. “Uh, no, I don’t think I’m gonna swim,” he muttered.

“How come? Are you feeling okay?” Brian pressed, his brow furrowing.

Nick sighed. He knew he was not allowed to swim with the catheter in, even now when it was not in use. There was still the risk of infection, and that was the last thing he needed. But he hated having to tell Brian that and attract attention to himself in that fashion. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he answered hesitantly, “but, um... I’m not really supposed to swim... I-I’ve still got the catheter in.”

“Oh!” Brian’s face reddened. “I’m sorry, Nick. I-I forgot all about that.”

“Hey, no problem, dude,” shrugged Nick.

“Well, listen, we don’t have to go swimming now. We can do something else. I’ll go tell the g-“

“No, don’t!” Nick said quickly. “I don’t wanna be a pain in the ass. You guys go ahead and swim. I’ll come out and chill by the pool.” Brian hesitated. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to be left out...”

“I won’t be,” said Nick, pasting a smile on his face. “I told you I’ll come out there with you. I just won’t swim.” He shrugged. “No biggie.” Brian smiled. “Okay, cool. I’m gonna go change then. See ya outside.” He went upstairs, and Nick slowly meandered into the sunroom, which had floor to ceiling windows on three sides and contained deck chairs and tables and a jacuzzi. He passed all of this and went on through the french doors that opened up onto a spacious patio in AJ’s sprawling backyard, which was enclosed by a tall fence.

The large, beautiful in-ground pool sparkled invitingly up at Nick, but he tried his best to ignore it and sank down onto a chaise lounge in the shade instead to wait for the guys. They came parading out a few minutes later in their swim trunks and flip-flops, beach towels slung haphazardly over their arms. All four of them were darkly tanned and in shape, their bodies trimmed and toned to near perfection. The way a Backstreet Boy was supposed to look.

Nick couldn’t help but feel a stab of jealousy as he watched them. His eyes panned from them down to himself, to his own body, and he made a face. He was the exact opposite of his Backstreet brothers... his skin pale, his body withered-looking, the muscles he had worked hard to build up and retain now weak and flaccid. Now that he had beaten cancer, he would have to start working out, getting back into shape. Just as no one wanted a fat Backstreet Boy (as he had been told by management back in about

’97 or ‘98, when he had started putting on weight), no one wanted a weak and sickly-looking one either.

Laps in the pool would do him some good, he thought as he watched the guys set down their towels, kick off their flip-flops, and approach the pool. But he would have to settle for sit-ups and weight-lifting instead. AJ was always trying to buff himself up, so he had plenty of gym equipment around the house. Nick figured he might as well take advantage of it during his stay there.

The shade did little to relieve the California heat, and Nick was green with envy as he observed the others. Kevin stood on the edge of the pool, testing the water with the tips of his toes. That was, until AJ screamed, “Get in, you pussy!” and gave him a mighty shove from behind, sending the older man hurtling forward into the pool. He landed with an ungraceful splat, sank below the surface, and splashed back up a moment later, flicking water out of his hair and eyes and roaring, “You’re gonna pay for that, McLean!” But before he could get his payback, his cousin did it for him, shoving AJ into the pool as well. Laughing, AJ surfaced, only to be dunked under again by a triumphant Kevin. Brian ran around to the deep end – (“Don’t run by the pool, or we’re gonna end up sitting in the ER after you slip and crack your head open,” Kevin warned) –

clambered onto the diving board, and, with a bellow of “Yes, Dad!”, did a cannon-ball into the water, sending an almighty tidal wave splashing up onto the cement patio.

Howie and Nick were now the only ones not in the water, and Howie, caring person that he was, turned to Nick with sympathy in his deep brown eyes. “You want me to hang out for awhile?” he asked, making a move to sit down in the chair beside Nick.

“Nah, D, it’s cool,” Nick replied. “Go jump in.”

Howie hesitated, but Nick squared his jaw and set his face with firm determination, urging his friend to join the others. And finally, Howie did, reluctantly jumping in and wading over to AJ, who immediately splashed him in the face, soaking him. Nick chuckled lightly, watching them play in the water and wishing he could be there with him. After awhile, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to put his feet in, so he kicked off his sandals, slid off the chaise lounge, and searched for a dry spot at the rim of the pool. Finally discovering a patch of cement that hadn’t yet been splashed with pool water, he sat down and slid his legs into the water, sighing blissfully at its coolness.

“Hey, Nickster!” AJ cried jovially and flicked the water, sending a light spray directly into Nick’s face.

“AJ!” Kevin immediately cried in horror as he witnessed this and roughly

grabbed AJ’s wrist. “What are you doing? Didn’t you hear Brian; he’s not supposed to get wet!”

“Kev, chill,” Nick snorted, brushing drips of water from his cheeks. “It’s okay. I can get wet. I’m just not supposed to swim; you know, get in all the way. A few drips of pool water ain’t gonna hurt nothing though.”

“Oh.” Realizing he might have overreacted just a tad, Kevin blushed. “Right.

Sorry, Kaos.”

“No prob, Kev,” Nick replied with grin and took to splashing the guys with his feet whenever they were in his vicinity. Somehow, knowing that they were wary to give him a good hard splash back made it quite fun. Still, he would endure all the splashing and dunking in the world if he could only get rid of the catheter, the medications, and everything else that reminded him of his disease.

Someday, he thought optimistically. Someday, after he’d been in remission for a while longer, they would call him cured, and he would never again have to deal with cancer or the burdens that came with it. And as he devilishly kicked water straight into a sputtering Howie’s face, he innocently believed it would be that easy.

***

Chapter 89

Getting back into the studio was like reuniting with a long lost friend. Perching on a stool in the small room behind the sound-proof glass window and adjusting the microphone to the right height, Nick felt a rush of euphoria at the prospect of being able to sing again with his group mates. They had already warmed up and were now preparing to start recording one of the new songs that they hoped to put on the album.

As the music began to play, Nick’s palms began to sweat. He was first up; they had given him the opening solo part. This was his chance, his chance to prove himself, his chance to show them that he was back and better than ever. He sucked in a deep breath, sat up straight, and at his cue, began to sing.

His voice was shaky at first, the notes slightly under pitch, but as he went on, he gained confidence, and the solo improved. The music cut off as soon as he was finished, and their producer immediately said, “Let’s try that one again.” But the Boys were smiling over at Nick, obviously pleased with him. He still had it. Even if it took a few more tries to nail the solo, he would get it. Cancer had knocked him down both physically and emotionally. It had ravaged his body and wrecked his spirits. But it hadn’t taken his voice. And no matter what, he would always have that, his best quality, his greatest talent, the thing that had gotten him ahead in this world and united him with the four men that meant more to him than anyone else.

Taking comfort in that thought as the intro to the song started once again, Nick let the music pour out of him, belting the notes straight from his very heart and soul.

***

With Nick back on his game, and the others excited and relieved to finally be back together after their two-year hiatus, work on the album progressed quickly. By October, the recording was finished, and they were looking at a mid-December release for their first single. They even had finally thought of a title for the album... Phoenix.

The name had been Kevin’s idea. “Hey, I thought of a title,” he said out of the blue one day at lunch. “What if we called the album Phoenix?”

“Phoenix?” Nick repeated, wrinkling his nose. “What the hell is that, some kind of special dedication to our Arizona fans or something?”

“No,” Kevin replied patiently, then, sounding like he’d just swallowed an encyclopedia, explained, “a phoenix is a mythological bird that erupts into flames when it dies and then is reborn from its own ashes. See, I was thinking... everyone’s been calling us a ‘dead act’ because we’ve been out of the scene for so long and have had to keep postponing the album. So much shit has happened to us in the past few years, with J’s problems and the lawsuit against Jive... and then Nick...” He paused and cleared his throat, then continued, “Anyway, we’ve been knocked down again and again, and they all think we’re not coming back. But we’re no ‘dead act’. We’ll rise up again, like a phoenix from the ashes, and we’ll be better than ever. Right?” Nick stared across the table at Kevin in awe. “That’s... that’s really cool,” he said softly, wondering where in the hell Kevin had come up with all that.

“It is!” Howie said enthusiastically. “I think we should use it – it’s perfect!”

“Me too,” nodded Brian.

“Yeah, that’s da shit!” exclaimed AJ. “That would make a cool tattoo too, ya

know... a bird rising out of a bunch of flames? Sweet!” They all laughed, and from then on, their upcoming CD was no longer known as

“the new album,” but Phoenix.

And now that the recording was done, Phoenix was turning into a reality. They hoped to have the album out sometime in February, and then they would see if Kevin was right. They would either “rise up again, like a phoenix from the ashes...” Or they would crash and burn.

***

Nick returned home to Tampa in the first week of October. Much had changed there since he had left for California at the end of August. Claire, who he had talked to on the phone several times a week in LA, had been discharged from the hospital in mid-September and had gone to stay at her parents’ home in Gainesville while she regained her strength. Brent, James, Lane, and Frank had gotten a gig with their band, Born Into Kaos, opening for another rock group, and had embarked on a small tour. And with all of them gone, Nick was expecting a nice, boring fall.

But, of course, life always has a way of shaking things up, and as it turned out, Nick’s fall was not going to end up so boring after all.

It all started the day Nick got back from California. One of he first things he did after taking his luggage upstairs was check his answering machine. As he had suspected, it was chock full of messages. He dutifully played them, only half-listening, since most of them were outdated anyway, but there was one in particular toward the end of the tape that attracted his attention.

“Nick!” cried a sobbing, female voice, and with a jolt, he first thought it was Claire. But it wasn’t.

“It’s me, Leah. Leah Gaylers,” sniffled the girl, and he frowned. What would Leah be calling him for? And why was she crying? “Nick, I really have to talk to you about something, so can you please call me back as soon as you get this message?” And she rattled off her phone number.

There were two other messages similar to this one from Leah, and then it seemed she had either given up on him, or the tape had run out and stopped recording messages. When the tape stopped playing back, he sank down into a chair, mystified and wondering what to do. He didn’t really want to talk to her again, but he couldn’t ignore her... something had upset her greatly, and if it was as important as she made it out to be, he had to know what it was.

So he played back her first message and dialed her number.

“Hello?” her voice answered on the second ring.

“Hi... Leah? This is Nick.”

There was a pause, and then she squealed, “Nick! Oh my gosh, you have no idea how glad I am to hear from you! I thought you’d never call!”

“Sorry, I’ve been in LA,” he replied flatly. “I just got home today and played back your messages. So what did you have to talk to me about?”

“Um... well, it’s kind of... hard to say... on the phone I mean. I... I think I should tell you in person. Can I come over?”

He groaned inwardly. “Leah,” he said in exasperation, “what can’t you tell me over the phone? Just say it!”

“Please can I come over? I need to see you,” Leah whined.

“Fine,” he sighed heavily. “You comin’ over now then?”

“If you don’t mind.”

Yes, I do mind! his brain screamed in anger, but he replied submissively, “Nah, it’s cool. See you in a bit.”

They hung up, and Nick sat back to wait, his stomach twisting nervously.

Something wasn’t right... something was up. He just hadn’t the slightest idea what it could be.

***

“Thanks so much for letting me come over, Nicky,” gushed Leah half an hour later, when she arrived on his doorstep. As he backed up to let her in, she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a hug, practically burying her face in his shoulder.

Perplexed and a little frightened, Nick patted her back awkwardly and then tried to pull himself from her grasp. She released him and smiled coyly up at him. “Sorry,” she said, looking him over. “You look really good, Nicky. And have you been working out?” Her fingers drifted to his upper arm, running lightly over his bicep.

He couldn’t help but grin at her compliment. He had been working out, and he was pleased that someone had noticed that he was getting back into shape. “Yeah, a little bit,” he replied modestly, as her hand glided up to his shoulder and then across his broad chest. They started to descend downward, but he self-consciously retracted from her touch. “So,” he changed the subject, “um, how is everything?” Studying her, he noticed how haggard she was looking. She was still beautiful, but there were circles around her dark eyes, and her skin looked rather pinched and drawn, like she had been under a great deal of stress lately.

“Not so good,” she sighed. “Can we go sit down?”

“Sure.” He led her into the living room and sat down on the couch, patting a space for her to sit beside him. She did, sinking down next to him and inching her body as close to him as possible, without making actual contact. “So,” he said, glancing over at her. “What is it?”

Leah bit her lip. “I... I don’t know how to tell you this...”

“Just say it, Leah,” Nick urged, staring at her, his heart thudding against his ribcage as he grew wary of whatever it was that was so hard for her to tell him.

“Fine. I’m pregnant, Nick.”

***

Chapter 90

Her words hit him like daggers.

I’m pregnant.

His mouth dropped open, and he began to shake his head in denial. “It’s not... it can’t be... it can’t be my -“

“It is your baby!” Leah insisted. “I’m almost two months along... think back two months, Nick. What happened?”

Nick’s heart sank. Two months ago, he had been declared in remission. Two months ago, he had gone out celebrating. Two months ago, he had driven to Leah’s apartment in a drunken stupor...

“Oh my God,” he moaned, burying his head in his hands, his fingers clawing his face in desperation.

“‘Oh my God’ is right!” cried Leah. “I don’t know what to do! David found out, and he flew off the handle! I-I’d been living with him, see, and he kicked me out of his house!”

“David?” Nick questioned. “Who’s-“

“‘Preppy’,” Leah answered darkly. “You know, my boyfriend?”

“Ohh... him.” Nick remembered the wiry, wealthy-looking guy he had seen her with at a club those many months ago. “I-I thought you’d already broken up with him.” She sighed. “We’d been having problems, but we hadn’t broken up yet. In fact, it looked like things were going to work out between us... but then he found out about you and I... and the baby. Nicky, what am I supposed to do? I haven’t got any place to live!

I got rid of my apartment before I moved in with David, and I just don’t have the money to rent another one! I’ve been staying with a friend, but I can’t stay there forever, especially once the baby’s born...”

“So you’re keeping it?”

Her lip quivered, and she sniffled despairingly. “I don’t know,” she sobbed. “I thought about an... an abortion, but I-I just don’t know if I can go through with it... I’m afraid, Nicky!”

“Well, what about adoption?”

“But then how will I support myself while I’m pregnant? What am I going to do about a job?” she countered. “As soon as my boss finds out, he’ll fire me! I can’t dance if I’m pregnant! And the friend that I’m living with, she’s struggling enough already; she can’t support me either!”

Nick sighed, not knowing what to say. At his silence, Leah went on tearfully, “D-do you want me to get rid of it then?”

A million thoughts raced through Nick’s mind, as the reality of the situation slowly sunk in. Leah was pregnant... with his child. He’d gotten her pregnant, and now she was stuck and considering killing the baby as a way out. No, not just the baby... his baby.

Fleetingly, he thought of Brian’s baby and remembered how he’d held little Baylee and thought about the day when he’d have a son of his own.

And that’s when he knew that he could not let her get an abortion. He could not let her kill his unborn child. This was no longer about him and Leah, but about the new life the two of them had created together. He was not ready for a baby... he was not ready to be a father... but this was half his fault, and he would have to deal with the

consequences of his mistake. No way was he going to let an innocent child that was his own flesh and blood pay for his stupidity.

“No,” he answered firmly after a long silence. “You can’t get rid of it, Leah. This is a child we’re talking about. Our child.”

Her eyes widened hopefully as she looked at him. “Yes,” she said slowly. “Our child. Yours and mine both. So... so, you’ll help me then, right?” He closed his eyes briefly and took a shuddering breath. Then, feeling as if he was about to sign a deal with the devil himself, he opened his eyes again and nodded slowly. “Yeah, Leah,” he whispered. “I’ll help you.”

***

“You did what?! ” Claire’s voice screeched, and Nick pulled the phone away from his ear, wincing. “You’re letting that ho come live with you? Nick! I thought you had more common sense than that! If you’re so sold on helping her out, why don’t you just give her some money, not offer up your home to her!” Nick frowned, annoyed. “Jeez, forget I told you anything. I can’t just pay her off and send her on her merry way; that’s not right. That’s my baby she’s carrying!”

“So you’re gonna be Daddy Nick, now are you? What are you going to do when the kid’s born, marry her?”

“I don’t know,” Nick sniffed defensively. “Maybe.”

“Nick! That’s probably exactly what she wants! The little succubus... she’s already screwed you over once-“

“Twice,” corrected Nick in a dull voice.

“Twice?! Nickolas Gene Carter, are you a moron?!” Claire cried. “She’s probably just after your money or something! What if she’s not even pregnant?!”

“Well, gee, I think I’ll figure that one out soon enough then, Claire,” Nick remarked dryly, growing more and more pissed by the second. He’d called Claire and told her the news, hoping for some support in his decision to let Leah move in with him.

But support was the exact opposite of what she was giving him now. She was totally freaking out, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was really just jealous of Leah and the time and attention he’d be giving her from now on.

“Well, I would hope so,” said Claire. “But after what I’ve just heard from you, maybe you would be stupid enough to-“

“Shut up!” Nick snapped angrily. “Jesus, I didn’t call you so you could tell me how fucking stupid I am for trying to be a good person! You’re probably just jealous anyway, aren’t you?”

“Jealous of what?” Claire scoffed.

“I dunno, jealous of the fact that I knocked up Leah and not you? Jealous that Leah’s coming to live with me and not you?” A little voice inside his head told him he was going too far, but he didn’t care. Blinded by rage, he continued spitefully, “Well, you know what, Claire, get over it! Leah needs me right now, and I’m going to be there for her and my baby, whether you like it or not!”

There was a long pause in which Nick sat seething, breathing hard from his little outburst and waiting for a scathing retort from her. But none came. Instead, she broke the silence by saying in a voice as low as death, “I cannot believe you just said that to me.

Are you that arrogant and stuck on yourself? Are you really so blind that you can’t see

this for what it really is? Well then fine. You have a great time playing the part of the good boyfriend to your whore, and don’t you dare come crawling to me when it backfires on you.”

“Yeah whatever, Claire,” sneered Nick. “I’m not gonna go crawling anywhere. I don’t need you in my life if you’re gonna act like such a jealous bitch. It’ll be just me, Leah, and our baby. The perfect fucking little family.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Claire snorted resentfully. “Hey, wait a second... Nick, when did you say you slept wi-“

But she didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence because at that moment, Nick cut her off, ending the call with a quick punch of the button on his cordless phone.

Slamming the phone down, he let out a shaky breath and realized he was trembling in anger.

Screw her, he thought hostilely. I don’t fucking need her. I’ve got Leah now.

So what if his and Leah’s past relationship hadn’t worked out? They would make things work this time, both for themselves and their baby.

Everything was going to be just fine. Perfect, in fact.

He’d show her.

***

Chapter 91

Nick half-expected Claire to call back later that day or the next, crying, apologizing for how she had acted.

But she didn’t. A whole week passed by, and he didn’t hear from her once. But the world went on around him, and he went with it, going ahead with the plans he had worked out with Leah. She moved into his house on a warm Saturday in mid-October, marking the beginning of a new life for him. It was not a life he had expected or necessarily wanted, but that was just how things worked. He would make do and live with it, for his conscience allowed him no other choice.

To say the Boys were shocked when he told them would be a gross understatement. Kevin and Brian were both disappointed in him, he could tell.

Disappointed in him for getting a girl he didn’t love pregnant, yet relieved that he was at least taking care of her. Howie and AJ were more supportive, focusing only on the positives and wishing him good luck, offering to be there for him if he needed anything and congratulating him on becoming the second “Backstreet Daddy.” Not by choice, Nick thought dismally.

Of course, his family knew nothing of this yet, and he didn’t plan on telling them.

In fact, he hadn’t talked to any of them in months, except for Aaron, who had secretly called him a few times over the course of his late summer tour. But there was no point in phoning his fifteen-year-old brother to tell him that he had knocked up some girl and was now letting her move in with him.

He knew Jane would be beyond pissed when she found out that her famous oldest son had gotten “that stripper” pregnant. But he didn’t care one bit what she thought of him. She had tried the whole “mother” act a few times since he had kicked her out of his house, calling him up and leaving tearful messages on his machine, begging him to call her back. After the TRL interview announcing his remission, she had called even more frequently, but after he continued to ignore her, the calls died off.

Now it was back to the two of them pretending the other didn’t exist, and that was the way he preferred it, wanting nothing to do with the heartless woman who called herself his mother.

The day Leah moved in was chaotic. She had borrowed a large pick-up truck from a friend and had used it to haul suitcases and boxes of her stuff from where she been staying to Nick’s house. He met her out front and hastily started in with the moving, grunting as he slid a large box out of the truck bed. Leah made to help him, grabbing one of her stuffed suitcases, but he swatted her hand away. “You shouldn’t be lifting stuff, should you? That thing looks heavy,” he said, eyeing the bulging piece of luggage.

Leah giggled. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, Nicky. Okay then, I’ll just go inside. I’ll make lemonade for when you’re done, okay?”

“Sure,” Nick groaned, struggling under the weight of the box he was trying to carry.

It took nearly an hour to get all of her stuff moved from the truck to the largest guest bedroom upstairs, where she would be sleeping. Exhausted and out of breath, Nick stumbled down the stairs for the final time and went into the kitchen, where Leah was perched at the table, legs crossed, sipping a glass of pink lemonade. “There’s more on the counter,” she said, pointing to a pitcher of the pink liquid.

Without a word, Nick staggered over and poured himself a glass, downed it thirstily, and poured another. He joined Leah at the table, glad for a chance to sit down and relax.

“So,” he said after a moment, “your stuff’s all upstairs.”

“Good.” Leah smiled. “I’ll go unpack later. I thought we could go out for dinner tonight and maybe rent a movie on the way home?”

“Oh... well, do you think we could just order in tonight? I don’t really feel like going out to eat. Maybe we could just have pizza or something delivered.” Leah considered this a moment and then nodded. “Okay, that will work.” So that’s what they did. Nick called for pizza in the evening, while Leah went to the video store. She returned with three different chick flicks, sappy romances that Nick could care less about seeing. They watched “Romeo and Juliet” first, the newer one with Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes. Nick had never seen it before, nor had he ever had the urge to, for Leonardo DiCaprio was just irritating, and Claire Danes wasn’t that hot. He had to admit, the opening action sequence filled with guns and fire held his attention, but after that, the movie quickly went downhill.

He sat beside Leah on the couch, stuffed with pizza and daydreaming, his mind on anything but the movie. He couldn’t help but think of the time he and Claire had sat on the couch in her apartment, watching reruns of “The Man Show” late into the night.

For a brief moment, he wished Leah could be more like Claire. But he quickly pushed the thoughts of Claire out of his mind, for every time he thought of her, he felt sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Are you okay, Nicky?” Leah asked softly, and Nick quickly focused his attention on the movie again. Romeo had just showed up at some costume party dressed as a knight... was it Halloween already?

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered.

“Good.” As he stared unblinkingly at the TV screen, he felt her arm slide behind his head, her fingers creeping lightly along the nape of his neck. Her touch sent shivers down his spine, and he twitched a little. She giggled. “Ticklish?” He glanced over at her and smiled a little. “Guess so.” Their eyes locked, and even in the artificial twilight created by the TV screen in the unlit room, her beauty was evident. He felt her body brush against his as she shifted over a bit, never breaking her gaze from his eyes. Her arm tightened around his shoulder, bringing him closer to her, and her face began to drift toward his. He wanted to pull away, but her gleaming brown eyes were the song of a Siren, luring him ever closer to the unknown dangers that came with her kiss. Rendered senseless by the hypnotizing power she seemed to possess, he unconsciously dipped his head to meet hers, and their lips locked in a sensual kiss.

Leah’s kisses were like... M&M minis – “once you pop, the fun don’t stop,” right?

Well, that’s how it was with Leah. One taste was all it took to leave Nick craving for more, ready to overindulge himself on her body. His lips found her again, and now that the heat was rising, his heart was racing, and his hormones were raging, there was no going back. Romeo and Juliet shared their first passionate kiss in an elevator on the TV, but no one was watching, for Leah and Nick were lost in each other’s arms, her arms caressing his back, as his lips blindly explored every inch of her face.

“Are you ticklish here too?” Leah asked in a sultry whisper as she traced his jawline with her mouth and then nipped and sucked her way down the side of his neck,

finally resting her lips in the hollow just about his collarbone. His skin tingled with each soft touch, each gentle kiss, and his body yearned for more.

Leah was not one to disappoint.

She gave him more.

***

Nick woke up the next morning in his own bed, a smile on his face and a naked woman in his arms. Leah was still asleep, her head lolled on his shoulder, her body curled up against his, their legs entangled beneath the covers. He sighed blissfully, trying to stretch out without awakening her. But as soon as he moved, she left her dream world and awoke, sighing sleepily as her eyes fluttered open.

“Mm... Nick?” she asked groggily, pulling herself from his embrace and sitting up, pulling the sheet up with her to cover herself.

“Morning,” he said, smiling at her. Even after just waking up, her hair a tangled mess and her eyes glassy with sleep, she was gorgeous, and he couldn’t help but lean over and place a sweet kiss upon her lips.

“Morning,” she grinned, raking a hand through her blonde hair. “Are you hungry? Want me to make breakfast?”

“Make breakfast?” he repeated, impressed. “Sure!”

“Okay.” She slid out of bed, not bothering to conceal herself as she stood up, exposing her naked body to him once again. His eyes traveled over her, and he smiled a little as he caught sight of her stomach. He hadn’t really noticed it the night before, but her stomach was no longer flat, but protruding ever so slightly. She was already beginning to show.

Bending over to retrieve her clothes from the floor, she said, “I’ll be downstairs,” and walked out of the bedroom, leaving him alone. He found he did not like it that way and quickly got up, throwing on a pair of boxers before descending down the stairs.

When he met her in the kitchen, she was looking angelic in her white satin robe. Yet, a wicked smirk spreading over his face, he remembered how devilish she had been the night before.

He came up behind her, resting his hand briefly on her hips before letting them slide down further.

“Stop that,” she giggled, turning and swatting his hand away. “I’m trying to cook.”

As Nick had suspected, Leah’s “cooking” didn’t turn out to be very good. The toast was burnt, and the scrambled eggs were scorched, while the bacon was undercooked. But hey, Nick thought, at least she tried.

He was beginning to regret the things he had said to her those many months ago, right after his tour had ended. Maybe she had been telling the truth the whole time.

That she had been taken advantage of, that it wasn’t her fault. That she had never meant to hurt him. His mind had always told him she was not to be trusted. But then why did his heart always go crazy when she was around?

Follow your heart – wasn’t that what he had always been told to do?

Well, his heart was telling him that things were going to work between him and the beautiful Leah. So, against his better judgment, he followed its advice and let himself fall for her for the third time in his life.

***

Chapter 92

“This was a bad idea,” Nick muttered. “I shouldn’t have brought you along.”

“Nicky?” Leah peered over at Nick, her eyes questioning. “I wanted to come.

Now, I let you come to my doctor’s appointment two weeks ago; it’s only fair that I should come with you to yours. What’s the problem?” Nick shook his head wordlessly. He couldn’t explain what he was feeling; Leah just wouldn’t understand. Sitting in a chair in the all-too-familiar waiting room of the oncology clinic, he couldn’t help but be afraid. The three months since Dr. Kingsbury had told him he was in remission had flown by, and here he was, already back for his three-month follow up. He had been feeling great and looking much better, what with working out and his hair beginning to grow back. But he couldn’t help but worry that the doctor would find something wrong.

The thought of a relapse now, when he had his girlfriend back and a new album and baby on the way, was devastating. And the fear was overwhelming. He’d kept it all bottled up, not wanting to confide in Leah. The last thing he wanted to do was worry her; she had enough on her mind already.

At his silence, Leah heaved an exasperated sigh and picked up a maternity magazine, thumbing quickly through it. Watching her, Nick inadvertently thought of Claire. He had to admit, he wished she was there with him. He remembered all the times they had sat together in this very waiting room and how talking to her had helped to alleviate his nervousness. He had been able to tell her anything, and she had understood. She had known exactly what it felt like to sit there and stress over what kind of news you would hear from your doctor when you got back into that examining room.

But Claire was out of his life now. She hadn’t called him, and he hadn’t called her either, mostly out of spite and anger at what she had said to him. She thought he was an idiot for getting back together with Leah, when really, the past month had been the happiest one in a long time for him.

He and Leah had wiped the slate clean and were starting their relationship anew, and so far, things had worked out wonderfully. Being with Leah made him feel like his old self, made him feel like he was worthy and desirable again, a feeling he had not experienced in many months. Leah represented normalcy to him... while Claire... Claire reminded him of the world he’d been trying to escape, the world of cancer. Maybe it was for the best that they had distanced themselves from each other. Maybe it was a sign... a sign that everything was going to be all right, that he’d never have to go back to that nightmare world ever again.

This was the hopeful thought he chanted over and over again in his mind as a nurse led him and Leah back to one of the examining rooms. Leah’s grip on his hand was tight, but he barely felt it. He had gone numb, it seemed. Numb with fear. He changed his clothes in a fog, letting Leah secure the ties on the back of his hospital gown. Then she sat down in a chair off to one side of the small room, while he sank down onto the examining table, anxiously twisting wads of material from the long gown in his sweaty hands.

A nurse he had met there before, Marianne, came to weigh him and take his temperature and blood pressure. Standard procedure. He went through the drill blindly, hardly paying attention as she made cheerful small talk with him and Leah.

It was funny how much more nervous he was this time, when he had been given a clean bill of health at his last visit, than he had been at the visits during his chemo treatments. He supposed it was because hearing bad news now, after he had gone three months thinking he had beaten cancer, would be much worse than hearing it while he was still sick as a dog from the chemo, back when it had seemed like things couldn’t have gotten much worse anyway.

He was relieved when Dr. Kingsbury arrived to start the examination. If he was in for bad news, might as well get it over with as soon as possible.

“Hi, Nick,” the middle-aged doctor greeted him with a warm smile. “How are you doing today?”

“Fine,” he answered, swallowing hard, for his throat had gone as dry as cotton.

“Oh, who’s your friend?” Dr. Kingsbury asked, noticing Leah.

Leah smiled sweetly and stood, offering the older woman her hand. “I’m Leah Gaylers,” she introduced. “Nick’s girlfriend.” Nick couldn’t help but notice the way she stressed the word “girlfriend” and swelled with a sort of pride.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Barbara Kingsbury,” said Dr. Kingsbury, shaking Leah’s hand. “Okay, Nick, ready to get started?”

“Yeah,” Nick mumbled, wishing he could just go home instead. He felt sick to his stomach. Dr. Kingsbury must have noticed this, for she lay a comforting hand on his shoulder and smiled.

“You look nervous,” she said. “How have you been feeling lately? Any complaints, or is there anything you think I should know about?” Nick thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No,” he answered hoarsely.

“I’ve been feeling fine.”

“Great,” the doctor smiled. “Then no reason to be nervous. This check-up is just to be on the safe side, you know.” Her tone was casual and not the least bit concerned, so he relaxed a little. “I’m just going to look you over quickly, and then we’ll get your x-rays and scans done. And then – you’re gonna love this – a bone marrow.”

“Aww, man,” he groaned, his stomach rolling with nausea at the thought of that monstrous needle crunching through his bone again.

“Sorry. But it’s only every three months now. You’ll live.” She patted his shoulder again and then started in with the examination, listening to his heart and lungs, feeling his glands, and prodding at his left leg, the one that had started this whole mess. When she was finished, she had climb off the table and ushered him into a wheelchair for the short ride to radiology.

Leah started to follow, but Dr. Kingsbury held her back. “You might as well just wait here, hon. They won’t let you go into the room with him while they’re taking the x-rays because of the radiation.”

“Oh.” Leah looked pouty. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you in awhile, babe,” Nick promised, forcing himself to smile at her over his shoulder as the doctor escorted him out of the room.

***

With the bone scans out of the way, all that was left was the dreaded bone marrow aspiration. Nick was taken back to the examining room, where Leah sat waiting for him.

“How’d it go?” she asked anxiously, as he clambered out of the wheelchair and back onto the table.

“Fine,” he said. “It’s this next test that sucks the big one... I dunno if you’ll even wanna be in here for it.” He eyed her skeptically.

Leah bit her lip, but insisted, “I want to stay with you.” He shrugged. “Whatever you want. But I warn you, you might wanna sit down. I don’t want you passing out and hurting our baby.” He smiled to let her know he was kidding.

“Oh, Nicky,” she said fondly, coming to his side and wrapping her hand in his.

“I’ll be fine. Whatever you have to go through, I want to be right there with you. We’re a couple now, right? We have to stick together.”

Looking up into her shining brown eyes, he smiled and squeezed her hand.

“Right,” he said huskily.

Dr. Kingsbury came bursting back in just in time to break up the Kodak moment, followed by Marianne, who was apparently there to hold him down again. Fun, fun.

With a sigh, Nick lay down and rolled onto his right side, his back to Leah. She came around to the other side so she could face him and took his hand as the doctor and nurse got into place.

His heart began to race as he heard Dr. Kingsbury moving around behind him, getting ready to do the procedure. He only hoped he could keep it together. Crying when he was alone was fine. Having his eyes well up on him when Claire was there, okay. But he’d be damned if he was going to let a tear escape in front of Leah. He was a man; he had to act tough for her and not let on to how painful it was.

He winced as Dr. Kingsbury injected him with a shot of anesthetic to numb his hip. Then, a few minutes later, she whispered, “Okay, Nick, here it comes.” He felt Leah’s grip on his hand tighten, and he stared at a spot on the wall and gritted his teeth, refusing to clutch her hand, refusing to close his eyes, refusing to make a sound. He felt the large needle slide into his skin, and as it worked its way down into his pelvic bone, it was all he could do not to let out a whimper. He held his breath and kept perfectly still, using all of his inner strength to be brave. His eyes burned, but he refused to blink, somehow knowing that as soon as he did, the tears would come, and he could not allow that to happen.

“Um, Barb, hold him, I think I need to get her a chair,” he vaguely heard the nurse say, and a moment later, he felt her hands ease off his body . He let his eyes flit from the wall to Leah, who was suddenly white as a sheet and breathing rapidly, a sheen of sweat covering her forehead.

“Leah,” he choked out and heard Dr. Kingsbury say, “Shh, Nick, hold still, it’s almost over.”

Marianne quickly dragged a chair over and eased Leah down into it, whispering soothingly, “There, sit down, sweets, and bend over, put your head down. That’s the way. Take deep breaths. There you go.”

The needle was retracted, and Nick let out the breath he was holding. He closed his eyes briefly and immediately felt them begin to water. Blinking furiously, he opened them again and stared at the wall until he had regained his composure. Then he looked to Leah, who was hunched over in the chair, her head in her hands, her back trembling.

“Leah?” he rasped. “Babe, you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” was Leah’s shaky reply. “A-are you?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Nick replied, trying to hide the tremor in his own voice as his hip throbbed with constant waves of pain.

He felt Dr. Kingsbury’s hand rub across his back. “You did great, Nick,” she said quietly. “And Leah will be fine; she just got a little faint. It happens all the time, nothing to worry about.”

Nick nodded, feeling a little better. Dr. Kingsbury and Marianne left the room to give him some time to recover. After a few minutes of lying still, the pain slowly began to fade, and Leah eventually sat up in her chair, some of her color returning.

“God,” she laughed shakily. “I guess you were right. That was horrible, Nick.” He smiled knowingly. “Yeah,” he said, hoping he sounded casual. “But it’s over.

Now we just have to wait and see what Dr. K has to tell me.” But the waiting was the worst part of all.

***

About half an hour later, Dr. Kingsbury returned, and Nick’s heart began to race again. She was going to give him bad news... he’d relapsed, he just knew it. But surprisingly, she smiled.

“Everything looks good, Nick,” she said. “The scans show the tumor in your leg is dormant, and your bone marrow’s clean.”

He let out a shaky breath, scarcely believing the good news. “Really?” he asked incredulously. “So... so, am I cured yet?”

She smiled. “Not quite yet. Technically, we don’t call anyone ‘cured’ until they’ve been cancer-free for five years. So you have a ways to go. But you’re definitely on the right track. Keep going with your medications, and I’d like to have you in here for another check-up in three months. Sound good?”

“Sounds great,” Nick breathed happily. Then a thought hit him. “Hey, Dr. K?

Um, what about my... my catheter? C-can it come out yet?” Dr. Kingsbury considered this a moment, then nodded. “Sure,” she said.

“Hopefully you won’t be needing one again. I’ll pull it out, and you’ll be able to go swimming again in no time. I’m sure that was a bummer this summer, especially living here in Florida, huh?”

“Ohhh yeah,” Nick said, nodding vigorously. “So I’ll be able to swim as soon as it’s out?”

“As soon as the insertion site has healed,” replied Dr. Kingsbury. “Which should take a few days. I would give it a week before you swim, especially if you plan on hitting the beach. But after that... you can do whatever you like.” He smiled broadly and knew he’d be taking his boat out the following week. Oh, how he longed to swim in the ocean again, to have the powerful waves carry his body up and down. Maybe he’d try his hand at surfing again. He’d only recently gotten good at that, but he hadn’t practiced in months. It didn’t matter though... as long as he was in the water, he’d be happy. He’d often wondered if he’d been a fish in a past life, the way he was so attached to water...

“Okay, Nick, if I could just have you pull down your gown a little for me and lie down on your back...” Dr. Kingsbury was saying. Nick obeyed, undoing the strings in the back of his gown and sliding it off his shoulders until the catheter under his collarbone was exposed. He lay down, while the doctor crossed the room and washed

her hands rigorously at the sink. She opened up the cabinets above the sink and removed some supplies. She carried them over and assembled them on a stainless steel tray beside the examining table. Pulling on a pair of surgical gloves, she carefully took off the small gauze dressing covering the spot where the catheter went in and then said,

“I’m just going to clean this off with saline.”

The liquid she rubbed over the area surrounding the catheter was cold, and he shivered as it came into contact with his skin. He watched as Dr. Kingsbury then took a tiny pair of scissors and snipped at a few fine sutures that held the catheter in place.

Then she piled small gauze pads around the catheter. “I’m going to pull this out now,” she said. “Hold still.”

Blanching, Nick forced himself to lie still while Dr. Kingsbury gripped the catheter and begin to pull. He felt a strange sensation and a little pain, but then it was over, and Dr. Kingsbury was holding a very thin, clear tube. It was stained reddish with his blood, and he immediately felt woozy at the sight of it. That had been in his body, in his vein.

“Here, Nick, put your hand here and press down on the gauze,” said the doctor, guiding his hand to the area on his chest where the catheter had been. It was covered in gauze pads, which were turning red as he bled from the site where the catheter had been ripped out. His queasiness increased as he watched the red circle spread across the pads. “Don’t worry about the blood; it’ll stop,” assured Dr. Kingsbury. “You just need to apply pressure for about five minutes to give it a chance to clot. Press down hard.” He pushed down with his hand and looked away. Leah was huddled in a chair, not watching, and he was glad, wondering if the sight of his blood would make her almost faint again.

When five minutes had passed, and the bleeding had stopped, Dr. Kingsbury removed the sodden gauze pads and taped a fresh, clean dressing over the small hole in his chest. “Leave the bandage on for two to three days,” she told Nick, “and call if you have any problems.”

“Okay,” he nodded. “Can I go then?”

She smiled. “You can go. Get dressed, and I’ll let Laura at the receptionist’s desk know you’ll need an appointment in three months. Stop by there on your way out to pick a day.”

“Okay. Thanks, Dr. K.”

“You’re welcome. Have a good holiday season,” she said.

“Same to you.” He shook the doctor’s hand, and then she left.

Leah stood up at once. “So that’s it?” she asked. “You’re still in remission?”

“That’s right,” Nick grinned. “Still in remission.” And as far as he was concerned, that was it. He was done with cancer. He’d made it three months already... what was another four years and nine months? Piece of cake. In his book, he was as good as cured.

***

Chapter 93

The rest of November and December passed quickly. Nick became busy with work once again, making several trips to meet the rest of the Backstreet Boys for photo shoots, interviews, and appearances leading up to the release of the first single from Phoenix, on December sixteenth. They made an appearance on TRL that day to premiere the music video, their first live MTV appearance since that horrible show almost seven months earlier, when the world had discovered that Nick Carter, the Backstreet Baby, had cancer.

But things were much happier this time around. Nick, glad to be back in good health and looking halfway normal again, eagerly hugged the screaming fans, signed autographs, and answered questions. Apparently, their video debuted at number one on the countdown the following day, but with Christmas only eight days away, none of the guys had time to track its progress.

Brian and Kevin had invited Nick to spend Christmas with their family in Kentucky. It was not the first time he’d been invited to spend a holiday with one of the guys in the last few years, and he knew it was because they felt sorry for him. Holidays at the Carter home just hadn’t been the same since the year he had decided to spend Christmas with Mandy instead of his family, and though a part of him wished he could go to his parents’ house in LA for a nice family Christmas, he knew he’d be much happier spending the holiday with the Littrell/Richardson clan instead.

He decided to bring Leah with him, since she didn’t have much of a family of her own, and since neither Brian, nor Kevin, had met her yet. He was a little nervous, hoping they’d like her. The guys hadn’t liked too many of his girlfriends in the past, and he didn’t have high hopes for Leah, considering they’d all heard about what she had done to him earlier that year. But he was hoping that actually meeting her would change their minds.

It was Brian who arrived to pick Nick and Leah up from the airport on Christmas Eve. “Hey, Frack!” he called loudly, grinning widely as he embraced Nick.

“Heya, Frick.” Nick hugged Brian back and then gave him a noogie, digging his fist into Brian’s head and ruffling his hair.

Brian laughed. “Hey, soon I’m gonna be able to do that to you again,” he said, standing on his tip-toes to pull off Nick’s hat and run a hand over the fine layer of dark blonde hair that covered his head.

Nick laughed, unable to hide his pleasure in the fact that his hair was finally growing back.

“So,” said Brian, suddenly looking past Nick. “You must be Leah.” He smiled politely, though Nick couldn’t help but notice that the smile didn’t quite reach his expressive blue eyes.

“Yes,” said Leah, smiling back and extending her hand. “And you’re Brian.”

“Sure am.” They cordially shook hands. “Oh, um, congratulations,” Brian said, his eyes traveling down to her distended stomach.

Leah smiled, her hand dropping instinctively to rub her belly. “Thank you.”

“Oh, hey, Bri, I didn’t tell you!” Nick said suddenly, his eyes lighting up as he remembered the latest batch of “big news”. He and Leah had gone to see her obstetrician three days earlier for a check-up, and she had done a sonogram... “It’s a girl!”

“A girl?” Brian grinned. “Aw, Nick, that’s awesome! A baby girl...

congratulations!”

Nick beamed. For some reason, he’d always thought of the baby as a boy, always pictured himself with a son. But now that he knew he and Leah were going to have a little girl... he couldn’t have been happier. They’d already begun discussing names and had narrowed it down to Cassandra, Terra, or Elaina. Nick’s personal favorite had been Lara, but Leah had said there was no way she was naming her daughter after “that chick from Tombraider.” (He hadn’t bothered to tell her that “Terra” was a character in Final Fantasy VI.)

“So, how’s Baylee?” Nick questioned as they cautiously made their way through the bustling holiday crowds, feeling it was only right to ask.

“He’s great!” Now it was Brian’s turn to beam. “He’s walking now! Finally took his first steps all by himself last week! And he talks too... you know, ‘mama’, ‘dada’,

‘doggie’... the usual.”

“Awesome! I’m gonna teach him to say ‘Nick,’” Nick replied with a playful grin.

“Well, that’s fine – just don’t go teaching him other words that you would probably find it amusing to hear my one-year-old say,” Brian warned, his eyes narrowing at Nick. “Remember, he’s a child, not a parrot, okay?” Nick burst out laughing, and Brian joined in. “Hey, I don’t think it’s me you gotta worry about, Rok, but I’d keep the kid away from McLean for awhile if I were you.” Their laughter lasted all the way to the baggage claim area.

***

The Littrell house was already a mass of activity when Brian, Nick, and Leah arrived. Brian’s mother, Jackie, and Leighanne were both in the kitchen, cooking, while Baylee sat on the floor, banging a wooden spoon against a pot and squealing at the sound it made.

“We’re ho-ome!” Brian called above the racket, leading Nick and Leah into the kitchen.

“Oh, there you are!” trilled Jackie, dropping her spoon and wiping her hands on the red Christmas apron she had tied around her waist. Smiling broadly, she hurried to Nick, exclaiming, “Oh, it’s so good to see you, Nick, honey!” and threw her arms around him. Her motherly hug felt just a little bit tighter than he remembered it, and she clung to him for what seemed like several minutes before finally letting him go and pulling back to inspect him. “You’ve lost weight,” she commented, eyeing him critically.

“A little, yeah,” he understated embarrassedly.

Jackie smiled, a twinkle in her warm blue eyes, identical to Brian’s. “Don’t you worry,” she said. “I’ll fatten you right up.” She squeezed his upper arms affectionately and then turned her attention upon Leah, saying, “Now, you must be Leah. I’m Jackie.

Lovely to meet you, darlin’.” And before Leah could even respond, Jackie had wrapped her up in a hug as well. Nick noticed Leah’s back stiffen as Jackie touched her and knew she was taken aback by such forwardness. But that’s just how Jackie Littrell was. A wonderful woman with a kind heart, Jackie was friendly to everyone and was always dispensing hugs. Just as Brian had become one of the four older brothers Nick had never had, Jackie had become one of the four mothers he’d never had either.

“Now, how are along are you, dear?” Jackie was asking Leah, smiling at her

obviously pregnant belly.

“Almost five months,” replied Leah.

While Jackie and Leah made small talk, Leighanne abandoned her work and came over to Nick. “Great to see you again, Nick,” she said, giving him a friendly hug.

“You look good.”

“You too,” Nick complimented her, noticing how her figure had finally returned, the pounds she had gained while pregnant with Baylee finally all the way shed.

“Thanks,” she said, blushing. At her feet, Baylee slammed his spoon against his pot and shrieked with delight. Grinning, Leighanne stooped down beside her son.

“Baylee,” she said, “You remember Nick?”

“Hey, kiddo,” Nick said, kneeling down and ignoring the wave of pain that shot through his left leg as he bent it.

“Can you say hi to Nick?” Leighanne prompted. “Baylee? Can you say ‘Nick’?

Say ‘Nnniiiick’.” She enunciated his name, trying to get the baby to imitate her, but Baylee just ducked bashfully behind her legs and kept mute.

Nick laughed. “That’s okay,” he said. “He’ll come around, won’t you, B-Man?” He tried to peek around Leighanne’s legs, but Baylee put his chubby hands over his eyes, as if trying to hide himself.

“He will,” assured Leighanne apologetically. “He’s just being shy.” But as promised, Baylee’s shyness wore off as the day passed, and by that evening, he was letting Nick hold him. But it was Brian who got to hold Baylee on his lap that night, as he read “The Night Before Christmas.” The poem held a new sort of magic for Nick, who hadn’t heard it read aloud like that since Aaron and Angel were little. He watched the proud smile on Brian’s face as he read to his son and pictured himself doing the same thing with his daughter the following year. It was strange to think how different his life would be by then. He would be a daddy.

“Baylee’s cute, huh?” Nick murmured to Leah later that night, as they lay together in bed. Nick couldn’t sleep, too full from the lovely dinner Jackie had prepared and too excited for morning to come. Even though he was “all grown up,” at twenty-three, he still could never fall asleep on Christmas Eve. There would not be toys under the Christmas tree for him the next morning, but there would be for Baylee, and picturing the toddler the following morning filled him with anticipation. Although it was not technically Baylee’s first Christmas, it would be the first time he would be old enough to actually understand some of what was going on, having been only a month old the previous year. Nick couldn’t wait to see his godson’s reaction to everything.

“Yeah, he’s cute,” Leah replied. “But just wait till our baby comes. Elaina...” Whispering the potential name, she rested her hand on her stomach beneath the covers.

“Terra,” Nick countered playfully.

“Cassandra.”

“Lara.”

She reached out and slapped him lightly in the darkness. “I told you, we’re not naming her after Lara Cr-“ But her sentence was cut off by a sudden gasp.

“Leah? What is it?” Nick asked, rolling to face her. “Are you-“

“Nicky!” she whispered. “Feel!” He felt her hand grab his underneath the covers and guide it to her stomach. He laid it there and felt her hand come to rest on top of his.

“What am I feeling for?” he whispered back.

“She kicked! Just wait a minute, maybe she’ll do it again.”

He waited, holding his breath, his fingertips tingling in anticipation. And then, it happened. He felt movement from inside Leah’s belly, two jerky palpitations. “Oh my God,” he breathed. “She is kicking!”

“And hard too,” Leah groaned hoarsely.

Nick chuckled. “That’s my girl. A future soccer star, maybe.”

“Soccer?” Leah repeated. “I thought you wanted a basketball player.”

“She’ll be both,” Nick said confidently.

“With your athletic skills? I doubt that,” snorted Leah.

“Well, fine. Maybe she’ll take after you then. She can be a dancer...” He snickered, as Leah smacked him a second time.

***

After all the presents had been opened the following day, the whole family (plus Nick and Leah) sat down together for a giant Christmas feast. Kevin and Kristin, along with Kevin’s mother, Anne, and his two brothers and their families, had arrived around eleven to join in the festivities. Now they all sat gathered around two large tables in the cramped dining room, waiting to start the meal.

But before they could eat, Brian’s father, Harold, bowed his head and led the family in saying grace. Nick had never been much of a religious person, but as he bowed his head and folded his hands together, he found himself really listening to Harold’s words and thanking God for all that he had been given, from the delicious-looking array of food piled on the table, to the group of people around him, who had lovingly invited him to spend the holiday in their midst. He thanked God for bringing Leah back to him and for blessing them with a daughter, who had started out as something of a mistake, but had ended up anything but. And most of all, he thanked the Lord for his health.

Being diagnosed with cancer had sobered him, shown him what it was like to fear for your life, and he realized he was blessed to be alive this Christmas.

“Amen,” he murmured along with the others and hoped that God had heard his silent prayers.

Immediately, dishes were passed around the table, and everyone began to load their plates with the wonderful food that had been prepared. Nick had just dug his fork into a hunk of turkey when he remembered his medications. It was just past noon, time for him to take his midday round of pills. He hesitated, not wanting to disrupt the meal and attract attention to himself, but somehow, he knew that if he waited, he would forget all about them.

“Excuse me for a minute,” he mumbled, embarrassed, and quickly got up from his chair, all eyes immediately turning upon him. Squeezing between chairs, he made his way out of the dining room and hurried up the staircase, taking the steps two at a time in his hurry to get to the guest bathroom, where he had stored his pill bottles along with his shaving kit.

In the safety of the bathroom, he removed the bottle of Cytoxan. He hesitated, then, remembering it was a Thursday, also grabbed the bottle of Methotrexate, the drug he only had to take once a week. He quickly downed his Cytoxan pill and was just shaking six of the tiny, yellow Methotrexate caplets into his hand when a soft knock came at the door.

“Yeah?” he called.

“Nick?” It was Brian. “You okay?”

Nick opened the door to find his friend standing there, his face a mask of concern. “I’m fine,” he said, blushing. “I’m sorry, I just... forgot to take my meds.” He sheepishly held up the handful of yellow pills. “I didn’t want to interrupt, but if I don’t take ‘em now, I’ll probably forget to later, and then-“

“Nick,” Brian stopped his babbling with a smile. “It’s okay. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Thanks. I’m cool,” Nick replied. “Hang on a minute while I take these, and then I’ll come back down with you.”

“Okay.” He felt Brian’s eyes on him as he put three of the pills in his mouth and filled a small drinking glass with water from the faucet to wash them down with. “You have to take all of those?” Brian asked incredulously, as Nick shoved in the last three pills.

“Yeah,” Nick replied when he had swallowed, drawing the back of his hand across his mouth. “Sucks, don’t it? Luckily it’s just once a week for all those yellow ones. Every Thursday. That’s random, huh?”

“Yeah,” Brian agreed, offering him an awkward smile. “Well, you ready?”

“Uh-huh.” Quickly shoving the prescription bottles back into his shaving kit, Nick switched off the bathroom light and followed Brian back downstairs, eager to dig into his Christmas dinner and hoping desperately that the Methotrexate wouldn’t make it all come back up again later.

***

Chapter 94

“Meth-o-trex-ate,” Nick mumbled to himself, sounding out the lengthy drug name as he typed it into the search box. After studying it for a moment, trying to figure out if he had spelled it correctly or not, he tapped the enter key and waited. A moment later, the search page refreshed with a whole listing of websites containing information about the drug Methotrexate. Briefly skimming over the descriptions, he clicked on a link and waited while the page loaded.

It was Thursday, January 24, and Nick was feeling particularly conniving. It was almost noon, time for his weekly dose of the six little yellow pills that he hated with a passion, and he was debating over whether or not to take them.

Up until that point, he had followed his medication schedule quite faithfully, almost always taking his pills at the right times and on the right days. The problem was, recently, he had been developing canker sores again, the kind he had gotten while on chemo. They always seemed to crop up on Friday or Saturday, and he was almost positive it was the dose of Methotrexate he took every Thursday that was causing them.

Even after realizing this, he had kept taking the drugs, knowing that Dr. Kingsbury had prescribed them for a reason.

But this week was different. His twenty-fourth birthday was on Monday, in four days, and he had big plans for the night. He and Leah would be going out to dinner, just the two of them, for what she thought was simply a birthday celebration. But it was going to be more than that.

Smiling, he thought of the treasure that lay hidden beneath stacks of boxers in his top dresser drawer. Positioned on a bed of black satin inside a small, black velvet case, was a ring. Large, sparkling, and beautiful, it had a three carat, radiant-cut diamond set in a band of yellow gold and flanked by a one-half carat, emerald-cut diamond on either side. It was an engagement ring.

After weeks of thought and consideration, Nick had decided to ask Leah to marry him. They have been living together for over three months, and she was the mother of his unborn child. It just seemed like the right thing to do. And besides, he loved her...

didn’t he?

He planned to propose after she gave him his present, whenever that would be.

He even had somewhat of a speech planned out.

“This is wonderful, babe,” he would say, after opening whatever she had gotten for him. “But there’s something else I was hoping for this year.”

“What’s that, Nick?” she would ask, looking perplexed and disappointed, thinking she had bought him the wrong present.

“The best gift I could ever ask for,” he would continue, looking right into her gorgeous brown eyes, “would be to have you as my wife. Leah Gaylers, will you marry me?”

It all sounded so perfect in his head, though he had a feeling he’d stammer like crazy and make a total fool of himself when it came down to it. But hey, as long as she said yes, it wouldn’t be a problem.

He smiled. She would say yes. He didn’t doubt that for an instant.

As his head descended from the clouds, Nick’s attention returned to the laptop computer in front of him. The website had loaded, and he scrolled down it, skimming through basic information about his medication.

“Aha,” he said aloud, as he reached the section about side effects. “‘Sore mouth and taste change, ’” he read. “‘Your mouth may become sore, or you may notice small ulcers during this treatment.’ Yeah, tell me about it,” he chuckled bitterly. So that was it... the Methotrexate was causing canker sores, and if he took them that day, his mouth would probably still be raw and sore by Monday night. And that took all the fun out of dinner, not to mention any mouth-to-mouth action with Leah later that night.

“Eh, it won’t hurt to skip one week, will it?” he wondered aloud and scrolled further down the page, looking to see what it said about missing a dose. He found a section called “Additional Information” and skimmed over it. His eyes were immediately drawn to the word “fertility,” and he stopped to read. “Your ability to become pregnant or father a child may be affected by taking this drug.” Wow, Nick thought, guess I was lucky. Leah had conceived just days before he had taken the first round of Methotrexate. But as he thought about this, he wondered if other anticancer drugs had the same affect and decided to do another search.

“‘Not all drugs affect your fertility,’” he read on another site. “‘ But others can reduce the number of sperm you produce and affect the sperm's ability to fertilize a female egg during sex. If this happens it may be temporary or it may mean that you will no longer be able to father children. However, it is important to use contraception throughout your treatment as pregnancy is not advisable - the drugs could harm the baby.’”

His heart began to race. What if the baby was born with some kind of defect that he had caused? Leah’s doctor had said the baby was fine, but what if there was a problem they would not know about until later? It would be all his fault...

He felt sick to his stomach and knew he had to talk to Leah about it.

Maybe I’ll call Dr. Kingsbury first and ask her, he thought. Surely his doctor would know if any of the chemotherapy drugs he had been on could have hurt the baby.

Leah was off shopping, so he decided to call then, while she wasn’t in the house to overhear. He looked up the number for the hospital, and after being shuffled from department to department and put on hold several times, his doctor’s familiar voice greeted his ears.

“Dr. Kingsbury speaking.”

“Hi, Dr. K... this is Nick Carter,” Nick spoke into the phone, his voice shaking slightly.

“Oh, Nick, hi! How are you?”

“Um, okay. I... I just had a question.”

“Okay, go ahead.”

“Um... well...” Nick hesitated nervously, “my... my girlfriend’s pregnant. S-she’s about six months along now, and I was just wondering if... if the c-chemo or any of the drugs I’ve been taking could have hurt the baby.”

There was a pause, and then the doctor said, “Well... I’m actually quite surprised she was able to conceive. Six months... that would put the conception date at sometime in August, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Nick answered, feeling himself blush.

“So right after you finished chemo. Honestly, Nick, most chemotherapy drugs make men temporarily infertile. So you were one of the lucky few not to have that problem, I guess. Has your girlfriend been seeing an OB?”

“Yeah... she goes once a month,” replied Nick.

“That’s good. Very good. And there haven’t been any problems?”

“No.”

“Well... then I wouldn’t worry about it. There is a risk, but if she’s already six months along, and no problems have been spotted, there’s a good chance the baby was unaffected. You should probably have her mention this to her OB next time she goes; her doctor might want to run some extra tests. But for now, there’s really nothing you can do but wait and see. Don’t dwell on it too much.”

“Okay,” Nick said slowly, feeling slightly relieved. “Well, thanks, Dr. Kingsbury.”

“You’re welcome, Nick. Good luck to you and your girlfriend.” Fiancée, Nick thought in his head, as he thanked the doctor again and told her goodbye. Or at least that’s what he hoped Leah would be in four days.

***

Nick didn’t mention what he had found out about the side effects of his chemotherapy to Leah, at least not at first. In the days that followed, there was only one thought on his mind: Monday night and the proposal.

On the afternoon of his twenty-fourth birthday, Leah sent him out with a grocery list to do some shopping, which was probably just a way to get him out of the house so that she could wrap his present or something. Though he hated grocery shopping, he went without complaint, only to realize halfway to the store that he had forgotten the list she had made him.

He turned back, prepared to stop by the house just long enough to grab the list off the kitchen table and leave again. When he reached home, he ducked into the kitchen and got the small slip of paper, covered in Leah’s large, bubbly handwriting. And as he was walking back out again, he heard Leah’s high-pitched laugh ring out loudly from the adjacent living room. Frowning in puzzlement, he hesitated, then tip-toed across the kitchen and peered into the living room.

Leah was perched on the couch, the phone to her ear, giggling at whatever the person on the other line was saying. Her back was to him, and she apparently had not heard him come in, for she made no move to turn around. Shrugging, he turned to walk out again, when he heard his own name.

“-Nick’s birthday,” Leah was saying. “Yeah, we’re just going out to dinner.” She paused, and Nick paused as well, knowing he should leave. And he started to, in fact, but the next words that left Leah’s mouth and carried into the kitchen stopped him in mid-step. “No,” she laughed. “The poor boy still has no idea. He’s convinced the baby’s his.”

Nick froze, his heart pounding loudly in his chest, so loudly, in fact, that he was sure Leah would be able to hear it in the next room. He’s convinced the baby’s his.

What was that supposed to mean? That the baby wasn’t his?

He couldn’t help but listen now, so he crept back to the doorway and stood just beyond it, hidden from Leah’s view, waiting for her to continue.

“Yeah,” she giggled. “He’s completely clueless. We never even had sex that night, Lynn! He fucking passed out before I could get anywhere with him! No, of course he doesn’t remember that; he was drunk off his ass. So he woke up to find us both naked in bed, and he assumed we had sex. And I kinda went with it and made him think we did.” She giggled again.

“Yeah, I know, I’m evil. But I was just messing with him for fun. I didn’t think there would be any benefits to it. But then I found out I was pregnant. And I got my brilliant idea... go to Nick, tell him the baby’s his, and see if he’s decent enough to offer to support me and ‘his’ baby. I mean, David’s all right, and I know that if he knew I was pregnant with his kid, he would have supported me. Hell, he probably would have married me. But, I dunno... David’s just not Nick. He’s got money, all right, but not like Nick. And Nick’s famous, girl. So of course I’d take the Backstreet Boy over the computer geek; I mean, who wouldn’t? And lucky for me, Nick’s a decent guy. It was weird at first, but now I’ve got him wrapped around my little finger. The boy’s completely whipped. He’s gonna propose; I just know he is.” Feeling absolutely sick to his stomach, Nick’s thoughts flashed to the ring in his dresser. The ring he had planned to give Leah that very night, when he asked for her hand in marriage.

“And then,” Leah was saying, a malicious tone in her voice, “when he kicks the bucket, I’ll get everything. I don’t know exactly what he’s worth, Lynn... but it’s a lot, I’ll tell you that much. I’ll never have to work another day in my life.” She paused. “What do you mean, what if he doesn’t die? He has cancer, Lynn. People die from cancer.

Okay, so he’s in remission or whatever now. Big deal. That doesn’t mean he will be forever. My grandpa had cancer, too, and he was in remission for awhile. Then it came back. And he died. If the same thing happens to Nick, I’ll get his entire fortune. He hates his fucking family; they’re not gonna get shit. It will all go to me, his loving, devoted wife.” She cackled, her voice laden with sarcasm. “And hey, if I pretend to be the grieving widow, maybe I’ll even get a few interviews and stuff. A little publicity would be nice, don’t you think? Maybe it would get my foot in the door for an acting career; whaddya think?”

Nick couldn’t stand to hear anymore. His knees buckled, and he sank to the kitchen floor, his entire body trembling. So this was the real Leah. This was the girl he had intended to marry. She had lied to him again and again, used him for his money and his fame, gotten him to not only support her and a child that wasn’t even his, but to fall in love with her. Again.

Against his will, miserable tears began to slide down his cheeks. He was beyond humiliated. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have been so blind? And how... how could anyone be so cruel? He had fallen for her... and he thought she had fallen for him too. But it was just one of her many lies. Their whole relationship had been nothing but lies.

“Well, I better go. He’ll be home from the store soon, and I need to go get his damn birthday present wrapped. Yeah, I’ll talk to you later. Bye, girl.” Vaguely, Nick heard a click as Leah shut off the phone and then approaching footsteps. She was heading toward the kitchen, but he made no effort to move. Let her find him there; what did he care?

Her bare feet slapped against the tiled floor as she entered the kitchen, and then he heard her gasp. He looked up to see her standing there, just beyond the threshold, the phone still in her hand and a stricken expression on her face, which had gone white with shock. “N-Nick?” she whispered hoarsely, and he could see the hand that was holding the phone begin to tremble.

He wanted to yell at her and scream at her. Hell, he wanted to hit her. But he found he did not have the strength. Instead, he stayed where he was, slumped brokenly

on the floor, staring pathetically up at her through red-rimmed eyes, the tears spilling out of them and hitting the floor with soft splats.

“What are you doing home already, honey?” Leah asked, her voice high with poorly-faked cheeriness.

“Don’t even give me that bullshit,” he growled, glaring up at her, his voice low and choked with tears. “I heard what you said. Every goddamn word of it.” She bit her lip, then smiled uncertainly. “Oh, Nicky,” she said, forcing a laugh.

“I-I was just kidding. That was my friend, Lynn – you know Lynn – and we were just joking around-“

“Bullshit!” his voice rose in anger, as he struggled to his feet. Leah took a step back, cowering as he towered over her petite frame. “You’re gone, Leah. Get the fuck out of my house. In fact, get the fuck out of my life. Now.” He didn’t shout at her, his voice remaining surprisingly calm. But its grim tone was enough to make her take the hint. She did not protest or make excuses or beg him to change his mind. Instead, she simply nodded, suddenly as meek as mouse, tears welling up in her eyes and beginning to fall silently down her stricken face.

“Pack your shit,” Nick commanded quietly. “I want you out of here by tonight. If you’re not, I’ll call the police to get you the fuck off my property. Get it?” She nodded again. “I-I’ll just go pack now then,” she whispered, hanging her head, still crying. He wondered if this was all just another front, an act to get him to feel sorry for her. But it didn’t work. He held his ground, and she obeyed, quickly and quietly packing up her possessions.

By six o’clock that evening, when she and Nick were supposed to have been seated in one of Tampa’s finest restaurants, eating a gourmet meal in celebration of Nick’s birthday, Leah Gaylers was gone, out of his house and out of his life forever.

***

Chapter 95

Nick had a hard time getting to sleep that night, tossing and turning for several hours before finally collapsing against his pillows in exhaustion, too numb to cry himself to sleep. Sleep offered a brief escape from his torturous thoughts of Leah, but even then, he was plagued with disturbing dreams...

The heat was unbearable, and even the slight breath of wind that had picked up did nothing to relieve it. It only served instead to whip sand into his face, the tiny grains stinging his skin with surprising harshness. He staggered on through the seemingly endless desert, his throat parched, his skin dry and hot, so dehydrated that he was no longer sweating.

His eyes scanned the flat, unchanging horizon with desperation, searching for an oasis. He needed water... and a place to rest his aching feet. But for miles and miles, all he could see was more sandy ground, dotted by the occasional scrubby bush or cactus. Was there any escape to this desert nightmare?

His legs were weak and unsteady from exertion and wobbled precariously beneath him. Finally, he knew he could not take another step, and he sank down to the ground, knees buckling, legs folding under him. He sighed, feeling a slight bit of relief, and closed his eyes to block out the scorching sun that beat down on him with merciless cruelty.

He never saw it coming, only heard its deathly rattle. Opening his eyes in a flash, he recoiled in alarm at the sight of a large snake coiled on the ground just feet away, its head raised, its eyes right on him. It flicked its tail, and he both saw and heard the rattle on the end of it. A rattlesnake.

‘Poisonous!’ his mind screamed, and he got up quickly. Too quickly. Frightened by his sudden movement, the snake struck, lashing out at him. He stumbled back, but he was too late. The serpent had already sunk its fangs into the side of his lower left leg. White hot pain seared up and down the entire limb, and he cried out, desperately kicking, trying to shake off the beast. Finally, the snake went flying, its long, agile body landing in a heap on the rough ground.

Anger bubbling within him, half directed at the snake, half at his own stupidity, he quickly went after the reptile, limping to the spot where it had fallen, annihilation on his mind. With his left leg painfully unstable and barely able to support him, he raised his right leg and brought it down quickly and forcefully upon the snake. He heard its small skull crush under his foot the first time, but he continued his assault, stomping on it again and again, as the rattler’s body writhed and convulsed with death throws. Finally, it lay limp and motionless beneath his foot, and shakily, he drew back. He stood watching it a moment, and when he was sure he had killed it, he collapsed, his left leg burning in agony.

Curling his legs in front of him, he leaned over to inspect the wound. It was bleeding freely, and already, his whole lower leg had begun to swell. It was now twice the size of his right leg, and the puffiness just seemed to climb, as the area around the bite changed from flame red to sickly green, the venom setting in. It was spreading through his body now, and he was helpless, alone here in the desert.

His heart began to race, and his breath became shallow and rapid, while a cold sweat broke out on his skin. Drops of perspiration sliding thickly down his back and

soaking his t-shirt, he gasped for breath, as his condition quickly deteriorated. While the snake’s poison pumped through his system, death’s icy fingers beckoned to him, luring him ever closer.

‘I’m going to die,’ he realized, looking frantically around for something, anything, that could help him. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted movement and turned his head immediately to its source. His breath caught in his throat as he watched the dead snake twitch, then slowly raise its head.

“No!” he cried aloud in horror. “You’re dead! I killed you!” But the ghostly serpent defiantly began to creep across the ground, slithering slowly toward him. He tried to get to his feet, but he could barely move his leg, and his body was weak. He scrambled backward across the rough desert floor, panting and moaning in agony as he used his hands to drag him along.

The snake loomed nearer, relentless in its mission to destroy him. There was no escaping it, and finally realizing this, he collapsed onto his back, tears sliding down his flushed, sweat-streaked cheeks as he waited for it to attack again. Raising his head slightly, he watched as the snake rose up and then plunged down, its venomous fangs piercing his skin again. He gasped, as another round of debilitating pain shot through him.

His body was failing on him now, and as he lay back again, shaking and choking as he fought for every breath, the last thing he saw was the snake’s eyes, a spark of malice glowing deep within them. Too weak to care, he let his own eyes fall shut , as he surrendered himself to darkness, and to death...

But when Nick jerked awake, bathed in a sheen of sweat and gasping in fear, he found himself to be very much alive, safe in his bed in the cool, dark bedroom of his house in Tampa. Except for the dull throbbing in his left leg, he had left the dream behind.

Letting out a shuddering breath, he sat still, focusing on his respiration, trying to slow his racing heart. The nightmare reminded him strikingly of the shark dream he had had in the hospital months earlier. It was so vivid, so real. And it confused him.

He’d had plenty of nightmares about sharks before – he’d been having them since childhood – but never about snakes. He wondered what could have possessed such a strange dream, but was too tired to really consider its meaning.

Anyway, it was probably just something he ate.

***

When Nick awoke for the second time, it was light in his room, the late morning sun streaming through the sheer curtains covering his windows. He rolled over, expecting to find Leah lying asleep in bed next to him. But she was not there. At first, his sleepy brain reasoned that she must have already gotten up. Then he remembered.

Leah was gone.

He was alone.

With that cheerful thought, he staggered out of bed and went downstairs.

Normally, Leah might have been in the kitchen, already making him breakfast. But that morning, the kitchen was deserted, void of the usual burnt smells that wafted out of it when she was in front of the stove.

Leah had been so good to him, leaving behind her stripper roots to transform into the perfect little domestic goddess (or close enough). But now he realized it had all been an act, part of her desperate attempt to win him over so that she could take his money.

And he was so shallow and clueless, he hadn’t even seen it coming, hadn’t recognized her for what she was. A gold-digger. Just like Mandy, except Mandy had wanted a record deal too. Then again, Mandy hadn’t pretended to be carrying his child.

Why did he have such bad taste in women?

He felt like an idiot. He’d been screwed over yet again, by a woman who had already broken his heart two times before. Third time’s the charm, he had thought.

Yeah right.

He was only three times as stupid, and now he would be three times as cautious when it came to women. As far as he was concerned, they could all rot in Hell. He wanted to be able to fall in love with a wonderful girl and have her love him back. But he was beginning to realize that just wasn’t going to happen. He was adored by females all over the world... yet, all of the women he had ever loved had turned out to be fake, conniving bitches.

He would never win. Might as well give up now and resign himself to the fact that he would be a bachelor for the rest of his life. It wasn’t such a bad thought... wild and free forever, he could do whatever he pleased, have a different sexy lady in his bed every night of the week if he chose to.

But he wouldn’t stay young forever, and eventually, the ladies would stop approaching him. Eventually, the wildness would end. And when it did, he wanted to have that special someone to come home to, that person who would love him unconditionally for the rest of his life, that person he could grow old with.

If he got a chance to grow old.

“Stop it,” he scolded himself out loud, glad there was no one around to hear him talking to himself. “You’re fine.”

On that note, he tried to get himself to think happy thoughts and go on with his day, ignoring the gentle ache in his leg and the brutal sting in his heart.

***

As the week went on, it became easier to forget about Leah, for the Backstreet Boys’ new album dropped the following Tuesday, and that whole week would be spent doing promotional work, making appearances, performing, and being interviewed. Nick was glad they would be so busy because it would give him next to no time to dwell on Leah.

Still, the rest of the week spent at home was miserable. There were little reminders of Leah all around the house, forbidding him from pushing her out of his mind for too long. Even as he packed on Sunday afternoon, the day before he was scheduled to meet the group in New York, he was forced to think of Leah. Rooting through his top dresser drawer in search of enough clean pairs of boxers and socks to last him the week, his fingers brushed over something hard and velvety.

That familiar, queasy feeling making itself known in the pit of his stomach, he pulled out the box containing the engagement ring he had planned to give Leah almost one week earlier. He flipped it open and gazed down at the extravagant ring. Plucking it out, he held it up, turning it toward one of the windows so that the rays of sunlight

caught the diamonds, causing them to glitter brilliantly. He had had this ring custom made just for Leah; there was no other quite like it in the world. He remembered how his heart had soared with excitement the day he’d picked it up from the jeweler’s, how he’d held it up to the light to make it sparkle, just as he was doing now. The flashy ring’s beauty had made him happy then. Now it just made him sick. It represented his shallowness and Leah’s gluttony, and he hated it.

Jamming it back into its box, he snapped the lid shut and stalked over to the French doors that led out to his small, private balcony. He flung them open and went outside, the cool February breeze whipping through his short hair. Standing at the edge of the balcony, leaning over the rail, he clutched the jewelry box tightly, drew back his hand, and hurled it with all his might in the direction of the ocean. The small black box hurtled through the air and landed somewhere on the lawn, not even close to reaching the water. He didn’t care.

Going back inside, he slammed the doors behind him and drew the drapes. The sudden dimness in his bedroom matched his bad mood perfectly, and he figured all he needed was a CD of mournful violin music, and he could have an all out pity party.

But there was no time for self-pity or for parties. He had to pack.

***

“That bitch!” AJ roared with anger. “I can’t believe she would do that to you!”

“I can,” Nick said glumly. “Not like it hasn’t happened before, to some degree.” Now that it was Monday, it had officially been a week since Nick had thrown Leah out of his house, and as they sat around Kevin’s hotel room, making small talk, Nick had filled the guys in on what had happened. They had all been angry, overprotective of Nick as it was and hating to see their little brother hurt by anyone, but it was AJ who had completely exploded.

Kevin’s response was calmer, yet Nick would have rather heard AJ rant some more. “I can’t believe you didn’t see it coming, Nick,” Kevin lectured quietly. “You have to learn to recognize girls like that, that are just out to use you. You’ve certainly been with enough of them.”

“Fuck off, Kevin,” Nick muttered irritably. He felt dumb enough as it was; Kevin didn’t have to go rubbing salt in his wounds.

“Seriously, Kev. You know Nick – he can’t help it. His g-dar has never worked right,” said Brian.

“G-dar?” Kevin repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Gold-digger radar. G-dar,” replied Brian with a cheeky smile, thinking he was pretty clever. Nick just thought he was annoying and told him so with a simple flip of his middle finger. “Hey, what’d I do?” Brian cried, holding up his hands in defense.

“Guys, can we just stop?” asked Howie in exasperation. “We have to head to NBC soon for the Oprah taping, so can we just like get ready and stop bickering?”

“Yes, mommy,” Brian sang cheerfully, while Nick just scowled.

“Who the fuck agreed to us going on Oprah anyway? She doesn’t give a damn about our music; you know exactly what she’s going to focus on.” His eyes narrowed darkly; Oprah had been wanting them on her show for months, ever since the announcement of Nick’s remission, and he knew why. The cute, youngest Backstreet Boy battling cancer – now that was a story all the middle-aged, stay-at-home moms

would be drawn to. He could imagine them sitting around in their sweats and slippers, boxes of tissues on their laps, crying over how strong and courageous he was... ugh.

He was actually surprised Oprah hadn’t already booked his mom. Jane Carter would certainly be willing to come on the show and appeal to other mothers’ emotions by crying over how worried she had been about him and how much she loved him and how much he had hurt her by shutting her out of his life... ugh, again.

Hm... but what if Oprah had booked his mother, and she’d be on the same show?

A surprise guest with whom Oprah would expect him to have a tearful reunion? Ha, fat chance. More likely it’d turn into an episode of Springer. Nick chuckled as he imagined himself hurling a chair at his mother (God knows he sometimes wanted to), while Jane, looking “trailer trash chic” in a leopard-print tube top, high-waisted black spandex pants, and stilettos, cussed him out in a Southern-accented voice, and the audience chanted, “Op-rah! Op-rah! Op-rah!”

“What are you laughing at?” asked Kevin, narrowing his eyes at Nick.

“Nothin’,” Nick muttered, still thinking. Maybe he’d pull an Eminem and write a song about his mother for his next solo album. Or about Leah. About killing Leah.

Yeeeees... mwahaha!

“Nick? Why are you smiling like that?” Kevin’s voice pried into Nick’s demented thoughts.

Blushing, Nick shook his head quickly. “Nothin’, never mind.”

“Ya freak!” AJ teased, knocking the baseball cap off Nick’s head. Nick retaliated immediately, snatching AJ’s own baseball cap.

“Haha, my hair’s longer than yours,” he smirked, running a hand over his head to compare his own hair to the short, dark brown growth on AJ’s head.

“Children!” Kevin cried in annoyance. “Nick, did you take something?”

“He should take some Midol,” AJ said loudly, grinning at Nick like the Cheshire cat. “Maybe that will take care of his little PMSy mood swings.” More like Prozac, J, Nick thought, the Leah song coming to mind.

“AJ, the Midol joke is so lame,” groaned Howie, rolling his eyes. “Leave Nicky alone.”

“Thank you, Howie!”

“No problem, Nicky!”

Nick smiled. He didn’t really mind the guys teasing him; he knew it was only in good humor. They really cared about him, unlike some people. And it felt good to escape his lonely home in Tampa and spend the week with them. The excitement over releasing the new album had been overpowered by what had happened with Leah, but now that he was actually in New York, with the album coming out the very next day, it had returned in full-force. He didn’t need Leah. He didn’t need anyone. As long as he had the Boys, he was good to go.

Oh man, now that was certainly cheesy. Good thing he hadn’t said that aloud, or Brian and AJ would strike up a duet of Bette Midler’s “The Wind Beneath My Wings” to make fun of him, while Howie would probably be moved to tears for real, and a choked-up Kevin would announce, “Group hug, guys!” and pull him into a big man-hug.

Nick put his hand up over his mouth, both hiding his grin and stifling a giggle.

Staring at him as if he had grown a second head, Kevin asked, “Nick, what is so funny?” Nick just gave his standard response.

“Nothin’.”

***

Chapter 96

Over the course of the week, Nick stayed busy enough to temporarily forget Leah and the pain she had inflicted on his heart. But when the promotional week ended, and he went back to Tampa and back to the memories, he went back to the misery as well.

For nearly a week, he spent most of his time at home, lonely and increasingly depressed.

Had it been a year earlier, he would have simply rounded up his posse of buddies and gone out drinking, drowning his problems in alcohol. But he could not even do that anymore, not with the medications he was on. So he sat at home and drank Dr. Pepper instead.

His temperament had suddenly turned to that of a hormonal teenage girl, filled with mood swings. He was an emotional roller coaster, up and down, high and low.

Sometimes he would feel optimistic, confident that he would get over this and move on with his life. Leah could go to Hell. But at other times, the desolation returned, and he didn’t see how he could live with such an empty void in his life.

Still, things seemed to be getting better overall as the days passed.

Then came Valentine’s Day.

One of the best holidays of the year for couples in love. One of the worst holidays ever for bitter, heartbroken singles. The year before, he had been the former. He recalled how he had put on a tux and taken Leah out to one of Tampa’s most elegant dining spots. He might have done the same thing this year, with her as not just his girlfriend, but his fiancée. Only this year, he was the latter. And as he sat in front of the TV, grumbling cynically as he flipped through endless channels showing romantic classics, all he wanted to do was wrap his hands around Cupid’s pudgy neck and strangle the little arrow-shooting fucker.

It was only as he sat watching reruns of “The Real World” on MTV and plowing his way through a box of ding-dongs that he realized how truly pathetic he was. And how he needed to do something about it. When it came down to it, he really didn’t want to be alone that night. He needed to get out of the house and do something, not with a lover, but just with a friend. A good friend. Someone who would probably be sitting alone at home that night too.

A familiar face immediately flashed into his mind, sending a stab of pain through his heart. Chewing absently on a ding-dong, he thought long and hard, mentally debating with himself. Then he picked up the phone and did the very thing he had been warned not to do.

He went crawling back to Claire.

***

An hour later, Nick sat in the large wrap-around booth in the very back corner of Leonardi’s. The small pizza parlor was Claire’s self-declared “favorite restaurant” and the place they had come to the very first time they had gone out in public together. In fact, they had sat at this very same booth, which was exactly why Nick had requested it.

Claire was due to meet him there anytime, but she had not arrived yet. He just hoped she would. She didn’t seem like the type to stand him up, but she hadn’t been exactly warm to him on the phone either.

“Hello?” Nick sucked in a breath at the sound of her familiar voice, a voice he hadn’t heard in four months.

“Hi... Claire? Um... it’s me... Nick.”

There was a short pause, and then came her flat reply. “Hi.”

“Um, hi.” He waited for her to say something, but she didn’t, so he went on making small talk, beating around the bush and avoiding the apology he knew he was going to have to make to her. “Glad you’re home. I-I wasn’t sure if you’d still be in Gainesville with your parents or not, but I decided to try your apartment first. Good thing I did.” He chuckled nervously and hoped she would do the same, but all he heard on the other end of the line was silence, broken only by her soft breathing. “So, um... h-how have you been doing?”

“Fine.” Well, at least she said something that time. Even if it was only one word...

“That’s great. I’ve been thinking about you... you know, wondering how you’re doing.”

“Uh-huh.” Did that count as two words? Or only one, because of the hyphen?

Or maybe it wasn’t a word at all, but a sound? Oh well, he would call it two words. Or a two-syllable word. Either way, it was a bit of an improvement, right?

He was trying to be optimistic. Cup half full, remember. Cup half full.

“Uh... so yeah... good to hear you’re doing fine.” Okay, time to stop dawdling.

“Um, look, Claire... I just wanna say... I’m sorry. You were right. Leah was just after my money.” Drawing in a shaky breath, he continued in a rush, “It was her rich, preppy boyfriend who got her pregnant, not me, but she told me the baby was mine to get me to take her in and marry her so she could inherit all my money when I die, which she apparently thinks will be not too far down the road.” Anger began to simmer in his veins as Leah’s phone conversation played in his head like a broken record, and he couldn’t resist adding spitefully, “So you were right all along. Happy now?”

She took a long time in answering, and he was a little afraid she had hung up in the middle of his tirade, but finally, she spoke. “Sorry, Nick.”

“Yeah, me too,” he said, frowning. “Go ahead and say it if you want... ‘I told you so’.”

She snickered. “Well, you know part of me would like to say that to you, but I won’t.”

“Good,” he said, smiling a little. “So anyway, I was wondering... do you have any plans for tonight? Cause, you know, I don’t, and I thought maybe we could get together and... I dunno, rekindle our friendship? Sorry, that was really gay. But, you know... I know it’s Valentine’s Day, and that’s supposed to be for lovers and shit, but it can be for friends too, right?”

“Uh, sure. Right.”

“So you wanna?”

He heard her hesitate. “Okay,” she agreed finally.

“Cool. Where you wanna meet?” Then, before she could even answer, he blurted, “Oh, I know! What about that pizza place? What was it called? The one we went to that time?”

“Leonardi’s?” Claire offered.

“Yeah! Leonardi’s. Whaddya say?”

“Sounds good. Meet you there in an hour?”

“I’ll be there.”

After short goodbyes, they had hung up, and Nick had felt a little disenchanted.

He supposed that deep down, he had hoped she would be the one to come crying back to him, apologizing for hurting his feelings. Or that she would at least sound happy and relieved to hear from him and let on to the fact that she had missed him. He had to admit, he had missed her. He was glad he had finally gotten up the nerve to call her and couldn’t wait for her to get to the restaurant. He only hoped she would be just as happy to see him.

His eyes trained on the door, he drew in a sharp breath every time it opened and let it out in disappointment every time it wasn’t Claire who came in. He watched an older couple come in... then a girl and a boy who looked no older than thirteen. He smiled a little, watching as the two kids sat down together in a booth and immediately avoided each other’s eyes, the boy fumbling with his laminated menu, the girl picking at her skirt. The smile vanished as he looked around the restaurant and realized he was the only person sitting alone. Alone in a dumpy pizza place on Valentine’s Day, waiting to see if the girl he had hung up on and avoided for four months would meet him or not.

How sad.

The door opened again, and he was slightly relieved to see another lone figure step in. So he wasn’t the only one after all. The other was a young woman with light red hair cut in a short, spiky style. He sighed, wondering when and if Claire was coming. If she didn’t show, maybe he’d just hook up with the redhead... two lonely souls coming together on a holiday made for couples.

He glanced down absently at his menu and nervously flattened his hair with the palm of his hand. Then, looking back toward the door as if drawn by a magnet, he was surprised to see the red-haired woman slowly approaching him. He cocked his head in surprise and hoped she wasn’t a fan who had recognized him already. The last thing he felt like doing was signing autographs and taking pictures with people.

But as she came closer, and he got a good look at her, he realized the truth.

It was Claire.

His mouth dropped open as she came to a stop beside the table, watching him closely with a hint of a smile on her face. She looked different. Granted, the last time he’d actually seen her was the last time he’d visited her in the hospital, almost six months earlier. But still, the change in her was incredible. Her large blue eyes were the only thing that gave away who she was, for nearly every other aspect of her was altered from how he remembered her. She had lost weight... no longer was she puffy and heavy-looking from the drugs she had been taking, but slender, in a healthy sort of way, not gaunt like she had been the very first time he’d met her. Her skin was still fair, but had a rosy, peach-toned glow instead of a sickly, sallow hue. And her hair...

“You’re a redhead,” he said softly, staring in awe as she grinned and fingered a piece of her ginger hair, which was still quite short, like his, but styled in a sophisticated way, the very front straight and flat, parted off to one side, while the rest stood up in subdued spikes. “Is that natural? I really did always picture you as a blonde, like your mom.” He smiled sheepishly.

“You bet your ass it’s natural,” she smirked. “I got my dad’s white Irish skin and red Irish hair.”

He nodded, unable to take his eyes off her. “Sit down,” he said. She sat, keeping to one end of the curving corner booth, while he kept to the other.

“So,” she said, “have you been here long? Know what you want?” Her eyes skimmed the menu, while his roamed over her face, still intrigued by her new look. She was really quite pretty, he realized as he studied her. Not a beauty like Leah... not a knock-out... but pretty in a cute, natural sort of way.

“Um, no, not yet,” he mumbled, answering her question. He dropped his eyes to his menu but immediately raised them again when she wasn’t looking, watching as she absently shook off the navy blue, zip-up hoodie she’d been wearing. Underneath it, she had on a lavender, paisley-printed tank top, and his eyes involuntarily traveled over her body, admiring the way one of the loose straps hung off her milky white shoulder, the way the top accented the gentle swell of her breasts and showed just a hint of cleavage...

He suddenly looked up at her face to find her eyes on him, an odd look on her face. “Were you just staring at my boobs?” she asked in her blunt, unabashed way, causing him to blush fuchsia with embarrassment.

“We have a lot to talk about,” he muttered, looking back down at his menu and ignoring her question.

“You were!” she hissed gleefully. “Nick Carter, you perv! Don’t you get enough little fourteen-year-olds flashing you their boobies?”

“Could you say that any louder, Claire?” he asked casually, still refusing to look at her.

“Oh, probably. Anyway, looks like we need to hook you up with another stripper whore cause you’ve obviously been deprived if you’ve resorted to undressing me with your eyes.”

“Claire!” he hissed, his cheeks darkening to burgundy. “Jesus!” She giggled, her eyes dancing with wickedness. “You’re right though,” she said, her voice sobering. “We do have a lot to talk about. Since you’ve ignored me for the past four months.”

“Hey, you didn’t call me either!” he countered defensively.

“No, but I also didn’t hang up on you. This one’s on you, buddy; I can tell when I’m not wanted.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but stopped as a thought crept into his head. But I do want you.

Things had changed. She had changed... her appearance had changed... and with it, his feelings for her had changed. He suddenly didn’t want her as just a friend, but as more. He remembered her words from that night back in August.

“Nick... I... I think I’m falling in love with you.” And he remembered how shocked he had been... where had this come from all of a sudden?

But in that instant, the realization hit him, and he understood exactly what she had been feeling those many months ago. Because suddenly, he was feeling the same way. Could it be true? After six months of friendship, four months of separation, and Claire’s transformation into a girl who was, well, pretty... could his feelings suddenly change like that?

It sounded crazy, but he couldn’t deny the way his heart was fluttering in his chest... the way his palms had grown hot and slimy with sweat... and the way his whole body seemed to tingle when he looked at her.

Oh my God, he thought, I think I’m falling in love with her.

***

Chapter 97

“Nick?”

Nick looked up to realize that Claire was talking to him. “Huh?”

“Are you okay? You just got this weird look,” she said softly, staring at him with mild concern.

“Yeah... yeah, I’m fine,” he replied. But she was still frowning, perplexed, and he knew he had to tell her his revelation. He’d wipe the frown from her face, and she’d smile when she realized he felt the same way as her. And then... well, who knew what would happen? But it was Valentine’s Day, and with love in the air, nothing could go wrong.

“Claire,” he said softly, his heart thudding like a drum, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

She cocked her head at him. “What is it?” she asked. “Oh, Nick, you haven’t relap-“

“No, no, it’s nothing bad!” he quickly assured her. “It’s a good thing.” A slow smile spreading over his face, he scooted over, around the table, so that he was sitting beside her in the booth.

“What are you doing?”

“Just listen, Claire.” He took a deep breath and prayed he wouldn’t say anything stupid. He had a knack for sounding like a moron in situations like this. “Um... you know how we went out to eat that time, with your family, right before your transplant?”

“Yeah...”

