Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas
Christmas had always been a big deal in the Richardson home. My father loved Christmas. When it started snowing and the land was blanketed in white and the stark contrast of the bare trees against the snow’s diamond-like glistening filled our dining room’s picture window, my father would burst into carols. His favorite was Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.

”Through the years we all will be together,” he would sing in a booming baritone voice, ”If the fates allow… So hang a shining star… up on the highest bough! Oh and have yourself… a merry little Christmas… now…”

The song is very melancholy, yet somehow my father made it sound special and warm. I remember spending winter mornings curled up at his feet by the fireplace, listening to him sing quietly as he stared out the window at the majesty and sipping hot wassail.

“Christmas is a time of miracles, Kevin,” he said to me once, when I was seven years old. “It’s a time of forgiveness and redemption and hope for a new life.”

I remember thinking that Jerald Richardson was the strongest, wisest man in all of the world.

After my father died in August of 1991, Christmas was never the same again. It was hardest to deal with his death when Christmas came. I’d stare out at the snow and the leafless trees and, instead of seeing magic and beauty, I’d see bitterness and death. Christmas became a time of pain and heartache, a time of grief and searing memories… and somewhere in the last nineteen years I forgot that Christmas had ever been a time of miracles at all…

The Invitation
You are cordially invited to a magical Christmas event!
Join the Backstreet Boys,
Brian, AJ, Howie and Nick
for a New England Christmas celebration on
December 23, 2010
at the legendary Wang Theater in historic
Boston Massachusetts.
There are a limited number of seats, so please, R.S.V.P. today at BackstreetBoys.com!
This event had Brian’s doing written all over it. I tossed the embossed white invitation down on my desk and leaned back in the chair. The Backstreet Boys had never done a Christmas anything before – not an album or a tour or an event, even. Brian had always wanted to. “It’s a magical time of the year,” he insisted, “We should share it with the fans.” But it had always been me holding us back from doing it.

Now that I was out of the band, apparently Brian had succeeded in twisting the other guys’ arms into at least doing a Christmas event. And I was, apparently, cordially invited to it.

It had been an especially long Christmas season this year. Not only was I going through my usual depressive grief that I experienced every season, but Kristen and I had been fighting almost non-stop for the past two weeks. Mason, at three and a half, was a ball of energy and she was exhausted. I was working during the day and I’d come home to find her messy haired and irritable, and it seemed like no matter what I did, I could do nothing right these days.

“Mommy’s mad at you,” Mason had sung out when I got home just a few hours ago, frustrated