“And how you told me that... that you were falling in love with me?” She blushed and looked away. “Yeah...”

“Well... Claire, when you came in tonight, and I saw you for the first time in, what, four months? I... Claire, look at me.” Pausing, he cupped her chin and gently turned her head to face him. She stared at him, her eyes round, a questioning expression on her face. He could feel his cheeks growing red with nervousness, but forced himself to continue. “Anyway, um... when you came in tonight, I hardly recognized you. You’re... you’re beautiful, Claire. And I... well, I realized that... that I feel the same way as you do.”

He blurted the final words in one breath and then studied her face, waiting for that beautiful smile to appear on it, waiting for her to cry, “Oh, Nick, I’ve been waiting and waiting for you to say those words!” and throw her arms around his neck, kissing his lips in a fit of passion.

But none of those things happened.

Instead, a slow scowl etched itself onto her face, distorting her pretty features. “I cannot believe you,” she whispered, her voice low.

“What?” Nick cried in confusion. “Can’t believe what? I’m serious, Claire!”

“No, you’re not, you’re full of crap, Nick, and I don’t appreciate you messing with me like that. If you really think you’ve all of a sudden fallen in love with me, then you’re thinking with your dick, not with your head. Or with your heart.” His mouth fell open, and he stared at her, stunned. Was she just kidding, just messing with his mind?

She wasn’t.

“I’m not stupid, Nick. I can see exactly where this is coming from. It’s been five

months since I got out of the hospital, and in those five months, the side effects of the chemo drugs I was on have finally gone away. And now that I’m normal-looking and not all bloated and bald, you think you love me. Well, I’ll tell you, if you didn’t love me then, you don’t love me now. Love isn’t based on looks, Nick. You were sick and bald too when I thought I’d fallen in love with you.”

“You... you thought?” he echoed weakly.

“Yeah, I thought. But now I see that I was wrong. Must have just been the chemo fucking with my emotions, on top of everything else. I mean, honestly, how could I fall for such a shallow, arrogant asshole?”

“Claire!”

“You think the world revolves around you, Nick, and that just because you suddenly call me beautiful and say that you like me, I’ll fall at your feet and replace that stripper whore as your newest sex toy. Well, I don’t think so. I have more respect for myself than that.”

“Claire-“ he tried again, reaching out to put his arm around her, but she forcefully pushed him away, sending him flying back in the booth, and got up. She walked out without a word, and though he scrambled quickly out of the booth and chased her into the parking lot, he realized it was a lost cause. She was already climbing into her car when he got outside and wasted no time in zipping out of her parking space and driving away, leaving him all alone in the dark lot. He considered running after her car like a dog, but decided that would make him look even more pathetic. So instead, he trudged back inside.

He ordered a pizza with extra cheese and ate the whole thing, hardly tasting it, his senses focused on one thing and one thing only. In his mind, he could see her face, hear her voice, feel her hand in his. How could things have gone so wrong? Where had he messed up? In saying she was beautiful? He was only trying to compliment her, and besides, he was telling the truth. She actually was quite pretty, and he thought that after months of being so sick and looking so bad, she would want to hear that. Most girls would, he figured. But Claire wasn’t like most girls, and that was something he had already known. That was part of his attraction to her, he realized, and partly why they had become such good friends in the first place.

Now they weren’t even friends anymore. How could he have fucked up so badly in doing something that he thought was right? He’d not only blown his chances of hooking up with her romantically, but he’d lost her friendship too.

He sighed through a mouthful of cheese. He’d probably have indigestion from all this greasy pizza, but the pain in his stomach wouldn’t even compare to the pain in his heart.

He’d been blind to his feelings for so long, and now, just when he’d finally seen the light, she’d closed the door, shut him out, and thrown him into darkness once again.

***

Nick spent another almost sleepless night tossing and turning in bed. He thought about Claire... he thought about Leah... and he thought about the doctor’s appointment he had the very next morning.

Once again, three months had passed him by, and it was time for another checkup. He was nervous, though not as much as he had been at the last one. His shin had

been aching a lot lately, but he told himself that was normal. After all, it had been fractured just a year earlier, and though the crack had healed, that didn’t mean it couldn’t still be tender sometimes. Kevin had had knee surgery back in 2000, and his knee still got sore every once in awhile, so Nick wasn’t too worried about it. And the fatigue he’d been experiencing was surely just caused by stress, what with the album coming out and Leah leaving him. There was no way he was headed for a relapse. He was perfectly fine now and had left cancer behind, never looking back.

But as he sat alone in the waiting room of the clinic the following morning, yawning and fighting to keep awake, he couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy. There was just something about that too-clean antiseptic smell that all doctor’s offices carried that put butterflies in his stomach. He sorted through a pile of magazines, trying to find something to keep him occupied while he waited, but the first one that caught his eye was a copy of Parenting magazine, with a picture of a chubby-cheeked, smiling baby girl on the cover. A lump rose in his throat at the sight, and he immediately thought of Leah’s baby... the little girl he’d once considered his baby too.

It was a very strange thing to think you’re about to be a father for four whole months, only to instantaneously have that prospect snatched away. He was grieving, in a way, for he had grown attached to the unborn child growing inside Leah’s womb... or at least to the idea of her... and then, very suddenly, he had found out that that child was not his, and that he was not going to be a father after all. But that didn’t completely sever the bond, and he missed those peaceful nights, lying in bed with Leah, his hand on her stomach, feeling the baby wiggle and kick.

He wondered what had happened to Leah, where she had gone. He hadn’t seen, nor heard from her since she had left his home, and though he was still outraged with her, he hoped she had found a good place to stay and some means of support, for the baby’s sake.

The soft click of a door opening and the sound of his name being called interrupted Nick’s thoughts. A short nurse named Kathryn, whom he had met before, was there to take him back to one of the examining rooms.

“Hello,” she said with a bright smile.

“Hi,” he replied, smiling back quickly as she led him through the doorway and down the hall to one of the rooms, where he changed into a gown and waited for her to come back to get his weight and vitals like always. When she had finished, there was more waiting, and then finally, Dr. Kingsbury arrived.

“Good morning, Nick,” she said as she breezed in.

“’Morning,” he replied.

“Where’s your girlfriend today?” asked the doctor casually, as she pulled a stool up to the examining table and sat down.

Nick’s face reddened. “Um... we’re, uh, not together anymore,” he mumbled quickly, then added for clarification, “It’s a long story, but you know how I told you on the phone that she was pregnant? Well, she is, but it ain’t my baby.” He realized he’d probably told her more than she cared to know, but he didn’t want her thinking he was some deadbeat dad, abandoning his pregnant girlfriend.

“Oh... I’m... I’m sorry to hear that.”

“’Sokay,” Nick shrugged, feeling awkward.

“Well, how have you been doing? Feeling all right?”

“Yeah,” Nick answered, wondering if he should tell her about the pains he’d been

having in his leg. He decided he might as well, since she was his doctor and also because he hoped she would quickly clear his mind of worry by assuring him that it was normal for a bone that had been fractured to ache from time to time. “Actually, there is one thing...” He hesitated.

“Go on,” Dr. Kingsbury nodded attentively.

“Well, it’s just... my shin’s been sort of hurting off and on. Not real bad or anything, just kind of aching a little. But... but that’s probably just from the old fracture, right? ‘Cause my friend Kevin, he had surgery on his knee a few years ago, and sometimes it gets sore and stuff too, so... so it’s probably nothing, right?”

“Well...” The doctor pursed her lips, then offered him a tight smile. “It could be nothing, but the tests you’re going to have done today will give you an answer for sure.” There was something about her tone and the expression on her face that made him uneasy. But he ignored it, telling himself he was just being paranoid.

The rest of the checkup went as normal. Dr. Kingsbury examined him and then sent him to radiology, where he underwent x-rays on his leg, in addition to a chest x-ray and a CT scan. And then came the bone marrow exam, which, naturally, Nick had been looking forward to with great excitement. Ha, as if. Still, he had to admit, going through the test alone this time was a tad bit better than the last time, when Leah had been there. At least he could let his eyes water and not have to worry about looking like a wimp or about her passing out and hurting his child.

When the bone marrow was finished, Dr. Kingsbury left him alone to recuperate, as always. She took a little longer than usual to return, but he thought nothing of it, figuring she had just gotten caught up with another patient. He knew the world didn’t revolve around him (although Claire seemed to think he thought otherwise), and neither did Dr. Kingsbury’s schedule.

Now that the pain had stopped radiating through his hip, and he was feeling better, he was anxious for her to get there and give him a clean bill of health so that he could go home. To do what, he did not know. Probably just play Nintendo and snack on junk food again, but hey, that was always fun. Or maybe he’d take his boat out; he hadn’t done that in awhile. And that was a lot more fun now that he had the stupid catheter out because he could finally take off his shirt and swim if he wanted to.

He was actually in a fairly pleasant mood by the time Dr. Kingsbury came back into the room, the thought of going out on the ocean cheering him up. But Dr.

Kingsbury quickly spoiled that for him. He could tell right away that her mood didn’t match his. The expression on her face and the way she sighed when she slammed down her pile of charts and scans made that clear.

He wanted to ask her what was wrong, but he kept quiet, knowing not to pry. It probably wasn’t any of his business anyway.

He quickly found out how very wrong he was. Sitting down on her stool beside the examining table that he was perched on, Dr. Kingsbury looked up at him with a serious expression on her face. “Nick,” she started slowly. “I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid I have some bad news to give you.”

His heart began to pound rapidly, and the blood rushed to his ears, drowning out the other sounds in the room. “Is the... is the cancer back?” he heard himself say, only his voice sounded distant and distorted and not at all like his own.

Dr. Kingsbury gave a short nod, and all of sudden, the world just seemed to stop.

His heart did at least, he was almost positive. But then it must have gotten going again

because after a few seconds, he was still sitting there, looking at Dr. Kingsbury, counting the lines on her creased forehead. The rushing sound in his ears had ceased, and the room was totally silent. Then Dr. Kingsbury spoke, her words horrifically clear.

“You’ve had a relapse, Nick. The tumor in your leg has started growing again, and it looks like it’s growing fast,” she told him grimly. “The cancer’s spreading.”

***

Chapter 98

The cancer’s spreading.

Those were the words Nick had dreaded hearing basically ever since he had gone into remission back in August. And now, it had finally happened. Not quite a full year after his initial diagnosis, he had already relapsed. He was out of remission; the cancer was back.

Devastation quickly set in.

Questions spun out of control in his brain, and he finally found his voice to speak.

“C-can you treat it?” he asked, looking at Dr. Kingsbury with desperation in his eyes.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “I want you started on six-week course of radiation therapy.”

“Radiation therapy?” Nick repeated. He did not like the sound of that at all.

“Yes. Radiotherapy is the use of high-energy rays that destroy cancer cells. If it works, it will shrink the tumor in your leg.”

“If it works?” Nick questioned, his voice rising shrilly.

Dr. Kingsbury smiled patiently and patted his knee. “Most Ewing’s Sarcoma tumors are sensitive to radiation. There’s a good chance the treatment will help.”

“Well, what if it doesn’t?”

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come it,” she replied, giving him her standard answer.

He nodded and hoped they would never have to cross that bridge. “So,” he said,

“what’s radiation like? Is it... is it worse than chemo?” He bit his lip, not sure he wanted to hear the answer. The thought of being so sick and losing all his hair again was almost too much to bear.

“Oh no, much better actually,” smiled Dr. Kingsbury. “Radiation’s very simple.

You’ll need to come to the radiology department here at the hospital five days a week for treatments...” His mouth dropped open in horror, and she continued quickly, “... but the treatments don’t take long at all. Just a few minutes, really. And they’re painless.

No worse than an x-ray.”

He let out a sigh of relief. Although coming to the hospital once a day for this shit would suck, it had to be better than being hooked up to a chemo pump for a whole week.

“So what about side effects?” he asked. “Like will it make me sick? Will my hair fall out again?”

“No,” she replied, and he let out a sigh of relief. “There are a few minor side effects, but nothing as bad as chemo. The biggest one is fatigue – the treatments will make you tired. Since you’ll be receiving the radiation on your shin, the hair there will either fall out or have to be shaved off, but that’s it. Also, you might have some redness or itching or burning on your shin, but other than that, it doesn’t cause much discomfort. Most patients I’ve had prefer radiation to chemo.” He nodded. That didn’t sound so bad. “So when will I start this?”

“As soon as possible,” answered Dr. Kingsbury, looking at him seriously. “This week, if you can.”

“Okay,” he said. “I guess I should start this week then. The sooner I get started, the sooner it’s over, right?” He pasted a smile on his face.

“Right,” Dr. Kingsbury smiled back. “Okay then... on Monday, you’ll need to come in for a planning session. You won’t actually start the treatment that day, but

you’ll meet your radiation oncologist, who will take you through the procedure and show you how everything works and get you ready to go for the next day, when you’ll receive your first treatment.”

“Radiation oncologist? So you won’t be my doctor?” asked Nick nervously. He liked Dr. Kingsbury and had grown comfortable around her; he didn’t want to be handed off to another specialist.

“Oh, I’ll still be your doctor,” Dr. Kingsbury assured him. “But you’ll go to a colleague of mine, Dr. Marvin, for your radiation treatments. I’ve already showed him your scans, which is why I took longer than usual to come talk to you, and he thinks you should start with a six-week course of treatment. He can talk to you more about it when you meet him on Monday. And I’m sure you’ll like him, Nick. Vin’s an excellent doctor, star of the radiology department, and he’s a very nice man as well. A little eccentric, but very sweet. Anyway, I’ll be in close contact with him to check on your progress, and at the end of the six weeks, you’ll have a follow-up visit with me so we can see how things look.”

Nick nodded.

“So... do you have any questions?”

Did he have any questions? It seemed he should, but he was so overwhelmed with this sudden news, he didn’t have the slightest clue what to ask. Slowly, he shook his head. “No, I guess not.”

“Okay. Well, if you think of anything over the weekend, don’t hesitate to call my office, and I’ll answer what I can. And Nick,” she said, causing him to look up, “this isn’t the end of the world. It’s a setback, sure, but things are still looking positive. Your chest x-ray looked fine, and your bone marrow should be clean. The tumor’s growing again, but as long as it stays in your leg, your chances of recovery are high.”

“H-how high, exactly?” Nick asked, licking his dry lips.

“For people with Ewing’s that hasn’t metastasized... spread, that is... the five-year survival rate is fifty-five to seventy percent.”

Nick blinked, his stomach lurching. Fifty-five to seventy percent? Then that meant that thirty to forty-five percent died within five years. He didn’t think that was very high chance of recovery at all; those were terrible odds! Okay, so it could be worse... but fifty-five/forty-five? That was almost fifty/fifty! Nothing more than the flip of a coin. Heads or tails.

“Concentrate on the seventy percent,” Dr. Kingsbury said, reading his mind (or maybe the expression on his face). “You can beat this, Nick.” He nodded numbly, wishing he could feel as confident as she sounded. “So... so can I go now?” he murmured, not quite sure his legs would even support him when he slid off the table.

“Yes. But first let me call radiology and set up Monday’s appointment. Any specific time of day you’d prefer to come? If it were me, I’d do it early, get it over with.

Then you still have the rest of the day. But it’s up to you.”

“Okay... yeah, make it in the morning, I guess.”

She nodded. “All right. I’ll call right now and get it set up for you.” She stood up, crossed the room, and picked up a phone that was mounted on one of the walls. She punched in a few numbers and waited a moment, then said, “Hi, this is Barb Kingsbury from Oncology. I’d like to schedule an appointment with Dr. Marvin for Monday morning for one of my patients. I’ve already spoken to him. Yes... Nickolas Carter. N-I-

C- K-O-L-A-S. Yes. Nine o’clock? Okay, thank you.” She hung up and turned to Nick.

“Nine o’clock on Monday morning, Nick. Don’t come here; go to the radiology department, where you go for your x-rays and CT scans. Got it?”

“Yup,” he replied dully.

“Good. Then go ahead and get dressed, and you can go. Good luck with your appointment on Monday, and feel free to call me if you need anything.” She rested her hand on his shoulder, like she had done so many times before, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll see you in six weeks, if not before.”

“Thanks, Dr. K.”

She left, and he got up slowly. His legs felt like rubber, and his left shin throbbed as soon as he put weight on it. Now he knew why. It had been the tumor all along, and he’d been either too stupid to realize it or too much in denial to accept it. But there was no denying it now.

His cancer was back.

***

In a way, Sunday night came far too soon, but in another way, it couldn’t come soon enough. Nick was dreading radiation the following morning, but the weekend had been pure hell. He had been unable to escape the recurring nightmare that was his cancer, unable to forget about his relapse. The rest of Saturday and all day Sunday was spent just plain freaking out, worrying about the upcoming radiation treatments and whether or not they would work.

He had briefly considered calling Brian on Saturday to tell him the bad news, then decided against it. Dr. Kingsbury had said the radiation treatments would only last six weeks. What would come after that, he did not know, but he decided to wait until the treatments were done and see. If the tumor had cleared up by then, there would be no need to call the guys. Why worry them for no reason?

So he worried all by himself instead.

One thing he could not forget was the odds... seventy/thirty at best, fifty-five/forty-five at worst. They were not completely horrible... yet they didn’t do much for his confidence. Now eighty or ninety percent... that would have been a lot better. But fifty-five?

At one point, he recalled a conversation he’d had with Claire before her bone marrow transplant.

“Well... it’s too big a risk, I guess. That’s why they try chemo and everything first. This treatment is just sort of a last ditch effort...” She went quiet, her voice trailing off into nothing, and he felt a tremor of fear ripple down his spine.

“What kind of a risk?” he asked. “I mean... how dangerous is this thing?” Her eyes locked with his, no trace of the usual twinkle of amusement alighting them. Instead, all he saw when he gazed into their light blue depths was fear. And he realized the truth... as hard as she was trying to hide it, as upbeat as she was trying to be, this was totally freaking her out.

She was scared to death.

“Claire?” he asked softly, not tearing his eyes from hers.

“Fifty-fifty,” she whispered, looking away.

His stomach lurched. Fifty-fifty. It was a coin toss. Heads, she won. Tails, she lost. And this was not just any game, but a battle of life and death. If she lost, she’d be losing her life...

Things had looked pretty grim for awhile for Claire. But she had made it through with worse odds than him. He felt a bit better. If Claire could do it, so could he.

He only wished she could be there with him. He remembered all the times she had sat with him in the waiting room and how she’d held his hand during his bone marrow aspiration that time. And all the conversations they’d had, some deep, others just silly. He would have given anything to tell her the bad news. She would understand, and up until recently, she would have been there for him in a heartbeat, he was sure of it.

Only now he was not so sure. He had pissed her the night before, and though he was still not sure exactly where he had gone wrong, he wasn’t about to call her now. His pride was too great. He had come crawling back to her, and look where it had gotten him. He wasn’t going to do it again. It was her turn; she could come crawling to him this time.

As he lay in bed, his stomach clenched with anxiety as he thought of the frightening new journey he would set out on all alone the following morning, he just hoped she would.

***

Promptly at nine a.m. the next day, Nick sat in the waiting room of the radiology department. It was the first time he’d had to wait there; although he’d been to radiology many times for his x-rays and bone scans, he’d always been shuttled in and out rather quickly. He hated having to sit there and wait because his nervousness only increased with every passing minute.

“Mr. Carter, there’s juice there on the table; help yourself,” called the receptionist from her desk, pointing to a large bowl filled with ice and juice boxes that sat atop the coffee table in the middle of the room.

Nick nodded in acknowledgement, but didn’t take one of the juice boxes, feeling as if anything he ate or drank would just come right back up again. He was about ready to throw up as it was, his nerves wreaking havoc on his stomach.

Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long before his name was called. Standing up on wobbly legs, he crossed the room to the nurse that stood waiting for him in the doorway.

She smiled cheerfully, said hello, and led him down a hall and around a corner, stopping in front of a closed door. The door had a frosted glass window on which the name S.

Vincent Marvin, M.D. was printed. The nurse knocked once, and a man from within called, “Come on in!”

The nurse opened the door and poked her head in. “Mr. Carter’s here, Dr.

Marvin.” To Nick, she said, “Go on in, hon.” She stepped back so that he could enter and then left. He found himself in a small office. In the center, there was a large desk behind which a man in a white coat sat, arms crossed on the wooden surface in front of him, looking up expectantly at Nick.

“Good morning, Mr. Carter,” he greeted Nick pleasantly and stretched his hand out across the desk. “I’m Dr. Vin Marvin; good to meet you.”

“You too,” replied Nick, perching himself in one of the two chairs positioned in front of the doctor’s desk and shaking hands.

The Hispanic doctor looked younger than Nick had expected; he was possibly in his early thirties, no older. He had a casual air to him, and his office matched this. It was rather untidy, cluttered with several cardboard boxes containing God-knows-what.

Amid university and medical school diplomas, random pictures hung on the walls, from a painting of a grassy green pasture in which several goats grazed, to an old poster from the Broadway play “The Miracle Worker.” The bookshelves in one corner were filled with thick medical volumes, framed pictures, and all sorts of peculiar odds and ends... a figurine of a chicken, a small taxi cab, a model train, things like that. His desk was cluttered with papers and more pictures and... a bat?

The doctor noticed Nick looking at the small, beady-eyed plastic bat lying upside down on one corner of the desk and laughed. “Look at this, isn’t this cool?” he exclaimed, picking up the bat. When he flipped a tiny switch on the bat’s underside, the toy sprang to life, its eyes flickering bright red, while an obnoxious, high-pitched humming noise sounded. Dr. Marvin laughed again, slapping his desk with the palm of his hand. “Ahh, that’s great, isn’t it?” he remarked mostly to himself, turning the bat off and setting it down again. “Perfect for Halloween, eh?” Nick wanted to ask why he had Halloween stuff out in the middle of February, but kept his mouth closed, just nodding and smiling weakly. He now knew what Dr.

Kingsbury had meant when she called her colleague “eccentric.” The guy was a freaking weirdo! Nick just hoped he was as good a doctor as Dr. Kingsbury had said. He didn’t want some quack shooting radioactive waves into his body.

“Well...” The doctor clapped his hands together and said, his voice sobering,

“Shall we get started?”

“Yeah, sure,” replied Nick, desperately wishing Dr. Kingsbury could be in charge of the radiation instead of this lunatic.

But as they got started, Dr. Marvin quickly turned more professional and not so freaky. “First, let me just tell you what’s going to happen today. I’ll take you down to one of the radiation rooms, where you’ll be getting the treatment done every day. There, some of my technicians will take some measurements and do some calculations and then mark you up for treatment. What they’ll do is give you “tattoos,” as we call them –

tiny dots on your skin that will show us how to line up the machine each time you come.

That way, we know for sure that the radiation will hit the tumor and not another part of your body.”

“’Tattoos’?” Nick repeated. “Those dots... they come off, don’t they?”

“No, I’m afraid the dots are permanent, but they will fade over time, and they’ll be so small that no one will notice them. Once the dots are there, the technicians will sort of play Connect The Dots with a pen and draw lines on your skin. These lines are for the same purpose – to help us line up the machines – but, of course, they wash off.

You’ll have to try to avoid using soap on that area when you shower, but the technicians will redraw those lines as they fade.”

Nick nodded. Well, so much for wearing shorts out in public. He’d look like freak with lines and dots all over the bottom half of his leg. And yay, he’d have the dots forever as a nice little souvenir of this pleasant experience. If he’d known he was going to have to get another tattoo, he would have picked something a bit more interesting than a bunch of lame dots.

“So is that it?” Nick asked.

“Pretty much. It should take around an hour, and if all goes well, you can start the actual treatments tomorrow. They only take a few minutes, so once you’re done today, the worst is over.” He grinned, and Nick managed a slight smile back. “So,” said Dr. Marvin, standing up, “why don’t you come with me? I’ll take you down to one of the rooms.”

Nick nodded and followed him out of his office, back up the hall and around the corner. They stopped at a heavy door, which Dr. Marvin yanked open and held for Nick to pass through. He found himself in large room with a bedlike table in the center.

Positioned over the table was a gigantic machine with a cone-shaped device that pointed down.

“This is the machine we’ll be using,” said Dr. Marvin, running his hand over the smooth metal of the contraption. “You’ll lie here on the bed, and the technicians will position this over your leg so that it shoots the waves right at your tumor.” Nick blanched. Dr. Marvin talked about it so casually, as if they were just playing a game of “Asteroids”. Only the cute little two-dimensional blipping spaceship was this very real, very intimidating piece of machinery. And instead of being threatened by asteroids, he had to fight off an even worse foe – cancer. And the idea of a tumor deep in his shin bone was a lot scarier than a few little white outlines hurting across a black screen (although, as a child, bouncing around like a spaz in front of the Atari Asteroids console at the local Pizza Hut with his tongue sticking out in concentration and a handful of quarters jangling in his pocket, he might have disagreed).

“So,” said Dr. Marvin, bringing Nick out of the black and white reaches of space and back to the radiation room, “if you’re ready, we can go ahead and get started with the calculation and marking.”

Nick felt he’d never quite be ready, but, like a puppet, his head bobbed up and down once in a nod, and he heard himself reply, “I’m ready.”

***

As Dr. Marvin had predicted, it took almost an hour for the technicians to do their calculations and “mark him up,” as they called it. When he left the hospital, his left shin was covered in a pattern of blue lines, intermixed with tiny dots – the “tattoos” Dr.

Marvin had described. They were tiny indeed, only about the size of a freckle, but they were still noticeable, at least in Nick’s eyes. Seriously, who has bright blue freckles? He only hoped they really would fade the way the doctor had told him they would.

Bright and early Tuesday morning, he was on his way back to the hospital for his first actual radiation treatment. And he was nervous as hell. Dr. Kingsbury and Dr.

Marvin had both told him the treatment was both short and painless, but he couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

When he was called from the waiting room, a nurse took him to a small room and gave him a hospital gown to change into. Grudgingly, he did, and when he was finished, he was escorted into one of the radiation rooms, not the same one he had been in the day before, but identical to it. He was positioned carefully on the table, his left leg immobilized so that he could not move it during the treatment. A technician then moved the large radiation machine, adjusting it so that the cone-shaped end was aimed at the markings on his left leg.

“Okay, Mr. Carter,” he said finally, “we’re going to start the treatment now.

You’ll be alone here in the room, but I’ll be in the ‘control panel’ right through that window.” He pointed to a large window in one of the walls. Beyond the window, Nick could see a small room with all sorts of equipment and computers inside. “I’ll be able to see you from there, and there’s an intercom, so if you need anything, just holler, and I’ll be able to hear you too. Okay?”

Nick nodded.

“You’ll hear a whirring sound when I turn on the machine, but you won’t feel a thing. It will only take a few minutes, and then I’ll come back to readjust the machine so we can shoot from a different angle.”

He suddenly sounded like a photographer at a photo shoot. And though he normally despised photo shoots, Nick would have given anything to be at one of them now instead of here. No such luck though. The technician left the room, and as promised, there was a buzzing sound. It lasted just over a minute, and when it was over, the technician returned and set to repositioning the radiation machine. Some of Nick’s nerves left him; everyone had been right in saying that the treatment would be painless.

He hadn’t felt anything. When the technician left again, the buzzing started back up, as another dose of radiation was shot into Nick’s leg from the second angle.

“That’s it. You’re done,” the technician announced cheerfully when he returned, helping Nick up from the table. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Yup,” Nick said, slightly shaky, but overall relieved at how truly easy the radiation had been.

“You look a little pale,” commented the technician, studying Nick’s face.

“Probably just nerves, right?” Nick nodded, smiling a little. “That’s okay. Well, why don’t you grab a thing of juice on the way out, get your blood sugar up a bit before you drive home.”

“Okay.” The technician led Nick back out to the waiting room, where he grabbed a juice box from the bowl on the table, downing it in just two swallows. Flattening the small cardboard container, he tossed it in the trash.

“See you tomorrow,” he called to the receptionist and then left, thinking of how annoying it was going to be to have to come here five mornings out of the week for the next six weeks.

Still, if it got rid of his tumor, it was worth it. Anything was worth that.

***

Chapter 99

For the next month, Nick’s life revolved mostly around his radiation treatments.

He went to the hospital every morning, and when he got home, he usually got something to eat, hung out for awhile, and then took a nap. Dr. Kingsbury had told him the radiation would make him tired, and it did. The fatigue only increased with each passing week, even though Nick was getting more sleep than ever. But no matter how many hours he slept, he just couldn’t shake the numbing exhaustion that clung to his body.

Midway through March, his father Bob and brother Aaron came to stay for the weekend. Aaron had been in Florida to shoot something for Nickelodeon at their Orlando studio, and Bob had accompanied him there, while Jane stayed in California with Leslie and Angel. Bob had called the week before and talked to Nick, telling him how Aaron was longing to see him and wondering if they could stop by Tampa before heading back to California. Nick had said yes, arranging for them to arrive Friday afternoon and leave by Sunday night. He didn’t have radiation on weekends, so this would give him a chance to spend a few days with his father and brother without having to tell them he had relapsed. He figured that as long as he hid his marked-up leg and acted perky, they would never know, and he preferred to keep it that way, at least for awhile.

Bob’s rented car pulled up at around two in the afternoon. Nick was right there to answer the door, and Aaron bounded in immediately. He hesitated inside the door a moment, giving Nick a once-over, and then, apparently deciding it was okay, launched himself at Nick. Laughing, Nick stumbled back, almost losing his balance, for Aaron had gotten a lot taller since the last time they had seen each other. He was now almost as tall as Nick, Nick realized in surprise as he wrapped the sixteen-year-old up in a brotherly bear hug.

“Hey, AC,” he said, ruffling Aaron’s mop of blonde hair.

Aaron pulled back and grinned. “Hey, you look tons better than last time I was here. Dang, you looked like shit then.”

“Yeah, well...” Nick said with a roll of his eyes, leaving the comment unfinished.

Bob Carter stumbled in then, a bulging duffel bag over each shoulder. “Hey, Aaron,” he grunted, “you wanna get this?”

“Oh, sorry, Dad!” Aaron immediately grabbed his own duffel. “I’m gonna take this upstairs, be right back!” he announced and literally ran up the stairs, dragging the bag behind. It bounced harshly against every step, and Nick hoped there was nothing breakable inside because it sure as hell wouldn’t be in one piece by the time it made it upstairs.

“How are you doing?” Bob asked, pulling Nick into a hug and awkwardly patting his back.

“Fine,” Nick lied, pasting a smile on his face. “And you? How was the drive?”

“Oh, it was okay. Uneventful,” answered Bob with a casual shrug.

“That’s good. You wanna come sit down?” They abandoned Bob’s luggage in the foyer and went into Nick’s living room, where Bob sat down in an armchair, and Nick slumped onto the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table in front of him.

“I heard the new album,” Bob began. “It was terrific. The best you guys have come out with so far, I think.” He gave Nick a proud smile.

“Thanks,” Nick grinned, pleased. “So, um... how are the girls?”

“Oh, everyone’s great. Leslie’s been working on her next album, Angel’s just been going to school, and BJ... well...” He trailed off, and Nick only nodded sadly, knowing exactly what his father meant. BJ had gotten into drugs, been in trouble several times in the past few years, and had slowly cut herself off from her family. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen her, and it was painful to think of her, for when they were younger, Nick and BJ had been very close.

“Your mother is doing fine too,” Bob said carefully and added with a meaningful look, “but she misses you. I wish you’d talk to her, Nick.” But Nick only shook his head stubbornly. “No. I’m sorry, Dad, but I just can’t.

Not yet anyway. Give it some more time.”

Bob nodded. “I’ll tell her you send your love.”

Nick opened his mouth and started to tell him not to bother, but, seeing the stern look on his father’s face, he changed his mind. “Sure,” he replied, his voice toneless.

Aaron came springing back into the room and flung himself onto the couch beside Nick. “So,” he said, “you wanna go shoot some hoops, Nick? I don’t wanna just sit around and talk; my legs are all cramped from being in the car.” Nick was tired, and his leg was hurting, and basketball was pretty much the last thing he felt like doing. But it had been so long since he’d seen Aaron that he just couldn’t tell him no. Besides, he didn’t want to let on to the fact that anything was wrong. So he nodded and forced a smile, saying, “Yeah, sure, AC, let’s go.”

“You comin’, Dad?” Aaron asked, as the brothers got up from the couch.

“No, I think I’ll relax for awhile, if that’s okay with you two,” Bob replied.

“Sure, that’s cool, Dad. We’ll be in later,” Nick promised and led Aaron out through the garage, where they found a basketball. Nick had a hoop mounted near the driveway, and they took turns just shooting for awhile, warming up. While he was just casually shooting hoops, Nick was fine (although his shots were terrible, and Aaron teased him relentlessly for being so out of practice). But as soon as the teenager challenged him to a game of one-on-one, Nick knew things would go steadily downhill.

Although he had gotten himself back into shape for the album release a month earlier, the radiation made him tired, and he grew winded easily. Not to mention, his leg ached with every step, and trying to run on it was downright painful. Still, he gritted his teeth and tried not to show it as he pivoted and ducked away from Aaron’s flailing arms.

“Okay, ten point rule. You win,” Nick announced breathlessly, letting the ball roll into the grass after Aaron had sunk his tenth shot, his score now double what Nick’s was.

“Ahh, come on, you can still try and catch up!” Aaron insisted. Laughing, he added, “Not like you’re gonna, but you can try.”

“Nah, I’m givin’ up, bro. You’ve already kicked my ass,” Nick admitted with a weary grin.

Aaron threw his hands up in the air victoriously, gloating at having beaten his older brother, for it didn’t happen often. But as Nick sank down onto the hard cement of the driveway, stretching his legs out in front of him and groaning painfully, a look of concern spread over his face. “Hey, you okay, Nick?” he asked, squatting down beside Nick and lightly touching his shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m cool, kid. Just tired. You wore me out, ya know?”

“Are you sure? You look kinda clammy.” Nick gave him a patronizing look, wishing Aaron would just drop the issue.

“I’m not clammy; I’m just sweaty because I’m hot,” he enunciated.

“Maybe you should have worn shorts then, dumbass. I told you you’d get hot in jeans!”

Nick rolled his eyes, but could feel himself blushing as he remembered why he was wearing long pants in the first place. Luckily, his face was already red from the exercise, and Aaron did not notice.

“Well, I dunno about you, but I’m gonna head inside and get somethin’ to drink,” Nick announced, hauling himself off of the ground. “You comin’?”

“Yeah, sure.”

As they walked inside, Nick lightly smacked the back of Aaron’s head. “You just got lucky today, dude,” he remarked playfully. “Wait till the rematch; I’m gonna kick your scrawny ass.”

“Ohh, I’m sure,” said Aaron, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Bring it on, bitch!”

Nick whacked him upside the head a second time as, laughing, they entered the kitchen.

***

At the end of the six-week course of radiation, Nick had an appointment with Dr.

Kingsbury. He had been seeing Dr. Marvin every week for x-rays, but the radiation oncologist only briefly examined him and never filled him in on how the treatments were going. After this check-up with Dr. Kingsbury, he would know in what direction this ominous road would lead him.

He prayed that the radiation had done its job and shrunken the tumor so that he could take the exit that would lead him away from the obstacles his cancer had created.

But if the radiation hadn’t worked... then he had reached the bridge.

“Most Ewing’s Sarcoma tumors are sensitive to radiation. There’s a good chance the treatment will help.”

“Well, what if it doesn’t?”

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come it.” Nick didn’t want to cross that bridge. In his mind, it was a narrow, rickety bridge, made of rotting wooden boards and held together with nothing but fraying rope.

It stretched across a wide precipice that was so deep, it simply faded into blackness with no bottom in sight. And though the thought of navigating that treacherous pass was frightening, it was really not knowing what dangers loomed on the other side that terrified him.

The appointment that day was almost like all the others, the only exception being Nick did not have to endure another bone marrow aspiration. This suited him just fine; in fact, it please him so much that when Dr. Kingsbury came into the examining room near the end of the appointment, Nick was in a fairly good mood, not especially worried about what she had to say. The radiation worked, he had been telling himself over and over again. It had to have. Your tumor’s gonna be gone... or almost gone anyway.

This was the thought he kept chanting inwardly as he watched his doctor carefully place six x-ray films onto the light board, all in a row. He longed to just come out and ask her if it had worked, but he held his tongue and waited impatiently for her to give him the news.

“Nick, these are the x-rays you’ve had taken of your leg after each week of radiation,” Dr. Kingsbury began, turning to face him. She turned on the board, illuminating the six dark films. “This one,” she said, pointing to the one on the left end,

“was the first taken after your first week of radiation. You can see your tumor here.” With her finger, she traced a circle around the dark spot lodged in the white bone of his tibia. The spot was big, bigger than he remembered it, and he got a sick feeling in his stomach just looking at it.

“The rest of the films,” the doctor carried on, waving her arm across the board to encompass the other five, “are the ones taken in subsequent weeks. They’re in order.

This one at the end is the one we took today.” Nick’s eyes traveled across the white board to the film at the right end. To his dismay, he could still vividly see the dark spot that was his tumor. His heart beginning to race with trepidation, his eyes flickered back to the first film on the opposite end, as he tried to compare the size of both spots.

“You can see that there’s not much of a difference in size between the one from five weeks ago and the one from today,” said Dr. Kingsbury, and, his heart sinking, Nick realized she was right. The spot on the right end film looked no smaller than the one on the left; in fact, it seemed almost bigger...

“Are you sure they’re not switched around or something?” he asked, a hint of desperation wavering in his voice.

“No,” said Dr. Kingsbury, shaking her head regrettably. “I’m so sorry, Nick, but the truth is, the radiation hasn’t helped.”

So they had reached the bridge.

“It hasn’t shrunken the tumor, and it’s only stunted its growth slightly,” Dr.

Kingsbury continued gravely. “The cancer is still spreading, and I’m afraid we’re going to need to consider more drastic measures to stop it before it metastasizes to another part of your body.”

Nick stared at her, frozen in fear, his pounding heart the only muscle moving in his body. “M-more drastic measures?” he repeated, his voice hoarse from the lump that had lodged itself in this throat. “Like what?”

“Chemotherapy helped, but not enough to keep you in remission. Radiation didn’t work. There’s really only one more option at this point, and that’s surgery.” Surgery. The word hit him like a brick. No, more like a block of ice, which an invisible force had shoved down his throat. It slid all the way down to the pit of his stomach, where it settled, leaving an icy trail that numbed his insides.

He had never gone under the knife before, with the exception of the biopsy they had done on his leg prior to his initial diagnosis. But, as Dr. Kingsbury had stressed, that had only been very minor surgery... and somehow, the way she had said that horrible word surgery this time, he knew it was going to be a much bigger deal.

“Surgery,” he heard himself echo, his voice sounding small and scared. “You mean you’re going to, like, cut out the tumor?” He was already beginning to feel light-headed, his body trembling as he thought about someone cutting into his leg, slicing right into his bone to extract the malignant growth that lurked within it.

“No, Nick,” Dr. Kingsbury answered gently, and for a fleeting moment, relief

washed over him. But then the doctor pulled up her stool and sat down right in front of him, resting a hand on his right knee as she looked seriously up into his eyes. “The tumor is too big to be removed. At this stage, the best option...” He drew in a shaky breath and held it as she continued.

“... is amputation.”

***

Chapter 100

Amputation... amputation...

He tested the word, repeating it in his head, even daring to mumble it out loud with a wavering voice. Each time he heard it or thought it, a wave of nausea washed over him. Dr. Kingsbury wanted to amputate his leg. He thought back to the conversation in her office, probably one of the worst conversations he’d ever had in his life.

“You mean, cut off my leg?!” Nick cried shrilly, his eyes bugging in sheer horror at the very thought.

“Nick, I’m so sorry. This option is just a last resort. If there were any other way...”

“So... so there is no other way?” he whispered, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in.

Sadly, the doctor shook her head. “I’m afraid if we don’t act soon and amputate, the tumor will not only continue to spread through your leg, but cancer cells will move to other parts of your body, and then we’ll be dealing with a much worse situation.

Once Ewing’s metastasizes, the prognosis drops to only a twenty-two to thirty-three percent chance of survival.”

He stared at her, chilled by those harsh odds. He thought maybe he should say something, but his foggy brain didn’t seem to want to form words, and even if it did, he hardly trusted his voice to speak.

Dr. Kingsbury went on, “You do have a choice about this, Nick. We can’t do anything without your consent, and you have the right to refuse this. But, as a professional, I would advise you to go through with it. I know what a shock this is, and I know that right now, you can’t even imagine what it would be like to live without one of your legs. But, believe me, you’ll still be able to have a normal life. With the use of a prosthesis...”

She trailed off, and he could feel her gaze on him. His eyes had begun to well up, and he blinked furiously, his head down, refusing to look up at her. It was not the first time he had broken down in front of her, yet he still hated crying in front of anyone.

He felt her hand grip his shoulder, which only prompted more tears to spill.

“Nick,” she said gently, and finally, he looked up, focusing his watery, red-rimmed eyes upon her kind face. “You don’t have to make this decision now. Go home, do some thinking, make some phone calls... just give it some time. Think it over and decide within the next few days, and we’ll go from there.”

“W-would you do it, if it were you?” Nick asked shakily, ignoring her words and looking pleadingly into her eyes.

“Yes,” Dr. Kingsbury replied with a firm nod. “I’ve been a doctor for almost twenty years, and I’ve seen many of my patients go through this. And almost all of them have gone on to live normal, productive, healthy lives. All it takes is a positive attitude and a little effort. And Nick, I can’t even imagine how hard this must be for you especially, being in the public eye, but living without your leg is better than not living at all. It isn’t the end of the world, and although things will never be the same, you will be able to go on with not only your life, but your career. Do you understand?” Her voice was gentle, yet firm, her words confident and encouraging. He

nodded slowly. “I... I just need to think about it,” he mumbled, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“Yes,” Dr. Kingsbury nodded. “Do like I said. Go home, Nick. Call me in a few days when you know for sure what you want to do.”

So that was it. She had given him a hug before he had left, and he had broken down again at the show of compassion, crying shamelessly like a child and moistening the shoulder of her crisp white lab jacket with his tears. Then he had driven home, his mind in a haze the whole time, not paying a bit of attention to the road or anything else around him, navigating the familiar route based on pure instinct.

Now he sat outside, sprawled lifelessly in the sand on the private strip of beach behind his house. He could hear the ocean, just feet away, its waves gently lapping against the sand. But the sound, usually so soothing, brought him no comfort. His thoughts were racing, yet felt slow and restrained by the thick fog that swirled around in his brain. The beach normally relaxed him, but now his body was tense, a jumbled bunch of nerves, still trembling slightly whenever he repeated that dreadful word...

amputation.

Stretching his legs out in front of him, he let his eyes travel up and down the left one and tried to imagine it gone. What would it be like? What would it look like? What would it feel like?

Other questions banged against the walls of his mind, as he realized how much his life would change if he went through with this. He’d never walk on his own two feet again, but be forced to use a prosthetic leg. And even if he learned to walk on that, he couldn’t imagine how he’d ever be able to run again... play basketball... swim...

Swim.

He eyed the water, its waves rippling in the oceanic breeze, its surface sparkling beneath the late afternoon sun. A large wave rolled in and washed onto the sand, almost reaching his toes. It seemed to be beckoning to him.

It had been weeks since he’d been out on the ocean. Fatigued from the radiation, he had mostly lain around indoors or lounged on the balcony overlooking the ocean, never once setting foot in the water.

He realized he’d taken it for granted, assuming that the ocean would always be here, and he would always be here to enjoy it. If he let them take his leg, he was more likely to live, more likely to be here. But would he still be able to enjoy the water?

Would he be able to take his boat out? Would he be able to surf? Would he even be able to swim, with only one leg?

But if he decided against the amputation, it was likely the cancer would kill him.

And then what?

Nick had never been a deeply religious person, and though he believed there was a God somewhere up above, he had never really considered death and what occurred after it. Was there a Heaven? And if so, was he destined to go there? If not, what would happen to him?

He was so confused, but one thing was clear – he didn’t want to die.

But he didn’t want to live without his leg either.

Desperate tears rose in his eyes, and his head ached with the weight of the many thoughts that were on his mind. What was he going to do?

Somehow, he knew this was a decision he could not make alone. He had endured

so much on his own... but this was just too much. He had to tell someone, had to talk to someone, had to get advice.

For a brief moment, he thought of Claire, remembering how she had called him in tears, distraught after getting the news of her need for a bone marrow transplant. He longed to call her, to hear her voice, to have her cry with him and be there for him and assure him that everything would be all right.

Claire was the one person who would almost understand what he was going through.

But he couldn’t call Claire.

He would call Brian instead. Brian, the big brother he’d never had, his best friend. Brian would be there for him; Brian would help him through.

He stood up slowly, his leg aching under his weight as his feet sank into the sand, and turned to go back to the house, his heart heavy at the thought of the phone call he was going to have to make. But a seagull’s cry made him turn back, his eyes drawn instantly to the glistening water. He set his gaze on the horizon; as far as he could see, there was nothing but ocean. And oh, how he longed to set sail and never look back, drift out on that vast expanse of water and let it simply carry him away. An escape.

Without a thought, as if possessed by the enchanting power the ocean held over him, he staggered toward the water, relishing the feel of the wet sand squishing between his toes, the coolness of the water tickling his ankles. The bottoms of his rolled-up pant legs grew wet as he walked further in, but he did not care. Before he knew it, he was waist-deep, and his pants were soaked. But he hardly noticed, nor did it matter.

Nothing really mattered, after all.

And with this attitude, he hurled himself headfirst into the water, the shock of the cold water numbing his body and soul, deadening the physical and emotional pain, rendering him blind to the world above the surface and opening his eyes to the peaceful world below. How he wished he could simply sink to the very bottom of the ocean and stay there, leaving his problems bobbing like cork on the top.

But as soon as he rose to the surface, sputtering and gasping for breath, his brief escape was thwarted as he was captured by reality. And though his body remained free to drift in the ocean’s current, his soul was bound, bound with the decision he knew he had to make.

Face losing his leg?

Or face death?

He kicked hard, propelling his body through the water and wondering if it would be the last time he swam with both legs. The very thought made his eyes well up again.

Hot tears dripped down his wet cheeks, mixing with the salty sea.

He shook his head desperately, his chest heaving, his head pounding, his heart racing. This was not something he could face now.

And so, he simply plunged beneath the surface once again.

***

Part III: Breathless

Chapter 101

His cheeks were still red, chapped and stained with dried tears, the imprint of the back of his hand etched into one of them after a few hours of restless sleep. Now his eyes struggled to open, swollen and sealed shut with sleep, crusted with the salt of his tears. Finally, he managed to pry his lids apart, wincing and using his fists to rub away the burning sting. Blinking rapidly, he rolled over and squinted at the face of his digital alarm clock, the red numbers blurring in front of him. He managed to make them out.

6:32 a.m.

It was far too early to be up; the sun had not even risen to chase away the fading darkness of the spring night. But there was no falling back to sleep now. Though he had apparently cried himself to sleep after hours of thrashing beneath the covers, overwrought, Nick Carter felt in no way refreshed. He was still exhausted, and now that he had returned from his brief retreat into dreamland, he immediately sank into the depths of depression, where the reality of his situation lurked like one of those creepy fish in the documentaries about the bottom of the ocean, just waiting to strike, to snap at him and swallow him whole.

He might as well be trapped inside Monstro’s belly already, for the previous day’s nightmare had already seeped across midnight’s boundary, assaulting the new day, purging the morning of its innocence.

Sleep had briefly lifted the weight from his shoulders, but now it came crashing roughly down upon them again, as the decision he must make harassed his dazed brain.

Let them amputate his leg? Or continue to fight, with both legs but half the chance of survival?

Fatigued and numb as he was, the morning provided him with enough insight to realize this was not a decision he could or should make alone. He needed support. He needed his friends, his brothers.

He reached for the phone, then realized it was too early to call Brian and certainly not Kevin, who was a full three hours behind out in California. He opted for a shower instead, hoping it would refresh him and clear his mind. Instead, he stood under the spray for at least half an hour, numb to the scalding water that burned his skin, aware only of the worry that burned his mind.

By the time he had finally stepped out of the shower, his skin red, the bathroom thick with steam, and absently toweled himself off, it was 7:30, and he knew the phone call could wait no longer. The worry was eating away at him, and he had to share it with someone before it killed him. If the cancer did not kill him first. Or Brian, who would surely not be too happy about being awoken at 7:30.

Then again, Brian wouldn’t be too happy once he heard the news anyway, so what did it matter?

Nick sucked in a deep breath, his whole body trembling, and dialed the phone number of his older brother and truest friend.

***

“Hello?” Brian Littrell sounded harassed, and Nick swallowed hard.

“B-Bri?” he croaked, feeling as if a cotton ball had somehow lodged itself into his mouth.

“Yeah? Speaking?”

“Nick. This a bad time?” Nick could faintly hear Baylee screaming in the background and knew that it was.

“Oh, hey, Nick. Good going there, buddy, you woke up my son. What are you doing calling so early? It’s like... 7:30! Why are you even awake?” Brian sounded perplexed, and for good reason. Nick always slept in late on days they weren’t working.

“Brian... I gotta talk to you.” He didn’t even beat around the bush; he just said it, his deadpan voice contrasting sharply to Brian’s, which was a colorful blend of amusement, confusion, annoyance, and grogginess.

“Okay... what’s wrong?” Immediately, Brian was alert and serious, all traces of aggravation washed out of his tone.

Nick swallowed hard, but the nonexistent wad of cotton only seemed to wedge itself further back in his throat. “Um... Bri...” he managed to squeak, his throat growing even tighter as tears threatened. “Th-there’s some stuff I haven’t told you.” Brian drew in a sharp breath. “Like what?”

Nick shut his eyes and divulged, “I relapsed.”

“Relapsed?” Brian repeated. “You mean... th-the cancer’s... the cancer’s back?” His voice wavered with emotion on the last word, and Nick hated himself for having to upset his best friend.

“Yeah... I found out about six weeks ago.”

“Six weeks?!” Brian cried. “You’ve known for over a month, Nick? Why... why didn’t you tell me? I thought you weren’t going to pull that keeping secrets shit on us anymore! What’s the deal?”

“God, Bri, don’t be mad, that’s the last thing I need,” Nick pleaded, yanking at his short crop of hair, struggling to keep his emotions in check long enough to get the bad news out. “The truth is, I’ve been having radiation treatments for six weeks, and when I first found out, I was led to believe they would work. The radiation didn’t have any real bad side effects, and I just figured that after six weeks, I’d be perfectly fine again, and no one would ever have to know. I... I just didn’t want to upset you guys again by telling you if I didn’t have to.”

There was a long pause. Then Brian said carefully, “Nick, sure we would have been upset, but not at you. At what’s happening to you. I can’t believe you went six weeks worrying about this by yourself and not telling anyone. Didn’t you learn anything the first time around?” He sounded concerned, yet exasperated and maybe even a little offended. Nick suddenly regretted not telling anyone in the first place... at least it might have prepared them all more for the bombshell he was about to drop on Brian.

Nick didn’t reply; he didn’t know what to say. He sat clutching the phone tightly and listening to Brian breathing on the other end. Finally, as if he had just had a revelation, Brian asked, “So... so why are you calling me now, after six weeks? I mean, I’m glad you did, but... but what made you decide to tell me now? Has something happened?” His voice leapt with worry again.

Nick squeezed his eyes shut, a single teardrop escaping from between closed lids.

As it inched down one blotchy cheek, he answered in a whisper, “Yes.”

“What? What happened?” Brian quickly demanded. “Are you all right? Where

are you calling from?”

“I’m home,” whimpered Nick. “But... but I had an appointment yesterday, with Dr. Kingsbury. And she said... and she said...” He stammered like a broken record, unable to finish his sentence.

“Oh no... Nick, what did she say?” Brian prompted in gentle tones, his voice deathly quiet.

“That the radiation didn’t work,” Nick blurted, hiccupping as he broke down, fresh tears spilling from his eyes. “That... that... that she wants to cut off my leg!”

“Oh my God,” Brian inhaled. “She wants to amputate?”

“Yes,” sobbed Nick. “I... I don’t know what to do, I can’t let them take my leg, but I don’t want to die, I’m not ready, oh God, Bri, help me!” He had lost all dignity, clutching to the phone as if it were his lifeline and weeping as if his very soul were broken.

“Oh, Nick,” Brian moaned. “Oh God... I’m so sorry, Nick... don’t you worry... I’m going to call the airport as soon as we get off the phone, and I’m going to book a flight, and... and I’m going to come down there. It’ll be all right, Nick. I’m gonna get you through this, okay? You just hang on; I can be there in a few hours.”

“O-okay,” Nick whimpered, hiccupping again as his tears slowed. He had been right in calling Brian; just the sound of his voice was reassuring.

“You gonna be all right till I get there? Can I hang up soon to call the airport, or do you need me to stay on longer?” Suddenly, Brian was talking to Nick almost like he talked to his own son, and Nick felt foolish, realizing what a pathetic baby he must seem like, sobbing and carrying on that way.

“N-no, I’ll be fine,” Nick assured him tearfully, trying to steady his voice. “Just...

just get down here... when you can... okay?” he choked out between dying sobs.

“I will, Nicky, I’ll be there,” Brian promised. “I’m going to let you go now. Okay?

I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay,” sniffled Nick. “Bye.” He hung up and collapsed onto his bed in a fit of exhaustion, his nose running and his temples aching as a headache crept up on him.

Caused by the crying outburst, no doubt. It had been a long time since he had sobbed like this... well, unless you counted the day before. He had cried, sure, many times since his diagnosis. But it was not often that Nick Carter lost it like this, sobbing like a frightened child, all thoughts of pride and masculinity out the window.

Then again, it was not often that a famous popstar was more or less told that in order to live, his leg would have to be amputated.

Yes, Nick thought, blowing his nose, I think I’ve definitely got a good reason to cry.

With that, he lay down, burying his face in the cool comfort of his pillow and placing the cordless phone on the bed beside him in case Brian called back, wishing to go back to his dreamland, where he could relax and enjoy a world without worry and fear, sickness and pain. He shut his red-rimmed eyes tightly and turned his head to breathe, letting the pillow cushion his cheek, which was red and tearstained once again.

***

Chapter 102

The coldness seeped through the thin material of his pajama bottoms, but Nick hardly noticed. He sat on the floor of his foyer, his back pressed up against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest so that he was curled into a ball. The air conditioning had cooled the sleek tiles, but he was numb to their chill. He stared straight ahead, glancing up once to let his eyes roam the ocean landscape mounted on the wall opposite him, then letting his gaze fall back down to rest on nothing.

He was waiting for Brian.

He needed Brian.

He had done so much thinking lately, so much worrying. His mind had just kept going and going, but now it seemed it had run out of batteries and died on the spot, leaving him dazed and blank, which was actually quite a relief. He was tired and wanted to just curl his head down onto his knees and go to sleep right then and there. But he couldn’t because Brian would be there soon. He had to stay awake for Brian.

He vaguely thought of the others... Kevin, AJ, and Howie. He wondered if Brian had called them. He hadn’t mentioned it on the phone, but it seemed logical that someone should call Kevin. Got a problem? Go to Kevin. That was how it had always worked, and he was surprised he had not called Kevin first. Because he definitely had a problem. Only he had a sick feeling that even if he knew about it, Kevin would not be able to solve this one. He would only freak out and fret until he got an ulcer, if he didn’t already have one from all that they had been through together. So maybe it was better that he had called Brian first after all.

He heard the muffled sound of a car door and sat up straighter.

Brian?

The doorbell rang, once, twice, hardly a pause in between.

Brian.

Nick painfully climbed to his feet as the bell sounded a third time and stumbled to the door, his bad leg nearly giving out on him as he gritted his teeth in agony. It was indeed getting worse, he could tell. How had he not noticed it before?

He opened the door to find his best friend of nearly eleven years standing outside.

Brian’s appearance was haggard, his skin pallid, his hair matted and plastered to his head, his eyes bloodshot. Those eyes looked up to meet Nick’s, and Nick struggled to keep his composure as he saw the profound sadness registered in their cerulean depths.

“Nick?” Brian murmured, his voice hoarse. There was no trace of a smile on his thin, pale lips.

“Bri,” croaked Nick without emotion. “C-come on in.” He stepped back, tugging his gaze away from those expressive eyes, afraid of breaking down again, of losing it in front of Brian. It wasn’t like Brian had never seen him cry again, but they both seemed to be emotional wrecks already. The last thing they needed was more tears.

Wordlessly, Nick led Brian into the living room, and they sat down, Brian perching stiffly on the edge of the sofa, Nick throwing himself into a large recliner, wedging himself in sideways and draping his lanky legs over one of the overstuffed arms.

“Nick...” Brian trailed off, his mouth still open as he searched for the right words to say. Finally, he gave up and simply said, “Is this the only option you’ve been given?”

“Basically,” Nick mumbled without looking at him. “If I refuse the surgery, Dr. K

thinks it will spread more, and then I’m basically fucked. Thirty-three percent is the highest chance of survival once it gets to somewhere else in the body.” How he had remembered that statistic was beyond him; he’d never been one to spurt random bits of knowledge like that. Then again, this was not random at all, not some useless piece of trivia. This was his life they were talking about.

The blood drained from Brian’s already-pale face. “So this is the only option.”

“No, I got two options – either the leg goes, or I go. Simple as that,” Nick replied flippantly, jiggling one foot and staring hard at the wall as he blinked back tears.

“Then... then the leg goes... right?”

Nick looked at his lap. “I don’t wanna live without my leg, Brian,” he said quietly.

The foot stopped jiggling.

“I know, Nicky... I know. Who would? But... but if it’s the only option to save your life... you have to take it.” Brian’s voice was patient, yet firm, and he suddenly sounded very wise... almost Kevin-esque. But it didn’t take a wise man to see the obvious choice... if a person had to sacrifice either one leg or his life, he would easily choose to lose the leg, wouldn’t he? He could still live with only one leg - why die for nothing? It was simple, right? An easy decision to make.

Only it wasn’t.

The prospect of living with only one leg was so dismal that death almost seemed to be the better choice, to Nick at least. It was likely he would be kept alive if he chose to have his leg amputated... but would he really be alive? What was life without one leg?

Nick had always been an active person... full of energy, athletic... he loved to be outdoors, whether on the beach or the basketball court. And more than anything, he loved to be on stage.

A sick feeling made its way into his stomach as he thought about his career as a Backstreet Boy. Dr. Kingsbury had said he would be able to continue his career... but how could he? He was not just a singer, but a performer, an entertainer. When he was on stage, he moved, whether it was dancing or simply jumping around. He could not imagine doing that on one leg. Nor could he imagine anyone wanting to see that even if he could. In the entertainment business, unlike in the Sprite commercials, image was everything. Sure, talent factored in there somewhere, but it was all about the look, about beauty and perfection. His cancer had already taken its toll on this aspect of him once. But if he went through with what Dr. Kingsbury wanted him to go through, he would be ruined. Crippled. Deformed.

Imperfect.

His life, the life he loved, revolved around his career, around being a performer.

And whether he literally died or not, his life, as far as he was concerned, would be over if he allowed them to cut off his leg. He would retreat into the shadows, a mutant, an outcast, a has-been who would never really be again. He might be shunned... he might only be pitied. Either way, he would never again be idolized. He would never again have the girls he had taken for granted screaming his name, begging him to marry them, expressing their wishes to give birth to children of his blood. When he was spotted in public, people would no longer whisper, “That’s Nick Carter! He’s in the Backstreet Boys!” Instead, it would be, “That’s Nick Carter... he used to be in the Backstreet Boys.

Then he got cancer, and he had to have his leg amputated...” And then the eyes would turn on him, eyes which had once been adoring, now just sympathetic.

“Nick?”

Brian’s voice cut into his thoughts, and he grunted an absent, “What?”

“Y-you have to do it. I don’t wanna lose you, Nick. It’s just your leg...”

“Yeah, my leg! It’s a part of my body, Brian, and they want to just hack it off!” Nick cried, turning hateful eyes upon Brian. “It’s easy for you to say ‘it’s just your leg,’

but you ain’t the one who has to face losing it, are you? You ain’t the one who has to face never doing what you love again, or... or never even being able to walk again, unless it’s on some freaky robot leg! What kind of life would I have if I let them do this to me?!” His voice rose and crackled as tears filled his eyes once again.

“I’m sorry,” Brian whispered. “You’re right; I can’t empathize with this. I can only imagine.... I’ll be quiet now; I won’t tell you what to do. It’s your decision. But Nick... think about it, okay? You’re not ready to just give up and die, are you? Please fight this, Nick. I... I can’t stand the thought of... of...” He trailed off, and Nick hesitantly peered over at him to find his friend slumped forward, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry, Bri,” he said softly, climbing out of the chair and going to sit beside the older man on the couch.

“This isn’t your fault,” Brian murmured, his voice muffled. “You have no more control over this than I do. I... I just hate that you have to go through this.” He finally looked up at Nick with tear-filled eyes. “You’re like the little brother I never had, Nick, you know that. And... and when the group first got going, I... well, all of us, really... felt this unsaid responsibility for you... you were just this little kid, and we were older and felt like we had to protect you. We’ve always been trying to protect you, maybe even overprotect you a little.” He smiled through his tears as Nick nodded vigorously, his own eyes beginning to water.

“And now,” Brian continued, shaking his head, “you’re in trouble, and I want to be able to protect you from this... this monster that’s eating away at you.” He paused, bowing his head, his thumb and forefinger rising to pluck at the bridge of his nose again.

“Only I can’t,” he went on, his voice now barely a whisper. “And it’s killing me, Nick.

It’s killing me.”

***

Chapter 103

“One of us should call the other guys, you know.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Tearing their absent gazes away from the TV screen, Brian and Nick exchanged glances. Offering Nick a shrug, Brian added, “I was gonna call them after you called me... but then I thought it would be better get here first and talk to you, then fill them in.”

Nick nodded. “So you didn’t call anyone then?”

“Well, I... uh, no. Didn’t call anyone.”

Nick nodded again, sliding his eyes back to the television screen. Brian had been there for several hours now, and after their initial conversation and tears, they had fallen into an awkward silence, finally turning on the TV to relieve it. They had been sitting there all afternoon, watching countless reruns of early 90’s sitcoms and lame game shows. It was now after six, and Nick’s attention was drawn away from “The Simpsons” when he heard Brian’s stomach growl.

“I got plenty of food; help yourself,” he muttered, waving his hand in the general direction of the kitchen.

“Okay.” Brian stood up. “You hungry?”

Nick looked at him pointedly and replied, “What do you think?” Brian offered him a small, sympathetic smile. “Sorry. But you should probably eat something... you haven’t eaten all day, have you?” Nick shook his head slightly.

“Come on. I’ll make you something to eat. Whatever you want,” Brian offered, as if he expected Nick to jump for joy at this prospect.

“Ha... you? Cook?” Nick snorted derisively.

“Hey, I can cook!” Brian insisted, crossing his arms over his chest, a smug grin on his face. “Who do you think makes dinner when Leighanne’s busy with the baby?”

“Kraft Easy Mac doesn’t count as dinner, Bri.”

“And why not? It’s food, isn’t it? And it’s good stuff! You want me to make you macaroni?”

“I told you, I’m not hungry,” muttered Nick, his voice flattening, the sarcasm quickly replaced with just plain sullenness.

“Okay, how about some toast then? Just toast. Or some crackers?” He waited for Nick to say something, which he didn’t. “Come on, Nick,” Brian pleaded after a moment. “You need to eat. Don’t make this any worse by starving yourself. What can I fix you?”

It was obvious that Brian wasn’t about to back down, so Nick surrendered. “Fine.

Toast.”

“Toast it is then,” Brian said cheerfully. “You want butter on that?”

“Sure.”

“Alrighty. You coming to keep me company, or are you going to just wait here?”

“Here.” He never tore his gaze from the TV.

“Okay. I’ll be back in a few.” Brian disappeared into the kitchen, and Nick let out a soft sigh. Brian was so good to him, such a great friend. He had been there for Nick through thick and thin, seen him through everything in the past eleven years, from homesickness on the road to fights with his dysfunctional family, from teenage crushes

to painful breakups, from infinite colds and flu bugs to the devastation of cancer...

Out of nowhere, Nick felt the familiar prickling sensation in the corners of his eyes and quickly swallowed back tears. What was wrong with him? He was acting worse than a pregnant woman with all the mood swings and crying outbursts. Maybe soon he’d start craving pickle-flavored ice cream or something equally screwed up and disgusting. That is, if he ever worked up an appetite again.

Vaguely, he wondered when he had last eaten anything. Nothing yet today... the morning had been spent crying. Lunchtime? Crying. Now it was time for dinner, and he had just been struggling not to break down into tears yet again. And as far as the day before went... he’d been too nervous about the doctor’s appointment to eat breakfast, and after that, he’d been too upset for lunch or dinner. So that would put the last time he’d eaten at about... nine o’clock on Friday night? If he remembered correctly, he’d had a bowl of ice cream then. Okay, two bowls. Pig.

It didn’t matter though... who cared if he got fat from his bad eating habits? If he lost his leg, it wouldn’t matter whether he was trim and toned or morbidly obese. Either way, he’d still be a freak.

Freak...

The word bounced around in his mind like a voice echoing off canyon walls, interrupted finally by the ring of the doorbell. Startled, Nick sat up straighter, his brow furrowing. Who would be at his door now? He considered going to look out the peephole and see for himself, but the walk to the door looked much too far, and he was more content to just sit there until whoever it was gave up and went away.

But that person was more stubborn than Nick gave him or her credit for. The bell sounded again and again, and when he still made no move to get up, he heard a muffled, yet familiar voice calling his name from outside the house.

“Nick! Nick! Nickolas, open up this door right now!” Nick froze. Oh God... he knew that voice... all too well.

“Mom.” His lips formed the dreaded word, yet no sound escaped them.

“Nickolas! I know you’re there; now let me in!”

She was still bellowing at him, probably making a big scene outside. Sooner or later, he was going to have to open up and let her in because if there was one thing Jane Carter was not lacking in, it was determination. He had inherited his stubborn streak from her and knew full well she wouldn’t back down without a fight. He had no choice but to invite her in before the whole spread-out neighborhood knew that she was back in town.

With a shuddering sigh, he rose unsteadily and limped to the door. Taking a deep breath, he opened it and found him face to face with his estranged mother. Having no urge to speak, he simply stared, his eyes boring into hers. She shied away from his gaze, her eyes flickering downward, traveling the length of his left leg. When she finally met his eyes again, he saw that hers were covered by a sheen of tears, and he drew back, shaken.

She knows.

But how could she have known?

Unless...

“BRIAN!”

Slamming the door shut, not caring that his mother stood just outside it, Nick stomped across the foyer, through the spacious living room, and into the kitchen, his

sudden burst of rage deadening the pain that coursed through his left shin with each pounding step.

Brian turned away from the counter, a piece of slightly-burnt toast in one hand, his face a mask of innocence. “Nick? What? What’s wrong?”

“You called her! You fucking called her, didn’t you?!” Nick demanded angrily.

The mask instantly melted, revealing a face of guilt. “Jane’s here?” Brian queried, shifting his weight uncomfortably.

“Damn right she’s here! Didn’t you hear the doorbell? I can’t believe you called my fucking mother!”

“I’m sorry, Nick,” Brian apologized sincerely. “I just thought you needed your mom... I mean, if it were me, I would want my m-“

“That’s because your mom is what a mother should be!” Nick countered, feeling a drop of envy blend with the fury that pumped through his veins. “Why didn’t you just call her to come comfort me? That would have been better!”

“Do you want me to?” Brian asked seriously. “She’d be down here in a heartbeat if she knew; I just didn’t think-“

“No! All I wanted was for you to come; I called you and you only for a reason, Brian. Why did you have to go fuck things up?”

Brian opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Nick saw his gaze flicker to something over his shoulder. He spun around to find Jane Carter tentatively creeping across the living room. She froze as soon as he caught sight of her and hung back uncertainly, waiting for him to speak. But he didn’t. What was there to say?

“Nicky?” Realizing he had forfeited his turn, Jane took hers instead. “Baby, please,” she sniveled. “Don’t push me away.”

“You made me push you away,” Nick muttered under his breath as he turned his back, refusing to look at her.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Nick...” He sensed her coming closer and instinctively stepped forward, away from her. “Nicky, let me help you.”

“You can’t help me. No one can help me, unless by ‘helping me,’ they mean cutting off my fucking leg!” he spat bitterly, turning back just in time to see her recoil at his words.

“No,” she said firmly, shaking her head. “I’m not going to let them do that. They are not amputating your leg, no way in hell!”

“It’s my choice to make, not yours,” he muttered.

“Well, you shouldn’t have to make a choice like that at all.” Jane’s voice was filled with contempt. “You’re still seeing the same doctor you were before, right? That woman... King something, wasn’t it?”

“Kingsbury,” he corrected automatically.

“Kingsbury, right. Well, Nick, that’s just one doctor working in a public hospital.

There are plenty more specialists out there who know what they’re talking about, and we need to get a second opinion. Maybe a third. Or a fourth, if that’s what it takes.” Nick rolled his eyes, and she continued ardently, “The point is, if I’d known what was going on right after you were diagnosed, I would have made sure you went to the finest cancer specialists out there. You deserve the best medical care and the best treatments, and now I know that’s not what you’re getting. There is no way I’m going to let some lowlife

quack cut off my son’s leg and ruin his life when there are other doctors and other treatments available!”

Nick bit his lip, feeling torn. Part of him hated her and wanted to ignore everything she told him... yet he longed for what she said to be the truth, that there really were other options, other treatments that would get rid of his cancer once and for all without taking his leg in the process.

“Nick, maybe she’s right,” Brian advised quietly. “Maybe you should consider going to another specialist for a second opinion.”

Nick turned angry eyes upon his friend once again. “And what do you know? A few hours ago, you were telling me to go through with it! To let them chop off my leg!”

“I-I know. And maybe that’s still the case. But... but I think you need to check with some other people first, just to be sure. Isn’t that what you want?” It was what he wanted. More than anything, he wanted to be told that Dr.

Kingsbury was wrong. And yet, he trusted Dr. Kingsbury. She was a good doctor. She couldn’t be wrong, could she? He simply did not want to believe that all he had been put through was for nothing, that the whole time, he could have sought out a better doctor who would have cured his cancer on the first try, not put him through countless rounds of chemo and radiation, only to tell him that he would need his leg amputated to have a decent shot at survival.

But he had to find out. Because if he went through with the amputation and later found out it was for nothing, he would never forgive himself for being so naïve and stupid.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I guess I’ll go see someone else.”

“Wonderful,” Jane beamed. “I’ll do some research and make all the arrangements. Don’t you worry, sweetheart, everything is going to be okay.” Everything is going to be okay...

He wanted to believe her so badly. But then why did he have so many doubts?

***

Chapter 104

Over the next twenty-four hours, everyone had something to keep busy with.

Brian took charge of calling Kevin, Howie, and AJ, while Jane alternated between talking to the rest of the family on the phone and scouring the internet for information on alternate cancer treatments and physicians. And Nick? Nick simply plopped himself down in front of his TV and played video games. Staring unblinkingly at the television screen, he concentrated solely on maneuvering his player through the game world, allowing himself to escape reality and seclude himself in the fantasy of the game.

Pretend like his problems in the real world didn’t exist. It was a nice tactic...

“Nick!”

... Until his mother’s call snatched him right out of that fantasy.

“What?” he shouted back, annoyed at having been interrupted.

“Come here!”

Grunting, Nick forced himself to his feet and trudged into his office, where Jane Carter sat in front of his laptop, one hand resting lightly on the mouse, her eyes fixed eagerly on the screen. “Nicky, look at this,” she said without tearing her eyes from the computer. “Here’s a hospital in San Diego that specializes in alternative treatments.

They focus not just on the body, but the mind and the spirit too. They don’t use chemo or surgery or anything like that; their treatments are all natural and non-invasive. What do you think?”

Nick stepped closer, squinting at the website that appeared on the screen. It showed a large picture of a gray-haired doctor who was smiling just a little too widely.

He wrinkled his nose. “That’s a bunch of bullshit,” he announced dismissively, scanning over the contents of the site. “I don’t want no freaky-ass hippie treatments.”

“Well, there’s also this doctor in New York who has developed a program based on organic diets and vitam-“

“Eating fruit ain’t gonna get rid of the tumor in my leg any more than sitting on my ass and talking about my feelings is. That’s total crap,” he interrupted her in a flat voice.

Jane heaved an exasperated sigh. “Nick, please! Please consider some of these; this is your life we’re talking about!”

“Yeah, and if I get shipped halfway across the country in search of some bogus

‘all-natural’ cure, my life will be over.”

“You don’t know that! There’s all kinds of testimonies from people who have been survivors for twenty years or more because of these treatments!” Jane insisted shrilly.

“There’s lots of things on the internet, Mom. Not all of them are true,” he replied dully.

“How do you know these aren’t true? Things like this happen, Nick!”

“Yeah, they’re called miracles. But I can’t go chasing a miracle ‘cause there’s no guarantee I’m gonna get one. Now you find me a real doctor with a real treatment plan that involves some kind of real medicine, and I’ll consider.” Jane sniffed and nodded. “Fine,” she said quickly, turning away from him. “Fine, I’ll keep looking.”

“Yeah, you do that.” Nick walked away, his heart sinking hopelessly. Who were they kidding? Deep down, he knew there were no other treatments, no other doctors

who would have the miracle cure that could save him from amputation and spare his life at the same time.

He shuffled gloomily back to the living room and was just about to sink down in front of the TV again when the phone rang. He unconsciously reached for the cordless, but by the time he had grabbed the phone and put it to his ear, someone else had already answered.

“Hello, may I speak with Nick Carter?” came a professional-sounding woman’s voice.

“May I ask who’s calling?” returned Jane in a crisp tone.

“This is Dr. Barb Kingsbury, calling from Tampa General Hospital. Is Nick available?”

Nick sucked in a breath and considered answering, but held back, waiting for his mother to call him to the phone first. But she didn’t. “No, he is not available, not to talk to you anyway,” Jane snapped. “I’ll have you know that I don’t appreciate you threatening to amputate my son’s leg! How dare you lead him to believe that is his only option?!”

“Mrs. Carter, I presume?” Dr. Kingsbury confirmed patiently. “I’m not allowed to discuss your son’s case over the phone – patient confidentiality, I’m afraid – but if you and Nick would like to schedule a consultation in my office, that would be fine...

with Nick’s consent, of course.”

“Nick will not be going to any consultation with you again. We’re getting a second opinion from a doctor who knows what they’re talking about,” replied Jane, her voice overflowing with disdain.

“Well, it’s certainly your right to do that, Mrs. Carter. And I’m glad to know Nick will have support through this difficult time. I suppose I’ll let you go then,” Dr.

Kingsbury said calmly and then added, “I’ll be in touch.”

“Goodbye,” came Jane’s curt blow-off, followed by a click as she hung up the phone.

“Dr. K?” Nick asked cautiously, hoping the doctor was still on the phone.

There was a slight pause. Then, “Nick?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I was listening in,” he explained, unabashed. “Um, sorry about my mom. She just...” He let the sentence trail off, hoping Dr. Kingsbury would know what he meant without him having to put it into words.

“I understand,” the doctor replied, and Nick smiled slightly.

“Um, yeah. See, she, uh... well, she thinks that she can find some kind of miracle doctor who will have some new treatment that will, you know, get rid of the cancer without having to resort to... amputation.” He swallowed hard; it still pained him to have to say that dreadful word.

“I know,” said Dr. Kingsbury. “It’s something many patients do, go on a wild goose chase in search of false hope. The truth is, while there are a lot of doctors out there claiming to have found new, less invasive cancer treatments, few of them really work. Some have been successful in small groups of people, but when it comes down to it, the most reliable and most successful cancer treatments are the conventional ones –

chemo, radiation, and surgery. If they didn’t work on so many people, we wouldn’t be using them, and if alternative treatments really did work in a high percentage of cancer patients, they would become more mainstream.

“I’m not trying to tell you what to do, Nick, only giving you a bit of professional

advice. I’ve been an orthopedic oncologist for almost twenty years, long enough to be able to efficiently diagnose, stage, and treat bone cancer. Honestly, Nick, I doubt there is any other licensed orthopedic oncologist out there who would tell you anything different than what I told you. Your cancer is spreading, and chemotherapy or radiation alone will not stop it. Amputation is a last resort, but at this point, it’s your best shot.

And the longer it is postponed, the more the cancer will spread before we can get to it.

In my opinion, it would be unwise to go searching for a miracle cure now.” Nick sighed softly. He didn’t want to give up hope of another option... but he knew, as subconsciously he had always known, that there was no other option, not one that would work for him anyway.

“I-I know,” he stammered softly. “Um... Dr. K? Can I... can I call you back?

Later?”

“Of course,” she replied pleasantly. “I should be here at the hospital until at least five.”

“Okay. Thanks, Dr. K.”

They hung up, and Nick walked slowly back to the office. “Who was on the phone, Mom?” he asked casually, leaning his head through the doorway.

“Solicitor,” Jane Carter briskly replied.

“Lying bitch,” Nick mumbled under his breath as he continued on past the office, taking the stairs up to the master bedroom on the second story. There, he flopped down onto his bed, buried his face in his pillow, and closed his eyes. Although he had done nothing but sit around all day, he felt exhausted, probably more emotionally drained than anything else. Still, before he knew it, he had drifted off to sleep...

The water was gray and murky, wind-tossed. Choppy waves rolled toward him, high and swift, some carrying him with their power, others washing over his head, drenching him in cold salt water that seemed to seep right through his skin, chilling him to the bone. He coughed and choked as he was hit with another face full of water. The force of it left his cheeks raw and stinging, his eyes burning, the taste of salt on his tongue.

He continued to tread water, keeping himself afloat, trying to dodge the waves, but he was growing steadily more tired. His arms ached, but still, he kept them moving, knowing they were his only lifeline. He looked around again, squinting into the horizon, frantic, searching for any sign of land or life. But all around him, he could see nothing but ocean. The very ocean that had been his friend for so long was now his mortal enemy, desperate to claim his life with its wild, tossing waters.

“Help me!” Nick gasped, his shout cut short as his mouth filled with salty water.

He spat it out, gagging, coughing, still bobbing in the relentless waves.

His arms were betraying him now, his strength and endurance rapidly leaving him. Again, he searched the wide expanse of water for a boat, and when he did not see one, he raised his eyes to the stormy skies, praying for a helicopter. Lightning forked across the dark clouds, but there was no aircraft.

He was growing panicky now, his eyes filling with desperate tears, which spilled down his already wet cheeks, mixing with the salty sea as they dripped from his chin. He took one last desperate survey of the scenery around him, praying for a way out, for a rescue. And that’s when he saw it – something small gliding fluidly through

the water toward him.

Not a boat.

A fin.

“Oh my God,” he breathed, taking in another mouthful of seawater. He froze, his whole body tensing up, his pounding heart the only muscle moving within it. It was a shark; it had to be a shark. His greatest fear. And it was coming right at him.

He could see the fin rise and dip below the surface of the water, waves crashing over it, hiding it from his view. But he knew it was there, swimming nearer and nearer, hunting him.

His mind seemed to freeze up right along with his body, and he had no idea what to do. Swim? But where? If not... stay? Try to keep still, hope that he would not aggravate the carnivorous creature into attacking?

Too scared shitless to hold still and stay near that animal, he chose the former and, boosted by a sudden rush of adrenaline, took off swimming, his arms flailing like a windmill, his legs kicking frenziedly behind him. He was terrified the shark was right behind him, coming after him, but he refused to look back. He just kept swimming, blindly, thoughtlessly, acting on pure instinct, the instinct that all creatures possess – survival. The will to live.

He was slowing down, his lungs burning, his stomach cramping, his muscles weakening. Water rushed over his head as he sank in the water, struggling to keep his head above the surface, struggling to keep swimming. Hysterical, he chanced a look back just in time to see the fin sink swiftly beneath the dark water just a few feet away.

And before his mind had time to truly realize what was happening, he felt it. A pinch on his left foot. And he knew...

Just as he realized the shark had nipped him, it came again, only this time, it was not a pinch, but a sharp stabbing sensation, like a thousand knives being plunged into his shin. And then came the tug. Before he could resist, his exhausted body was yanked below the surface, the pressure and pain in his leg increasing. He struggled, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, waving his arms blindly, kicking his right leg. His foot connected hard with something, and then the pressure on his other leg vanished.

His heart thudding crazily inside his chest, his lungs screaming, desperate for oxygen, he used his arms to pull himself back to the surface. Breaking through the water, he gasped and choked, sucking in mouthfuls of air. As the pain in his lungs vanished, his leg began to sear with pain. Forcing his eyes open, he chanced a look down and saw that the water around him was turning a deep shade of red, dyed with blood. His blood.

Gritting his teeth, exhaustedly paddling his arms to keep himself afloat, he tried to lift his leg, only to find that he could not feel it. The pain was agonizing, but...

something was not right... With a shaking hand, he reached below the surface and gingerly felt his thigh. His fingertips traveled down it, reaching his knee, but when he tried to feel lower... nothing.

Crying out, he jerked his hand out of the water. His fingertips were tinged light pink with diluted blood. Panting, he threw back his head and floated on his back. And then, he tried again to lift his left leg. Pulling up his head as his body began to sink, he caught a glimpse of his leg raised above the water, and he saw it... the stump. The bleeding stump of a leg, severed below the knee.

His stomach rolled, and he became violently ill, throwing up right there in the

water. He bobbed up and down, tossed by the waves, growing dizzy from shock and blood loss, knowing in some far region of his mind that he was about to die. Weakly closing his eyes, he gave up, quit his struggle, letting himself sink beneath the stormy waters. But just as his head went under, he heard it.

A voice.

“Hold on, Nick!” the voice called. The voice was female and, though hauntingly distorted, familiar.

“Where... where are you?” he choked out as he burst back up, fighting hard to stay conscious despite the dark fog that penetrated his brain.

“Over here,” said the voice, but it seemed to echo all around him. He looked around frantically, all the while struggling to keep himself alert and above water. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shining fin rise up above the surface and quickly vanish below again. A jolt of fear rocked his stomach – had the shark returned for more? He wanted to just give up, to surrender to unconsciousness and let himself die.

He hoped it would be a quick death, one which would end the excruciating pain he was in.

Closing his eyes, he stopped struggling, letting his arms go limp. Immediately, he sank below the surface, water filling his mouth and nose. He could feel the blackness overtaking him as lack of oxygen set in.

“Hold on, Nick!” the voice repeated, sounding as if it were coming from right inside his head. “I’ll save you!”

Through the numbing darkness, he vaguely felt a pair of arms wrap around him, pulling him close, lifting him up with incredible strength...

He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt as if they were made of lead. When he finally managed to raise them, he found himself lying on a surface that was moist and warm. Taking in his surroundings, he realized he was on the shore, sprawled on a bed of sand, the ocean’s gentle waves licking his toes as they rolled smoothly onto the beach.

He tried to move, to get up, but his body was sapped, the strength sucked out of him. He managed to raise his head and caught sight of the ocean, shimmering innocently beneath the morning sun. Squinting, he could make out a person in the water, their bobbing head just visible above the waterline as they swam out to sea. It was a woman, her flowing, reddish-colored hair streaming in the water behind her.

He watched as her head turned, and he squinted harder, trying to make out her face, but it was blurred by distance.

“Hey!” he shouted, knowing by instinct that this was his savior, this woman was the one who had dragged him ashore. But his voice was weak, and the woman did not seem to hear him. She turned away and continued swimming, and though he called out to her again, her head eventually dipped below the surface. He frowned in confusion, wondering what she was doing, and then he saw it. A shining fin, like a large fishtail, broke through the surface where the woman had gone under. It stayed there for just a split second and then slid back down again, disappearing from view.

Nick stared speechlessly, awed by the strange sight. He waited, breathless, for another glimpse, but none came. All he could see was the ocean, looking as natural and normal as always.

Giving in to his exhaustion, he slumped back onto the ground, content to let unconsciousness cradle him once again...

Nick awoke slowly, feeling rejuvenated and oddly peaceful. He thought back to his dream, reflecting on it methodically. It was a recurring dream, he realized, remembering a similar dream many months earlier, when he had been battling pneumonia in the hospital. The beginning had been the same, he recalled, with the savage sea and the shark. But the end... the end was different in this one.

Yes, he had suffered. He battled paralyzing fear and debilitating pain. He had almost given up.

But he had been saved, dragged ashore by a mysterious, yet almost familiar being.

And though the dream had ended without much of a resolution, he had awoken calm and reassured, as if everything was going to be all right.

Hold on, Nick... I’ll save you...

He knew what he had to do if he was to be saved outside his dream world.

Reaching over to his bedside table, he retrieved his cordless phone and quickly flipped through the list of recent calls banked in the caller ID. Finding the entry he was looking for, he turned on the phone and punched in a series of digits.

When his call was answered, he sucked in a deep breath and said with resolve,

“Dr. Kingsbury? This is Nick Carter. I’ve made my decision...”

***

Chapter 105

“Nicky, how could you?”

Nick started open-mouthed at the angry tears that had sprung into his mother’s eyes. Only moments earlier, he had sat down in the living room with her and Brian and told them what he had just told Dr. Kingsbury over the phone.

He’d made up his mind. He was going ahead with the amputation.

It was not something he wanted. But Nick Carter had learned long ago that what he wanted done and what had to be done were two different things. And this was something that had to be done if he wanted to live. Which he did. Even if it meant he had to do it with only one leg. He would survive. He would get through.

Hold on, Nick... I’ll save you...

He would be saved.

Brian seemed to agree; he had only nodded, grim-faced, when Nick said the words.

Jane, on the other hand, had exploded.

“What about your career?!” she continued now, her voice rising.

“What about his career? What about his life?!” Immediately, Brian was on his feet, the stony expression on his face replaced with one of fury. “You don’t even care about him, do you, Jane? All you care about is his money! And his reputation! He is your son! What’s wrong with you?!”

Nick watched his friend in awe, temporarily forgetting about his mother. He could count on one hand the times that Brian had looked this angry, had shouted this loudly, had gotten this red in the face.

“Stay out of this, Brian!” Jane shrieked. “It’s none of your God damn business!

This is between Nick and I!”

“No it’s not! Nick is twenty-four, Jane, you can’t control his life anymore! This decision was his to make, and he’s made it! Why can’t you respect that?”

“Because he’s making a mistake!” Jane retorted. “He hasn’t even considered seeing one of the doctors I’ve found! He’s being completely ignorant and stupid!”

“No, I think you’re the one who’s ignorant, Jane,” Brian said coolly. “Look, I’m a religious person, and I believe in God, and I believe in miracles. But I also believe in modern medicine, and I believe this was the right choice to make.”

“How can you say that?! They want to cut off his leg!”

“Better that than let him die.”

“I am here, you know,” remarked Nick, looking from his mother to Brian, who were both on their feet now, facing each other as if they were about to duke it out physically. If looks could kill, Nick wouldn’t be the only one dealing with death.

Brian glanced over at Nick in surprise, almost as if he really had forgotten he was still in the room. “I’m sorry, buddy,” he mumbled and sank back down, refusing to look at Jane.

Jane glared at him once more and then turned her eyes upon Nick. “Nicky, please,” she said pleadingly, her voice softening. “Please reconsider this. I know you don’t really want this.”

“Want this?!” Nick repeated in disgust. “Of course I don’t want this! Hell no!

But it’s something I have to do; I don’t really have a choice here.”

“Yes, you do! Think about it, Nick! If you let them do this, your career is over!

You know that, don’t you?”

Tears threatened, but Nick kept his cool, using all his strength to hold them back.

“Maybe, maybe not,” he said quietly. “But my life is more important than my career.

I’m not ready to die.”

Jane’s face softened. “Oh, baby... baby,” she whispered, reaching out and taking his chin in her hand, just as she had done when he was little boy. “You’re not going to die. I’m not going to let that happen. I will find another doctor; I will find another treatment! Trust me!”

Nick jerked his head away, glaring defiantly at her. “Trust you? Why the fuck would I trust you? You’ve never given me any reason to trust you! Christ, Mom, the last time you were here, you had the fucking National Enquirer do a story on me with fucking pictures of me in the fucking hospital in a fucking coma!!”

“Nick,” Brian warned.

“Fuck off, Brian,” Nick muttered dismissively, without even looking at him, his steely gaze focused solely on his mother, who was looking quite offended. “And Mom...

get out of my house. You’ve made this all that much worse, and I can’t fucking deal with you on top of everything else. Get out, and don’t you ever show up on my doorstep again, no matter what Brian or anyone tells you!”

“But... but wh-what about your... surgery?” Jane whimpered, extending her hand as if to touch him again. “Don’t you need me to be there?” He ducked out of her reach and snorted, “Be there? Be there and what, take pictures of me on the operating table? Steal my fucking leg and auction it off on Ebay?

Bet you could make a couple hundred there, Mom, would you like that?”

“NICK! ” a horrified Brian exclaimed, looking as if he were about to throw up.

Jane was white as a sheet, her mouth open in shock. “Nick-“

“I don’t need you and your bullshit,” Nick interrupted. “I need my real family.

My brothers. Brian. Kevin. AJ. Howie.” He said their names slowly, pausing between each one, his eyes never leaving his mother’s, smiling in satisfaction at the pain that flickered in them.

He expected her to argue with him or plead with him some more. But she didn’t.

Instead, she closed her mouth and tipped her head in a very slight nod.

“I’m going upstairs,” Nick announced in a deathly whisper, struggling to keep himself from shouting. “And when I come back down, you better be gone.” With that, he turned and stalked out of the room, too angry to care about the pains that shot through his leg. Brian called out after him, but Nick ignored him. He needed to be alone.

In the privacy of his locked bedroom, he lay down on his bed, his pounding head sinking comfortably into the pillow, the beating of his racing heart echoing in his ears.

And he cried.

***

Awhile later, there came a knock on the bedroom door, and Nick raised his tearstained face from the pillow and asked hoarsely, “Who is it?” knowing very well it could really only be one of two people, since Brian had told the other guys to hold off on coming until they knew more. Speaking of Brian, that better well be who was knocking on his bedroom because if it was his mother, Nick would just-

“It’s me,” came Brian’s voice, and Nick relaxed.

“Hang on, I’m coming,” he called and rolled off of the bed, nearly losing his balance and toppling over before he managed to cross the room and unlock the door.

Opening it up, he was surprised to find that Brian’s face was red and blotchy too.

Noticing this, Brian smiled sheepishly. “Allergies,” he said, rubbing the corner of one eye.

“Yeah,” said Nick, managing a smile in return as he swiped at his own eyes. “Me too.”

“We should, uh, get some of that Claritin stuff, eh?”

“Oh yeah. Claritin. Definitely.”

Somehow, it was much more comfortable talking about non-existent allergies than real medical problems.

“Jane’s gone.”

Okay, so they couldn’t talk about Claritin forever.

Nick nodded. “Good.”

“Yeah,” agreed Brian. “Um... you’re not mad at me, are you? For blowing up at her?”

Nick stared at him as if he were insane. “Why the hell would I be mad at you for that? You were right to yell at her like that, the damn bitch. God, I hate her.” He looked at his feet and kicked at the carpet.

“Don’t say that, Nick.”

Nick’s head shot up. “Oh, don’t you dare go all holy on my ass. Yeah, yeah, I know you’re supposed to honor your mother and all that, but she ain’t no mother.

Kevin’s more of a mother to me than she is!”

Brian snickered. “I’m gonna tell him you said that.” Nick grinned. “Okay.”

“But seriously, you’re not mad? ‘Cause you did tell me to fuck off.”

“Aw, jeez, Bri, I didn’t really mean that,” Nick said, rolling his eyes in exasperation before realizing that Brian was only kidding. “Ha ha,” he said dryly.

Brian smirked, then quickly sobered, as if suddenly remembering the situation they were in. Nick could practically see the wheels turning in his friend’s mind; he was afraid to tease him too much. It was suddenly just the way it had been when the guys had first found out about Nick’s cancer. As if they were no longer allowed to joke around and mess with him because he was sick.

Nick soured, but didn’t get a chance to call Brian on it, for at that moment, he said softly, “Are you okay, Nick?”

Unexpectedly, Nick felt the tears threaten again and fought them back, furious with himself. “Yeah,” he said stubbornly, balling his hands into fists. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Brian just shook his head. The guy always had been able to read him like an open book. Nick scowled, but Brian only smiled sadly and pulled him into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay, Nick,” he whispered, his hand on Nick’s back. “You’re gonna get through this.

And the guys and I will be there to help you, every step of the way.” Nick’s hands fell limply at his sides, and again, the tears came. This time, he did not hold them back. What was the point?

Brian hugged him closer, and Nick couldn’t help but smile a little through his tears. Brian was right. He was going to make it through, with Brian and the others at his side.

Every step of the way.

***

Chapter 106

Once Nick’s decision had been made, things moved quickly. Jane had come on a Sunday and gone on a Monday. Kevin, AJ, and Howie joined Brian at Nick’s house on Tuesday. Most of Nick’s Wednesday was spent at the hospital, filling out paperwork and going through a rigorous series of tests. And now, on Thursday, the first day of April, he was back there again, lying flat on his back upon a gurney in a small, curtained-off section of a large room known as the “surgical holding area.” He only wished he were part of some elaborate prank.

But this was no April Fool’s joke. It was really happening. In a few hours, he would wake up to find his leg gone, and the famous Nick Carter would begin his new life as an amputee.

Still, though he was tethered to an IV, already growing drowsy from the sedatives he’d been given, and surrounded by the somber faces of his four brothers, he felt cut off from reality, as if this were some sort of nightmare. But ironically, the real nightmare would begin when he woke up.

The curtain was pushed aside, and a woman’s head peered around it. Nick’s stomach flip-flopped when he recognized the face of Dr. Lynn Chavez, the surgeon who would be performing the operation, whom he had only just met the day before during his pre-op evaluation and testing. He had been nervous at the prospect of being handed off to yet another doctor, but Dr. Kingsbury had assured him that Dr. Chavez was a fine surgeon. He wasn’t sure about her surgical skills, but she seemed like a nice enough woman.

“Good morning, Mr. Carter,” she said with a slight smile, stepping around the curtain to enter the small enclosure. She was decked head to toe in hospital blue, wearing a pair of scrubs and a cap that hid her hair, except for a few wisps that poked out from underneath. “How are you doing?”

Nick tried to answer, but his voice betrayed him, so he simply gulped and forced himself to nod once in acknowledgement. This didn’t really answer the question, but Dr. Chavez accepted it just the same, smiling, and saying, “Well, I just came to check on you real quick, sweetie. I’ll leave you with your visitors for a few more minutes.

Transport should be here to take you down to the OR in a little while, and I’ll see you when you get there, okay?”

No, this is not okay! his mind screamed in protest, but he only nodded again.

Dr. Chavez left, pulling the curtain shut behind her, her pristine shoes squeaking on the tiled floor as the traipsed away. As the squeaking faded, the fivesome was left in an awkward silence.

AJ cleared his throat in a stifled, uncomfortable fashion, looking almost apologetic for disrupting the quiet.

“That sedative stuff kickin’ in?” Brian asked.

“Yeah,” Nick answered hoarsely.

Brian nodded. “Good stuff, eh? It relaxes you.”

“Mm-hm,” Nick murmured. In truth, he did feel quite relaxed, much calmer than he had been earlier that morning, when he had awoken from a few hours of restless sleep with his stomach already tied in knots. The knots were still there, but he was less aware of them. Still, he couldn’t help but be afraid. What if... what if something went wrong? What if there were complications, and he died? “Guys,” he said steadily, “I... I

just want you to know that if something happens, and I don’t make it... well, um, I... I don’t wanna be buried, okay, I want cremation. And I want you to... to dump my ashes in the ocean... only don’t just dump ‘em, kinda scatter them right along the beach, or...

or let the wind carry them... something like that, you know? And-“

“Nicky, what are you talking about?” Howie interrupted him, his brown eyes wide with concern. “Don’t say that, please. Nothing’s going to happen; you’ll come out of this just fine, okay?”

Nick shook his head, tears rapidly rising in his eyes. “N-no, th-they said yesterday that I should think about my... my wishes, just in case... you know... I-I don’t got no will or anything like that, so... so if I die, you guys be in charge of all that, okay?

K-Kevin, you do it... I want you guys to have most of my stuff, but give some to AC and the girls, nothing to my mom though, and-“

“Shh, Nick, calm down,” said Kevin in his low, soothing voice. “Thanks for telling us that. Now we know just in case, God forbid, we would need to.”

“Jesus, Kevin,” hissed AJ and then turned a pair of sharp, sunglass-less eyes upon Nick. “Kaos, don’t worry about it, we’re not gonna need to know any of that shit because you’re going to be fine, got it?”

Nick nodded quickly, smiling a little at the serious, yet slightly panicked expression on AJ’s face. “I-I know,” he stammered softly. “Just... just in case, okay?” He felt Brian gently squeeze his shoulder, meeting Nick’s eyes knowingly. “It’s okay, Nick. I had to do the same thing... think about my last wishes and all that, just in case.”

“But he didn’t need that, and neither will you,” added AJ with the same rapid firmness, and Nick suspected he was trying to reassure himself just as much as he was Nick.

Again, Nick nodded in an attempt to reassure AJ as well. He was freaking out enough as it was; they were supposed to stay relatively calm. Well, at least in front of him anyway - he had visions of AJ pacing back and forth outside with a cigarette in his mouth for the majority of the surgery, which was only supposed to take about an hour.

That had surprised him, considering it seemed like such a major process... then again, hacking off a leg couldn’t be too hard, could it?

He felt sick to his stomach just thinking about it and quickly tried to turn his thoughts to something less disturbing. He didn’t have much success. He racked his brain for something to say, something random and stupid and pointless, anything to break the silence and tension. He came up with nothing.

Suddenly, the curtain rattled again, and another face poked around it, this one unfamiliar.

“Hi, it’s just Justin, from transport,” said the curly-haired young man. “And you’d be Mr. Carter?”

“Uh-huh,” Nick croaked.

“Great. They’re ready for you now.”

Any sense of calmness quickly seemed to melt, as panic bubbled in Nick’s throat.

“No... oh God... I can’t... please don’t do this...” Tears were rapidly springing to his eyes, but he was too distraught to be humiliated.

Brian quickly seized Nick’s hand and squeezed it tightly. “Shh, calm down, Nick.

You have to stay calm. It’s gonna be okay; you’re gonna be fine.”

“But I... I don’t wanna lose my leg,” he whimpered, tears streaming down his

cheeks. Though his vision was blurred, he couldn’t help but notice how Kevin and AJ

both turned away. And was it just him, or did Brian and Howie look a little misty-eyed too?

“I know, Nick, I know, but you have to. You made the right decision; now you have to get this over with. It won’t be as bad as you think. We’ll be there for you, buddy,” Brian assured him, rubbing the back of his hand.

“Mr. Carter, are you ready?” the orderly, Justin, asked patiently.

Sniffling and trying to stop crying, Nick shakily nodded, knowing he had no other choice. As Justin raised the sides on his gurney, Howie leaned over and attempted to give Nick an awkward hug. “I love you, Nicky. We’ll see you in a couple hours, okay?” Nick nodded, as Howie backed up to let AJ step forward. Only AJ didn’t step forward, but instead stayed as far back as possible, biting his lip and looking at the ceiling. Nick could see the tears pooling in the corners of his friend’s eyes and did not feel the least bit offended by AJ’s sudden aloofness. AJ McLean did not handle displays of emotion well, and it did not take him hugging Nick and telling him he loved him for Nick to know. They were brothers, after all. Words were not needed. They just knew.

Kevin looked almost calm when he bent over to give Nick a gentle hug, but when Nick noticed the redness around his friend’s green eyes and the slight trembling of his lower lip, he knew otherwise. He said nothing of this though and dutifully patted Kevin’s back, whispering a hoarse, “Love you, Kev.”

“I love you too, Nick,” Kevin said steadily, swiping at the corner of one eye with his index finger, as if brushing away a stray eyelash.

Brian followed suit, hugging Nick with tears sparkling in his crystalline eyes.

“See you in a little while. I love you, Nick.”

“Love you too, Bri,” Nick whispered as he clutched his best friend’s small frame.

Now that they had all said their goodbyes, Nick felt himself begin to move, as Justin pushed the gurney from behind, slowly wheeling him out of his curtained corral.

His four bandmates were at his side the whole time, walking slowly with him as he was taken out of the holding area and down a long hall. Stopping outside a pair of doors marked “Authorized Personnel Only,” Justin said, “This is the furthest you guys can go.

There’s a few waiting rooms back that way down the hall if you want to wait on this floor.”

They nodded reluctantly and turned without speaking, only sending tearful smiles and reassuring nods in Nick’s direction before they started back down the hall.

Justin had just pressed a button that opened the double doors when AJ came running back, his footsteps pounding on the shiny, tiled floor.

“Hey, Nicky,” he said breathlessly, stopping beside the gurney, “um, I just wanted to say that...”

Nick smiled a little, watching awkwardly as AJ struggled to say the words...

“... I, uh... “ AJ’s voice grew gruff. “I’m gonna see about having some Playboy pin-ups mounted on the ceiling above your bed when you get back to your room, so, uh, look forward to that, okay, Kaos?” Blinking rapidly, he flashed a wicked grin.

That brought a genuine smile to Nick’s face, as his heart swelled with emotion.

“Sounds good, J,” he managed.

“Um, Nick, that’s not really all I wanted to-“

“It’s okay, Bone,” Nick interrupted him softly. “You don’t gotta say it. I know.” AJ smiled and looked away for a moment, then quickly grabbed Nick’s hand and

gave it a brief squeeze. “Hang in there, man,” he said softly. “See ya.”

“See ya,” Nick echoed hollowly, as AJ started back down the hall, and Justin pushed his gurney on through those double doors, which very well might have been the gateway to Hell, in Nick’s mind at least.

He was met by a group of people who were all “gowned up” in scrubs and surgical caps, masks, and gowns. Their sanitary garb reminded him of the times he had gone to visit Claire in isolation the previous summer. He felt a lump rise in his throat, along with the sudden urge to see her again. He wished she were there with him... just having her nearby might comfort him, as it had when he was afraid and alone in the ICU, and she had come to visit.

But it was too late to think of that now. Already, he was being brought into a bright, sterile operating room, where stainless steel equipment gleamed sinisterly. The surgical team parked his gurney right next to the table in the center of the room and helped him slide over to it. From there, they instantly began swarming around him, each doing their assigned part to finish preparing him for surgery.

“Hi, Nick,” said a voice, and he looked up to see a vaguely familiar pair of eyes peering at him from above a blue mask.

“Dr. K,” he realized, oddly consoled by his doctor’s presence.

Her eyes crinkled in the corners as she smiled beneath the mask. “I’m going to scrub in and observe the surgery, so I’ll be right here with you the whole time, okay?” He felt her hand on his upper arm and nodded in relief. “The anesthesiologist will be here in a minute to put you under, and when you wake up, the surgery will be over, and you’ll be in post-op,” Dr. Kingsbury explained. “You’ll feel pretty out of it from the anesthesia and will probably just want to sleep, which is the best thing you can do. You might be in some discomfort, but you’ll be on a morphine drip for the pain, so it shouldn’t be too bad. You might have what are called ‘phantom pains’ though... a lot of people say they feel like their leg is still there and that it hurts, but that feeling will go away as your body adjusts. Your throat might be sore too because they’ll put in a breathing tube after they put you to sleep. You’ll also have a foley cath in your bladder to drain urine so that you won’t need to get up to use the bathroom, and you’ll be on oxygen for at least a little while. Do you have any questions?” Nick just shook his head miserably, almost wishing she hadn’t given him all that information. He wondered if he could get them to just knock him out for a week or two and let him sleep through all the pain and mortification he would have otherwise have to endure.

Dr. Kingsbury nodded. “Okay then. Don’t you worry, you’re going to do just fine.” She patted his arm again and then stepped back, letting an unfamiliar woman come forward.

“I’m Dr. Stevens, your anesthesiologist,” she announced. “Have you had anesthesia by mask before?”

“Um... no,” Nick said uncertainly. “I-I think they put it in my IV last time...” He was trying to recall the biopsy he had gone through a year ago, almost to the day, right before he had first been diagnosed.

“Oh wow, sweets. You may be my first patient this week who hasn’t. Okay, I’m going to put a mask over your mouth and nose, and when I do, I want you to breathe in deeply. Try to count down from one hundred in your head; I bet you won’t make it past ninety.”

He wanted to erase the smugness from her eyes by telling her that he damn well would make it past ninety. Then he realized that was really quite a stupid thing to strive for, and why would he want to stay awake past ninety anyway? Maybe he’d end up staying awake the whole time, and wouldn’t that suck? A tremor ran through him as he thought vaguely of the surgical horror stories he’d heard bits of on TV, stories of people who had been given the wrong anesthesia and ended up paralyzed, but not numbed, able to feel everything that was happening to them, but not communicate it.

“What if it doesn’t work?” he blurted in a panic.

“It’ll work right away; I guarantee it,” she replied. “I’m the best, after all.” He grimaced, just wanting to inhale the stuff and get this over with.

“Okay, Mr. Carter,” said Dr. Stevens, lowering a mask over his face. He caught a whiff of something that smelled like oranges as her hands neared his face, but it was quickly replaced by an odor that was just plain funky-smelling when the mask was placed over his mouth and nose. “Deep breath in,” instructed the anesthesiologist, and Nick obeyed. “Now count back. One hundred... ninety-nine...” But Nick did not want to count. As the strange-smelling gas filled his nostrils, he could only chant inwardly, please God... please let this go okay...

He had never been religious like Brian, never been one to pray or talk to God.

But if there was one thing he needed now, it was strength, and it was for this that he prayed.

Please God... give me strength...

That was the last thought he had as his eyelids grew heavy and began to droop, the world he had once known fading away to darkness, never to return.

For when he came out of that darkness, both his body and his world would be forever changed.

***

Chapter 107

Someone was squeezing his foot.

Nick squirmed. “Quit it, Bone.” The words sounded right in his head, but all he heard when he tried to voice them was a soft moan. He frowned; AJ wouldn’t let go of his foot. He was grabbing at his toes now, and not just in a playful way – it really hurt!

He was twisting them, almost as if he were trying to unscrew them from Nick’s foot.

“Damn it, AJ, stop!”

But AJ only squeezed his foot tighter, pulling it as hard as he could. It felt like he was going to rip it right off if he kept yanking on it like that.

“Quit it, that hurts!”

He kept trying to shout, but his voice didn’t seem to be cooperating. The words came out garbled and hoarse, whisper-soft. What was wrong with him?

He expected to hear AJ’s familiar raspy cackle, but that was completely absent.

Instead, he heard other voices. Unfamiliar voices.

“Jen, come here, he’s coming around. Shh, Mr. Carter, don’t try to talk.”

“Mr. Carter? Nick? Can you open your eyes for me?” He really didn’t feel like opening his eyes; he just wanted to go back to sleep. If only AJ would stop messing with him and get the hell away. Why did AJ have to be so annoying anyway? What had he, Nick, ever done to him? Okay, lots of things, but that was ancient history. And anyway, those were funny things, like putting honey on his clothes. Not shit like messing with his feet when he was trying to sleep. Damn AJ. If he wasn’t so tired, he’d haul his ass out of bed and pummel that skinny freak. But he was tired and groggy and felt sort of achy all over... maybe he was getting the flu. Whatever the case was, he preferred to keep his eyes closed and be left alone, thank you very much.

Only apparently that wasn’t the way it worked, because some woman was still talking to him, trying to make him open his eyes.

Wait... woman?

When had a woman come into the picture?

Hm... now that was rather suspicious.

Another thing that was suspicious was the other noises that surrounded him... as he became less aware of AJ’s grip on his foot and more aware of the unknown voices, he also began to notice the other strange sounds... a faint hissing noise and, even more obvious, annoyingly high-pitched beeps that just kept going and going all steady-like. It reminded him of...

His eyes flew open, and he looked around in confusion.

He was not in his own bed or even some random hotel bed or bunk on the tour bus. In fact, he was not in his own bedroom or a hotel room or the back of a tour bus at all. Instead, he was in a white room with fluorescent lighting that was completely unfamiliar to him. And hovering over him was a woman who was also completely unfamiliar. And AJ was nowhere to be found.

“Where’s... where’s AJ?” he tried to ask the strange woman, but his voice was all croaky and oddly muffled-sounding. And then he became aware of the fact that there was something over his face, covering his mouth and nose. Jerking his head, he tried to raise his hand to pull the thing off his face, but lifting his arm proved to be difficult... it felt like the thing was buried in a vat of jell-o. He finally succeeded though and groped

at the hard, rubbery something that was trying to suffocate him.

“No, hon, that’s just an oxygen mask, leave it alone,” the woman quickly said, picking up his hand and setting it gently down at his side. Leaning over him so that he could see her face, she said, “Nick, my name is Jen, and I’m a nurse. You’re in the hospital; you just came out of surgery. Do you understand?” Ohh shit.

So that was why those little blips reminded him of a hospital. Because that’s exactly where he was. And he had just come out of... surgery? Surgery... surgery...

Now it was his brain that felt like jell-o... why was he so muddled and slow?

Maybe they had removed his brain altogether...

No, that couldn’t be. That didn’t really make sense, did it? They couldn’t have removed his brain because then he would be dead, right? And he wasn’t dead... at least he didn’t think he was... unless maybe this was Hell?

“Nick? Blink twice if you understand me.”

Nick forced himself to focus on the woman’s words and obediently made his eyes open and close two times. When the woman smiled in satisfaction, his mind went back to racing... well, racing at tortoise pace anyway... at least he was pretty sure he still had a mind... they couldn’t have removed his brain, after all...

And then, as fast as a hare bolting past him at lightning speed, it hit him.

No, they hadn’t removed his brain.

They had removed his...

“Oh God.”

That time, the words came out, soft and hoarse, but clear. But he didn’t even bother to praise himself for this; he was already in a panic, struggling to sit up. The nurse’s hands were on his shoulders instantly, gently pushing him back down, restraining him.

“No, Nick, you can’t sit up. Lie down now, and relax.” But he couldn’t relax, not now, when he had just realized what had been done to him.

Or had it?

Because it was his left leg that they were going to cut off, and that was the foot AJ

had been grabbing. Only he hadn’t been grabbing it at all. Because he wasn’t even there. No one was there. But it still felt like an invisible hand was pinching his foot and pulling at his toes. But even that wasn’t possible. Because his left foot and his toes were gone, weren’t they?

“D-did they cut my leg off?” he asked miserably, struggling to make the words come out clear. Why was his voice so hoarse? Maybe he had laryngitis... his throat definitely felt raw and sore... when had that happened?

The nurse nodded solemnly. “Yes, sweetie, they did.” Tears sprung to his eyes, and he felt too weak to blink them away. “But... but...” he struggled.

“Are you in any pain?”

He nodded. Yes, he was most definitely in pain, but it wasn’t the kind of pain he’d expected... because the pain was in a limb that supposedly was not even there anymore.

“In your leg?”

He nodded again in relief. So maybe she did understand.

The nurse patted him on the shoulder and looked at him in sympathy. “Those are called phantom limb pains. Most people experience them after an amputation. I’ll increase your morphine, and that should make them go away.” He nodded a third time, grateful for the promised relief, yet... well, confused. He still couldn’t quite believe they had actually done it... because he could feel his leg there.

It hurt... his shin hurt, his calf hurt, his foot and toes hurt... he couldn’t just be imagining that pain, it was real.

The nurse, Jen, adjusted something on a machine that was connected to one of his IV lines, and within minutes, the pain slowly faded, leaving him feeling comfortably numb. He was able to relax and forget all about his leg for the moment... AJ had finally stopped messing with his foot and left him alone... now he could go back to sleep.

Closing his eyes in satisfaction, he quickly slipped away into a drug-induced sleep, where he became lost in a spiral of delusional dreams, far away from the crude reality that would await him when he woke up again.

***

Chapter 108

The second time Nick awoke, the bright white room and funny sounds were gone.

Even the pain was gone, and at first, Nick wondered if it had all been a bad dream. But, quickly looking around and taking in his surroundings, he realized it probably hadn’t been, for he was obviously still in the hospital. The room he was in now was a private one, decorated in soft shades of green and peach. He looked around it and quickly noticed two things: one, the small TV that was mounted to the wall, close to the ceiling, was on and playing the Weather Channel on mute, and two, Kevin was totally zonked out in one of the two visitor chairs that were pushed up against wall.

“Kev?” Nick rasped, his voice still coming out soft and gravelly. Still, it was enough to arouse Kevin from his apparent light sleep because he jerked in his chair, his eyes flying open. After looking around in confusion for a moment, he spotted Nick and offered him a slight smile.

“Hey, you finally woke up.” He swallowed and stood up, slowly dragging his chair closer to Nick’s bed. “How ya doing, buddy? Are you in any pain?” he asked maternally, lines of concern etched in his forehead as he surveyed Nick.

“No,” Nick murmured. “They gave me some shit for the pain, didn’t they?” Kevin smiled. “Yeah, they sure did. Actually, they’ve got you on this machine that lets you control your own pain meds. If you’re hurting, you just push a button, and it’ll give you a dose of morphine or something through your IV. Your surgeon was explaining it to us; it sounds pretty cool.”

“Yeah? Well, what if I press the button too many times and OD?” Nick asked, smirking despite his grogginess.

“Nice try, Kaos,” Kevin said, looking at Nick disapprovingly. “You can’t do that; we already asked. It’ll stop giving you more meds once you’ve reached your max dosage.”

“Damn.”

Kevin let out a weak chuckle and then fell silent. Nick, meanwhile, lay lifelessly in bed, suddenly very aware of how exhausted he felt. His whole body felt heavy and flaccid, like a rag doll stuffed with lead, and moving even a little seemed a chore. But suddenly, his curiosity got the better of him, and he just had to ask.

“Did they really cut it off?”

Kevin’s brow furrowed woefully, and he nodded, looking away from Nick and toward the floor. Nick’s throat felt tight, as tears threatened. Kevin was a reliable source, and there was no doubt that it was the truth, that his left leg was really gone.

But somehow, it would not be real until he had physical proof, until he saw it with his own eyes. Blinking rapidly, he swallowed hard and managed to whisper, “I wanna see it.”

Kevin looked up sharply and immediately began to shake his head. “No, buddy...

you need to stay lying down and get some rest, okay? You can look later.”

“No.” Drained as he was, Nick’s stubborn streak was as strong as ever, and he wasn’t about to back down. “I wanna see it,” he repeated. But the truth was, he didn’t want to see what had been done to him. He had to.

Kevin sighed. “Are you sure, Nick?” he asked pleadingly, as if he hoped Nick would change his mind.

But Nick wasn’t going to change his mind. “Yes. Help me sit up.”

Kevin gave up. “Alright, if you’re sure,” he relented. “Let’s see if I can figure out this bed of yours and get the head to go up.” He fumbled around beside the bed for few moments, and then, as a soft whirring noise sounded, the head of the bed began to rise slowly, propping Nick up with it.

Nick closed his eyes as his head was raised and kept them closed until the bed stopped moving. Then he sucked in a deep breath and let his eyes open again. They traveled quickly down his right leg, which stretched out straight in front of him, creating a long lump beneath the thin bedcovers, and up again. And then they shifted to the left side. There was another bulge there, where his thigh protruded. And then... nothing.

Where there should have been another long lump, parallel to the one on the right, the blankets simply lay flat, undisturbed by the absence of the limb that should have rested beneath them.

Nick closed his eyes momentarily and then, with hesitance, opened them again.

But the sight had not changed, and he was sure it would remain forever engrained in his mind. He realized this was a sight he would see every morning for the rest of his life. As soon as he woke up, he would sit up and be immediately reminded that he was missing a leg, that he was an amputee, that he was a freak.

Still staring at that empty space on the bed where his left leg should have been, he felt chills ripple down his spine, and he suddenly felt cold all over. Hot tears filled his eyes, contrasting with the icy sensation that permeated his body. He tried in vain to hold them back, to hide them, but Kevin noticed right away, and instantly, Nick felt his older brother’s large hand grip his shoulder.

“Are you all right?” Kevin asked slightly, his voice cracking.

Looking away, Nick bobbed his head, but the tears that trickled from the corners of his eyes were proof that he was anything but “all right.”

“Nicky?” Kevin reached out and gently cupping Nick’s chin, turning his head so that their eyes met. “It’s okay to cry. You don’t have to hide that from me, you know. I just want you to know, Nick, that if I could, I would trade places with you.” Nick started to roll his eyes, but Kevin gripped his chin tighter and said devotedly, “I mean it, I would. I hate that this had to happen to you, and I hate that there’s nothing I could have done to stop it or to protect you from it. But it happened, and all I can do now is offer my support. So Nick, I’m here for you... we’re all here for you... and we’re going to help you through this. And you will get through this, Nick, you will. You’ll get used to it, and you’ll go on with the rest of your life, and we’ll be right there at your side the whole time.

Okay?”

Nick sniffled and smiled a little. Kevin could be so cheesy. And yet... God, he loved the guy. And he wanted so much to believe in his words, to believe that things would get better, that he would be able to endure this trial and go on with his life.

Maybe it was idealistic, maybe not. But, looking at the void beneath the covers, he felt a surge of determination pump through his broken body and wanted with all his heart to turn Kevin’s ideals into reality.

Kevin’s eyes shone with intensity, and as Nick looked into them, he gave a short nod. “Okay.”

***

It took another day before Nick was brave enough to look under the covers, and

when he did, it required sedation to keep him from hyperventilating. The sight of the stump that ended just above where his knee had once been, encased in a hard plaster cast from which a thin plastic drainage tube protruded, made it all too real to Nick, and to state it bluntly, he had freaked out. Plain and simple. And then the guys, who had been with him at the time, had started freaking out as well, and Howie had run to get a nurse, who had injected something into his IV, and then he had promptly passed out and slept for several hours.

So all in all, Day 2 had not been a very good day.

At first, it seemed like Day 3 was going to be better. The morning started out right, with a nurse coming to remove both the drainage tube and the foley catheter, leaving Nick free from all tubes except for the two IV lines he had running into his left arm, one giving him fluids, the other dispensing pain medication at his command. He was lying in bed, watching the Saturday morning cartoons with Brian and Kevin (AJ and Howie were still asleep at his house) and feeling a little numb, a little out of it, but overall not too bad, when another nurse strode in and announced, “Rise and shine, Mr.

Carter, it’s time to get up.”

Nick blinked. “I’m up,” he told her flatly.

“No, I mean up up, as in out of bed.”

Nick stared at her blankly. “And how the hell am I supposed to do that? I can’t walk.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to walk. We’ll progress to that later. For now, we’re just going to try getting you into a chair so you can sit up out of bed for awhile.

How does that sound?”

“No thanks,” Nick murmured. “I just wanna stay here.”

“Sorry, it’s not really up to you, hon. Now, excuse me, sir-“ She pointed to Brian, who had stretched himself out in a recliner in the corner, while Kevin had settled for a hard, straight-backed visitor chair. “-Can I ask you to get up? I’d like to move that recliner over beside his bed.”

“Oh, sure.” Brian jumped out of the chair and helped the nurse drag it to the bed, while Nick looked on in trepidation. Glancing over at Kevin, he saw that his older brother looked just as wary.

“Um, excuse me, ma’am, but do you think he should be doing this so soon? He just had surgery two days ago,” Kevin said to the nurse.

“I know, and it’s important for patients to get up and move a little as soon as possible after surgery. Otherwise complications could develop – blood clots, pneumonia, that kind of thing,” the nurse replied briskly.

“She’s right, Kev,” Brian added. “They did the same thing to me, hauled my butt out of bed the day after surgery. Don’t you remember?” The way Kevin bit his lip, Nick could tell he did remember, and he clearly hadn’t liked the idea one bit then either.

“Um, Erin?” Nick said, glancing at the nurse’s nametag as she pulled back his covers, neatly folding them over at the foot of the bed. “I really don’t think I can do this...” Even though the chair was just a few feet away from the bed, it looked like miles, and he still felt so weak. Even sitting propped up in bed made him tire quickly, and he didn’t see how he was ever going to manage getting into that recliner.

“Yes, you can. I’ll help you,” Erin assured him. “And maybe if I could get one of you gentlemen to help too?” She gave Brian and Kevin a meaningful look, and both of

them jumped to volunteer. “You,” Erin directed, motioning to Kevin, “come around to the other side of the bed. Nick, we’re going to help you sit up first.” With Erin on one side, and Kevin on the other to support him, Nick sat up without the aid of the bed. That was the easy part. He still had to get out of the bed, and that was going to be the hard part. Slowly, Erin and Kevin helped Nick scoot so that he was sitting on the side of the bed, his right foot planted on the ground.

“Okay, Nick, we’re going to stand you up, nice and slow. Let me know if you get dizzy or are in pain. We’re going to support most of your weight, and you just put your arms over our shoulders and lean on us, all right?” Erin explained patiently. Nick nodded dutifully, feeling humiliated as Kevin and Erin slid their arms under his to support him. It was difficult to accept that fact that he was so helpless, he had to be helped out of bed like this.

Slowly and steadily, Erin and Kevin helped pull him up, and soon he was standing on his wobbly right leg. Almost bearing his full weight, the two guided him to the recliner and carefully eased him into it, while Brian guided his IV pole. Erin reclined the chair, putting the foot rest up and tucking a pillow under his stump to prop it up a bit. “Are you comfortable?” she asked, spreading a blanket over his lap.

In truth, Nick was rather woozy, but there was no way he was getting back out of the chair now that he was finally there, so he replied with a short “yeah.”

“Good,” Erin smiled. “Feels good to be out of bed, doesn’t it?” Not really, Nick thought, but he pasted a slight smile on his face and nodded anyway. Erin smiled back.

“Excellent. I’ll let you sit up for awhile then; just call if you need something.” And with that, the nurse left.

“How you doing, kiddo?” Kevin asked, ruffling Nick’s hair.

“Fine,” Nick said flatly, frowning at the nickname. Kiddo. He certainly didn’t feel much like a kid anymore. Up until just over a year ago, he had acted just like an overgrown child most of the time... fun-loving, carefree for the most part.

And then everything had changed.

And now, at twenty-four, he was very much an adult. One year felt like ten, and just the past few weeks had aged him greatly, or so it seemed. Gone was the youthful Backstreet Boy who loved to perform, loved to party, loved to drink, and loved his women. He was as removed from his old life as his leg was from his body. He had changed physically, he had changed emotionally, and he would never be that same Nick Carter again.

***

Chapter 109

“You want me to change the channel, Nick?”

“I got the remote right here, Brian, I can change it myself if I want to,” Nick said without tearing his eyes from the TV screen, waving the remote around listlessly.

“Okay, okay, sorry I asked. ‘Fresh Prince’ is fine.”

“There’s nothin’ else on... God, TV sucks on Saturdays.” Nick sighed. His whole life sucked. What was the point of living if living meant lying in a bed watching reruns of early 90’s sitcoms all day?

“You got that right. Maybe I could go find one the nurses and see about getting a VCR or DVD player or something in here. Or what about Nintendo, don’t they have video game consoles here for the kids and stuff?”

“Yeah, probably... for the kids,” Nick repeated. “I’m not a kid anymore, and I don’t feel like playing Nintendo anyway.” Although now that he thought about it, he really would enjoy a nice game of 007 or something... stalking through halls and blowing people’s brains out was always a fun way of releasing his aggression. But no... leave the video games to the kids. He was an adult; he could deal with the boredom.

“You, not wanting to play Nintendo? That’s a new one,” Brian commented, his eyes wide and incredulous.

“Yeah, well, I’ve changed, Brian,” said Nick, none too kindly.

Brian blinked. “Your body’s changed, Nick, but you haven’t. You’re still the same person.”

Nick shook his head, but did not reply, and Brian let the issue drop. They sat in silence for awhile until Brian asked, “You getting hungry yet?”

“Nope.”

“Well, you better work up an appetite, cause Kevin and the guys should be back soon with some decent food, and you need to eat.”

Nick had been moved back into bed half an hour ago, just in time for his lunch, which had been totally disgusting looking. Not that it mattered – he hadn’t had an appetite in days, even though the last time he’d actually eaten something substantial was the day before his surgery, at Kevin’s insistence. And now Daddy Kevin was back to trying to get Nick to eat, and Cousin Brian had joined in on the fun. When it became clear that Nick wasn’t about to touch any of the hospital food on his tray, however, Kevin had volunteered to go back to the hotel to round up AJ and Howie and promised to bring McDonald’s on his way back. Even the thought of Mickey D’s did nothing for Nick, but not wanting to make Kevin feel bad, he had accepted the offer, and Kevin had left.

So then it had just been Brian and Nick, and how here they sat, watching reruns of “The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air” on WGN and making strained small talk.

A soft rap on the door brought Nick out of a dazed stupor, and he glanced over in time to see the door swing open and his favorite nurse Samantha poke her head in.

“Hi, Nick,” she smiled. “I just wanted to let you know you have a visitor if you feel up to it.”

He frowned. Visitor? She couldn’t mean Kevin, Howie, or AJ, for it was just understood that they could come and go as they pleased; no one ever had to ask his permission to let them in.

“Who is-“ he started, and her smile grew.

“It’s Claire.”

Nick’s breath caught in his throat. “Claire?” he squeaked.

“Yeah, here she comes.” Apparently his permission wasn’t really necessary because before he could manage a reply, Samantha vanished, the door opened wider, and all of a sudden, there she was. Claire Ryan, looking awkward and hesitant in the doorway.

“Can I come in, Nick?” she asked softly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“I dunno, can you?” he retorted flatly, using the standard middle school teacher reply that had annoyed him so much in his youth.

Offering him a sheepish smile, she took that as a yes and stepped slowly into the room. Stopping a few feet from the foot of his bed, she simply gazed at him, doe-eyed, her teeth gently biting her bottom lip. And he stared right back, humiliated and uncomfortable, his hands nervously twisting the bedcovers in his lap.

Part of him wanted to snap at her and throw her right back out of the room.

Part of him wanted to throw his arms around her and feel the comfort of her embrace.

And part of him just wanted to cry, though he wasn’t quite sure why. Tears of self-pity, for what had happened to him? Tears of happiness, for finally seeing her again? Hell, maybe it was just the pain medication screwing with him.

He struggled, not knowing what to do or say, and she seemed to be facing the same internal battle.

“Claire... wow, I can’t believe it’s you. How are you doing?” It was Brian who broke the unbearable silence with these words, and Nick tore his gaze from Claire long enough to glance over in surprise at his friend, having almost forgotten he was still in the room.

Claire smiled in Brian’s direction. “I’m fine, thanks. It’s great to see you again; how are you?”

“Doin’ okay,” replied Brian with a quick nod. “Um, if you two will excuse me, I need to use the restroom.” He stood up quickly and practically bolting, stopping just beyond Claire to mouth, “I’ll be gone a looong time!” With a wink and a grin, he disappeared, leaving Nick blushing furiously.

Claire wrinkled her nose. “He sure left fast.”

“He’s got the shits,” Nick enlightened, deadpan.

“TMI,” replied Claire with a tight smile. Nick said nothing in return, and her face quickly sobered. “Nick,” she said softly, and he watched her eyes travel from his face down to the spot where his left leg should have been apparent beneath the covers.

Shaking her head, she met his gaze once again and said, “I... I don’t know what to say.”

“As long as it’s not ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘How are you doing,’ you can say anything you damn well please,” muttered Nick in reply.

She nodded. “Well, I wasn’t going to say either of those things because I know that’s probably the last thing you want to hear, after already hearing it from everyone else.”

“Yeah,” he said dully. “You got that right.”

“’Course I do. Cause I know; I’ve been there.” Nick stared at his hands, which were still entwined in the blankets, and said nothing. “And you know, Nick,” Claire continued, slowly coming closer and perching herself in a corner of the foot of the bed,

turning to face him, “I’m not going to give you a big pep talk either, unless you want me to. I’m not going to be like, ‘You’re going to sail through this, Nick, and everything’s going to be all right.’ Because I dunno about you, but for me, that got old real fast.” Nick nodded. “So what did you come to say?”

“I told you,” she shrugged, “I don’t know. But I was here for a doctor’s appointment – my six month follow up – and I stopped by the nurses station on the way out to say hey, and I overheard Samantha and another nurse talking... and it was about you.” Her voice cracked, and she shook her head. “God, Nick, I had no idea! Wh-why didn’t you call me and tell me or something?”

Anger bubbled within him. “Why should I have? The way you ran out on me on Valentine’s Day, I thought you never wanted to see or hear from me again,” he retorted, glaring at her.

A guilty expression crossed her face. “That’s not true,” she murmured. “You’re my friend, Nick. And yeah, I was pretty mad at you that night, but you’re still my friend.

And when I heard what had happened to you, I freaked. I just had to come see you, even if I didn’t know what to say, and even if we didn’t part on such good terms last time. I just wish I would have known sooner so I could have been there for you the way you were there for me during my transplant.”

He smiled slowly. “You can still be here for me,” he said hoarsely.

“Only if you want me to be,” she replied, her eyes searching his.

“I want you here with me,” he answered without skipping a beat. “I need you here with me. We’ve been through so much shit together, Claire... I dunno if I can make it through this without you.”

He watched her face pleadingly, his heart fluttering as she cracked a smile. “Then I’m here,” she replied simply, and in one fluid motion, moved from the foot of the bed to the head, perching herself beside him. Casually, she reached out and touched his hair, gently running her fingers through it and smoothing it away from his forehead.

“You know,” she commented offhandedly, “I like you with hair.”

“Ditto,” replied Nick, admiring her strawberry locks, which had grown even longer.

Smiling, she bent and placed a tender kiss on his forehead. When she pulled back, her eyes were glistening with tears.

“Hey now,” he murmured, his forehead still tingling where her lips had been, “I thought you weren’t going to feel sorry for me.”

“It’s not that,” she sniffled, smiling sheepishly. “It’s just... I missed you, Nick.” He reached for her hand, running his fingers over her smooth skin. As their fingers entwined, he smiled contentedly. “I missed you too, Claire.” Suddenly, his life didn’t seem to suck quite as much as it had before.

***

Chapter 110

Canned laughter rang out softly from the small TV mounted near the ceiling of the room. Beside him, Claire snickered, but Nick, having no idea what joke had been made on the sitcom, nor whether it had been laugh-worthy or not, could only wince.

His leg was hurting him again.

Only, logically speaking, his leg couldn’t be hurting him because it wasn’t there.

Not all of it anyway.

And yet it did. It felt like what Nick imagined it might feel like to stick your toe into a giant electrical socket. Shockwaves of pain jolted up and down, starting in his left thigh and coursing down his non-existent shin to his non-existent toes, then rebounding and shooting right back up again. Biting his lip, he stared determinedly at the TV

screen, trying to focus his attention on the show and not the pain.

But somehow, “The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air” just wasn’t gonna do it.

So he let his eyes shift to Claire, who sat perched on the bed, right up by his pillows, a hint of a smile gracing her lips as she watched the show. It was the second in a pair of back-to-back episodes, and conversation had died as the first episode had ended.

As content as he was to lay there at her side, his fingers still laced loosely through hers, there was an undeniable awkwardness between them. But that was to be expected.

They hadn’t been together in over seven months, unless you counted Valentine’s Day, which Nick just wanted to forget. And what had finally reunited them was the amputation that had taken place only two days earlier. So after Nick had dutifully asked her what she’d been up to – “working mostly” – and how her doctor’s appointment had gone – “fine... still in remission” – they had fallen into silence. Not an uncomfortable silence exactly, just... well, silence. Claire didn’t know what to say, and neither did Nick.

So they said nothing. And as long as she was sitting there, it was enough. Words were not needed.

For about a minute, he was able to just watch her, the way her free hand unconsciously rose to her hair, her fingers easily combing through the short, fine locks, then lingering at the ends, absently twirling little bits of hair round and round. He smirked a little as her hand moved to the opposite side of her face, stopping to pick at a small red blemish on her chin. “Don’t pick that!” he could almost hear Kevin scolding,

“or it’ll get even bigger, and it’ll scab over, and if you keep picking at it, you’ll have a scar.” Nick almost snickered at that, then moaned instead as a particularly high-voltage wave of pain shot through his detached leg.

As he sighed in defeat, his left hand found the control for his PCA device, the machine that provided him with pain medication. The rush of morphine the machine delivered never failed to relieve most of his discomfort, but at the same time, it made him groggy and fatigued. Which wasn’t really such a bad thing, considering sleeping was one of the few activities he could still participate in. Still, he hated the drug-induced stupor it put him in and didn’t really want to drift off yet, not with Claire there. But there was no choice in the matter now; he couldn’t stand the phantom pains any longer, and his finger punched the button in desperation, signaling the machine to dispense another dose of morphine.

He glanced back at Claire to find her looking at him with empathy. “Are you hurting?” she asked softly, giving his hand a light squeeze.

He squared his jaw, trying to put on a brave face and play it off. But the mask of

courage melted quickly, and he gave a short nod, grimacing as he waited for the morphine to kick in and do its job.

“I’m sorry,” Claire murmured. “I wish there was something I could do to make it feel better... I can’t even imagine.”

Nick smiled weakly. “Yeah, I think I’ve got one up on you now.”

“Yeah,” she echoed, returning the smile awkwardly. “I think you do too. Okay, so you win. Game over?”

“Unless you want a rematch,” smirked Nick.

“Nope, don’t think so. This game isn’t much fun anyway.”

“Sure isn’t. This game sucks,” Nick sighed.

“Definitely sucks. I think we should stick to Monopoly from now on.”

“Only if you’re the banker. Cause I suck at all that making change stuff.” Claire snorted. “Sure, I’ll be the banker.”

“And I get to be the car? Or the boat... there’s a boat in Monopoly now, isn’t there? In the new one?”

“Um... maybe?”

“Yeah, there is. I get to be the boat,” insisted Nick.

“Okay, okay, you’re the boat,” Claire assured him. “And speaking of boats, you promised me you were going to take me out in yours, you remember? You still have to do that sometime, you know, cause a promise is a promise.” She smiled good-naturedly, but Nick only frowned. His boat seemed so far away, as did the ocean, his house, and every aspect of his previous life. And although someday he would go home from the hospital, back to his house, to the ocean, and maybe even to his boat, nothing would be the same. How could he take his boat out if he couldn’t even walk? He could he do anything for himself?

“Nick?” Claire’s concerned voice pried into his thoughts. “Nick, I was only kidding, I won’t hold you to it. But I would still like to go at some point... you know, when you’re back on your-... well, when you’re... better,” she finished lamely, her cheeks flushing pink. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He flashed a grim smile. “Don’t be,” he muttered. “But don’t expect a boat trip anytime soon either, not with me anyway.”

“I didn’t say soon, I said at some point. And at some point, Nick, you will be able to take your boat out again and do all kinds of stuff that you used to. Don’t worry.”

“I hope you’re right,” Nick said quietly, his tone wistful.

Claire grinned. “I’m always right.”

Nick snorted, but didn’t protest. He wanted her to be right.

The morphine was kicking in now, and his body was relaxing into numbness, the agonizing shockwaves dulling to manageable throbs. He could feel his eyelids growing heavy, but fought back oncoming sleep, wanting to stay awake to talk to Claire awhile longer. But Claire seemed to notice this and smiled. “Are you wanting to sleep?” she asked. “That pain crap they gave me during my transplant always made me space out and fall asleep.”

“Yeah,” Nick smiled languidly. “It’ll do that to you.”

“Well, maybe I should go then and let you get some sleep?” Claire suggested, starting to stand up.

“No, wait.” Lethargic though he was, Nick reached out and caught her wrist.

“You don’t gotta go yet. I-I mean, you can... if you want... but you don’t have to.” Fuck,

Carter, you’re pathetic, he thought, annoyed with himself for sounding so needy.

Claire smiled. “You want me to hang around for awhile? Until you fall asleep maybe?”

He returned the smile, relaxing, and tried to keep his tone casual when he replied, “Sure.”

“Okay.” She sat back down, edging a little closer to him this time. “Don’t expect me to sing for you though.” She smiled crookedly, and a lump rose in his throat. Wow, how long ago had that been? It seemed like ages... in fact, it seemed like it hadn’t really happened at all, like it was all just a dream... a dream that was the reverse of this nightmare, with Claire in the hospital bed and him sitting beside her, holding her hand as she drifted off. But now the tables had turned...

“Aww, darn,” he muttered, managing a wink, though it was rather difficult to get one eyelid to go down without the other going with it... damn these narcotics messing with him. “I was hoping you could sing me a medley of Justin Timberlake songs or something.”

Claire snorted. “Yeah... and you want me to show off my mad beatboxin’ skillz and bust a few Michael Jackson moves while I’m at it?”

“That would be entertaining,” replied Nick.

“Oh, I bet!” she exclaimed, lightly swatting his upper arm.

Nick chuckled weakly as Claire shifted her weight on the edge of the bed. “You don’t gotta sit like that, you know... you can come closer, I won’t bite,” he remarked.

She glanced at him. “Well, it’s your bed, I don’t wanna hog.”

“You’re not hogging. I can share,” Nick smiled, grunting as he attempted to scoot his upper body over to make more room for her.

“Thaaanks,” Claire said gratefully, moving closer to him. “Now I can get both ass cheeks on here.” She grinned widely.

Nick just shook his head, adding sarcastically, “You’re such a lady, Claire.”

“Oh, aren’t I?” she fired back, and without warning, kicked both of the flip-flops off her feet and brought her legs up onto the bed as well, stretching them in front of her.

“Does that bother you?” she asked.

“Nah, it’s fine,” replied Nick. “Plenty of leg space now that I only got one.” Claire made a face, which eventually turned to a slight smile. “I guess that’s a good sign,” she murmured. “You being able to joke about it.” Nick didn’t reply. It wasn’t funny, not at all, but he knew that lying there and sulking the whole time wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He remembered how Claire had managed to keep a sense of humor through the very worst and vowed that he would try to do the same, at least to some extent. Maybe, somehow, that would make things easier...

“Are you comfortable like that?” he asked, noticing the way she was stretched out beside him, sitting up, her feet out in front of her, her arms behind her, propping her up.

“Not really,” she replied with a grin.

“Well, c’mere, lie down,” he said, moving his arm from his side to up near the head of the bed to make more room for her.

She looked over at him, her eyes dancing with wickedness, an amused smirk playing on her lips. “If I’m going to sleep with you, Nick, it ain’t gonna be here, I’ll tell you that much. I refuse to make love on a hospital bed.” Months earlier, he might have grown completely flustered by this and stammered

an embarrassed, “I-I didn’t mean it like that.” But he was used to her sense of humor now and only heaved a sigh. “Okay, fine, your loss.” He was just playing around with her, but even as he said the words, a sick feeling rocked his stomach. How was he ever going to be intimate with a woman again? Who would want him? Claire was only kidding; she didn’t want him, and neither would anyone else, not now that he was damaged goods.

Claire snickered and eased herself down so that she was lying beside him. His arm came around her, nestling her into its crook, a perfect fit, as if she’d been designed to lay there. Her head relaxed against his shoulder, and she expelled a soft sigh. “You’re right, this is much more comfortable,” she said.

“Mm-hm,” he murmured, enjoying the feel of her snuggled so close to him. The last woman he’d held like this was... well, Leah. But that was different. He and Leah had been lovers... their touches were passionate, intimate. He and Claire were friends, and even now, lying so close, that was all they were. Friends. It was no different from the time they’d lain together on her bed, both miserable and overwrought, finding comfort in each other’s company.

But, Nick realized as he breathed in the sweet scent of her hair, he secretly wished it were different.

Secretly being the key word there.

He’d tried to reveal his feelings to her once, and he’d been shot down, and certainly not by Cupid’s arrow. No way was he going to make that mistake again. She obviously didn’t feel the same way she had eight months ago, when she’d told him she was falling for him. What exactly that had been, he wasn’t sure. Maybe it was just a hormone thing. Girls were funny like that. He’d never understood them and probably never would. But all he knew was that if she hadn’t wanted him in February, then she definitely didn’t want him now.

But that was all right. Because he didn’t need a lover now anyway. He needed a friend. And in the woman he harbored at his side, he had one.

***

Chapter 111

Nick had almost drifted off to sleep when Claire jerked, sitting up abruptly.

Alerted by the sudden movement, Nick’s eyes flew open. “What’s wrong?” he mumbled thickly, but as he glanced around, he immediately saw for himself. Brian had returned from his “bathroom break” and was now standing sheepishly just inside the doorway, looking amused, while Claire sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, her cheeks stained pink.

“Hey there, Nick,” drawled Brian. “Bad time?”

“No,” Nick replied defensively. “Me and Claire were just... chillin’.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” smiled Brian. “And I would leave you two to ‘chill’ in peace, but the guys are here; I just saw them comin’ down the hall.” Claire glanced over at Nick, who elaborated, “Kevin, AJ, and Howie... you know...

the fellas?”

“Right,” Claire said with a quick smile. “Haven’t met them yet.”

“You will,” said Nick, just as Kevin came through the door, Howie and AJ

following behind with greasy McDonald’s bags in their hands.

“Hey, we’re back,” Kevin announced, as if it weren’t already obvious. “Hope you’re hungry, kid, cause we-“ He stopped in mid sentence, glancing from Nick to Claire. “Oh... hi.”

“Guys, this is my buddy Claire, you ‘member me telling you about her?” Nick explained.

“Ohh, Claire, right,” Kevin said knowingly and immediately extended his hand to her. “I’m Kevin; it’s great to meet you.”

This prompted a quick round of introductions, and then AJ dove hungrily into the McDonald’s bags, emerging with a Big Mac and giant box of fries, which he placed upon Nick’s bedside tray, swinging it around to go over Nick’s lap.

“You wanna sit up a little more, Nicky?” asked Howie and played with the controls for the bed until the head was raised, propping Nick upright.

“Dude, that’s a lotta fries,” Nick said, his eyes widening as he looked at what they had brought him.

“We supersized it,” said AJ, already unwrapping his Quarter Pounder with cheese. “Eat up, boy.”

Nick wrinkled his nose. “You wanna clog up my arteries on top of everything else?” he muttered, eyeing the golden french fries critically. Never had a meal from McDonald’s seemed so unappetizing. Normally burgers and fries and plenty of grease were heaven to him, but he wasn’t the slightest bit hungry now. In fact, he was even a little queasy.

“Oh God, he sounds like Kevin... Rok, don’t he sound like Kevin? Nick, my man, this stuff’s gotta be better for you than the shit they serve here... I’ve seen that stuff before, and it ain’t pretty. So enjoy.”

“I resent that, AJ,” muttered Kevin, nibbling on the end of his grilled chicken sandwich.

Everyone was eating now, and Nick just wanted to go back to sleep. He glanced over at Claire. “Want a fry?” he asked lamely, pushing the cardboard pouch toward her.

“Sure,” she replied, taking one. “Thanks.”

“Have ‘em all if you want; I’m probably not gonna eat them.”

“Nick,” Brian said in a warning tone, probably the same one he used on his son.

“You need to eat something.”

“I am!” Nick exclaimed irritably, popping open the Big Mac box. He frowned at the sandwich, poking at the sesame seed bun with his finger. He pulled the top of the bun off and inspected the inside, carefully plucking off the pickles and piling them in the lid of the cardboard container. He scraped off a layer of lettuce as well, transferring it to the lid to garnish the pickles, shred by shred. He replaced the top bun, only to poke at it again in dissatisfaction. Then he glanced up.

Everyone was looking back at him, Kevin in annoyance, Brian and AJ in amusement, Howie and Claire in intrigue.

“Does it always take you this long to get ready to eat a hamburger?” Claire asked innocently, eyeing the discarded mound of pickles and lettuce.

Nick only shrugged.

“Well, are you gonna eat those pickles? Cause I’ll eat ‘em if you don’t want ‘em.”

“Go ahead,” said Nick, watching in astonishment as she happily retrieved a little round pickle slice from the pile of lettuce and stuffed it into her mouth. He raised an eyebrow as she swallowed.

“What? I like pickles,” she justified matter-of-factly.

“Ugh...” Nick made face and then went back to poking at the hamburger in front of him. He did this for a good five minutes or so, ignoring the bits of strained conversation that fluttered around the room, until a sigh from Kevin caused him to look up. “What?”

“Nick, how long are you going to sit there and play with your food? You haven’t eaten a thing in like four days, so don’t even tell me you’re not hungry,” said Kevin.

Nick shook his head. “I’m not,” he insisted. “And anyway, I’ve eaten ice chips.”

“That doesn’t count, and you know it. You’ve gotta start eating, Nick, you’re gonna need the energy if you want to get better. Now we went and got this food for you; please return the favor and eat it, okay?” Kevin’s voice was pleading, and Nick felt a fleeting sensation of guilt, which was quickly replaced by one of annoyance.

“Sure thing, Dad,” he mocked.

“Hey, Nick?” Now it was Claire who was talking, and he looked at her in relief, thinking she wasn’t about to side with Kevin. She would stick up for him; she knew what it was like to- “I hate to tell you, but he’s right.” Well, damn.

“If your doctor thinks you’re not eating, she’ll order an NG tube put in... you know what that is?” When Nick did not reply, Claire continued, “It’s a feeding tube that they shove into your nose and down to your stomach. I’ve had one, and let me tell you, it’s not pleasant. Be glad you’re actually able to eat and not throwing up all the time from chemo.”

Nick shuddered involuntarily, both at the thought of the feeding tube and the memory of how sick the chemotherapy had made him. Unfortunately, neither of these thoughts did anything for his appetite, and Claire’s little words of wisdom only pissed him off further.

“Will you guys just leave me the fuck alone?” he exclaimed. “I’ll eat when I’m damn good and ready!”

“Nick,” Kevin started in his fatherly tone, which succeeded in sending Nick over the edge. Growling in frustration, he flung his arm into his tray, sending the tray swinging away from him and the Big Mac box flying to the floor, where it landed upside

down.

“Niiice,” AJ said with a wide grin in Nick’s direction.

“For crying out loud, Nick, that was completely uncalled for!” Kevin exclaimed in exasperation.

“Yeah, Nick... completely uncalled for!” mimicked AJ, his Cheshire cat grin widening as he mocked Kevin.

“Pick it up, AJ,” Kevin barked.

“Why should I?” retorted AJ, laughing. “Little Nicky here’s the one that did it.

Not my mess.”

Howie sighed. “Will you two just stop it? I’ll go get someone from housekeeping to clean it up; that’s their job.” With that, he rose and stalked out of the room. Claire stood as well, looking uncomfortable.

“Um, maybe I better go,” she said hesitantly, brushing an invisible piece of lint from her pants.

“No, you don’t have to go,” Nick said quickly, inwardly cursing himself for sounding so desperate.

“I’ll call you later if you want,” Claire offered. “Here, let me copy down your room number.” She picked up her purse and dug around in it, finally retrieving a pen and a scrap of paper, onto which she copied the phone number that was posted on the telephone. “And I don’t have to work tomorrow,” she added, pocketing the slip of paper and dropping the pen back into her purse, “so I can come hang out with you again. If you want me to, that is.”

Of course he wanted her to, but he was too annoyed to let her know that, so he simply dipped his head once and mumbled, “Okay.”

Smiling, she leaned over and wrapped her arms around him as best she could, enveloping him in a gentle hug. “I’ll see ya later, kid,” she whispered in his ear before pulling back.

“Nice meeting you, sweetheart,” AJ said, offering Claire a flirtatious smile.

“You too,” she replied, matching the smile.

Nick could feel his blood pressure rising and quickly tried to hide his frown, though he couldn’t help but cast a resentful look in AJ’s direction. No one even noticed though, for Brian and Kevin were both exchanging goodbyes with Claire. She soon left, and Howie returned, an older woman with a cart full of cleaning supplies in tow. He pointed out the fallen Big Mac, and the woman set to work, mumbling under her breath (“... never had to clean up hamburgers at the podiatrist’s office...”) as she mopped up

‘special sauce’ from the tiled floor.

Nick sank lower in bed, and when the woman was finished, he gave her a meek smile. “Um, thanks...” He leaned forward, trying to read the nametag pinned to her scrub top - Chaneequa V., Housekeeping Staff – “... Cha... Cha...” He finally gave up on trying to sound out her first name and finished with a quick, “Thanks,” flashing the best Carter smile he could muster.

The woman, Chaneequa, just stared at him as if he were a small rodent, or a bat, whose words sounded like nothing but high-pitched squeaks, unintelligible to the human ear. Then she turned and left without a word.

“Well, she was sure friendly,” AJ muttered sarcastically.

Nick just ignored him; he didn’t much feel like talking to AJ at the moment. Or any of the guys, for that matter.

“D, will you hand me the control thing for my bed?”

Well, okay, he would talk a little bit.

“Sure, Nicky. You’re not going to eat your fries then, I take it?” He motioned to the container of fries Claire had left perched on the bedside table.

“No.”

“I’ll eat ‘em,” AJ volunteered immediately. “I mean, if you don’t want them, Nick...

Nick just flopped his hand in AJ’s general direction, hoping that would count as his permission.

Howie handed Nick the wireless remote control that could be used to adjust his bed and passed the half-eaten fries to AJ. Pressing the button on the control, Nick slowly lowered the head of the bed so that he was lying almost flat. He turned his head so that he was looking away from his four bandmates and closed his eyes, hoping they would get the idea that he was trying to sleep and leave. Suddenly, he was sick of them being there. Maybe he just wanted to be alone.

“Nick, are you gonna go to sleep?” he heard Brian ask kindly.

“Yes,” answered Nick, his voice slightly muffled by his pillow.

“Well, do you want us to leave and let you get some rest then? Or should we stay?”

Thank you, Brian, Nick thought gratefully. They weren’t called Frick and Frack for nothing; Brian had always been able to read him better than anyone. He turned his head to face them and replied, “Yeah, I think I wanna be alone for awhile.” He didn’t miss the way Kevin and Howie exchanged glances, but was relieved when Brian nodded and stood up, AJ quickly following suit, the fries container still clutched in one hand.

Kevin rose and cleared his throat. “Do you want us to hang around the hospital, Nick, or head back to your house?”

“My house.”

“All of us?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, okay... we’ll be back later on this evening then, I guess. You just call if you want any of us to come sooner, okay?” Kevin said fretfully. Nick glanced at the ceiling to keep from rolling his eyes, though he had to admit, he was a little touched by Kevin’s deep devotion to him. He realized this would be the first time the four of them had all gone back to his house at once, for ever since the surgery, at least one or two had stayed at the hospital with him around the clock.

“I will,” Nick vowed tiredly. “See ya later.”

They all told him goodbye and, with reluctance, made it to the door. And then they were gone. And Nick was all alone.

Punching the button on his PCA machine another time for good measure, he closed his eyes, willing the medication to take him away to the unfeeling shelter that sleep provided. It was not long before he drifted off, deadened to the pain, frustration, and emptiness of his new life, lost in the blissful haze of drug-induced numbness.

***

Chapter 112

It had been a week now, one full week since the amputation. To Nick, it didn’t seem like seven full days could have gone by, but they had. Still, though he had far from adjusted, the reality had begun to sink in. He had grown used to the void under the covers and knew that although he could often feel his left leg – sometimes the whole thing, other times just his foot, or his toes – it was not there. Sometimes it took a failed attempt at flexing his foot or curling his toes to remind him of this though, for the phantom sensations seemed so real.

He had been taken off the PCA machine on Sunday. Now it was Wednesday, and he was slowly being weaned off of the painkillers Dr. Chavez had used in substitution of the morphine. The phantom pains still plagued him occasionally, but just as he was growing stronger and healing, they were gradually weakening and going away. He found that it usually helped just to lie perfectly still and quiet. Unfortunately, he was never allowed to lie there for very long. Now that he had been freed from the IV’s that bound him, he had been forced to get up and out of bed more often. The first few days,

“getting out of bed” just meant moving into a recliner. But then he was introduced to a woman who would change everything.

Her name was Susan Drevil, and she was a physical therapist. A nice-looking woman in her late twenties, she probably would have been someone that Nick liked, had it not been for the fact that the first thing she did after a round of introductions and brief spurt of small talk was give him a pair of crutches and help him out of bed.

Nick had never realized how difficult it would be to hobble around on a pair of crutches. Still weaker than usual from the surgery, it took all of his strength just to support his weight, and standing up left him feeling dizzy and unbalanced. Despite the time he’d spent on crutches the previous year for the fracture that had started this whole mess, he had never quite mastered the art of walking on them, and it was scary to think that if he lost his balance now, there was no left leg for him to come down on to catch himself. Luckily, Susan had remained at his side the entire time, assuring him that she would not let him fall.

His strength was sapped after just a few wobbly laps around the room, but his confidence had been solidified. Being able to get out of bed and move around again, despite the energy it took, was liberating and made everything just a little better.

So maybe he did like the physical therapist after all.

Along with getting him up and walking (well, okay, more like hobbling, hopping, whatever you want to call it), Susan had shown him a set of exercises to do while lying in bed that would strengthen his limbs and prepare him for learning to walk on a prosthesis.

“And that will be when?” Nick had questioned eagerly. He had seen and heard of amputees who could not only walk on artificial legs, but run, swim, rock climb, even sky dive, and he had begun to long for the day when he could do the same. Well, maybe not all of those things, but walking... just walking would be good.

“Well, with a little more practice, I think you’ll be able to get around fine on crutches,” Susan had told him, sending his heart plummeting. He didn’t want to be restricted to crutches, which were just awkward and slow and hurt his arms. But her next words sent his heart soaring again. “So I think you’d be ready to start on an initial prosthesis on Wednesday.”

Wednesday... Wednesday...

That was the word he had chanted in his head through the days of painfully hobbling around on crutches and the long minutes of uncomfortable exercises, which he dutifully performed like he was supposed to.

And now it was Wednesday afternoon.

The day had started out rather unpleasantly, with Dr. Chavez showing up after breakfast for a wound check. She had sawed off the cast, and for the first time, Nick had seen the actual stump of his leg. And truthfully, it had freaked him out. The skin was slightly red and swollen, especially puffy between the row of sutures that ran like train tracks across the end of the stump, creating a bumpy, uneven look. He had stared at it in horror, queasiness ripping through his stomach. “Couldn’t you have at least sewed it straight?” he had asked feebly.

He had only been half-kidding, but Dr. Chavez had chuckled and replied, “Hey, no bashing now. This is the best you’re going to get, hon.” Smiling, she’d assured him,

“Don’t worry. Once the swelling goes down and the sutures come out, it will even out and get smooth.”

Nick had nodded, turning his head away even so, as the eggs he had choked down for breakfast scrambled around in his stomach, threatening to come right back up.

After examining how the end of the stump was healing, Dr. Chavez had put on another cast, but this one was different from the first. Attached to the end of it was a long, metal pole, called a pylon. At the end of the pylon, there was a foot, and at the top, right below where the cast ended, there was a bendable “knee”.

“This is your IPOP,” explained the doctor. “Immediate Post Operative Prosthesis. You’ll leave this on for about a week and learn to walk on it with your physical therapist, and after that, if everything is still going as expected, we’ll probably be able to remove the cast and sutures and transfer you to a preparatory prosthesis, which you’ll be able to take off when you want.”

Nick had nodded, staring at the device in awe, anxious to give it a try. He had been instructed to wait for Susan to come later that day though, and wait he did.

AJ and Brian were there waiting with him now, while Kevin and Howie were off representing the group in a meeting with their management and public relations people.

So far, the media and public hadn’t gotten wind of the amputation yet, but it had already been a week, and everyone knew they couldn’t keep the news under wraps for much longer. A press conference would need to be held, and the public, fans in particular, would have to be informed. Though he knew it had to happen at some point, the thought made Nick nervous. How would the fans react?

He tried not to think about it much, for it was just one more thing that made him feel like throwing up, and that was the last thing he needed.

“So, Nick, when’s that physical therapist of yours supposed to get here?” Brian asked, glancing at his watch. It was just after two in the afternoon.

“I dunno,” Nick replied with a shrug. He wished she would hurry up though; he was getting anxious and wanted to move around a little. He eyed the recliner parked a few feet away from his bed, in which AJ was stretched out happily, and announced,

“Hey, J, get your ass up, I wanna sit there.”

Giving Nick a disdainful look over the top of his green-tinted sunglasses, AJ

remarked, “Well, certainly, your majesty, your wish is my command. And would you like a cool drink as well? Rok, better fetch a couple palm fronds cause I’m sure King

Nickolas will need to be fanned. And maybe when Claire gets here, she can put on her coconut bra and give him a massage.” He grinned wickedly.

Nick rolled his eyes, trying to hide his smirk. Actually, that didn’t sound too bad... especially that last part...

“You need help, Nick?” Brian asked, giving AJ a playful smack upside the head as he came over to Nick’s bed.

“Um... maybe... just a little,” Nick grunted, struggling to sit up straight. He managed to perch himself on the edge of the bed, and, with Brian’s help, he stood up, putting weight only on his right leg and leaning heavily on the pair of crutches AJ

quickly brought him.

“You know, you look kinda like a pirate with that leg,” AJ commented, eyeing the makeshift prosthetic leg, which Nick carefully prevented from touching the ground as he hobbled awkwardly over to the chair. “Can we start calling you Peg-Leg? Peggy for short?”

“AJ! Shut up and help me!” Brian hissed, glaring at AJ as the two of them helped Nick sink slowly down into the recliner. “Quit teasing him!” Nick heard Brian whisper sharply into AJ’s ear as AJ stooped to put the footrest of the recliner up for Nick.

“What?” AJ replied loudly. “Nicky doesn’t mind. Do you?” AJ looked up at Nick, meeting his eyes.

“No,” answered Nick, cracking a smile. In truth, he really didn’t. He knew AJ

wasn’t being mean; he was just handling an uncomfortable situation the way he always did – by making jokes. Brian eyed Nick warily, but only shrugged and let the issue drop.

“Hey, I’ll be right back,” AJ said suddenly and dashed out of the room before anyone could ask where he was going.

“What is he up to now?” Brian mumbled, rolling his eyes, yet smiling at the same time. He and Nick exchanged amused looks, as if to say, “That’s just AJ.”

‘That’s Just AJ’ returned a few minutes later, supplied with a smallish gauze pad and a roll of thin gauze. “That one nurse Samantha is great,” he announced merrily, as he stood over Nick, purposefully unrolling the gauze.

“Um, AJ? What are you doing?” Nick asked nervously, glancing up at his friend.

“Shut up, let me work.” Grinning amusedly, his tongue between his teeth in concentration, AJ pressed the pad up against Nick’s left eye and barked, “Hold that.”

“AJ!” Nick laughed, now knowing exactly what AJ was doing. Snickering, he obeyed, holding the pad in place while AJ stretched a long piece of gauze across the pad and looped it around his head, ripping it off and tying it in the back. “There’s your patch, matey,” AJ said, stepping back to admire his work. “Hm, you need something else though...” He glanced around the room, and then his eyes lit up. A devilish grin spreading over the width of his face, he went around to the other side of Nick’s bed, bent down, and picked something up. As he brought the object back over to Nick, Nick recoiled.

“AJ, no! Get that thing away from me!”

“Hey, it’s clean!” Cackling evilly, AJ lowered the stainless steel bed pan upside down onto a squirming Nick’s head. “There’s your pirate hat, ye scurvy landlubber.

Brian, look! Presenting Long John Carter!”

Brian stared, his mouth twitching between expressions of amusement and disgust. Shaking his head, he finally gave him, laughing until his eyes watered. Then,

“Ugh, Nick, take that thing off your head, that’s nasty.”

“What, it’s been sterilized,” AJ defended. “And anyway, he’s the last one who used it. Don’t take it off yet, Nick, we gotta show Kev and D.”

“Kevin’s gonna freak out,” snickered Brian.

“Which is exactly why we gotta show him!” AJ exclaimed with glee. “Nick, you gotta practice your pirate lingo. Like, go ‘Arrrrr!’ a lot, and then when Kevin and Howie get here, you gotta go, ‘Ahoy therr, mateys!’ Okay?” Nick just snorted. “Okay?” AJ

prompted again, urging him on.

“Arrrrr!” Nick growled dutifully, causing AJ to double over in hysterics.

“That’s my boy!” AJ wheezed, holding his stomach as he laughed. Brian’s reaction was not so animated; he was clearly amused, but at the same time, looked guilty for being amused. “Dude!” exclaimed AJ, slapping Nick a high five. “Wait till Kevin sees this; he’s gonna totally flip and bitch at me for ‘making a mockery’ of you or some shit like that.” He chuckled to himself, then sobered, glancing at Nick. “You don’t care though, right, Nick? I’m not offending you, am I?”

Nick blinked in surprise. That was probably the first time in history that AJ had checked to make sure he hadn’t hurt Nick’s feelings. Although it seemed like a caring gesture, Nick didn’t like it. Guys were supposed to bag on each other without the threat of hurt feelings, and that’s how it had always been with the group. So many things had changed... he didn’t want that to be one of them.

“No,” he answered quickly. “’Course I don’t mind you making a mockery of me.” AJ paled and swallowed hard, looking stricken. “Nick... I-I didn’t mean to-“

“Yo, I’m kidding, J, chill,” interrupted Nick.

AJ visibly sagged. “Oh... thank God. S-so you’re okay, dude?”

“Hell yeah, I’m fine,” Nick said gruffly. “And hey...” He held out his arms.

“Instant Halloween costume, right?”

AJ roared. “Well, there ya go, Kaos! We just need to get you a parrot or somethin’, and you’ll be all set!”

Nick’s laughter was cut short by the sudden appearance of his physical therapist, Susan, who was there all of a sudden, standing in the doorway, an astonished expression on her face as she took in the scene before her. Feeling his face flush bright red, Nick whipped the bed pan off of his head and tore away the “eye patch.”

“Hi,” he squeaked, offering her a sheepish grin, while wishing he could just sink through the floor and disappear.

“Hi...” Susan said slowly, stepping into the room, her lips twitching in amusement. “Am I, uh, interrupting something, guys?”

“Well, heeello,” said AJ, putting on his most charming smile as he sidled up next to Susan. “You must be the physical therapist, am I right?”

“You’re right,” replied Susan, holding out her hand as she introduced herself.

“I’m Susan Drevil.”

“AJ McLean. Just AJ is fine though. And this here is Brian, by the way.” Brian nodded in greeting. “So,” continued AJ, “you’re gonna teach Captain Nicky here to walk on that peg-leg?”

Susan glanced from AJ to Nick, her eyes dancing with laughter. “Captain Nicky, huh? Well, if you’re feeling up to it, we’ll head down to the physical therapy room and get a start on that. I don’t have a plank for you to walk, but I do have a nice set of parallel bars.”

“Sounds good,” Nick mumbled, smirking.

“Excellent. I’m just going to grab a wheelchair from the hall so we can get you down there, okay?”

“Sure,” replied Nick.

“Hey, excuse me, Susan?” Brian caught the therapist as she started to leave the room. “Are we allowed to come to the therapy session too?”

“If Nick doesn’t object, you’re more than welcome to watch,” replied Susan, glancing back at Nick, who hesitated.

“Um... you guys mind if I do it alone this time?” he asked, glancing from Brian to AJ. It wasn’t that he didn’t want their support, but the thought of having the two of them watch his every move as he struggled just to do something as simple as walk made him uncomfortable.

“Oh... sure, Nicky,” replied Brian. “We’ll just hang out here then, okay?” Nick offered him a grateful smile. “Okay.”

Susan returned a moment later with an empty wheelchair. “Your vessel, Captain,” she said, motioning to it.

Okay, so it looked like the pirate jokes weren’t going to end anytime soon now that AJ had gotten them going. But that was okay with Nick. It was easier to laugh with them and pretend the whole situation was a big funny joke than to mope and feel sorry for himself and have everyone else pity him as well. So he grinned and bore it, all the while fighting the nervous butterflies that were fluttering ever more frantically in his stomach.

***

Chapter 113

“Hey, Nick, check it out!” AJ exclaimed, proudly presenting Nick with a stuffed parrot when he returned to his room following the therapy session. “Polly want a cracker?”

Nick couldn’t help but laugh. “Where did you get that thing?” he chuckled, his frustration at how therapy had gone quickly evaporating.

“Gift shop,” replied AJ with a grin. “You been in there before? They got all kinds of shit.”

“Yeah,” Nick said tonelessly, as the orderly who had brought him back from the physical therapy room helped him out of the wheelchair and into bed. “I’ve been in there.” Just once, he had, the time he had stopped to buy a bouquet of flowers for Claire. It seemed like that had happened years ago, when really, it had only been a matter of months.

“Cool.” Now that Nick was propped up in bed again, AJ came to stand beside him, making the little parrot dance upon Nick’s shoulder and squawking, “Hel-lo, hello!”

“How was it, Nick?” spoke up Brian, ignoring AJ’s antics.

Nick frowned. The “it” Brian was referring to was, of course, the therapy session, and that was something Nick did not want to reflect on at the moment. It hadn’t gone badly, exactly; in fact, Susan had seemed impressed with the “progress” Nick had made.

But that was the thing – to Nick, he had made hardly any progress at all, and it seemed that learning to walk with a prosthetic leg was going to be a lot harder than he had anticipated.

For one thing, he wasn’t yet allowed to put his full body weight on the new prosthetic limb, so actually walking on it was still out of the question. Standing between a pair of long parallel bars to hold on to, he had practiced shifting some of his weight from his right leg to the artificial left one, as well as learning to get the knee to bend.

That was taxing enough, and now that he was lying back in bed, he became aware of how exhausted he was just from that.

“Nick?” Brian said again, and Nick realized he hadn’t yet answered his friend.

“It was fine,” he muttered in response, avoiding Brian’s eyes.

“Fine? Well, what did she have you do? I mean, can you walk on it, or... or what?”

“Squaaaaaaawk, shut-up, shut-up!” AJ screeched in his “parrot” voice, making the stuffed bird take off from Nick’s shoulder and dive bomb at Brian’s head.

“AJ, will you please stop?” Brian snapped, swatting the plush parrot away in annoyance.

“Why don’t you stop? He doesn’t want to talk about it; isn’t that obvious? Leave him alone,” AJ retorted, the parrot falling limply at his side.

Brian expelled a rattling sigh. “I’m gonna go to the cafeteria,” he said through gritted teeth. “Nick, you want anything?”

“No.”

“Fine. I’ll be back.” With that, he stormed out of the room.

“Sheesh, what crawled up his ass?” muttered AJ, sinking into the recliner and popping the footrest up.

“Polly. She flew up it,” Nick cracked.

“Haha, good one, Kaos,” snickered AJ. “So, um... you don’t have to answer me if you don’t want to, but... I take it you weren’t up and running laps around the therapy place?”

Nick smiled slightly. “Not quite.”

“Well, that’s all right. I mean, it was just the first day and all... I’m sure you’ll get to the marathon training next week, eh?” He winked and offered Nick a reassuring smile. “Seriously, man, don’t worry, you’ll get there. And if not, we can always get you one of those Rascal scooter things... those things are da shit!” Nick snorted, picturing himself chugging along on one of those little red motorized carts that old people use.

“Yeah,” AJ continued, eyes sparkling mischievously, “and then you can pull a Tom Green and go through grocery stores and bump into stuff and knock shit over... it’ll be awesome!”

Nick laughed as that scenario was added to his mental image. “God, could you see the look on Kevin’s face?”

“Oh, he would love it!” exclaimed AJ. “Come on, ol’ Kev’s not that much of a hardass. Pretending to be handicapped and destroying merchandise – ain’t nothin’

wrong with that!” He laughed at his own joke, but Nick had stopped chuckling.

Noticing this, AJ glanced over at Nick, his face sobering. “What?”

“Well...” Nick eyed the prosthetic leg. “I wouldn’t really be pretending...” AJ’s face reddened as he realized his blunder. “I... I’m sorry, dude,” he stammered embarrassedly. “I didn’t mean... well... you know... and anyway, you’re not handicapped... you’re handi- capable, right?”

“You stole that from South Park,” said Nick, managing a hint of a smile.

“That I did,” confessed AJ. “That I did.” He grinned sheepishly, then said, “Hey, speaking of Kevin, wonder when he and D are gonna get here?” Subject change, thought Nick amusedly.

“I don’t know about them,” another voice answered loudly, “but I’m here!”

“Arrr, there’s the scurvy wench now,” AJ said fondly, as Claire appeared in the doorway.

“Hey, Claire,” smiled Nick, as she breezed into the room, dressed in a pair of dark purple scrubs. She had apparently just gotten off work and come straight to the hospital, as she had done every day that week.

“Girl, how long have you been here?” asked AJ.

“Uh, I just got here,” Claire said, giving him a funny look.

“No, but were you lurking outside the door or something? How did you hear what I said about Kev and Howie?”

“Your voice carries, AJ,” Claire quipped, rolling her eyes. “So, Nick, how- Nick!” She had apparently just spotted the artificial leg resting atop the blankets, for she hurried over, her eyes wide. “Wow...” she said. “You’re like a Transformer now!”

“A Transformer?” AJ repeated, wrinkling his nose. “And what exactly does he transform into? A Rascal scooter?” Again, he cracked up at his own joke, slapping his knee as laughed hysterically.

“Ah, good one,” said Claire with a sarcastic snicker. “Okay, fine, Darth Vader then.”

“Huh?”

“You’re like Darth Vader!” Claire repeated impatiently.

AJ burst out laughing again. “Darth Vader? Darth Vader wore all black and had that cool mask and shit... have you even seen Star Wars?”

“Yes!” insisted Claire. “And I just meant cause of that half man, half machine kind of thing... no offense, Nick.”

Nick barely had a chance to reply, “None taken,” when AJ was already launching into, “Luke... I am your father,” in a rather pitiful Darth Vader impression, complete with heavy breathing.

“Ahh, I give up,” Claire sighed exaggeratedly, nearly flopping down onto Nick’s bed, then catching herself and sinking gently onto the edge of it instead. “So,” she said, patting Nick’s right thigh. “Whatcha been up to today?”

“Oh... stuff,” replied Nick. “Got the peg leg this morning... just got back from some physical therapy crap a little while ago...”

“Peg leg?” Claire repeated, a playful smile tugging on the corners of her mouth.

“Yeah, Nicky’s like a pirate now. We’re calling him Long John Carter,” relayed AJ matter-of-factly.

“Ahh... nice. So, where’s everybody else?”

“Well, Kev and Howie are at a meeting, and Brian’s... back! Hey, Bri.” At AJ’s words, Nick glanced up to see Brian trudge back into the room, swinging a 20 oz. of Pepsi at his side. “Hey,” said Brian dully. “Hi, Claire.”

“Hey, Brian,” Claire returned casually.

“Yo, Rok, I was just on my way out,” said AJ, jumping up from the recliner. “I thought we could give Ren and Stumpy here a chance hang out. You know, alone?”

“Ren and Stumpy?” repeated Claire incredulously.

Brian grinned, the scowl that had been etched in his handsome features vanishing. “Good idea, J. We’ll be back later.” With that, the two men made an exit, shutting the door behind them and leaving Nick and Claire to exchange baffled looks.

“Did he just insinuate that I look like some kind of deranged chihuahua?” asked Claire.

“I think so,” Nick said with a smirk. “Don’t worry though... you don’t look like a chihuahua.”

“Oh, good,” smiled Claire. “And you don’t look like a big stupid cat... although I’ve never really thought Stimpy looked like cat at all... but that’s what he’s supposed to be, right?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Claire shrugged. “Well, you don’t look like him. Or Darth Vader.”

“But Darth Vader’s cool.”

“True. Which is another reason why you can’t be Darth Vader.” Nick took a minute to process this, then expelled a wounded, “Hey!” Claire giggled. “So... you had some ‘physical therapy crap’? How did that go?”

“Don’t ask,” groaned Nick.

“Really? That bad?”

Nick sighed. “I don’t know... it wasn’t that bad, I guess. It was just... slow. I dunno, I guess I thought after a day or two, I’d be up and walking and stuff, but she won’t even let me put weight on it yet, and at this rate, it’s going to take forever to get back to nor- well, as close to normal as I can get anyway.” Claire offered him a sympathetic smile. “I don’t really know what to say to that,” she admitted. “I guess I’m supposed to be all ‘rah, rah, you can do it, Nick’ supportive?”

“Nah, that’s okay, Claire, you don’t gotta be my cheerleader – I got five of ‘em already.”

“Well, good,” smiled Claire, “cause cheerleading’s just not my thing. But for the record, Nick, you can do it, and you will, and it’s just going to take some time and some work and a whole lotta shit, but in the end, it’ll happen.”

“Thanks,” he said softly. “And speaking of time and work and shit... I need to turn over.”

Claire’s whole body sagged. “Phew,” she sighed. “I thought you were gonna say you had to take a shit and that I had to help you... not that I wouldn’t, but...” She made a face, and he laughed.

“Uh, no,” he said, sobering. “But I’m supposed to lie flat on my stomach for at least fifteen minutes twice a day to stretch my hips and keep them from stiffening up or something.” He shrugged.

“Oh. Well then, roll over, boy.”

This was easier said than done, but with a lot of grunting and awkwardness and a little help from Claire, Nick managed to successfully flip over so that he was lying on his stomach, legs stretched straight out behind him. He discarded his pillow, turning his head to the side and lying totally flat, just as he had been instructed. It was not really the most enjoyable position, but he had decided that if it would help make the physical therapy easier, he would do it.

“Hey, good thing you’ve got shorts on under that hospital gown, or your ass would totally be showing right now,” said Claire with a snicker. “God, I hate those things – you need to talk someone into letting you wear a t-shirt or something instead.”

“That would be good,” mumbled Nick, his voice slightly muffled by the mattress.

“You don’t look very comfortable,” she observed.

“I’m not.”

“Aww...” He felt her hand run lightly over his back, her fingernails prickling his skin through the thin cotton of his hospital gown. “Is that any better?” she asked.

“Yes,” he breathed, closing his eyes. “Keep going.” She added the other hand now, scratching and rubbing his back with increased pressure. It felt like heaven, and then he remembered AJ’s comment earlier. And maybe when Claire gets here, she can put on her coconut bra and give him a massage... He began to snicker.

“What?” Claire asked, her hands hesitating.

“You don’t own a coconut bra, by chance, do you?”

“What?! ”

“Never mind.”

“Ni-ick... why do I get the feeling you’re making fun of me?”

“I’m not, I’m not,” Nick insisted. “Keep going.”

Claire huffed, but obeyed. He felt her fingers pull at the strings tying the gown together in the back, loosening them. Slowly, she parted the material, and he felt her skin against his, her fingernails circling over his back with a feather light touch that was just enough to give him goosebumps, her palms kneading his flesh with enough pressure to make his tense body fall limp and relaxed.

“You’re just like a dog being petted,” said Claire with a laugh. “I’m waiting for you to start drooling.”

He glanced up at her as best he could and stuck out his tongue. She smiled and

patted him on the head, stopping to run her fingers through his hair. Her nails felt good on his scalp, and he knew exactly why most dogs liked to have their heads scratched.

“You’re good to me, you know that?” he murmured.

“Well, you’re good to me too,” she countered sweetly.

It was an exchange they had shared before, and Nick hoped they would share it again. So much had changed, some good, some bad, and things would just keep on doing so. But if there was one thing he never wanted to change, it was Claire and his relationship with her. And in that instant, he vowed to never let that happen. He’d hurt her before, driven her away. Strike one, strike two... strike three, and he’d be out.

But, no... never again... for if she left him now, he didn’t know how he would get through. As long as she stayed at his side, he knew things would all right. He’d made it this far already, gotten through what he hoped was the worst... first base, the surgery...

second base, the recovery... and now third base, the rehabilitation. It was Claire’s turn at bat now, and all she had to do was send him home.

The very thought flooded him with longing. Home.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Claire asked suddenly, and Nick smiled.

“Home.”

***

Chapter 114

As soon as Nick opened the car door, he could smell the ocean. The familiar, salty scent filled his nostrils and brought comfort to his soul.

He was home.

For a brief moment, his throat felt tight, as his eyes swept over the beautiful seaside manor he had purchased with his own hard-earned fortune and the picturesque ocean landscape that served as its backdrop. He felt like Gilligan, finally home after decades of syndicated episodes spent on an uncharted desert isle. Only Nick had been stranded in a hospital instead, and it had only been two weeks. And, of course, there was no coconut radio or sexy movie star named Ginger... then again, Claire was a redhead, so maybe she could substitute.

Either way, he was home at last, back to his own little slice of heaven after half a month of hell. But of course, not everything was perfect, and there were little reminders of this everywhere, from the ramp that had been installed on part of the steps leading to the front door, to the newly rented wheelchair and crutches that Kevin and Howie were unloading from the back of Nick’s Durango.

“Jesus,” Nick heard Kevin glanced back just in time to see AJ whip his rented BMW into Nick’s driveway practically on two wheels. Killing the engine, AJ flung open the driver’s side and bounced out, while a rather white-looking Brian slid out of the passenger side.

“AJ, if you ever drive like that with Nick in the car while you’re here, you’re a dead man,” Kevin muttered severely, as AJ sauntered on past him.

“Hey, if you’re gonna drive a car like that, you gotta drive it fast,” Nick called from the backseat, grinning at the annoyed expression on Kevin’s face. “Is somebody gonna help me out here, or do I gotta get myself out?”

“Oh, sorry, Nick.” Kevin and Howie were quick to come to his assistance, helping him out of the backseat. Brian appeared with the wheelchair they had rented before Nick had been discharged and parked it beside the Durango, locking the wheels into place.

“I don’t need that,” Nick said with a grimace when he saw it. “Where’s my crutches?”

“No, Nick, just get in the chair. You haven’t used crutches outside yet, and you haven’t been up stairs on them, and the last thing we want is for you to trip and fall,” Kevin reasoned. Knowing better than to argue, Nick sighed and let Kevin and Howie help him lower himself down into the wheelchair. Unlocking the wheels again, Howie pushed him down the walkway that led to the porch, up the newly-built ramp, and into the house.

The inside of the house was dim and cool, a stark contrast to the bright, sunny warmth of the mid-April day outside. Nick looked all around the foyer, taking in every detail, feeling, strangely, as if he were returning to a place he hadn’t been to since childhood. It had only been two weeks, but in those two weeks, he felt he’d aged considerably. So maybe the feeling wasn’t so strange after all.

He noticed the ocean landscape painting hanging in its usual spot on the wall and drew in a breath, remembering the scent of the sea. “Will you take me out back?” he asked, as Howie started to guide the wheelchair into the only bedroom on the main level of the house, which the guys had dubbed Nick’s room until he could navigate the stairs

easily on his own.

“Oh... sure, Nicky,” Howie replied and instead pushed the wheelchair through to the back of the house and outside again, where the sun beat down, and the heat rose off of the patio. The aquamarine water of the in-ground pool nestled a few yards away glistened invitingly, but Nick’s eyes drifted past it, past the large patio and deck area, past the green grass which faded to light, gleaming sand, as the lawn merged with the beach... his eyes looked even further than the sand, focusing on the vast expanse of rippling blue water beyond it. Watching as the waves gently lapped against the beach, he longed to run along the water’s edge, his bare feet leaving prints in the wet sand, the water sloshing around his ankles as it washed the prints away.

But obviously, that just wasn’t feasible, so he would have to settle for looking instead... looking and listening and smelling... taking in the whole beautiful scene around him.

“Where do you want to sit, somewhere in the shade?” asked Howie, looking around the sun-drenched patio for a cool refuge from the eighty-degree heat.

“Nah, anywhere is fine,” said Nick. “I like being out in the sun.” It was probably not the best thing for him; he had been warned about exposure to the sun while receiving his radiation treatments. But he had finished radiation almost a month ago and hadn’t even been outside, let alone in the sun, in two weeks. Surely a little sunlight couldn’t hurt.

“Okay,” shrugged Howie, parking the wheelchair in a spot toward the edge of the patio that offered a nice view of the beach and the gulf. “You, uh... you want me to hang here with you, or would you rather be alone?” he asked carefully.

Nick smiled; good old Howie, he knew exactly what Nick wanted and needed. “I think I wanna be alone for a little bit. Thanks, Howie,” he said gratefully.

“No problem, kiddo.” Howie squeezed Nick’s shoulder affectionately. “I’ll come back out in a little while to check on you. We’ll be right inside, so call if you need anything or want to come back in.”

“I’m not totally helpless; I’m sure I can manage wheeling myself around in this thing,” said Nick with a playful roll of his eyes. “Besides, I don’t really need this thing anyway, I can walk...”

“What, you don’t like having us chauffeur you around?” Howie teased. “And you can’t walk if you don’t have your crutches, by the way, and I think Kev hid those so you wouldn’t trip on them and fall flat on your face first thing.” Nick let out a derisive snort, yearning for the day when he would be able to get around without the wheelchair or the crutches. That won’t be anytime soon though, he thought despondently, his eyes falling to rest on the empty leg of his shorts, which were long and baggy enough to hide his stump.

After nearly a week in the IPOP that had been put on him, he had graduated to taking tiny steps between the set of parallel bars, leaning heavily on the bars to take some of the weight off of his still-healing residual limb. But just when he was starting to grow accustomed to that, the IPOP had come off, and the sutures had come out. The bulky cast that had covered his stump had been replaced with a shrinker, a tight-fitting

“sock” that protected the stump and reduced swelling. Though this made the stump much lighter, it also made it feel quite unprotected. It was healing well, but was still tender, and Nick was afraid of hurting it. Without the IPOP, he was left fully dependant on crutches or a wheelchair (which Susan had insisted he rent for the time being) until

he got his preparatory prosthesis, the next level up in artificial legs, which he would be measured for in just under a week.

In the meantime, he had scheduled physical therapy sessions at the hospital with Susan for two hours a day, three days a week. And in another month, he’d be making daily trips to the hospital...

A queasy sensation gripped his stomach as he recalled the conversation he’d had with Dr. Kingsbury the day before his discharge. He’d been glad to see her when she had stopped by to check up on him, but the feeling had faded fast as soon as the initial small talk was over and the real conversation began...

“Nick, I know you’re probably not going to like this, but we need to go over an option that I think you should consider,” Dr. Kingsbury began.

Though it was nice to hear the word ‘option’ come out of her mouth and not be clumped together with scary phrases such as “last resort” and “amputation,” her tone told him that, indeed, he was probably not going like this “option” he was supposed to consider.

“Wh-what’s the option?” he asked tentatively.

“Another course of chemotherapy,” answered the doctor.

Nick’s mouth dropped open – his assumption had been correct; he wasn’t liking this option one bit. “More chemo?!” he cried, his voice rising. “But... wh-why would I need more chemo? The cancer was in my leg, and my leg’s gone, so what’s the point of chemo?”

“It’s just a precautionary measure. Although your scans have been clean, there’s always the possibility that some cancer cells could have migrated from the tumor in your leg to other parts of your body. The reason you have to go through the bone marrow aspirations and chest x-rays is because Ewing’s likes to spread, and two of the first places it will go to are the bone marrow and the lungs. If even a few cells escaped, they could hide out there and start reproducing, and then you’ve got metastasis – spreading.”

“But you said the scans were clean!” protested Nick in confusion.

“They are, as far as we can tell, but the scans can’t pick up every trace of cancer... like I said, if a few cells escaped, it could be months before they built up enough to the point of being detectable. What chemo would do is hopefully hunt out any refugee cancer cells and kill them before they had a chance to do any damage.”

“But what if there aren’t any more cancer cells?” Nick asked desperately. “Then the chemo would be for nothing, right? It would just make me sick without helping anything!”

“That’s right,” Dr. Kingsbury nodded seriously, “and that’s why some patients decide against adjuvant chemotherapy – chemo after surgery. This isn’t something you have to do at all, Nick. It’s just an option that I think you should at least consider.”

“Well... well, do you think I should do it?” Nick looked up and into her eyes, dreading the thought of more chemotherapy, yet knowing there must be a reason for her to bring it up.

Dr. Kingsbury pursed her lips. “In your case, the risk of the cancer having spread is fairly low, and chances are, it won’t reappear. But there’s still the chance it could, and if we didn’t catch it in time, it could cause problems. I know you don’t want to go through another course of chemo, and I don’t blame you one bit, but it could

potentially mean the difference between a cure and a reoccurrence.” A tingle ran through Nick’s body at the word “cure.” It was a word he’d rarely heard come out of his doctor’s mouth, and hearing it now gave him hope. Hope that this year-long nightmare would soon end, that as soon as his rehabilitation was complete, he’d be able to walk away from all of this and never look back.

But, of course, Dr. Kingsbury’s “cure” went along with another word, a word that Nick hated. Chemo. How could she ask him to even consider that hellish treatment again, especially now? It was like kicking him when he was down.

“You’ve been through so much, Nick,” Dr. Kingsbury said softly, voicing Nick’s thoughts, “and I know this is the last thing you want to think about now. But picture it as a kind of insurance, a way to make almost absolutely sure the cancer won’t come back. And I say ‘almost absolutely’ because in medicine, nothing is absolute... but I know the statistics, and it’s a proven fact that receiving chemotherapy after surgery ups the survival rates.”

“So you think I should do it,” Nick said flatly. It was not a question, but a statement. She’d made her point clear.

“I think it would be wise,” answered Dr. Kingsbury with a short nod. Nick sighed. “It’s not something you have to decide right away,” the doctor went on quickly.

“Even if you decide you want to do it, you probably won’t start for another month or so. After major surgery, your blood counts can be a little out of whack and will need to get back to normal before you can go on chemo. Besides, I’d like to give you a head start on your rehabilitation first before we add chemo to the equation.” Nick nodded. “I’ll think about it...”

But by the end of that day, he’d made up his mind. He was going ahead with the chemo.

To say the choice had been solely his would be a lie, for the other guys had factored into it as well. After hearing the news, they’d all urged him to go through with it, assuring him that a few more months of chemo were a small price to pay if the treatment bought him more time and returned him to good health. Yeah, but you’re not the ones who have to actually go through it, he’d thought sullenly. But in the end, he’d had Dr. Kingsbury paged and told her that he’d made his decision.

He had known he’d be going home the next day, and they’d agreed that he would start chemo a month from then, on May eighteenth, a Tuesday. He would come to the hospital for treatments three times a week, rather than having a continuous cycle of chemo delivered through another catheter in his chest. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays would be spent getting chemo and then dealing with the immediate after-effects, while Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays would mean going to the hospital for physical therapy. This left Sunday as his only free day, and the thought of all the treatments and rehabilitation was depressing. Yet if it all paid off, a hellish summer would mean a much better fall, winter, and beyond. It would, as the guys had assured him, be a small price to pay.

Still, the months ahead loomed before him like storm clouds on the horizon, and it was hard not to feel overwhelmed. He tried to focus on the present, on the here and now, not on the next day, or the next week, or the next month. Right now, he was home, surrounded by the people he loved, and that was enough to make him count his blessings.

Brian and Kevin would be there for a few more days to help Nick get settled in, and then they would be leaving, each heading home to the respective families they had neglected for the past two weeks. But AJ and Howie would be staying.

It had become very clear that Nick was not going to be able to live on his own yet, and the hospital refused to discharge him unless they were sure he had help at home.

AJ and Howie were the obvious choices, as the two other Backstreet Boys who did not have families of their own elsewhere, and naturally, neither one had protested. (“Don’t expect me to cut off my own leg in support of you though,” AJ had joked, running a hand over his re-grown head of hair.) The two men had made plans to move in, while Kevin and Brian took care of making necessary changes to the house, such as moving Nick’s bedroom downstairs.

All four of the guys had also been involved in holding a press conference to inform the public about the latest with Nick. The conference had been open to select members of the press only and was not broadcast on TV, though of course the news was all over the music and entertainment channels, and according to Nick’s publicist, Barbara Walters and Diane Sawyer were already fighting to get the first interview with Nick himself.

But Nick wasn’t ready to be interviewed and doubted he would be for a long time.

For now, he was content to sit there, docilely watching the waves roll onto the beach, content to seclude himself in the safety and solace of his own home and focus on simply getting through the next few months’ trials. And that he would do, one day at a time.

Or as Susan had told him again and again during those first few frustrating therapy sessions, one step at a time.

***

Chapter 115

After two frustrating weeks of hobbling around the bottom story of his house on crutches, Nick looked at getting his preparatory prosthesis as new freedom.

Unfortunately, just as he had learned with the first temporary prosthesis, learning to walk on the artificial leg wasn’t going to be an instantaneous thing.

He got the leg on a Wednesday, and that therapy session was spent just learning how to put the thing on and stand up. On Friday, he got back between the parallel bars and was taught to take steps, but the process was slow, tedious, and just plain hard. It was like trying to walk on stilts, and Nick found himself clinging to the bars for support, apprehensive about putting weight on the artificial leg, which fit differently than the molded cast in which he had been before.

The weekend found him discouraged yet again, his excitement about getting the leg gone. He had only been to two therapy sessions, but already, he felt it was taking too long. Susan had warned him that it would, especially in the beginning, explaining how he could only wear the prosthesis for a short time each day until he was accustomed to it; too much wear would bruise his still-tender stump. Nick hadn’t liked hearing this one bit - he wanted the ability to walk again, and he wanted it now.

Unfortunately, this attitude wasn’t doing much to help anything. AJ and Howie were already getting sick of him, and it hadn’t even been two weeks since Brian and Kevin had flown home, leaving the two bachelors to Nick-sit. Nick had to smile when AJ

casually suggested he call Claire and see if she wanted to come over and hang out.

“You mean I can have a friend over to play?” he asked in a snotty tone, rolling his eyes at AJ. “Why is that - so you and Howie can run away from me and leave Claire to babysit instead?”

A smirk spread slowly over AJ’s face, and Nick knew he’d hit the nail on the head.

AJ had cabin fever; AJ needed to get out. Probably Howie too. Nick didn’t blame them one bit; hell, he wished he could get out too. Go out with his buddies and get plastered, just like in the old days. Only there was no chance of that happening anytime soon.

Nick hardly talked to those guys anyway, his other friends. Brent had called once since he’d come home from the hospital, and that was it. The conversation had been awkward and short, and it was very clear that things were just different now. Brent was obviously weirded out and uncomfortable, and the others were probably even more so, for they hadn’t even called. Nick found that he didn’t really care though. To him, those guys represented the past, his life before cancer had ruined it. There were only a few people that really mattered now... the other Boys... and Claire.

“Well, I-I didn’t really mean it like that,” AJ was now stammering sheepishly.

“Naw, it’s okay, J, I get ya. I’d feel the same way, dude. It’s Saturday night - you and Howie should get out, go do something tonight. Hit the clubs for me, and get Howie wasted, that’s always fun. I’ll call Claire and see if she’ll come over.”

“Oh, I’m sure she will,” said AJ with a toothy grin. “And seriously, Nick... you’ll have the house and a chick all to yourself... what more could you want?” Nick rolled his eyes and tried to keep from grinning like a moron. “Me and Claire aren’t like that,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“Oh, right, you’re ‘just friends.’ My bad,” smirked AJ with an exaggerated wink.

“Shut up.”

AJ just snickered and wandered away. Smiling to himself, Nick picked up the

phone.

***

“Aww, I love this part,” sighed Claire. “I think that’s the sweetest thing ever, writing a song for the person you love... not to mention singing it over the intercom on an airplane.”

Nick laughed. “Yeah...” he said. Claire had come over a couple hours earlier, and for lack of anything better to do, they’d found “The Wedding Singer” playing on TBS and decided to watch it. It was one of the only romance movies Nick actually liked, for Adam Sandler and the 80’s soundtrack made it good.

As the credits rolled, Claire let out another happy sigh and then turned to face Nick. “So, what now? More TV?”

Nick shrugged. “What else is there to do?”

“I dunno, that’s why I’m asking you,” smiled Claire.

Nick scowled. “Well, I dunno either, Claire, there ain’t much I can do, ya know.

You wanna play Gamecube? X-Box? Playstation? Well, I don’t, cause that’s all I fucking do. Or maybe we could just watch some more TV like you said. Not like I don’t get enough of that shit.”

“Hey, chill,” Claire said softly, lightly resting her hand on his arm. “Look, we don’t have to sit here in front of the TV anymore if you don’t want to. What do you want to do?”

Nick was silent a moment. “If I could do anything,” he said finally, “I’d take my boat out.”

“So do it. Let’s do it; I haven’t been out on your boat yet.” Nick snorted, then glanced over to see that she was serious. “That’s stupid, Claire,” he muttered, shaking his head. “It’s night, it’s dark, and I can’t even fucking walk, let alone manage the boat.”

“Another day then,” she said simply, her unwavering optimism irking him.

“Sure, whatever.”

“Okay, so no boat. Do you want to go out by the beach? Can you get out there on your crutches?”

He shook his head. “Not a good idea. It’s dark, and there’s sand.”

“Ahh... gotcha. Okay, so I guess we’ll just sit here and watch TV then?” Nick sighed and did not even bother replying.

“How about we just go sit outside? Out back, on your patio. Would that work?” Claire suggested.

“Okay.”

Claire slid off the couch and moved around to Nick’s left side, helping him stand up and gain his balance on one leg while she hurried to bring him his crutches. Slowly, they made their way outside, Claire leading, Nick hobbling along behind. They went out to the patio, where soft lights twinkled all around, golden hues illuminating the darkness. The pool sparkled in the moonlight, its water still and placid in the windless night.

“I miss the water,” Nick murmured, his eyes panning across it.

“What, you don’t bathe?”

“You know what I mean.” Nick rolled his eyes. Why was she giving him such a

hard time?

“I know, I’m sorry.” Claire offered an apologetic smile and then continued, “But hey, the pool’s right there... go swimming, why don’t you?”

“Go swimming?” he repeated, eyeing her skeptically. “Right.”

“Why not? It’s been about a month since your surgery, hasn’t it?”

“Exactly a month,” mumbled Nick – it was May 1.

“Yeah, so your incision has to be about healed by now, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So... why can’t you swim?”

“Why can’t I... God, Claire, are you just trying to piss me off?”

“No! I’m just trying to get you to stop pouting about what you can and can’t do and do something! If you wanna get in the water, get in the water! You can swim with one leg.”

He cocked his head at her, considering this. Well... theoretically, he supposed she was right... and even if swimming proved to be difficult, he could still get into the water, even if it was just to stand along the side in the shallow part, waist deep.

“I’d have to go get my trunks on,” he said lamely.

She wrinkled her nose. “Psh, you’re already out here... just go in your boxers.

You wear boxers, right?” He nodded, glad it was dark enough to hide the fact that he was blushing. “Well, so strip down and get in, boy.”

“Only if you come in too,” Nick said, flashing the infamous half-smile he knew most women could not resist.

“But I don’t... ohhh, wait a minute, I see where you’re coming from. Nice try, mister, you’re just trying to get me to skinny dip since I don’t have a swimsuit.”

“No!” Nick tried to look offended that she would even suggest such a thing...

though really, it didn’t sound like such a bad idea. “You don’t have to skinny dip. Just go in your underwear... you are wearing underwear, right?” He grinned.

She hit him playfully in the shoulder. “Perv.”

“Seriously, you have to come in too, or I won’t do it.”

“Well, Nick, I don’t care if you do it or not. You’re the one whining about missing the water.” She flashed him a smile to let him know she was teasing.

“No, now I’m whining about wanting you to get in too,” Nick countered with a grin.

Claire rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “Well fine, you can just whine then,” she said, standing up from the deck chair in which she’d been perched. She made as if to walk back into the house, but then she turned, and before Nick knew what she was doing, she had taken a running leap, hurtling herself into the far, deep end of the pool and creating a surprisingly colossal splash as she cannonballed into the water, fully-clothed.

Nick’s mouth hung open as she surfaced and swam to the shallow section, making it to the side. Folding her arms on the edge of the pool, she rested her chin atop them and grinned. “Now you have to come in.”

Stunned, Nick simply shook his head and glanced down at himself. Making a quick decision, he eased off the shrinker sock covering his stump and then reached for his crutches, slowly but successfully standing up from his chair. Very carefully, he made his way to the pool, and when he had reached its edge, lowered himself to the ground, letting the crutches fall to the side. If there was one aspect of him that had improved

since the surgery, it was his balance; the therapy was making it easier to do things on one leg, and at least that was one area where he could see a bit of progress.

Still dressed in a t-shirt and basketball shorts, he stretched out his right leg, letting his toes graze the surface of the pool. It was heated, and the water was just the right temperature. Taking a deep breath, he pushed off with his hands, lowering himself into the water. It was a bit of a shock at first, to be suddenly half-submerged in water after a month of being a landlubber, but his right foot quickly came into contact with the smooth bottom. The warm water seemed to soothe his stump, which had twinged when he removed the shrinker, as if often did.

“You’re in!” Claire cried gleefully, clapping her hands. “What happened to the boxers idea?”

“Hey, I’m not bearing my sexy body if you’re not going to,” Nick defended, running his wet hands down his chest and smirking.

“Fair enough,” said Claire with a shrug. “So... you’re in the water. How does it feel?”

“Good,” Nick smiled, a sudden spurt of euphoria rushing through his body.

Feeling suddenly daring, he bent his knee and sank lower, so that the water was up to his shoulders. And then he pushed off of the ground with his good leg and quickly brought it up to kick off the wall, propelling his body forward through the water.

Immediately, he begin to freestyle with his arms, kicking with his right leg and trying to fight the temptation to kick with his left.

At first, his body wanted to tip over in the water, its lopsidedness changing his buoyancy. But he quickly learned to compensate, and it did not take him long to make it to the deep end. His swimming was weaker and slower than it had once been, but he found that he could still swim without much trouble.

The feeling of pushing himself through the water was incredible; it gave the word freedom a new definition. On land, he had been a fish out of water, struggling to walk, fighting the terms he had been unofficially labeled with: disabled... crippled...

handicapped. He was like a penguin, awkward on land, powerful in the water.

“What did I tell you!” Claire called, quickly swimming over to meet him. “See, now you have something to do.”

Nick chuckled, grinning. “Guess so. You were right.”

“Always am,” smirked Claire.

They swam awhile longer and then got out. Swimming with only half the kicking power made Nick’s arms do most of the work, and it was not long before they tired out.

His muscles screamed in protest as he sluggishly hauled himself back into the house on crutches, leading a trail of water from the patio all the way to his bedroom.

“Any sign of J and Howie?” he asked Claire, who slowly tagged along behind.

“Nope, don’t think they’re back yet.”

“You gonna stick around then?” He tried to keep his voice from sounding too hopeful.

“If you give me some dry clothes to change into,” she replied.

“My clothes?” Nick heaved an exhausted sigh as he sank down into a chair in his room, not caring that he was going to leave a big, wet butt-mark on its upholstery. “Girl, you ain’t gonna fit into anything I got.”

“I don’t care if it fits, as long as it’s dry,” she said, unbothered.

Nick shrugged. “Okay. Closet’s over there, wear whatever you want. Would you

toss me a pair of shorts though? And a sweatshirt? It’s kinda cold in here with the air on.”

“Sure thing.” Disappearing into the walk-in closet, Claire emerged a minute later with a pair of gray shorts and a black sweatshirt for him and a pair of navy blue shorts and a white sweatshirt for her. Handing him his clothes, she went into the bathroom and left him alone to change. He did so, leaving his wet clothes in a heap on the floor and making it to his bed, where he stretched out tiredly, knowing he probably would not get up again anytime soon.

Claire came out of the bathroom and smiled when she saw him. “You look comfy,” she commented.

“And you look... lost.” He chuckled at the sight of her in his clothes – the sweatshirt was several sizes too big and almost reached her knees, while the sleeves totally hid her hands, and the shorts went to the middle of her shins and looked about ready to fall down, they were so baggy. If it weren’t for the drawstring waist, he was sure they would have.

Claire shrugged. “They’re comfortable,” she said and climbed onto the bed, lying down beside him without a care in the world. “I left all my clothes lying on your bathroom floor, hope you don’t mind. I’ll get them before I leave, and I can just bring back your stuff tomorrow or something.”

“Cool with me,” Nick mumbled, closing his eyes and massaging his temples. He could feel a headache coming on; maybe it was from the swimming and the chlorinated water. “Claire,” he said, “you think you could turn on the lamp by the bed and turn off the overhead light? I’m getting a headache.” Turning his head, he stuck out his bottom lip and gave her a puppy-eyed, pleading look.

“I guess I could...”

“Would you?”

She smiled. “Sure.” Rolling off the bed, she came around to Nick’s side and turned on the lamp that sat on his nightstand, then crossed the room to the door, where she flipped the light switch, sending the room into shadows. “Mmm, I’m gonna fall asleep,” she murmured as she returned to her place at his side. “Bed plus darkness equals sleepy Claire.”

Nick chuckled. “I dunno if I’m quite ready for bed yet,” he said. “So you gotta stay awake and keep me company.”

“Oh really? You better entertain me enough to keep me awake then.” He laughed and reached for the collection of remote controls that were handily stored in a box on the floor beside the bed, just in the range of one of his long arms. He found the remote for the stereo and hit the play button. “You like Journey?” Nick asked, as their “Greatest Hits” album began to play.

“Sure,” answered Claire, settling back to listen.

Casually, Nick stretched out his arm across the top of the pillow her head rested on, silently inviting her to snuggle closer. Wordlessly, she did, and he let his arm come down around her, hugging her body to his.

They lay like that for a long time, silently listening to the music. But by halfway through the CD, Claire had fallen asleep, as had Nick’s arm. He carefully pulled it out from under her, trying not to disturb her, and gave it a shake, trying to rid it of the pins-and-needles tingling. Claire sighed in her sleep and rolled onto her side, facing him.

Smiling lightly, he studied her expressionless face in the dim light. Her eyes were

closed, her mouth slightly open, a few strands of carroty hair falling over her pale pink cheek. Gently, he brushed them away, his fingers lingering on her soft, smooth skin.

For a few more songs, they lay together, Claire lost in sleep, Nick lost in Claire, dreamily watching her as she slept, oblivious to the way his heart beat just a little faster when he was so close to her, the way his whole body tingled every time he so much as brushed against her, the way he had grown to love her inside and out and more than he had ever imagined he would.

“Open Arms,” one of his absolute favorite Journey songs, began to play, and the moment could not have been more perfect. Smiling tenderly, he sang the familiar lyrics as softly as possible, almost inaudibly, his gaze never departing from her serene face.

“Lying beside you, here in the dark

Feeling your heart beat with mine

Softly you whisper, you’re so sincere

How could our love be so blind

We sailed on together

We drifted apart

And here you are by my side

“So now I come to you, with open arms

Nothing to hide, believe what I say

So here I am with open arms

Hoping you’ll see what your love means to me

Open arms”

As the chorus ended, her eyelashes fluttered, and he drew back, watching carefully as her eyelids rose, exposing sleepy blue eyes. “Were you singing?” she murmured, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“No... just the CD,” coyly lied Nick.

“Uh-huh... ‘Open Arms’... I love this song.”

“I love this song too,” he echoed lamely.

Smiling, she inched her body ever so slightly toward him, and his heart skipped a beat and then began to race. Her face was so close to his, close enough for him to roll just a little, lean over, and...

The turning of the doorknob caused Nick to jerk back into his original position, flat on his back, while Claire sat up and scooted away just in time for the door to open, and AJ to stick his head in.

“Oh. There you are,” he said matter-of-factly, glancing from Nick to Claire.

“What’s up, kids?” He did a double-take at Claire and asked, “Uh, question – one, why is your hair wet, and two, why are you wearing Nick’s clothes? Those are Nick’s clothes, right?” Claire let out a giggle, and AJ raised an eyebrow in bewilderment.

“We went swimming,” Claire said. “In our clothes. Which are currently leaving a huge puddle of water on the floor.”

AJ blinked. “Swimming?” he repeated incredulously, his eyes darting from Claire back to Nick. “You too?” Nick nodded, grinning. “Well, well... as long as you don’t go telling Kevin that you randomly went swimming in the dark with only a girl to play

lifeguard, that’s awesome, Nicky.”

“Only a girl? ” Claire repeated. “Hm, should I be offended by that, AJ?”

“Why, no, Claire,” AJ said quickly and offered her a wide grin. “I’m just saying...

you weigh like half as much as Nick does; if he drowned, you wouldn’t be able to haul his ass out of the water.”

“Yeah, she did.”

The words were out of Nick’s mouth before he could stop them, and both Claire and AJ gave him strange looks.

“I did?” Claire said, cocking her head at him in amusement.

“You could,” Nick quickly corrected himself and rambled on, flustered, “I-I mean, you’re a tough chick, you could haul my ass out of the water. And you’re supposed to be lighter in water anyway, right?”

AJ laughed. “Sure, Nick.”

Nick could feel his cheeks turning red as he thought back to the last of the recurring shark nightmares he’d been plagued with... the shark had attacked him, taking his leg (creepy, he realized, how that dream had almost seemed to predict what would later happen in real life) and leaving him fighting the waves and losing the fight, as he grew weak from blood loss. And then, when he had been drowning and near death, someone had pulled him ashore. Someone had saved him. A girl with red hair whose face he could not see. And though, in the dream, the woman’s hair had been long, and she had a... fishtail..., he knew now who she had to represent.

Claire.

She had saved him in the dream, and he couldn’t help but think that maybe it meant something. Not literally, obviously, but perhaps symbolically. Maybe it was telling him that she was the one who would pull him out of the stormy waters of his life, who would end his suffering and bring him back to the warm sands, back to happiness and peace.

Or maybe that was just a bunch of bullshit.

He really did not know what to think, but he was definitely sure about one thing...

Damn, I wish AJ hadn’t come in.

***

Chapter 116

As the days passed, Nick made progress in his physical therapy sessions. Just two weeks after he’d gotten the preparatory prosthesis, he was able to walk quite well on it with the aid of crutches. He had moved out of the parallel bars and was now able to do laps around the therapy room. Now that things were going better, he’d allowed AJ

and Howie to come to some of the sessions with him. They’d sat and watched him, AJ

cracking jokes and making fun of him just enough to put a smile on his face when he got frustrated. Really, it had helped a lot having them there, having an audience to impress, an audience who would still support him even if he failed.

But that day, he was determined not to fail. Because that day, it was not AJ and Howie watching him. It was Claire.

After hearing that AJ and Howie had been coming to the sessions, she’d begged him to let her come to one too, and finally, he’d relented. Only now he was regretting that decision. Even though she sat quietly off to one side of the room, observing him without a word, just her presence was distracting him, making him nervous. He’d already stumbled more than usual, and his grip on the crutches was loose, the result of his sweaty palms.

“Do you need a break, Nick?” Susan asked, steadying him with strong hands as he caught the toe of the prosthetic foot on the floor and nearly took a nose dive.

“No,” he snapped, squaring his jaw and inhaling deeply, trying to slow his racing heart.

“All right,” Susan said patiently. “Let’s finish this lap, and then you can rest for a few minutes.”

He frowned at the way she seemed to be using reverse psychology on him, making finishing the lap seem like a chore and resting seem like a reward. He was tired and knew he was pushing himself, but he was determined to impress Claire, and stopping to rest was not on his agenda.

When he made it back to the spot where they had started out, Susan motioned to a chair pushed up against the wall, but he shook his head stubbornly. “I don’t want to stop yet, I’m fine,” he insisted. “I wanna try without the crutches now.” The physical therapist looked at him, one eyebrow slightly arched. “Are you sure? Do you feel like you’re ready?”

“Do you think I am?” he shot back, silently begging for her approval.

“If you think you’re ready and want to try, I’m right there with you,” said Susan, gently patting his shoulder. “But I don’t want you trying to do something you’re not ready for to just to show off for a certain someone.” Without turning her head, her eyes slid over to where Claire was perched on a chair against the adjacent wall. Nick couldn’t help but glance over too. Claire met his gaze and smiled, and he awkwardly grinned back, hoping his cheeks weren’t turning as red as they felt.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” said Susan with a little smirk, causing Nick’s attention to jerk back to her.

“Huh?”

“Take her out of the picture for now,” Susan advised. “Do you feel up to trying this today?”

“Yes,” Nick said firmly.

A smile spread over the therapist’s face. “Okay then. Come on over to the

parallel bars, and I want you to start out there.”

Nick obeyed, hobbling on over to the long set of bars where he had first learned to take a step on the prosthesis. Setting his crutches aside, he stood between the bars, lightly holding onto them for balance.

“All right, Nick... go ahead whenever you’re ready. Try to walk without holding onto the bars, but know that they’re there if you start to lose your balance,” instructed Susan.

Nick nodded and determinedly let go, dropping his hands to his sides. He stood still for a few seconds, making sure he was balanced. Extending his hip so that the knee of the prosthesis straightened and stabilized, he took a deep breath and shifted his full weight to the left leg, taking a step forward with his right. He had done this so many times, but never without some kind of support, some way to keep himself balanced.

Still, he managed to take a step and move the weight back to his good leg without stumbling. Then, turning and flexing his left hip, he swung the prosthetic leg forward, planting its heel on the ground and slowly transferring his weight back to that side.

The process was slow, and he was especially cautious without his crutches, afraid of falling and determined not to have to use the bars. But with each step, it became easier. He was doing it. He was walking alone, unaided.

“That’s wonderful, Nick, you’re doing great,” Susan praised, walking alongside him outside the bars. “Do you want to try out on the floor, without the bars?” she asked when he’d reached the end.

Wiping perspiration from his forehead, he nodded. “Yeah,” he said breathlessly.

Studying him, Susan nodded. “All right, let’s go for it. You just keep on walking, and I’ll be right at your side; I won’t let you fall.” Nick nodded and swallowed nervously.

This was it, sort of the moment of truth, the culmination of weeks of taxing physical therapy. Physically, he was worn out, but his mental determination was strong.

He thought of all his years of performing, all the tours, the countless number of concerts, dancing and singing his heart out under bright, hot stage lights for two hours a night, nearly every night, for months at a time. He’d battled exhaustion before, oh yes.

When you were a popstar, one fifth of a world famous music group, it didn’t matter how tired you were, how many hours of sleep you’d gotten, or how high your fever was.

When you got on stage, you performed, and you performed well. In the Backstreet Boys, there was just no half-assing it. Nick had mastered the art of summoning up energy that he just didn’t have, of hiding fatigue, sickness, and pain in front of the masses of screaming fans who came to see him perform.

It was time to use that skill now.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself forward, repeating the same motions he’d done within the safety of the parallel bars, slowly but surely stepping forward first with his good leg and then with the artificial one. He kept his eyes straight ahead, refusing to let them shift over to where Claire was sitting, focusing instead on the far wall straight across the large therapy room. The wall looked so far away, but he was dead set on making it there, on at least covering one length of the room without the help of bars or crutches or even the guiding hands of his physical therapist, who walked slowly alongside him, ready to steady him if he stumbled, but otherwise not touching him, letting him go on unaided.

Nick was young and strong, agile and athletic from years of intensive dancing and playing sports, and this played to his advantage. He was in fairly good shape, with the

exception of the obvious, and it was this, combined with his spirit and willpower, that kept him going, even when he would rather sink to the ground and give up in a fit of exhaustion.

When he finally made it across the room, when he finally reached out to weakly touch the wall he’d been eyeing for the whole trek, it felt like the greatest accomplishment in his life. Compared to everything he’d done in life and all that he’d been through, it seemed so minor. And yet it was huge.

“Well, there you go, Nick, you did it.” Squeezing his shoulder, Susan beamed with admiration. “And you’ve only had this leg for two weeks. That’s incredible. Most of my patients, especially above knee amputees, take longer to get to this point. You’ve gotten through the worst of it now; everything will be going up from here on out.” Claire had gotten up from her seat and now jogged over, a mile-wide grin stretching across her face.

“That’s one small step for Nick,” he said, lifting his eyebrows.

She giggled. “And one giant leap for Nick-kind?”

“Something like that,” he snorted.

“Aww... you did good, Stumpy. Come here.” Gingerly, she wrapped him in a hug, sending shockwaves through his body and a smile to his lips.

“Thanks, Ren,” he said softly, rubbing his hand across her back.

Pulling back, she beamed up at him, her eyes sparkling. “Let’s get out of here,” she suggested. “We need to celebrate.”

He chuckled. “First I need to get to the door,” he said, eyeing the set of doors on the opposite side of the room.

“Well, you can do it. Come on.” Sliding her arm around his back and draping his left arm across her shoulders, she walked slowly alongside him, guiding him back across the room, where his crutches lay unused. “You want those?” she asked, motioning to them.

“No,” he shook his head. “I’m gonna leave this place on my own two feet. Or my... well... you know.”

“I know,” she smiled and bent to pick up the crutches. “I guess I’m stuck carrying these then?”

He grinned and shrugged blithely. “Guess so.”

Leisurely, they made their way out of the physical therapy center. When he got outside the building, the world seemed a different place. Never had the sun seemed so radiant, the sky so blue, the grass so green. Never had the ground felt so good beneath his feet.

Propping his pair of crutches up against a post, Claire said, “You wait right here; I’m going to go get my car and pull up, okay?”

“’Kay,” replied Nick, smiling as he watched her walk off into the parking lot. As he waited for her to drive the car around, he shifted his weight from foot to foot, thoroughly pleased with his ability to do so. There was so much he had taken for granted before this had happened to him. Things like walking... never had he thought he would have to learn to walk all over again, not on his own two feet, but on an artificial leg.

And yet, now that he had achieved it, he was grateful. Grateful for the ability and so much more. Grateful for the beautiful spring day blooming around him, grateful for life, for the fresh air that filled his lungs, and grateful for the people who had put their

lives on hold for him, who had been there to take care of him and cheer him on, support him in more ways than one through the most trying ordeal of his life.

People like Claire, who was just now hopping out of her Toyota, a smile on her face as she sprinted around to help get him into the passenger side and the abandoned pair of crutches into the backseat. Settling back in the passenger seat, Nick let out a sigh, glad to be off his feet and sitting down again, and cranked up the radio. Claire had it tuned to a rock station, and the song that was playing couldn’t have been more perfect.

Smiling, he sang along softly, as Claire climbed back in, put the car into gear, and sped away.

***

Chapter 117

“Ooh, listen to this baby purr,” Claire said with a shudder of excitement, revving the motor of Nick’s Jaguar. “I’m so excited you let me drive this thing!”

“Yeah, so drive,” laughed Nick, pointing to the stoplight, which had just turned green.

“Whoops.” Slamming her foot to the ground, Claire sent the car shooting forward, tires squealing over the sound of her laughter. “My bad,” she said airily, flipping through the radio stations. “Hey, isn’t this the Mitsubishi song?” Nick laughed. “Yeah... it’s by Dirty Vegas.”

“Yeah, whatever. It’s the Mitsubishi song. You’re supposed to dance!”

“Huh?”

“Like in that commercial – you gotta get all down and funky in the passenger side! Go!” She glanced over expectantly at him, struggling to keep a straight face, and he only blinked.

“Wasn’t that commercial like two years ago?”

“Well yeah, so? What, are you trying to tell me it’s not cool to rock out in the front seat of car anymore?”

His deadpan expression broke, and he burst out laughing. “You’re insane,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Yeah? Takes one to know one,” she shot back, yanking the car into the small parking lot of the pizza place, Leonardi’s.

After the therapy session that afternoon, they had decided to head back to Nick’s house so that he could rest for awhile before they went out to “celebrate”. Of course, it had taken a lot of convincing just to get Nick to agree to going out at all. He hadn’t been anywhere except the hospital in the month that he had been home. It was just too hard to get around, and he was afraid of being spotted and recognized in public. He wasn’t ready for publicity yet. But Claire had talked him into a “quiet night out,” as she called it.

“Aw, come on, we have to do something,” she’d insisted. “Come on, we can just go out for pizza or something. Whatever you want.”

He would have rather just ordered a pizza from home if that’s what she wanted, but she’d convinced him that he needed to get out, and in the end, he’d agreed. They had settled on Leonardi’s, which was quickly becoming “their place.” Nick liked the casual atmosphere of the tiny pizza parlor and assured himself that he and Claire would be able to hide out in the corner booth there and not be bothered. Still, he’d cautiously grabbed a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap on his way out of the house, paranoid about being noticed.

“How do you expect people not to notice you when you show up in a silver Jag?” Claire asked now, snickering as she watched him adjust his sunglasses in the mirror on the back of the sun visor.

“Shut up.” Nick smiled nervously at his reflection and sucked in a breath.

“Ready?”

“Whenever you are.”

Together, they opened their car doors, and Nick cautiously eased himself out of the passenger side. While he gained his balance, Claire hauled his crutches out of the backseat and brought them around to him. Though he was still wearing his prosthesis,

he and Claire had both decided it would be for the best if he used the crutches as well, just for the fact that he was not entirely steady without them yet, and the physical therapy earlier in the day had worn him out.

Once inside the restaurant, Nick kept his eyes down and tried to make himself invisible while Claire requested the cozy wrap-around booth in the back corner. The restaurant was fairly full, mostly with young teenagers in big groups, but they were all immersed in their own conversations and too busy talking and eating to pay any attention to him. He and Claire made it to their booth unnoticed, and as he positioned himself so that he was facing the wall, Nick hoped it would stay that way.

“So,” said Claire, glancing briefly at the laminated menu on the table in front of her. “Large sausage and pepperoni, extra cheese?”

“Sounds good,” replied Nick with a smile.

He was relieved when an older woman came to take their order, instead of a teenaged waitress, and even more relieved when they managed to eat their pizza without being noticed or bothered.

“Where should we go next?” Claire asked when they had finished.

“Next? Uh...”

“We could go to a movie or something,” she offered. “Maybe see what’s playing at the Empress?”

“The Empress? Man, is that that really old theater?”

“Yeah! It plays all the good old movies... the classics,” she added with a dreamy little sigh.

“I haven’t been there since I was a kid,” he said. “Didn’t realize it was still open, actually.”

“Ahh, you rich folk. My friends and I saw movies there all the time in high school cause it was so cheap, and we were so poor. But of course, you wouldn’t know how that is.” She grinned teasingly, and he rolled his eyes. “But seriously, do you want to? The place is usually about deserted – I’m not quite sure how it stays in business, actually – so it’s not like you’d have to worry too much about being recognized.” He shrugged. “Yeah, okay, I guess so.”

She smiled. “Trust me, you’ll love it. And what day is it, Friday? They usually show the good old black and white horror movies on Friday nights, or at least they used to... Friday Fright Night or something, they call it.”

“Excellent,” he chuckled.

Claire glanced at the small clock mounted high on one of the dingy walls of the pizza place. “It’s about seven-thirty; we should probably get going and see if there’s an eight o’clock showing.”

“Okay.”

Retrieving her wallet out of her purse, Claire glanced at their bill and started pulling out cash.

“Hey, you don’t have to pay,” Nick said, quickly digging his own wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans and sliding out his credit card.

“Oh no, I got this. My treat,” she smiled. “You can pay the tip. Do you have cash?”

“Claire,” he said. “Let me pay.”

“No way. We’re celebrating for you here, and you let me drive your car. I owe ya.” With a wink, she slid out of the booth and marched up to the cash register before he

could stop her. Sighing, he pulled a few wadded bills out of his wallet and tucked them under the corner of his plate, leaving a rather hefty tip for the waitress. Promising himself that he would pay at the movies, he scooted himself out of the booth and hobbled over to the counter where Claire was paying.

“Ready to go?” she asked, dropping her billfold into her purse with a little smirk.

“Yup,” he said shortly, his irritation growing as she went ahead to get the door for him, holding it open as he shambled out. As he stepped outside, he was engulfed by an overwhelming sense of frustration even denser than the humidity that hugged the warm spring night. He was the guy – he was supposed to hold the door for her, he was supposed to pay. These things seemed only minor, and Claire wasn’t really the type of girl who would let him pay for her and hold doors all the time anyway, but still, it made him feel inferior. Pathetic, even.

“I want to drive,” he announced impulsively, as they approached the silver Jag, which managed to stand out even in the twilight. Claire stopped abruptly and glanced over at him.

“Oh,” she said curtly. “Um... okay.” Handing him his keys, she asked cautiously,

“Um, can you drive?”

“Have been for the past eight years, wanna see my license?” he fired back in hostility.

She gave him a patronizing look. “Nick,” she said, “that’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Well, why the fuck couldn’t I drive? In case you haven’t noticed, they hacked off my left leg, not my right, and I don’t need my left foot to drive an automatic!” Claire arched an eyebrow and held up her hands in defense. “Good point,” she said simply. “You drive.”

Huffing, Nick took off in a hurry, anxious to get behind the wheel. Only “taking off in a hurry” on crutches wasn’t really such a good idea because as soon as he did, he caught the toe of that damn prosthesis on the pavement and would have wiped out completely had it not been for Claire, who practically dove to grab him and keep him from falling. Using all of her strength, she managed to steady him while the crutches clattered to the ground at his sides.

“You all right?” she asked breathlessly, her arms still around him.

“I’m fine,” he muttered in complete humiliation, shoving her hands away. He heard her sigh as she bent to get his crutches. “I can get them!” he spat quickly, trying to figure out the best way to bend down. Claire, who had already picked up one of the crutches, gazed up at him coolly. As she met his eyes, the corners of her mouth turned up smugly, and she let the crutch fall.

“Fine,” she said and stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest.

Avoiding her watchful gaze, Nick struggled to bend over, fighting to keep his balance as he reached for the fallen crutches. The last thing he wanted to do was topple over in front of her; he knew she would never laugh at him, but he would be mortified just the same, his last few ounces of pride vaporized. Luckily, he managed to get the crutches and rise without falling. Without a word, he continued on to the car, more slowly this time, and Claire followed along silently behind.

It felt good to get behind the wheel again, and as Nick jammed his key into the ignition and heard the soft rumble of the car’s engine, some of his aggravation melted.

He had the power now; he was in control. Revving the engine a few times as if to prove

his point, he put the car into reverse and ricocheted out of his parking space, flattening Claire against her seat.

“Could you please slow down?” she snapped as he swerved onto the highway and took off, using his good foot to push the pedal to the floor.

“What? You were goin’ pretty fast yourself earlier, if I remember correctly.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t driving like a maniac!” she hissed. “Damn it, Nick, slow down!”

He felt an odd sense of glee at the shrillness in her voice when he whipped the Jaguar around a pokey minivan and then a big Ford pickup truck. The highway was an obstacle course, and it was his goal to weave through the other cars as quickly as he could.

“Nick!” she yelled, as an angry driver laid on his horn. “What’s the matter with you? I didn’t beat leukemia so that you could kill me in a fucking car wreck!” At her words, his foot let up on the accelerator, and the car began to slow.

Without a word, he turned into the nearest parking lot and parked at the darkened edge of it, far away from the other cars. Turning off the ignition, he slumped in his seat, his head falling back against the headrest, his arms hanging limply on the steering wheel.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled after a moment of silence.

“Are you? Do you want to tell me what caused that little episode?” Claire asked, her voice not exactly overflowing with forgiveness.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I do. It’s not hard to figure out. You’re frustrated. You’re angry. And you have every reason to be. I know how you feel, Nick... I mean, when I was cooped up in isolation for a month, you think I didn’t wanna just hop in my car and drive as fast as I could?”

Yes, he thought, I’m sure you did. Out of all the people he was close to, he knew she was the only one who could even partially understand what he was going through.

But he didn’t tell her that; he didn’t say a word. He kept silent, staring broodingly out the windshield as she went on.

“I’ve been on that side, Nick, I know how it is to be restricted, to feel so sick and weak that you can’t do anything, or to feel pretty damn good but not be allowed to do anything. It sucks. But now I’ve been on the other side, watching you go through this, and that sucks too. It scares me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He paused, then added,

“I wouldn’t have let us wreck, you know.” He turned his head to meet her eyes. “I would never do anything to hurt you, Claire.” I care about you too much, he added internally.

“Then you wouldn’t do anything to hurt yourself either,” she replied, her eyes boring into his. “Because that would hurt me.” He took a moment to process this and then cocked his head. “Like what...?” he said slowly. “What did you think, I was gonna drive myself off a bridge or something?” She shrugged. “You tell me. Would you ever do something like that?”

“No!” he cried. “God, I’m not suicidal! I was just... frustrated. Like you said.” She smiled sympathetically. “Good,” she said. “Now, are you still up for a movie?

We have time.”

“Sure,” he answered softly.

“Great,” she said, snatching the keys out of the ignition before he could even react. “Then get out cause I’m driving.”

***

Chapter 118

After a quick Chinese fire drill, Nick and Claire were back on the road, and Claire was behind the wheel once again. She drove them to the Empress Cinema, an old movie theater that had been restored to look just as it had in the 30’s, when it had been built.

“Friday Fright Night, I was right,” Claire said gleefully, reading the brightly lit sign on the overhang of the theater as she and Nick walked across the parking lot. “And look, they’re showing King Kong!” she laughed.

“Wow... haven’t seen that since I was a kid.”

“Yeah, it’s been awhile,” said Claire. “Well, there’s an 8:00 showing, and it’s like five till, so we better hurry.” She started to increase her pace and then stopped, apparently realizing who she was talking to and what had happened in the last parking lot they’d walked through. “On second thought,” she said with a sheepish grin, “let’s take our time.”

Nick snickered to hide his embarrassment while she matched her stride with his and walked alongside him to the door of the theater. Once again, she held it for him, but this time, he paid, buying two tickets for the 8:00 showing at the old-fashioned ticket booth.

The theater itself was almost completely empty, with the exception of an older man sitting all alone in the front row. He did not even turn around when Nick and Claire entered, and they quickly chose a couple of seats in the back, glad for the solitude.

“This place is cool,” Nick said, running his finger over the faded crimson velvet of his seat, drawing little designs in the material.

“I know. Some of my girlfriends and I came to see Gone With the Wind here once; it was so cool.”

“Chick flick,” muttered Nick, wrinkling his nose.

“No. Classic,” Claire corrected firmly.

Nick smirked. “Whatever.”

The lights in the theater began to dim, and the giant white screen went black and started to crackle as the film rolled. Nick was suddenly taken back to his youth, to late nights spent lying on the floor in front of the TV with his sister, watching black-and-white horror movie marathons into the wee hours of the morning.

As the movie progressed, he snickered, yet at the same time marveled at the primitive special effects, remembering how much more lifelike they had seemed to him as a little kid and understanding how impressive they must have been to the moviegoers of the nineteen thirties, people who had once sat in this very same theater when it was brand new. It was really quite a powerful experience, and he was glad Claire had suggested it.

Halfway through the movie, he stole a glance at her. Her eyes fixed on the screen, her lips slightly parted, she did not even notice. Her hand loosely gripped the armrest, and, smiling, he reached out and laid his hand ever so lightly on top of hers. At his touch, she flinched, turning to look at him in surprise. Flashing her an embarrassed smile, he quickly pulled his hand back and rested it on his lap, tugging nervously at his pants as he tried to focus on the movie again. But his attention was torn away again when he felt her hand snake over and grab his, blindly maneuvering it so that their fingers entwined. He looked over at her again, but her eyes were back on the movie, and she did not return the gaze. Studying her silhouette in the darkness, he noticed how her

lips turned up to form just a slight smile. Smiling himself, he settled back in his seat to watch the rest of the movie, his thumb running absently over her soft skin as the mighty Kong roared through the jungle onscreen.

Near the end of the film, as the massive gorilla took his famous last stand atop the Empire State Building, clutching his beloved, Nick felt Claire’s hand tighten around his. Smiling to himself, he squeezed back, and as the movie ended, glanced over at her again. He was startled to see tears glistening on her cheeks, illuminated by the light of the flickering screen.

“Are you crying?” he whispered through the darkness.

Sniffling, she turned to face him, a sheepish smile on her face. “It’s sad,” she said simply.

“Why, cause he died?”

“Yeah... and because he loved her. He wasn’t trying to hurt her... he was in love with her,” she whimpered, smiling tearfully.

Nick choked back a laugh. “He’s a gorilla!” he whispered loudly. “It’s a movie!” Dissolving into hushed snickers, he marveled at how strange the opposite sex could be.

How she could turn King Kong into some kind of tragic love story was beyond him.

“You’re laughing at me,” she said, playfully pushing his shoulder. “Quit it.”

“So stop being such a girl, sheesh!”

“I am a girl,” she said with a smirk. “Or maybe you didn’t realize.” Nick’s attention turned from the man in front row, who was now walking out of the theater, back to Claire. The credits of the movie were still showing, and the screen provided just enough light in the dark, empty theater for him to see her face. She was smiling, her eyes still sparkling with moisture, and all of a sudden, he felt his heart begin to pound with yearning.

Taking his hand out of hers, he gently reached out and touched her cheek, lightly brushing her tears away. Her hand rose to take hold of his, and slowly, she guided it down her face, to her lips. She pressed her lips to his fingers, kissing them tenderly and then slowly lowered them. But his heart was racing now, and his tingling fingers longed to touch her again. They went to her shoulder and crept around, his arm encircling her, gradually pulling her closer to him as he leaned forward, his head tipping to the side, his lips drifting toward hers as if there was a magnetic field between them, steadily drawing them nearer.

“I am a girl. Or maybe you didn’t realize.”

Oh, I’ve realized, Nick thought as their lips connected. You’re definitely a girl.

And then... Shit, he cursed mentally as the kiss intensified, I hope I don’t have pizza breath. But if he did, she didn’t seem to mind, her hands drifting up and around his neck as she kissed back. Entranced by what he had not experienced in a long time, he opened his mouth slightly and captured her bottom lip between his. He lightly ran his tongue across it, until her tongue found his and lured it into the sweet trove of her mouth.

What am I doing? a voice in the back of his mind questioned. This is Claire!

We’re just... just friends...

But he was only kidding himself. Hugging her closer, he continued to kiss her in a way that made it apparent they were not “just friends.” And he didn’t want to pull back, didn’t want to let go. His mind was telling him he was going too far, but it felt so right. It was not a lustful, passionate kiss, like the many he had shared with Leah. No,

this kiss was different, unlike any other he had experienced. Just like Claire was unlike any girl he had been with.

Finally, they pulled apart, both breathless, staring at each other with wide eyes.

The movie screen was blank now, and the lights were slowly coming up. Nick exhaled a shuddering breath.

“I... I guess we should go now.”

“Yeah,” Claire murmured, slowly standing up. The seat of her chair swung up, and she reached out her hands to Nick, helping him out of his seat. Silently, they left the theater and went out to his car.

The ride home was awkward, devoid of the free-flowing banter that had filled the car earlier, on the way to the restaurant. Staring out the passenger side window while Claire drove, Nick watched the lights of the city and let his mind wander. By the time they got back to his house, his brain felt like gelatin, and he was more than ready to call it a night. He was drained, physically and emotionally, and knew he had some thinking to do.

“I had a great time tonight,” Claire said softly, as they stood outside his front door, bathed in the soft glow radiating from his porch lights.

“Me too.” Leaning heavily on his crutches, Nick shifted his weight awkwardly, not sure what else to say or do.

“Well, um... I should get going. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah... see ya.”

Claire hesitated a moment, then leaned in, rose to her tip toes, and kissed his cheek. “Good night,” she whispered, smiling coyly.

“Night,” he echoed faintly, as she turned and walked down the steps. She gave him a little wave and then went to her car. As she drove away, flashing her lights once as a final goodbye, he went inside, unable to conceal the smile on his face.

“Heya, Nicky,” AJ called loudly when Nick entered the living room. “How was your night? Didja have fun with Claire?”

Avoiding his eyes, Nick shrugged. “Oh,” he said casually, faking a yawn to hide his smirk, “I guess you could say that.”

***

Chapter 119

For as eventful as Friday was, Nick’s weekend was quite the opposite. Claire went to Gainesville to visit her parents, so he did not see her all weekend, which was okay with him. He was almost nervous about seeing her again, the happenings of Friday refusing to leave his mind.

That kiss... he relived it mentally every time he thought of her, which was quite often. And every time he felt her soft lips against his, he was filled with a rapturous rush. But then, just as quickly, his stomach would flip-flop, and he’d feel almost sick, wondering if he’d been right to make a move on her. Sure, she’d been just as involved as he had been, but he couldn’t help but feel that if things didn’t work out, he would be to blame.

His life had been in such a stage of upheaval for the past few months that the last thing he wanted to do was complicate their friendship. The kiss would have consequences, he was sure. Something had to happen, didn’t it? They couldn’t just ignore it, pretend it hadn’t happened, could they? Deep down, he didn’t want to ignore it. He wanted to be with her. But now just didn’t seem like the right time to start a relationship.

On Tuesday, he would begin yet another leg of his journey through hell, chemotherapy. The first time around, he’d been scared. He was not scared anymore, just depressed. Chemotherapy was no longer the great unknown, but something that was familiar too him, all too familiar. He knew what it would be like and how it would make him feel, and he could do nothing but dread it.

His therapy session on Monday went well. Now that he was able to walk without crutches, most of the session had been spent simply walking laps around the therapy room under the supervision of Susan, practicing and getting better and faster at it.

Susan was impressed with the progress he had made and assured him that at this rate, he would probably have a permanent prosthesis, a more advanced leg designed especially for him, by the beginning of August.

All in all, Monday was a good day, but Nick’s spirits quickly sank that night and were no better when he woke up Tuesday morning. The day was humid and overcast, and the sky sporadically spit rain as Howie drove Nick to Tampa General, where he’d be receiving his treatments.

“This sucks,” muttered Nick, gazing out his window into the foggy distance.

“I know,” Howie said quietly as he turned the car into the parking area marked

“Visitor and Outpatient Parking.” He let Nick off near the entrance of the hospital and told him to wait inside while he parked the car. Nervously tugging his baseball cap down, Nick cast a wary glance around him and walked slowly into the large lobby of the hospital. Luckily, there were not many people about, and those who were seemed too occupied with their own situations to notice him.

When Howie got there, he and Nick set off for the elevators to ride up to the oncology wing. The walk was slow, for Nick had opted to go without crutches and walk solely on his prosthesis instead. Yet Howie had made sure to fold up the wheelchair they had rented and store it in the trunk, just in case. And as much as Nick hated to admit it, he knew there was a good chance he might have to rely on that wheelchair by the time this chemotherapy treatment was done, if he ended up as sick afterward as he had following all the other rounds of chemo.

On the fifth floor, Nick took Howie along the familiar route to the outpatient clinic where he had been for so many appointments in the last year. Brian had been there once, but Howie never had.

“I dunno exactly how long this is gonna take, but I heard it could be a few hours,” Nick remarked as he and Howie sat down in the waiting room. “So you don’t gotta sit here and wait for me the whole time if you don’t want to, dawg.”

“Well, what else would I do?” Howie asked, glancing observantly around the room.

“I dunno. There’s supposedly an ice cream place downstairs,” Nick said with a shrug.

“Yeah? Well, I might have to go check that out,” replied Howie, smiling slightly.

He was silent for a moment and then added hesitantly, “Um, I guess they probably won’t let me come back with you then?”

Nick shrugged again. “Dunno. They let Brian come back for my check-up once, but that was different. I dunno what the policy is for getting chemo like this.” Howie nodded. “Well, let me know if you want me to come with you, and I’d be more than happy to – if they’d let me, that is.”

Nick opened his mouth to protest, but changed his mind before the words came out. “Okay,” he said softly instead, thinking it might be sort of nice to have someone sit with him during the treatment.

After a short wait, a nurse named Kathy came out and called Nick back. “Do you mind if my friend comes with?” he asked her, nodding to Howie.

“Oh sure, that’s fine,” replied Kathy. “Come on back.” She led Nick and Howie to one of the examining rooms in the back of the clinic, where she measured Nick’s height and weight, took his vital signs, and drew some blood. “Dr. Kingsbury will be in to see you in a few minutes before you head down to the chemo room for your treatment,” Kathy said when she had finished.

Dr. Kingsbury was quick to arrive that day, making it to the room just a few minutes after Kathy had left. She smiled broadly when she saw Nick, and he watched her eyes travel down to his left leg, which looked perfectly normal hidden beneath his baggy track pants. Surveying it, she nodded, her eyes rising to meet Nick’s. “Looking good,” she said, flashing him a quick thumbs up. “And word is you’re already walking on it without crutches or a cane or anything?”

Nick felt a rush of pride and couldn’t help but smile a little. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s hard, but... you know... I’m getting there.”

“I knew you would,” said Dr. Kingsbury, squeezing his shoulder. “And it’s only been, what, about a month and a half?”

“Little over a month and a half, yeah,” he nodded.

“That’s what I thought. Impressive, Nick, very impressive. I knew we wouldn’t be able to keep you down for long.”

“Oh, you still can,” he countered pessimistically. “I’m sure the chemo’s going to knock me right back down on my ass – sorry, butt – again.”

“You’ll get through it,” Dr. Kingsbury assured him. “Think of this as the last leg of a race. The end is in sight, you’re almost to the finish line, and all you have to do is get past this last stretch. Ever run track in high school?” she added with a smile.

“Nope. Didn’t go to high school,” replied Nick.

“Oh...”

“I was tutored.”

“Ohh. Well, of course,” said the doctor with a little laugh.

Nick sighed. “Yeah, Howie here and Kevin are the only ones who made it through high school in a regular school.”

“Howie, that’s right,” Dr. Kingsbury said, turning her attention to Howie and shaking his hand. “I think we’ve met before.”

“Yes,” said Howie, pumping her arm. “Um, I don’t know what your policy is here, but would it be possible for me to stay with Nick while he gets the chemo?” Dr. Kingsbury nodded. “Sure. We don’t like to have a lot of extra people in the chemo room, but one visitor would be fine. It’s always good to have family and friends involved in the treatment process.”

Howie smiled. “Well, Nicky’s definitely got his friends. And as for family... well...

the guys and I are close enough to be family.”

“Closer than my own family,” added Nick, pasting a fake smile on his face.

“You’ve met my mom.”

“Uh... yes, we’ve met,” Dr. Kingsbury said hesitantly.

“Yeah. ‘Nuff said.”

The doctor smiled rather uncomfortably and proceeded to change the subject.

“Okay, so, Nick,” she began, pulling up a stool on wheels and sitting down, folding her hands in her lap, “I’m just going to examine you briefly, and then I’ll explain what’s going to happen with the chemotherapy. After that, a nurse will take you down to the chemo room and get you set up there. Sound okay?”

“I guess,” replied Nick. Really, what else was he supposed to say?

***

“You know,” Nick said contemplatively, “this is where Claire and I first met.” Howie’s eyes traveled in a sweeping circle around the pale yellow chemotherapy room. “Really,” he said. “That’s romantic.”

Nick snorted. “Yeah, for su- Hey! What do you mean ‘romantic’? Why would it matter if it was romantic or not?” he asked defensively, feeling his cheeks grow warm.

Howie grinned at him. “Oh, come on, Nicky... something happened with you two on Friday night. AJ and I both know it – you blushed like a little schoolgirl any time one of us mentioned her name all weekend.”

“Nuh-uh!”

“You did too! Not to mention, you were all ‘who was it??’ whenever the phone rang. Since when do you care about getting phone calls? You’ve been avoiding that thing like the plague for weeks!”

Not knowing quite what to say back to that, Nick pressed his lips together tightly, shook his head, and looked away, pretending to be deeply interested in watching the toxic chemicals leak from the bag hanging on the IV pole beside his chair to the thin tubing that snaked into a vein on the inside of his left arm.

“How are you doing, Nick?”

Tearing his gaze away from the IV, Nick looked up to find that the nurse in charge of monitoring his treatment, Laureen, had come up.

“Okay,” he answered honestly. The drugs had burned a little when they had first started dripping into his vein, but everything felt fine now, and he wasn’t even

nauseated yet. Of course, it had only been about ten minutes, and he knew the side effects would start setting in sooner or later.

“Good,” said Laureen. “Call if you need anything.”

She passed by him and went to check the only other patient in the room, a frail-looking elderly man, and Howie leaned forward. “So, tell me, Nicky... what did happen on Friday night?” He had the air of a seventh grade girl just itching to hear the latest batch of junior high gossip, and Nick couldn’t help but laugh.

“Nothing!” he insisted.

“Right. Nothing,” said Howie, winking.

“Shut up,” Nick muttered, growing slightly irritated. He really didn’t feel like confessing to Howie that he and Claire had kissed because although Howie probably wouldn’t give him too much crap about it, he would almost certainly tell AJ, and if AJ

knew, the jokes would never end. Nick wasn’t about to talk to anyone about what had happened until he talked to Claire about it, which had not happened yet. “Hey, can you grab that newspaper over there?” he asked Howie, changing the subject.

“Sure.” Getting up from his seat, Howie retrieved a rather crinkled newspaper from a table piled with magazines and brought it over to Nick. “It’s two days old,” he pointed out, looking at the date.

“That’s okay,” said Nick, thumbing through the paper and pretending to be interested.

“Since when do you care about current events?”

“I care! Gotta keep myself informed, you know.”

Howie stifled a laugh. “Yeah. Right.”

Ignoring him, Nick glossed over the obituaries, remembering how as a child he had liked to read them, his morbid curiosity only heightened by living in a retirement home. Death was no longer an innocent fascination to him now though; instead, it was a fear that hit too close to home. Death did not just happen to old people; it could snatch away anyone, even young people with decades of life left to live. So he quickly turned the page to a much less depressing section, the birth announcements.

He smiled at the black and white pictures of newborns that graced the page and was about to flip on when a name caught his eye. His heart skipping a beat, he leaned forward to look more closely and felt an empty, sinking feeling as he read one of the announcements.

David Hammond and Leah Gaylers of Tampa are announcing the birth of their first child, a daughter, Elaina Jesimae Hammond, on April 13, 2004 at Tampa General Hospital. She weighed 7 pounds, 3 ounces and measured 19 inches at her 6:06 pm birth. Grandparents are Arthur and Joan Hammond of Tampa, and Ed and Lori Gaylers of Ruskin.

“Elaina,” Nick whispered under his breath, staring at the small, blurry photograph of an infant baby girl pictured beside the brief announcement. Leah’s baby.

His baby, he’d once thought.

“But just wait till our baby comes. Elaina...” Whispering the potential name, Leah rested her hand on her stomach beneath the covers.

“Terra,” Nick countered playfully.

“Cassandra.”

“Lara.”

She reached out and slapped him lightly in the darkness. “I told you, we’re not naming her after Lara Cr-“ But her sentence was cut off by a sudden gasp.

“Leah? What is it?” Nick asked, rolling to face her. “Are you-“

“Nicky!” she whispered. “Feel!” He felt her hand grab his underneath the covers and guide it to her stomach. He laid it there and felt her hand come to rest on top of his.

“What am I feeling for?” he whispered back.

“She kicked! Just wait a minute, maybe she’ll do it again.” He waited, holding his breath, his fingertips tingling in anticipation. And then, it happened. He felt movement from inside Leah’s belly, two jerky palpitations. “Oh my God,” he breathed. “She is kicking!”

“Nick? What is it?” Howie’s voice made the memory fade away, and Nick shook his head.

“That’s her,” he said softly, holding out the paper to Howie and pointing at the picture. “Leah’s baby. Elaina...”

“Oh.” Howie pursed his lips, studying the picture. “Did you know she’d had the baby?”

“Nope. She had it in this hospital though... while I was here...” he murmured, almost wistfully, reminiscing on happier times.

“Are you okay?” Howie asked, gently touching Nick’s shoulder. “I know it’s gotta be hard, man...”

Nick shrugged away. “I’m fine,” he replied curtly.

But it would not be long until he was not fine, not at all. When he left the clinic later that day, it was slumped in a wheelchair, barely able to control his nausea, let alone walk.

“Hold on, Nicky,” Howie kept saying on the ride home. “We’re almost there.” But as he leaned his head against the cool glass of the car window and shut his eyes, all Nick could think was, here we go again...

***

Chapter 120

Nick wanted to die. Lying in a miserable heap on the hard, cold bathroom floor, he really did wish for a pipe to burst and flood the bathroom, drowning him and putting him out of his misery. Or maybe he could just get Howie or AJ to shoot him. Too bad none of them owned a gun.

The after-effects of the chemo were just the same as he remembered them. He was back to being constantly nauseous and too weak to move, other than making it to the toilet in time to throw up.

Only in many ways, it was worse than when he had been on chemo before.

Before, he could collapse into bed and get up to throw up as needed. But that was just not possible anymore. Even if he could somehow make it into the bathroom on time on his prosthesis, getting down to his knees was a whole different story.

And so, as soon as Howie had gotten him home from the hospital, he’d gone straight to the bathroom and stayed there. Howie bustled in and out, taking care of him, while AJ huddled outside, grossed out by the sounds and smells and afraid to come in.

Nick didn’t blame him.

“Nicky?” Howie’s gentle voice caused Nick to open his eyes and look up at his friend. Howie was leaning over him, holding out a bottle of water. “Here, Nicky, sip this.”

Nick shook his head weakly. “It’ll just come up again,” he moaned.

“You’re going to get dehydrated if you keep throwing up like this. Please try and drink some water. Okay?” Pleadingly, Howie uncapped the bottle and held it closer.

“Fine,” Nick mumbled, reading for the bottle and tipping it to his dry lips. The water was cool and felt good in his parched mouth, and he gratefully took a few swallows, relieved to wash away some of the nasty taste of vomit on his tongue. But as soon as the cold water hit his stomach, it wreaked havoc on his system, and he found himself grabbing hold of the toilet seat and trying to haul himself up again. Howie helped, taking hold of him under the arms and lifting him to his knees. Leaning heavily on the toilet, Nick retched violently, expelling nothing but stomach acid. Dutifully, Howie rubbed his back and eased him back to the floor when he had finished.

“Here, Nicky,” he whispered, gently wiping his face with a cool, wet washcloth.

“I’ll be right back, okay?”

Weakly, Nick nodded, closing his eyes and letting his head fall limply to rest on one of his arms. He could hear Howie conversing softly with AJ outside the bathroom and found that if he held perfectly still (which was not hard, since even the slightest movement could set off another fit of nausea) and listened, he could catch most of the muffled conversation.

“You all right, J?” Howie was asking.

AJ laughed weakly. “Me? I’m not the one you should be asking that question.”

“AJ...”

“What?” There was a pause, and then AJ continued, “Okay, honestly... no, I’m not all right. God, Howie... I dunno if I can handle this, watching him get so sick... okay, hearing him get so sick... ugh... I’m a horrible person, aren’t I? I should be in there right now, taking care of him, and I... I just... can’t do it. I can’t stand it, Howie! So I just fucking hide out here and listen to him puke his guts out instead. I’m a fucking shitty friend.”

“AJ, no you’re not,” Howie insisted firmly. “You’re here now, aren’t you? A bad friend wouldn’t have given up his life to move in and take care of Nick. Look, this is hard on all of us, and I know you hate seeing him like that. It doesn’t mean you’re a horrible person; it just shows that you care. And I know you’re not so keen on, uh...

certain aspects of this... but that’s okay... I can handle this part of it. Just having you here is a help, to him and to me.”

AJ sighed. “Should he be getting this sick though? I mean, I know the shit made him barf and stuff before, but God... was it this bad? How is this supposed to be helping him? Throwing up that much can’t be healthy. And what do they expect him to do, just spent the night on the bathroom floor? D, this is fucking torture!”

“I don’t know, AJ, I don’t know. We just have to trust his doctor, I guess. She knows what she’s doing.”

“Does she?” AJ fired back. “Jesus Christ, she hasn’t gotten it right yet, has she?

First she poisoned him with that chemotherapy crap, which obviously didn’t work because the cancer came back anyway, so then she nuked him with radiation or whatever, and that didn’t work either, so she amputated his goddamn leg! And now she’s giving him more chemo! And for what reason?”

“To make sure the cancer hasn’t spread and kill it off before it can do damage if it has spread,” Howie answered. “Come on, AJ, this was explained to us. And keep your voice down, or he’ll hear us!”

Too late, Nick thought in misery as he lay limply on the floor. Neither one seemed to realize how much their voices carried in his house.

“-we should call someone?” AJ was now asking. “I mean, seriously, D, I want to know if this is normal.”

“The nurse at the hospital said he would experience some nausea. She gave him some drugs to help control it before he even got the chemo, but I guess they’re not really working too well...”

“Yeah, no shit,” scoffed AJ. “Seriously, I think this is more than just ‘some nausea’. These medical quacks must not know a damn thing about what it’s really like to go through this shit.”

“Maybe we could call Claire?” Howie suggested. “I mean, she might know what to do... she’s been through this, after all.”

“Yeah, that’s true. Good idea, D, I’ll go give her a call and find out.” No! Nick’s mind screamed, and he struggled to get up. “Wait!” he called weakly,

“don’t-“ But before he could finish his sentence, his stomach lurched, and he dragged himself to the toilet instead of the door, vomiting into it yet again. A few seconds later, Howie was back in the room and at his side once more. By the time Nick was finished, he felt too weak to even acknowledge the fact that he’d heard their conversation and protest to calling Claire. What the fuck did it matter anyway? It wasn’t like he had much dignity left to preserve.

But when he heard the doorbell ring half an hour later and Claire’s concerned voice blending with AJ’s as they approached the bathroom, Nick found himself wanting to sink right through the floor and disappear. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen him at his worst before – quite the contrary, in fact. They’d been through chemo together, and she’d been at his side from two days post-op onward. Yes, she’d definitely seen him at his worst. But still, that had been before... well, before Friday. Things were different now.

The bathroom door swung open, and Nick was still blatantly visible, lying there on the floor. Looking up, he found Claire standing in the doorway. Offering her a thin, pitiful smile, he struggled to sit up, leaning weakly against the wall and stretching his legs out in front of him.

“Oh, Nick,” Claire said softly, coming into the room and squatting down beside him. She sighed as she surveyed him. “Well, this just sucks, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he whispered hoarsely.

“How about we get you into bed? I’m sure that would be better than lying on the bathroom floor, huh?”

“But what if I-“

“Howie!” Claire called, drowning out the rest of his sentence. “Hey, Howie!”’

“Yeah?” Howie appeared in the doorway.

“Tell AJ to go find a big bowl and then come back here. Nick’s going to go to bed.”

“A bowl?” Nick moaned. “I don’t wanna puke in a bowl.”

“Why not? And you can’t possibly have much left to puke up anyway. It’ll be fine; AJ can wash it out for you,” she said with a snicker.

“Yeah, right.”

Howie came back and looked from Claire to Nick. “Do you think you can walk if we help you, Nicky?” he asked anxiously.

“Yes,” Nick said firmly. Squatting on either side of him, Howie and Claire each slid an arm under his and steadily helped him rise from his floor. Once on his feet, he wavered, his good knee shaking. Holding on to him, Howie and Claire waited until he had gotten his balance, and then, very slowly, the threesome walked out of the bathroom and into the guest bedroom where Nick slept.

The queen size bed had never looked so inviting, and Nick sank down onto it in relief. He took off his prosthesis, for it was bulky and uncomfortable to wear in bed.

Then, lying back, he snuggled beneath the covers, cold from sprawling out on the chilly bathroom tiles.

AJ crept rather timidly into the room. “Um, here’s this, if you... if you need it, Nick,” he said, holding out a giant stainless steel bowl.

“Thanks, J. You can just set it on the nightstand; I think it’s passing,” replied Nick.

“Oh. Good.” Managing a smile, AJ plopped something small and bright next to Nick’s pillow. “Polly wants to keep you company.”

Nick cracked a smile at the sight of the stuffed parrot. “Yay,” he said dully.

“Just don’t barf on her, matey, or ye’ll be walkin’ the plank for sure!” Nick rolled his eyes. “I’ll try not to.”

Smiling, AJ ruffled his hair. “Get some sleep, dude, if you can. I’m gonna go chill in the living room, okay? Claire, are you gonna hang here?” Nick couldn’t help but notice the pleading look AJ gave her.

“Sure,” Claire replied quickly. “If Nick wants me to, that is.” She arched a questioning eyebrow at Nick.

“You can stay. Unless you have to leave or something...”

“Nope. I had the day off work today, so I don’t have to be anywhere.”

“Ugh, you’re wasting your day off watching me throw up? You need to get a life, Claire,” he muttered, winking quickly at her.

“Oh yeah? Well, maybe I’ll just leave if you’re going to be mean to me,” she retorted, acting as if she was going to walk right out the door. She didn’t, of course.

“Are you all set, Nicky?” Howie asked. “Need anything?”

“No, I’m good, D, thanks,” replied Nick.

“Okay. J and I will be in the other room then.” With that, the two men left, closing the door behind them.

Nick glanced at Claire, who stood at the foot of the bed, hugging her arms to her chest. “You can sit down,” he said. “Or lie down, whatever.” Smiling, Claire went around to the other side of the bed and carefully climbed onto it, being careful not to jostle him as she positioned herself beside him. “Are you feeling any better?” she asked softly as she lightly ran her fingernails up and down the back of his neck, causing the hairs to stand on end.

“A little,” he answered. He was still queasy, but at least he wasn’t constantly dry heaving.

“Good. You know, maybe it’ll be better this time around. The first time can always be really tough, but hopefully your body will get used to it, and you won’t get so sick after every treatment.”

“I wish,” he sighed. “And I wish I could be as optimistic as you.”

“Don’t worry about trying to be optimistic, especially around me. I know how you feel. It’s a lot easier to be optimistic once you’ve gotten through it, trust me.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

“So one day you’ll be able to be optimistic too.”

“Yeah... if I get through this,” he sighed.

She leaned in close, and he could feel her warm breath on the back of his neck as she whispered, “You will, Nick. You will.”

***

Chapter 121

Claire had been right about one thing – as the chemo treatments continued, Nick stopped getting so violently ill afterward. There was always some nausea, and sometimes he would throw up once or twice, but never as bad as he had that first day.

Maybe his body was getting used to it, as Claire had suggested, or maybe the regime of drugs just wasn’t as potent as it had been during his last course of chemotherapy.

Whatever the reason, he was glad.

There were, however, other symptoms. For one thing, he was tired and fatigued all the time, which was definitely putting a damper on his physical therapy sessions. He still had them three times a week, and he was making progress, becoming steadier and speedier on his prosthesis, but the rate of improvement had definitely slowed. On top of that, the canker sores that had bothered him before were back, and oddly enough, his sense of taste was messed up too. It seemed that half the food he did manage to eat when he was not sick to his stomach tasted funny. Some things tasted like metal, and others were just so gross he could not bear to choke them down.

“Yeah, that’s normal,” Claire said as he was explaining this to her one Saturday afternoon. “I remember it was like that for me my first time on chemo. I practically lived off of milkshakes, I’m telling you... those were like the only thing that tasted right.

You can make them out of SlimFast or the Carnation kind or something, and then you can get nutrition from them too.”

“Hey, we should try that,” said Howie, looking at Nick. “AJ or I could run to the store later and pick up some of that Carnation instant stuff.”

“Sure, whatever,” replied Nick. “J, it’s your turn, dude, go.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” AJ remarked, picking up the pair of dice and shaking them around in his fist. “FUCK!” he cried as he rolled them. “Damnit, D, how the hell did you get Boardwalk and Park Place, and how the hell do I keep landing on them?”

“I don’t know, but thanks to you, I’m going to be able to buy another house for each of them,” Howie said with glee as AJ grudgingly shoved a wad of pastel bills into his hand.

“You suck,” grumbled AJ, as Claire swiped the dice from the middle of the game board to take her turn.

Claire had come over that afternoon following Nick’s chemo treatment in the morning, and they had decided to play Monopoly to pass the time. Nick had gone straight to bed, as he usually did, so they had set up there, and now Claire, Howie, and AJ were all squished onto the large bed with the game board in the center. It jostled every time one of them moved, sending houses and hotels scattering, so maybe it wasn’t the most practical setup, but none of them really cared. It looked like the game was going to be over soon anyway, with AJ almost bankrupt, Howie and Claire owning most of the board, and Nick somewhere in between.

“Your turn, Nick,” said Claire, handing him the dice. “And you’re approaching the Dorough Dominion of Doom, so look out.”

“Dorough Do-what?”

“Boardwalk and Park Place, dumbass,” AJ said, grabbing Nick’s foot through the covers. Nick squirmed and kicked involuntarily beneath the covers, accidentally kneeing Claire and upsetting the board once again. “Oh, good going, Carter!”

“You tickled my foot!”

“I didn’t know you were ticklish,” said Claire with an amused smile.

“Yeah, well isn’t everybody? On the bottom of their feet, I mean?” She shrugged. “I’m not. Not really. But I guess my feet are kind of tough and gross from going around barefoot all the time,” she added, practically thrusting one of her bare feet into his face. “See?”

“Ew, get that thing away from me, it smells!” Nick exclaimed, swatting her foot away.

“Hey, are we gonna finish this game?” asked Howie. “Come on, Nick, roll.”

“I don’t wanna roll now that I’m approaching the Dorough Domination of Death!”

“Dominion of- oh whatever, just go!”

Nick gave the dice a hearty shake and let them fall onto the game board.

Frowning, he plucked up his silver playing piece – the boat, naturally – and moved it around the board, counting off the numbers on the dice under his breath. “8... oh no...

9... 10. Aww, shit.”

“Haha, pay up, buddy!” Howie extended his hand again as Nick slammed his boat down onto the Boardwalk square.

“Are you sure I counted right?” he asked pleadingly, eyeing the square he had started on.

“You sure did. $1400, please.”

“Fourteen hundred?! Well, damn, I lose. Here.” With a huff, Nick tossed his meager pile of Monopoly money in Howie’s direction while AJ cackled victoriously, apparently pleased to have come in only second-to-last place as opposed to dead last.

“You think this game is about over?” Claire asked, glancing across the board at Howie. “I say you win.”

“I say that sounds good,” agreed Howie.

“Yeah, well, winner picks up!” AJ announced, sliding off the end of the bed. “I’m gonna go grab an O’Doules. Want one, Nickster?”

“Sure. Claire?”

“Uh... do you have any real beer in the house? Like the alcoholic kind?” Howie laughed. “That’s my girl! We’ve got Bud Light too, will that work?”

“Yeah, that’d be great!”

AJ and Howie went to grab beers, which left Claire and Nick to pick up the game.

“Wow, is it really almost five o’clock?” Nick asked, noticing his alarm clock.

“Yeah. Monopoly takes forever,” said Claire as she sorted money.

“I know. So... are you gonna hang around or what? You don’t have to, you know,” he added quickly. “I mean, it’s a Saturday night and all... you should be out having fun, not sitting around with me.”

“What, we’re not having fun?” she asked, folding the game board and laying it in the box.

Nick gave her a look. “You know what I mean. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to stay here and keep me occupied.”

“Hey, it’s no problem. I mean, unless you don’t want me to stay and are just dropping hints to get me to leave.” She grinned teasingly, and he returned the smile.

“No way,” he replied. “But, I just...”

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t have anything better to do, and besides, you once hauled your ass all the way back from New York to come see me in the hospital. I owe

ya.” She winked, probably expecting him to reply with some sarcastic comeback, but instead, he only began to feel guilty.

“That was different. You don’t owe me anything, Claire. Seriously, just cause I’m having a lame, boring Saturday night doesn’t mean you have to too.”

“Hey, who said anything about lame and boring?” AJ said loudly as he and Howie strolled back into the room. He handed Nick a non-alcoholic beer and then popped the top on his own, taking a long swig. “The party’s just getting started, baby!” he exclaimed, smacking his lips.

Howie rolled his eyes. “So what’s next on the agenda?” he asked, passing Claire a Bud Light. “How are you feeling, Nick?”

“Okay,” said Nick, taking a sip of his beer and wishing he could drink the alcoholic kind. He would love to get nice and plastered right about now. Of course, then he’d probably end up praying to the porcelain gods all night again, and he’d already had his share of bathroom worship. He’d learned the hard way a long time ago – drinking and chemo did not mix.

“You wanna watch a movie?” suggested Howie, and the others nodded in agreement.

“Claire,” said Nick, “you’re the lady; you pick the movie.”

“Lady?” scoffed Claire. “Okay... did you guys get The Matrix: Revolutions DVD?”

“Yeah,” said Nick. “Wanna watch that?”

“Yeah! I haven’t seen it since it came out in theaters, and I’m too poor to buy the DVD right now.”

“Well, I’ll know what to get you for your birthday then, huh?” Nick said with a wink. “Hey, when the hell is your birthday anyway?”

“March fifteenth. Sorry, buddy, you missed it,” she said with a smirk.

“Really? Shit, how’d I miss it? You should have told me!”

“Uh, I don’t think we were speaking then actually.”

“Oh... right.” Nick smiled awkwardly. “Well... I can buy it for you for Christmas then.”

She snorted. “Christmas? I’m sure I’ll have saved up enough to afford it by Christmas. At least, I would hope so! But I don’t know; they are cutting my hours...”

“They’re cutting your hours? How come?”

“Eh, they hired a new dentist. Young guy, fresh out of dental school. And so, since we’ll be able to handle more patients with two dentists instead of one, they went and hired a couple new hygienists too, and... yeah, basically those of us that worked there already are getting our hours cut,” she explained, rolling her eyes.

“Ah... I see,” said Nick, even though he really didn’t understand what an inconvenience it might be to get your hours cut. After all, he’d never had a job that fit the typical definition of the word “job.” Singing was the only “job” he’d ever had, and it was a career very unlike the ones most people pursued.

“Um, excuse me, people, can we cut the chit-chat here?” AJ lisped in some random impression, pointing at the large TV screen. “The movie’s ready.”

“Hit the lights, Howie,” Nick commanded, scooting down further in bed and lying back against his pillows. “And y’all gonna have to move cause I can’t see.” AJ shot Nick a disdainful look from his perch on the foot of the bed. “Well, for sure, your majesty. I’ll get right on that.”

“No, get off,” Nick corrected, attempting to kick AJ, which didn’t really work out too well considering his foot was trapped beneath his covers.

“You heard him – move,” said Claire, giving AJ a playful shove. AJ toppled off the bed, arms flailing exaggeratedly, and landed on the floor, which he apparently decided was good enough for him, for he sat there, his back pressed against the foot of the bed. After turning off the lights, Howie joined him on the floor, while Claire crawled up toward the head of the bed. “You move too,” she whispered loudly. “Scooch over.” Obediently, though with some effort, Nick managed to scoot himself over to the left side of the bed so that she could occupy the right. He stretched his arm out invitingly, and without a word, she lay down beside him, letting his arm come around her.

Lightly running his fingertips up and down her arm, he was again taken back to that night in the movie theater, when he’d held her close and kissed her. Part of him wanted to kiss her again, but he didn’t dare. That first kiss had still not been brought up, and until some things had been discussed, their relationship had to remain strictly platonic. Things in his life were complicated enough as it was; he wasn’t about to make a move on her again and ruin the friendship they had. He couldn’t bear the thought of being separated from her again. He needed her.

Then again, maybe he was being selfish. Here it was a Saturday evening, just after five, and she was stuck watching a movie here with him. If his life had been normal, he would have been out on the town with his friends. She had gone through so much, months of chemotherapy, weeks of isolation and hospitalization... and now that she was healthy and back to normal, she should be out doing the things she hadn’t been able to do a year ago. She should be out enjoying the second chance at life she’d been given, not sharing in his misery.

He recalled how she’d urged him to go ahead to Los Angeles to finish the Backstreet Boys album while she’d been recovering from her transplant. Shouldn’t be urging her to do the same? Not go to LA and record an album, exactly, but just to go out and live her life? She had been at his house pretty much every day since he’d come home from the hospital, and though he always looked forward to her visits, he knew she was spending most of her time either working or with him, and it just wasn’t fair to her.

Maybe it was time to cut her loose, to let her go.

Wasn’t there some saying about that? If you love it, let it go... if it comes back, it was meant to be.

Maybe that was what needed to happen with him and Claire. The last thing he wanted was for her to start to resent him. Maybe he should be separated from her, at least until he was fully rehabilitated and healthy again and could give her what she needed.

“Nick, are you watching? You’re spacing out on me,” Claire said softly, nudging him in the side.

“Huh? Oh, sorry.” Quickly forcing himself to pay attention to the action of the movie, Nick came to one conclusion.

Maybe he just thought too much.

***

Chapter 122

Nick awoke to a screaming AC/DC song blaring in his ears. With a moan, he reached out and slapped blindly at his clock radio, finally managing to shut off his alarm. Savoring the sudden silence, he blinked sleepily and, disoriented, tried to remember what day it was. Yesterday had been a chemo day, he knew that much.

Those fun hours of feeling like he was constantly seasick were never hard to forget. So that would make today... Wednesday? Yes, Wednesday. It was a physical therapy day then. Which was why his alarm had gone off and woken him up.

Satisfied with this knowledge, Nick decided he should probably get out of bed.

He forced himself to sit up and was immediately met by a flood of dizziness. Putting his hands behind him to support himself, he closed his eyes and waited for it to pass. He was growing used to the dizzy spells, for they had been happening on and off for over a week now. Most likely just another pleasant side effect of the chemotherapy. He wasn’t too concerned.

Opening his eyes to find that the room had stopped spinning, Nick gradually scooted to the edge of the bed and swung his leg over the side. He sat there for a moment, working up to the point of actually standing up. He stifled a tired yawn and absently raked his hand through his flattened hair. Something didn’t feel quite right, and when he held up his hand, he saw why. Woven between his fingers were numerous strands of his dark blonde hair. His heart sinking, his hand drifted back to his head, and he halfheartedly pulled on a thin lock of hair. Resisting only a little, it slid out in his hand.

“Shit,” he whispered, staring at the hair in his hand. Curling his lip in repulsion, he gave the hand a shake and watched the thin strands of hair float to the floor. Then he flopped roughly backward so that he was lying flat on his back once more, staring at the ceiling. His eyes began to burn as unexpected tears welled up, and he blinked furiously.

Why was he getting so upset? He had known this would probably happen, just as it had before. Nothing new there. Still, it bothered him, and when he finally sat back up and caught sight of his pillow, which was strewn with stray hairs that had come out during his restless sleep, he could not stop the tears from falling.

“You loser,” he muttered in a choked voice, disgusted with himself, vaguely remembering how he had broken down and cried the first time this had happened as well. Déjà vu. He thought of the movie Groundhog Day, where the same day kept happening over and over again. Was this what his life had become, an endless cycle of misery that just kept repeating itself? What, was he going to go to the doctor next week to find that the cancer had somehow spread to his other leg?

Groaning, Nick forced himself to stand up, hastily grabbing his crutches from where they were propped up beside his bed. Tucking them under his arms, he limped into the bathroom, letting the door swing closed behind him. Setting the crutches aside and leaning heavily on the counter, he turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face. As the water dripped down his cheeks, he met his own eyes in the mirror and critically studied his reflection. His skin was ghostly pale, and his haggard appearance, only accented by the dark bags that hung under his red-rimmed eyes, made him look like a drug addict. Well, no matter; once his hair fell out, he’d look like what he really was – a cancer patient.

Backing up on his crutches, he turned to catch a glimpse of himself in the full-

length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. Turning to face the mirror, he stared at himself with increasing aversion, detesting himself and the way he looked. The man in the mirror was anything but the teen idol and heartthrob he had once been, the Nick Carter whose smiling face had graced the covers of all the hottest teen magazines just a few years earlier, at the height of success. No, the man in the mirror was someone entirely different, a mere shadow of the old Nick Carter, the charred ruins of his former self.

His eyes traveled slowly, loathingly, down his mirror image. He looked like hell, but of course it wasn't his wan and disheveled appearance that bothered him. What caught his eye, as it always did, was the pinned-up left leg of his baggy pajama bottoms, which hid his stump, but did not hide the fact that he was missing most of his leg. That he was disfigured, damaged, flawed. No longer Mr. Perfect Backstreet Boy, no angel, not even an ordinary man.

He was a freak.

Feeling his blood pressure rise as he gazed upon his own reflection in hatred, he let out an animalistic cry and heaved one of his crutches at the mirror. Seemingly in slow motion, he watched the metal crutch strike the glass, which shattered on impact, sending a waterfall of shards flying. Instinctively, his right hand flew to cover his face, while he clutched to his remaining crutch with the left, struggling to keep from falling over. In a matter of seconds, though, he inevitably found himself in a twisted heap on the floor, his crutches scattered amid a carpet of broken glass.

Looking first at the glittering floor and then up to the empty frame of the fractured mirror, to which only a few large pieces of glass clung, he surveyed the damage he had done with the air of an innocent onlooker. Then, letting his eyes fall again, he stared at the floor once more, sitting numb and unmoving, with the exception of his heaving chest.

He did not even realize he was bleeding until he noticed the floor turning red with the warm, sticky blood that flowed freely from a deep cut on the inside of his right wrist.

Holding his arm up, he gazed blankly at the wound for a moment, then let it limply fall.

It was bleeding all over his leg now, staining his pants, but he hardly noticed and certainly did not care.

Others cared though, and they came running with the sound of the crash.

“Nicky?!” Howie called, flinging the door open and sending another piece of the fragile mirror to splinter against the ceramic floor. “Oh my gosh! Nick! What happened?!” Nick looked up guiltily at Howie’s wide-eyed face. “I broke the mirror,” he mumbled.

“What? What happened?” AJ’s face appeared over Howie’s shoulder as he tried to see into the bathroom.

“He broke the- Nick, you’re bleeding!” Dashing into the room, the glass crunching beneath his shoes, Howie squatted beside Nick. “Let me see,” he said, gingerly picking up Nick’s wrist and inspecting the cut. He drew in a breath and said shakily, “AJ, get a towel.” AJ nodded and started to step into the room when Howie gasped and cried, “No, not without shoes! Forget it, I’ll get one.” While AJ ran off to get some shoes, Howie jumped up and dug a hand towel out of one of the cabinets. He wrapped it tightly around Nick’s wrist and pressed it down hard. “What happened, Nicky?” he asked again, quietly this time.

“I told you. I broke the mirror,” Nick said lamely. “My bad.”

“No, Nick... what happened? Why did you break the mirror?” Nick shrugged. “I dunno,” he muttered. The last thing he was about to do was tell Howie that he hated himself and have to endure some motivational speech on self-esteem.

Howie sighed and looked away, shaking his head in exasperation. Luckily AJ

came back just in time to break up the awkward silence.

“Damn, Kaos,” he muttered, crunching his way into the bathroom and closing the door to inspect the broken mirror. “What did the mirror ever do to you?” It wasn’t the mirror; it was what was in the mirror, Nick thought, but decided against voicing that. It was the kind of response that would elicit that whole self-esteem spiel. So he just kept quiet until he heard AJ gasp.

“Shit, you’re bleeding a lot!”

Startled, Nick looked down to see that the blood was seeping through the folded over hand towel, staining the pale green terrycloth dark reddish brown.

“It’s not stopping,” said Howie. Glancing up at AJ for counsel, he added, “It looked like a pretty deep cut. Do you think he needs stitches?” Staring at the blood-soaked towel, AJ backed away, looking slightly woozy.

“Damn, man, how would I know? Shit that’s a lot of blood.”

“You’re such a pussy, J,” Nick muttered with a smirk. Then again, he was feeling a little woozy too, now that he thought about it. His eyes traveled down to his towel-encased wrist. Shit, that was a lot of blood.

Howie carefully peeled the sodden towel away. “Yeah, AJ, it’s definitely not stopping. Grab me another towel, would you?”

“I think maybe stitches would be good,” AJ said shakily, grabbing another towel from the cabinet, which Howie then swapped with the bloody one.

“No stitches,” Nick said quickly.

“It looked deep, Nick. And it’s bleeding pretty bad. I think we should take you to the emergency room,” said Howie, putting even more pressure on his wrist.

“No. It’ll be fine,” countered Nick stubbornly.

Howie shook his head. “This could be serious, Nick. Come on, we’re going to the hospital. AJ, go find the wheelchair, there’s no way he’s getting out of here on crutches.”

“No!” cried Nick. “Get my pros-“

“Forget it, Nicky,” Howie interrupted. “Here, keep pressure on this. I’ll go get you a shirt and some shoes.”

“Shoe,” Nick corrected bitterly, wincing as he pushed against his wrist.

But, disappearing into the bedroom, Howie pretended not to hear him.

***

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 BLTs cause MS?”

Howie snorted. “Right. BLTs 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 Zo loft,” 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 couldn’t 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.

***

Chapter 124

The June night was balmy, and the sand was like a warm blanket tucked under his body. Clawing through it, he scooped up a handful of the coarse, gritty substance and flung it haphazardly in the direction of the water, which tossed and rolled with increasing force as the summer breeze turned gusty. A low rumble of thunder in the distance attracted his attention, and he looked out to sea, unable to distinguish where the murky water met the dark, cloud-strewn sky.

A wet drop splashed onto his hand. Not a cold raindrop, but a warm tear, which had taken a solitary path down his cheek and plummeted from his chin. Others soon followed as he cried silently and shamelessly. It wasn’t the first time he’d sat on the beach all alone and wept, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

But this time, he was not all alone. And only when she sat down beside him did he realize this. Startling, he jerked his head to the side in shock, wondering how long she’d been there, watching him.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” His voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat, trying to swallow back the lump that was preventing him from speaking properly.

“Are you all right?” She answered the question with a question of her own, crawling around to crouch in front of him and study him closely. Even in the dim light, she could apparently see the moisture on his cheeks. Gently, she reached out to wipe his tears away. Her fingertips lingered on his cheek, stroking it lightly as she leaned closer.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I... I didn’t mean it.”

“I know.” Their faces were so close, he could feel her warm breath caressing his skin.

With a tiny smile, he brought his hands up to cup her face and tilted his head slightly, leaning in to brush his lips against hers. “I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured, speaking against her closed lips.

“You better,” she replied, allowing him to slide his tongue into her mouth as it opened.

There were few words after that, as he let his body do the rest of the apologizing, first exploring her mouth, then venturing to the surrounding areas, leaving a trail of tender kisses down her neck. He attempted to roam further, but was stopped by her shirt. Noticing this, she quickly stripped it off and tossed the obtrusive material aside.

He did the same, leaving her hands free to wander the breadth of his bare back, while he sprinkled her shoulders with kisses, pushing down her bra straps so as to not miss a single spot.

Dipping his head, he let his lips drift lower, gliding across the gentle slopes of her breasts. Her arms rose to encircle his neck, and her fingers crawled up through his hair, her nails digging into his scalp as his kisses made a path down her cleavage. As he reluctantly ascended again, kissing along her collarbone, he felt her breath in his hair as she pressed her lips to his forehead. Her hands moved from the back of his head to his shoulders, and she pushed him backward, easing him down to the ground. Stretching out on the sand, he pulled her down with him so that she was lying on top of him, face to face, skin to skin. A seductive smirk spreading across her face, she leaned in close and captured his mouth in a passionate kiss.

Thunder clapped, and lightning flashed, but he hardly noticed. It was nothing compared to the electricity that flowed between their lips, sending a current of tingling

shockwaves through his body.

“Water and electricity don’t mix,” he murmured, as the heavy clouds overhead cut loose, and it began to rain.

“Don’t worry,” she breathed, her hands running up and down his bare chest.

“Even a monsoon couldn’t put out our fire.”

“Then burn, baby, burn,” he panted, igniting another fiery kiss that kept his blood sizzling and his body hot, even as gales of cold rain cascaded down on them both, soaking them to the bone.

Laughing, she broke the kiss and slid off of him, her knees sinking in the wet sand as she struggled to get to her feet. “Come on!” she shouted above the downpour, grabbing his hands and pulling him up. With a shriek that cut through the stormy night, she took off running, spinning in wild circles and stumbling in the uneven mounds of sand on the flooded shore. “Come on!” she cried again, beckoning exaggeratedly to him as she romped into the turbulent water.

“You’re crazy!” he called, laughing, but he followed anyway, chasing after her until they were both waist deep in the ocean. He held onto her tightly, afraid the crashing waves were going to knock her right off her feet.

“Kiss me, Nick!” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck. Leaning down, he met her lips once again, and heat radiated through his body, warding off the chill of the water. When they broke the kiss, she threw back her head, shaking out her wet hair like a dog. “I love the rain!” she exclaimed, letting go of him and throwing her hands up into the air.

“I love the rain too!” he echoed. Catching her wrist, he pulled her close again, wrapping his arms around her drenched body. A rumble of thunder sounded, and lightning lit the sky once again, illuminating her sparkling eyes and radiant, dripping face. “Claire,” he cried breathlessly, “that’s not all I love. I... I love-“ But a clap of thunder drowned out the rest of his declaration, and the lightning that followed was so blindingly bright, he closed his eyes...

And when he opened them, he found himself sitting up in his bed, bathed in a sheen of sweat and breathing hard.

A dream, he realized with a sinking feeling. Nothing but an amazing, exhilarating dream.

Damn.

Sighing, he turned to fluff his pillow and saw with a sinking heart that it was covered in blonde hair. He brushed away the loose strands in disgust and started to lie back down, then changed his mind. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was already after seven and figured he might as well get up. There would be no more sleep for him that morning.

Despite the time, it was still fairly dark in his bedroom, and when he crossed the room on crutches and looked out the window, he saw why. The day was foggy and overcast, the sky blanketed by heavy, gray clouds. Normally, Nick liked sunshine and blue skies, but the weather outside fit his despondent mood perfectly. Not bothering to put on his prosthesis, or even to comb his hair, he simply put on a shirt and went outside, disheveled and barefoot.

It had apparently rained during the night, just as in his dream, for his deck was soaked. He carefully made his way down to the beach, trying to avoid a fall. After his

trip to the ER the previous morning, the last thing he needed was another injury. Trying to hobble through wet sand on crutches (his wrist stinging in protest the whole time) was not exactly practical, but the prosthesis alone wasn’t really an option, for he was still quite unsteady on any terrain that wasn’t perfectly smooth and level.

He navigated the beach slowly, enjoying the feel of the wet sand squishing between his toes. It was a sensation he had not experienced in quite some time. He neared the water, selected a spot, and sank down to the ground, tossing the crutches aside and stretching his leg out in front of him. He could feel the moisture of the sand seeping through his rumpled shorts, but he did not care.

He let his other senses take over, inhaling the familiar scents of seawater and summer rain, listening to a seagull’s mournful call, gazing pensively into the hazy distance. The morning fog was thick and hid the surrounding scenery, secluding Nick in his own private snow globe of sorts. He found he liked it that way. He couldn’t see the neighboring houses or people, and they couldn’t see him. Perfect.

Sitting there in his foggy daze, he let his mind wander. It went straight to Claire.

To the dream he’d woken up from that morning and to the words he’d said to her the day before. Part of him was regretting them already. The other part scolded him for being so selfish. He couldn’t call her up and beg for her forgiveness now. And it wasn’t like she was going to miraculously emerge from the fog and proceed to make out with him there on the beach, thereby solving all their problems. It just didn’t work that way in real life. In real life, people didn’t frolic through the ocean in a thunderstorm, dodging lightning, nor did they make out on a wet mound of sand in a downpour and utter suave, cheesy lines about fire and electricity. In real life, smart, pretty young women like Claire did not make out with sick, pathetic losers who were missing limbs and going bald.

Which brought him right back to why he had pushed her away in the first place.

Anything to absolve her of the guilt trip she’d apparently sent herself through. He knew she’d only been spending so much time with him because she felt sorry for him and would feel bad about herself if she didn’t stick by his side. He was grateful for everything she’d done for him, and in the weeks following the amputation, he had needed her. But it had been over two months now. He needed to learn how to deal with things on his own, and she needed to get her life back. Though it pained his heart to admit it, he was confident he’d done the right thing. He might have hurt her, but she would get over it and move on with her life in time, and that was exactly what she needed to do.

You need to get your life back too, a little voice in the back of his head prodded.

“What life?” he muttered out loud, absently drawing patterns in the sand with his index finger. How could he get his life back when it seemed all his time was spent being shuttled back and forth from the hospital, for either physical therapy sessions or chemotherapy treatments? More notably, how could he get his life back with only one leg? His life before cancer had struck him down revolved around his career, around being a musician, a Backstreet Boy, as well as a solo artist. He could still sing, even put out an album if he wanted to... but would he ever get his career back? His days as a teen idol were gone, that was for sure. The young girls who had once made up a large portion of his fan base would turn to Justin Timberlake or Nick Lachey, and the few who would still support him would be doing it only out of sympathy. And he did not want sympathy.

And what about the group? The Backstreet Boys? It had only been months since their last album had been released (though it felt like years to Nick), and they had yet to tour. Back at the beginning of February, when they’d dropped the album, they’d had a summer tour in mind. But it was summer now, and a tour obviously wasn’t happening.

Would it ever? Nick wondered. Touring to him meant spending countless weeks, sometimes months, on a tour bus, staying in hotels all across the country, all around the world, living out of a suitcase, and singing and dancing for nearly two hours almost every night of the week.

Clearly, touring was out of the question now.

But would it always be? Or would they be back on the road together someday?

Deep down, as hard as it was to imagine it happening, Nick wanted there to be another tour. He was at home on the road and onstage. At heart, he would always be a performer. It was in his blood, and despite all the changes he’d been through, nothing would change that. But even so, he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to get back onstage and do what he’d loved to do.

AJ was right about one thing though – they needed to talk about it. All five of them, together, as a group. Sooner or later, they would have to make some decisions and figure out how they were going to play the cards they had been dealt, the cards Nick had been dealt.

Approaching footsteps snapped Nick out of his daze, and he glanced over his shoulder to see the silhouette of a figure appear through the fog. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he just stared, waiting. But as the figure came into view, he saw that it was only AJ.

“Nick! Damn, man, there you are,” AJ said, his gruff voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet morning. “D and I were wondering where the hell you went. Couldn’t see a damn thing from the house either, with all this fog. Good thing you left tracks.”

“Tracks?” Nick repeated blankly.

“Yeah, footprints. Well, and crutch-prints,” chuckled AJ. “I followed ‘em all the way down here. Felt like a huntin’ dog or something.” He grinned.

Nick snorted. “Well, good job, Rover.”

“Thanks. So, are you about ready to head back up to the house? It’s almost eight-thirty, and you’re supposed to be at the hospital at nine for your chemo, right?”

“It’s eight-thirty already?” Nick asked in shock. Had he really been sitting out here for over an hour?

“Sure is.”

Nick sighed, glancing out at the misty water. He was not ready to go inside yet, and he certainly was not ready to go to the hospital for yet another round of chemotherapy. It would just make him nauseous and make his hair fall out even faster.

He hated the whole business and wished he could just be done with it all.

And that’s when a thought hit him. Sooner or later, they would have to make some decisions... Maybe he’d start right now, by making his own decision. His mind raced, but within a few moments, it all became very clear to him. He knew what he wanted. And he knew what he didn’t want.

He didn’t want more chemo.

“Nick? Hello? Should we go back now?” AJ asked, touching his shoulder.

“No,” answered Nick. “I’m not going.”

“Not going? Not going back to the house, or-“

“Not going to the hospital,” Nick clarified. “I’m through. No more chemo.” AJ studied him, biting his lip. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Nick said curtly. AJ was silent, and after a moment, Nick sighed and added, “I can’t take any more, J. I... I hate it. It makes me sick, and m-my hair’s starting to fall out again, and... I just don’t wanna go through it anymore.” AJ nodded, squeezing his shoulder. “I understand,” he said softly. “I’d probably feel the same way.”

Glancing up at him, Nick offered AJ a tiny smile. “Thanks, Aje,” he whispered.

“No prob, dude. Do you wanna stay here longer? I can go back and tell Howie your decision. I guess one of us should call the clinic and tell them you’re not coming.

You might want to talk your doctor later too and let her know, right?”

“Yeah,” said Nick, “I’ll take care of it. Go on up to the house, and I’ll be up in a little while, okay?”

“Okay,” agreed AJ, turning and starting back for the house. Nick watched him retreat until his form vanished in the fog. Then he turned his gaze back upon the water and smiled a little. One decision had been made. And as far as he was concerned, it was a step in the right direction.

***

Chapter 125

The next day was Friday, and Nick returned to the hospital that morning for a physical therapy session. He would be glad when he was done with the therapy and would be able to walk out of Tampa General and never look back, but he knew that until he got his permanent prosthesis later in the summer, he was stuck going for therapy three times a week. But really, without the additional burden of chemotherapy treatments three times a week as well, the therapy wasn’t bad.

That day, his session went exceptionally well. Now that he could walk fairly well on flat surfaces, he was progressing to more difficult tasks, like stairs and hills. Both were terrifying, and Nick hated constantly feeling like he was going to lose his balance and fall.

“Will it always be like this?” he asked Susan at the end of the session. “I mean, will I ever be able to walk totally normal, or will I always be kind of unsteady?”

“You’ll keep improving and developing a more natural gait,” promised Susan,

“and once you have your permanent prosthesis, that will help a lot. Whether you will ever be able to walk ‘totally normal’ or not will depend on what kind of prosthesis you end up getting and how well you adapt to it. And speaking of that, even though it’s still too early for you to be fit for your prosthesis, it’s not too early to start looking into your options. Have you done any research of your own into the different kinds of prosthetics?”

“Um... no?”

Susan laughed at the expression on his face. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you in contact with a prosthetist who will help you decide what would work best for you.” She paused, then added, “You probably haven’t heard of the C-Leg then, have you?”

“The C-Leg?” Nick repeated. “No. What’s that?”

“It’s the newest and the best in above-knee prosthetics. It’s a computer-controlled leg.”

Nick raised an eyebrow and looked on skeptically. “Computer-controlled?”

“Mm-hm,” Susan nodded. “It contains sensors that detect different things – how much weight you’re putting on the leg, the angle of the knee joint, the speed of your swing – and this information is sent to a microprocessor that’s actually inside the leg, and it reads the information. The result is that you get more stability and a more natural step.”

About half of what she said went right over Nick’s head, but he perked up in interest at her last sentence. “Really?”

“Yes. I’ve seen people use them firsthand; they’re very cool. They’re one of the more ‘active’ prostheses – you can run on them, et cetera.” Nick’s eyes widened in surprise and almost disbelief, as an image of him jogging up and down a basketball court flickered in his mind. Added Susan, “I know a few prosthetists who are qualified to fit patients with the C-Leg, so I can definitely get you in contact with them when the time is right.”

Nick nodded. “That would be cool,” he murmured.

When he walked out of the physical therapy room a few minutes later, his spirits were higher than they had been in days. He had a long way to go, but things were looking up. And when he walked out into the bright Florida sunshine and waited for Howie to pull his car around, he was flooded with an emotion he had not felt in quite

some time.

Hope.

***

When Nick and Howie returned home, AJ was waiting for them. “Management called,” he announced flatly the moment the two had set foot inside.

“Management called?” Howie repeated. “What did they want?” Nick kept silent, but he had a pretty good idea of what management wanted.

“Wanted to know what was up with us, how Nick was...” AJ trailed off and rolled his eyes. “And they wanna know when we plan to pick up where we left off.” Howie frowned. “And what exactly does that mean?”

“It means when are we going to get back to our career, to the Backstreet Boys.

They want us to shoot a video for the second single. Our first single retired on TRL like three months ago, and they oh-so-kindly reminded me that if we don’t get another video out there soon, people will start to forget about us.” He rolled his eyes again.

“What did you tell them?” wondered Howie.

“I told them to fuck off,” answered AJ with a smug smirk.

“AJ! You didn’t...”

AJ grinned. “Nah, I didn’t. Well, I didn’t say ‘fuck off’ anyway. But I did tell them that there’s no way we’d even consider shooting a video now, and that-“

“They’re right though, you know,” Nick interrupted quietly. “We do need to do another video.”

AJ and Howie both looked at him in surprise. “Well, we will eventually, Nicky,” said Howie. “But not until you’re ready. It can wait.”

“Well, maybe I am ready,” Nick blurted, his tone almost defiant. Howie obviously didn’t think he was up to shooting a video yet. Well, why not? He could walk now, couldn’t he? The second single was going to be one of the ballads off the album; it wasn’t like the video would include any dancing or anything like that. He could stand there and lip sync; that didn’t require two good legs. And if he wore pants, maybe it wouldn’t even be obvious that...

“Really?” Howie asked, eyebrows raised, and AJ was staring incredulously at him.

Nick frowned and looked away from their skeptical faces. They didn’t think he could do it. Then again, maybe he couldn’t do it. Maybe it was too soon; maybe he wasn’t ready. “I dunno,” he mumbled, shrugging off his previous comment. “I’m gonna go to my room.”

“Nick, wait,” AJ interjected, grabbing Nick’s arm as he started off in the direction of his bedroom. His movement wasn’t forceful, but it was enough to startle Nick and throw him off balance. AJ quickly caught Nick as he started to fall and steadied him.

“You alright?” he asked, as Nick wobbled.

“I’m fine!” Nick snapped. “Don’t touch me.”

AJ dropped his hands quickly, as if they’d been burnt by Nick’s skin. He did, in fact, look rather hurt. “Sorry,” he murmured an apology. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that; I just-“ He stopped and looked Nick right in the eye. “Were you serious about the video thing, dawg? Cause if you’re ready, you know we’re game.” Nick shrugged again. “I dunno,” he said a second time. “I’ll think about it,

okay?”

AJ and Howie exchanged perplexed looks. “Okay,” they both said.

Without another word, Nick continued on to his room, and this time, no one stopped him. As he shut the door behind him and walked slowly over to his bed, he looked down at his feet, painfully aware of how stiff and awkward he looked when he walked. He reached the bed and sank down upon it in relief. With a sigh, he absently combed his fingers through his hair, his heart sinking as he felt the strands slide out of his scalp and looked at the fine blonde locks he was now holding. Of course. He’d almost forgotten. Even though he’d quit chemo, the side effects wouldn’t go away instantaneously, and he had a bad feeling his hair would keep thinning until more grew in.

With a puff of air, he blew the loose strands away and lay back on his bed. He stayed like that for a long time, flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling and realizing how unready he really was. Who was he kidding? Shoot a video? Now? Looking the way he was, all pale and weak and going bald, and walking like Forrest Gump in his leg braces, knowing that people could yell “Run, Nick, run!” as much as they wanted and it still wouldn’t cure him? Yeah right. He couldn’t do a music video with the guys any more than he could take off running.

Out of the blue, Susan’s words from earlier that morning returned to him.

“They’re one of the more ‘active’ prostheses – you can run on them, et cetera.” A faint spark of the hope he had felt earlier rekindled, and his lips twitched with the hint of a smile. Maybe he wasn’t quite ready yet. But soon, he would be.

***

Nick spent a great deal of the rest of the day, as he did most days, shut up in his bedroom, watching TV and aimlessly playing video games. The games, which he’d once loved obsessively, now seemed silly and pointless and served only to distract him from his problems. The stupid TV shows he watched were the same. Some days, he would sit and stare glassy-eyed at the television screen for hours at a time, hardly moving. Other days, he would be restless and antsy, sick of being cooped up in the house most of the time, yet lacking the nerve to just venture out into public.

His mood had been fluctuating that day, jumping from the high hopefulness of that morning to low feelings of worthlessness and self-pity. His games and TV shows did little to distract him from the flurries of thoughts gusting through his mind, and when he came upon MTV over the course of channel-surfing and found an episode of

“Making the Video” on, it only got worse.

All day, he had been fighting an internal battle over the Backstreet Boys’

management’s request that they make a music video for the second single from their latest album, and as MTV brought the topic of debate up yet again, the battle came to a head. With a click of the remote, Nick turned off the TV, sending the room into silence.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples wearily, thinking.

He flashed back to his brief conversation with AJ and Howie earlier, when AJ had delivered the message from management. Again, he heard AJ saying how he had told management there was no way they could shoot a video now... Howie assuring Nick they would do one ‘when he was ready.’ Again, he saw the expressions on their faces... shock, that he would even consider doing a video and making his ‘comeback’ so soon... doubt,

that he was truly ready for such a thing.

But there had been something else there too, Nick realized. Hope, maybe?

Anticipation? Desire?

When AJ had looked right at him and asked if he was serious, Nick had seen the emotion in his eyes. There was a certain fire there, a hopefulness that Nick would say yes, a longing to get back to doing the thing that he loved, that they all loved. Singing.

Performing. Clearly, though he would never admit it to Nick, AJ missed it. Probably, they all did. Nick knew he did. It was almost agonizingly hard to think about getting up onstage and singing in front of a venue of screaming fans again, but when it came down to it, that’s what he wanted to do. How could he go on with his life without singing again, when singing was his life?

It was becoming very clear to him now. He wanted his career back. He wanted to continue with the Backstreet Boys, wanted to perform again. He didn’t know how his predicament would affect the group’s popularity, whether or not the leagues of young fans that had once practically worshipped him would still admire him or not. But he did know that if the Boys wanted to continue in the music business, they were going to have to get back to work, and soon. After such a lengthy hiatus between “Black and Blue” and

“Phoenix,” they couldn’t afford to be out of the scene again so soon. The hype over the album and its first single had long since faded. It was time to bounce back with a second single, and a video to go with it. Management knew it, and Nick knew it too.

The thought of getting in front of a camera terrified him to an extent, for he knew a video shoot would maximize his self-consciousness. But sooner or later, he would have to do it. Sooner or later, he would have to go public and stop hiding in his house, feeling sorry for himself. Sooner or later, he would have to get out of bed and back on stage and on with his life. It had been over two months, and physically, he had healed.

Emotionally, he was still fragile, but the only way to get over his insecurities would be to face them. And better sooner than later, right?

Filled with resolve, he sat up and scooted to the edge of his bed, prepared to get up and go tell Howie and AJ that he did want to shoot a video, maybe not right away, but sometime in the next month or two. He knew that once again, they would be skeptical. “Are you sure?” they would ask, Howie’s eyes large with concern, AJ

practically quivering in anticipation, secretly hoping that this time, Nick would be sure.

And Nick would answer yes... I’ve been thinking about it all day, and believe me, this is what I want.

Unexpectedly, that thought placed a pair of very familiar lyrics in his mind, and before he realized what he was doing, Nick had begun to sing very softly, almost under his breath.

“Believe when I say

I want it that way.”

He paused, smirking to himself. He did this often, started singing song lyrics that would pop into his head when triggered by a thought or something somebody said. Or at least he used to do it often. But it had been a long time since he’d sung anything.

Even just singing softly along to a CD or the radio was rare nowadays, so he had just surprised himself. And that song too... “I Want it That Way.” It held a lot of memories, that one did. A lot of nostalgia. To Nick, it represented a time when the Backstreet Boys

were on top, when his life was good, when the whole group was happy and healthy and reveling in their worldwide success. It had been just over five years since that time, but with all that had occurred since, it felt like an eternity. Still, the song invoked a good feeling in Nick, a hope that maybe someday they would once again have what they had had five years ago. Success... but more importantly, happiness and health.

With a wistful sigh, Nick found himself continuing the song, launching into his own verse, singing the words he had not sung for a long time, probably not since the

“Now or Never” tour almost a year and a half earlier, when he’d worked part of “I Want It That Way,” along with “Quit Playing Games” and “Shape of My Heart,” into his show as an ode to the Boys.

“But we are two worlds apart

Can’t reach to your heart

When you say

That I want it that way.”

“Tell me why,” he sang on, his rusty voice strengthening. “Ain’t nothin’ but a heartache, tell me why...” And as he went on, he became aware of a muffled pair of voices joining his. “Ain’t nothin’ but a mistake.” Shocked, Nick jumped up so quickly that he nearly toppled over, having almost forgotten about his leg. He quickly got his balance and hurried across the room, flinging open his bedroom door to find both AJ and Howie standing there, silly grins alighting their faces.

“Could you hear me?” Nick asked in shock, his face reddening.

“The living room’s right there, it didn’t have far to go,” said AJ, his grin spreading. “Your voice carries well in this house though.” He looked around admiringly. “Good acoustics.”

“Yeah,” Nick said dryly, remembering how he’d overheard an entire conversation between the two of them while in the bathroom.

“We didn’t mean to bother you,” Howie apologized sincerely, although his eyes were sparkling, and the smile on his face refused to leave. “AJ started singing along first.”

“Hey, don’t blame me! You joined right in, didn’t you?” AJ shot back, his own grin also seemingly permanent. They both looked thrilled, but Nick only felt embarrassed. “Why’d you stop, dude? I was getting into it! Tell me why,” he went on with the song, and Howie immediately jumped back in on the next line. “I never wanna hear you say...” They both paused, looking expectantly at Nick, who, trying to hide his smile, gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes and then finished softly, “I want it that way.”

“Dude, that was cheesy,” he said, but found himself swallowing back a lump that had risen in his throat.

Howie cleared his own throat and joked, “Is it time for a group hug, guys?” Nick grinned and backed away. “No,” he said, “but it is time for us to shoot another video. I think I’m ready. Maybe not right away, but soon. Definitely by July.” Howie smiled, and AJ hit Nick’s back lightly. “That’s great, dude,” he said, his voice gruff. Glancing from Nick to Howie, he asked, “So, who wants to do the honors?”

“What honors?” asked Howie.

AJ grinned. “The honors of calling up Rok and Kev and telling them that

Backstreet’s back.”

Snickering, Nick teasingly slugged AJ in the shoulder. “Now that was really cheesy. Gosh, that sounded almost like something Howie would say.”

“Hey!” Howie cried in mock offense. “I’m standing right here, you know!”

“Yeah, why are you? Go get on the phone with Kev, would you?” AJ ordered, giving Howie a playful shove.

“Yeah,” Nick echoed, meeting AJ’s gleaming eyes. As Howie went off to get the phone, they called after him in unison, “And tell him that Backstreet’s back!”

***

Chapter 126

Kevin and Brian were both glad to hear Nick’s decision regarding the music video, and over the next month, the group contacted various directors in search of a video treatment that they liked. They had all agreed they wanted a simple video, something more along the lines of “More Than That” or the second version of

“Drowning.” By the end of June, they had settled on Nigel Dick, who had directed the videos for “As Long as You Love Me” and “All I Have to Give,” to direct the video. Nick, somewhat eager but also very anxious about the video shoot, was glad to be working with someone he knew. They had decided to do the shoot over two days in the middle of July. But that was two weeks away.

The first Saturday in July, Nick had an appointment scheduled with Dr.

Kingsbury. It had now been a month since he had decided to end his chemotherapy regime, three months since the amputation, and over four months since his last bone marrow aspiration, so he figured he would have to endure another one of those. At least it wouldn’t come as an unpleasant surprise.

But, as it turned out, there was a surprise waiting for him in the oncology clinic that day. Literally waiting. In the waiting room.

Claire.

He saw her as soon as he came in. She was sitting in a chair across the room, her legs crossed, her foot jiggling as she leafed through a magazine. She did not look up when he came in. Hoping she would not notice him, he checked in quietly at the receptionist’s desk and carefully selected a seat as far away from her as he could get.

He picked up a random magazine and pretended to be very interested in it, although instead he was thinking how glad he was that he had come in alone. AJ had brought him to his appointment that day, but as AJ hated needles and basically anything to do with hospitals, he had been more than happy to drop Nick off and pick him back up when he was finished. And it was a good thing too because he was sure AJ would have seen Claire right away and struck up a conversation with her, and that was not something he wanted.

It had been over a month since he had seen her, and they hadn’t spoken at all since she had stalked out of his room, hurt and upset by the lies he had forced himself to feed her. So many times he had fought the urge to pick up the phone and call her, to apologize for what he had said, to tell her the truth and beg for forgiveness. On several occasions, he had been halfway through dialing her phone number when he had lost his nerve and abruptly hung up before he could finish. It’s for the best, he always told himself. She’s probably moved on; the last thing she needs is me back in her life.

But the truth was, he was just afraid. Afraid of what, he was not quite sure.

Rejection, maybe. The fear of having her scream at him over the phone or, worse, just hang up on him. The fear of her hating him for what he had done. Really, he was not quite sure why she shouldn’t hate him. After what he had said, she had every reason to.

But the possibility of her hating him, when he cared about her so much, was more than he could bear to think about. In a way, not knowing how she felt was better than knowing that she would never forgive him for pushing her away.

And this was why he chose to ignore her in the waiting room, to immerse himself in the crinkled copy of Seventeen he had scooped up and pretend he had never seen her.

But she had seen him, and it was not long before a body plopped down into the

seat next to him, and a familiar voice asked, “So how long were you planning to sit here and act like you didn’t see me?”

Guiltily, Nick lowered his magazine and looked over at her, his face growing red hot. Damn. The good thing about Claire had always been that she understood him when others didn’t. But that could be a curse too, as he now realized. She’d hit the nail on the head and seen right through his charade.

“Hey, Claire,” he mumbled, avoiding her eyes and wishing for once that they’d just hurry up and call him back. Somehow he thought he would be more comfortable lying on an examining table with a giant needle in his hip than sitting there beside her.

“Hi,” she said shortly and then waited expectantly for him to say something else.

But he didn’t know what to say.

“Claire?” called a voice, and Nick looked up to see the short, brunette nurse named Kathryn waiting in the doorway for Claire. Saved by the Kat, he thought with relief as Claire stood up. For a moment, he thought she was just going to walk away, and she did start to. But then she turned back.

“Look, Nick,” she said quickly, her voice softening, “I have no idea what’s going on, but I would really like to talk to you later. Will you meet me when you’re done with your appointment?”

“Okay,” Nick automatically agreed, before he could think twice and stop himself.

She nodded solemnly, no trace of a smile on her face. “I’ll wait for you if I get done first,” she said, and with that, she turned and followed Kat out of the waiting room.

***

When Nick made it back into the waiting room after his appointment, escorted by his nurse Marianne, Claire was indeed waiting for him. She looked up in concern when he shambled in, leaning heavily on Marianne. Climbing slowly to her feet, she walked over to meet him, murmuring discretely, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered. The truth was, his hip was killing him from the bone marrow test he’d just had to suffer through, and it made walking extremely difficult. Dr.

Kingsbury had done it on the right side this time instead of the left, which was better, but he was still having trouble.

“Are you sure you don’t want a wheelchair, Mr. Carter?” Marianne asked as she helped him to the door.

“No, I’m good,” he insisted, too stubborn to admit defeat and ride the rest of the way in a wheelchair.

The nurse sighed, looking at him skeptically. Turning her gaze on Claire, she asked, “Are you leaving with him, hon?”

“Yeah, I am,” replied Claire. “Don’t worry, I won’t let him fall.” She took Marianne’s place on Nick’s left side, sliding her arm under his and around his back to help support him.

“Alright then. Have a nice day, both of you,” said Marianne.

“You too,” Nick and Claire both echoed as they made their way out the door.

Once out in the hallway, Nick muttered, “You don’t have to do that, I can walk.”

“Right,” Claire said, but did not let go of him. She knew just as well as he that he was hardly able to walk on his own with his hip as stiff as it was, and with a sigh, he slung his arm over her shoulders and let her help him. “We probably look like a couple

of ninety-year-olds,” Claire snickered as they shuffled at a snail’s pace down the hall.

Nick cracked a smile. “Yeah,” he chuckled. “Guess I should have brought a cane with me or something.”

“Uh-huh. So you had a bone marrow, I take it?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too. Always a good time.”

Nick glanced over at her. “You must be hurting too then.”

“Just a little sore. No big deal; I’m used to it by now,” she remarked casually.

They reached the elevators, and she pressed the down button. “So did you drive in yourself, or is one of the guys supposed to pick you up?”

“AJ’s picking me up,” replied Nick. “He would have come in, but he’s terrified of needles.”

Claire let out a snort. “Really? AJ?” she said, incredulous. “And how many tattoos does he have exactly?”

Nick chuckled. “Yeah, he doesn’t seem to mind those needles. Go figure.” With a ding, the elevator arrived, and they went inside it, glad to see there was no one else there. The ride down to the main floor was filled with an awkward silence which reminded Nick that he and Claire still had a lot to settle. They couldn’t keep just making small talk; eventually, she would bring up what had happened, and he would be forced to somehow justify his actions.

They got off on the first floor and walked slowly through the lobby to the main entrance. “Do you want to come with me instead of AJ?” Claire asked, as they went outside. “So we can talk?”

“Sure,” Nick said unenthusiastically, dreading their “talk,” yet knowing he could not refuse her. “He should be pulling up any minute, but I’ll just call him on his cell and tell him to go on home.” He fished his own cell phone out of the side pocket of his baggy cargo pants and flipped it open, punching the speed dial for AJ.

“Hold your horses, Kaos, I’m about to turn into the parking lot right now,” was AJ’s greeting when he answered his phone. “I told you I’d get here at noon, and it’s 11:58, so chill.”

“Hey, I didn’t say nothin’!” Nick exclaimed. “I just wanted to let you know that, um, I met up with, uh, Claire here, and we’re gonna go talk and, um, she’ll bring me home later, I guess, so you don’t have to pick me up.” He stammered this all quite quickly, dreading AJ’s reaction on the other end.

“Ohhh, I see,” AJ replied exaggeratedly, throwing in a suggestive cackle for good measure. “Well, in that case, you and Claire have fun ‘talking,’ Nicky my man. I’ll see you later.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Bye, J,” he mumbled and turned off his phone. Dropping it back into his pocket, he said to Claire, “Okay, let’s go.”

“Okay. Here, you sit on this bench, and I’ll go get my car, okay? That way you won’t have to walk so far.” He reluctantly let her guide him to one of the two benches conveniently placed in front of the hospital entrance and left him to go find her car.

A few minutes later, her old Toyota came rumbling around the circular drive and stopped right in front of where he was sitting. Throwing the car into park, Claire hopped out and came around to help him. He hated the feeling of having to depend on her, but his hip had stiffened up even more, and trying to walk on his prosthesis without any kind of support was painfully hard. He was glad she was at least willing to help him

and wondered if she’d rather shove him to the ground and beat him senseless with his own prosthesis.

He smirked, amusing himself with that thought. Of course, it would be even better if she was beating up someone other than him. Like... Leah? Yeah, that would be good. Especially if they both happened to be wearing string bikinis at the time...

“What are you smiling at?” Claire asked, as she helped him into the passenger seat of her car.

“Nothing,” Nick said quickly, sobering.

“So, where should we go?” Claire asked, as she got in on her side and fastened her seatbelt. Putting the car into drive, she pulled around and headed for the exit of the parking lot.

“I dunno,” replied Nick. “Could we just stay in the car? I dunno if I can get up again...”

Claire laughed lightly. “Sure.”

They ended up going through the McDonald’s Drive-Thru for milkshakes, and then Claire turned off of the highway and onto one of the back roads. They rode in silence as she directed the car away from the urban area. Finally, she pulled over to the side of a practically deserted strip of road, parked in the shade of large Spanish moss tree, and shut off the engine. It was suddenly very quiet, and all Nick could hear was the sound of birds chirping as he rolled down his window.

Claire unbuckled her seatbelt and took a small sip of her milkshake. “So,” she said, “how have you been?”

“Okay,” he shrugged, glad she wasn’t jumping right in with the obvious. More small talk was good.

“You still have your hair,” she said, studying him. “I thought-“

“I quit,” he stated bluntly.

“You quit the chemo?” He nodded. “Oh,” she said, and that was it.

“Um, how about you? How have you been?” he asked, directing the question back at her.

“Fine,” she replied.

“What was your appointment today for? Just a check-up?”

“Yeah. Every three months, at least for the first year after the transplant,” she replied.

“Ah,” he said with a nod of understanding.

They fell into silence again, and Nick took a lengthy sip of his shake, glad for something to do. But the silence didn’t last.

“So,” Claire said finally, resting her arms on the steering wheel and staring straight ahead, not looking at him. “What’s the deal?”

“What’s the deal with what?” Nick asked lamely, knowing exactly what she meant.

“You know exactly what I mean, so don’t play dumb with me, Nick.” Damn.

“Claire... I...” Nick struggled, unsure of what to say. He finally decided to just apologize. “I’m sorry,” he said truthfully. She looked over at him, her lips pursed in a thin line. He could tell she expected him to say more. “I didn’t mean what I said,” he added.

“Then why did you say it?” she asked quietly.

“I...” He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. How was he supposed to explain himself? He knew he had hurt her, but he hadn’t wanted to hurt her. He just felt like he had to. For her sake. But somehow he didn’t think she would see it that way.

“I dunno, Claire,” he answered desperately. “Sometimes people just say stuff without meaning it. Just know that it wasn’t true, okay?”

“What parts weren’t true?” she pried, and he found himself thinking back to that conversation, trying to remember exactly what he’d said to her.

“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. “You’re right, Claire,” he said through clenched teeth. “It meant nothing. I felt nothing. It was just a kiss, nothing special.”

The truth was, none of it was true, and with all his heart, he wanted to be able to tell her that, to assure her that the kiss had meant as much to him as it apparently had to her. But that would mean confessing his true feelings to her, and he wasn’t quite brave enough to do that. The first time he had, he’d been shot down. Now he didn’t know what to think. The kiss had been special for her; she had admitted that. And at one point, almost a year ago, she had told him she was falling in love with him. But had her feelings changed? She was clearly angry with him, and he didn’t blame her for it one bit.

But underneath that, did she still care for him?

Even if she does, you don’t deserve her, he told himself.

“Okay, fine,” Claire sighed, apparently frustrated with his silence. “I get it, okay?” Get what? Nick wondered, confused. “I misread you, Nick. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for putting you in that position. Especially right then, after the kind of day you’d had. I don’t blame you for being harsh; I guess that’s what I needed to hear. I understand now.”

Nick stared at her, thinking maybe she misreading him now and that she didn’t

really understand at all. He wasn’t sure what she was talking about or what it all meant, but he found himself nodding. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “I’m sorry too.” But he didn’t even know exactly what he was apologizing for now, nor for what he was forgiving her.

What had she done?

“I hope we can still at least be friends, Nick,” she was now saying. “Even though I hate to admit it...” She grinned sheepishly at him, “... I’ve missed you.” He returned the smile. “I missed you too,” he said honestly. Screw trying to push her away. She’d come back to him, and he wasn’t about to make her go again. Besides, in a few weeks, his life would finally be getting back to normal. “And of course we can still be friends.”

Claire took a loud slurp of her shake and then set the cup back into its holder.

“Good,” she said simply. “I guess that’s really what I wanted to hear.” She paused. “Are you ready to go now? Cause it’s getting really hot in here.” Nick laughed. “Sure,” he said. They rolled up their windows, and Claire started the car again, cranking the air conditioning. She pulled a U-turn, and they set off in the direction they had come. Watching the scenery fly by outside his window, Nick realized once again how confused he was by the conversation they’d just had.

Confused... but relieved. And happy.

After a month, Claire was back. And as he turned to look at her, secretly admiring the way her soft red hair, which had now grown to chin-length, blew back with the cool air that gusted in her face, he vowed that he would never let her go again. And one of these days, when the time was right, he would set her straight and tell her exactly how he felt about her.

***

Chapter 127

Nick didn’t see Claire at all during the next week. He was surprised to find that after she had insisted they have a talk on Saturday, she hadn’t bothered to even call him since. It troubled him, in a way, but at the same time, he realized it was probably for the best. This was what he had wanted, right? For her to do other things, hang out with other people, go out and have a life? Clearly, she was busy doing just that, and he felt he should be glad.

But, in truth, he wasn’t. He was lonely.

With Howie and AJ around him nearly 24/7, he was almost never truly alone, and although their presence sometimes annoyed him, he was grateful for the sacrifice they both had made for him. He wasn’t sure how he would have ever made it through the past three months without them. Physically, he would have been all right once he had learned to get around on his own. But emotionally, he would have gone crazy without his two brothers. Depression and grief, mixed with loneliness and cabin fever, would have driven him mad. But Howie and AJ had been there, when his family and most of his other friends had not, and they had kept him sane and helped him to cope with something he knew he would not have been able to handle by himself.

And still, even with the constant companionship of two people who he knew cared about him, he sometimes felt so alone. And he had to admit that two months earlier, even though he was frustrated and pissed off at the world a lot of the time, he had been less lonely. And that was not because of AJ or Howie, but because of Claire.

When he had been sure that no one could possibly understand what he was going through, she had proved him wrong. Okay, so she didn’t understand exactly what he going through, but she came pretty close. She was the only one who knew what it was like to be told you had cancer; to suffer through chemo and all the rotten, humiliating side effects that went with it; to be hospitalized and practically bedridden for weeks at a time; to be so sick or in so much pain that you almost wished death to come and take you away from it all; and to recover, only to find that things had changed so much your life would never be the same.

She knew.

And that was why when he was around her, everything seemed so much better.

His ambitions seemed attainable, the side effects bearable, the odds beatable. He was able to look at his life with a more positive eye and see the good parts of it. So much had been taken away from him, but he still had a lot left. There were his material possessions, of course, and all the luxuries he had been able to afford after years of hard work in the music business. But there was more than that. He still had his voice, the greatest of his talents. He had his personality and his sense of humor. His spirit had been beaten by what had happened to him, but it had not been crushed. And most of all, he had friends, people who loved him.

He was sitting on the couch between two of them now, AJ and Howie. They were the two Backstreet Boys he had known the longest, since even before Backstreet came into existence, and they both loved him like a brother, as he did them.

Howie leaned over and attempted to give Nick an awkward hug. “I love you, Nicky...”

“Hey, Nicky,” AJ said breathlessly, “um, I just wanted to say that...”

Nick smiled a little, watching awkwardly as AJ struggled to say the words...

“It’s okay, Bone,” he interrupted him softly. “You don’t gotta say it. I know.”

Nick smiled again now, and the faces of Kevin and Brian swam before his eyes.

Kevin looked almost calm when he bent over to give Nick a gentle hug, but when Nick noticed the redness around his friend’s green eyes and the slight trembling of his lower lip, he knew otherwise. He said nothing of this though and dutifully patted Kevin’s back, whispering a hoarse, “Love you, Kev.”

“I love you too, Nick,” Kevin said steadily, swiping at the corner of one eye with his index finger, as if brushing away a stray eyelash.

Brian followed suit, hugging Nick with tears sparkling in his crystalline eyes.

“See you in a little while. I love you, Nick.”

And of course, there was Claire. It was her face that now sprang into his mind, and he pictured her as she had appeared on a certain night almost a year earlier, wearing a red dress and that black wig of hers and leaning up against him on the bench outside that restaurant, her blue eyes large and luminous in the soft glow of the moon and distant streetlights that played across her face, the sun’s dying rays bathing the world behind her in dim, golden light...

“I don’t know if it’s the right time to say this, but I just feel like... if I don’t say it tonight, I might not have another chance.” She bit her lip, yet never took her eyes off him, looking at him in a way that made him uncomfortable... “Nick,” she said softly.

“I... I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Same here, he thought now, swallowing hard. I think I’m in love with you too.

He wondered where she was tonight, what she was doing right then. Thinking of him, maybe? Doubtful. Could she possibly still feel the same way about him? After all they both had been through, after what had happened to him, and after the hurtful lies he had told her, could she still love him, as more than a friend or a brother? He’d wondered for a long time, and yet, he’d been afraid to ask her, afraid to confess his own feelings.

“Nothing good’s on,” AJ complained loudly he flipped through the TV channels at a rapid pace, interrupting Nick’s thoughts.

“We could watch a movie,” suggested Howie. “What’s showing on pay per view?”

“I dunno,” AJ shrugged listlessly, continuing to channel-surf.

Nick only vaguely paid attention as the channels flew by. But a brief glimpse at a scene that looked quite familiar made him sit up straighter. “Hey,” he said, “go back to that.”

“This?” AJ asked, flipping back.

“Hey, it’s ET,” observed Howie with a laugh. “Isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Nick said softly. “Yeah, it is.”

“Wow, I haven’t seen this in years. Classic. Looks like it just started,” said Howie.

“You wanna watch ET?” AJ scoffed.

Howie shrugged. Nick smiled, remembering how he and Claire had watched it

together in her apartment one July night, a year ago. Suddenly, he had the urge to go over there now, to her apartment. He could see what she was up to, hang out with her, maybe even watch the movie again, for memory’s sake. He could even stop at a grocery store on the way and pick up some ice cream. They’d had ice cream the last time, he remembered.

Feeling spontaneous, he stood up. Neither of the guys said anything until he grabbed his car keys from the foyer. And then, all of a sudden, they were both there, looking at him in surprise.

“Where are you going?” AJ asked dubiously. Even now, Nick hardly ever went out, except for his thrice-weekly trips to the hospital for therapy, and he never left alone and without warning.

“To Claire’s,” was Nick’s curt reply, and he sank down into a chair, busying himself with putting on shoes so that he would not have to see the amused look on AJ’s face.

“Ohh... I see. Well, you two kids have fun,” said AJ, his voice filled with glee.

“Uh, should we expect you back later tonight then, or...?” Howie trailed off awkwardly, and Nick stifled a laugh. Did Howie actually think he was going to spend the night having wild hot sex with Claire? Riiiiight. Then again, the last time, he had ended up spending the night...

“I’ll be back tonight,” he answered firmly, making a mental note not to fall asleep on Claire’s couch this time. If he didn’t come stumbling in till the next morning, he knew he’d never hear the end of it from AJ, who would be more than pleased with the idea that he and Claire had ‘gotten together.’

“Okay. Drive carefully,” Howie told him maternally, as Nick grabbed his keys and wallet and went out the front door. Slowly and painstakingly making his way down the front steps, clinging to the railing for balance, Nick walked to his silver Jag, which was parked in the driveway, and got inside. With a flutter of excitement, he zoomed out of the drive.

Maybe, he thought, tonight will be the night that I tell her the truth about how I feel about her. Maybe I can finally make her see...

***

The local Kroger grocery store was not busy, being just after seven on a Friday night. Nick was relieved, hoping he could go in and out without being recognized or bothered. He had been very lucky with this ever since the amputation, but the again, he hadn’t been out in public that much either. Sooner or later, he was bound to be noticed some place, but he hoped it would not be this place on this night. He was anxious to get his ice cream and get to Claire’s apartment.

As he stood in front of the freezer cases, surveying the selection of ice cream, he heard a voice that sounded vaguely familiar. And as the voice neared him and rose in volume, its familiarity grew.

Suddenly, he froze.

He knew that voice. He knew it all too well.

His heart racing, he looked over to see two people amble around the corner, making their way into the aisle in which he stood. One was a man, dark-haired and skinny. The other was a woman, trim, blonde, and painfully recognizable. Nick gulped,

his heart lodging in his throat.

It was Leah.

She was busy talking to the man, her eyes scanning the shelves as she slowly pushed her cart down the aisle. At the other end of the aisle, Nick ducked his head and forgot all about ice cream, concentrating solely on trying to get away before she looked ahead and saw him. But it was hard to hurry on his prosthetic leg, and it was only a few seconds before he heard her call, “Nick?”

Stopping dead in his tracks, he turned slowly. She had abandoned her grocery cart, leaving it beside the man, and was making a beeline toward him. Stopping a few feet away from him, she stood and stared, her eyes traveling from his face down the length of his body. He saw the way they narrowed and fixed upon his left leg for a moment before flickering back up to meet his eyes. “Nick Carter,” she said slowly. “I thought that was you.”

“Leah Gaylers,” he heard himself saying, but his voice sounded far away, drowned out by the loud drumming of his heart in his ears, and much too calm, given the way he had started to perspire in her presence.

“Ah, soon to be Leah Gaylers- Hammond,” she corrected smugly, holding out her left hand. He peered down, his eyes widening at the sight of a massive diamond sparkling up at him from her slender ring finger. “The wedding’s in February.”

“Let me guess – the 14th?” he asked sarcastically.

“That’s right.” Her smile grew. “Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh,” he grunted, not finding it in his heart to tell her congratulations.

“David’s such a wonderful man,” Leah gushed, her face shining. She turned to beam over her shoulder at the man she was with, who hung back with their cart. Nick realized now that this was the man he had once seen her at a club with. He was also, he noted, the father of her baby. Glancing past her, Nick’s heart skipped a beat as he realized there was an infant seat in the cart. And inside the seat...

“Oh, and Elaina! Oh, Nick, you’ve just got to see her!” Leah was now exclaiming.

Turning back again, she waved David over, and he came, pushing the cart along with him. “My fiancé, David Hammond,” Leah introduced, sliding an arm protectively around David’s wiry frame. “And David, you remember Nick. I think you two met once, is that right?”

David nodded briefly, studying Nick through a pair of wire-framed glasses. Nick studied him in return, not replying. David looked the same as he had that day in the club, boyish and well-dressed. He was surrounded by an aura of pure geek-ness, and Nick found it surprising that a guy like him had ended up with a girl like Leah. They made for an odd couple, but in a way, they were perfect for each other. Despite looking like a dork, David obviously had money, and Leah loved money. And she was beautiful, which explained why David was still with her. Nick pitied him. He, too, had apparently fallen for Leah’s snakelike charm and was a decent enough guy to step in and provide for her and his child. Speaking of which...

“And this,” Leah cooed, her voice softening, “is Elaina.” Nick’s eyes shifted from David down to the grocery cart beside him, where the most beautiful baby girl lay gazing docilely up at him from her infant seat. Her head was blanketed by a wispy layer of silky, fair hair, and her eyes were large and very blue.

Though it pained him to look at her, knowing that this was the tiny creature he had spent several months talking to while she was still in the womb, he couldn’t help but

smile a little, awed by her innocent beauty and perfection. She was like a little doll. And when he smiled at her, her tiny rosebud mouth turned up in a slobbery grin.

Gingerly, he held out his index finger for her to grab, as he had done with Baylee and even Aaron and Angel when they were babies. But as Elaina reached for it, Leah pushed the cart backwards and side-stepped in front of it, blocking the infant from Nick’s view. He swallowed hard, hurt, but tried to keep his expression neutral.

“So,” Leah said, her voice high with false cheeriness, “that’s what David and I have been up to in the past few months. Making wedding plans and taking care of our baby.” She paused, and again her eyes flitted down to the prosthetic leg hidden beneath his Adidas wind pants, while he twisted his sweaty hands together self-consciously, all too aware that she knew exactly how his past few months had been spent. “I hear you haven’t been so blessed,” she remarked, her attempts at sympathy tarnished by the snide underside of her tone.

He did not reply, instead looking down at his feet.

“I see you’re up and walking again though,” Leah continued. “That’s good.” Still, he kept silent and avoided her penetrating stare. “And what about your cancer? Is it gone now?” she persisted. “Are you back in remission?”

“Leah, we should go,” Nick heard David mumble quietly, sounding almost as uncomfortable as Nick felt.

“You’re right, honey,” Leah replied sweetly. “Elaina’s probably getting sleepy.

We need to get her to bed.” Nick glanced up to find David turning the cart back around, ready to continue on down the aisle. “Well, Nick,” Leah said, stepping forward with her hand extended again, as if to shake hands, “it was nice seeing you again. Glad to see you’re doing so well.” She pasted a bright, fake smile on her face and reached for his right hand. He took a step back, staring at her with steely eyes, his hand glued stiffly to his side. She gave a little shrug. “Well, alright then,” she sing-songed flippantly. “I’ll see you around. Come on, David.” She jerked the cart away from David and pushed it rapidly past Nick, coming within a few inches of hitting him. David obediently trailed after her, like a puppy following its master, and looked anywhere but at Nick.

Meanwhile, Nick stood still, watching them. Only when they had turned the corner and were out of sight did he dare move. Stepping slowly back up to the ice cream freezer, he eyed the shelves of various brands and flavors. Suddenly, the thought of ice cream wasn’t so appealing, but he opened up one of the freezer cases anyway and plucked a carton of Neapolitan from the shelf. Slamming the door shut, he sighed heavily and slowly made his way to the checkout counters, his lighthearted mood darkened by the chance encounter with Leah.

Out of all the people I could have run into, he thought miserably, why did it have to be her?

***

Chapter 128

The first sign that an unannounced trip to visit Claire had not been a good idea was the narrow flight of stairs that glared forebodingly at Nick the moment he set foot inside her apartment building.

“Oh, shit,” he groaned, remembering that Claire lived on the second floor, and as there were only three stories in the old building, there was no elevator. That meant he was going to have to navigate the stairs. Alone.

He sighed, surveying the staircase in intimidation. Stairs were still a problem.

He had only gone upstairs in his own house but a few times since the amputation, and that was with the help of his prosthesis and a pair of crutches. Small sets of steps were okay, but the thought of trying to get up and down a full flight of stairs made him uneasy. Still, he had come this far; he wasn’t about to turn back now. So he sucked in a breath and made his way to the staircase. Gripping the banister with his left hand and plastering his right hand to the wall, he started slowly upward, concentrating hard on his every movement to keep from catching his foot on a step and falling.

When he finally reached the top, he let out a shaky breath of relief and continued down the hallway, glad to be back on level ground. He stopped at the door he knew was Claire’s. Clearing his throat and straightening himself, he rapped lightly on the door.

There was no answer at first, but, leaning forward, he could make out faint scuffling noises from inside the apartment and knew she had to be home. So he waited.

A few moments later, the door swung open halfway, and Claire appeared from behind it. “Nick!” she exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey,” he said with a smile. “I, uh... well, I was just passing through and thought I’d stop- well, no, not really. I actually just... uh... well, did you see what was on TV?” She was staring at him with an odd expression on her face, and he felt his face turning red with embarrassment. Why did he have to stammer and carry on like such an idiot? And in front of Claire, of all people? She never made him nervous like this; what was the deal?

“On TV?” she repeated. “No, what?”

He shifted his weight awkwardly, uncomfortably aware of the dopey smile creeping across his face and the fact that the plastic bag holding the ice cream he had purchased was slowly cutting off the circulation in his fingers as he twisted the handles round and round. “ET,” he said. “I saw it on, and it... well, it reminded me of that one time when I came over, and we watched it, and...” He shrugged, trailing off, and thrust out the Kroger bag. “Look, I brought ice cream.”

She took the bag and held it as if she didn’t quite know what to do with it, glancing from the carton of ice cream inside up to Nick’s face, her mouth slightly open, her cheeks tinged pink.

“Do you not like that kind?” Nick asked stupidly. But soon enough, he realized what the problem was. For the door now creaked open the rest of the way, and behind her appeared another person.

A guy.

“Hi there,” he greeted Nick in a deep voice, and Claire jumped and spun around, startled.

“Oh, Tim, I didn’t know you’d come up behind me!” she exclaimed.

Nick stared at the two of them in disbelief, wondering who in the hell this guy was

and what he was doing in Claire’s apartment on a Friday night. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had company,” he spoke loudly, causing Claire to turn back around to face him. “I, uh... I guess I should have called first?”

“No, um... it’s okay,” Claire said, though she looked just as awkward as Nick felt.

“Uh, Nick, this is Tim. He works with me. And Tim, this is my friend Nick.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Tim, reaching out from behind Claire to shake Nick’s hand. Nick forced himself to shake hands and studied Tim warily. He was tall, about Nick’s height, and trim, clearly in shape. There was something about him that made Nick immediately dislike him. Maybe it was his looks – he was handsome, with thick, brown hair, hazel eyes, a stubbly goatee, and glasses. Maybe it was the way he was dressed, casually nice, in a polo shirt and pressed pair of Dockers. Or maybe it was the way he was standing behind Claire with his hands resting lightly on her shoulders.

Still, knowing he had to be polite, Nick forced a brief smile onto his face and muttered, “Nice meeting you too.” An strained silence followed, and Nick quickly realized that although Claire would never say it, he was not welcome there. He took a step back, saying, “Well, I should get going.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Claire said, giving him a meaningful look. “Wait here, Tim, I’ll be back up in a few minutes, okay?”

“Sure, C,” replied Tim sportingly, retreating back into the apartment. Claire stepped out and closed the door behind her.

“He calls you C ?” Nick asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, so? My name starts with a C, doesn’t it?” Nick just scowled, rolling his eyes when she wasn’t looking. “Come on,” Claire said softly, putting her hand on his back and urging him forward. He held his words back until they had made it a few feet down the hall, and then he rounded on her.

“Who is that guy?” he demanded, probably more harshly than he had intended to, for Claire’s eyes immediately darkened.

“I told you, we work together,” she replied. “He’s the new dentist they hired to go into practice with Dr. Somers; remember me telling you I got my hours cut because of the new-“

“Yeah, yeah, I remember,” Nick interrupted quickly, “but what’s he doing here?

Are you seeing him?”

Claire put her hands on her hips and gazed up at him coolly. “So what if I am?”

“Are you?” Nick’s voice rose.

She answered without hesitation. “Yes.”

Nick’s heart sunk. He felt deflated, like a balloon that the air had just been let out of. For a brief few seconds, the world seemed to spin in a crazy whirlwind as he digested what she had just told him, and then it hit him – Claire was going out with another man.

She had a boyfriend, and it wasn’t him. Inside, he slumped dejectedly, but on the outside, he kept himself standing up straight, his shoulder squared, refusing to let her see how that one “yes” was affecting him.

“Since when?” he asked, trying hard to keep the spite out of his voice.

“I dunno,” Claire shrugged, looking fully unapologetic. “About a month, I guess.” Nick went back a month in his mind and realized the truth. A month ago, he had pushed her away from him. And in doing so, he had surrendered her to this Tim, who had probably jumped at the chance to snatch her up and make her his. So it was really all his own fault, but still, he felt hurt and betrayed, like Claire had been unfaithful to

him. But even then, he could see how stupid this was. He and Claire weren’t together and never had been. Okay, so they had kissed once, but it was just that. A kiss. It didn’t hold them to anything, didn’t bind them to any contract stating they had to hook up.

Maybe once he had had a chance with her, but he had thrown it away, and she had every right to be with another man.

He realized all this, but that didn’t stop him from being angry. Angry and jealous.

There were several things he wanted to say to her right then, but he held his tongue and instead said nothing.

“I’m sorry you drove all the way out here,” said Claire, and this time she really did look sorry. “Tell you what, why don’t you keep that ice cream for tomorrow night, and you can come back over then, and we’ll rent ET. How does that sound?” Nick shook his head. “Nah, you keep the ice cream. It’s probably starting to melt already anyway.”

“Well, what about tomorrow night?”

Nick hesitated, his words dying on his tongue. Finally, he replied, “You mean you’re not doing something with Tim tomorrow?” Her eyes narrowed. “No,” she said slowly, “I’m hanging out with Tim tonight, but I’ll be free to hang out with you tomorrow if you want to.” He shrugged. “Maybe,” was his noncommittal response. She was missing the point. He hadn’t come over here just to watch ET; he had come over to tell her...

But it didn’t matter anymore. She was with someone else now; any chance he’d had with her was gone.

“I gotta go,” he muttered, turning for the stairs.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Uh, will you be okay going down all those stairs alone?”

“I made it up ‘em, didn’t I?” Nick growled.

“Good point. Well then, I’ll hopefully talk to you tomorrow,” Claire said quickly.

“Goodnight, Nick.”

Nick didn’t reply, but started dolefully down the stairs, conscious of the fact that she stood at the top the entire time, watching in case he fell. For a brief moment, he considered “tripping” and tumbling down a few to get her attention, but he quickly decided that falling down the stairs would only make him look like an even bigger loser.

He made it safely to the bottom and craned his neck, looking back to see if she was still there at the top. But she had already gone.

With a sigh, he walked outside. The sun was close to setting, and the world was bathed in its dying golden rays. Yet shadows danced in the dimming light, and to Nick, it seemed a veneer of darkness had fallen permanently over his life, banishing him to a world of desolation and gloom. Suddenly, he felt very alone.

Leah didn’t need him anymore; she had David. Claire didn’t need him either; she was with Tim.

And Nick couldn’t help but think, who will ever be with me?

***

Chapter 129

Nick did not go straight home, but drove aimlessly around for a long time. It was a miracle he did not get into an accident, for his mind was miles away from the road in front of him. Eventually, tired of driving and weary from all the heavy thinking he’d done, Nick reluctantly headed home.

Howie and AJ were sitting out by the pool when he got home. He stepped out onto the patio just long enough to announce, “I’m back,” and then went back inside. He grabbed a Bud Light from the refrigerator and went into his bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind him. Sinking down on his bed, he popped open his can of beer and took a long drink. Absently squeezing the can and letting the aluminum pop back into place, Nick gazed around the room with bleary eyes, feeling totally drained.

Drained and sort of... empty.

“I blew it,” he murmured, shaking his head sorrowfully. “I’ve lost her.” During his drive, it had all sunk in, the full realization that he had no one to blame for this but himself. He could not be mad at Claire, nor Tim the Dentist. He could only be angry with himself, and he was. He had been a fool. He’d had so many chances with Claire, and he’d blown them all.

Not quite a year ago, she had sat there with him and told him that she thought she loved him. If only he could have said the same. But at the time, he felt nothing more than friendship toward her. He’d then turned to Leah, not Claire, and let her use him and humiliate him once again. When he finally had come to his senses about Claire, he had let his impulses get in the way and had come off looking completely shallow.

After she had run out on him, he had been too proud to call her and explain himself.

Then he had relapsed, and when she finally came back into his life, the last thing on his mind was a romance with her. But the feelings had slowly come back, and in that movie theater, alone in the dark with her, he’d been unable to hold back. But that was not his biggest mistake. His biggest mistake was pushing her away two weeks later. If he had been smart, he would have asked her out while the kiss was still fresh in her mind. But instead, he let his self-pity get in the way and convinced himself that he needed to “let her go.”

And that was exactly what he had done. He had let her go, and she had gone straight to someone else. And why would she ever want to come back to him if she had a guy like Tim? Not only was he good-looking, but he was a dentist... which meant two things: 1) he had to be pretty smart, and 2) he would eventually be pretty rich too. Nick knew he simply could not compete with someone like that. He, too, had money, but these days, that was about it. No woman in her right mind would trade Mr. Perfect Dentist (or would it be Dr. Perfect Dentist?) for him.

Sighing, he lay down and closed his eyes, prepared to fall asleep fully clothed.

Sleep sounded like a good escape right about then. But he had no sooner closed his eyes than he heard a soft knock on his bedroom door. He kept his eyes shut and did not reply, hoping Howie or AJ or both of them would just go away. No such luck. The knock sounded again, louder this time, and then the doorknob jiggled. Nick sighed. Go away, go away, he pleaded in his head.

“Nicky?” It was Howie.

Groaning, Nick sat up and got off of the bed. He stumbled across the room and grudgingly unlocked the door. “What?” he grunted rudely, opening the door just wide

enough to peek out at Howie.

“Are you okay?” Howie asked, his forehead creased with worry.

“Not really,” answered Nick in a flat tone, figuring there was no point in denying it; Howie could see right through him.

Howie’s brow furrowed even further. “What’s wrong?” he pressed. “Are you feeling all right?”

Nick frowned. Of course that was the question that always came up first. “Yes,” he growled in annoyance. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Then what? Something happen with Claire?”

Nick’s first instinct was to lie, to say no, everything was fine with Claire. But he had a feeling Howie would see right through that too, so he found himself answering instead, “Maybe.”

“Maybe? Sounds like yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah? That’s what I kind of thought. Do you... do you wanna talk about it?” Nick shrugged, not sure what he wanted. He fought the instinct to say no, but couldn’t bring himself to say yes right away either. He was not usually much of a “talk about it” kind of guy, choosing to keep his problems bottled up instead, but now he found himself almost wanting to spill his guts to Howie and get some advice or, at least, comfort from his older, wiser brother.

Howie must have noticed this, for he raised an eyebrow and asked, “Can I come in?”

Wordlessly, Nick backed up, letting Howie push the door open wider and enter the bedroom. Howie closed the door quietly behind him and walked with Nick over to his bed, where they both sat down on the edge. Silence filled the room and lasted almost a full moment.

Finally, Howie asked the big question. “So what happened?” And, surprising even himself, Nick answered. “She has a boyfriend.” Even as the mumbled words left his mouth, he realized how juvenile he sounded. He started to blush; Howie probably thought he was acting like some pathetic teenage boy with a junior high crush. But when he looked at Howie’s face, he found that his friend didn’t look the slightest bit amused.

“Oh,” Howie said, his forehead wrinkling again. “So is that what she’s been up to for the past month or so? Did something happen between you two?”

“It’s my fault,” Nick muttered disgustedly. “I pushed her away. I-I lied to her. I hurt her feelings... on purpose.”

“Why?” Howie asked in confusion.

“Cause I knew she deserved better than me,” replied Nick with a shrug. “I wanted her to stop spending all her time with me and get her life back. And then she did, and I’m jealous. God, I suck.”

Howie was silent for a moment, as if digesting this information. Then he said,

“So you do like her then?”

Nick smirked; well, the cat was finally out of the bag now, though he figured Howie and AJ had both known this for some time now. They had certainly hinted at it enough. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I like her.”

“I thought so. It was kind of obvious,” Howie smiled. “But I always thought she liked you too.”

Nick considered this. Had that been obvious to Howie too? “I don’t know...” he answered slowly. “I... I guess she might have. I mean... I know she did, at one time. But that was a long time ago. Lately, I don’t know. I guess maybe she did... before I pushed her away. But she doesn’t anymore.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“Well, no. But she’s seeing this guy, this dentist that she works for.”

“But are they serious?” Howie questioned. “They can’t have been going out for long...”

“I dunno,” said Nick. “But... I-I met the guy, and... well... I don’t know why she would ever want to go out with me after him.”

Howie frowned. “Nick, don’t say that. She liked you before for a reason, and she’s been a good friend to you these last few months. She’s obviously not bothered by...

well, what you think she would be bothered by.”

Nick shook his head. “Look, being friends is one thing. But being together romantically... or sexually... well, that’s totally different. And let’s face it, no girl wants to get with a guy who only has one leg. Sucks for me, but that’s the truth, ain’t it?” he spat bitterly. His own words stung, and without warning, he felt the familiar prickling of tears in the corners of his eyes. He fought them furiously.

It just wasn’t fair. For years, he had been a teen idol worldwide. Unquestionably, though he had never understood exactly why, he had always been the most popular Backstreet Boy. He was the baby, the cute one, the heartthrob.

And just look at him now.

Did I do something to deserve this? he thought. It was something he had wondered time and time again, ever since his diagnosis and especially since the amputation. Was this all some kind of cruel and unusual punishment for something he had done in life? Maybe one big sick joke, spawned from God’s twisted sense of humor?

Or perhaps His sense of irony?

Nick had been unpopular at school as a child, picked on and beat up by the other boys, teased and rejected by the girls. Then he had skyrocketed to fame as part of the Backstreet Boys, and the mobs of young girls had adored him. But his dream life of stardom, success, and happiness had been shattered with the diagnosis of cancer. And now here he was, broken, a fractured remnant of his former self, forever marred and imperfect in the eyes of society, the very same society in which he’d once been regarded as an idol.

And isn’t it ironic, don’t you think?

Blinking away unshed tears, Nick looked over at Howie with dry eyes, realizing that Howie had kept silent the whole time he’d been lost in his thoughts. Howie’s expression was stricken.

“Oh, Nick,” he said softly. “Listen... I don’t know how a girl’s mind works. But after everything you’ve been through together, do you really think Claire would stop caring for you because of... because of your leg? If she liked you before, when you were going through chemo the first time, then she obviously was able to see you for you. She liked your personality, Nick, not your looks or your body or whatever. So why would that be any different now? Your personality hasn’t changed. You’re still Nick.”

“And you’re still idealistic, Howie,” muttered Nick. “And yes, I know what

‘idealistic’ means.”

Howie smiled slightly, then quickly sobered. “Nicky,” he began again, “think of it

this way. What if the tables were turned, and this had happened to Claire instead of you? Would you still like her, even if she wasn’t physically perfect?” Nick frowned. The way Howie had worded that, it would make him look very shallow indeed if he answered no. Of course I wouldn’t answer no! his mind snapped.

Of course I would still like her!

But maybe that was just because he had been through it himself. He knew what it was like to lose your leg and your self-esteem and consider yourself ugly and flawed, to feel that no one would ever find you even remotely attractive again. So of course he would still like Claire if she wasn’t “physically perfect,” as Howie had put it. But what about the old Nick? If he and Claire had truly switched positions, and she had lost her leg to bone cancer instead, would he have been able to get past it and still feel the same way about her? It made him feel like a horrible person to admit it, but he honestly wasn’t sure.

“Oh, I know, Nick,” Howie went on, his voice rising with a hint of almost desperation, “what about Paul McCartney’s new wife? That Heather Mills? She lost her leg in some kind of accident, right? And she models! And she married one of the Beatles! And he obviously didn’t care about her leg, did he?”

“One of the Bayt-uhls,” Nick parroted in a low voice, trying to avoid acknowledging the logic in Howie’s argument.

Howie let out a soft sigh and didn’t say anything. Silence reigned for a few minutes, and finally Howie spoke again. “Have you ever considered talking to a counselor?” he asked quietly.

Nick’s eyes narrowed at him. “You mean like a shrink?”

“I mean like a professional who could help you sort out your feelings and-“

“So basically a shrink,” Nick repeated.

Howie sighed again. “Whatever you want to call it. Look, Nick, this is a lot to deal with, and I think you’ve come through it very well, but... I just... I think it might be helpful to talk to someone, that’s all.”

“I’m talking to you right now.”

“I know, and that’s great, and you know I’m always glad to listen. But I mean a professional, someone who is trained to-“

“They tried that while I was still in the hospital... making me talk to some shrink lady that worked there... what a joke,” Nick scoffed

“You were all for bringing a counselor on the road with us for AJ during the Black and Blue tour,” said Howie with a frown.

“Yeah, and a lot of good that did! She didn’t help him at all!” Nick fumed. “Look, I don’t need to go lie on a couch and have my mind probed by some quack who will then hand me some magnormous bill and a scrip for Prozac!”

“Okay, okay,” Howie said, throwing up his hands in defense. “Forget I said anything. You just come talk to me or J or any of us when you need to, okay?”

“Sure,” said Nick.

Howie smiled and slung an arm across Nick’s shoulders. “Good. And as for Claire...”

“Yeah?”

“Give her some time. If you hurt her like you said you did, you can’t expect her to just forgive you instantly. Go back to just being her friend and win back her trust; show her you really care about her, as a friend if nothing else. What happens from there

is up to her.”

“Go back to just being her friend,” Nick repeated. “I can do that.” Howie nodded. “Well there ya go,” he said with a smile, standing up. “I think I’m gonna go see what J’s up to... do you want to come hang out on the patio with us?”

“Nah,” declined Nick. “I think I’m gonna go to bed. I’m kinda tired. I was driving around and just thinking... it wore me out.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Howie smirked. “Thinking will do that to you.”

“Yeah...” Nick started to murmur absently in response, but then he realized what Howie had meant by that. “Hey!” he cried in offense, but by the time he had processed his comment, Howie had darted out of the room.

Snorting, Nick lay back on the bed again. “Smartass,” he muttered under his breath, but for the first time in hours, a hint of a smile tugged on the corners of his mouth. He closed his eyes, still too exhausted to bother getting ready for bed. It was not long before the smile faded, leaving his face expressionless as he fell into a dreamless sleep.

***

Chapter 130

There were good days, and there were bad days. For Nick, most days were bad.

It was hard to have a good day when each one began with the realization that he was now crippled. How could he be expected to get up on the right side of the bed, when he could not get up at all without the help of crutches or his prosthesis? All of this made for very depressing mornings, and many days, Nick simply wanted to go back to bed. Go to bed and sleep the day away, and when night fell, sleep some more.

Sleep was an escape for Nick, for in sleep, he dreamed. Sometimes he had nightmares, the most horrifying involving another relapse of his cancer, which was the one thing he feared most. But more often, he had pleasant dreams, dreams where he was touring with the Backstreet Boys, and they were back on top; dreams of being with his family, which was close-knit and happy, more like Brian’s family than the dysfunctional mess he was used to; dreams of him and Claire being together.

The only problem with these dreams was that, inevitably, he would have to wake up from them and face yet another bad day in the life of Nick Carter. Which was why it was only too easy to stay in bed as long as possible, waiting for sleep and wishing for the dreams to come and carry him away from it all.

But that was not the case today. Today was a good day.

It had dawned bright, sunny, and hot, a typical July day in Florida, and Nick had started it off by calling Claire. After his talk with Howie the night before, he was anxious to see her again. He knew he had acted bitter and jealous the night before, and he was determined to make it up to her. He was not going to let his feelings for her get in the way of their friendship anymore.

They had planned to get together that night, but she came over in the afternoon instead, and they swam. Nick had gone swimming almost every day for the past few weeks in an effort to get back into shape for the video shoot that would take place the following week. It was one of the few physical activities he could still do without trouble, and he loved being in the water, so he hit the pool religiously. And though he hadn’t noticed much of a change in his physique yet, he had at least developed a tan, which was a nice contrast to the sallow complexion he’d had earlier, the results of weeks of being cooped up in the house.

Claire, who sat on the edge of the pool, her legs in the water, looked as white as ever. “I don’t tan. I burn,” she’d said with a roll of her eyes, as she pulled off her t-shirt and shorts, exposing a white, cherry-patterned tankini that was only a shade or two lighter than her ivory skin. “Hope I don’t blind you.” But Nick had to admit that in some ways, he found her natural-looking skin much more appealing than the leathery hide of a girl who had visited the tanning bed one too many times. As beautiful as she was, Leah had one of those girls. Claire was not beautiful like Leah, but she was natural, and he liked that.

He swam up to her now and stood on raised ridge that ran around the perimeter of the bottom of the pool, gripping the edge for support. “Are you coming back in?” he asked, playfully flicking water at her.

“I will,” she replied, retaliating by kicking a tidal wave of water right at him. “I’m just resting for a minute.”

“Resting, huh?” Nick echoed, shaking his head like a dog to get rid of the water.

“Tim wear you out last night or something?” As soon as the words were out of his

mouth, he regretted them. Tim had not been mentioned at all so far, and Nick had sworn not to bring him up, especially in the form of some snide remark. Self control, he reminded himself.

Luckily, Claire did not seem too offended, simply rolling her eyes and kicking more water at him. Grinning, he disappeared beneath the surface. Opening his eyes under the water, he found her feet, grabbed her by the ankles, and yanked. She flew ungracefully into the water and game up sputtering. “Damn you!” she cried, slapping at him playfully, her eyes sparkling. “I could have cracked the back of my head open on the edge, and then what would you have done?”

“Let you drown in a pool of your own blood, I guess,” Nick replied with a casual air, shrugging.

“You’re an ass,” she grinned. “I was going to put on more suntan lotion before I got back in. Now I’m going to have to haul my butt out of this pool and dry off all over again.”

“Oh, boo hoo.”

She rolled her eyes and boosted herself back onto the edge. Getting to her feet, she crossed the patio to retrieve her beach towel and jumbo bottle of Sunblock. He tried not to stare as she squirted a liberal amount of the lotion into the palm of her hand and began to rub it all over her body, her fingers gliding over her bare stomach and across her chest, sliding just beneath her top.

Bringing the bottle with her, she came back to the pool and sat down on the edge once again. “Sit up here a minute and put some on my back, would you?” she asked.

Trying not to smile, Nick lifted himself onto the edge beside her. She handed him the Sunblock and twisted around so that he could reach her back. He squeezed some of the lotion into his hand and smeared it lightly onto her skin. Using both hands, he slowly began to rub it in and wondered if she’d agree to a shirtless massage later on.

Stop it, Carter, he warned himself internally. You can’t even think shit like that; she’s your friend, nothing more.

Frowning, he dutifully rubbed some onto her shoulders as well and then stopped, handing the bottle back to her. “There you go,” he said.

“Thanks, Nick.” She rolled the bottle haphazardly across the patio and slid back into the water. He followed. “So,” she said, leisurely treading water, “got any plans for this coming week?”

“Yeah,” he answered, glad to be able to say ‘yes’ to that question for once. “We’re going to LA to shoot a video.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You are? A music video?” He nodded. “Wow,” she said.

“You didn’t tell me that! That’s awesome, Nick! Are you excited?”

“Yes,” he replied assertively at first, then paused and added, “and kinda nervous too.”

She nodded. “Well, that’s certainly understandable. I would be too. But I’m sure it’ll turn out great.” She smiled.

“Wish I could be sure,” he muttered, lowering his mask of confidence. “I’m just kind of scared... I’m afraid that I won’t be at the top of my game anymore... I-I don’t know how this has affected my ability to perform. I don’t know if I can still get in front of a camera and just sing, like I used to. And I’m also afraid that people won’t like it...

that no one will want to watch it, that no one will like us anymore because of me. I mean, it’s kind a turn-off to... well, you know...” He trailed off, realizing he had just

revealed much more than he had intended to her. He was not used to sharing his feelings, verbalizing his inner thoughts, confessing his fears. It made him feel vulnerable and naked, like she could see right into his soul.

But her gaze was not penetrating and did not make him uncomfortable. In fact, it did quite the opposite, for when he looked into her eyes, he saw not only compassion, but understanding.

“It’s all right to be afraid,” she said. “I mean, of course you are. Who wouldn’t be? But it’s going to be okay. This will help you get back into the swing of things, and it might be hard at first, but you’ll be fine. And as far as what other people think... well, jeez, Nick, you’re a Backstreet Boy! You have freaking gazillions of teenyboppers who worship you! And yeah, maybe a few of them have moved on, the majority won’t turn their backs on you. The true fans will love you no matter what.” Nick smiled a little. “Can I group you with the true fans yet?” he asked jokingly.

She gave him a look. “Don’t flatter yourself; you haven’t quite converted me yet, buddy. I’m not into boybands.” She grinned as his expression darkened and added,

“But I’ll still love ya no matter what too... even if you are a pop star.”

“Oh, whatever, I so caught you listening to my CD that one time, so don’t even pretend like you’re not into us. I bet your bedroom walls are plastered with our posters and shit,” Nick teased.

“Oh right, and don’t forget my life-size cardboard cutout of you in the corner,” she added sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

He laughed. “Hey, I think you can get those from Ebay if you want me to bid on one for you.”

“And how would you know that? What, do you go hunt down your own merchandise online and see how much you’re selling for these days? You loser,” she said, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “And as a note, I’m already the high bidder on an auction for a cardboard cutout... of AJ.”

“AJ!” Nick cried, dropping his jaw exaggeratedly. “Traitor!” She giggled. “What can I say – I like the bad boys. Maybe you could hook us up.” She rolled her eyes again to let him know that she, of course, was kidding.

Nick played along. “Well, sure, I guess so,” he said, “but I don’t know if Tim would be too happy about that...”

“Oh, psh, I can still screw him while AJ’s on tour,” replied Claire matter-of-factly with a casual wave of her hand.

“Claire, you ignorant slut!” he exclaimed, winking.

“Nick, you loser!” she fired back with a grin.

“Slut.”

“Loser.”

“Slut...”

***

Chapter 131

“What time is it?” asked Nick through a yawn.

Howie checked his watch. “It’s... 11:30.”

“Really?” Nick yawned again. “It feels way earlier.”

“Well, technically,” put in AJ, “it’s only... 8:30? Yeah, 8:30. Don’t forget we’re on Pacific time now.”

Nick groaned. “Why did we have to leave so early? Couldn’t we have taken an afternoon flight or something?”

“What, and get recognized and mobbed in the middle of the airport? I told you, I got us the earliest flight possible so that the airport wouldn’t be so crowded,” Howie explained.

“Well, a lot of good that did; it wasn’t so busy back in Florida, but it’s pretty damn crowded here,” Nick commented, looking around the bustling Los Angeles International Airport.

“I know, so quit your yapping, and let’s go,” AJ said in a low voice. Escorted by a trio of burly bodyguards, the three Backstreet Boys made their way through the airport as quickly as possible, which was not really all that fast, with Nick struggling to keep up as it was. They had just landed in Los Angeles, and although they had not made it public knowledge that they would be in town to shoot a video that week, they were wary of being spotted by fans. They weren’t taking any chances, for Nick was in no condition to outrun a pack of wild girls. The bodyguards kept close, hurrying them along to the nearest exit, where they would be met by a driver hired to take them to Kevin’s house.

The three of them, plus Brian, who would be arriving shortly after they did, had opted to stay all together at Kevin’s LA home, rather than dealing with the hassles of a hotel. The video shoot itself wouldn’t start until the next day, Thursday, but they had decided to fly in on Wednesday and give themselves an extra day to just hang out, rest, and catch up. Nick, Howie, and AJ had not actually seen Kevin and Brian since they had both left Tampa back in April, so it had been almost three months since the five of them had been together. With all that had happened, that felt like much too long, and they were all anxious to see each other again.

Nick sighed in relief when they made it outside and felt even more relieved when he climbed into the black van that had pulled up in front of them, escaping the smoggy heat. He sank down into one of the two middle seats, while AJ and Howie squeezed into the very back. The three bodyguards dispersed through the vehicle, one sitting up front beside the driver, one sitting in the other middle seat next to Nick, and the third crowding in the back seat with AJ and Howie.

Breathless from all the hurrying, Nick rested the side of his face against the cool, tinted glass of the window and savored the air conditioning that was blasting right at him.

“You okay, Nick?” Howie asked, leaning between the two middle seats and looking over at Nick.

“Yeah, I’m good,” replied Nick, although his stump was hurting like hell.

Whether it was because it had stiffened up during the five-hour flight or because of all the walking he had just done through the airport – or maybe a combination of both – it was throbbing quite uncomfortably. But this was just not something one announced to a van full of people, so he tried to ignore it, figuring the pain would go away soon. It

always did. He often had aches and pains that came and went, and sometimes he still got phantom sensations, where it felt like his real leg was still there. But the feelings never lasted long, and none of them even compared to the agonizing pain he’d experienced that first week following the surgery.

Howie sat back, and Nick closed his eyes, trying to block out the pain in his leg and the sounds of the LA traffic around him. When he opened them again, the congested freeway had been replaced by a quiet boulevard lined on both sides by sweeping, lush green lawns and sprawling mansions, spaced far apart. Blinking, he realized he must have dozed off. They were already almost to Kevin’s place.

The van turned into a long driveway and slowly drove down it, pulling up in front of Kevin’s beautiful home. As the van came to a stop, doors slid open, and passengers climbed out. Or stumbled out, in Nick’s case. Leaning up against the van, he rubbed his quad, trying to get the stiff muscles to loosen up. He heard a door open and close and looked up to see Kevin emerge from the house. Kevin came jogging down the two steps that sloped gently up to his doorstep and cut across his perfectly manicured, magnificently landscaped lawn to meet them.

AJ and Howie came up alongside Nick, and Kevin stopped before the three of them, beaming. “Hey, you made it,” he said, leaning forward to hug each of them in turn. “You look great, kiddo,” he whispered as he gave Nick a brotherly bear hug. “I’m so glad to see you up and about again.”

“Well, I’m glad to be up and about again,” Nick said lightly, patting Kevin’s back.

“How you doin’, old man?”

Kevin pulled back and surveyed him with a smirk. “Well, you know, it’s tough being so old and all, but I’m doin’ alright. It’s good to have you back, kid.” He tapped Nick’s shoulder and took a step back. “Well, c’mon fellas, let’s head inside. Kris is finishing up brunch, and as soon as Bri gets here, we can eat. I’m sure y’all are hungry.”

“I am,” Nick realized, his stomach rumbling. They’d been served breakfast on the flight, but he had not eaten much of his. Some things never changed, and his detestation of plane food was one of them.

Kevin hurried ahead as Nick, AJ, and Howie walked along the curving cement walkway that wound up to the front door. As they neared the steps leading to the small front porch, Nick stopped suddenly. “Uh, Kev? What is that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow suspiciously. Kevin was struggling with a wide piece of plywood that had been lying on the lawn.

“This,” Kevin grunted, easing the plywood down over the steps, “is a ramp.” He bent down to straighten the large board so that it was positioned just right and then stood back, inspecting his work. Glancing over at Nick, he added, “You know, so you can get up the stairs. I sawed it down to size myself. It’s a little wobbly, but if we hold it, you should be able to-“

“Uh, Kev?” Nick said again. “I can get up steps. Especially those steps.” He eyed the two wide steps, trying not to laugh. “In fact, steps are probably easier than a ramp.” The proud grin left Kevin’s face. “Oh,” he said, shifting his weight in embarrassment. “Sorry, Nick. I-I wasn’t sure...”

“Hey, it’s okay, dude,” Nick said quickly. “Just letting you know. Thanks for thinking of me though.” He offered Kevin a smile, which Kevin returned.

“Well, in that case,” said Kevin, sliding the makeshift ramp back off of the steps,

“come on inside.”

The four men made their way into the house, where they were met by Kevin’s wife Kristin, who was looking rather frazzled, her hair falling out of the loose bun she’d pulled it into, her clothes stained with wet spots of something and streaked with white powder, probably flour.

“Hi, guys!” she said rather shrilly. “Come on in! Sorry I look like such a mess; I’ve been cooking.” She smiled sheepishly and added, “I’m going to go change. Go have a seat in the living room, and Kev, could you go check on the casserole? It should be about ready to come out of the oven.” She darted upstairs, and Kevin chuckled.

“Go on and sit down. I’ll be there in a minute,” he said, heading into the kitchen.

Nick, Howie, and AJ went into the spacious living room and sat down together on a wide couch. Kevin came in two minutes later, and after another ten minutes had gone by, they were joined by Kristin, who had transformed from messy to pretty and perfectly put-together.

“Ah, that’s better,” she sighed. “Now I can give you guys a hug without getting you all gross.” Smiling, the three men rose from the couch. Kristin came over and hugged Howie, then AJ, and finally Nick. “You look really good, Nick,” she said as she embraced him gingerly and stepped back to look at him, her eyes focusing on anything but his left leg, like a child who had been told not to stare.

“You too, Kris,” he replied. “It’s been awhile, eh?”

“Yes... yes, it sure has.” Kristin smiled around the room. “It’s so nice to have you all here.”

“Well, thanks for having us,” Howie said politely.

“Oh, not a problem! We-“ But she was interrupted by the doorbell.

“Hey, maybe that’s Brian,” Kevin said, jumping up to answer it. “If it is, he’s early...” He disappeared into the foyer, and moments later, they heard him exclaim,

“Hey, cuz!”

AJ chuckled. “That would be Brian. Yo B-Rok!”

Brian was all smiles when he came into the living room, tailed by Kevin. “Yo A-J!” he returned with a goofy grin. “Mornin’, y’all.” His eyes quickly scanned the room and found Nick. Nick smiled and rose easily, aided by the high, firm-cushioned sofa.

Brian gave Kristin a hug and then made a beeline for Nick, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Good to see ya, buddy,” he said, as he stepped back, holding Nick at an arm’s length.

“You look real good!” He smiled as he reached up and lightly ruffled Nick’s hair. “And you got your leg. Let’s see that bad boy!”

With an almost nervous chuckle, Nick shyly lifted his pant leg just enough to expose the metallic shin of his prosthetic leg. Brian looked at it with interest. “Hey, that’s pretty cool,” he commented.

“This one’s only temporary,” explained Nick, feeling more self-assured now that Brian didn’t seem to be bothered by his situation. “I’m getting fit for a better one in about three weeks.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, and it’s gonna be some kind of computer-controlled one, right Nick?” interjected Howie.

“Yeah.”

“Computer-controlled?” Brian repeated. “I didn’t know they made stuff like that... that sounds pretty sweet.”

“Yeah, according to Nick’s physical therapist, he’ll be able to walk better with it

and even jog... and stuff like that,” said Howie.

“Well, what did I tell ya, Nick?” Kevin spoke up. “I told you that you were going to get through this and go on with your life... and now you are.”

“Aww, Kevin!” AJ cooed in a high-pitched, girlish voice. Then, dropping down to his normal low, raspy tone, he added, “Sorry to interrupt this Kodak moment, but Train, didn’t you say we could eat as soon as Brian got here? Cause I’m starving!”

“Me too,” Nick added quickly, a little uncomfortable with all the attention he was getting.

Kevin laughed. “Well, let’s go eat then!”

***

The Boys spent the rest of the day just hanging out at Kevin’s house and went to bed early, knowing they would have to get up at five o’clock the next morning in order to get to the video shoot on time. But despite turning in early, Nick didn’t fall asleep until very late. He lay awake for hours, anticipating the shoot. Earlier that day, laughing and joking with the rest of the group, he had felt excited, but now the excitement had worn off, and he was just very nervous. How would he do tomorrow? Would his performance be up to par, or would he come to realize that his expectations were just too far out of reach? What would Nigel think? And more importantly, what would the fans think, when the video was ready for release?

Questions like these poured through his mind all night, and by the time he finally managed to fall asleep, he only had a few hours before it was time to get up again. It felt like he had just closed his eyes when Kevin woke him up at ten after five in the morning.

He showered quickly and got dressed, not bothering to put much effort into his appearance that morning. He knew the makeup artists and stylists on set would take care of that later.

He was the last one to enter the kitchen, where Kevin, Brian, AJ, and Howie were scarfing down a quick breakfast. Kevin jumped up immediately when he saw Nick come in. “Hey, there you are,” he said. “What do you want to eat? Cereal, toast-“

“Pop-tart?” Brian interjected with a grin, holding up the chocolate chip one he was eating and giving it a little shake. It fell apart in his hands, leaving them covered in sticky chocolate goo.

Nick forced a laugh. “Nah... I’m not real hungry,” he answered truthfully. His stomach was already so filled with butterflies that he didn’t think he could eat a thing.

“You should eat something,” said Kevin, just as Nick knew he would. “You’ll need the energy.”

“They always have food on set,” countered Nick. “I can eat later.”

“Okay,” Kevin said without protest, dropping the issue. Relieved, Nick sat down with the others and waited while they finished eating.

Fifteen minutes later, they were on the road, divided between the two luxury SUV’s their record company had sent to pick them up. Nick rode with Kevin and Brian in one, while Howie and AJ traveled in the other.

“You alright, Nick?” Kevin asked, about halfway through the ride.

“Yeah,” answered Nick, who had hardly said anything else so far. “Why?”

“You’re just bein’ real quiet. You nervous?”

“No,” Nick lied automatically, then changed his mind. “Yes.”

“Well, make up your mind, Carter,” Brian joked.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” said Kevin. “But don’t worry; you’re gonna be fine.

Just work hard and try your best... but don’t push yourself too hard. It hasn’t even been four months yet, after all. I don’t want you to strain yourself. You know, I’m not even sure it was a good idea to do this so soon... maybe we should have waited...” He trailed off, now sounding totally perplexed.

Nick rolled his eyes and tried not to laugh. The man was totally contradicting himself. “Don’t worry, Kev; I’m gonna be fine,” Nick said cheerfully, repeating Kevin’s words. He only wished he could feel as confident as he sounded. He wasn’t at all worried about hurting himself or straining himself or whatever Kevin was worried about. He was more concerned about hurting the group, of thwarting their success. If this video shoot had to be delayed because it turned out he wasn’t ready, then that meant more waiting for the group, more time before they would be able to continue with their career. Time meant money, and he knew the record company wouldn’t like another huge delay. They were sympathetic to his plight, sure, but he knew they were also anxious about what was to become of one of their biggest moneymakers, the Backstreet Boys. They were always afraid that a long hiatus would cause the fans to lose interest, and the Boys had just come off of a three-year hiatus. So there was pressure to make a comeback as soon as impossible.

But at the same time, Nick supposed he should be glad they wanted the group to shoot a video. And really, he was. At least that meant the record company still believed in the Backstreet Boys, still thought they were worth being kept on board, despite what had happened to their young “heartthrob.” But it also concerned Nick. He looked at this video as a sort of test, a test whose results could possibly determine the fate of the Backstreet Boys. If the shoot did not go well, and the video did not meet certain standards, or if it was not accepted by the fans when it was released, it could be taken as a sign that Backstreet was over, that the group was never going to be as popular now that the member who had once attracted the most fans was not only a victim to cancer, but an amputee. And then... well, that could be it. They could be dropped from their label, and if no other companies thought they could make money off the Backstreet Boys, they would not be picked up again.

These were the thoughts and scenarios that had kept Nick awake the night before, and they were making him feel sick to his stomach right at that moment. Kevin, Brian, AJ, and Howie didn’t understand – they weren’t under any pressure. All they had to do was look good and perform as usual. The weight rested solely on Nick’s shoulders. He was the one who would be struggling, and it was up to him to do a good job. If he didn’t... the whole group could suffer.

Kevin’s voice brought Nick right out of his thoughts. “Did you hear what I said, Nick?” he was asking.

“Pay attention,” Brian snapped in the imitation of a strict grade school teacher, jabbing Nick in the ribs and grinning.

“Sorry, what?” Nick murmured, disoriented.

“I said, I know you’ll be fine, so don’t worry. You always put 110% into everything, and this is going to be no different. So just relax and enjoy it, okay?” Kevin smiled back at Nick from the front seat. Nick swallowed hard and forced a weak smile back. He knew Kevin was trying to reassure him and make him feel better, when in actuality, he was only making Nick feel worse. Kevin and the guys... they were all

counting on him. They all believed in him. But he did not believe in himself, not really.

He had when he’d agreed to this video, but now that he was actually there, in LA, on the way to the set, he half wished he could just back out. He could not bear the prospect of letting the guys down. It was true that he tried to put 110% into everything, at least everything related to his career. He was a hard worker, and although he was not a perfectionist like Kevin, his job was important to him, and he always strove to do his best when he was performing. But what if his best - even his 110% effort - just wasn’t good enough this time?

He did not have much longer to dwell on that grim possibility, for it was not long before their vehicle was slowing down in front of the studio at which they would be shooting the video. Looking out his window, Nick saw large tents set up and trailers parked all around the building. He swallowed nervously and took a deep breath, just as Brian sang out, “We’re he-ere!”

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” Nick muttered with a shuddering sigh.

Brian looked over at him in alarm, then realized he wasn’t serious. Smiling, he patted Nick’s good knee reassuringly and said, “Don’t freak out yet, bro. We’re gonna be right here with you, and Nigel said on the phone that we’d go at whatever pace you needed to. Everything’s going to be fine, and in the end, we’re gonna have ourselves a kick ass video. Okay?”

“Okay,” Nick said, forcing another smile. “Let’s go.” Wishing he could just stay behind in the safety of the car, Nick dutifully climbed out. AJ and Howie’s vehicle had arrived minutes earlier, and they were already waiting for Nick, Brian, and Kevin.

“You guys ready?” asked AJ, hopping from one foot to the other, either from excitement or too much coffee.

“Yeah, we’re ready,” Kevin answered, glancing from Brian to Nick, who nodded unsurely.

“Good. Then let’s do this thing!”

As they walked onto the grounds, AJ leading the way, Nick shoved his hands in his pockets and crossed his fingers, silently praying that he would not let them down.

***

Chapter 132

The Backstreet Boys’ second single was a song called “When Morning Comes.” It was a song about starting over - in a relationship, specifically. The lyrics were about a man hoping for a second chance with his lover, whom he had not treated the best. It was an apology and a plea, a promise that he had changed, and things would be better the second time around.

But to Nick, the song meant more than that. Although the lyrics dealt with a relationship, he could apply it to what was happening in his own life at the time. He, too, was starting over. He had re-learned to walk, he was getting his life back, and finally, he was continuing with his career. A new day had come, and after months of practically isolating himself from the public, he would be showing his face and bearing his soul to everyone through this video.

Nigel Dick, their chosen director, had offered them a video treatment that didn’t revolve specifically around the actual song lyrics, but the theme of the song itself. It was going to be symbolic, with imagery that represented rebirth, revival, and new direction.

To fit with the romantic insinuation, Nigel had hired just one actress, and she would be interacting only with AJ, who had the most solos in the song and therefore took on the

“apologetic boyfriend” role in the video. Nick was glad; he did not want to be forced to act with a woman he did not even know. It had always made him rather uncomfortable to act with beautiful women on screen, knowing that there were cameras all around him, recording his every move. But the thought of doing that now, in his current state, was horrifying. Luckily, he would not have to.

The way Nigel had worked everything out, there was only one scene in which Nick would be alone on screen, during the one solo he had in the song. All of the other scenes he was in contained the four other Backstreet Boys, and that made him more comfortable. And most of the time, he would be sitting down, except for one of the final scenes of the video, where, according to Nigel’s vision, the five Boys would be walking together down a lone road, toward the east, into the sunrise.

“But only if you’re comfortable with it,” Nigel had said to Nick as they sat around before filming began, going over the plan once again. Nick had only shrugged and nodded a little, not saying anything one way or another.

After the discussion, the five men were whisked off to makeup and wardrobe, where a team of makeup artists and stylists prepared them for the video, making sure they looked just right. Nick, who usually had no problem changing and modeling clothes for the wardrobe people, found it completely nerve-wracking to come out of the dressing room and let them scrutinize him in whatever outfit they had chosen for him.

Stylists always liked to put him in tighter, form-fitting clothes, but he had always preferred things big and baggy. It used to be because he was insecure about his weight.

Now it was for a whole other reason. He lived in baggy pants because they were more comfortable and easier to move around in, and he was confident that they hid his prosthetic leg. But now they had put him in a pair of tighter, more fitting designer jeans, which made him feel awkward and somewhat exposed.

“Those look good,” nodded Alexandra, one of the stylists, who was supervising his wardrobe.

Doubting her, he turned to study himself in the large three-way mirror that had been set up outside the dressing rooms. He saw that she was actually right; the jeans

hid his prosthesis just as well as his baggier pants did. You really could not tell at all.

He slowly turned this way and that, making sure and getting a feel for the jeans, and finally nodded.

“These work,” he told Alexandra.

“Great,” replied Alexandra with a quick smile. “Head on over to makeup then.” Nick did as he was told, more comfortable with sitting in a chair and letting the makeup artists do up his face, the one part of his body in which he still had confidence.

They ended up starting with his hair though, which he was not so confident about.

Although the hair loss from the chemo had stopped, his hair was still thinner than usual because what had fallen out during the two weeks he had been on the treatment was still growing back. But the hairstylists worked their magic and fixed this with mass quantities of volumizing spray and gel, only after they had added fresh light blonde highlights to his natural darker blonde hue. The makeup came next, and although he was not a big fan of having all that gunk smeared onto his face, he had to admit, the stuff made a real difference, evening out his complexion and bronzing his skin tone even further. When they were finished, he looked just about perfect. Well, from the neck up, anyway.

He was the last to be done, having needed more work than the other guys, and by the time he left the makeup area, filming had already begun outside with just AJ and the actress Nigel had cast. The first scene shot was actually the last scene in the video, where AJ, playing the role of the boyfriend in the song, was to make up with the estranged girlfriend. The scene took place in the morning and therefore had to be shot first, when the sun was still low in the east. It only took a few tries for AJ, a natural actor, to get the brief scene just right, and then they moved on.

“We’ll save the sequence of when you’re all riding on the tour bus for later tonight, since that scene is supposed to take place at night,” Nigel explained, “but we can start shooting your individual scenes now. Remember, these take place in a hotel – it’s very late at night, and you’re all being kept awake by your thoughts, waiting for... well,

‘when morning comes,’ so to say. We might as well shoot in order, and this sequence will start with the second verse, Brian’s solo, so Brian, you’re up.” Brian took his place on a set that looked like a darkened hotel room, and Nigel’s crew ran through the blocking with him, while the four other Boys sat around watching and waiting for their turns to film.

Nick was the last to shoot his individual part, and besides Brian, he had the longest part to film. His solo was the bridge of the song, which came directly after the chorus they had all been shot singing. His set was a balcony - the balcony of a hotel suite, supposedly, although there was no actual suite there, and the balcony was not raised off the ground, but set on a green screen.

“You’ll be sitting here on the balcony, staring off into the distance as you sing,” explained Nigel. “The green screen will be ‘the distance,’ of course. During editing, we’ll replace that with actual scenery, the sun just beginning to rise over the city. So you’re supposed to be sitting there, thinking and waiting for morning to come, and during your solo, it will.”

Nick nodded in understanding and walked onto the set, sitting down in the deck chair positioned in one corner of the balcony. It took a few minutes for the crew to position everything just right. They guided him in sitting just the way they wanted him and showed him where he was supposed to be gazing.

“Now, Nick, are you comfortable with full body shots, or would you prefer we just filmed your face?” Nigel asked kindly.

Nick considered this a moment and figured it really didn’t matter. His prosthesis was probably a little more obvious now that he was sitting down, but he was sitting with his left side facing the green screen and his “good side” nearest to the camera, so it probably wouldn’t even show.

“Do whatever you want,” he answered after a moment’s hesitation. “I’m cool with it.”

From off to the side, he saw the guys nod their approval, and Brian flashed him a quick thumbs up. He offered a nervous smile in return and swallowed hard. He had never really been camera shy, so this nervousness was something new. Only once had he been this tense before a video shoot, and that was when they did their first video,

“We’ve Got it Goin’ On.” It was all very new to him then, so of course he was nervous.

But at the same time, he’d been extremely excited. A music video – that was a big thing.

It wasn’t such a big thing anymore though – they’d shot tons of them by now. But this one... this one was big, to Nick at least. And he knew he couldn’t mess it up.

“Are you ready then, Nick?” asked Nigel, and Nick nodded, taking a deep breath.

“All right then. Let’s give this a go. Cue music in 3... 2... 1. Action.” The song began right before the second chorus, and as the lyrics started up, Nick opened his mouth and began to lip sync. It felt strange to be doing so. The group had not shot a video since the one for their first single, back at the end of the previous November, and to Nick, who felt as if he’d aged a decade in the past four months, eight months seemed much longer. But at the same time, it felt... normal. This was his life -

singing, performing, making music videos. He had done this before he was diagnosed with cancer, he had done it during his remission, and now that his cancer was gone, he was back to doing it again. And that means, he realized, that I’m finally getting my life back...

“Cut!”

Nigel’s direction snapped Nick out of his thoughts, and he realized guiltily he had not really been paying much attention, mouthing the words automatically and staring blankly at the bright green screen as he had been instructed.

“Don’t smile,” said Nigel. “Not yet anyway. You’re not supposed to be happy during this part. When we go to the bridge, the song takes a more hopeful turn, and then I suppose you can smile a little if you want, as if you’re happy to see the sun come up, but-“

“I’m sorry,” apologized Nick, who had not even realized he had been smiling.

Even though they had not made it through the first take because of that, he was pleased.

After all, he had not had a lot to smile about for the past four months, so it was nice to be able to smile genuinely and not even be aware of it. “Let’s go again; I won’t smile this time.”

It was Nigel who smiled now, nodding as the crew prepared another take.

“Action!”

The music started again, and this time, Nick did not let his mind wander, but stayed focused on the song, the lyrics, and the meaning and emotion behind them. He gazed deeply into the green screen, visualizing the sun rising over the ocean (okay, so in the video, it would be rising over a city, but he didn’t care - he preferred the water). He got inspiration not from the literal meaning of the song, but from his own experiences.

He thought of how, during those long weeks in the hospital and stuck at home, a part of him had longed to get back on his feet, to get back on with his life. He thought of Claire, of how he had blown it with her so many times and how badly he wanted another chance with her. These feelings guided him as he sang expressively, letting his emotions take over.

He got through the chorus and launched into the bridge, unaware of everyone watching him, the cameras rolling, zooming in on his face from various angles. For a few brief moments, he forgot everything and thought only of the music and the painful longing he had experienced enough of himself to express perfectly. He continued to gaze into the screen, but it was no longer a bright green surface, nor the sky at dawn, for in his mind, it had become Claire’s face as it looked that night in the movie theater, and he looked at it wistfully, the memory seeming as distant as the sun, yet just as vivid. He yearned to hold her in his arms again and kiss her lips, to have her know how much he had grown to cherish her.

“Cut!”

Nick blinked. Like that, the scene was over, and the emotion quickly died as he looked around to see the green screen there once again, glaringly bright, and members of the crew walking around, readjusting cameras and changing film.

“That was splendid, Nick,” Nigel praised. “Absolutely splendid. Come on over here; would you like to have a look?”

“You mean that take was okay?” Nick asked, pleasantly surprised.

“It was wonderful. I’d like to replay some of the film and see how it captured, but from here, it looked fantastic. We might run it another time or two if you want, but if it turned out well on camera, this very well could be the take we use.” Nick smiled, proud of himself, and left the set to go stand behind one of the cameras and watch what they had just shot. He scrutinized himself critically as he watched the raw material, but when it was over, he was actually rather impressed. It had been a good take, and all of a sudden, his confidence soared. He could do this.

There was no reason to be nervous. Part of him had changed, but not this part, not his creative side, his musical side.

“So do you wanna get another take then?” he asked Nigel.

“If you don’t mind. This one was very good, but I’d like to have more options for the editing process,” said Nigel, and Nick nodded in agreement, not at all bothered by doing the scene over again. He repeated it several more times, growing more confident with each take, although he had a feeling that none of them were quite as good as that second one had been, for all of the later takes felt like acting, whereas the second take had felt real.

By the time the shoot had wrapped for that day, it was dark outside, and everyone was tired. It definitely hadn’t been one of the group’s most exhausting shoots – not even close – but still, they were worn out from a day of being herded back and forth from wardrobe to makeup to the various sets. They had gotten most of the video shot though, and there was only one big scene left to film the following morning.

When Nick collapsed into his bed at Kevin’s house that night, he was exhausted from a near sleepless night the night before and a full day of work. But despite that, he could not fall asleep right away, his mind still reeling with all the emotions of that day and all the expectations for the next. Tomorrow morning, bright and early, they would film one of the final sequences of the video, the part Nigel had mentioned earlier, which

would involve the five of them walking together down a road, sort of similar to the end of the “Show Me the Meaning” video they had done almost five years ago. Nick had agreed to doing the scene, nervous as he was about it. By now, he could walk fine, and he was quite steady on his feet. But he still had an obvious limp, if you could call it that, and he didn’t want it to spoil the video. No one else seemed to be bothered by this though, and as AJ had pointed out once during the day, “What are you so worried about, Nick? Everyone knows what happened, and they know you didn’t just grow another leg under those jeans. So what are you trying to hide? Who cares if you don’t have the whole celebrity strut down pat yet?”

Kevin had jabbed AJ sharply in the ribs at this comment, giving him a look that could kill, but Nick was not offended. AJ was the only one of them who rarely worried about hurting Nick’s feelings, and Nick loved him for it. AJ could be blunt, but his advice made sense, and his jokes were part of what had helped Nick stay sane the past three and a half months. And now, Nick realized that he was right once again. What was he trying to hide? The fans would expect his walk to be off; hell, some of them would probably be surprised that he was walking at all. So what was he so worried about?

“Nothing,” he murmured under his breath, as he closed his eyes. “It’ll be fine.” Within minutes, his nerves calmed down, and he had drifted off to sleep.

***

Nick was much more relaxed when they arrived on set the next day, but maybe that was just because he was still quite tired. They had had to get up and be on the road even earlier that morning. In fact, it was still dark outside. Nigel had wanted them ready to film before dawn because the last scene to shoot was supposed to take place early in the morning, with the sun still low in the sky.

Bleary-eyed and yawning, they changed into a second set of outfits, all in earth tones, with hints of blue. The makeup artists managed to get them looking wide awake and rejuvenated, and then they were packed up and shuttled off to a location near the studio, where the scene would be shot. The landscape was open and devoid of buildings, cars, and people, except for those that were there for the shoot. A narrow old road stretched between acres of farmland from east to west, and Nick saw that it was perfect for the scene Nigel had envisioned. The sun was just beginning to rise, lightening the sky with beautiful hues of pink and gold.

As the cameras got set up, Nigel ran through the plan with them one more time.

“All I want you to do,” he said, “is walk down the road, while singing. Walk side by side, but you don’t have to stay in a straight line; we don’t need it to look like a marching band. Just take it nice and slow - a leisurely stroll, if you will. Any questions?” They all shook their head; his directions were pretty straight forward.

When the camera crew was ready to begin filming, Nigel positioned the Boys where he wanted them. AJ was in the middle, Nick and Kevin on either side of him, and Howie and Brian were on the ends. When everything was set, the music began to play, and the five men took off walking. Nick mouthed the chorus to the song along with the others and walked, forcing himself to look straight ahead and not down at his feet or the road in front of him, trying to use a facial expression other than one of deep concentration, which was what was going on inside of him. Forget the emotion of the

song; he was simply trying to walk as normally as possible and not trip.

Luckily, he didn’t trip, and when they watched the playback of that take, he studied himself carefully. His gait was not as even or steady as the other guys’, but with as slow as they had been walking, and with the other four there, it was not greatly noticeable.

They ran many takes of this particular sequence, Nigel striving to get in as much good footage as possible before the sun was too high to keep filming. But finally, they were done.

“That’s a wrap!” Nigel announced, sending the crew and the Boys into cheers.

Nick felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The shoot was over, he had made it through, and he was sure the video was going to turn out looking spectacular. After all, this was Nigel Dick.

They all went back to the studio, where a large brunch was awaiting them.

“Now tell me, Frack, what again were you so nervous about?” Brian asked, as they ate hungrily. “You kicked ass, buddy. We can’t even add outtakes and bloopers to the end of the video now cause you didn’t wipe out at all.” He grinned to let Nick know he was just playing around, which Nick already knew.

He smiled at Brian’s use of his old nickname. Frack... Brian hadn’t called him that in a long time. “Sorry to disappoint you, Frick,” he shot back sarcastically. “I know you woulda loved to see me fall flat on my face and come up with a mouthful of dirt.”

“You know it,” Brian replied with a cheeky grin and a wink.

“Aww, Frick and Frack – together again,” sighed Kevin, rolling his eyes distinctly as he tried to hide the smile that was creeping across his face. “Nick, bro, I know you hate to fly and all, but you’re gonna have to come out here and see me more often after this. Can’t hide out down there in Florida all the time.”

“Uh, Kev, let’s think about this... there are three of us living in Florida at the moment and one just a state up, and you’re the only one living way out here... so if you wanna get together, you’re gonna have to fly to us,” Nick pointed out smugly.

“Well, then maybe I will,” smiled Kevin. “After all, we can’t keep going three months without seeing each other.”

They had before, and no one had really seemed to care – after tours and new albums, they were usually sick of each other and glad for time apart. But things were different now, and Nick understood. None of them took things for granted anymore.

Especially not each other.

“You’re right, dude,” said Nick. “We definitely can’t keep doing that.”

***

Chapter 133

True to his word, Kevin did fly to Florida in the middle of August, as did Brian.

Even though it had only been a month since the five of them had been together, a lot had happened since the video shoot, and for once, it was all good.

At the end of July, the nominees for the annual MTV Video Music Awards were announced, and to the Boys’ surprise, the video for their first single had gotten several nods, including a nomination for the Viewer’s Choice award, which they had won in the past. Nick took that as a good sign – at least MTV thought they were still capable of receiving the most fan votes. He only hoped their second video would go over as well as the first had. The second video was actually why Kevin and Brian had flown in that week. They would be premiering it on TRL and had decided to call into the show as a group.

They had considered going to New York and actually appearing on the show, but between the VMA nominations and setting up the TRL phone interview, the producers at MTV had come up with a different – and more extreme – idea.

A surprise appearance and performance at the 2004 VMAs.

The Boys’ management, despite pushing them to shoot a video a month earlier, was unsure about the idea.

“A video’s one thing, but a live performance? In front of a huge audience? Do you really think you’re up to that?” their manager had asked Nick skeptically over the phone.

Nick was quite uncertain himself, but he had to admit, though the very thought of it half-terrified him, he liked the idea. A surprise performance... no one would know they were going to be there ahead of time... no one would expect it. And if the fans were still out there, if they still cared... they would go crazy. He could hear the wild screams now, and the memory filled him with longing. How long had it been since he’d worked a crowd and gotten them to scream like that?

“I could be...” he said slowly, considering the proposition. A live performance in Radio Music Hall, not only in front of a whole house of fans and other stars, but broadcast across the country. It was definitely intimidating, but he couldn’t say no, not just yet. He had been through too much to quail in the face of a challenge like this.

Initially, he told management and the other guys, who were just as uncertain, that he would think about it. And he did. And the more he thought, the more it began to seem like something he wanted to do. The largeness of made it quite appealing. It would be his true comeback, and he would certainly come back with a bang. And why couldn’t he perform live? If he could shoot a video, he could sit on a stool onstage and sing.

Once he had made up his mind, the other guys, who had held back at first, showed their enthusiasm for the idea and started making plans immediately. The VMAs were to be held at the beginning of September, and they knew they would need lots of time to rehearse, having not performed in months. This was part of the reason Kevin and Brian had come to Tampa. The next two weeks were going to be dedicated to making final preparations for the awards show.

Nick had spent the first two weeks of August getting used to his new prosthesis, which he had gotten at the beginning of the month. The “C-Leg,” as it was called, was every bit as good as Susan had made it sound. It was very different from his old

prosthesis, heavier and much more high maintenance. It was computerized and battery-operated and therefore had to be charged up at night by way of a cable connected to his laptop. But the hassle was worth it. The leg had been programmed to fit Nick personally, and the sensors and hydraulics inside it made walking much easier than before. After months of having to concentrate on every step just to avoid falling, Nick was astounded to find that with this new leg, he could walk almost effortlessly, without thinking. It was probably as close as he could come to actually having his real leg back, and once he had adjusted to the new leg, his confidence was boosted immensely.

Which was another reason why he had made the decision to appear at the VMAs.

This was as good as it was going to get; now was the time to stop feeling sorry for himself and move on with his life. AJ and Howie, who had seen him through all the ups and downs of the past four months, were especially pleased by this attitude change, and Kevin and Brian were relieved as well. The old Nick seemed to be back for good.

They were all in good moods the day they called in to TRL to premiere the music video. Carson Daly, who rarely hosted the countdown show anymore, was there to host that day and had been hyping up the video premiere and promised phone call for a week. The Boys were scheduled to call near the end of the show, and when they turned it on at Nick’s house to watch the beginning, they were thrilled to see that the studio was filled with Backstreet Boys fans, many sporting Bsb clothes, some holding posters with supportive messages about Nick. There were even more gathered outside in Times Square, and Nick felt his heart swell as the TV camera panned across them all, zooming in on signs that read “We ♥ U, Nick!” and “THE BSB PRIDE IS STILL ALIVE!” He was very nervous when the time came to call in, but he was comforted by the realization that there were fans out there who had accepted what had happened to him and still loved him anyway.

“And here’s the moment you’ve been waiting for, Bsb fans! On the phone we have the Backstreet Boys!”

At Nick’s house in Tampa, the guys had turned off the TV, but even over the phone, they could hear the TRL studio erupt into cheers. The sound filled Nick’s heart with joy, and he chorused a “hey” with the others, who were gathered together in the living room, all on cordless phones so that they could all talk.

“Guys, it’s been awhile, and I know we have a lot to talk about. How’s it been going?” Carson asked.

“Um, pretty good,” Howie answered. “Things have been going a lot better lately.”

“Is that Howie? Where are you calling from?”

“We’re down in Tampa right now, just hanging out,” said Howie.

“So you’re all down there together right now?”

“Yeah. AJ and I have been here for awhile actually, hanging out with Nick, and Brian and Kevin just flew in a couple days ago.”

“Well, that’s great,” said Carson. “And Nick, Nick are you there? I know you’re the one a lot of the girls here in the studio want to hear from.” Nick blushed and spoke up. “Yeah, I’m here. Hi, y’all.” There was brief screaming, and then the studio fell very quiet, and he knew they were all waiting for him to talk.

“Nick, it’s great to hear from you,” Carson said sincerely. “The MTV family has kept you in our prayers the last few months, and I know your fans have too. For anyone

watching who doesn’t know what’s been going on, Nick had part of his leg amputated about four months ago because of bone cancer. Nick, how are you doing now, health-wise?”

“Health-wise, um, I’m doing real good,” replied Nick, clearing his throat. “I had a rough spring, ya know, but lately I’ve been feeling good and just been working on rehabilitating and that kind of thing...” It made him uncomfortable to be talking about this over the air on live television, but he figured it would pay to be honest. He knew now that there were people out there who still genuinely cared about him, and he wanted to talk to them and to assure them that he was going to be all right.

“Well, it looks like you’ve come a long way. You guys recently shot a video, which we’re going to premiere here on TRL in just a few minutes. I’ve seen the video, and it looks great... but the thing I think most people will be surprised to see is that you’re walking in the video. And this was just shot earlier this summer, right?”

“Yeah, we did the video about a month ago, so it was definitely shot after... you know. But, yeah, um, I am walking again, with the help of, uh, a prosthetic leg.” Even sitting there in his own living room, Nick could feel himself turning redder and redder, and he had begun to perspire. He was suddenly very glad they had decided not to appear on the show; sitting in front of a studio of teenagers and trying to talk about this would have killed him. He was self-conscious enough as it was, without having to actually face them in person.

“And how about the rest of you? How have you guys been doing?” Carson asked, moving the attention from Nick to the others. Relieved, Nick was able to breathe easy as questions were directed to his bandmates instead of him. “Brian, how’s the baby? He’s, what, going on two now?”

Brian laughed, a radiant smile lighting up his features, and answered promptly,

“He’s wonderful, such a joy in my life. He’ll be two this November.”

“So is he talking a lot now? Or singing? Have you taught him any of your songs yet?” Carson teased.

Brian chuckled again. “Oh, he’s talkin’ a lot; he’s a little motor mouth. As for the songs... well, we’ll get there. One of these days...” Nick smiled and felt a little guilty; he hadn’t seen Baylee since the beginning of that year. He was also a little envious, listening to Brian talk about his family. Brian had had so many wonderful things going on in his life the past two years, while Nick, it seemed, had only had problems.

For the past year and a half, his world had revolved mostly around cancer. And whenever it seemed his cancer was a thing of the past, something else would spring up.

Problems with his mother, the big break-up with Leah, fights with Claire. When was the last time he had been as happy as Brian sounded whenever Baylee was brought up? He wished that just one part of his life could be that perfect. He wondered if he would ever have a family of his own. A wife, a child... would that make him complete, make him happy?

“And AJ, how about you? How you been, dawg?” Carson was now asking.

“I’ve been pretty good,” answered AJ. “Staying sober, staying clean, you know.”

“Awesome, awesome. Well, guys, I’m sorry we can’t chat more, but we don’t have a lot of time left, so is there anything else you’d like to say, maybe to the fans, before we get to talking about the video we’re going to premiere?” The guys all looked at Nick, questioning them with their eyes – did he want to say

anything? He gave a quick nod and cleared his throat nervously. “Yeah, I’d like to say something,” he put in. “Um... I just wanna, um, thank the fans for... for their support.

The past four months have been the hardest of my life, and, um, it’s good to know that y’all are still there for me. We had the TV on earlier and were watching the show, and I saw all y’all’s signs and stuff, and um, it really... it really meant a lot to me. So thank you.”

He glanced over at Brian, who grinned and nodded, silently letting him know his mini-speech had been good. Over the phone, he heard faint “aww’s” and then a whole bunch of applause and cheers. He smiled.

“Could you hear that, Nick?” Carson yelled over the noise in the studio.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear it – thanks, guys!”

“Well, let’s move on to your video, which we’re about to show for the first time ever in just a minute. The song’s called ‘When Morning Comes.’ What can you guys tell us about the video before we watch it?”

Nick settled back again and let Kevin talk this time. Their eldest member launched into a whole spiel about the video’s origins, the director, the concept, where it was shot, how long it took to shoot, etc. Finally Carson cut him off and thanked them for calling in.

“And Nick, take care. We wish you all the best and hope to see guys back in action before too long.”

“Oh, I’m sure we will be,” said AJ, his voice carrying a playful tone that only those who knew what they had in store for the VMAs would notice. “Thanks, Carson.” They all said quick good-byes and hung up, turning on the TV to see their video played for the first time. They had already seen the finished product, and it had turned out very well.

“You got balls, Carter,” AJ muttered, as they watched the sequence they had filmed the second day, with the five of them walking down the road together.

“Uh, I know, J,” Nick replied. The others laughed.

“Nah, you know what I mean... you got guts, kid. It took real guts to agree to do this video so soon and to call into TRL and talk about everything. Not to mention perform live at the VMAs.”

Nick chuckled nervously. “Don’t go getting ahead of yourself; we haven’t gotten through that yet. Who knows how it’ll turn out...”

“It’ll be fine,” AJ assured him with confidence. “You will kick ass, Nick, because you’re good, and you’re brave.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Brave, right. Do you know how freaked out I was just now, just talking on the phone? I’m not brave.”

“Not true, Nick,” counted AJ, looking Nick right in the eyes, his expression entirely serious. “You’re the bravest person I know.”

***

Chapter 134

“So,” said Kevin, as the group sat around eating dinner that night, “who all is our VMA entourage going to consist of? Are we all bringing escorts or just going alone as a group, or what?”

“Uh,” Brian said quickly, swallowing a mouthful of pizza, “I dunno about y’all, but I’m bringing Leigh. She already bought a new dress for the awards.”

“Why?” Nick asked blankly. “We’re not doing the red carpet, right? I thought we were gonna hide out backstage so it would be a surprise.”

“Well, yeah, but we’re doing the performance in the first half of the show so that we can accept any awards we win later without ruining the surprise, so we’ll need people to sit with out in the house when we’re done,” AJ pointed out. “Not to mention, there’s all the after-show stuff.”

“So who’s your date gonna be then, J?” asked Kevin in interest.

AJ grinned. “Howie,” he said without hesitation, slinging an arm around Howie’s shoulders.

Howie quickly shrugged him off, making an expression of disgust. “Don’t say that; that’s how those gay rumors get started!” AJ just cackled.

“You takin’ anyone, D?” Brian wondered.

“Not that I know of,” Howie said with a shrug.

“Yeah, it’s kinda hard to meet fine women when we’ve been stuck here babysitting Carter for the past four months,” joked AJ. Nick knew he was only kidding, but his comment stung a little. Nick felt guilty; AJ and Howie really hadn’t had much of a life the past four months – they had spent most of their time hanging around the house with him. Neither of them had been dating anyone.

He forced himself to laugh though and played along. “Oh, excuses, excuses. You wouldn’t have gotten any anyway, McLean.”

Howie, Brian, and Kevin laughed, as AJ smirked at Nick, rubbing his nose with his middle finger.

“Well, how about you, Carter?” Brian turned the question upon Nick.

“What?”

“Are you gonna bring anyone?”

Nick shot Brian a look. “Riiiiight,” he muttered. “As if I have anyone to bring.” AJ pounced on him quickly. “What are you talking about?? You’re taking Claire, aren’t you?” The room fell silent, as Nick’s face went red. “What?” asked AJ. “I was being serious! You should ask her, Nick, I’m sure she’d love to go! Unlike Leigh and Kris, she hasn’t been to any of this stuff before; it would be fun for her! Don’t you think?”

Truthfully, Nick hadn’t even considered it. He hadn’t thought of an escort to the VMAs at all until Kevin had brought it up. And as for Claire... well, maybe it would be exciting for her to go to an awards show, with all the celebrities... but there was just that small matter of her boyfriend. She and Tim the Dentist were still together, and although she and Nick talked often and hung out when they could, she was a lot busier now, and he didn’t see her as much, which made him resent Tim even more.

“She’s seeing somebody, AJ. You know that,” Nick muttered, annoyed.

“So? She’s still your friend. Why can’t you take her to an awards show? As

‘friends’,” he added, using his fingers to make quotations marks.

Nick rolled his eyes.

“He’s right, Nick,” Brian quickly jumped in. “You should ask her. If she doesn’t think it would be right to go with you, she’ll say so. What would it hurt to just ask?” Nick shrugged and did not reply.

“Well, if you’re going to ask her, you better do it quick,” Kevin advised. “We’ve only got two weeks, and if she’s flying to New York with us, we’ll have to make arrangements for her. Not to mention, she’ll probably have to go get something to wear, and that could be an odyssey in itself – you know how girls are. You gotta give ‘em plenty of time to get ready for stuff like this.”

Nick hesitated. “You really think I should ask her?” he asked after a moment.

“Yeah!” they all chorused. He eyed them suspiciously, wondering if this was all some kind of conspiracy. Shrugging, he decided he didn’t really care.

“Okay,” he said. “I guess maybe I’ll give her a call later.” With that, he bent down and took a large bite of his pizza, not catching the grins his four bandmates were secretly exchanging.

***

“Are you serious? The VMAs?!”

Nick was delighted to hear the excitement in Claire’s voice when he asked her if she might like to come with him to the awards show - “you know, just as friends.”

“So you wanna go?” he asked hopefully, while trying not to sound hopeful.

“Sure I do! I may not be much of an MTV person, but wow... the VMAs! I know it’s probably nothing to you, but you know, we simple folk don’t get to fly to New York City and promenade down the red carpet every day,” she quipped.

Nick didn’t think “simple folk” used the word ‘promenade’ every day either, but he was surprised at how eager she sounded. AJ had been right.

He chuckled. “True,” he replied. “So, Tim won’t mind?”

“Don’t care if he does,” she said off-handedly. “He knows we’re friends, and, come on – the VMAs! New York! He’ll just have to understand.” Nick grinned widely. “Good point,” he said cheerfully. “So, um, we’ll get ticket arrangements made, and I’ll let you know details when I know-“

“Plane tickets, that’s right! I hadn’t thought about that... and wow, I guess I’ll need a dress or something too... I don’t know- but it’s the VMAs! And New York! I’ll just have to tighten my budget and save up.”

“Huh?” She had been thinking aloud, it seemed, and Nick was totally confused.

Then, he realized. “Oh! Are you talking about money? Don’t worry about any of that; I gotcha covered.”

“Covered for what, exactly?” Claire asked.

“Uh... well, everything. Plane tickets, hotel... your dress... and anything else you need.”

“Nick! You can’t pay for everything!”

“Uh, yeah I can.”

Claire sighed in exasperation. “Well, I know you can, Nick, but... well, you shouldn’t. I can save some money, maybe get a loan from my parents-“

“Oh, c’mon, Claire, don’t be ridiculous. You’d be doing me a favor by going with me so I don’t have to sit around with just Howie and AJ for company the whole time, so

I owe you.”

“Nick-“

“And you paid for pizza that one time, remember? I owe you,” Nick repeated.

Claire burst out laughing. “Pizza? So, what, me buying you pizza warrants a trip to some huge live awards show? Hell, if that’s how it works, let’s head to Leonardi’s right now!”

Nick laughed too. “So it’s settled then?” he asked, not at all sure it was. “You’re coming with me? And I’m covering the costs?”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

“Well, okay then. I guess it’s settled,” said Claire.

Nick smiled. “Awesome. When you find a dress you like, let me know how much it is, and I’ll buy it for you, okay?”

“Oh, wait wait wait. When I find a dress? I don’t have the slightest clue what kind of dress to get or what would be acceptable or anything... but you do! So you have to come shopping with me and help me find something!”

“Wait, huh?” When had the conversation suddenly turned from them attending the VMAs together to them going shopping together?

“Come shopping with me,” Claire repeated. “You know me – I never dress up. I don’t have the slightest clue what to get for something like this.”

“What, you think I do?”

“Well, duh, you’re the one who goes to these things!”

“Well, yeah, but I’m not a chick! I don’t know what chicks wear to these things!”

“How could you not? You’re there!”

“Yeah, but I don’t really pay attention to their clothes.” He paused and added, “I pay attention to how they look in their clothes.” She snorted. “Spoken like a true guy, Nick.”

“You know it. Hey, I know what you could wear! What about something like what J. Lo wore to the Grammy’s that one year? I know this is the VMAs, not the Grammy’s, but I’m sure-“

“RIIIIIGHT,” Claire cut in sarcastically. “I would so slap you for that if you were here right now. But look, when are you free to go shopping? I’m serious; I need your opinion.”

Nick made a big show of sighing in annoyance, but really, he was quite pleased.

“Well... what about Sunday? Can you do Sunday? I guess we could hit the mall or something early, and hopefully it wouldn’t be too busy on a Sunday morning...”

“I could do Sunday,” she replied.

“Okay. Um, sounds good. I’ll, uh... I’ll talk to you later then?”

“Yep, talk to you later. Thanks, Nick,” Claire said sincerely. “Bye.” Nick smiled. “Bye.”

They hung up.

***

Come Sunday, it was not just Nick and Claire who strolled through the mall together, but Nick, Claire, Claire’s friend Dianna, AJ, and two bodyguards. Claire had called on Saturday to ask Nick if it was alright if one of her girlfriends came with them.

“I gotta have a girl’s opinion too, you know,” she’d insisted.

Enter Dianna, a curvy brunette.

So Nick had asked the guys if one of them wanted to come too. He wasn’t about to get stuck shopping with two girls and no fellow man to share the torture. Enter AJ, always the avid shopper. He had jumped at the chance not only to hit the mall, but to tag around with Nick and Claire, probably to tease Nick the entire time. Nick didn’t care though; putting up with AJ was better than being totally engulfed by estrogen. Kevin had insisted that Nick have some sort of security with him, since they would be going to the mall; when he had found out AJ was going too, he called for double security.

Enter Rex and Mike, two of their bodyguards.

Nick and AJ had met Claire and Dianna at one of the entrances, and after a round of introductions, they had headed to the nearest department store. Claire alternated between talking to Dianna and talking to Nick, leaving Dianna to make small talk with AJ. AJ didn’t seem to mind a bit though; Dianna, although a little heavier than the women he usually went for, was quite pretty.

As soon as they reached the dress department, Claire and Dianna started sorting through the racks, while Nick hung back, not quite sure what he was supposed to be doing. AJ wandered around picking out either the sluttiest or most ghastly dresses Nick had ever seen and whistling at mannequins.

By the time the girls had circled through the entire department, Claire’s arms were heaped with dresses.

“Come on and try them on,” said Dianna, leading her into the dressing room.

“You can model the best ones for Nick.”

Claire flashed Nick a sheepish grin over her shoulder and followed Dianna into the dressing rooms. A few minutes later, she emerged wearing a bright red halter dress that came to about halfway down her shins. She shrugged at Nick. “What do you think?” she asked, twirling non-enthusiastically.

“I think it looks great,” he said automatically, without really thinking about it.

He thought she looked fine, but she apparently was not convinced.

“I dunno,” she said, turning to inspect herself in the three way mirror. “I don’t look very good in red. It clashes with my hair.”

“The dress is cute though,” put in Dianna. “It fits you well.”

“Yeah, but the color’s all wrong. And they didn’t have any other colors in this one.”

“Oh well. Try the next one.”

And back they went, only to emerge a few minutes later with Claire in another dress, which Nick told her looked great, and she rejected. As she went back in a third time, he sighed. He had a feeling this was going to take a long time.

It did.

After going through all of the dresses she had taken back to the dressing rooms with her, Claire decided she didn’t like any of them well enough, and they went on to the next store, where the process was repeated. Nick wondered if she was going to see anything she liked – she had told him before that she hated dressing up.

But two stores and about a million ensembles later, Dianna found ‘ the dress.’ It was a long, fitted, strapless gown made of black silk, and the bodice was bejeweled with silvery beads that fanned out to look like long rays of the sun.

“Oh, Claire, it’s beautiful,” Dianna breathed. “Isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is,” Claire agreed, eyeing the dress. “But I dunno... it looks like it would fit kind of tight... show every curve...”

“Oh, whatever! I’m the one that has to worry about that, not you! Try it on!”

“But it might be too formal. Nick? What do you think?” Nick, who had kept quiet most of the day, looked from Claire, to the dress, to Dianna, and back to the dress. “Uh... I dunno...”

“Personally, I like it,” AJ stepped in, smiling at Claire in his charming sort of way. “At least try it on, babe.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Okay,” she agreed. When they had gotten her size, she took the dress into the dressing room, Dianna tagging along eagerly.

“You think this will be the one?” AJ asked Nick.

“God, I hope so,” Nick replied.

“Are you holding up okay?” AJ asked, suddenly looking concerned. “We’ve been walking around a lot; I didn’t even really think about...”

“No, it’s not that, I’m fine. Just completely bored. I didn’t know it would be this hard for her to pick out a dress! I mean, jeez, what was wrong with the first fifty she tried on?”

AJ laughed. “She’s a chick, dude. That’s just how chicks are. They’re picky.

Especially when they’re looking to impress.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means she wants to look hot for you, so she has to find just the right dress,” AJ replied without hesitation, grinning.

Nick just shook his head and rolled his eyes. He was about to remind AJ yet again that Claire was dating a dentist when Dianna came hurrying out of the dressing rooms. “Oh, you just have to see her!” she gushed excitedly. “Claire, come on!” The dark-haired girl practically dragged Claire out into open, where she stood awkwardly before Nick and AJ in the dress.

Only she didn’t look awkward. She looked wonderful. The dress fit her perfectly, accenting the lines of her body without hugging it too tightly. The black contrasted nicely with her fair skin, and the sparkling beads were just the right touch to make her look radiant. She had tried on all kinds of dresses, short and long, fitted and full-skirted, casual and formal. To Nick, she had looked good in all of them, but Dianna was right... there was just something about this dress. She looked beautiful, and the dress had a simplicity that made it just right for her, not too flashy or fancy, but elegant and sophisticated just the same.

“I love it,” he said truthfully, nodding his approval. “You look... you look...” He couldn’t bring himself to say ‘beautiful,’ so he used the next thing that popped into his mind, “... real nice.”

Claire blushed. “Thanks,” she said shortly. “It’s not too formal though? I mean, it’s only the VMAs, it’s not like it’s the Oscars or something...”

“Nah, it’s perfect!” exclaimed AJ. “People show up to the VMAs in all sorts of things. Of course,” he added, “this does mean you’ll have to wear a suit this year, Kaos.

You can’t go looking like shit if she’s gonna look all hot in that.”

“Oh, puh-lease, AJ,” Claire said, rolling her eyes and looking quite embarrassed.

“That’s the one, Claire,” Dianna spoke up. “You’ve gotta get it.” Claire sighed and looked at Nick. “Do you agree? You’re the one taking me... and the one buying the dress, apparently.”

He nodded. “That’s the one,” he echoed with confidence, and finally she nodded.

“Okay,” she said, smiling. “Then this is the one.”

When she had headed back into the dressing room to change into her regular clothes, it was AJ’s turn to smile. Widely. “Finally,” he said through his teeth.

“Yeah,” Nick muttered in agreement, keeping his voice low so that Dianna would not hear. “Thank God that’s over with. Remind me never to let a girl drag me shopping again.”

AJ chuckled. “Amen to that.”

***

Chapter 135

After Nick had paid for the dress, the foursome left the store, escorted by the two bodyguards. Nick couldn’t help but notice the way Claire and Dianna lagged behind them just a ways, talking amongst themselves. When they got out of the store, Claire came up to him and announced, “Dianna and I think we should all go out to lunch. You know, to celebrate finally finding a dress.”

“’Finally’ and ‘celebrate’ being the key words there,” said AJ, winking at Claire, who smiled back sweetly and flashed him her middle finger.

“So, sound good?” she asked, looking from AJ to Nick.

“Hey, I’m down,” replied Nick. “J?”

“Are you kidding? I’m freaking starving, dawg. Where we gonna go?” After a quick debate, they settled on Chili’s, which sent AJ into a chorus of “I want my baby back, baby back, baby back...” as they made their way toward the mall entrance where they had met each other earlier that day.

“So which one of you ladies drove today?” AJ asked casually, holding the door for the girls and Nick like a true gentleman as they walked out of the building.

“I did,” said Dianna. She used her thumb to motion to Claire and said, “Her car’s a piece of crap.”

Nick snickered, and Claire said loudly, “Well, we can’t all afford Jags like some people, ya know.”

AJ smiled. “What kind of car do you have, Di?”

“Just a Chevy Cavalier,” she replied with a shrug.

“Well, whaddya say to a little ‘trading spaces’ with the cars?” AJ suggested.

“Claire, you can ride with Nick, and I’ll ride with Dianna. That is, if you don’t mind,” he added, directing the last comment to Dianna. “I have a thing for Cavaliers.” Dianna arched her eyebrows, while Claire gave Nick a disgusted look. He rolled his eyes, unable to decide whether AJ was really interested in Dianna or just trying to get him and Claire alone. He figured it could go either way.

“Um, sure, I don’t mind,” said Dianna with a shrug and looked over at Claire in surprise.

Claire smiled. “Well hey, sounds good to me.” She grabbed Nick’s arm. “Tell me you brought that Jag!”

“No,” he chuckled, “we just got my Durango today.”

“A Durango?” she repeated, wrinkling her nose. “Well, looks like I got the shaft.

Have fun, you two!” She waved to Dianna, who was already starting across the parking lot with AJ and Rex, while Mike hung back with Nick.

“Do you want to wait here while I get the car?” the bodyguard asked.

“Sure,” said Nick, grateful to not have to walk across the parking lot. He had to admit, though he was trying not to show it, all the walking of the day had taken its toll on him. He casually made his way over to a bench to sit down and wait for Mike to bring his Durango around. Claire sat down beside him.

“Thanks again, Nick, for buying that dress,” she said sincerely. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I wanted to,” he replied, smiling at her.

“Well, lunch is on me then.”

“Nah...” Nick disagreed with a grin. “Lunch is on AJ. The Cavalier man.”

Claire snorted. “Cavalier man... what was up with that? ‘I have a thing for Cavaliers’ – oh, come on!”

Nick laughed and stood up as he spotted his Durango coming up one of the rows.

“Here’s our ride,” he said. “Tell me you have a thing for Durangos.” She eyed the green SUV and shook her head. “No,” she replied, “I told you – I have a thing for Jaguars!”

“Is that a hint that you want me to buy you one of those next?” Nick teased, as they both climbed into the backseat.

She rolled her eyes and hit him lightly on the shoulder. “No! Although...” she murmured, buckling her seatbelt, “it would be nice...” She grinned, letting him know she was just kidding. He smiled back. To him, she was worth more than a thousand Jaguars. If only she knew that.

***

After a nice lunch at Chili’s, the group split back into their original pairings –

Dianna and Claire left in Dianna’s Cavalier, and Nick, AJ, and their two bodyguards went home in Nick’s Durango.

Claire called later that afternoon. “Forgive me for being such a ditz, but, um, I kinda left my dress in your trunk...” she said sheepishly.

Nick laughed. “You did?” he asked. “Good thing you thought of it; I didn’t even know it was there. Guess I haven’t looked in the trunk since we left the mall though.”

“Yeah, I put it back there and then forgot to get it out before Di and I left the restaurant,” explained Claire. “Would it be okay if I came to get it now?”

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that. I’ll bring it over to you,” Nick volunteered

“Are you sure? You don’t have to; I’m the one that left it there.”

“It’s no problem. The thing’s in my car already – I might as well drive it over,” he rationalized. “I’ll be there in a little while, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, Nick.”

They hung up, and Nick went to get his keys. “I’m running over to Claire’s place; she left her dress in my trunk,” he announced to the guys briefly and then left before AJ

could get in some jibe about how she had left it there on purpose or something.

When he got to Claire’s apartment building, he found her waiting for him in the lobby. “I didn’t want to make you drag this thing all the way up the stairs,” she said, smiling as he handed her the hanger that held her dress, hidden within a long white dress bag. “But since you did drive all this way, do you want to come up for a drink or something? If you can get upstairs without too much trouble, I mean. They really should put in an elevator here...”

Nick chuckled. “I can come up if you want; I’ve done it before.”

“Okay,” she smiled. Slinging her dress over her left arm, she lightly put her right hand on his back. He draped his left arm over her shoulders and gratefully let her help him as they slowly made their way up the narrow staircase. Even with his advanced new leg, going up stairs was still very difficult, much more so than going down, and as exhausted as he was from the trek through the mall that morning, he wasn’t sure he could have done it alone this time.

“Go have a seat,” said Claire, when they entered her apartment. “What do you want to drink? Soda? I’ve got Dr. Pepper and Cream Soda.”

“Dr. Pepper’s fine,” he replied, sinking down onto her faded, old couch. A minute later, she joined him, bringing two glasses of dark, fizzing liquid. “Thanks,” he said, as she handed him one. He took a drink and had just swallowed when someone knocked on the door.

Claire frowned and stood up. “Let me get that,” she said as she strode out of the cramped living room, through the tiny kitchen, and to the door. She stood on her tiptoes to look through the peephole and then flung open the door. “Hey!” Nick heard her exclaim. “What are you doing here?” He leaned forward, craning his neck to see into the kitchen. His heart flip-flopped when he watched the infamous Tim step into the apartment and bend down to place a kiss on Claire’s lips. Nick frowned and unconsciously licked his own lips, remembering how good hers had felt up against them.

“I just dropped by to see you,” Tim murmured. “Good thing you were here.”

“Yeah. Uh, here, come on in and sit down.” Claire took him by the hand and led him into the living room, where Nick quickly tried to wipe the look of irritation off his face. “You remember my friend Nick, right?” Claire asked Tim sweetly, as Tim looked at Nick in surprise.

“Right,” Tim said slowly, nodding and putting on a smile that looked quite forced. “Good to see you again.”

“Nick just came by to drop off the dress I got this morning; I accidentally left it in his car,” Claire explained.

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot you guys were going dress shopping today. For the Video Music Awards, right?” Tim questioned, glancing from Claire to Nick.

“That’s right,” said Nick, sitting up a little straighter. The VMAs – that was one thing he had up on Tim. Dr. Dentist Tim couldn’t give Claire that experience.

“Well, here, Tim, sit down,” Claire said, escorting him over to her armchair. “I’ll go get you a drink.”

Nick stood up. “I should get going,” he muttered.

Claire turned and said quickly, “Oh no, sit down, you just got here! I’m going to get Tim a drink, and I’ll be right back.”

Grudgingly, Nick sat back down. He took another sip of his soda, just for something to do.

“So,” said Tim, “you’re an entertainer?”

Nick looked up darkly; the way Tim said ‘entertainer,’ he made it sound like Nick was a circus clown or something. You know damn well who I am, he thought, but he did not say it. Instead, he replied, “Yep.”

“I used to be an entertainer of sorts myself,” Tim continued, pausing, as if he expected Nick to show some interest. Nick tried very hard not to, keeping his expression neutral, while wondering what sort of “entertainer” Tim was going to say he had been.

“Yes,” said Tim, “I was once a mascot.”

At that moment, Nick was very glad he had not been drinking; otherwise, he was sure he would have just sprayed a mouthful of soda everywhere. “A mascot?” he coughed, trying to hide his laughter.

“Oh, not the mascot story!” Claire called from the kitchen, which made Nick want to laugh even more.

Tim chuckled sheepishly. “C’s already heard about my ‘spirited’ past.” He grinned at Nick, waiting for him to laugh at the little joke he’d made, but Nick immediately went straight-faced. “Well anyway,” Tim continued with a shrug, “I was

one of the mascots in college – University of Delaware, home of the Fightin’ Blue Hens!” Nick blinked. “The Blue Hens?” he repeated incredulously.

“Yes, he dressed up in a blue chicken suit and danced around at football games,” Claire said shortly as she came into the room and handed Tim his soda, then sat down on the couch beside Nick.

“That’s right,” said Tim with a smile. “One of the best experiences I ever had.

You might not realize it, Nick, but being a mascot is a great character-builder. Not to mention a skill-builder. To be a good mascot, you see, you have to have a gift for interacting with people. You have to know just what to do to get the sports enthusiasts all riled up and to communicate your message to your audience without words. Not to mention, it looked great on my application to dental school.” Nick stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then glanced over at Claire, who was slightly pink in the cheeks. How could she be dating this guy?! he wondered in amazement. Had he really once been jealous of Tim? Sure, the guy was good-looking and well-built, but once you talked to him for two minutes, you realized he was a total loser. Well, at least he seemed like one to Nick.

But then again, if he was going to be perfectly honest with himself, Nick had to admit he was still jealous of Tim. For whatever reason, Tim had Claire, and he did not.

“Uh, that’s... that’s real cool, man,” he said dully to Tim and downed the rest of his soda. “I really should get going now,” he said to Claire, standing up again. “Thanks for the drink.”

“No problem. Thanks for bringing my dress. And thanks for earlier... I had a good time.”

“Yeah,” Nick said shortly. “Me too.” He carried his empty glass into the kitchen and set it down on her counter with a little more force than he’d meant to.

Claire came up behind him. “You really don’t have to go,” she said softly, and dropping her voice to a whisper, added, “I didn’t know he was going to show up, honestly. But you were here first, so don’t feel like you have to leave just because of him.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to be the third wheel and hang out with you and your, uh... boyfriend. You invited me up for a drink, and now I’ve had my drink, and I’ve gotta go.”

She smiled slightly. “Fair enough,” she said. “Thanks again. I’ll see you later.” She ushered him out the door and closed it behind him, leaving him alone in the dingy hallway. A rattling sigh escaped his throat, and he slowly started for the stairs.

It was not until he got in his car that he felt the anger really come over him.

“God, what the hell is wrong with her?” he muttered, jabbing his key into the ignition.

“That dude is a retard! ‘Being a mascot is a great character-builder,’” he mimicked in annoyance, jerking his SUV out of his parking space. “What a dick-face.” He turned onto the road and began to snicker to himself. “No, correction – what a cock- face.”

His crude little joke and the mental image of that doofus Tim jumping around like a spaz in a blue chicken suit kept him smirking all the way home.

***

Chapter 136

The Video Music Awards were scheduled for a Thursday in early September, as usual. In past years, when the Backstreet Boys had performed, they had flown to New York a few days early to take part in the rehearsals that occurred all throughout that week. But this year, things were different. MTV was trying to keep their surprise appearance tightly under wraps; not even the other performers and presenters were supposed to know the Boys would be there. To make this work, the Boys were only scheduled for one rehearsal at the Radio City Music Hall, very early in the morning on the day of the actual show. As an extra precaution, they would all be flying in to New York separately. AJ and Howie would fly together and arrive on Monday. Nick and Claire would join them on Tuesday, supposedly one of the least busiest air travel days of the week. Brian and Kevin would both be flying back to their homes in Atlanta and Los Angeles, respectively, early in the week, and come to New York with their wives on Wednesday.

Since they would not get much time for real rehearsals that week, the guys had been working hard to get their performance ready ahead of time. They had decided to start out by singing part of their hit first single from the most recent album and then transition into “I Want It That Way.” They had all liked the idea of singing one of their classics, and “I Want It That Way” just seemed the only real choice.

By the time the week of the VMAs hit, they were ready. Brian and Kevin left on Sunday to fly home, and AJ and Howie left the next day for New York. For the first time in five months, Nick was truly alone, and it was actually quite unnerving. Monday night passed by very slowly, as he was bored and anxious for the next day to come.

Finally, it did, and by Tuesday afternoon, Nick and Claire were in New York.

Claire had been to New York once before, but she was still very excited and very enthusiastic, especially when she saw her hotel suite. “Oh my God!” she gasped continually, dragging Nick around the large, extravagant suite to show him luxuries that he had grown to consider quite customary. “Oh my God, look at the tub! It’s huge! Ohh man, I am so taking a bubble bath tonight!”

That night, Nick was stretched out on his bed, watching TV, when the phone rang. He reached over to the bedside table, fumbling around until his fingers found the receiver and lifted it up. “Hello?”

“Hey, Nick, whatcha up to?” It was Claire.

“Uh... not much. Watching TV. How about you?” he asked.

“I’m bored,” she responded matter-of-factly.

He smiled. “Well... do you wanna come hang out over here?”

“Sure! I’ll be over in a minute, ‘kay?” She hung up, and his smile grew wider.

She had called just hoping for an invitation over, hadn’t she? It sure seemed that way to him.

Her suite was next door to his, and he was just climbing out of bed when he heard her knock. “Coming!” he called, making his way out of the bedroom and through the living room area. He opened the door to find her standing there in a large, fluffy white bathrobe and slippers, her hair slightly damp.

“I took a bubble bath,” she said with a smile, coming into the suite.

“You wearing anything under that?” he asked before he could stop himself, eyeing the bathrobe curiously. She stopped and gave him a look before loosening the

sash of the robe and jerking it open to expose a pair of Capri-style cotton pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt with the sleeves and neckline cut out of it, exposing the straps of a gray sports bra. He smiled sheepishly and nodded. “Forget I asked.” She rolled her eyes. “Perv.” She drew the robe back around her and shivered.

“It’s cold in here. Stupid air conditioning.”

“It’s warmer back in the bedroom... I mean, if you wanna hang out back there...

watch TV or something, I mean,” he stumbled, hoping she wasn’t getting the wrong impression.

“Fine by me,” she replied, following him into the bedroom. She beat him to the bed and practically leaped onto it, bouncing a little.

He grinned and had a fleeting flashback of the first time he had gone on a real tour with the Backstreet Boys, over in Europe, when he’d been about fifteen and still unable to resist the temptation of jumping on hotel beds. Kevin had nagged at him in exasperation, muttering something about wearing out the springs, while his twenty-year-old cousin had been right there with Nick, joining in on the fun.

His smile turned wistful as he thought of how innocent and carefree he’d been back then, with nothing to think about other than the new group and the realization that his childhood dreams were on the verge of coming true. How many nights had he and Brian lain awake in dark, unfamiliar hotel rooms, miles and miles from home, whispering about all the things they were going to do when they were rich and famous, all the places they would go, all the luxuries they would buy?

If only he could have seen what the future would hold – overwhelming success...

but at the same time, overwhelming tragedy. And if he could have gone back, he would have traded all his fame and fortune to take away all the tragedy. Your health was more important than your career; that was something the Boys had always agreed on. But then again, it wouldn’t have been a fair trade. For his success hadn’t caused his illness any more than it could have prevented it.

“Hey, you okay?”

Claire’s gentle-voiced question caused Nick to look up with a start. “Yeah... yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, I was just spacing out.” He grinned sheepishly and climbed onto the bed beside her.

“It’s okay. You just looked kind of sad all of a sudden.” She peered over at him, her eyes full of sympathy.

He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze and shook his head. “Nah, I was just thinking about something. It’s not important though. So do you want to watch a movie or something?” He changed the subject quickly and hoped she would not question him.

Luckily, she didn’t. She knew when not to pry.

“Sure,” she said in response to the movie offer. “What should we watch?” They checked the pay-per-view listings and decided on a movie. “You can get under the covers, if you want,” Nick said, as Claire settled back to watch, her back pressed against the wall, knees hugged to her chest.

She looked over at him. “You don’t mind?”

“No,” he replied with a soft chuckle. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a girl in my bed? I mean, actually in my bed?

She shed her robe and kicked off her slippers, sending them flying haphazardly across the room, and then scooted down beneath the covers, snuggling in to ward off the chill of the blasting air-conditioning. “Mm, this is much better,” she sighed, smiling at

him. “You just kick me out whenever you want though; I don’t want to be invading your space.”

“I don’t mind,” said Nick with a slight smile. He guessed she didn’t realize just how much he didn’t mind. “But, um... do you mind if... if I take this off?” He patted his prosthesis awkwardly.

“Of course not,” she said quickly.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anything...” Claire rolled her eyes. “Oh, Nick, it’s not like I haven’t seen you without it before.”

He smiled crookedly, realizing she had a point. He took off his jeans so that he was wearing just boxers and a t-shirt and then left the room, going out to the living room, where his laptop was set up on the desk. It was there that he took off his prosthetic leg, hooking it up to the computer and leaving it there to charge overnight.

He came back to the bedroom on crutches and eased himself down onto the bed. Lying down beside her on the large, queen-size bed, he slid beneath the covers as well.

To anyone else, the scene might have seemed questionable, but to them, it was nothing. The thought of making a move on Claire did not even cross Nick’s mind. He liked her, sure, but his feelings for her were different than for any other girl he’d ever pursued. Claire was not like Mandy or Leah or any of the others he had dated; she wasn’t just a pretty face, a hot body, an easy lay, and he didn’t treat her like one.

Though the way he felt about her may have changed, she would always be first a foremost a friend, someone who had stayed at his side throughout the hardest time of his life.

It had not been like that with Leah, nor Mandy. They had been girlfriends... but not friends. Not really. He had never been able to really talk to them, to confess his true feelings and show his real emotions. He had not been himself, but an actor who took on different roles. The tough guy, the rock star, the pimp – he could play them all. He could be whatever the ladies wanted, whatever they were looking for. For awhile anyway... then they would break up with him. Or hurt him so badly that he had no choice but to break up with them.

But Claire was not like that. The day she had met him, in that godforsaken chemo room, she had met the real him, Nick Carter the person, not Nick Carter the poser. His walls had been knocked down, his mask torn off, and she had seen him for what he was. And rarely had he tried to build the walls back up or put the mask back on around her. Maybe it was because he’d never felt the need to impress her. Maybe it was because he had always known that she understood him, the way no other girl ever had.

For whatever reason, he had let her in, and she had accepted him. And even now, disfigured as he was, dishonest as he had been, she still accepted him. And he, in turn, respected her.

And so, lying there beside her, he simply enjoyed her presence and asked for nothing more.

The movie played, and Nick tried to pay attention to it, but as his thoughts strayed constantly from the plot, he hardly followed it at all. When it was over, he realized he had no idea whether it had been a good film or not. As the credits rolled on the TV screen, he turned to Claire. “Did you like-?” He stopped, his lips curving upward. Apparently the movie hadn’t been so good; she was sound asleep.

He reached out to touch her shoulder, then drew back, deciding not to wake her.

He watched her for a moment, her sleeping face illuminated by the soft, golden lamplight. Her eyes were closed, her features relaxed, her mouth slightly open. She inhaled and exhaled with soft snores, her chest rising and falling regularly with each deep breath. A few minutes passed, and he smiled again, realizing he could lie there and just watch her sleep for the rest of the night.

But instead, he flipped off the TV and turned off the light, drenching the room in darkness. Letting out a soft sigh, he shut his eyes, and it was not long before his breathing became slow and steady, falling into perfect harmony with Claire’s, as they slept side by side.

***

Sometime during the night, they ended up in each other’s arms. But that was just in Nick’s dream. When he awoke, he found that it was not the case at all. He lay in relatively the same position he’d fallen asleep in, flat on his back on the left side of the bed. Claire, he saw as he sat up, was all over the place. Stretched out on her stomach, her body was twisted in the covers, her right leg had draped itself across his, and her left arm hung limply off the edge of the bed. He stared at her and shook his head in amusement. Carefully turning down the covers on his side, he pulled his leg out from under hers, freeing it. The movement caused her to stir. With a moan, she raised her head, and then rolled over to face him.

“Nick?” She blinked at him, bleary-eyed.

“Hey there,” he said, smiling at her appearance. In his dream, she had awoken in his embrace, looking fresh and perfect, and greeted him with a tender good morning kiss. But the sun had risen on reality, and the real Claire was looking totally disoriented and disheveled, her short hair sticking out in all directions, her right cheek marked with a red imprint of the back of her hand, which she had apparently been sleeping on.

“Is it morning?” she murmured, looking around. The shades were still drawn, leaving the room quite dim, but Nick was sure the day outside was bright and sunny.

According to the bedside clock, it was after nine a.m.

“Yeah, it’s morning,” he said with a chuckle. “You were asleep by the end of the movie.”

“Oh... the movie...” She yawned and rubbed her eyes. “I should go.... God, I can’t believe I fell asleep in your bed.” She grinned sheepishly at him. “You should have just pushed me off.”

He laughed. “It’s okay. I fell asleep on your couch once, remember?” She smiled. “Yeah... so I guess we’re even.”

“Right.”

She sighed and rolled off of the bed, retrieving her robe and slippers. “Thanks for letting me come hang out last night,” she said as she put them on.

“Anytime,” replied Nick casually. “Hey, if you wanna get breakfast later, let me know, okay? We can have something brought up.”

She nodded. “Okay. I’m gonna go grab a shower and get cleaned up first, but I’ll stop by or give you a call or something when I’m done.”

“Sounds good.”

She smiled. “Okay then. I’ll shut the door on my way out.” With that, she left.

Nick eyed the space on the bed she had occupied just minutes earlier. There was still a

slight indent in the mattress where her body had rested, and the pillow was flattened from her head. He reached over and picked it up, fluffing it half-heartedly. Her scent still clung to the linen pillowcase, the sweet, flowery smell of bubble bath and shampoo.

He inhaled deeply and smiled at the memory of his dream.

This moment was quickly interrupted by a large body catapulting into his bed.

Shaken, Nick blinked to find AJ suddenly sitting in the middle of the bed, bouncing gently, a big clownish grin on his face.

“How did you get in?” Nick demanded.

“Well, good morning to you too, Nick!” AJ replied cheerfully. “I was taking a stroll down the hall, and guess who happened to be coming out of your room?” Nick groaned, and AJ’s grin grew even wider. “So Nicky got a little action last night, did he?”

“No,” Nick said forcefully. “She was over here watching a movie last night, and she fell asleep. That’s all.”

“Suuuure, okay, Nick.” AJ winked, and Nick rolled his eyes, feeling his face heat up. He didn’t know why all of AJ’s teasing about him and Claire embarrassed him so much, but it did. And AJ’s insinuations of sex made him uncomfortable. It had never been like that before; they were guys – of course they joked about sex, usually without shame.

But things were different now, and even the very thought of sex, which Nick had once enjoyed, sometimes caused him to break out in a cold sweat. He really could not imagine making love to a woman the way he was now, and even more unrealistic was the idea of a woman actually wanting him to. A simple kiss was one thing, but lying close together, naked and exposed, was quite another. In such an intimate situation, what woman would ever be able to look at him and find him attractive, attractive enough to touch and caress and love?

He realized he was just making himself upset and quickly put a stop to his thoughts, forcing a laugh at AJ’s last comment instead. “You’re crazy, Bone,” he said.

“Now get out, would you?”

“Sure thing, kid.” AJ promptly got off the bed. “Just had to come give you hell for a minute. I’ll catch ya later, ‘kay?”

“Sure,” said Nick. “Later.”

When he heard the door of the suite shut with a click and was sure that AJ had gone, Nick sighed and climbed slowly out of bed, hobbling on crutches into the bathroom to get cleaned up and ready for breakfast.

***

Chapter 137

“Did I already tell you how much I love your dress, Claire? It’s so pretty.” Leighanne Littrell smiled kindly.

“Thanks,” said Claire, smiling back. “I love yours too.”

“Thank you,” Leighanne replied, smoothing her hands over her own dress, a sophisticatedly simple black ensemble. Nick frowned, pulling at the collar of his shirt and blaming his discomfort on her. It was Leighanne who had decided to dress up for the VMAs first, so of course Brian had decided to wear a suit, and then Nick had bought Claire that dress, which meant, just like AJ had warned, that he, too, would need to dress up.

Brian and Nick were the only ones in suits, but the other three guys looked nice as well, dressed in shades of complimentary black and gray. These were the clothes they would be performing in later that night; they had decided that flashy stage clothes were not needed for their performance, which was meant to be low-key and intimate, even in Radio City Music Hall.

Kevin’s wife Kristin looked more casual – and comfortable – in a flowing pair of gray pants and a black top. She sat beside Kevin in the back of the fancy limo that was shuttling them through the packed streets of New York City, but made small talk with Leighanne and Claire. Claire had just met the two older women the day before, when they had flown in, but Nick thought they all seemed to be getting along pretty well.

“She’s darling, Nick,” Leighanne had said of Claire shortly after meeting her.

“Make sure you hang on to her, okay? She’s a keeper.” She had smiled; Nick had scowled. He liked Brian’s wife all right, but the last thing he wanted was advice on his love life from her. He could pick out women for himself, thank you very much. (Even though he had to admit, he hadn’t done a very good job of it so far in life.) It was now Kristin who was admiring the dress he had bought for Claire, ooh-ing and aah-ing over the beadwork on its bodice.

“I think it looks like a sun,” Nick spoke up. “You know, like the rays of the sun?”

“Yeah, it does,” Kristin nodded.

Grinning cheekily, Brian chimed in with the chorus of “You Are My Sunshine.”

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” he sang. “You make me happy when skies are gray... You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you... Please don’t take my sunshine away... What?” he stopped, when the guys began snickering. “Just warming up my voice!”

“Remind me never to get married,” AJ groaned. “It makes you even cheesier than before.”

“Nah, that’s just how Bri is,” cracked Howie, and they both laughed at Brian’s expense.

“Oh, y’all are just jealous cause you’re too pathetic to get dates to this thing,” said Nick with a smirk.

“Riiiiight. Didja hear that, D? The ‘Ladies Man’ over there thinks we’re jealous.” AJ rolled his eyes.

The banter kept up all the way to Radio City, which was quite a good thing, for it helped to alleviate Nick’s nervousness. Unfortunately, the butterflies came back into his stomach in full force once he and the guys were backstage, and Claire was gone.

Everyone had decided it would be okay for Claire to sit in the audience, since no

one would know who she was or who she had come with. Kristin and Leighanne, on the other hand, had to hide out backstage until it was time for the performance, since they faced the risk of being recognized and revealing the fact that the Backstreet Boys were there that night. Seven seats near the back of the house were being saved for them, for after the performance, the Boys and the wives would join Claire to watch the rest of the show.

Although surprise performances were often saved for the end of the show, the Boys were going to come out in the first half, which saved them from making pre-recorded acceptance speeches for all the categories they were nominated in, on the off chance they won. If they won a VMA, they wanted to be there, at the podium, to accept the award and say their thanks.

The show began, while the Boys remained in a secluded area backstage, hidden away from the various performers, presenters, and winners who came and went. They went through a few vocal warm-ups, and then it was just a matter of waiting for their time to come.

It was this waiting that was the hardest part. Nick tried to keep himself calm, taking slow, deep breaths, trying to clear his head, which was swarming with worst-case scenarios. What if he tripped and fell onstage? What if his voice shook or went flat?

What if he forgot the words to the songs? What if no one liked the performance; what if they were booed instead of cheered? The “what if’s” were driving him crazy; he just wanted to get on with it.

“Nick, it’s time to go; Carson’s about to go out there to introduce us,” Kevin’s voice interfered with the chain of unpleasant thoughts that rattled incessantly through Nick’s mind. “You ready?”

Panic seized Nick’s heart with icy fingers. Maybe he didn’t want to just get on with it after all. Weakly, he looked up at Kevin. “I-I don’t know if I can do this,” he mumbled. “I... what if...” Swallowing hard, he let the sentence finish open-ended and closed his mouth tightly, slightly afraid he was going to throw up from nerves.

“Yes you can,” Kevin said firmly, but kindly. “Don’t think about the crowd; don’t think about the ‘what if’s’. Just focus on the music, okay? Because that’s what matters.” Nick nodded and flashed Kevin a strained, tight-lipped smile, wondering if he would ever be able to get a note out once he was onstage. He stood up slowly, his knee quivering beneath him. Sucking in a deep breath, he straightened and got his balance, marveling at how nervous he was.

He almost always got some butterflies before a show, even after spending nearly half his life performing as a Backstreet Boy, but it had been a long time since he had been this terrified. Where was the professional, the young man who was hardly phased by arenas jam-packed with people? Where was the Backstreet Boy who knew exactly what he had to do to make the girls scream - a smile here, a pelvic thrust there, and an ass-shake every once in awhile.

He’s gone, Nick thought. I’m not the same. I never will be.

Things would be different tonight. Tonight, when he went out on that stage, it would be as himself, as the new and changed Nick Carter. He would be exposed, no curtain of crowd-pleasing gestures to hide behind. All he had now was his voice. But according to Kevin, that was all that mattered.

We’ll see if that’s the case, thought Nick. He followed Kevin and the others out of their private dressing room, which had been tucked away in the far reaches of the

backstage area, and congregated alongside them off to one side of the stage, as they waited for their cue.

Meanwhile, a barely-dressed Britney Spears stood at the podium, cooing sickeningly fake thank-you’s to her family and fans as she accepted the award she had just won. When she had finally carried her moon man trophy offstage, Carson Daly was introduced.

Hidden behind the thick curtains of the stage, Nick watched as Carson came to stand behind the podium. A hush fell over the crowd as he began to speak of a group who had been a part of MTV for the past seven years – newsmakers, TRL regulars, VMA winners, and this year, VMA nominees. As he continued his spiel, going on about how this particular group had been struck down by tragedy and hardship time and time again and yet always managed to bounce back, Nick could almost feel the tension growing in the packed music hall. What group was he talking about? Could it be...?

Was it...?

“Making their first public appearance and performance in seven months, we are proud to have with us tonight... the Backstreet Boys.” A roar swept through the massive hall, as a panel of thick curtains parted to reveal five stools sitting in a row on stage, and AJ, Kevin, Brian, Howie, and finally, Nick, appeared. Individual screams rose shrilly above the cheers of the audience, piercing Nick’s ears, yet bringing a smile to his face. The girls were still screaming for them. It was a good sign.

Slightly flustered, yet elated at the same time, Nick crossed the stage with his bandmates, head held high. He exhaled in relief when he reached his stool at the end of the line and boosted himself up onto it. He tilted the microphone on its stand and glanced down the line at the four others. They were ready. He took a deep breath, and then he heard their music began to play. The audience quieted immediately, and Brian launched into the opening of the song, which had been the first single off the latest album.

Tapping his hand lightly against his thigh in rhythm with the song, Nick gazed out into the house. With the blindingly bright spotlights beaming down on him, he couldn’t see past the first few rows. But somewhere out there, he knew, was Claire, watching them perform live for the first time.

With a rush of pride and a desire to impress, he joined the others in singing the chorus. As soon as the first few notes had left his mouth, he was there, back in his zone.

No longer was he nervous and uncomfortable in front of all these people. Instead, he was at home, back where he belonged and doing what he had been made to do. He was an artist, after all. The stage was his canvas, and his voice was his brush, painting a beautiful harmony that filled the room, spattering the awed audience with perfect notes.

High-pitched screams rose as they transitioned into “I Want It That Way.” Nick smiled, savoring the familiar sound, and glanced down the line at Brian as he began his solo, his eyes closed, pointing up with one finger. Classic Brian pose Nick’s solo loomed, and he took a deep breath, preparing for it. His moment had come. Filling his lungs with air once more, he opened his mouth and let the notes flow.

“But we are two worlds apart, can’t reach to your heart, believe when I say, I want it that way...”

“Tell me why...”

“I Want it That Way” was a song they had performed countless times, a song they

often got sick of singing. But that night, at that moment, the song bore new life. Singing the familiar melody, hardly aware of the crowd down in the pit singing along, Nick was able to forget his nervousness and self-consciousness and just be himself, the same old Nick the fans loved, the Nick who loved to be the center of attention, who loved to sing and perform and make the girls scream.

And scream they did, as AJ sang the final notes of the song. The Boys slid off of their stools and joined hands, bowing once amid loud cheering. Squinting out into the house, Nick was surprised to see that the people in the first few rows of seats were standing. He would later find out that most of the audience – celebrities and fans alike

– were on their feet, applauding them in reverence. The Backstreet Boys, who had been mocked, ridiculed, and scoffed at for their entire career, had received a standing ovation.

Backstage, they were immediately bombarded by people, mostly from the media, wanting pictures and interviews, demanding to know how they and MTV had pulled off such a surprise. They posed for a few pictures and said a few words, then were escorted away by security. As the live telecast of the awards cut to a commercial break, they were taken to their reserved seats in the music hall, where Claire had been sitting, along with Leighanne and Kristin, who’d been allowed to sneak in right before their performance.

The two older women swooped down on Nick immediately, practically smothering him with their tight hugs before they moved on to their respective husbands, leaving Claire standing there in the row of seats. She smiled when she caught Nick’s eye and came forward to meet him.

“Did we make a fan of you yet?” he asked with a wink.

She just smiled, her eyes shining, and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tenderly. “You looked great up there,” she whispered, as the others filed into the row of seats and sat down, leaving Nick the aisle seat and Claire the one next to it.

“Everyone loved you,” she went on, as she and Nick sunk down into their seats. “They all stood up, even back here, in the ‘celebrity section’.” She glanced around quickly and then leaned close to Nick, whispering in a low voice, “I think P. Diddy and his posse are sitting behind us.”

Nick tried to discreetly look over his shoulder, and sure enough, sitting one row back and a few seats over was Sean “Puffy/Puff Daddy/P. Diddy” Combs. He turned back, not at all starstruck, for he had met the rapper several times before, even been interviewed by him on TRL once. “Yeah, that’s him,” he started to whisper back to Claire, but was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. Twisting around in his seat once again, he saw that P. Diddy had reached out to get his attention.

“Hey dawg, good job up there. You got balls, man, for gettin’ up there and performing, you know what I’m sayin’? Props to y’all.” Nick smiled. “Thanks, dawg,” he replied, genuinely touched by this compliment.

Then he turned back around to watch the rest of the show. The Backstreet Boys had been nominated for Best Group Video, Best Pop Video, and Viewer’s Choice, and as the show neared the end, they were 0 for 3. This was nothing new, but as the presenters for the Viewer’s Choice came out, Nick couldn’t help but think it would be cool if they won.

Competition was steep though, and there was no denying the fact that the group was simply not as popular as they had been in 1999, the last year they had won the Viewer’s Choice award. The list of nominees was read off, and then, moments later, he heard the words. “And the winner is... Backstreet Boys!”

Claire drew in a sharp breath beside him and looked over at him, her eyes dancing with excitement. Stunned, he glanced past her and saw the others rising from their seats. So he hadn’t been hearing things – they had won. Their fans had come through, voting for them over any of the other big names that had been nominated. A smile spread across his face as his heart swelled with pride and appreciation for those wonderful fans, who had proven their devotion by never wavering in their support for him.

No longer nervous, no longer afraid of reactions and stares, he stood and led the way down the long aisle to the stage. He climbed slowly and steadily up the steps that led onstage and made his way over to the podium, where he was surrounded by Brian, Kevin, Howie, and AJ. They all gathered around the podium, but it was Nick who was handed the silver moon man trophy, Nick who stood at the microphone, and Nick who was allowed to speak first.

Looking out into the expectant faces of the audience, Nick suddenly wished he’d had the sense to write out some kind of acceptance speech, or at least a list of people to thank. But he hadn’t prepared at all, and the words that came out of his mouth were straight from the heart.

“Um... w-wow,” he stammered, “this was definitely unexpected! Thanks, y’all!” He paused and cleared his throat, getting his bearings, and then continued quickly,

“Um, I’m gonna try to keep this short, but for once, I do have a lot to say and a lot of people to thank, and who knows when I’ll have another chance. So I gotta start out by thanking God, who has dealt me some rough blows, but at the same time, has given me the strength to overcome them. Also, um... Dr. K, you’re probably not even watching this, but if you are, thank you. I-I don’t know if I’d even be here right now without you.

Susan – ditto. And, uh – just a few more here – uh... ‘Ren,’ my, uh... my little

‘sunshine’... thank you, baby.” He could feel his cheeks heating up and smiled crookedly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.

“And to my four big brothers... Kev, Bri, Howie, and J – thank you for being at my side through everything and helping me get through the past few months. And last but definitely not least, to the fans, for sticking with us and keeping the Backstreet Pride alive. You guys are still showin’ us the love – we wouldn’t be up here right now if it weren’t for you. Thank you so much for your support and your prayers and for giving me the courage to get up here tonight. We love you.” He stepped back to let the others have a turn, but as soon as AJ got to the mic, all he said was, “I think Nick pretty much said it all for us. Thanks to God, our families and friends, and the fans. We love you all; peace out.” As the chorus of their song played and the telecast cut to another commercial break, the group left the stage. Nick was in the lead once again, proudly carrying the moon man, his mouth smiling and his eyes sparkling as brightly as the silver beads on Claire’s dress. In the pictures snapped backstage immediately after, he practically shone with happiness, or radiance even, like the sun. Whatever you called it, there was a certain aura that surrounded him that night, something that had not been present in a long, long time.

It was late at night, and outside, the sky was black above the lights of the city.

But in Nick’s life, it seemed as if the sun had just risen, and a new day had dawned. And it was glorious.

***

Chapter 138

After the VMAs, there was publicity pandemonium surrounding the Backstreet Boys, starting on the red carpet immediately after the awards and continuing on into October. Suddenly, everyone wanted to interview Nick Carter again, and all kinds of talk shows, news programs, and magazines kept calling. After going over their options with their management, the group scheduled an appearance on “Oprah” and an interview with Barbara Walters for “20/20,” as well as an interview for People magazine.

Nick did not exactly enjoy all the publicity, but he had to admit, it was better than being out of the spotlight altogether. People were taking an interest in his plight rather than shunning him for no longer being “perfect,” and he was grateful.

In the middle of September, at the height of all this publicity, he got a call from Aaron. It was a nice surprise, for he had not even spoken with his younger brother since March, when Aaron and their father had come to stay for a weekend. After Jane had come and gone at the very end of March, Nick had been completely isolated from his true family. He’d done all right without them – AJ, Howie, Brian, Kevin, and Claire had more then compensated – but as soon as he heard Aaron’s familiar voice, it hit him how much he had missed the kid.

It was hard for one to call him and Aaron close, for besides being almost eight years apart in age, the two brothers had always spent a great deal of time apart, ever since the Backstreet Boys had started to gain popularity overseas, and Nick’s life had turned into a seemingly endless spiral of touring and work. When Aaron’s own music career had gotten off the ground, and he, too, had hit the road, it had become even more difficult to arrange visits. And yet, despite this, Nick and Aaron had always had a special bond. Maybe it was due to the fact that they were the only boys in the family, or maybe it was because of everything they had in common, namely a passion and talent for music.

Whatever the case was, the two of them had always seemed to understand each other. And even though so many things had changed over the past few months, that was one thing that hadn’t. Nick knew it as soon as he hung up after a half-hour-long conversation with his brother. Aaron had not been himself on the phone. The normally outgoing and talkative teenager was unnaturally quiet and withdrawn, and when he had spoken, even though he hadn’t really come out and said it, he had sounded thoroughly apologetic. Guilt-ridden, actually.

And Nick understood.

Aaron had not been in touch with him since March, had not called or even emailed him once in the past six months. Some would call him selfish, uncaring. But Nick knew that was not the case. Putting himself in his brother’s shoes, he tried to understand what Aaron must have been going through these past few months. The kid had always idolized Nick, sort of like how Nick had always looked up to Kevin, who, when he joined the Backstreet Boys at the age of twenty-one, had seemed so suave and knowledgeable and all-around grown-up to the then thirteen-year-old Nick.

Nick tried to imagine what it would be like to have to watch Kevin go through what he had gone through. Although he hated what had happened to him, he would never wish it upon anyone else, especially Kevin. Watching his oldest brother break under the burden of cancer would be worse than suffering through it himself. If it had been Kevin, or any of the guys, instead of him, what would he have done? What would

he have said?

He thought back to the old days, before his diagnosis. Sickness, disease, deformity... it had always scared him, in a way, made him uncomfortable. All the times he and the Boys had visited children in hospitals or met terminally ill kids through the Make-a-Wish Foundation, a part of him had been terrified. It had always made him happy to see smiles brighten the faces of the children, but at the same time, his heart had ached for them, and deep inside, he’d been afraid. Not afraid of them, but afraid of what they had to go through and of what could happen to them.

His thoughts turned to another memory, one that had occurred shortly before he had received his own diagnosis. Two days before, in fact. He’d been in the hospital, undergoing tests which would lead to the finding of Ewing’s sarcoma, and he had run into a girl in the elevator...

An orderly was waiting in the hall to take Nick back to his room. He pushed Nick in his wheelchair down to an elevator bank at the end of the hallway. When the doors to one of the elevators slid open, Nick was relieved to see that the elevator was virtually empty; the only occupant was a young woman dressed in a light yellow robe and leopard-print slippers. She had an IV pole standing beside her and a hot pink scarf wrapped around her head, contrasting sharply with her pale skin. Nick knew automatically what was wrong with her.

She had cancer.

Nick had visited sick children in hospitals many times with the Backstreet Boys and alone (it had been part of his community service following his arrest the year before), and he was well aware of how to recognize a cancer patient. And though he had met many of them, the sight of those ghostly, gaunt faces and bald heads still made him uncomfortable. He loved meeting such people and making them happy; he hated the disease they had. It scared him, to be honest.

He gave the woman a slight smile, which she returned unselfconsciously. He realized then that he probably didn’t look much better off than she did, dressed in his hospital gown and sitting in a wheelchair. It was almost as if he were one of her... one of them...

Well, sorry, but that ain’t true, Nick thought dismissively. I’m gonna be out of here in another day or two, and everything’s gonna be just fine...

Of course, it hadn’t been fine, and in just a matter of days, he had found himself face to face with that very same young woman once again, this time in the chemotherapy room, as he received his first treatment for his newly-diagnosed cancer. How quickly his attitude had changed.

But even now, he remembered the way he’d once seen things, when he had just been a normal, healthy guy (or so he thought). And he understood his younger brother’s absence in his life these past six months. It had to have been hard for Aaron to imagine the brother he’d hero-worshipped for his whole childhood laid up in bed with only one leg. To think of the Backstreet Boy whose footsteps he had followed in reduced to the life of a cripple, an amputee. And assuming he had picked up the phone or opened a blank email, what would Aaron have said? What was a person supposed to say in that kind of situation?

Going back to his previous comparison, if it had been Kevin (or Howie or Brian or

AJ), Nick didn’t know what he would have said or done. For a brief moment, it almost seemed as if he’d had the easy way out. He’d had to deal with physical pain and hardship far beyond anything the others had gone through, and his emotional pain had been intense as well. But he realized now that on the inside, the people who loved him had to have been suffering too.

The guys had hidden it well, refusing to let it get in the way of being there for Nick. But Aaron was not like them. At sixteen, he was still practically a child, wise beyond his years in some ways, but still young and innocent in others. He had not experienced the hardships and tragedies that the others had gone through, and Nick knew that he just didn’t know how to react. He could only imagine the internal battles the teen had been fighting over the last few months and understood the guilt he was feeling now.

But in a way, Nick felt guilty too. He’d thought mostly of himself these past six months. For a long time, he had wallowed in self-pity. This was the first time he’d really sat down and thought about what it had been like for the people who cared about him. The realization came to him that maybe he should have made the first move. He should have been the one to call Aaron months ago and talk to his brother, offer him some reassurance.

He recalled the first time Aaron had seen him after finding out about his initial diagnosis. It had been in the hospital the previous summer, when he’d nearly died of pneumonia. He remembered how timid and hesitant his brother had seemed. That side of Aaron had to have been greatly magnified by the thought of amputation. After all, serious as it was, cancer was something that could go away, vanish and leave no traces.

Amputation was not. He could be cured from cancer for fifty years, and he would still never get his leg back. Unlike the disease that had caused it, the amputation was permanent. He would never be the same because of it, and that must have scared Aaron.

The revelation of all this, the understanding of Aaron’s feelings, made Nick determined to get things back to normal between him and his brother. Aaron had made the first move by finally calling him. Now it was Nick’s turn, and he started by inviting Aaron to Florida for a visit at the beginning of October. He felt certain that it would do the teen good to encounter him face to face, to see with his own eyes that Nick, although changed, was still the same guy he’d known and looked up to his entire life.

He had expected some hesitation on Aaron’s behalf, but his brother surprised him by agreeing immediately. Plans were made quickly, plane tickets were purchased, and not long after getting off the phone with Aaron, Nick was opening up his planner to the Saturday that Aaron was due to fly in to Tampa. He was dismayed to find that he already had something written down under that day – Dr. appt. 10:00, he’d scribbled in red ink three months earlier. He frowned; Aaron’s flight was due to arrive at 10:30.

He’d never make it.

Shrugging, he took a black pen and scribbled out the appointment. Pick up AC –

10:30, he wrote in large letters and slammed the planner shut with a smile. The doctor’s appointment could wait, he decided. His brother was more important.

***

Chapter 139

With an impatient sigh, Nick squinted up at the clock mounted high on the wall and frowned.

“That’s like the third time you’ve looked at the clock in the last minute,” Howie commented, looking amused.

“Well, it’s 10:32. Where’s that flight?” Nick demanded, tapping his foot restlessly.

“You and I both know all too well that flights are always running late,” answered Howie, his voice calm and patient. “Just chill out; it’ll get here.” Nick crossed his arms over his chest and tried hard to keep his eyes from roaming up to clock yet again. Aaron’s flight had been due to arrive at 10:30, but he and Howie had been there for half an hour already, and he was sick of waiting. He loathed airports, especially lately, after spending the busy month of September flying every which way with the guys for various appearances and interviews.

Luckily, after a few hectic weeks, their schedules had cleared, and Nick’s life was settling back into normalcy... or at least what had been normalcy before the VMAs. It wasn’t quite the same though. For one thing, AJ had gone back to his Los Angeles home. It had been six months now, and they had all realized that Nick was fully capable of living on his own again. Howie was going to stick around for another few weeks, just as a precaution, but he drove back to Orlando often to visit his family and take care of things at his own house.

Nick was fine with the new arrangement, but a part of him almost missed having Howie and AJ around all the time. He’d gotten used to the constant companionship, and on days when Howie was home in Orlando, and he was left alone, he found himself bored and lonely. He and Claire hung out when she was not working or out with Tim, but he never saw as much of her as he had over the summer, before he’d pushed her out of his life.

This week, he would not see Claire at all. She was in Hawaii for the week, compliments of Tim. Nick had been too busy seething with jealousy to get the whole story she’d told him over the phone, but it was something about some dentist convention in Hawaii that Tim was attending and had invited her to attend with him.

And of course, she’d accepted.

“I’m so sorry I won’t get to meet your brother,” she’d said, sounding disappointed.

“It’s okay,” Nick had muttered, “you can meet him another time.” He was very glad this was the week Aaron was coming; at least the kid’s presence would hopefully keep his mind off of Claire and Tim and what they might be doing together in the beautiful tropical paradise that was Hawaii...

“Hey, Nick-“

... Running down the beach, the waves lapping at their ankles, sand spraying everywhere. He, tan and muscular, looking the epitome of perfection in just his swim trunks. She, dressed in a tiny bikini that accented all her curves, her peaches and cream complexion tinged with raspberry pink. They, holding hands, laughing, playing...

Them... together...

“Nick, I think that’s the plane.”

... Him caressing her skin as he smoothed sunscreen across her shoulders. Her

massaging his back with scented oils, her hands working his muscles, her fingernails grazing lightly over his flesh. Them, together in a darkened room, lost in each other’s embrace, as candles flickered all around...

“Yeah, that’s it, it’s landing.”

... His fingers gently tugging on the strings that held her bikini top up. Hers slipping under the waistband of his shorts. Their lips brushing as they drifted closer and closer together...

“Hey, Nicky, wake up!”

Nick jumped and found himself back in the brightly-lit airport. His cheeks reddened as he realized he’d been spacing out, getting carried away with troubling ideas of what could be going on thousands of miles away in Hawaii. He looked sheepishly over at Howie. “Sorry, what’d you say?”

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Howie said with a wink. “Aaron’s plane just landed.”

Nick’s eyes flew to the large window overlooking part of one of the runways.

Indeed, a plane was slowly rolling up. Relieved, he watched and waited as the plane came to a stop, and the jet bridge extended to connect to the plane. A few minutes later, passengers began to stream into the gate. Nick smiled when he spotted his lanky brother’s blonde head bobbing along behind an elderly couple. Escorted by a large bodyguard, Aaron stepped away from the herd of other disembarking passengers and looked around, craning his neck as he turned his head every which way and that.

Nick fought the urge to shout his brother’s name; he did not want to attract attention to them. Luckily, Bruce, Aaron’s bodyguard, whom Nick had met on occasion, saw them. Nick watched him nudge Aaron and then point them out; his brother’s eyes lit up as he turned and saw Nick. He hurried over at almost a jog, then stopped a few feet away, slowing to a snail’s pace. Nick saw the hesitation on Aaron’s face as he gave him the once-over, his large brown eyes sweeping from head to... left leg. Nick smiled anyway, determined to not let it bother him. “Yo, AC, c’mere!” he said and held his arms out just a little, offering a hug on the off chance that Aaron would agree to one.

Aaron cracked a smile. “Hey,” he said and came forward, hugging Nick very lightly, as if he were trying to hug a delicate flower that he did not want to smash. Nick scoffed and pulled his brother roughly into a bear hug. Normally, he would have reached down to give the kid a noogie on top of that, but he discovered that reaching down was out of the question... reaching up was more like it. Aaron was just as tall as he was.

“Damn, AC, when’d you get so tall?” he asked, releasing his brother.

The teenager grinned, looking a bit more at ease. “Why, you scared? You know I can take you now.”

“Ah, in your dreams. I can still whoop your ass any day, bro.” Things felt like normal as they walked through the airport, picking on each other back and forth like that. But Nick knew it wouldn’t last; sooner or later, they would have to talk about what had happened in the seven months since they’d last seen each other.

The topic came up when they got outside to Nick’s car. He popped the trunk for Aaron to put his luggage in and slid into the driver’s seat. He heard Aaron call

“Shotgun!” and moments later, the kid was scrambling into the front passenger seat, while Howie dutifully climbed into the back.

“So you can still drive?” Aaron asked, flipping through the radio stations as soon

as Nick had started the engine.

“An automatic, I can,” replied Nick. “Don’t need your left foot for that, do you?” Aaron didn’t respond, instead turning the radio up. Nick supposed the music made for a good diversion, a filler for those awkward silences. And there were many of them, in between meager attempts at small talk. Nick was glad when they were finally home.

“Take your stuff upstairs,” he told Aaron when they got inside the house. “You can stay in the master bedroom – D even changed the sheets for ya.”

“The master bedroom? But isn’t that-“

“Nick’s got the downstairs room now,” Howie answered before he could even finish his question.

A sudden look of dawning came over Aaron’s face. “Ohh... right. Okay. Uh, I’ll be right back.” He hauled his luggage up the staircase and disappeared, leaving Nick and Howie standing in the foyer.

“Does he seem okay to you?” Nick asked Howie, keeping his voice low.

“Yeah, I think so,” Howie replied slowly. “It’s probably just going to take some time for him to get used to... well, you know.” He paused, then added, “You should show him your leg.”

Nick raised his eyebrows. “You think? I don’t wanna freak him out right away...”

“You won’t freak him out. He’s probably curious; you know how kids are.

Probably best to just get things out in the open right away, you know?”

“Yeah... yeah, I guess so,” agreed Nick. They heard footsteps from up above, and seconds later, Aaron appeared on the stairs. He walked down them slowly and stopped in the middle of the foyer, looking as if he weren’t quite sure what to say or do. Nick decided to go ahead with what Howie had suggested. “So,” he said, looking at Aaron,

“you wanna see it?”

“It?” Aaron repeated uncertainly.

“My leg.”

“Oh. Um, sure...”

Chuckling at the look on his brother’s face, Nick sank down into a chair. With the air of a little kid trying to gross out his friends by showing them a particularly nasty-looking, pus-encrusted scab, he rolled up his pant leg to expose his prosthetic leg. He watched as Aaron’s eyes flitted over the silver and blue metal leg.

“Is it... is it hard to walk on?” Aaron asked.

“Not really, not anymore,” replied Nick. “It takes a lot of work, but I’m used to it by now. This one is better than the old one I had.” Aaron nodded. “Claire says I’m like a Transformer now; whatcha think about that?”

Aaron laughed lightly, then asked, “Who’s Claire?”

Nick had forgotten that Aaron hadn’t met or even heard about Claire. “She’s a friend of mine,” he answered.

“A ‘friend’?” Aaron repeated, arching his eyebrows, a mischievous little smile crossing his face.

“Yes, a friend,” Nick repeated firmly, winking at the same time.

“So how’d you meet her?”

Nick swallowed a laugh. Aaron probably didn’t know what he was getting himself into with that question. “Uh, long story,” he answered quickly. “So, um... whatcha wanna do?” Aaron’s only response was a limp-shouldered shrug. “You wanna... um...

shoot some hoops?” Nick offered.

Aaron looked surprised, but nodded. “Okay.”

“D?”

“You two go ahead,” Howie declined with a wave of his hand.

Nick and Aaron went out through the garage, grabbing a basketball on the way.

They dribbled it around the driveway, passing it back and forth and taking shots. Nick was not quite coordinated enough to manage a game of real basketball yet, but Aaron seemed impressed by what he could do anyway.

“Hey, bro, think fast!”

Nick looked up just in time to see the basketball hurtling right at him. He managed to catch it right before it went straight into his gut, expelling a winded

“oomph,” which then led into a coughing fit.

“You okay?” Aaron asked guiltily. “Sorry for that pass, dude, it was kinda wild...”

“I’m fine,” Nick said through a steady stream of coughs. The ball hadn’t made enough contact to knock the wind out of him, but he felt as if it had. He felt like sitting down to catch his breath, but Aaron looked stricken, and he didn’t want to make the teen feel bad. So, through a cough, he bounce-passed the ball back and took a few deep breaths, stifling back the few remaining coughs.

“You good to go?” Aaron asked, watching him warily.

“’Course,” Nick grinned. “Go ahead, shoot it.”

Aaron’s shot bounced off the rim, and Nick hurried to get the rebound. He backed up and took a shot, which sailed smoothly toward the hoop. At first, it seemed a perfect shot, but as it went into the hoop, it swiveled around the rim, and, at the last minute, bounced out again. “Damn,” Nick swore, making a face.

Aaron laughed. “You suck, dude.”

“Huh-uh,” Nick countered, as Aaron chased after the rolling ball. “That thing was in, dawg, and then it bounced out again. I just have bad luck.” Sometimes, Nick thought, watching Aaron run effortlessly down the driveway to intercept the ball, that seems like a huge understatement.

***

Chapter 140

By the following Saturday, Aaron was gone, and Claire was back, sunburned and full of stories to tell.

“So... how was it?” Nick forced himself to ask, as they sat at the table on his back deck, sipping iced tea under the shade of the table’s large umbrella. He braced himself for her answer, hoping she wouldn’t start gushing about how beautiful and romantic it was in Hawaii with Tim. He was pretty sure he would have to throw up if happened.

It didn’t.

“It was... uh... interesting, I’ll tell you that much,” Claire replied, making a face.

“Not quite what I had expected.”

“Why, what happened?” he asked with interest, leaning forward in anticipation as he waited for her to elaborate.

She sighed. “Well, the very first night, Tim and I went to this sea food restaurant, right? Well, I ordered this shrimp dish, and oh my God, it made me so sick!”

“Food poisoning?” Nick asked, raising an eyebrow.

She nodded grimly. “I’m sure that’s what it was. I basically spent the next two days in the bathroom, either throwing up or, uh... well, other digestive-related things.” She grimaced, her cheeks turning even pinker.

Nick smirked. “Uh, yeah, I get the idea.”

“Yeah,” she said flatly, “so after two days of that, I was totally wiped out and feeling like crap, so I pretty much just laid around the hotel room while Tim went to the conference sessions and did his thing. I didn’t even get out to the beach till the day before we flew back.”

“Aww, that sucks,” Nick said, trying to look sympathetic instead of relieved.

Really, he felt bad that she’d had such a horrible time, but a part of him was secretly glad. The thought of Claire stuck in the bathroom, puking her guts out, was not a pleasant one, but it was better than what he’d imagined her doing before, with Tim. “I’ll take you back to Hawaii sometime and make it up to you,” he offered, flashing her his famous half-smile.

She returned the smile. “Sometime, sure,” she said lightly, blowing him off. “No time soon though. The thought of hopping on a plane and flying another thirteen hours to Hawaii isn’t that appealing right now. Ugh, I’m still feeling the jet lag from yesterday.”

“I know how that is,” he empathized. “I hate flying.”

“I don’t usually, but man, that was just too much.” She ran a hand through her hair wearily and asked, “So anyway, did you have a good week? How was Aaron?”

“Yeah, it was fun,” Nick answered casually. “Aaron was alright. We hung out and stuff... it was good to see him again.”

“Good,” she said with a smile. “I’m glad you had a good time at least.” He chuckled lightly, not sure what to say back to that. I’m glad you didn’t?

“So, what now? Do you have anything else going on with the guys, or what?” Claire asked.

Nick just shrugged. “No, not really...” he murmured. He’d sort of been wondering the same thing. What now? His life had been so busy for the past three months, what with the video shoot in July, preparing for the VMAs throughout the month of August, and then all the publicity that had surrounded him in September.

Now that all that was behind him, and his week with Aaron was over, his life had gone back to the way it had been before.

Only it wasn’t quite the same. For one thing, AJ wasn’t there anymore, and he was no longer going to physical therapy. He’d attended the sessions for a few more weeks after getting his new leg at the beginning of August, but once he’d gotten used to the new prosthesis, Susan had cut him loose.

“At this point, you don’t really need my help anymore,” she’d told him with a smile. “You’re back on your feet and walking really well, which is more than a lot of above-knee amputees ever accomplish. You’ll only improve with practice, but you don’t need me to supervise you with that anymore.” She’d gone on to tell him that he could always call her if he wanted to, and that she was proud of him. He’d left that session feeling liberated and quite proud of himself, to be honest.

But now, without therapy three days a week, and without anymore Backstreet-related appearances or anything coming up, he was sort of... well, bored. During the spring and summer, he’d been perfectly content to lay around cooped up in his house, but now that he had rehabilitated and made a sort of comeback, sitting around at home and doing nothing wasn’t going to cut it anymore. He wanted to be doing something, working toward something, like he’d done all summer. But what was there to work toward? What was next?

“Are you guys going to work on another album at some point?” Claire asked.

“Why do you care? I thought you weren’t a fan of us,” he teased her, grinning.

“I’m not,” she shot back smugly. “I was just asking. You know, making conversation.”

“Ah, I see. Well, to answer your question then – you know, keep the conversation going and all –“ he winked, “... I don’t know. I’m sure we’ll do another album at some point, but I don’t know when. I mean, we haven’t even toured yet...” The words came out automatically, and she looked at him in surprise.

“Are you still going to tour then?” she asked.

Nick frowned. “Well... I don’t know,” he said slowly. Touring was usually part of a natural progression... first an album, then, a few months later, a tour. That was how it had always happened, and back when they’d released their album in February, the plan had been the same. They’d assumed they would spend that summer touring. But the shattering news Nick had received at the end of March had changed everything, and instead, they’d spent the summer trying to help Nick get his life back together. Now it was autumn, and for the most part, Nick’s life had returned to normal, as normal as it was ever going to get anyway.

So again, the question was posed – what now?

A few months ago, when Nick had been struggling to walk again and sick and miserable from chemotherapy treatments, touring had been out of the question, an impossibility. But now that Nick had recovered from surgery and chemo and learned to walk, was it so unthinkable? He’d already performed once, after all, and on live television too! And vocally, the performance had been wonderful. If his voice was all that really mattered, if they could do shows without all the dancing and movement they’d done in the past, then why couldn’t he tour?

“I hadn’t really given it too much thought before now,” he confessed to Claire,

“and the guys and I haven’t talked about it at all. But... I think I do want to go on tour again. Touring... there’s just nothing like it. I mean, it gets old sometimes, riding

around on a bus all day and doing shows pretty much every night. But at the same time, being up on that stage, getting to do what I love night after night... there’s just nothing like it. It’s... it’s incredible.”

Claire was smiling broadly. “Then you should do it!” she urged, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. “You guys should tour again. There’s no reason why you can’t, is there? I mean, health-wise, you’re fine, right? You’ve been feeling okay and everything?”

“Oh yeah,” Nick said, nodding. “I’m good to go.”

“Then you should talk to the guys about it and see what they think.” Nick nodded again, smiling. “I think I will.”

***

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Nick.”

Turning his head away from the phone, Nick groaned. Why had he called Kevin first? He should have known overprotective Kevin wouldn’t exactly jump at the idea of planning a tour. He should have started with AJ first, to build up some support. Nick knew AJ was just itching to get back on stage, especially after the VMAs. Their performance there had been like taking a little nibble off the end of a particularly delicious candy bar – now that he’d had a taste, he was ready to devour the whole thing.

“Kev, why not?” Nick argued, hearing the whine seep into his voice.

“You know how much touring takes out of a person,” Kevin replied patiently. “I don’t think we should undertake such a big thing quite yet.”

“You’re talking about me, aren’t you?” accused Nick. “When you say ‘how much touring takes out of a person,’ you mean me. You don’t think I should undertake something like this yet.”

He heard Kevin sigh loudly on the other end of the line. “Well, yes, Nick, I mean you. I don’t want you to push yourself. You’ve come such a long way over the past few months, and I admire the fact that you’re so ready and willing to do a tour, but I think it’s too soon.”

“That’s bullshit! It’s been over six months, and by the time we’d actually get everything worked out, it’ll have been a lot longer than that. Brian toured with us only two months after his surgery!”

“Yeah, only because Lou forced him too, and I wasn’t happy about that either, remember? And anyway, Nick, we’re talking about two very different things here.”

“Whatever, dude. Look, I don’t know what you’re worried about, but I’m fine now, okay? I can do this; I know I can. I did the VMAs, didn’t I? And look how that turned out – we did really good!”

“We did really well,” Kevin corrected, to Nick’s annoyance, “and that was one performance, of one song. Touring is a whole nother story. It takes a lot more work to do an entire show, almost every night, for months on end. And I’m not saying you wouldn’t do the work, Nick, because I know you would. You put 110% into everything you do, and that’s part of the reason why it worries me. I don’t want you to work yourself too hard. Your health is more important than anything; it has to come first.”

“I know that!” Nick exclaimed impatiently. “I’m just saying, you have no reason to worry! I’m fine! That’s the whole reason I let them cut my freaking leg off - so that I could be healthy again!” His voice was rising, and he could feel his blood boiling inside.

He felt almost ready to cry, though he was not sure entirely why. Maybe it was just all the emotions bubbling inside him right now – he was like a bottle of soda that had been shaken vigorously and would explode with just one twist of the cap. And Kevin was definitely twisting his cap right now.

“I know, Nick, I know,” Kevin said quietly, after a moment of silence. “I just worry about you; you know that. I can’t help it. It just scares me, to think of something else happening to you. I would rather you see you take it easy for awhile, instead of pushing yourself to get ready for touring. Sometimes I think you overestimate yourself.”

“And sometimes I think you underestimate me,” Nick muttered back. “I’m not a little kid anymore, Kevin. I know my limits, okay? And like I said, you don’t have to worry about my health anymore because I’m fine.”

“And are those words coming from your mouth, or your doctor’s? I’m assuming your last check-up was all right?”

“Yes,” Nick answered, not mentioning the fact that his last check-up had been at the beginning of July and that he had not yet rescheduled the one he’d missed the week before.

There was silence on the other end of the line, and just when Nick was about to ask if he was still there, Kevin responded with, “Okay, Nick, what about this: what if we put together a concert... just a concert, but a full one – you know, about an hour and a half/two hours long – and just see how it goes? The concert could be for charity or something, or maybe we could have it televised or put it on video at some kind of comeback special or something. Whatever. The point is, it would be kind of a trial to thing, just so you could see if you’re ready for whole concerts or not.”

“Just so I could prove to you guys that I am,” Nick corrected, but really, he liked the idea. And not just because it would be a way to prove himself to them. “Seriously though, Kev, I like that idea. And doing it for charity or whatever would be cool.”

“Yeah? You like that?”

“Yeah,” replied Nick, his mind racing with ideas now. “You know, maybe we could make it a free concert for sick kids – like kids with cancer – or... or kids with, you know, disabilities and stuff. I mean, I feel like I have something in common with kids like that now... it would be a good way to give back.”

“That’s a great idea!” came Kevin’s enthusiastic response. “We could fly the kids in from all over; I’m sure we could get names from the Make-a-Wish Foundation or St.

Jude or something like that. Or we could do the concert in Florida and invite kids from your neck of the woods to come. You know some of the staff at the hospital pretty well by now; maybe they could help.”

“I bet Claire could help us too,” Nick added. “She goes and reads to the little kids in Oncology sometimes; she probably knows a lot of people.”

“I should call Brian and tell him all this,” said Kevin. “I don’t know what kind of limits you want to put on what kind of people could come to the thing, but with his Healthy Heart Club, I’m sure Bri will have some good ideas too.”

“Okay. Hey, if you wanna get off and call Bri, I’ll call J. And Howie ain’t here –

he’s in Orlando – but he’ll probably call later to check up on me, and then I can fill him in.”

“Sounds good,” said Kevin. “I’ll let you go then, okay, bro?”

“Alright. Later, Kev.”

“Bye, Nick.”

By the time they hung up, Nick had gone from seething to smiling. He hadn’t gotten a definite “yes” or “no” on the tour proposition, but that didn’t matter. He was excited by the idea of this concert. He liked what they had come up with and really felt as if it would be a good way to connect to some younger people who had been through ordeals similar to his own. That’s what Brian had done by starting up his Healthy Heart Club, and Nick had always wanted to be able to really give back like that. Now he would be able to... and prove himself to Kevin at the same time.

Still smiling, he picked up the phone again to call AJ.

***

Chapter 141

The sky was blue and cloudless, and the morning sun shone brightly, casting a gleam upon the world. The road stretched before him, straight, long, seemingly endless.

But Nick was okay with that. Fiddling with the cruise control buttons on the steering wheel, he was perfectly content to just keep driving, to follow the interstate as far as it would take him.

He wasn’t going to do that though. The road stretched all the way to Canada, but he would only go as far north as Atlanta.

Brian had invited him to come up for the weekend, since it had been almost two months since they’d seen each other. The guys had all kept in contact the past month though, what with planning for the charity concert Kevin had thought of.

It had not even been a month since the idea had come about, but things were falling into place perfectly. After some debate, they had decided to have the concert in the beginning of December, which gave them only two months to make all the necessary arrangements. But the planning went fairly smoothly, and now, only three weeks later, they had a venue in Tampa booked and over two hundred guests set to come. The guests were teenagers and children with cancer or other serious conditions and disabilities and their families. Many of them lived in Florida, but others were flying in from all parts of the country to attend the concert. CBS, the station that had aired Backstreet Boys “Larger Than Life” concert special three years ago, was sending camera crews to film the concert, which would then be condensed and aired on primetime later in December.

The month of November would be spent rehearsing and preparing for the concert. The guys had quickly decided that the concert would take on a low-key, intimate feel, similar to the one they had done in Germany for their “A Night Out With the Backstreet Boys” video. They would only be singing ballads and mid-tempos, leaving out the fast-paced songs that they usually danced to. Without the rigorous dancing, preparation for this concert seemed easy compared to the other concerts they had done in the past, but it was still going to take a lot of work. None of them had performed an entire concert set in a long time, and they all needed to get their voices ready.

Nick was especially concerned about this; he’d had a cold the week before and was terrified his voice was going to go. Even though he still had a month to go before the concert, losing his voice right at the time when he needed to be getting it into shape was not a good thing.

Luckily, the cold was going away, and his voice was still intact. Except for a cough, he was all right.

Last week had been an entirely different case though. “You sound terrible,” Brian had said in concern when he’d called to ask Nick about coming to Atlanta. “Are you all right?”

“I’b godda cold,” Nick had wheezed, sniffling through a stuffy nose.

“Aw, man, that sucks. I guess it’s getting to be that season though, right?” Brian said sympathetically. “Do you think you’ll feel up to coming next weekend?”

“Yeah, it’s just a cold. I’ll be fide by dext weekend.”

“I hope so. Now, are you gonna want to fly, or would you rather drive up?

Because if you’re going to fly, we better get your ticket soon, or-“

“Bri, you dow me – I hate flying. I’ll drive up.”

“Can Howie come up too then? Because I don’t want you driving that far by yourself.”

“He’s got a charity thing in Orlando for DLF dext weekend. But I can drive byself; I’b dot a baby.”

“I know you’re not a baby,” Brian had sighed in annoyance, “but it’s like an eight hour drive, and that’s a long way for anyone to drive alone. Someone should come with you; otherwise you should just fly. What about Claire – what’s she doing next week?”

“You want Claire to cobe up with be?”

“Sure, why not? You know I like Claire, and Leigh thinks she’s a sweetheart.

We’d love to have her come up with you, if she wants to.”

“I guess I could ask her and see if baybe she wants to.”

“Yeah, do that. And call me back when you find out, okay? Cause if not, I’ll buy you a plane ticket.”

Refusing to get in an airplane if he didn’t have to, Nick had obeyed and called Claire. And now here he was, driving down the interstate with her at his side. Two hours and three CD’s into the drive, they had just passed Ocala and were jamming to Journey’s Frontiers album. He sang along to the first song, “Separate Ways,” as he always did, rather lost in his own world as he drove one-handed, letting the cruise control take over. He blinked in surprise when he heard Claire’s voice join his for the chorus of the song.

“Someday, love will find you

Break those chains that bind you

One night will remind you

How we touched and went our separate ways

If he ever hurts you

True love won’t desert you

You know I still love you

Though we touched and went our separate ways...”

He glanced over at her, grinning. “I thought you didn’t sing.”

“I said I can’t sing, not that I don’t sing,” she clarified, sticking her tongue out at him.

He laughed. “Well, you were right. You can’t sing.”

“I know! I told you, I’m tone deaf!”

He laughed again, relieved that she wasn’t offended. It was true though; she really was god-awful. God-awful, yet amusing, like one of those really bad American Idol auditions. She didn’t seem to mind though, and neither did he, so he kept singing, and she joined in unabashedly. Her off-key pitches may have clashed horribly with his tuned notes, but their laughter blended together perfectly.

“Oh, hang on,” she said suddenly, bending over. She rummaged through her purse, and only then could he pick out the sound of her cell phone ringing above the music. He turned down the volume and smiled when he recognized her ringtone.

“Linkin Park,” he said, as her phone blared a digitized version of the song

“Crawling.” “Nice.”

“Thanks,” she murmured absently, checking the screen on the phone. She let out

a groan. “It’s Tim.”

He tried not to smile, but was quite pleased at the tone in her voice as she said that. “You gonna answer it?”

She rolled her eyes and punched the talk button. “Hello? Oh, hey... Driving...

Um, we’re a little past Ocala... Uh-huh... Yeah, well, I can’t really talk now... We’re, uh...

we’re about to stop, okay? Yeah, I’ll talk to you later. Bye.” She quickly ended the phone call and tossed the phone back into her purse.

“That was quick,” said Nick with a chuckle.

“Ugh, he’s so irritating sometimes! Watch, he’ll probably call me like ten million times this weekend. He’s pissed that I’m going to Atlanta with you and not hanging out with him.”

Nick felt a surge of anger. “Why? ” he asked heatedly. “He gets to hang out with you all the time! What’s he complaining about?”

“Well, Sunday’s Halloween, and he wanted me to go to this costume party with him.” She paused, then added quickly, “Which would have been totally fine... I mean, it would have been really fun... but he wanted us to go as swans!”

“Swans?” Nick repeated in confusion. “Why swans?”

“I think he thought it would be romantic. You know, swans only ever have one mate, and they mate for life.”

Nick frowned, his heart skipping a beat. “Well, what does he mean by that?” he demanded, slightly panicked. “Does he want to marry you or something?”

“I don’t know,” said Claire. “God, I hope not.”

Nick’s heart skipped another beat, only for a good reason this time. He felt a flutter of excitement. “Really? So you don’t want to marry him?”

“Marry him? Of course not! We’ve only been seeing each other for like four months!” she exclaimed. “And to be honest... I don’t know how much longer it’s going to last. I think he’s a lot more serious about ‘us’ than I am.” She bit her lip. “I feel kind of bad, cause he’s a nice guy, you know, and I really did want this to work out, but... well, I didn’t know him very well when we started going out, and now I do know him better...

and, frankly, he’s kind of annoying.”

Nick laughed, totally delighted by this news. “So are you going to dump him then?” he asked hopefully (although he tried his best to sound nonchalant).

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt his feelings cause he is a nice guy. He’s just... not the right guy for me. But,” she added quickly, as if feeling the necessity to defend Tim, “I have fun with him. I mean, I would have gone to that party with him if I wasn’t going to be with you... just not as a swan.” She giggled.

“Yeah, what’s up with his obsession with wearing giant bird costumes?” snickered Nick. Claire cracked a smile. “What would you have gone as?” he asked her.

“Well I thought it would be cute if we’d gone as a toothbrush and toothpaste. But somehow I think Tim would prefer feathers to bristles.” Nick laughed so hard he started coughing. When he’d caught his breath, he cleared his throat and replied, “Are you serious? What guy wouldn’t want to look like a giant toothbrush?”

“Shut up,” Claire said, shaking her head. “You’re making fun of me.” He smirked. “’Course I am. You’re funny. Trust me, Claire, I don’t think you’d really want to go to a Halloween party dressed as a tube of toothpaste. It would just give people an excuse to grab you and squeeze you. And Tim would just be waiting for you to

open up and lay yourself on him. He’d get you out of your tube and spread all over him faster than you can say Crest!”

Claire’s mouth dropped open. “You’re such a nasty perv! I can’t believe you just said that!” she cried, lightly swatting his arm.

“Hey!” he exclaimed through another gale of laughter, which led into another fit of coughing. “I’m trying to drive!”

“Then stop looking at me and watch the road! I swear, you are scary when you’re behind the wheel. You’re like an old man! Bad driver, laughing so hard you cough... at least you’re not bald anymore, or then I would really laugh!”

“Shut up! I am a good driver! And I have a cold, okay?”

“Okay, Mr. Carter,” she replied in a sing-song sort of way, then muttered under breath, “Just wait, next you’ll be wearing high-water pants and taping Lawrence Welk.”

“I heard that,” Nick announced loudly.

She flashed him a grin that was both innocent and impish. “Heard what?”

***

Six hours and two rest stops later, Nick was turning onto Brian’s property. He parked the car and let out a little sigh, glad he’d found the place without much trouble and relieved to finally be there. As soon as he had turned off the ignition and taken his foot off the brake, the exhaustion hit him. He and Claire had taken turns driving – he’d done the first three hours, she’d taken the next three, and he’d finished out the last two

– but driving or not, eight hours of traveling was enough to wear anyone out.

He opened his door and climbed out, glad to be able to stretch. His right leg was rather stiff from sitting for so long, and the left was even worse. It had been giving him hell this last part of the trip, twinging and aching with phantom pains. He figured too much sitting in one place would do that and hoped walking around would help.

Claire got out as well and looked all around as she walked slowly around the car to join him. “Nice place,” she said, nodding approvingly at Brian and Leighanne’s gorgeous home.

He nodded in agreement. “Yeah, it’s nice.”

“That you, Carter?” they heard a voice call. Brian appeared at the front door.

“Hey, guys, come on in! You need help carrying bags?”

“I think we got ‘em, Bri, thanks!” Nick shouted back as he and Claire retrieved their luggage from the backseat. They’d both packed light, just a duffel bag each, which they carried up to the house. Brian took Claire’s bag from her at the door and set it on the floor, giving her a quick, friendly hug. He did the same with Nick, only the hug was a little tighter and lasted a little longer.

“How are you feeling?” Brian asked as he finally let Nick go and studied him.

“You look kinda pale.”

“Yeah, I’m still getting over this cold,” Nick replied. “But I feel much better than I did last week.” He tried to smile and ended up coughing. Brian frowned.

“That cough doesn’t sound very good.”

“Thanks for pointing that out, Kevin,” Nick enunciated, playfully sticking his tongue out at Brian and rolling his eyes. “Let it go, dude, I’m fine. Just tired from the trip. Where’s Leigh and the little squirt?”

Brian’s frown immediately vanished. “Upstairs,” he replied, grinning. “It was

time for a diaper change.”

“Ah.”

“Well, come on and sit down. Y’all want anything to drink? Soda? Beer? Wine cooler?”

“I’ll have a soda,” Claire replied.

“Pepsi okay?”

“Perfect.”

“Nick?”

“I’ll have the same.”

“Great.” Brian escorted them into the living room and then disappeared into the kitchen. When he came back carrying two glasses of Pepsi, Leighanne was with him, carrying Baylee on her hip. She broke into a smile when she saw Nick and Claire and set the toddler down.

“Hi, guys,” she greeted them cheerfully. “Brian said you just got here. How was the drive up?”

“Long,” Nick answered, at the same time Claire said “fine.” Leighanne chuckled. “I don’t envy you at all; eight hours is a long drive. I’m glad you both could come though.”

“Thanks for having us,” Claire said, smiling. Then she turned her attention to Baylee, who was clutching Leighanne’s leg and peering at them shyly. “So this must Baylee, huh? Hi, Baylee!” she said, her voice softening as she smiled at the baby.

“He’s gonna be shy for you,” Leighanne said, looking down at her son fondly.

“Baylee, you remember how we said we were going to have company come today? Well, this is them. This is Claire, and that’s Nick over there.” She pointed them out, while Baylee looked on in awe. “Can you say hi?” she coaxed him.

“Hi, Baylee,” Nick piped up, but Baylee just ducked behind Leighanne’s legs again. Glancing over at Brian, Nick said, “He probably doesn’t remember me, does he?”

“I don’t think so,” said Brian, looking apologetic. “It’s been awhile since you’ve seen him, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah... I think last time I saw him was Christmas,” replied Nick. He looked over at Claire. “I’m his godfather,” he announced proudly.

“Oh, really? That’s sweet,” she smiled.

Brian cleared his throat. “Oh yeah, Mr. Godfather, we have a favor to ask you.”

“What?”

“Leigh and I were invited to a party tomorrow night, kind of a Halloween shindig. How would you feel about watching Baylee?” he asked, then quickly added,

“You don’t have to if you don’t want; we can always hire a sitter. I just thought maybe-“

“We’d love to,” Claire answered for him. “Right, Nick?” Nick was caught off-guard, but he quickly agreed, “Right, we’d love to.” Brian beamed. “Thanks, guys,” he said appreciatively.

“No problem,” replied Nick. “We’ll have fun, right, Baylee?” He looked over at Baylee again and was finally rewarded with a smile as the toddler peeked out from behind his mother again and grinned.

***

Chapter 142

“Okay, so here it is a Saturday night, day before Halloween... we’re in Atlanta for the weekend to visit Bri and Leigh, yet Bri and Leigh are out partying it up, and we’re sitting at their house taking care of their kid,” Nick observed. “How is that fair?” Claire laughed. “Oh, what are you complaining about? You told Brian you’d love to babysit Baylee! And anyway, I thought you weren’t exactly Mr. Party Animal anymore.”

“Uh, first of all, you told Brian we’d love to babysit Bay-“

“You said it too!”

“Well, you said it first! And then what was I gonna do, say no and tag along with them while you stayed here and baby-sat?”

“Yeah right, you wouldn’t have gone with them to that party, and you know it.” Nick crossed his arms over his chest. “How would you know? I happen to like Halloween parties.”

“Yeah? So do I. What would you have gone as?”

“Huh?”

Claire sighed impatiently. “What would you have dressed up as? For Halloween.

You already asked me that yesterday, and I answered, so now it’s your turn.”

“Oh...” Nick thought for a moment, then smirked. “A pirate.” Claire burst out laughing, and he grinned widely. “What? Easy costume, right? I mean, I’ve already got the peg leg...”

She giggled. “True...”

“And you could have gone with me. Only instead of toothpaste, you could’ve dressed up like the chick from Pirates of the Caribbean. Keira Knightley.”

“Oh ha ha, right. You mean in one of those colonial dresses that show half your boobs? I’m sure you’d love to see that,” she teased him, rolling her eyes.

He just smiled. Yeah, I would, actually, he thought, snickering to himself.

Claire jabbed him in the ribs. “What are you laughing at?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Hey, what time is it? He looks like he’s getting sleepy.” He pointed to Baylee, who was sitting on the floor in front of the TV, engrossed in Finding Nemo, which they’d put on for him earlier. The toddler was rubbing his eyes with his fists.

Claire looked at the clock. “It’s almost eight. Leighanne said he’d probably be ready to go down about now.” She slid off of the couch and crawled across the floor to where Baylee was sitting. “Hey, kiddo, is it about night-night time?” Baylee looked over at her and quickly began to shake his head. “No nigh-nigh!” She smiled. “I think it is,” she stated softly. “C’mere.” She scooped him up gently and stood up. “Uh oh, smells like someone’s going to need a diaper change before bedtime.” She wrinkled her nose.

Nick grimaced. “Good luck with that.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And what makes you think I’m doing it? You’re his godfather, aren’t you?”

“What?! I don’t even know how to change a diaper!”

“’Bout time you learned then, huh?” She grinned.

“Ugh, no way. You’re the chick here; that’s your job.” Her mouth dropped open. “I can’t believe you just said that! I was kidding about

you doing it; I was going to take care of it. But now that you said that...”

“Oh, Claire, c’mon. I told you, I don’t know how.”

“Well, I’ll show you. Come on, upstairs we go,” she commanded, balancing Baylee on her hip and starting for the stairs. She stopped at the foot of them and turned back to look at Nick. “Come on, Nick, I mean it.” She waited, staring at him until he finally heaved a sigh and got up from the couch. Making a big show of his reluctance, he dragged himself over to where she was standing. She smiled. “Good boy. Now come on.” She led the way up the stairs and down the hall to Baylee’s room.

The nursery was decorated in a sky theme. The wall that Baylee’s crib was on was painted deep blue, like the night sky. Some stars had been painted on it, and there were other stars – pastel yellow cloth ones with smiling faces – hanging in various spots. A sliver of a moon was painted high in one corner. The adjacent walls were a gradient, lightening from the navy blue to a light sky blue, which was the color of the last remaining wall. This wall was dotted with painted white clouds. A pastel rainbow stretched across it, and in a corner shone a bright yellow sun. Baylee’s crib bedding was all done in moon and star patterns, and the cushions on the changing table and rocking chair all matched.

The theme continued through most of the room, but off in one corner was Brian’s own personal contribution to the decorating of his son’s nursery. A Kentucky Wildcats pennant hung on the wall, and below it, low to the ground, a Nerf basketball hoop was mounted. There was an orange Nerf ball resting on the floor below it.

Nick grinned and pointed this out to Claire. “Bri’s training him early,” he said with a chuckle. He had already been down to the Littrells’ basement, where Baylee’s bigger toys were set up, one of which was a Playskool basketball hoop. Baylee also had a mini golf set, a t-ball set, and a tiny soccer goalpost and ball. Clearly, Brian was hoping his son had inherited his athletic skills (and Leighanne’s height).

“Aww,” Claire said, giggling at the tiny ode to Wildcat basketball. She carried Baylee over to his changing table. When she’d taken off his shoes, socks, and bib overalls, she turned to Nick. “Okay, ready to learn how to change a diaper?” Nick made a face. “No.”

“Well, you’re going to learn anyway. This is important stuff. Come here.” Nick grudgingly stepped closer until he was standing beside her and looking down on Baylee, who was lying on his back, looking up at them with wide blue eyes.

“Sorry, kid,” he said softly. “I don’t think I’m going to enjoy this anymore than you will.”

“Maybe not, but it will be for the better,” said Claire. “Just like Baylee will feel much better once he has a dry diaper, right Baylee?”

“No,” Baylee said and grinned adorably when Nick started to laugh. “No” seemed to be the kid’s favorite word.

“Oh, yes,” smiled Claire, gently undoing the sticky tabs that fastened the diaper in the front and carefully pulling the diaper down. Nick’s senses were immediately assaulted by an unpleasant sight and an even more foul smell.

“Ugh,” he gagged and backed away. “That is some nasty shi- I mean, stuff.” Claire’s head snapped around, her eyes flashing at him with an unspoken message – Watch your mouth!

Nick grinned sheepishly. “Sorry,” he said, plugging his nose and adding in a nasally voice, “but that’s just... nasty! How can you stand it?”

“Grow up, Nick, it’s not like you don’t do it too.”

“Well, I don’t do it in a diaper and then make someone else have to take care of it!”

“Shh,” Claire hissed. “Stop it. It’s not like he can help it.”

“Stop it,” Baylee echoed gleefully, as Claire rolled up the soiled diaper and crammed it into the diaper disposal system that sat next to the changing table.

“Will you hand me a couple of baby wipes?” she asked.

“These?” Nick asked, picking up a blue plastic container.

“Those would be baby wipes, yes.” She took the container from him and pulled out two of the wipes, using them to get Baylee all cleaned up. “Now it’s time for a new diaper, Nick – watch and learn.” He rolled his eyes, but obediently watched as she put a fresh diaper on the toddler. “All done,” she announced. “Now let’s get you into your jammies, okay, kiddo?”

“No nigh-nigh,” Baylee protested again, but let her dress him in a pair of footie pajamas with teddy bears on them nonetheless.

“When do kids get potty trained?” Nick asked as he watched Claire, still haunted by the smell of that diaper.

“At two, usually.”

“Ugh... two years of changing diapers? My kid’s gonna be potty trained by his first birthday.”

Claire snorted. “Right, Nick.”

“He is! Just you wait.”

“Okay, Nick.” Clearly, she didn’t believe him. He’d show her, when the day came.

“Do you want to read a bedtime story, Baylee?” Claire asked, lifting Baylee off of the changing table and set him down. She walked him over to the small bookcase that was pushed up against one well and filled with children’s books. “Which one should we read?” she asked, squatting down to his height.

The toddler stood there, his eyes roaming over the spines of all the books. Claire pulled a few out to show him the covers. “This one?” she would ask.

“No,” he would say back.

“This one?”

“No.”

“Well, how about this one?”

“No.”

Nick sighed impatiently, beginning to think the kid would say “no” to every book Claire offered him. But Baylee surprised him when finally, he said, “Dis one!” and beamingly held a book up for Claire to see.

She smiled. “Green Eggs and Ham? Good choice. Do you want Nick to read it to you?”

Startled, Nick quickly shook his head. “No, that’s okay, you read it,” he said. He had always hated reading out loud; it brought back too many bad memories of elementary school, when his teachers had made the class take turns reading passages from their textbooks out loud. He had always ended up daydreaming while the others read and losing his spot, which left him totally flustered when his turn came up, and he had no idea where they were. Then he would get nervous and stumble over words and stammer as he tried to get through his paragraph, and at the end, he would always be beet red and ready to sink through the floor. No, oral reading was definitely not his

forte. The only time he didn’t mind doing it was if he was acting, reading off a script.

Somehow, that was different.

“You!” Baylee echoed, holding the book up to Claire. Nick exhaled a silent sigh of relief. Smart kid.

“Okay,” she said, taking the book and Baylee’s hand. She walked him over to the rocking chair and sat down in it, pulling Baylee into her lap. Then she opened the book and started to read. “I am Sam. Sam I am. That Sam-I-Am! That Sam-I-Am! I do not like that Sam-I-Am! Do you like green eggs and ham? I do not like them, Sam-I-Am. I do not like green eggs and ham...”

Nick leaned up against the changing table and watched as she read, rocking slowly in the rocking chair. He felt sort of guilty – maybe he shouldn’t have been so quick to pass off the bedtime story to Claire. She’d basically done everything else all night. It had been she who had fed Baylee dinner, chased after him, picked up his toys from the floor, changed his diaper. He’d been worthless as a babysitter. Brian had told him once that he would make a good father someday, but he was seriously doubting that. He didn’t see how he ever could have handled Baylee all by himself tonight and wondered if Brian and Leighanne would have even asked him to babysit if Claire hadn’t have been there. He couldn’t even read the kid a bedtime story.

Claire was doing a great job of it though, much better than he ever would have done. She read with inflection, accentuating all the rhyming words and changing her voice to do the different characters. “Would you eat them in a box? Would you eat them with a fox? Not in a box. Not with a fox. Not in a house. Not with a mouse. I would not eat them here or there. I would not eat them anywhere. I would not eat green eggs and ham. I do not like them, Sam-I-Am!” She rocked back and forth to the rhythm of the poetry, while Baylee leaned back against her sleepily, smiling every time she got to “I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like them, Sam-I-Am!”

By the time she was done, Baylee looked totally relaxed, and when she carried him over to his crib and gently put him down in it, he lay right down, sticking his thumb into his mouth. “Goodnight, Baylee,” she said softly, smoothing back his blonde hair just like a mother would do to her own child, and then stepping back.

“’Night, squirt,” Nick whispered, reaching over the side of the crib to ruffle the hair Claire had just smoothed down. “We’ll see you in the morning.” He and Claire left the room, turning out the light and shutting the door halfway on their way out.

“Do you think he’ll cry?” Claire whispered, as they crept down the hall.

“I dunno... did he cry when they put him to bed last night?”

“I don’t know. But a lot of kids will cry when their parents aren’t the ones tucking them in. At least almost all the kids I used to babysit did that.” Nick shrugged. “Should we stay upstairs then? Just in case?”

“Yeah, that would probably be a good idea,” Claire agreed.

“You wanna go out on the balcony?” Nick suggested. Brian and Leighanne had a nice, large balcony overlooking their sweeping cement patio at the back of the house.

“I’m sure we’ll be able to hear him from there if he cries.”

“Okay,” said Claire, and out they went. “Ooh,” she drew in a breath, shivering, as she stepped out onto the balcony. “It’s cold out here!”

“Yeah, it is,” said Nick, feeling the chill. “Should we just stay inside then?”

“Nah, it’ll be okay... do you know where they keep blankets or something like

that?”

“Um... maybe.” There was a linen closet in the upstairs hall; Nick went back in and opened it up. Sure enough, there were piles of neatly-folded blankets and quilts on the shelves. He grabbed a couple of the thickest-looking ones and took them back outside with him.

“Perfect,” Claire said with a smile, taking one and draping it around her shoulders like a cape. She looked around, scoping out the selection of handsome, wood deck furniture that adorned the balcony, and then settled herself down on the couch, which was covered with comfy-looking off-white cushions. “Come sit down,” she said, motioning Nick over as she made herself comfortable, snuggling in and pulling the blanket more tightly around herself.

Nick wrapped his own blanket around himself and sat down beside her.

“It’s such a pretty night out, isn’t it?” she sighed, looking up at the sky. “Look, you can see all the stars.”

“Yeah...” Nick inhaled the crisp, fresh air deeply – a little too deeply, for he ended up coughing harshly into his fist.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be sitting out here,” Claire said when he had finished, looking at him in concern. “I mean, with it being so chilly out, and you being sick...”

“I’m fine,” Nick said quickly. “Actually, I think the fresh air will be good... you know, clear out my sinuses a little.”

She nodded. “Hopefully. At least you didn’t cough all over Baylee tonight; that would have been bad.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. He had coughed that night, just not on the baby. Hey, there’s my excuse for not wanting to read to him – I didn’t want to get him sick, he thought, smiling to himself. “I hope this stupid cold goes away soon. I don’t want to end up losing my voice or something before the concert.”

“Oh, that would be terrible!” Claire gasped. “It should be gone by then though...

I mean, the concert’s not for another month, and you’ve been sick for over a week already, haven’t you? It’s gotta go away soon.”

“Yeah, it is,” he said. “I mean, I’m a lot better than I was last week, except for this cough.”

“Good. You just better take care of yourself for the next few weeks.”

“I know, I know,” he said hurriedly, afraid she was going to start reminding him of Kevin if he let her go any further. Besides AJ, Claire was the only one who didn’t nag him about his health on occasion, so he’d be damned if she was going to start now. He hastened to change the subject. “So... think Tim’s tried to call you again tonight?” The words were out of his mouth before he really thought about them, but he regretted them instantly. Doh! he thought. Why did I have to bring up him?

But Claire was snickering. “Probably,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“That dude needs to get a life. He’s acting like a stalker,” Nick muttered in disdain.

“Nah... I told you, Tim’s a good guy. He just cares about me.”

“I’m sure you could find another ‘good guy’ who cares about you without being creepy about it,” said Nick. Me, for example?

“Yeah, and I’m sure you could find a girl who cares about you without being a skanky, bottle-blonde gold-digger,” she replied brazenly. “But then again, maybe not.”

“Hey!” Nick cried in offense, realizing what she meant by this.

She offered him an impish smirk. “Sorry, buddy,” she said with shrug, “but your track record’s against you there. Let’s see, there’s Leah – was that her name? The stripper who conned you into thinking you’d knocked her up? And then didn’t you date Willa Ford at one point too? There’s another one. Who else?” She had been ticking their names off with her fingers; now she was tapping her chin, trying to come up with more examples.

He glared at her. “Gee, thanks, Claire, for bringing all that up. Like I really wanted to be reminded of all that.”

Immediately, she looked apologetic, apparently realizing she’d crossed the line.

“I’m sorry,” she said, then added, “But you gotta admit, Nick, you have horrible taste in women.”

He scowled. “Oh I do, huh? So would you take it as an insult if I ever asked you out?”

She laughed lightly, but didn’t answer, he noted. For a fleeting moment, he almost considered doing it, asking her out. In his mind, he could see his chance; the door was opened, that special window of time raised. But quickly, he dismissed the idea, letting the window fall closed, the door slam shut.

Number one, he wasn’t going to ask her out after she’d just insulted him and rubbed salt in his wounds by bringing up his little string of nightmare girlfriends. And number two, he wasn’t about to ruin this night by giving her the chance to reject him again. The last time he’d been on his way to asking her out, he’d ended up all by himself in a lonely booth, binging on cheese pizza, while she’d driven off in a fury, running over his heart in the process.

“Don’t even tell me you’ve never had any bad boyfriends,” he said, turning the tables on her instead and trying to keep himself from dwelling on that opportune chance he’d let fly on by. “I can’t be the only one who’s made mistakes with my love life.” She tipped her head thoughtfully. “I dunno... before Tim, I’d really only ever had one serious boyfriend. I mean, you can’t really count all those two-week-long flings in junior high, can you?” She giggled. “I had a few of those, but my first real relationship wasn’t till high school. Junior year. Jamie Turner.” She sighed wistfully and leaned her head back against the cushion. “He was my first love.” Nick smiled awkwardly. “So... I take it he wasn’t a bad boyfriend then?”

“No, not really. He was my best friend. I mean, we were friends way before we started dating, and I fell for him sophomore year, and then, the next spring, he asked me to junior prom.” She sighed again in a very girlish way, and added, “It was like a fairy tale, you know? We dated all through senior year, and of course, I thought that was it, that he was, you know, ‘the one.’ I always thought he was the guy I was going to marry someday...”

“But?” Nick prompted. He sensed there was going to be a “but.”

“But,” she said – he was right – “but you know as well as I do that life just doesn’t work like that. We broke up after graduation. We were going to different colleges, and he thought we should see other people. So I was crushed, of course, but we promised to still be friends, and we were, for awhile. Things actually didn’t change too much until the end of our sophomore year of college – that’s when I was first diagnosed with leukemia. He kind of freaked out, got weird on me.” Nick felt a rush of anger course through his veins. He had been only half-listening to her little “fairy tale” love story that apparently hadn’t ended happily ever

after, but now he was fully engaged. He didn’t have any experience with junior high flings, high school proms, fairy tale romances, and going away to college, but he did know what it was like to have your friends turn weird on you, to suddenly feel alienated and alone because of cancer. He understood her feelings exactly.

“God, that sucks... that really sucks. It’s happened to me too – the guys are really the only friends I still see these days; my other friends kinda did that too.” She nodded. “It happens. Just one more side-effect of having cancer, I guess.

My girl friends were more understanding, but Jamie... he just couldn’t take it. And I couldn’t understand how he was feeling either, so I got mad at him, and... well, we didn’t talk for like a year. Then he called me, after I’d been in remission for months and thought I was all better, and he apologized and stuff. We’ve been back on good terms ever since.”

“Oh.” Somehow, this was not the ending Nick had wanted to hear. He liked the part about her getting mad and refusing to speak to him better. What a jerk. He didn’t know the guy, but even so, he hated him, for hurting Claire.

“I don’t see him that often anymore though,” she said. “He lives in Iowa now.

That’s where he grew up, so he moved back after college.”

“Oh,” Nick said again. Good. An awkward silence followed, and Nick hastened to change the subject, sick of hearing about Claire’s past boyfriends. “So, you think Brian and Leighanne are having a good time?” he asked. Okay, so instead of Claire and Tim – or Claire and this Jamie guy – they’d talk about Brian and Leighanne.

“I hope so.” Claire smiled. “They make such a great couple, don’t they? I mean, they seem like they’re so in love and so happy together. I hope I’ll have a marriage like that someday.”

“Yeah...” Nick said, remembering how much he’d resented Leighanne at first, when she and Brian had really gotten serious. She’d snatched away his Frick and transformed him from a fun-loving kid to a serious adult, and Nick had to admit, he’d been jealous of her. He had grown up and gotten over that long ago though. Leighanne was a wonderful woman, and Claire was right – she and Brian made the perfect couple.

He could only wish for that kind of love and happiness with his first wife. “Bri’s a lucky guy,” he spoke up. “He found his soulmate.”

She cocked her head. “Do you believe in all that? Soulmates and that kind of thing?”

“I dunno,” he replied with a shrug. “I’ve never really thought about it that much, I guess. But in Brian’s case, it seems like it could be real.” She nodded and smiled. “That’s cool. You don’t really seem like the type to go for the whole ‘soulmate’ thing, so I was just wondering.”

“Well, what about you? Do you believe in it?”

She was silent for a long time. Finally, she answered, “I don’t know either. I used to. I mean, when I was younger, I was more of a romantic – like most teenage girls are, I guess - and I was really into the idea of ‘love at first sight’ and all that. I was kind of that way with Jamie – well, not the ‘love at first sight’ thing, but I did think he was my one true love.” She snickered ruefully and then sobered, continuing, “But I’ve gotten a lot more cynical in my old age. ‘Love at first sight’ is a crock – I don’t believe you can fall in love with a person without knowing them. Because it’s personality that counts, right? It is for me anyway.

“But about soulmates and fate and all that... I just don’t know. When I was with

Jamie, I believed in all that whole-heartedly. But that all changed when my life went to hell. A few years ago, I would have said it was total bullshit. Sometimes I still do. But then... then there are times that I think maybe things do happen for a reason...” She looked him in the eyes. “You know what I mean?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I know...” He trailed off, lost in her gaze. Her eyes sparkled in the darkness, her face awash with golden light from the soft lanterns that lit the balcony. In his mind, he was taken back to that night in the theater, and before he could stop himself, he could feel himself leaning forward, his chin dipping, his face tilting to just the right angle.

She must have felt it too, the sudden connection between them. Her face was drifting toward his, slowly, but without hesitation. He reached out for her, lighting brushing her arm, then sliding his whole arm around her. Their bodies started to melt together, as their lips continued on that familiar pathway, destined to meet halfway.

Her hands were on his shoulders now, sliding around to the back of his neck.

And then, all of a sudden, they were on his chest, pushing him away. Before he knew it, she had slipped out of his arms and pulled back, leaving him stunned. He looked down at his empty hands, then back up at her, his disappointed lips parted in shock. What had gone wrong?

She shook her head slowly and looked away from him, refusing to meet his eyes again. “We can’t do this,” she said softly.

“What? Why not?” he demanded.

“I have a boyfriend, and you have a cold,” she replied simply, crossing her arms over her chest.

He stared in confusion. “But...”

She looked up at him then, her eyes flashing. “I’m not going to do this again, Nick. I’m not going to... to kiss you and fulfill your little urges, only to have you tell me it meant nothing to you. If you’re feeling deprived and wanna get some action with a girl, why don’t you call up Leah and offer to pay her for a nice makeout session? Cause I won’t have any part in it.”

Nick’s mouth fell open even wider. Was that what she thought? In an instant, he was on his feet, towering over her in anger. “Fuck, Claire, if that’s what you think, then fine! I’ll just go in and give Leah a call; maybe she’ll give me some fucking phone sex! If I’m so goddamn pathetic, that would be right up my alley, wouldn’t it?” She gazed up at him, looking thoroughly unaffected. She was straight-faced at first, but then a giggle escaped her lips. Her hand quickly flew to her mouth to stifle it, but it was too late, Nick had already both seen and heard it.

“What are you laughing at?” he growled.

She choked back another giggle. “I’m sorry. You’re just funny when you get all pissed off like that.”

That was enough to send Nick over the edge. “Oh yeah? Well, good, glad you think I’m so fucking amusing! Why don’t you just stay out here and have a good laugh then; I’m going inside.” He strode across the cement, flung open the French doors wide, and stormed into the house, slamming them behind him so hard he could hear glass rattle.

As he started down the hall, he heard Baylee begin to sob from his bedroom.

“Oh great, just fucking great,” Nick muttered under his breath, wanting very badly to just kick something. But he couldn’t even do that, unless he wanted to fall on

his face. He envied Claire. She could kick things if she wanted to. In fact, she had.

She’d kicked him right where it hurt the most.

No, not there.

A place that could feel even more pain than that. She’d kicked him straight in the heart.

***

Chapter 143

The water was gray and murky, wind-tossed. Choppy waves rolled toward him, high and swift, some carrying him with their power, others washing over his head, drenching him in cold salt water that seemed to seep right through his skin, chilling him to the bone. He coughed and choked as he was hit with another face full of water. The force of it left his cheeks raw and stinging, his eyes burning, the taste of salt on his tongue.

He continued to tread water, keeping himself afloat, trying to dodge the waves, but he was growing steadily more tired. His arms ached, but still, he kept them moving, knowing they were his only lifeline. He looked around again, squinting into the horizon, frantic, searching for any sign of land or life. But all around him, he could see nothing but ocean. The very ocean that had been his friend for so long was now his mortal enemy, desperate to claim his life with its wild, tossing waters.

“Help me!” Nick gasped, his shout cut short as his mouth filled with salty water.

He spat it out, gagging, coughing, still bobbing in the relentless waves.

His arms were betraying him now, his strength and endurance rapidly leaving him. Again, he searched the wide expanse of water for a boat, and when he did not see one, he raised his eyes to the stormy skies, praying for a helicopter. Lightning forked across the dark clouds, but there was no aircraft.

He was growing panicky now, his eyes filling with desperate tears, which spilled down his already wet cheeks, mixing with the salty sea as they dripped from his chin. He took one last desperate survey of the scenery around him, praying for a way out, for a rescue. But as he bobbed up and down, tossed by the waves, he knew in some far region of his mind that he was about to die.

Weakly closing his eyes, he gave up, quit his struggle, letting himself sink beneath the stormy waters. Salty water rushed into his mouth; he could feel it filling his lungs, driving out the last of his supply of precious air. So this was what it was like to drown.

This is what it was like to die.

All at once, he felt himself being raised up, and opening his eyes, he could see a light above him. Was that it? he wondered. Was he already dead? Had it happened that quickly? He felt his body float effortlessly up, the light growing ever nearer. He closed his eyes again, waiting for the peace he knew would find him when he reached that light.

He wasn’t sure what happened next, but the next time he tried to open his eyes, his eyelids felt as if they were made of lead. When he finally managed to raise them, he found himself lying on a surface that was moist and warm. Taking in his surroundings, he realized he was on the shore, sprawled on a bed of sand, the ocean’s gentle waves licking his toes as they rolled smoothly onto the beach.

The realization hit him – he was not dead after all.

He tried to move, to get up, but his body was sapped, the strength sucked out of him. It was a struggle just to sit up, but finally he managed it. And as soon as he did, he heard a voice calling his name.

“Nick!”

He turned to look and was startled to see Claire jogging toward him.

“Nick, you’re awake!”

“Yeah...” he said slowly. “What happened? How did I get out of the water?”

“I pulled you out.”

“You did? You saved me?”

“Yeah – just in time, huh?” she replied, flopping down on the sand beside him.

“You could have died.”

He nodded. “I know... I thought I was dead.”

She smiled and shook her head. “No,” she whispered, “I brought you back.”

“How? Did you give me mouth-to-mouth? Cause I think I could use some of that right now...” He looked up at her hopefully, his eyes lingering on his lips.

She rolled her eyes. “Cut it out, Nick.”

“You know I’m just playin’ with ya,” he said with a grin. But when she looked at him, there was no trace of a smile on her face.

“But I’m not,” she said. Rising to her knees before him, she reached out and gripped his shoulders, looking him right in the eyes. “Did you hear what I said? Cut.

It. Out.”

He blinked, bewildered. “I told you, I was just kidding! What are you talking about?”

But she said not another word. She rose to her feet and walked away. He tried to get up, but his body failed him; he was too weak. “Claire, wait!” he called after her, but she showed no sign of hearing him. She did not even turn around.

Sighing in defeat, he fell back against the sand, too exhausted to sit up any longer. He closed his eyes and hoped that when he opened them again, the world would go back to making sense.

It did.

For when he opened his eyes, Nick found himself not on the beach, but in bed.

He was quite clammy, and his chest felt tight, making it hard to breathe. Sitting up, he coughed profusely and took a few deep breaths, waiting for the breathless feeling to pass.

When it did, he slowly lay back against his pillows, his thoughts returning to the dream he’d just had, trying to find the sense in it. It reminded him of the recurring shark nightmares he had occasionally, only in this dream, there was no shark. Just the raging waters and the fear of drowning. It was strange though... he’d always had an irrational fear of sharks, but never water. He loved the water. So what was the dream about, and why was he having it now?

He shook his head, as if trying to fling the very memory of the dream off of his mind. What did it matter? It was just another crazy dream; did he really expect it to make some kind of sense?

“The only part of it that makes sense is Claire not making sense,” he murmured, his whisper surprisingly loud in the silence of the night. He paused for a moment, considering the words that had just tumbled out of his mouth. Had that made sense?

Did anything make sense these days?

Well, one thing was clear – Claire definitely didn’t. She’d confused him out on the balcony just about as much as she’d confused him at the end of his dream. She’d looked him right in the eyes when they were out there, and he’d seen the emotion there... or he thought he’d seen it. But apparently he had misread her. Because one minute, she was about to kiss him, and the next, she was pulling away and making him

feel like some kind of sex-crazed pervert just for trying to kiss her.

“What the fuck, Claire?” he moaned softly in the darkness, dragging his hands down his face in a mix of frustration and exhaustion. Having only gotten a few hours of sleep before the dream had woken him up, he felt drained, but at the same time, wide awake. There would be no more sleep for him now, at least not for awhile. He had to think things over.

There had not been time for logical thinking earlier. It was he who had gone in to comfort Baylee (okay, after he had woken the kid up in the first place), and that had settled him down a little. But after he’d put Baylee back to bed, he’d gone to bed himself, and there the whole thing had come stabbing back into his mind, rather like the knife-wielding psycho killers from teenage slasher movies, who always seemed to revive at the end and come back for one last strike just when you thought they were finally dead. He’d lay seething for a long time, angry and embarrassed by her rejection of him.

Then, after awhile, he’d tumbled into a restless sleep, only to wake up a few hours later, breathless and bothered by the dream he’d just had.

He wasn’t so angry anymore, just confused and upset. At first, he placed all the blame on her. She was the one playing games, here – the game of “hard to get,” specifically. He wouldn’t have even tried to make a pass at her if it hadn’t have felt so right, so natural, so... perfect. He thought she’d felt the same way, but apparently not.

It wasn’t the first time she’d thrown him a curveball, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last either. She always seemed to understand him so well... so how come he had such a hard time figuring her out? It was a girl thing, he decided. Women were impossible, and though Claire was different from the other females he’d hung around with in the past few years, she was apparently no exception to this rule. It had to be universal.

Just as he was appeasing himself with this explanation ( I bet it’s PMS... don’t they have mood swings like that when it’s, uh... that time? ), a light bulb flickered in some part of his brain, as another possibility hit him.

Maybe it was him, not her. Not him PMSing or having mood swings... but him playing games. Not that he’d meant to. But when he thought about it, he’d probably confused the hell out of her too. He had initiated that kiss in the movie and then not even talked to her about it for three weeks... and when the topic finally had come up, he’d told her it had meant nothing to him. Which was, of course, a big fat lie.

At the time, it had seemed the right thing to do, to “let her go” and give her the freedom she deserved while he remained imprisoned in an unpleasant world that revolved around chemotherapy treatments and physical therapy sessions. He had regretted it afterward, but it didn’t change anything. She’d moved on, as he had wanted her to (correction: as he had convinced himself was the best for her), and any hope of something beyond friendship blossoming between them had wilted and died. But his own feelings for her continued to bloom, and letting those feelings get the best of him earlier had been like replanting the seed.

Only to her, it must have seemed like a repeat of what had happened before. No wonder she wanted nothing to do with him. He’d kissed her and then hurt her once before; of course she wouldn’t let it happen again. In putting up a wall to hide his true feelings from her, he’d caused her to put up a wall too. But not a wall to keep herself in

– a wall to keep him out.

Realizing all this, he sighed miserably. He felt like crap. What a mess. He just kept screwing things up, and now he didn’t know what to do. If he tried to talk to her,

would she believe him? The problem was, she had believed him the first time, when he had lied to her. If she bought his lies, maybe she wouldn’t accept the truth. The truth about how he really felt about her.

“I can’t just tell her,” he murmured, gazing up at the ceiling, which was hardly distinguishable in the dark bedroom. “I have to show her. I have to prove it to her.” Okay, that made sense. Good work, Carter. Now there was only one thing left to figure out – how?

***

The solution came to him two weeks later, at the first rehearsal for the upcoming charity concert with the guys.

He would sing to her.

He would sing something meaningful, something that would hopefully express his feelings in a way that he could not, verbally. Something that would show her how much she meant to him.

The guys had already discussed the possibility of each singing a solo at the concert, the way they had done during their first U.S. tour. This had been Kevin’s idea, and Nick wasn’t sure if it was his way of assuring that Nick had a chance to rest in the middle of the concert or assuring that he, Kevin, actually got to sing more than a few lines by himself. Maybe it was both. Either way, Nick liked the idea, especially now.

Before, he had just assumed he would sing one of the songs from Now or Never, but as he went over the lyrics in his mind now, none of them seemed quite right to get the point across to Claire.

He and Claire were back on good terms, for the most part. The rest of that weekend in Atlanta had been awkward. They’d been alone at the house together twice on Sunday, once that morning, while Brian and Leighanne went to church, and then again that evening, when they’d taken Baylee trick-or-treating (he’d gone as a lion – and roared loudly whenever someone asked, “What does a lion say, Baylee?”). After a full day of awkward silences and avoided gazes, Claire had smirked and said that with Baylee dressed like a lion, Brian should have gone as a scarecrow, and Leighanne should have put on a blue-checked dress, shoved Tyke in a basket, and been Dorothy. “And you would have been the Tin Man, of course,” she added, throwing him a mischievous glance.

“’Course,” he replied, cracking a smile. “And who would you be then?”

“Why, the wicked witch, of course,” she replied with an impish grin.

He chuckled. “Aw, no you wouldn’t... you should be the Good Witch of the South or whatever. The one that comes in a pink bubble.”

“Glinda, the Good Witch of the North,” Claire corrected, sticking her tongue out at him, “and hell no. Can you honestly picture me in a poofy pink dress, carrying a little fairy wand? I don’t think so. Besides, after last night, I’m sure you think I’m more like the Wicked Witch.”

Was that an apology? If so, it was unnecessary, because he had already realized it was he who needed to apologize. So he did. Quickly and simply, without elaboration (because there was really no way he could elaborate without explaining why he’d really tried to kiss her, and it just wasn’t the time for her to hear that), and that was that.

Things weren’t quite back to normal between the two of them, but at least they were

talking again. Still, the drive home the following day had not been nearly as fun as the drive up. Less conversation, more silence, and a distance between them that far surpassed the arm rest dividing their seats.

Nick hated this new awkwardness that surrounded them and was desperate for a way to get rid of it. And somehow, he knew the only way to do that would be to just talk to her, to be perfectly honest with her. They’d both danced around their feelings and what had gone on between them for far too long. It was time to lay the cards out on the table and just talk. But Nick wasn’t good with words, and talking just wasn’t exactly one of his strong suits.

Singing was.

Which brought him back to his idea. He knew she would be at the concert in December; he had promised her front row tickets, and she had promised to come. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she’d told him. So all he needed was a song, a special song that show her the truth. It seemed like a romantic idea to Nick, more romantic than just talking to her, and as Nick was not exactly the king of romance, he was rather proud of himself for thinking of it.

Now he just needed the perfect song.

He kept thinking about it as he rehearsed with the group. They were all back together in Tampa now; Brian, Kevin, and AJ had flown in that weekend. There were less than three weeks left before the concert, and it was time to get in gear. They had yet to even finalize their song set, and of course they would have to spend time rehearsing with their band and making sure their voices were in shape.

They had spent the whole morning planning and singing, and by afternoon, Nick was exhausted. Sitting on a stool and singing was more taxing than one would expect, especially with the amount of passion that he threw into it. When Kevin called for a fifteen-minute break, he had to admit, he was relieved. Slouching into a chair, he grabbed his portable CD player and CD case. As he flipped through his large CD

collection, trying to decide what to listen to, he came to his set of Journey albums. And all of a sudden, he knew.

“Hey, guys!”

He received scattered responses from the others, who were all doing their own things – Kevin chugging water, Howie scribbling down something on a pad of paper, Brian absently bouncing a mini basketball, and AJ already with a pair of headphones on, rocking out to something. “What, Nick?”

“I know what song I’m gonna sing for my solo,” he announced proudly.

AJ, who had taken off his headphones to see what Nick wanted, rolled his eyes.

“Well, terrific, your majesty, we’re so glad.” He’d been a little miffed at the fact that Nick, having already put out a solo album, had tons of material to choose from for his solo, while he and the other guys only had a few select songs that could be performed.

“I’m not gonna sing anything from my album,” said Nick, wondering if this would make any difference to AJ or not. “I wanna sing ‘Open Arms’.” AJ cocked his head. “Why? You haven’t sang that song onstage in years.”

“I have my reasons,” Nick said with a furtive smile.

“Well, we can arrange for that, Nick,” Kevin said with a nod, capping his water bottle.

AJ expelled an exaggerated sigh and shook his head. “I dunno about that, dude.

Nick, you shoulda gone with ‘Miss America’.”

Nick laughed. AJ loved “Miss America.” It had been a longstanding joke that he’d always wanted that song for himself. “Nah... but hey, if you wanna sing ‘Miss America,’ be my guest. It’s all yours.”

“Nick!” Brian gasped. “Don’t say that! He’ll be humping the stage right and left if he sings that song, and there’ll be children in the audience!” They all roared with laughter, except for AJ, who rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses and flipped them the bird. “Y’all suck,” he grinned.

“Hey, you’re the one who actually did that! I’d say that’s definitely grounds for us ripping on you,” said Brian, then began to snicker. “Haha, get it? Grounds? The stage?” He laughed hysterically at his own pun, the basketball falling out of his hands.

It bounced off the toe of his tennis shoes and rolled away, which, for some reason, made them all crack up.

It felt good, to be goofing off and laughing together that way. It reminded Nick of countless other rehearsals they’d been through together, for tours, awards shows, TV

appearances, and the like. It reminded him of the good old days. Those days were over now, he knew. But it was moments like these that reassured him that there would still be good days ahead.

It was also moments like these made it impossible to consider the reverse – that there would also be bad days ahead.

Claire was not the only one who threw curveballs. Life rather enjoyed throwing them too.

***

Chapter 144

The next two weeks passed quickly, and before Nick knew it, the concert was only days away. Everything had fallen into place though, and if all went as expected, the concert would go off with a hitch. And Nick was determined to make sure that it did.

Maybe a little too determined.

Monday morning found him sitting at his computer, eyes scanning the Google search he’d done intently. His concentration was broken by the shrill ring of the phone.

Startled, he groaned audibly and reached for the cordless, checking the caller ID before he decided whether or not to answer the call. Claire’s cell phone number was displayed in the window on the phone, and he answered immediately, his annoyance vanishing.

“Hello?”

“Nick, hey!”

He frowned; even in those two words, she sounded strange. Worked up about something, though he could not tell if that something was good or bad. “Hey, what’s up?” he questioned.

“Well... I’m, uh, kind of frazzled at the moment, so I’ll try to keep this short. You remember my friend Jamie that I told you about? The one that lives in Iowa? Well, his dad had a heart attack this morning...”

Nick drew in a breath, his stomach clenching.

“... and it’s... well, it’s pretty bad. He’s not doing well at all, and... Jamie’s not sure if he’s going to make it. He’s a wreck, and he called me at work, and... well, I’m on the way back to my apartment to pack, and then I’m going up there,” she finished in a rush.

Nick blinked. “Wait, up there? You mean to Iowa? You’re going to Iowa?!”

“I have to, Nick. Jamie really needs me right now, and he and his dad both mean a lot to me... I want to be there for their family. You understand, right?”

“S-sure,” he answered – as if he was going to say anything else. But then, he just couldn’t stop himself... “But Claire... it’s Monday. The concert’s on Saturday. A-are you going to be ba-“

“Oh, Nick, of course I will! I promised you I’d be there, and I’ll be there!” she exclaimed earnestly. “I’m just going up for a couple days or so... maybe a little longer if I need to, but I promise, I’ll be back by Saturday.”

“Okay,” he said uncertainly. “Um... so are you driving or flying or what?”

“Flying. I already started calling airlines from work and got a seat for a flight that leaves later this afternoon.”

“That was lucky.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. Thank God for small miracles, huh?” She laughed shrilly.

He forced a rueful chuckle. “Yeah, for sure.”

“So... so, um, what are you up to?”

He made a face – was she just making conversation now? What did it matter what he was up to? “Just surfing the net,” he replied vaguely, eyes returning to the website that had come up on his monitor.

“Cool... okay, well, I’m almost home, so I’m gonna let you go now, okay? I just wanted to let you know...”

“Thanks for calling,” he said. “Have a safe flight, ‘kay? And um... I hope his dad

will be okay... I’ll be thinking about him.” More likely he would be thinking about her and how she was with the guy in Iowa, instead of here with him.

“Thanks, Nick. I’ll call you from Iowa, alright? Bye.” She ended the phone call quickly, before he could get a goodbye in, leaving him to listen to nothing but silence on the other end of the line. He sighed and then punched the end button, slowly returning the phone to its cradle. He sat staring at it for a minute.

So in a matter of hours, Claire would be several states and many miles away. He was not sure why that bothered him so much, but it did. Maybe it was because she was going to see her old boyfriend. Maybe it was because the concert was in five days, and he was afraid she would not be back in time to attend it like she had promised.

He felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He was being selfish.

He looked back at his computer, at the site he’d clicked on. “No,” he said aloud, shaking his head, “I’m not selfish. I’m being anything but selfish right now...” He skimmed over the contents of the page, entitled “Cough Remedies.” It contained a whole variety of different ways to relieve a cough, and he read through them hopefully.

Maybe something on this page would make him better, if only temporary, if only long enough to get through the rest of the week and, most importantly, the concert.

The truth was, he was sick. How sick, he did not know, but he had a feeling it went beyond a simple cold. The cold he’d had back in October had gone away, but the cough that had accompanied it had not, and now, over a month later, it still lingered. If anything, it was worse. And despite all his assurances of “I’m fine!” to the other guys whenever one of them noticed and questioned him about it, he was beginning to get worried. A cough shouldn’t last a month... a month and a half... two months... however long it had been. He was no rocket scientist, but even he knew that much.

And on top of that, he’d been experiencing other symptoms... a tight feeling in his chest, which sometimes turned to pain when he took deep breaths... and breathlessness at times when he should not feel winded. This was more than the common cold, and he feared that the cold had developed into something worse. Bronchitis, maybe. Or even worse, pneumonia.

That possibility really scared him. The last time he’d had pneumonia, he’d ended up in ICU with a tube down his throat. That wasn’t exactly a good time and definitely not something he wanted to repeat anytime soon. But the symptoms he was experiencing now – the cough, the pain in his chest, the shortness of breath – all reminded him of how he had felt when he was in the hospital that time.

He had a feeling that’s where he should be right now – at the hospital, so that someone could tell him what was wrong and make it go away. But with the concert in five days, he was not about to schedule an appointment now. If he did have pneumonia, they would probably want to admit him for at least a few days, and then the concert would have to be postponed. And that would screw everything up. So he decided he would just have to tough it out till after the concert. He could go to the doctor next week, when his schedule was cleared again.

In his mind, he could hear Kevin getting after him. “Your health is more important than anything; it has to come first.” Luckily, Kevin did not know how he had been feeling. None of the guys did.

It reminded Nick of when they’d been working on the album, shortly after he had first been diagnosed. The excuses... the cover-ups... the lies. He’d hidden his symptoms from them then, and he was doing the same thing now. And with their attention focused

solely on the concert on Saturday, no one seemed to notice, not even Kevin.

In the meantime, Nick was trying to find more ways to mask the signs, the coughing in particular. It was the one that gave him away most often, the one that made them question him about how he was feeling. “I’m fine; just got something in my throat,” he would say, or, “I’m fine; it’s just leftover from that cold. Looks like cold season’s gonna be bad this year.” But the more he coughed, the more they would see that he was not fine. And then they would begin to notice other things, like how singing just a few songs in a row would leave him out of breath. So he had to at least keep the coughing at bay. He kept a bottle of cough syrup in the medicine cabinet at home and a bag of cough drops in his bag at rehearsal, constantly relying on both when no one was looking.

The website he was looking at now suggested other remedies – everything from drinking grape juice and honey to sucking on sugar cubes. He jotted down a few of the least disgusting-sounding antidotes on a scrap of paper and shoved it into his pocket for future use, hastily clicking off of the site just as Howie poked his head into the office.

“Was that Claire on the phone?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Nick said flatly. “She’s going to Iowa.”

“Iowa?” Howie repeated. “When?”

“Now.”

“Why?”

“Her ex-boyfriend’s dad had a heart attack, and she’s going up there to be with them.”

“For how long?”

“Don’t know. She said she’d be back by Saturday.”

“Well, that’s good.”

Nick nodded absently. She had just better keep her promise. He knew she was doing a good thing by going to comfort her friend, but here he was doing everything to assure that the show would go on, and if she wasn’t back in time for it, it would ruin everything. Okay, maybe not everything, but it would sure ruin his solo. Singing “Open Arms” would just not be the same without her standing in the front row, where he could smile down at her from the stage.

“Hey, Nick, don’t worry,” said Howie, seeming to notice Nick’s mannerisms. “If she said she’ll be here, she’ll be here.”

Nick nodded again, more confidently this time. Howie was right. Claire had never let him down before. She was always there for him when he needed her, and if she said she’d be back by Saturday, she would be. Simple as that.

***

Nick heard from Claire twice more that week, once when she got to Iowa on Monday and again the next day.

“Jamie’s dad passed away last night,” she’d told him tearfully on Tuesday.

“Oh... I’m so sorry,” he’d replied, wishing the tone of his voice could match the pain in hers. But how could it – he hadn’t even known this guy.

“Thanks,” said Claire. “Um, so anyway, the visitation is going to be Thursday evening, and the funeral’s Friday afternoon. I’m going to stick around for that. I’ve already booked a flight back to Tampa for Saturday morning, so don’t worry, I’ll still be

back in time for your concert.”

“Oh... okay. Um, sounds good.”

So, with the promise of Claire’s return on Saturday, Nick went through the rest of the week, throwing himself into the last rehearsals with the guys before the concert, while chugging lemon juice and honey in an effort to keep his cough suppressed and his voice intact.

On Saturday, he woke up at the crack of dawn and could not fall back to sleep, his nerves getting the better of him. He got up and found AJ and Kevin already sitting around his kitchen table, eating breakfast.

“Mornin’, Nick,” Kevin greeted him.

“Hey,” Nick said. “So you guys couldn’t sleep anymore either?”

“Nah, I’m too wired,” AJ admitted, grinning. “You too?” Nick smiled. “Yeah,” he replied. “I’m excited.” He grabbed a bagel and smeared a liberal amount of cream cheese on it, but by the time he joined the others at the table, he realized he really was not hungry. He nibbled at the bagel anyway, figuring if he didn’t, he’d get some spiel from Kevin about how breakfast was the most important meal of the day.

By eight o’clock, Howie and Brian were up as well, and the five of them sat around the table together for a long time, talking and drinking coffee. They didn’t have to be at the theater till that afternoon, so they had lots of time to kill before they had to leave.

Nick was on his third cup of coffee when the phone rang. Howie was closest to the phone, so he grabbed it and answered. “Hello?” A slight smile appeared on his lips, and he looked at Nick as he said, “Oh hey, Claire.” Nick thrust out his hand, silently demanding the phone, but Howie didn’t give it to him right away. Instead, he pressed the phone even closer to his ear, his forehead creasing as he listened intently. The smile on his face quickly morphed into a frown. “Oh no,” he said, “Well, that really sucks.”

“What is it?” Nick demanded, but Howie just glanced at him and shook his head.

“Oh, I know,” Howie went on to Claire. “He’ll understand. It’s not like there’s anything you can do about it anyway. ... Well, good luck with that. Call Nicky or one of us later to fill us in, would you? Yeah, he’ll want to know. Okay. Okay, bye, Claire.”

“What was that all about?” Nick cried, as Howie hung up the phone. But he already knew. “She’s not coming, is she?” he asked dully.

“She’s trying, Nick,” said Howie, “but apparently it’s snowing pretty bad up there. Her flight was delayed.”

Nick sighed loudly. “Can she get another flight?” He was trying not to sound whiny, but it was hard to hold back his disappointment.

“She’s trying, but everything’s delayed. I told her to call later to let us know if she has a flight or is still waiting or what.”

Nick nodded silently. Meanwhile, AJ got up and turned on the small TV in the kitchen, tuning in to the Weather Channel.

“... Meanwhile, the Midwest is being hit with snowstorms. Across Iowa, Illinois, and Indiana, residents are expecting anywhere from eight inches to over a foot of snow. Air travel has been restricted as most flights departing from or arriving in these areas have been delayed or cancelled. Those traveling by automobile should be cautious, as the roads could be icy.” The picture cut from the weatherman standing in front of a map of the United States to footage of cars traveling along one of the

interstates, practically lost in the thick blizzard of snow that was falling up north.

Nick shook his head. “Snow,” he muttered in disgust, “I hate it.”

“You would, Florida Boy,” Brian smirked. “It’ll suck if Claire can’t make it back in time, but it’s not the end of the world. They’re showing the concert on TV in a couple of weeks anyway; she can see it then.”

It’s not the same though, Nick thought, but he nodded anyway. “Yeah, true,” he mumbled. Sighing, he picked up his coffee mug and took a sip. He almost ended up spitting out the hot liquid as he was hit with a sudden coughing fit, but managed to swallow just in time.

“You alright, Nick?” Kevin asked worriedly, as Nick covered his mouth and coughed loudly.

“Yeah,” Nick choked, panting. “Just, uh... just swallowed wrong.” He coughed once more for measure, and then, satisfied that the fit was over, went back to his coffee.

***

“Lookin’ back on the things I’ve done

I was trying to be someone

Played my part and kept you in the dark

Now let me show you the shape of my heart...”

“I’m here with my confession

Got nothing to hide no more

I don’t know where to start

But to show you the shape of my heart...”

“Okay, that’s enough, fellas!” Kevin announced, as the group launched back into the chorus of “Shape of My Heart.” “AJ – stop!”

AJ finally cut off, grinning at the annoyed expression on Kevin’s face. When Kevin got stressed out, Kevin got irritable, and Kevin was definitely stressed out at the moment. The meet and greet prior to the concert started in an hour, and they were in the midst of a sound check and last-minute rehearsal, running through snippets of the songs they planned to perform later that night, while their crew made sure that all the equipment was working properly.

“Nick! Hey, Nick!”

Nick, who had quickly gone from singing to spacing out, jumped. “What??”

“Why are you singing all breathy like that? Please tell me you’re just trying to save your voice,” Kevin said, his forehead creased with frown lines.

Nick scowled. “Yeah, Kev, I’m saving my voice,” he muttered and coughed a little for good measure, which backfired on him by leading into a whole fit of real coughs.

Brian reached out and slapped him on the back until he finally stopped, red-faced and gasping for breath.

Kevin’s frown lines deepened. “Are you all right, Nick?” he asked, his tone softening. “Are you getting another cold already? You’re like a cold magnet all of a sudden. Should you even be singing tonight?”

“I’m fine,” Nick croaked, swallowing hard. “Not like I haven’t sang with a cold before.” He pasted on a smile that felt more like a grimace.

Kevin didn’t return the smile. “But a cold isn’t just ‘a cold’ anymore for you, Nick.

If your blood counts are still out of whack from the chemo, your immune system could still be off, and you know what that means. It could develop into something more serious than just a cold.”

Nick knew he was probably right, but he scowled even more and retorted, “Kev, the last dose of chemo I had was in June! That was six months ago! Everything should be fine by now.”

“But it’s not fine,” Kevin argued. “You’re not fine, Nick. How long have you been coughing like this? It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”

“Since October,” Brian spoke up. “You had a cold in October too, remember?

When you came to visit?”

Nick suddenly felt like a caged animal. Damn Brian for siding with his cousin.

When it came to serious issues, he always did. Damn them both. “Yeah, so?” he said defensively. “This is a different cold. You know me, I’ve always had a knack for attracting colds, even before I got freaking cancer. This is nothing new, okay, so you don’t have to worry. I feel fine.” And really, he didn’t feel that bad. A little light-headed, maybe, and his chest sort of hurt whenever he took in a deep breath to sing.

But other than that, he was okay. And if need be, he’d go to the doctor next week and get some antibiotics to clear up whatever this was.

Kevin sighed. “Fine, Nick,” he muttered, looking thoroughly unsatisfied, but apparently deciding not to push the issue. What were they going to do anyway –

postpone the concert? Yeah, and end up having to pay out the ass to fly home all the disappointed families that had flown in for the concert, not to mention deal with the people at CBS who were all set to tape the show that night. Just not have Nick sing?

Riiiiight – he was the whole reason they were doing this!

There was really no way out; the show had to go on. Nick would sing, and Kevin would deal with it. There was no other choice.

“Just please say something if you start to feel worse, okay?” Brian requested quietly, touching Nick’s shoulder.

“I will,” promised Nick, but he knew it would take a lot for that to happen.

“Okay,” Kevin sighed. “Let’s just go on, okay? Let’s hit the chorus of ‘More Than That’. Nick, you feel like going into your solo?”

“Sure,” Nick said quickly.

“Okay. First chorus and into Nick’s verse then, guys.” They sang the chorus, and when Nick’s solo came up, he sucked in a deep breath, wincing, and gave it his all, trying not to sound ‘breathy,’ like he had apparently sounded earlier.

“Baby, you deserve much better

What’s the use in holding on?

Don’t you see it’s now or never?

Cause I just can’t be friends

Baby, knowing in-“

Nick immediately trailed off when he heard the familiar ring of his cell phone chirping at him from across the stage. “Hold up,” he said, sliding off of his stool and taking off across the stage as fast he could. He squatted down in front of his sports bag,

almost toppling over in the process, and quickly dug through it in search of the ringing phone, only hoping he could get to it in time. “Gotcha!” he exclaimed triumphantly, his hand sliding around the tiny silver phone. He hardly glanced at the caller ID before quickly punching the phone on and answering breathlessly, “Hello?”

“Hey! Bad time?” Her voice crackled over a bad connection, but he would still recognize it anywhere.

“Hey, Claire,” he said with a relieved smile, stretching out on the stage floor.

“No, it’s not a bad time at all. Where are you??” Please, he thought desperately, please be on your way home.

She sighed loudly. “Still at this damn airport in the middle of this damn snowstorm,” she ranted. “Nick... I’m not gonna make it.” His heart sank. “There’s... there’s no way, is there?”

“No. Even if I hopped on a plane right now, it’s still like a four-hour flight. I’m not gonna get in till later tonight at the earliest.” Now it was his turn to sigh, unable to conceal his disappointment. “I’m sorry, Nick,” she went on. “You know how much I wanted to be there. I feel terrible.”

Yeah, well so did he. But he knew there was nothing she could do about it, so he muttered, “It’s okay, Claire. You can watch it on TV.”

“We’ll watch it together, okay? I promise,” she vowed.

“Whatever.” You promised you’d be here, and you’re not.

“Nick... I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“Ugh, you’re breaking up... I think this connection is gonna go. Listen, I’ll let you go finish getting ready, okay? Good luck tonight! I’d tell you to break a leg, but...” He snickered despite himself. “Only got one to break. That wouldn’t be good.” The connection cut in and out, but he could still hear her giggling on the other end. The sound made him smile. If only she could be here giggling with him now. If only she could stand down in the front row and giggle like that while he poured his heart into the

“boyband” songs she despised.

But she couldn’t, and there wasn’t a damn thing either of them could do about it.

Sighing again, Nick said, “Well, I better go now.”

“Yeah... you go and sing pretty, ‘kay? I’ll be thinking about you tonight.” Nick smiled. “Thanks. Bye, Claire.” She hung up, but he stayed on the line, listening to dead air, not wanting to close the connection quite yet. He swallowed hard and, knowing she couldn’t hear him, whispered, “I’ll be thinking about you too.”

***

Chapter 145

“Was that Claire?”

Nick quickly shoved his cell phone back into his back and turned to see Brian coming over. He nodded wordlessly.

Brian surveyed him for a moment, then said, “She’s not gonna get here in time.” It was more statement than question; Nick knew Brian could read him like a book, and the expression on his face probably said it all.

He shook his head. “No,” he replied, his voice hollow.

Brian offered a sympathetic smile and rested a hand on Nick’s shoulder.

Plopping down onto the stage beside him, he sighed and said, “I’m sorry, bud. I know how much you wanted her to be here.” Again, Nick nodded, not speaking. He felt Brian’s eyes on him and heard his friend’s soft intake of breath. Sensing Brian was about to say something, he glanced over at him. Brian smiled a little. “’Open Arms’...” he said slowly. “That was supposed to be for her, wasn’t it?” Nick blinked in surprise and immediately felt himself blushing. “Yeah,” he admitted. What a dork he was. Brian was still smiling at him, probably totally amused by Nick’s feeble attempts to be romantic.

“I knew it.” Brian’s grin grew wider, as did the red flush that was creeping across Nick’s cheeks. “I wondered why you chose that song to sing. I mean, you have a whole album of your own songs and plenty more unreleased ones... and yet you chose a Journey cover? But it was for Claire, huh?”

“Uh-huh.” God, he felt dumb. Maybe he should have just canned the idea and sung “Help Me” instead.

“So... are you going to admit it?”

“Admit what?” Nick asked, wrinkling his nose in confusion.

“That you like her? That you’ve liked her for... oh, I dunno... months? Or longer?” Brian grinned.

Nick rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I like her,” he said. “Yeah, I’ve liked her for awhile. I thought you would already know.”

“Well, I did already know. I’ve known since... well, since you were in the hospital back in April. The way you look at her... the look says it all, Nicky. I’ve always been able to tell when you’re crushin’ on some girl.” He winked.

Nick smirked. Back to that whole “reading him like a book” thing. Okay, so they had all known. If he’d been that obvious about it, how come Claire didn’t seem to know?

Pushing that thought aside, he pressed on, “So you just knew? Howie didn’t tell you?”

“Howie?” Brian repeated, cocking his head. “No. Why, you talked to Howie about her?”

“Yeah,” Nick said with a slight smile, pleasantly surprised to find that Howie had kept that conversation between the two of them. Not that he didn’t trust Howie with his secrets; Howie was probably the best person to tell a secret to. But still, he’d always kind of assumed Howie would mention it to AJ, and once AJ knew, they all would know.

But apparently they’d all known anyway, and Howie hadn’t said a word.

He looked over at the others; they had all scattered. Break time, he supposed.

He glanced back at Brian. “Yeah, so I take it you don’t know what a screw-up I am then?”

“Um... no? How are you a screw-up?”

Nick sighed and launched into the whole story... how he had kissed Claire in the movie theater, how he’d pushed her away, how he’d tried to just be her friend again, and how he’d failed miserably, making a move on her in Atlanta and pissing her off.

“So anyway,” he said, “I’ve been wanting to talk to her, but... I dunno, you know me – everything I say just comes out wrong. I was afraid if I just tried to talk to her, I’d only mess up again and make things worse. So...”

“’Open Arms’,” Brian smiled.

Nick returned the smile sadly. “Yeah. She, um... well, I know she likes that song.

And it kind of... works. You know?” He decided not to mention the night they’d lain side by side, listening to that Journey album of his.

Brian nodded. “Well, I think you should still sing it. Maybe she won’t hear it live, tonight... but she’ll watch it on TV. She’ll know.”

“You think?”

Brian smiled and nodded again. “She’ll love it. Trust me.” Sometimes, trusting Brian was a scary thing, but in this case, Nick decided to just do it. Trust him. Sing the song after all, Claire or no Claire. And hopefully when she watched on TV... she’d know.

***

The meet and greet that night was different from any Nick had ever done before.

He felt like he had a connection with every person in that room, for they all had some kind of disease or disability themselves or were related to someone who did. And he could understand both.

He knew what it was like to see someone you love sick and in pain, possibly even dying. He’d experienced the helplessness, the hopelessness. And even better, he knew what it was like to go through that yourself, to be afraid of dying, or to be so sick you wanted to die. He knew what it was like to be crippled, to struggle to do things you had once done effortlessly, to even relearn to walk. He knew what it was like to be stared at and pitied, to feel ugly and unwanted and useless. And he was just beginning to learn what it was like to overcome all of these things and feel almost “normal” again.

And yet, in that room, on that night, it didn’t matter if he was “normal” or not.

He knew that the people who had come to see him perform that night loved him and accepted him. He knew that they even respected him, just as he respected them. It was impossible not to – they’d all gone through the same kinds of things. Even though he didn’t know most of them personally, he felt like each was a kindred spirit.

There was one in particular who really had an effect on him. A little girl, only about nine or ten years old. She used a walker to get around, but to look at her from the waist up, one would never know there was a thing wrong with her. She was a cute girl, brown-haired and blue-eyed, with a shy, sweet smile.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Nick asked, smiling at her when she came up to him.

“Bonnie,” the child answered timidly.

“Well, hi, Bonnie. How are you tonight?”

She grinned. “Fine,” she answered. “How are you?”

“I’m great,” Nick answered honestly, touched that she would even ask. In their rapture at meeting him, many of the usual younger fans seemed to forget he had feelings

and simply screamed “I love you, Nick!” while throwing themselves at him in hopes of a hug. “I’m just great. Are you excited for the concert?”

“Uh-huh,” she said eagerly, nodding. “I can’t wait!” Nick smiled. “Neither can I. So, would you like a hug? Or a picture? Do you have a camera?”

“My mom does.” Looking over her shoulder, she beckoned wildly to a woman standing a few feet away. Smiling knowingly, her mother came over, camera in hand.

“Hi,” Nick said, flashing the woman one of his more charming smiles. “Would you mind taking a picture of Bonnie and I?”

“Well, of course. Go stand by Nick, honey,” the mother told her daughter. It was only when Bonnie walked closer to take her place at Nick’s side that Nick noticed something. Her legs – they were not real. Neither of them. Both were prostheses.

He did a double take, surprised he had not even noticed until now. After all, she was wearing a dress, showing the two artificial legs without shame. But she had such a confidence about her that he’d not even thought to look more closely. He was deeply impressed. Here was a child, a little girl not even half his age, who was missing not one, but both of her legs. And yet, she was walking. He’d had enough trouble just trying to walk with one prosthesis, and she was doing it with two.

“Hang on a minute,” he said, holding a hand up to her mother to signal for her to wait. While Bonnie turned her walker around so that she was standing side by side with Nick, Nick bent over and rolled up his left pant leg, exposing his own prosthesis.

“There,” he said, turning to show Bonnie. “Now we’re twins.” Bonnie’s eyes shone with delight. Her mother’s shone with tears. Smiling, Nick slid his arm around Bonnie’s shoulders and grinned for the camera. “3... 2... 1.” The camera flashed.

As Bonnie thanked Nick and walked away with her mother, Nick realized that was the first time he’d dared to show his prosthetic leg in public. Vaguely, he wondered if that picture would end up all over the internet for the fans to gawk at. He decided he didn’t care. If that little girl could put on a dress to come see him in concert, he had no reason to be ashamed either.

“Yo, Nick!” AJ appeared at his side. He pushed his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose and eyed Nick over the top of them. “What’s with the one pant leg rolled up?

I thought you were done with the whole ghetto ‘gangsta’ act.” Nick bent over and rolled his pants back down, flustered. “No, I was just-“ he started to explain when he rose back up, but AJ quickly shushed him with a smirk.

“I’m just kidding, dude, I saw the whole thing.” He smiled and hit Nick’s back lightly. “You’re a good guy, Carter.”

Nick smiled embarrassedly, just as another little girl ran up screaming, “I love you, AJ!” and threw herself at him in hopes of a hug. Watching AJ bend down to hug the girl, Nick smirked and shook his head. Typical audience or not, some things never change.

***

Chapter 146

Piano notes fluttered backstage like feathers, carried by the wind. Nick sat on a chair right off of the stage, rocking his upper body back and forth, back and forth, in time with the melody that flowed from the stage. Leaning forward, he peered out onto the large stage. It was engulfed in shadows except for a single spotlight, which rested upon Kevin, who sat at a gleaming black grand piano, gracefully playing a piano solo he had composed himself.

Just feet away, hidden by thick curtains, Nick sucked in a breath and tried to focus on the music, to let its gentle tune relax him. His solo was up next, and the butterflies in his stomach seemed to have morphed into ravens, which were currently pecking at him from the inside, desperate to get out. He wanted to throw up.

But even more, he wanted to get out there and sing his heart out. Not butterflies, nor ravens, could take that desire away. Nervous as he was, he was also excited.

The concert up to this point had gone well. The small, intimate theater they had chosen was the perfect setting for such a show, and the atmosphere was just right. The audience was energetic, screaming in between songs just as any audience they performed for did. But when they sang, all that could be heard was the music, and nothing more. Silence from the crowd. It was incredible.

In fact, it was incredible just being there. The high that Nick had experienced at the VMAs had returned in full force as the very first note left his mouth, and it was still with him now. With the rush of adrenaline and the surge of energy pumping through his body, he felt terrific. Maybe the guys had worried about him before, but there was nothing to worry about now. He forgot all about being sick and threw all of his heart and soul into performing. And it paid off. His notes were right on, and his voice, although perhaps not as strong as it could have been, was crystal clear.

They had sung their way through nine of their songs, all ballads, mid-tempos, and fan favorites, before launching into the five solos. Brian had gone first, and Howie, AJ, and now Kevin, had followed, giving Nick a long break to rest backstage before he wrapped up the solo set with his own special song.

As Kevin’s final notes hung in the air, suspended by the pedal, Nick stood up and waited. Kevin’s foot came on the pedal. The sound died. The audience clapped. Kevin rose. He exited the stage from the opposite side, and then the lighting changed. It was Nick’s time at last.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced over to find Brian standing beside him. The shorter man said nothing, just offered him a smile and a wink and gave him a nudge. Grinning weakly back, Nick stepped forward, took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and walked out onto the stage.

The clapping had died down once Kevin had left, a hushed silence of anticipation taking its place. But now the applause returned, louder and wilder than ever, the fans screaming their hearts out as Nick crossed the stage and sat down on the stool that had been placed there for him, pulling his microphone stand toward him. Blinded by the lights, he smiled sightlessly out into the house, only able to make out the first few rows of people. But even so, he could see their smiles, the admiration in their eyes.

Bringing the mic to his mouth, he spoke only briefly. “I know y’all were probably expecting me to sing somethin’ from my solo album, or maybe ‘Heaven In Your Eyes,’

but, um... tonight I’m gonna sing somethin’ different. This is a song I haven’t sung

onstage in a long time, but it’s one of my favorites, and it’s... it’s really special to me.” He glanced at one of the TV cameras, smiling briefly into it before turning his attention back to his audience. “So I hope you like it,” he finished.

The familiar intro started up, and those who recognized it let out shrieks of excitement, but quickly died down when it came time for Nick to sing. Taking a slow, deep breath, he closed eyes briefly and pulling the microphone closer.

“Lying beside you, here in the dark,” he sang softly.

“Feeling your heart beat with mine.

“Softly you whisper, you’re so sincere

How could our love be so blind

“We sailed on together

We drifted apart

And here you are by my side

“So now I come to you, with open arms

Nothing to hide, believe what I say

So here I am, with open arms

Hoping you’ll see what your love means to me

Open arms...”

He looked into the camera again, wondering if, when she watched this later, she would know.

“Living without you, living alone

This empty house seems so cold

Wanting to hold you, wanting you near

How much I wanted you home

“But now that you’ve come back

Turned night into day

I need you to stay...”

He had been singing to the crowd, flashing them grins in between the lines, celebrating the little screams he received. But now he turned his attention back to the camera, gazing right into it as he sang the chorus. The cameraman would think he was just showing some love to the TV viewers who would be watching this at home later that month. But, of course, it wasn’t so. The look in his eyes, the secretive smile on his lips, and the passion in his heart... they were meant for one person only.

“So now I come to you, with open arms

Nothing to hide, believe what I say

So here I am, with open arms

Hoping you’ll see what your love means to me

Open arms...”

***

The fans screamed and screamed. The Boys bowed. Sweating and out of breath, Nick smiled. Coughing briefly into his hand, he cleared his throat and spoke into the microphone. “Thank you so much, each and every one of you, for comin’ to the show tonight. We were glad to be back on stage performing for y’all tonight.” More screams, then silence again.

“And thanks for all your thoughts and prayers this past year. I know you have been through a lot too, and I hope everything turns out well for all of you. Thanks again for coming and showing some love. Take care, and God bless.” With a final smile and nod, Nick stepped back from the microphone. He waited while the other guys finished their closing and hoped they would make it fast. He was scorching hot under the stage lights, and the sea of faces on the floor below him was making him dizzy. The fans cut loose with another round of screams. Nick’s ears rang painfully.

He was relieved when they finally left the stage. The four others were riding high, slapping each other on the back and grinning from ear to ear. But now that the concert was over, the adrenaline rush was quickly leaving Nick, and exhaustion was setting in.

All he wanted to do was sit down. Make that lie down.

But the Boys were already popping open bottles of beer (non-alcoholic for AJ) and clanking them against each other.

“Here, Nicky,” Howie grinned, passing one down the line to Nick, who accepted it wearily. “You were wonderful tonight, kiddo.”

“Thanks,” Nick replied, smiling a little. Clutching his beer, he sank down onto the nearest chair and fiddled with the cap, grunting as he tried to get it off. It was as if all his strength had left him; his hands fumbled weakly with the bottle.

“Here, let me,” said AJ, grabbing the beer and opening it expertly. “You look worn out,” he commented as he handed it back.

“I am,” Nick admitted with a dry chuckle, taking a sip of the beer. The cold drink felt good sliding down his parched throat.

“Well, I’d say. You did great out there tonight, Kaos.” He grinned and then made his way over to Howie. As soon as he had gone, Kevin was right there.

“Hey,” he said, smiling. “Way to go, Nick, I’m proud of you. You gave it 110% -

just like always.”

Nick beamed at the praise, silently wondering if he should have taken that 110%

down a notch or two. He was happy with the way he’d performed, but a part of him was worried he had overdone it. In all honestly, now that it was all over, now that he’d had a chance to sit down and think, he felt like crap. He hadn’t caught his breath yet, and his chest felt constricted, as if he just couldn’t get in enough air. On top of that, he was getting a headache.

He longed to just disappear into his dressing room and lie down for awhile. But he knew the others were counting on him to celebrate with them. So he stayed put for the time being, forcing himself to smile and laugh along with the others, accepting their praise and returning it in a voice that did not sound like his own.

Finally, he could not take it all anymore. He set his beer down and stood up abruptly, causing the others to look at him in surprise. “I’m gonna go hit the showers,” he told them.

“Oh... okay, Nick.”

He saw the way they exchanged glances, but he pretended not to notice as he headed off to his dressing room to get out of his sweaty clothes, which suddenly felt much too tight. A cold shower would make him feel better, he decided. Then he could get back to drinking with the guys, reveling in their first real concert together in ages.

He entered his dressing room, welcoming the silence, and shut the door, not bothering to lock it. He started to peel off his shirt, then caught sight of the couch that was pushed up against one wall of the small room. The piece of furniture seemed to be beckoning to him. Deciding a shower was just a hassle that could wait, he left his shirt alone and sank down onto the couch instead, immediately stretching out on his side. He was not exactly comfortable lying like that, his stinking, slimy clothes sticking to his hot skin, his prosthesis still on. But he didn’t care. This would have to do; he wasn’t moving. He lay his head back and closed his eyes, trying to breathe slowly.

In his ears, he could hear his own heartbeat, pounding rapidly. He turned his head a little and tried to take a deep breath, to slow his racing heart. He was only met with pain and a tickling in his throat that immediately led into another fit of coughing.

Gasping and choking, he tried to get himself to stop coughing, but to no avail.

And in the middle of all this, someone knocked on his door. “Nick?” He was coughing too hard to answer.

The knob turned; the door opened just a hair. Brian stuck his head in, and when he saw Nick, the door flew open wider, and he hurried in. “Are you alright?” he asked, as Nick coughed violently into his hand.

His whole body shuddering as it was racked with coughs, Nick could only shake his head. He was coughing so hard his eyes had begun to water, and the pain in his chest only made them well up even more. He felt moisture on his hand, and when he pulled it away from his mouth long enough to look at it, he was startled to see flecks of crimson staining his palm. He gasped, his heart flip-flopping in horror. Oh my God.

That couldn’t be...

“Nicky? What is it?” Brian had noticed the look on his face and immediately snatched his hand, turning it palm up so that he could see. The color drained from his face immediately as he looked up at Nick. Nick could see the terror deep in his friend’s eyes and was sure the same emotion was reflected in his own. Brian shook his head. “Y-you’re coughing up blood?”

It was hardly a question, for they both already knew the answer.

Nick couldn’t respond anyway; he was still coughing. He could feel it now though, the blood rising in his throat, the bitter, metallic taste of it on his tongue.

“God... hold on, Nick, sit right here. I’m gonna get help; I’ll be right back.” Before Nick could protest – not that he was really going to – Brian had squeezed his hand and then dropped it, darting out of the room. Nick heard his footsteps pounding as he ran down the hall and his anguished voice as he hollered, "Somebody get the paramedics! It's Nick!”

***

Chapter 147

The ambulance ride was a blur, but now Nick was fully awake, alert and wide-eyed with fear. As soon as the ambulance had pulled up to the Emergency Room doors at Tampa General, he’d been whisked off to a large, brightly-lit room, where people bustled all around, each performing their own specialized task. They cut off his clothes and took off his prosthesis, and normally, he would have been self-conscious, but he was too sick and too scared to care.

Sounds came from all around the room – the beeping of monitors as they were hooked up to various parts of his body, this hiss of oxygen filling the mask that had been strapped over his mouth and nose, making it easier to breathe, and many voices that all seemed to blend together. It was hard to focus on just one – all around him, doctors and nurses barked out commands and readings, while in one corner, a woman was grilling Howie, who had been allowed to follow Nick into the room, while the others waited outside.

“... Dr. Kingsbury – that’s his oncologist,” Howie was saying. Nick could hear the panic in his friend’s unsteady voice as he shakily filled the nurse in on Nick’s medical history.

“I don’t know if she’s on call tonight or not, but I’ll have her paged,” the nurse promised. Nick felt the tiniest bit of relief wash over him at her words; it would be good to have a familiar face there by his side. Dr. Kingsbury would know what to do; she would be able to make him better. She always had before anyway...

But a part of him was afraid that this time, she wouldn’t be able to. The sight of the blood on his hand had burned a hole in his memory that would never be patched.

Never before, not even when he’d been hospitalized with pneumonia, had he coughed up blood. He knew it was a bad sign. Something was very, very wrong, and deep down inside, he feared it was something even worse than pneumonia.

The staff working on him did little to ease his fears. In fact, the commands and readings that they were constantly barking out scared him even more, for even though he had no clue what most of it meant, none of it sounded particularly good.

“He’s tachycardic,” said a woman in a lab coat. “Heart rate’s 140. What are his sats?”

“Sating at 90 on 40% oxygen,” a man responded promptly.

Nick winced as the woman pressed an icy cold stethoscope to his chest.

“Decreased breath sounds on the left,” he heard her say. What did that mean? That he was having trouble breathing? Well, duh – now why couldn’t they do something about it? The oxygen was helping, but barely – his chest felt as if a huge weight had been set upon it, and it hurt like hell with every labored breath.

“Give him adenosine, 6 mgs IV push. And call radiology; he’ll need a chest x-ray once we get him stabilized.”

Nick tried to block out these unfamiliar voices and their medical gibberish, listening instead for Howie’s voice. He couldn’t hear his friend talking anymore and felt a surge of panic. Where did Howie go? He didn’t want to be left alone. “Howie?” he wheezed, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask. He looked around, but he could see nothing past the crowd of medical staff circling around him.

“Shh, don’t try to talk, hon,” a female nurse told him, patting his shoulder. “Just try to relax. We’re taking good care of you.”

“But where’s-“

“Nicky? Nick, I’m right here.” A warm hand grabbed his own, and he looked over to see Howie’s face, just visible beyond the female nurse’s shoulder. The nurse glanced back at Howie and shook her head.

“I’m sorry, sir, but you’re going to need to wait outside now. We need room to work. I promise you can come back as soon as Mr. Carter is in stable condition.” Howie nodded compliantly and gave Nick’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll be right outside with the guys, Nick,” he said. “We’ll be back in to see you as soon as they’ll let us.”

“But... wait-“ Nick’s mind was bombarded with a million thoughts, a thousand

“what if’s,” a hundred worst case scenarios. What if he got worse; what if he didn’t make it? What if he died, there in that overly bright, sterile room, with no one he knew around him? What if he never got to say goodbye, or... or... “D!” he gasped.

Howie’s hand had started to pull away, but it was back now, squeezing Nick’s tightly once again. “I’m here, Nicky, what is it?”

“C-can you call Claire? Can you... get her here?” More than anything, he wanted to see Claire. He had to talk to her, had to tell her... before it was too late.

“Of course we’ll call her. She’ll get here; don’t worry.” But he was worried. He was terrified. He tried not to show it though; he could tell Howie was already plenty upset, even though he was trying to hide it himself. He gave Howie’s hand a squeeze back, and then their hold on each other was broken, as the nurse led Howie out of the room.

“How are his sats now?” one of the doctors asked.

“Getting better – up to 93.”

The doctor nodded. “Good, good. Did someone call radiology?”

“Yes, it’ll be about half an hour before they can take him.”

“That’ll be fine. He’s stabilizing now.” Patting Nick’s arm, the doctor smiled down and said, “We’re going to take you for a chest x-ray in about thirty minutes, Mr.

Carter, and that should help us get to the bottom of what’s going on with you.” Nick nodded to show he understood, but he couldn’t help but thinking maybe he would rather not get to the bottom of it. The chest x-ray would only bring bad news; he was sure of it. Then again, he obviously was not quite on top of things anymore either.

Might as well find out once and for all what was wrong and... hope for the best.

***

“Hey Nicky, how are you feeling?”

That was the first question out of Howie’s mouth as he came into the room, Brian following at his heels.

Nick smiled a little, relieved to see them both. “Better,” he replied honestly.

Well, a little better anyway. After his chest x-ray half an hour ago, he had been brought back to the ER, to a different room this time. Smaller, not as bright. The oxygen mask had been swapped for a nasal canula that ran into his nostrils. It tickled, but at least he could speak more easily. Breathing was coming more easily as well, although his chest still hurt, and taking a deep breath was near impossible.

“Good,” Howie said, surveying him cautiously. He and Brian exchanged glances from across the bed. Nick pretended not to notice.

“So, Nick, what’s going on?” Brian asked. “Have they told you anything yet?

What kind of tests have they done?”

“Just a chest x-ray,” replied Nick. “They’ll probably want to do more later though.” Brian and Howie both nodded, and immediately, an uncomfortable silence settled over the room. “So,” Nick broke the silence, “where’s Kev and J?”

“Outside,” Howie answered and then added, “We’re only supposed to come two at a time,” just as Brian said, “They’re hiding out.” Nick smirked, looking from one to the other. “So which is it?” he asked.

“What do you think?” asked Brian, as Howie bit his lip guiltily.

“So they’re hiding out,” Nick replied flatly. “They don’t want to come see me?”

“It’s not that, Nick, and you know it,” Brian hastened to say. “It’s just... well, you know they are – Kevin’s out there feeling guilty, beating himself up over what happened, and AJ’s... well... you know...”

Nick nodded. He knew. AJ was afraid. He was afraid, and he didn’t know how to handle it, so he was choosing to just avoid it instead. It was the same thing he’d done right before the surgery to amputate Nick’s leg – hang back, make jokes, do anything to keep himself from breaking down and showing his true emotions. That was just AJ.

And Kevin, out there feeling guilty... that was just Kevin. He was their big brother, almost a father figure to Nick sometimes, and he took his role seriously, always wanting to protect them. He liked to be in control, and when something happened to one of them, even something that was unpreventable, he blamed himself.

“Kevin shouldn’t feel guilty,” Nick said, knowing full well that even if he told this to Kevin’s face, the man would still feel guilty anyway.

“He does though,” said Brian. “We all do, for letting you perform. We could all see that you weren’t well, and we let you do that damn concert anyway.”

“That was my choice to make, not any of yours,” Nick retorted stubbornly. “And I don’t regret it, not at all. That concert was great.”

“Yeah... yeah, it was.” Brian’s tone was wistful. Nick understood. He was sure they all wished they could be back on stage... or anywhere else. Anywhere but here.

“So,” said Nick, clearing his throat, “one of you should go out there and tell Kev it’s not his fault. This is stupid.”

“We tried,” Brian replied. “But he needs to realize that for himself. Just give him some time; he just has to be alone for awhile and think things over. Sooner or later, he’ll realize it’s not his fault.”

“If anyone should feel guilty,” Howie spoke up, “it should be me.” Two pairs of eyes shifted to look at him, and he continued, “Nicky, I lived with you. How could I not notice you were this sick?”

“I hid it,” Nick replied flatly, remembering all the remedies he had tried to keep his symptoms secret. “I didn’t want you to notice.”

“Even the blood?” Brian gasped. “Nick! H-how long had you been-“

“No, not that,” Nick said quickly. “There was never blood before tonight. I just hid the other stuff.”

Howie shook his head. “You shouldn’t do that. You shouldn’t have to hide anything from us; I thought you knew that.”

Nick only shrugged. He did know that. And it wasn’t even about them. In hiding it from them, he’d been trying to hide it from himself too. If he could get the coughing to stop, then he would forget, and that was what he wanted to do. Forget. Go on with his life and all his plans and not worry about what could possibly be wrong with him.

The longer he hid it, the longer he could keep doing that. The longer he hid it, the longer he could keep himself away from this place, from the doctors and the tests and the bad news. But he couldn’t hide it long enough. He couldn’t hide it forever. Deep down, he’d always known that. Sooner or later, it would catch up to him. Tonight, it had.

“I’m sorry, Nick,” Howie apologized. “Now isn’t the time to be talking about this.

What’s done is done, and we’re not going to worry about that anymore. You just need to focus on getting better.”

Yeah, as if he had any control over that. But he nodded anyway, glad they were going to just drop the issue. Changing the subject, he asked, “Did you call Claire?”

“I tried, but her cell phone was turned off,” replied Howie. “Hopefully that means she’s on a plane right now.”

Nick nodded again, hoping to God she was on her way home. He had to see her.

He just had to.

***

Half an hour later, the doctor who had treated him earlier returned, a large envelope in her hand. “Good evening, Mr. Carter,” she said. “I’m Dr. Sharon Keal – I don’t believe I had a chance to introduce myself to you earlier. How are you feeling?”

“Okay, I guess,” Nick replied with a shrug. “What’s that? Those my x-rays?” He motioned to the envelope in her hands.

“Yes.” Dr. Keal slid two black x-ray films out of the envelope and hung them up on a light board mounted to one wall. With the flip of a switch, the board turned on, illuminating the x-rays. Nick watched as the four guys (they had finally been joined by an anxious Kevin and uneasy AJ) leaned forward, squinting at the films. He squinted himself, but he was not really sure what he was supposed to be looking for. The x-ray was nothing but a mass of black and white to him.

The doctor’s fingers circled a large patch of white on the right side of one of the films. “This white space here is fluid on your left lung,” she explained. “It’s called a pleural effusion – a buildup of fluid between the membranes that surround your lungs.”

“’Kay...” Nick said slowly, not quite sure what to make of that. It didn’t sound very good, but at least she hadn’t said “pneumonia,” or worse, the c-word. “So, um... is that bad?”

“Well, it depends on what caused it. Which is what we don’t know yet,” said Dr.

Keal. “With the buildup of fluid, it’s hard to read the x-ray thoroughly, so I’d like to do a CT scan. Have you had one of those before?”

“Yeah,” Nick said, groaning inwardly as he thought of the large, loud tube thing he would have to lie inside for the scan.

“Good, then you know the drill. A nurse will be in a few minutes to get you prepped for that, and you should be able to have the scan done in about an hour and a half.”

“Oh boy,” Nick muttered under his breath, sighing. He was so tired. Tired physically, tired emotionally, and sick and tired of all of this. This – trips to the hospital, test after test, and bad news. Always bad news.

It shouldn’t have been like that. He’d always know that after the amputation, he would never be the same. He would never be normal. But he had assumed, perhaps

naively, that he would be well.

But he was obviously not well right now, and even though no one was saying it, he knew it had to be on everyone’s mind – what if it was the cancer? What if, after all of this, the dreaded c-word had come back to upset the life he had so carefully reconstructed following the amputation? Could he handle another blow like that? He wasn’t so sure.

So he tried not to think about it. He was glad the guys were there; they helped to take his mind off of the worst case scenario, especially AJ, who was back to handling uncomfortable situations as he always did – by cracking jokes that made Kevin frown, by denying the whole situation entirely. Nick loved him for it.

But as promised, after an hour and a half of pretending he was anywhere but laid up in the ER, reality returned in the form of a couple orderlies, who pushed Nick on a gurney down to radiology for the aforementioned CT scan.

He was moved onto a table in front of the large machine that stood forebodingly in the center of the room, its tubular center just waiting to suck him up and swallow him whole. A technician positioned him correctly and then told him, “Try to relax and lie still while you’re inside the machine. I’ll be in the room next door, but I’ll be able to see you and speak to you through an intercom. Listen for my directions.” Nick nodded. Like Dr. Keal said, he knew the drill.

The tech disappeared, and a few minutes later, Nick heard a soft whirring sound, and the table he was positioned on slowly rolled backward, pulling him into the machine. He closed his eyes, hated the feeling of having his upper body enclosed within its tubular opening. He thought of the ocean; it was the mental picture he always used when he was having these scans done. The ocean – vast and wide, open on all sides, the wind in his hair, fresh air in his lungs, and nothing but water as far as the eye could see.

“Okay, Mr. Carter, I need you to take a deep breath and hold it for about thirty seconds. Can you do that for me?”

Could he? Normally, sure – he’d always been a champion at holding his breath underwater. But now? He wasn’t sure. But there had to be a reason why he needed to hold his breath, so he compliantly answered, “Yes” and figured he’d give it his best shot.

“Great,” said the tech. “On the count of three then. One... two... three – hold, please.”

Nick took as deep of a breath as his lungs would allow him, his chest searing with the effort, and held it. Keeping his eyes shut, he imagined he was swimming in the ocean, under the water, holding his breath. His lungs burned, but he kept the air in them, telling himself, Not yet, not yet, pretending he was far from reaching the surface of the water. It had only been about ten seconds, after all.

But the pain increased, and in his mind’s eye, he could see the surface of the water getting farther and farther away; it was as if he were being dragged down by invisible weights, dark water enveloping him, restraining him, choking him. He gasped, a rush of air escaping his lungs. His eyes flew open; all he could see was metal, closing in on him from all sides. It was going to squeeze him; it was going to crush him. His heart began to race. He couldn’t breathe.

“Mr. Carter? Are you all right?”

“No!” he gasped, tears springing to his eyes. His chest hurt; God, it hurt. He couldn’t even breathe, and the tube just kept getting narrower and narrower. His heart pounded in his ears, faster and faster. It was going to explode.

“Deep breaths, Mr. Carter; you’re hyperventilating. Hang on, I’m going to get you out of there.”

By the time the table was moved forward, and Nick was free of machine, there were other people in the room. Dr. Keal and another woman, a nurse – had she worked on him before too?

“He’s tachy at 120. Kathy, get him on a mask.”

An oxygen mask was slipped back over Nick’s mouth and nose, but it seemed to suffocate him more than help. He thrashed around, grabbing at the mask, trying to pull it off so that he could breathe. A pair of hands took his own, holding them down. “Just breathe, Ni- Mr. Carter. Slow, deep breaths.”

He tried, but he still felt as if he were drowning. Blackness was closing in on him like stormy waves as he struggled for air, and it was not long before his shuddering body went limp, letting the black waves sweep him out to a sea of unconsciousness.

***

When he awoke, they were there. They were all there. Brian, Howie, Kevin, and AJ, sitting in chairs on both sides of his bed. His bed? Nick blinked and looked around.

Where was he? Oh yeah, the ER. Back in that room, no doubt. The second one – the not-so-big, not-so-bright one.

“Hey, kiddo,” Kevin said, rubbing the back of Nick’s hand. “How do you feel?” How many times was he going to get that question tonight? He groaned. “Like shit.” It was true. He felt weak and light-headed, not to mention completely exhausted.

Apparently sleep hadn’t done much for him. But wait... had he been sleeping? “What happened to me?” he murmured, confused.

“You passed out in radiology about half an hour ago,” replied Kevin, his green eyes mirroring the fear Nick felt. “You were having trouble breathing again. But they got you stabilized, and now you’re back here.”

Nick became aware of the sounds around him... the steady “blip... blip...” of the heart monitor, the soft hiss of the oxygen tank. He raised his hand to his face, feeling around until his fingers touched the thin tubes that ran into his nostrils. So the oxygen mask he’d been trying to pull off earlier was gone again. He shook his head slowly.

“Half an hour ago?” he repeated. “I was out for that long?”

“Like a light,” chimed in AJ with a weak grin.

Nick did not smile. New worries had come over him. “So... so d-do they know anything yet?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. He definitely wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what they knew, if anything.

The four men shook their heads in unison. Nothing yet. Nick let out a sigh. No news was good news, as far as he was concerned. Because eventually, he knew, there would be news, and most likely, it would be bad. Something was wrong. Twenty-four-year-old men didn’t cough up blood, hyperventilate, and pass out for no reason.

Twenty-five, he thought. I’m almost a twenty-five-year-old man.

Yeah, in like two months. What if he didn’t make it that long? What if he didn’t live to see his twenty-fifth birthday?

Stop it, he scolded himself. It’s not like you’re dying. You may be sick again, but you’re not dying.

But what if he was? He’d coughed up blood. He couldn’t breathe. That was

serious. That was more than a few pains in his leg, some unexplained weight loss, and all the other minor symptoms he’d overlooked before his initial diagnosis.

What if it was back again? What if, this time, there was nothing that could be done?

What if he really was dying?

“Nick, what’s wrong?” Brian’s gentle voice interrupted his panicked thoughts.

“Are you in pain? You’re frowning.”

“What? No,” Nick replied, even though he was. “Nah, I’m just... thinking.”

“Are you scared?”

Blue met blue as Nick raised his eyes to Brian’s. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper. “Wh-what if it’s something really bad? What if... what if it’s back?”

He didn’t have to clarify what “it” was; they already knew. And he could tell by the expressions on their faces that it scared them just as much as it did him.

Kevin tried to be brave. “We’ll cross that bridge when and if we come to it, Nick,” he said. “Try not to worry.”

Wrong thing to say. The last time Nick had heard those words, there had been definite cause to worry. “That bridge” had been the realization that the radiation wasn’t working, and in crossing it, he’d made the decision to have his leg amputated. It was “a last resort,” as Dr. Kingsbury had called it. But if that had been the last resort, and the cancer still came back... what was left?

Try not to worry? Yeah right. He was more than worried.

He was petrified.

***

Chapter 148

A few minutes later, a woman in a white coat came into the room. Nick hardly looked up, expecting it to be Dr. Keal or one of the other ER physicians who had worked on him earlier. He did a double take when he realized that it was Dr. Kingsbury.

“Hey, Dr. K,” he said, offering a nervous, forced smile.

“Hi, Nick... guys,” the doctor replied, flashing Nick a tight, thin-lipped smile, nodding to the others. Studying the doctor, Nick was surprised to find that she did not look as pulled together as she usually did. Her face was bare and makeup-less, her graying blonde hair flattened. Granted, it was past two a.m., but he had to wonder, had she even been on call that night? Or had she come from home, just because of him?

He didn’t ask. She didn’t give him a chance.

“Nick, we need to talk,” she said, sitting down on stool and scooting closer to Nick’s bed. “Are you all right with the guys being in here, or would you like privacy?” His heart began to hammer rapidly at the seriousness in her voice. No “good to see you, Nick,” no “I saw you on TV, Nick,” not even a joke about how he’d ruined a good night’s sleep for her. Just “we need to talk.” Not a good sign.

He glanced around quickly at the others; the expressions on their faces were just as serious. It was going to be bad news, and they knew it just as well as he.

A lump rose in his throat. “They can stay,” he whispered, unable to speak any louder. He didn’t want to be alone for this.

Dr. Kingsbury nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Well, let’s not beat around the bush here. Nick, there’s a tumor in your lung.”

There was no sharp intake of breath, no expressions of shock. They all just sat there, stock still and silent, waiting for her to continue, waiting for their immediate questions to be answered before they had to voice them aloud.

“It was hard to make out on the x-ray, but the CT scans that came out show a mass about four centimeters in diameter in the upper lobe of your left lung.” Kevin was the first to speak. “And it’s... it’s malignant, I assume?”

“Without a biopsy, we don’t know that for sure, but chances are it is. There are always other remote possibilities, but most likely it is a metastasis of Ewing’s Sarcoma.

That means that the cancer has spread to your lung, Nick.” Nick shook his head slowly. “But... how?” he asked quietly. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe her; she had just confirmed the worst case scenario he’d thought of earlier, a relapse of his cancer. But he didn’t understand. How could it have gone all the way to his lungs, after his leg, the spot where the cancer had originated, had been amputated eight months ago?

“The lungs are one of the first places cancer like this tends to spread. All it takes is a few cells to get into the blood stream, and they are then carried to the lungs, where the blood is re-oxygenated. If they get dropped off in a lung, they can set up shop there and start to reproduce, eventually forming a tumor. If this is indeed a metastasis, it means the cancer spread before the amputation of your leg and has been growing slowly ever since.”

“Wait, so you’re saying he’s had this tumor since, what, April? March? How come it wasn’t caught before now?” AJ, who had stayed very quiet up until this moment, had spoken out, glaring accusingly at Dr. Kingsbury.

“The last time Nick had a chest x-ray done, back in July, it was too small to be

detectable.”

“Wait – July? What about at his last check-up?” Kevin asked.

Shut up, Kev, Nick pleaded silently, looking guiltily up at Dr. Kingsbury. She met his eyes, but her gaze was not judgmental. “Nick?” she said calmly. “Would you like to answer that one?”

Nick scowled. “I didn’t go,” he muttered, shoulders slumping.

“What??”

“My October appointment – I didn’t go,” he repeated, ashamed. “It was the day Aaron came to visit, so I cancelled it. I was planning on rescheduling it, but... I dunno, I just kinda... forgot.” The excuse sounded so lame, even to him. How could he have been so stupid? If the tumor had been found then, maybe it could have been taken care of before it got this bad.

“Oh, Nick,” Kevin sighed, the disappointment obvious in his voice.

He started to say something else, but Dr. Kingsbury quickly went ahead. “It doesn’t matter why it wasn’t caught earlier. It’s been found now, and we need to discuss your options.”

Thank you, Nick thought silently, flashing his doctor a quick smile of gratitude.

“What are the options?” he asked, glad there were some.

“Based on what I know about the tumor right now, I would put it at a Stage 2B.

That’s out of four stages, Stage 4 being inoperable and, in most cases, terminal.” Terminal. Nick shuddered at the word. “Stage 2B means the tumor is fairly small, but located deep in the tissue and high grade, which means it is growing quickly. Because of the relatively small size, however, Stage 2B tumors are usually operable.” Operable. He shuddered at that word too. “You mean surgery?” he asked timidly. “You can operate and take it out?” God, he didn’t want more surgery. He really didn’t. But he supposed it was a good thing that the option was there.

“Possibly. In your case, it’s a bit more complicated. Your tumor is in a difficult position – it’s located very near your heart. Operating there is risky.” Shit... this was not good. “Well... what if you don’t operate? What are the options then?” he asked, his voice cracking.

“More chemo. Possibly radiation. However, based on the fact that radiation didn’t work last time, and you’ve already had so much chemo, I can’t promise you that either of those treatments would do much good.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want more chemo... especially if you’re not even sure it’ll work. What do you think is the best option?”

The doctor pursed her lips. “Honestly... if the surgery were successful, that would be your best chance. But with such a great risk, I can’t urge you to choose that option.

That’s something you need to decide yourself.”

“Well, when do I have to decide?”

“Not now if you don’t want to. Take some time to think about it. But I will tell you, Nick, the sooner, the better. The larger the tumor gets, the harder it will be to take all of it out. And it’s already affecting your breathing. Your sats, which show how well you’re breathing, are low, and if they keep getting lower, you’ll have to have a tube put down your throat to help you breathe. If that happens, you will be sedated and unable to speak.”

So basically, this was a decision he needed to make soon, while he still could. He raised his eyes, looking to the guys for help. But no one said a word. He sighed. He

could tell this truly was something he needed to decide himself. He weighed the options carefully. If he had the surgery, it was possible that they could take out the tumor, and he would be rid of cancer once again, without having to mess with more chemo or radiation or any of that. But, it was also possible that the surgery could go wrong, and he could die. But if he didn’t go for the surgery, he could die anyway. If chemo and radiation failed, he was screwed.

It was a life or death decision, and either way could result in his death. That was not a comforting thought.

“Well,” Dr. Kingsbury said, rising from her stool, “I’ll let you have some time alone to think. I’ll be back to check on you later, all right?” He nodded vaguely, still deep in thought. Dr. Kingsbury started for the door, and he heard AJ mutter, “I’m gonna try Claire’s cell again.” Nick’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of her name. Claire. He wished she were here with him now. Maybe she could help him decide what to do. She’d had to make difficult decisions like this before.

In his mind, he could hear her voice. “... It’s like somebody with their hands behind their back going, ‘Pick a hand.’ And one hand has the cure in it... and the other one has... well, death. What if... what if I pick the wrong hand?” She’d picked the right hand. She’d taken the risk and beaten the odds. He had a feeling if she were him, she would go for the surgery.

“Cut it out.”

Out of nowhere, the words from his dreams sprang to mind. Her words.

“Cut it out.” He murmured them out loud, testing them. The guys looked up.

“Cut what out?” Brian asked in confusion.

Nick swallowed hard. “I know what I wanna do,” he said thickly. “I wanna go for the surgery.”

Kevin blanched. “Are you sure, Nick?” he asked, studying Nick carefully. “You’ve barely thought about it. It’s a big decision.”

“I know, but... it just... it feels right.” That sounded lame, but how could he explain it? How was he supposed to tell them because of a couple of crazy dreams he’d had, he felt that this was the decision he needed to make?

It was Brian who nodded first, showing his support. Nick figured that out of them all, Brian would understand the best. Brian had faith... faith in the medical system and faith that went far beyond that. “Do you want me to go find your doctor?” he asked Nick.

Nick nodded. “Yeah. Go get her and tell her I want her to cut it out. Cut the mother-fucker out of me.”

Brian smirked; AJ actually chuckled, lightening the mood in the room just a hair.

“I’ll be back,” said Brian, leaving to track down Dr. Kingsbury.

“I’ll be back too,” AJ announced, holding up his cell phone. “Gonna try Claire again. You still want her to come, don’t you, Nick?”

“Yeah,” Nick answered. More than anything, he wanted her to come. She had to come. There was no way in hell he was going to let them put him under for some risky surgery without talking to her first. Without telling her how he felt. She had to know, and if he didn’t tell her soon, he knew he might never get another chance.

When AJ had left the room, Kevin reached out and patted Nick’s arm gently.

“You should try to get some sleep,” he said, his voice soothing. “If they’re gonna want to

do this surgery tomorrow or something, you’re gonna need your rest.” Nick nodded, knowing Kevin was probably right. He was exhausted. But at the same time, he didn’t want to sleep. He was almost afraid. Afraid of slipping away and missing precious moments with the people he loved. Or, if he was being perfectly honest with himself... afraid of not waking up.

***

At some point, he must have let himself drift off, for the next thing he knew, he was waking up to find the room darkened and the guys gone. For a moment, he thought he was all alone. A feather light touch on the back of his hand told him otherwise. He gasped and startled, his head whipping around on his pillow to find a lone figure sitting in a chair beside his bed. Breathing hard, he stifled back a cough and blinked. Was it really her?

“Hey, you,” she said softly. “I was wondering when you were gonna wake up. I was about ready to fall asleep myself.”

“Claire,” he rasped, coughing. “Wh-when did you...?” He couldn’t even get the rest of his sentence out for all the coughs that racked his body.

“Nick? Here, sit up.” He could hear the worry in her voice as she slid her arm under his back and helped him sit up. He swayed for a moment, light-headed and dizzy, and then hunched over, coughing uncontrollably into his hand.

“Oh shit,” he gagged as he pulled back his hand and felt the warm wetness there.

“Claire-“

She turned on a small light over his bed, brightening the dim space around them, and reached for something. “Here, use this,” she said, thrusting an emesis basin into his hand. He coughed into it while she patted his back. “Should I get someone?” she asked, but he quickly shook his head.

“No,” he coughed, “it’ll pass.”

Finally, it did. Chest heaving, he fell back against his pillows, inhaling the oxygen that flowed into his nostrils as deeply as he could, struggling to catch his breath. She waited, taking his hand in hers and gently rubbing the back of it, until finally, his breathing slowed, and his body relaxed. He looked over at her, mortified that she had been there to witness such a fit. “Thanks,” he whispered weakly.

“No problem,” she replied, her voice hardly audible. She watched him for a moment and then smiled a little. “I can’t believe you. I go out of town for five days, and you pull this! You better not have just been trying to get me to come home, mister.” He let out a soft chuckle, wincing at the pain it caused. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?

You’re here.”

“That’s right.” She squeezed his large hand in between her two small ones. “I’m here.”

He smiled up at her. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but... it just didn’t feel right. Not yet. “So AJ finally got a hold of you?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding solemnly. “I was just getting off the plane.”

“It’s late,” he said softly. “How long were you stuck at that airport?” She snorted. “Way too long.” Studying her, he saw how haggard and exhausted she looked. Her hair was flat and limp, yet stuck out in odd places. Her eyes were dull and glassy, and her cheeks were pale. She looked terrible.

No, to him, she looked beautiful. The relief of finally seeing her, of finally having her by his side, made her beautiful.

“I take it they filled you in on what’s going on?” he asked her flatly.

She nodded. “Yeah,” she whispered and looked away. Watching her profile, he saw her throat move as she swallowed hard and could have sworn he heard her sniffle.

“Claire?” Reaching up, he brushed his fingers against her cheek, and she turned her head to face him. Her eyes were not just glassy now; they were shiny. Shiny with...

dear God, were those tears? “Claire...” he murmured her name, moving his fingers up to wipe away the moisture that had leaked from her bright eyes. “Come on now, don’t do that...”

She sniffed loudly and shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said tremulously. “God, Nick... I’m so sorry. I just...” She shook her head again, her chin quivering, shoulders trembling.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t lie there and watch her lose it like that. It wasn’t like her to fall apart like that; Claire only cried if things were really bad.

A reality of it made frightened tears spring into his own eyes.

It was really bad.

“I’m scared,” he admitted.

She tightened her grip on his hand and looked down at him, tears streaming from her eyes. “I’m scared too.”

He took a shuddering breath and swallowed back the lump that had risen in this throat. “Do you... do you think this is the right thing to do? The... the s-surgery I mean?”

She nodded slowly. “You gotta go for it, right? I mean, if this is your best chance... you gotta take it.”

“I thought you’d say that,” he said huskily, smiling. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” she whispered.

He could have stayed like that all night, looking up at her face, clutching her hand, not speaking, just looking... touching... holding...

But he couldn’t. Not really. He didn’t know how much time he would have alone with her, but he knew he had to make the most of it. Who knew when or if he’d have another chance.

“Claire,” he began softly, “there’s a lot I need to tell you. I know it’s not the best time... I know it’s not the right place... but I just have to say it.” He paused, mulling over his words carefully. He’d never been good at saying the right thing; how was he supposed to word this? He tried to come up with something suave and charming to say, but his brain felt like mush. Nothing seemed right. She was staring at him, perplexed, waiting for him to keep talking, and finally, he knew he would just have to say the words.

Plain and simple.

“Claire,” he said again, and he twisted his hand around in hers so that their fingers intertwined. “I... I love you.”

For a moment, time stood still, and he watched her reaction carefully, waiting...

Her lower lip quivered, and she hesitated for just a moment, her eyes overflowing with tears. And then, she said it. “I love you too.” A tear fell from her chin and landed with a splat upon his hand, which was still wound tightly around hers. He didn’t flinch, his eyes never leaving her tear-stained face.

For just a moment, everything seemed all right. It was going to be okay, now that she

was here with him. He loved her. He’d finally admitted it. And she loved him back.

And right then, that was all that really mattered.

“Come lay with me,” he murmured, scooting over as best he could to make room for her in the bed beside him. Wordlessly, she abandoned her chair and slid in beside him, nestling herself into the space he’d made for her. She snuggled into his chest, and he brought his arm around her, holding her close.

They lay there together like that for a long time, like they’d done so many times before, and it was not long before she fell asleep. Smiling at the sound of her steady, peaceful breathing, he turned his head and kissed the top of hers lightly. Then he closed his eyes and tried to block out all of the other noises in the room, letting her soft snores lull him back to sleep.

***

“Nick? Come on, buddy, wake up.”

Nick moaned and grudgingly opened his eyes. “Rok?” he rasped groggily, blinking at Brian.

“Hey, good morning,” smiled Brian. “Did you sleep all right?”

“Yeah...” Nick reached out, feeling for Claire on his other side, but his fingers were met with nothing but empty space. “Is Claire here?” he asked, wondering if she had really been there at all, or if that had just been a dream.

“Yeah, she’s still here,” Brian replied, putting Nick at ease. “She’s guzzling coffee in the cafeteria with the guys,” he added with a weary chuckle.

“Did you sleep?” Nick wondered. It didn’t look like he had; his eyes were dull and framed by dark circles, and his face looked pinched and drawn.

He shrugged listlessly. “Off and on,” he said. “There’s a small, private waiting room down the hall that they let us crash in, but... it’s kinda hard to sleep in a chair.” He made a face, rubbing the back of his neck.

Nick smiled sympathetically. “Sorry,” he said.

Brian waved him off. “Not like it’s your fault,” he replied. “So anyway, Dr.

Kingsbury is down here, and she brought a surgeon with her to talk to you. You feel up to talking to them?”

“I guess.”

Brian nodded and reached down to ruffle his hair. “I’ll bring them in,” he said, leaving the room briefly and returning with Dr. Kingsbury and another woman who was dressed in blue scrubs.

“Good morning, Nick. This is Dr. Jenna Johansson. She’s a thoracic surgeon, one of our best. I thought you’d like to talk to her about the surgery before you make your final decision.”

Nick nodded, and Dr. Johansson perched on the stool Dr. Kingsbury had occupied the night before. “Well, Nick, I’ve reviewed your CT scans with Dr. Kingsbury, and we both feel that the tumor is operable. It’s in a tricky spot, but I think it’s reachable. If you still want to go for the surgery, this is what it would entail. We would do a thoracotomy, which means going in through the side of your chest. It’s less risky than going in from the front.”

Nick grimaced, the thought of her cutting into his chest making him woozy. It’s either that or more chemo, he told himself, but he couldn’t help but think that even

puking his guts out 24/7 would be more pleasant than an operation on his lung.

“Based on the size and location of your tumor,” Dr. Johansson continued, “it looks like you’ll probably have to have a lobectomy.”

“A what-tectomy?”

“It means removing one of the lobes in your lung. In your case, it would be the top lobe of your left lung.”

Nick stared, wide-eyed. “You’re going to take out part of my lung??” he asked incredulously.

“It’s not as drastic as it sounds,” Dr. Johansson assured him. “It shouldn’t affect your breathing much at all. In fact, once we take out the tumor and drain the fluid from your lung, and you’ve healed up, you should be able to breathe much easier.” Well, he certainly hoped so. He glanced from the surgeon to Dr. Kingsbury, silently questioning her. Was this really the right thing to do?

“This is pretty standard for patients with lung cancer, Nick,” Dr. Kingsbury said.

“I know it’s intimidating, but I feel that in your case, the benefits outweigh the risks. If this surgery is successful-“

“I’ll be cured?” he asked hopefully.

She hesitated. “I didn’t say that. After the surgery, we would have to monitor you carefully to make sure that the cancer hasn’t spread anywhere else. And no matter what, we don’t like to use the word ‘cured’ until you’ve been in remission for at least five years.

But I can tell you that if the surgery is successful, you’ll be a lot better off.” He was silent for a moment, considering this. The surgery seemed to be the best option. What did he have to lose? Well, a lot of things. Everything. But he knew he didn’t want to live like this, in pain, coughing up blood, constantly breathless. Dying during surgery was the risk he would have to take, but he trusted Dr. Kingsbury – the benefits outweighed the risks.

He cleared his throat and looked from Dr. Kingsbury to Dr. Johansson. “I still want to do it,” he said. “I want the surgery.”

***

Lying flat on his back on a gurney, looking up at the faces of the five people he cared about more than anything in the world, Nick was hit with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. It had only been a little over eight months since he had lain in this very same part of the hospital, waiting to be taken in for the surgery to cut off his leg. And now here he was again. And this time, it seemed like he had so much more to lose. Not his leg, not even his lung, but... his life.

He didn’t want to die. It scared him so much to know that these last few minutes before the surgery could be the last few minutes he would remember, to know that the words he said to the people around him could be the last few words he ever spoke. He recalled what he’d said the first time around, before the amputation surgery. The “I love you’s,” along with his last wishes, in case anything happened.

Nothing had happened then... but this time, it could. No one had given him any odds, which was probably for the best, but he knew how risky this surgery was. He knew that there could he horrific complications. He knew that once they put him to sleep, he might never wake up. He thought maybe he should try to prepare them... and to prepare himself... but he could not find it in him to say the words.

They knew anyway, he reasoned. The guys knew he loved them, and they knew what he wanted if something went wrong.

His eyes panned across Brian, Kevin, Howie, and AJ and stopped to rest on Claire. Did she know? Did she know how much he cared about her? He’d said the words, but with all the chaos of the last two days... did she really know?

Kevin looked at his watch. “Somebody should be coming to get you anytime, Nick. That guy from transport said five minutes, and it’s been seven.” Nick didn’t care. He didn’t care if the guy never came to take him in.

“Things are probably just backed up,” Claire murmured. “Unless it’s an emergency, everything takes forever around here.”

Kevin gave a short nod.

Silence.

Nick looked around again; everyone seemed to be looking at something else.

Brian was absently chewing on one of his nails, pulling his finger out of his mouth every few seconds to inspect it. Howie’s eyes were on the IV bag that hung on a pole attached to the gurney, watching as the fluid slowly dripped into Nick’s veins. Drip... drip...

AJ’s attention was focused on something outside the small, curtained enclosure, beyond where Nick could see. Probably a hot nurse or something – there were some who looked pretty damn good in those scrub pants. Knowing AJ, he’d found them.

No... knowing AJ, that’s what he wanted Nick to think. Knowing AJ, he was just trying to cover up his fear, trying to avoid the situation altogether by not even looking at Nick.

If he couldn’t see it, it wasn’t there, and if it wasn’t there, it didn’t exist.

Nick only wished that was how it worked. If that was the case, he wouldn’t look at himself either.

Kevin was still fixated on the time, checking his watch about every thirty seconds.

Eight minutes...

And Claire? Claire was looking at the floor, as if she were suddenly very interested in the tiles... white... beige... whatever color they were. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, her bottom lip between her teeth. Her stiff pose changed as a polyphonic version of Linkin Park’s “Crawling” suddenly began to play. “Shit!” she hissed, jumping out of her stupor and tearing open her purse, pulling out her ringing cell phone and glancing at it briefly before shutting it off, cutting off the melody abruptly. “That fucker,” she muttered to no one in particular, shaking her head, her cheeks bright red. “He and I are so through...”

Nick had to smirk, glad for the brief interruption. “Tim?” he asked.

She looked up at him and nodded shortly. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled quietly, “I forgot to turn the damn thing off.”

“’Sokay,” Nick replied, offering her a slight smile. She managed a weak one back, their eyes locking.

Brian must have noticed. “Hey, Nick, how about the four of us guys wait out in the hall? It’s kinda crowded in here, ya know...”

AJ quickly jumped in. “Yeah, and Claire will wait here with you till that transport dude comes back.”

You had to love their attempts at subtlety. Nick knew exactly what was going on, and he could tell by the tiny smile on Claire’s lips that she did too. He didn’t care; he was grateful. He nodded. “Yeah, okay,” he said. Claire nodded too.

“Okay. We’ll see you out in the hall then.” The curtained area cleared as the four

men trooped out, leaving Nick and Claire alone together. Immediately, she came closer, coming up alongside the gurney. She slipped her hand into his and gave it a squeeze.

“You nervous?”

“Very.” There was no point in hiding it; she knew it as well as he.

She nodded slowly. “Remember when we talked about fate... about things happening for a reason?”

“Y-yeah.”

“I still believe that. No matter what happens, there’s a reason behind it. You have to believe that. I have to believe that...” He didn’t believe it. He really didn’t. Everything happened for a reason – yeah, right. What was the reason behind any of this? Him being sick? Her being sick? Them being sick... together?

Together.

It slowly dawned on him that maybe that was the reason... After all, the only good thing that had really come out of all of this was meeting her.

He looked up into her eyes. “I believe it,” he whispered.

She smiled crookedly and squeezed his hand even tighter. “Then it’ll be okay.

Either way... it’ll be okay.”

The curtain rattled and was pushed aside. The man from transport was back. It had been at least ten minutes...

“Sorry for the wait,” he apologized. “Are you ready to go?”

“Y-yeah,” Nick croaked, his palms beginning to sweat. He was probably getting Claire’s hand all slimy. But she didn’t seem to mind. She held onto his hand the whole time, walking alongside the gurney as he was wheeled out into the hall, where the four guys were waiting, just as they’d promised.

The man that was pushing the gurney stopped, letting them each have a turn to say goodbye to Nick before they retired to one of the waiting rooms for a long, long wait.

One by one, the guys came forward, and one by one, they stepped back. And then only Claire was left, standing at his side, still clutching his sweaty hand.

He looked up at her, his heart hammering with nerves. “Claire, I... I just want you to know that I-“

“I know,” she smiled. “I love you too.” Taking her hand out of his, she touched his cheek, letting her fingers float up to sweep a few strands of hair off of his forehead.

“It’ll be okay.”

He nodded. Either way.

She bent down and brushed his lips with hers, then pulled back, smiling slightly.

He looked at her in surprise, instinctively licking his lips. He was met with metallic taste of blood on his tongue. For a brief moment, he panicked, but then, looking back up at her and noticing the droplet of crimson on her bottom lip, he realized. She’d bitten it raw.

“You ready now, Mr. Carter?”

“I guess so,” he replied hesitantly, swallowing hard.

Claire put on a forced-looking smile. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to say good luck, or what,” she said with a slightly frenzied giggle. “I would tell you to break a leg, but-“

He smiled. “Only got one to break,” he returned in a whisper. “This isn’t a performance, Claire.”

Out of nowhere, a single tear ran down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly, probably hoping he hadn’t noticed. He had. “I know,” she said, her voice catching. “I just...”

“It’s okay,” he assured her. “I’ll see you later, okay?” Since when was he the calm, sensible one? Wasn’t that her job?

She nodded, sniffling. “Yeah,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I’ll see you later. In recovery, if they let me. I’ll be waiting.”

“Okay,” he said, trying to reassure himself. He’d see her later. Either she would be waiting for him, in recovery... or he would be waiting for her, in a very different place.

Either way... it would be okay.

That was what he kept repeating to himself in the operating room, as the medications took effect, carrying him off into oblivion.

***

Chapter 149

Oblivion was dark, but all of a sudden, there was light. A bright, white light.

It overcame Nick; he could not take his eyes off of it.

And then, all at once, it was gone, pitching him into darkness again.

And then he heard a voice.

“Pupils are equal and reactive to light.” It was a woman. “That’s a good sign.”

“How long before he wakes up, Dr. Johansson?” The second voice was male and very, very familiar. Brian?

“Hard to say. He could be coming around in another half hour to an hour, but it could take longer. Every patient reacts to anesthesia differently. Either way, we’ll have to keep him sedated for awhile so that he doesn’t fight the vent, so he’ll be pretty out of it. Go ahead and sit with him for awhile though, and touch him. It helps the healing process.”

He felt a small hand take his and heard a soft sigh. “God, it feels so good just to hold his hand again.” Realization dawned on him as he processed the female voice.

That was Claire...

“I was so scared,” she said.

“We all were. I still am. It’s so hard to see him like this. I mean, to think not even two days ago, he was on stage, singing his heart out. And now...” He trailed off.

“I know. Isn’t it scary to think how quickly your whole life can change? All it takes is a few seconds... a few words... and suddenly, everything’s different.”

“Don’t I know it.”

There was a long silence then; he could feel Claire playing with his hand, weaving her fingers through his, her thumb gently caressing the back of his hand.

He tried to squeeze her hand, but his fingers felt like they were made of jell-o and didn’t want to move. He tried to open his eyes; but they felt as if they’d been glued shut.

He couldn’t move; he couldn’t speak. He could only listen.

All of a sudden, she broke the silence. “Bri, have you ever said anything out of haste... something you’re not sure you really meant, but you just said it because...

because it felt right?”

There was a pause, and then Brian’s voice replied, “Sure, I guess so. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I...” She hesitated. “He can’t hear me, can he?”

“I don’t think so... I think the anesthesia pretty much knocks out all your senses.

I don’t remember hearing a thing while I was under for my heart surgery.”

“Good... because... well... God, I dunno, I’m so confused.”

“Why? What happened? Who said what?”

“Well, he said it first,” she said with a sigh. “He said... he told me he loved me.

When I first got here. And I said it back.”

“... And?”

“Well... I don’t know. I-I don’t know if he meant it... I don’t know if I meant it. I think that maybe we both just said it because... because we were scared. But once he’s out of the woods, and the fear is gone... what’s left? How are those three words going to change our friendship?”

“Why don’t you think he meant it?” was Brian’s question.

She snorted. “I don’t know what to think, honestly. He has me so confused. It’s

like this game of hot and cold with him; one minute he’s acting like he’s interested in me, and the next, he wants nothing to do with me. So I can’t help but think that when he said ‘I love you,’ he was just scared, you know? And when he wakes up, maybe he won’t feel that way... and then what? I can’t keep playing this game with him. It’s already hurt our friendship, and... well, I don’t want to lose that with him. The friendship.”

“But what about you? Do you love him?”

Another long pause. Her thumb stopped stroking his hand. Finally, she said, “I don’t know. I-I think I do... but I sort of wish I didn’t. Then it would be easy to just be his friend, nothing more, nothing less.”

“But if you knew that he loved you too, it would be different, right?”

“I guess... but how do I know he really does?”

“He does, Claire,” Brian said quietly. “Look, I’m his best friend. We’ve been like brothers for over eleven years now; I know him like the back of my hand. He loves you.”

“Does he?” Her voice sounded strained.

“Yes. I know he does. He told me some things the day of the concert... stuff that you don’t know.”

“Like what?”

“Like over the summer, when he pushed you away... whatever he said to you then, Claire, he didn’t mean. He lied. He felt bad because he thought he was tying you down, with him being so sick and everything, and he didn’t want to do that anymore.

He didn’t want to hold you back from living your life. I know he went about it in the wrong way... but don’t you think that’s a sign of someone who cares?”

“Really?” her voice rose.

“Really. Nick is hard to figure out sometimes; we all know that. And he may be my best friend, but let’s be honest – Nick is a gullible, naïve idiot when it comes to women. I don’t know what it is... maybe being within ten feet of the opposite sex scrambles his brain or something, but he just can’t see things coming. He can’t tell when someone like Mandy or Leah is manipulating him; he can’t tell what’s right to do around women that he truly cares about. And I gotta say, sometimes he’s very selfish...

or at least he used to be. But this... all of this... it’s changed him. Claire, you’ve changed him. I know that he must have really hurt you, but you have to understand, he was really just trying to help you. He was putting you first, above himself. He wanted you to be happy, even at the cost of his own happiness. And trust me, he was unhappy without you. Ask AJ or Howie; they can tell you even better than I can.” The grip on his hand tightened, and he heard her sniff. “God, he’s so stupid,” she whimpered. She was crying again; he could hear it in her voice. “So stupid.... When he comes out of this, I’ll have to teach him a thing or two about women.” Brian chuckled softly. “You do that. Teach him. And love him.”

“I will,” she whispered. “I do love him. I do.”

And Nick loved her too. He could not tell her or show her now... and by the time he fully came out of the anesthesia, he would have forgotten completely the conversation that had taken place while he was still unconscious. But he would still love her. And she would love him. He would never have to know of her doubt.

***

Nick woke up feeling as if he’d just run a marathon...

In subzero weather...

And then been run over by a tank shortly after crossing the finish line.

Not a pleasant feeling.

He was groggy and disoriented, as if he’d been woken up suddenly from a very deep sleep, but he definitely didn’t feel rested. He was exhausted, his chest and entire left side hurt, and on top of all that, he was freezing cold. He looked around, wondering, first, where he was and, second, where everyone else was.

One quick survey of his surroundings, and his first question was answered.

Hospital. He’d just had surgery. And apparently he’d survived because there was no way he could be in this much discomfort if he were dead.

His second question was answered when a woman in her mid thirties appeared beside his bed. “Hi, Mr. Carter,” she smiled down at him. “It’s good to have you awake.

My name is Renee, and I’m a nurse. Do you feel all right? Any pain?” He nodded slightly to her last question, aware that there was still a tube down his throat, and that he could not talk.

“I’ll up your pain meds,” she said, adjusting something on one of his IV’s.

“There, that should help. Can I get you anything else? Another blanket maybe?” Nurses rocked. If he’d been able to smile, he would have. He settled on another nod of his head, and she said, “I thought so. I’ll be right back.” She left his bedside briefly and returned with a blanket. She draped it over his body, expertly smoothing out the wrinkles and tucking it in around him. “There we go,” she said. “Your friends have been in and out. Would you like me to go see if they’re still here?” He nodded again and waited while Renee went off to find the guys and Claire. He struggled to stay awake, but his eyelids felt heavy, and it was tempting to just let them fall and go back to sleep. But before he could drift off all the way, they were there, surrounding his bed.

“Hey, Nicky,” Howie said with a gentle smile. “It’s good to have you awake.”

“I know you’re probably tired though, man, so we won’t keep you up,” added Brian sympathetically. “We just wanted to pop in and say hey and see how you were doin’.”

He was grateful, but even in his hazy state of disorientation, he couldn’t help but wonder about the surgery itself. Had it been a success? Had they taken out the tumor?

His eyes panned across their faces, trying to read the expressions there. Nothing.

No one was telling him a thing, and he could not ask them. But then he caught Claire’s eye. He let his eyes bore into hers, silently questioning her.

“They got it, Nick,” she spoke up. “They got the tumor.” Thank God.

Kevin nodded. “Yeah, we talked to your surgeon, and she said they were able to remove the whole thing. So rest up,” he said with a smile and patted Nick’s right shoulder. “You’re gonna be alright.”

Nick nodded slightly and let his heavy eyelids slowly close. Within a minute or two, he had slipped back into a deep, dreamless sleep.

***

By the following day, Nick was much more lucid. He was on a steady flow of pain

medication, which he knew was keeping him from feeling the full effect of the surgery (thank God), and that gave him a lethargic, floaty feeling, but he was definitely more with it than he had been in the recovery room. He had now been moved to a cubicle in ICU, and it was here that he was able to evaluate his own condition.

The breathing tube had been taken out, but there was still a tube coming out of the left side of his chest that was draining fluid, according to Dr. Johansson, who had stopped by that morning to check on him. Dr. Kingsbury had come as well, and she had confirmed what Claire and Kevin had told him yesterday – Dr. Johansson and her team had managed to take out the entire growth.

“They sent part of the tumor to the lab for biopsy, and the results came back this morning. It was just like I suspected – the cells were Ewing’s sarcoma cells,” Dr.

Kingsbury had explained grimly. “But the good thing is, they’re gone now. And while you were under anesthesia, a sample of your bone marrow was taken too for testing, and that test came out negative. Your bone marrow’s still clear; no spreading there. Your liver function test is normal too, so it looks like the cancer hadn’t spread anywhere other than your lungs yet.”

Nick had wanted to ask if this meant he was cured, but he knew better. Every time he asked that question, Dr. Kingsbury replied that they didn’t call anyone “cured” until they had been cancer-free for five years. And just when he thought he was on his way to reaching that point, it came back to slap him in the face. So he didn’t ask.

Dr. Kingsbury had seemed to sense the question though because she went on, “So right now, I think it’s safe to say you’re back in remission. But after you’re discharged in another week or so, I would like to see you back here for regular check-ups – every three months. And I mean every three months.” She gave Nick a look, and he smiled guiltily.

“Gotcha,” he rasped, his voice hoarse from the breathing tube. “Every three months.” And he meant it. He knew he was damn lucky that they had been able to remove the tumor from his lung, and he was filled with new resolve, ready to heal and go on with his life.

Starting the first day after surgery, a respiratory therapist named Veronica came regularly to give him breathing treatments and show him techniques that were supposed to make him breathe easier. It hurt to take a deep breath, but as Veronica said, “If you don’t, you could develop pneumonia, and you don’t want that to happen.” No, he definitely didn’t want to get pneumonia again, so he made himself follow her instructions.

Kevin and Brian were both sticklers about the breathing exercises, making sure that he did them when he was supposed to. Brian had gone through the same sort of thing after his heart surgery, so he knew the drill. And Kevin... well, Kevin was just Kevin. In the meantime, Howie was always there when he needed some compassion, and AJ and Claire kept him laughing (or trying not to laugh, since laughing hurt too).

The five of them visited regularly, coming and going in shifts so that someone was always there with him, just like when he’d been in the hospital following the amputation. The guys would come two at a time, and Claire usually came alone, after she got off work.

More than anything or anyone else, it was Claire who unknowingly gave him the drive to get better. He knew he had another long recovery ahead of him, but once that was past him, he could look forward to a future with her. How long of a future, he did not know. Who knew what fate had in store for the two of them. What he did know was

that something had to happen. He loved her, and she loved him back. Something would have to come out of that. Maybe it would last, and maybe it wouldn’t, but either way, they had to try.

Neither of them had spoken about it yet though. Nick knew it was just not the right time. He was anything but an expert on love and relationships, but even he knew it was not exactly romantic to ask a woman to be your girlfriend from your hospital bed in the middle of ICU. For now, they would stay at “friends” status. The next step would come later, when the time was right. He just hoped that she was willing to wait for that time to come. That she was willing to wait for him.

***

Chapter 150

Nick awoke with a start and looked around. It took him a moment to remember where he was. His bedroom was dark. Someone had drawn the curtains, and... was it night time already? The sun was still high in the sky when he had lain down for a nap earlier. He sighed. Another day wasted, it seemed. All he did lately was sleep; it was amazing how much this operation had taken out of him.

Even now, two weeks later, he spent a great deal of his time in bed, for he was still weak and tired easily. To his dismay, Dr. Johansson had told him it could take up to two months for him to recover completely. Two months... that would take him past Christmas, New Year’s, and even his birthday. February seemed centuries away.

But, slow as it seemed, he was healing. The incisions were closing up nicely, although he would always have scars. A large one that stretched across his side, starting at his chest and wrapping around to his back, where they had opened him up during surgery. And below that, a much smaller one, where the chest tube had been put in. He tried not to think too much about them. They were just two more marks to show what he had been through, two more signs of his imperfection.

Minor ones though, compared to the obvious, he realized as he slowly sat up, his eyes sweeping over the flat bedcovers beneath which his left leg should have rested. He was used to the sight by now, used to the void. New Year’s Day would mark the nine-month anniversary of the amputation, and after nine months, he had come to accept it.

It was as much a part of him now as his leg had once been. Hair grew back, and scars thinned and faded, but no matter how much time passed, he was never going to get his real leg back. The stump that stopped just above the knee was a constant reminder of that, a permanent battle scar remnant of the war he’d been fighting for nearly two years.

Part of him wished he was not in the public eye because it might have been fun to invent some wild tale of how he’d lost his leg. An animal attack maybe – like a shark or a tiger or maybe even a rabid moose. Or perhaps some kind of crash – he could say his leg had been severed by the tail rotor of a helicopter while he was busting some kind of kick-ass Neo-like Matrix kung fu move on the roof of a building, or that it had been crushed by a tank randomly rolling through the streets of a major U.S. city.

The real story seemed kind of lame in comparison, he thought as he chuckled softly, wincing as pain tore through his chest. He stretched his arm out, his hand flailing blindly across the night table beside his bed. His fingers found what he was looking for and curled around it. Popping open the childproof lid of the orange pill bottle, Nick shook out one of his prescribed pain pills and downed it with a swig from his water bottle.

No sooner had he eased himself back down against his pillows to wait for the medicate kick in than there came a light knock on his door. A thin beam of light brightened the room as the door opened a crack, and Claire stuck her head in.

“Nick?” she called him softly.

“Hey, I’m awake,” he said, his voice low and throaty from sleep.

“Oh good,” she said, coming into the room. “It’s almost eight; the concert’s going to start.”

“Eight?” he repeated in disbelief, shaking his head. “Man, was I really out that long?”

“Yeah. More than just a power nap, huh?”

“I guess,” he muttered.

“So do you want to watch it in here or go out to the living room?”

“Living room,” Nick replied quickly. “I’m sick of being in bed.”

“Okay.” She helped him get out of bed and waited while he put his leg on. Then she took his hand and walked slowly alongside him as he made his way out of the room.

He was slow-moving these days, for each step robbed him of energy and breath. By the time he sank down onto the couch in between Claire and Brian, he felt exhausted.

“It should start in a couple of minutes,” said Kevin, checking the time and changing the channel to CBS, the station that was airing their charity concert. The concert was expected to have high ratings, especially in the wake of Nick’s surgery. Not a word had been leaked to the press until after the surgery, and then a press conference was held, although many details were withheld, and the seriousness of the matter was downplayed. As with Brian’s heart surgery in 1998, they had stressed the words

“elective” and “routine,” not wanting to upset the fans any more than they had to.

“Elective, my ass,” Nick had scoffed later. “It was either have the surgery or die, basically. Some choice.”

Kevin, Howie, Brian, and AJ had stayed in town the past two weeks, helping to deal with the press and see that Nick was taken care of. Since he had been discharged from the hospital, they had stuck around the house with him. Tonight they would all watch the concert together. And tomorrow, they would leave, all but Howie. Brian would fly home to Georgia, and Kevin and AJ to California, while Howie would remain with Nick so that he could drive between Nick’s house in Tampa and his own Orlando home. Claire had been spending a lot of time at Nick’s house as well and would continue to do so after the guys left.

“And don’t you dare try to push me away because this time, I’m here to stay,” she’d told him firmly one day. “You need someone to be with you, and I want to be with you. That’s what friends are for.”

He’d agreed without hesitation to that one, although he couldn’t help but wonder if it was just coincidence, or if she had finally gotten the idea of what had happened that summer. Of course, he had no recollection of the conversation that had occurred between her and Brian while he was still coming out of the anesthesia.

“Shh, it’s starting,” Kevin shushed AJ, who had apparently been talking about something, though Nick hadn’t heard a word he said. They all fell silent and focused on the television as the concert they’d performed not even three weeks earlier began. It was so strange, Nick thought, to see himself up on stage singing, looking vibrant and enthused, and to know that two hours after that footage had been taped, he had been strapped to a gurney in an ambulance, on his way to the emergency room. That whole night was a blur to him, and it felt like it had all happened ages ago, the concert especially.

But as he watched the performance now, his heart swelled with pride. He hadn’t been well that night – in fact, he’d been much sicker than even he had realized – but it was almost impossible to tell. Maybe the adrenaline surging through his body at the time had kept his symptoms from showing themselves, or maybe he had just done an exceptional job of masking his illness, but he thought he looked and sounded fine. Just a little breathy, sometimes a little shaky, and flat on a few notes... but in general, he thought he’d done well. The group as a whole sounded wonderful, and Nick was glad.

They had talked about releasing this concert on DVD, with part of the proceeds going to

benefit cancer research. If the concert did well on TV that night, it would surely be put out on DVD.

Nick was glad when they got to the solo performances. Sitting there with Claire, he couldn’t wait for “Open Arms.” He hoped that she would get it, that she would figure out the song was for her.

The audience’s applause for Kevin’s piano solo was cut short, as the intro to

“Open Arms” began to play. Beside him, Claire drew in a breath. “You sang this song?” she asked delightedly, looking over at him. “I love this song.”

“I know,” he smiled and reached for her hand. Then he turned back to the TV, but every now and then he would steal a glance at her. At first, she stared at the screen, as if mesmerized, but when he reached the end of the first chorus, she turned and met his eyes, looking at him in wonder. He couldn’t help but smile, and as soon as he did, she did too, a pink blush creeping up her cheeks.

“Nick... was that... were you-?”

He nodded slightly, squeezing her hand. She squeezed back and scooted closer to him, snuggling up against him to watch him sing the rest of the song. “I love you,” she murmured when the song ended, her voice so soft that only he could hear it. He smiled broadly and ran his hand up and down her arm before pulling her even closer to him.

“I love you too,” he whispered back, just as softly, just as secretly.

“Didn’t I tell you, D?” AJ said loudly, startling Nick, who looked up to find AJ

grinning at Claire and him like the Cheshire cat.

“Tell me what, J?” asked Howie, whose grin looked identical to AJ’s.

“Didn’t I tell you that sooner or later, those two were going to end up together?” Howie chuckled, sending a wink in Nick’s direction. “Yes, you did, J. Yes, you did.”

***

Epilogue

The water had been gray and murky, but now, as the sky began to lighten, the dark waves began to reflect the shades of orange, gold, and mauve that stretched across the horizon, slowly and surely pushing away the star-speckled navy blue of the night sky to make room for the sun. Nick watched its progress from the bow of his boat, where he stood, leaning against the railing, gazing pensively out at the vast expanse of water.

So lost in the moment was he that he did not notice Claire coming up behind him until she was right there. The silence of the dawn was shattered when she spread her legs wide, planted a foot on each of the bottom rails, and rose up, shouting at the top of her lungs, “I’m the king of the world!” She let out a few whoops as Nick got over his startle and started laughing.

“Jesus, Claire, I think you just gave everyone in Florida their wake up call!” he exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief.

She giggled. “Florida and Texas, probably. Sorry, you standing at the front of this big ol’ boat just made me think of Titanic.” He snickered and stretched his arms out at his sides. “I’m flying!” he cried in a high-pitched, girly voice.

He felt her arms wrap around his waist from behind and her breath on the back of his neck as she leaned in close. And then... “Damn it, you’re too tall!” she exclaimed suddenly. He smirked over his shoulder at her, and she said, “I was gonna kiss you from behind, like Jack and Rose! But you’re too tall; I can’t reach!” He laughed. “Maybe that’s cause we’ve got the roles reversed. I think I’m supposed to kiss you. Like this.” He turned around to face her and pulled her into his arms, lowering his face to meet hers. Her arms circled around his neck, and the railing dug into his back as he kissed her slowly, savoring the taste of her. “That better?” he asked, when they broke the kiss.

“Much,” she smiled. “Almost makes up for you making me get up at 5:30 in the morning on my birthday.”

“Hey, quit your bitching, woman. I promised I’d take you out on my boat sometime, and here we are. Just wait till you see the sunrise – that will more than make up for it,” he said, turning so that he was standing beside her at the bow of the boat, facing east.

“I know,” she said, her arm encircling his waist. “I was just kidding. I’m glad you brought me out here. It’s beautiful already, and the sun’s not even up yet.”

“Hey, I owe you, birthday girl. I missed your birthday last year, so I had to do something nice for you this year.”

“Nah, I already told you, we were even for last year. I missed yours too. And I didn’t do anything that special for your birthday this year either.” His twenty-fifth birthday had been quiet and low-key – breakfast in bed in the morning, a movie in the afternoon, pizza – Nick’s favorite food – at Leonardi’s – their favorite restaurant – that evening, and cake and ice cream at home that night. Howie had met him for lunch the day before, and the other guys had all called to wish him happy birthday – or in Brian’s case, sing him happy birthday – but on his special day, it had just been him and Claire. And it was perfect.

“My birthday was great,” he told her emphatically. “And you cooked – that’s special, right?”

She snorted and grinned sheepishly. “Got that right.” Cooking was not Claire’s forte, but he had to admit, she’d come through that day, fixing him a breakfast that had actually been pretty appetizing and baking his birthday cake herself. Okay, so the cake had been a bit lopsided and sort of sunken in the middle... and maybe the frosting did run a little... but it had tasted good, and that was all that really mattered. She’d even written his name on top in green frosting. He’d teased her, asking if she’d been drunk when she wrote it, for the lines of frosting were incredibly shaky.

“Ugh, I should have just bought a cake from the bakery at the grocery store and had them put a giant picture of me on the top,” she’d said with a grin. “God, how tacky would that have been?”

He laughed. “I would have liked it.”

“Of course you would.”

“But I would have liked it even better if you would’ve hopped out of the cake in something festive... you know, like your birthday suit.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and received a light punch on the shoulder from Claire.

“Happy birthday,” she said, holding up her fist. “Want twenty-four more?”

“Oww,” he moaned exaggeratedly, grabbing his shoulder. “You hit the left one!”

“Oh, you’re fine, you big baby,” she’d teased him, planting a kiss right on top of the shark tattoo on his left shoulder. For a few weeks after the surgery, that shoulder, along with his whole left side, had been painful to move. But by the end of January, he had recovered almost fully, and the only lasting effects of the operation were the scars on his side.

It was mid-March now, and his life was back to normal... or as normal as it was ever going to get. He’d had a doctor’s appointment just the other day that Claire had driven him to personally (“so that you can’t jip again, Mr. Carter,” she’d scolded him impishly), and all the tests showed that he was still in remission. He knew that the longer he stayed that way, the less likely it was for the cancer cells to spring up somewhere else in his body. Once it seemed certain that they were all gone and not coming back, he would be considered cured. He couldn’t wait for that day, for the moment when he would walk out of the oncology clinic and away from cancer and all the horrors that went with it.

It had not all been horrible though. Ironic as it was, the worst thing that had ever happened to him had led to one of the best things – had he not gotten bone cancer, he would not have met Claire, who, in just under two years, had become his confidant, one of his best friends, and now, his girlfriend. His love.

He did believe in fate... he did believe that everything happened for a reason.

And now he was confident that they had both been put through as much as they had for one reason – so that they would find each other. And they had. And though things had been far from perfect, it had all worked out, and now they were together. For the first time in years, Nick was with a woman who truly loved him for who he was on the inside... not for how he looked, or how famous he was, or how much money he had. And he, in turn, had finally fallen for a woman based on who she was on the inside.

“Nick, look,” Claire gasped beside him, interrupting his thoughts. “There it is...” The sun had shown its face, just barely peeking above the horizon. It was gorgeous as it rose slowly, its golden rays making the water sparkle and streaking the sky with rich, warm hues. They stood silently watching it for a long time, side by side, their arms around each other. From a distance, their bodies seemed to meld into one, as

if they were made to stand so close, as if they were each just one half of a whole that could only be made when they were together.

And that was how Nick felt when he was with Claire – whole. Complete.

“That was beautiful, Nick,” Claire sighed, once the sun had fully left its shadowy hideaway, just beyond the horizon. “Thank you.”

“Hey, it’s not over yet,” said Nick. “The day’s just beginning. And now that the sun’s up... breakfast time!”

While she looked on in curiosity, he retrieved a picnic basket from under one of the seats. Opening its flaps, he pulled out a blanket and spread it out on the deck of the boat, motioning for Claire to sit down. She did, and he eased himself down beside her, once again digging into the basket to remove the rest of its contents – fresh muffins and bagels, cream cheese, fruit, and bottles of orange juice. And when he had unpacked all of this and spread it out on the blanket, he reached behind his back and scooped up the last item from the basket, which he’d quickly hidden when she was not looking.

“This is incredible, Nick,” Claire was saying, as she surveyed the spread of food in front of her. She grinned at him. “I had no idea you were this sweet. This is very...

romantic of you. The boat and the sunrise and breakfast and all...” She looked impressed, and he didn’t blame her. He knew he wasn’t the most romantic guy in the world; in fact, contrary to what the teenyboppers might want to believe, he sucked at romance. But he’d really made an effort to do something nice for her birthday, and apparently it was working. He was proud of himself.

“Ah, there’s more,” he said with a wink and presented her with the bouquet of flowers he’d been holding behind his back. There were a dozen yellow roses there... and a single red one.

She gasped and accepted the bouquet with delight. “I love the yellow ones!” she exclaimed, burying her nose in the dozen golden blossoms. “These are better than plain old red – red’s so... overdone.”

Glad he’d not bought her all red roses instead, he fervently explained, “I looked this up – yellow means friendship, so I got you yellow. And red means... red means ‘I love you.’ So, yeah... a red one too.”

She fingered the soft, scarlet petals of the single red rose in the center of the bouquet and smiled up at him. “It’s perfect,” she said.

“Good,” he smiled back in relief. “I’m glad you like it. Are you hungry? Want me to peel you an orange?”

“Sure,” she said, “but first I want a birthday kiss.” Leaning in, he kissed her tenderly on the lips. “Happy birthday,” he said and flashed her his famous Carter half-smile. “Want twenty-four more?” She smirked and bit into a muffin. “After breakfast. I’m starving.” He nodded and set to work on peeling that orange. He could wait, no problem.

They had the rest of the day. And possibly – dare he even think it? – the rest of their lives.

He didn’t know what the future would hold. He didn’t know how long they would be together, or even how long they would be friends. But he did know one thing -

whether they went on as lovers or went back to just being friends, he wanted her by his side. Because with her by his side, he felt normal. He felt like himself. And after two long, painful years, he almost felt like he was back on top again.

Well, maybe that was a stretch. But even so, his life was finally looking up. And

at that moment, if he could spend every day of the rest of it with her, he would. It seemed a life without Claire would be like a day without sunshine. But a life with her would be...

Complete.

“One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life. That word is love.”

- Sophocles

The End

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Chapter 88

Chapter 89

Chapter 90

Chapter 91

Chapter 92

Chapter 93

Chapter 94

Chapter 95

Chapter 96

Chapter 97

Chapter 98

Chapter 99

Chapter 100

Chapter 101

Chapter 102

Chapter 103

Chapter 104

Chapter 105

Chapter 106

Chapter 107

Chapter 108

Chapter 109

Chapter 110

Chapter 111

Chapter 112

Chapter 113

Chapter 114

Chapter 115

Chapter 116

Chapter 117

Chapter 118

Chapter 119

Chapter 120

Chapter 121

Chapter 122

Chapter 123

Chapter 124

Chapter 125

Chapter 126

Chapter 127

Chapter 128

Chapter 129

Chapter 130

Chapter 131

Chapter 132

Chapter 133

Chapter 134

Chapter 135

Chapter 136

Chapter 137

Chapter 138

Chapter 139

Chapter 140

Chapter 141

Chapter 142

Chapter 143

Chapter 144

Chapter 145

Chapter 146

Chapter 147

Chapter 148

Chapter 149

Chapter 150

Epilogue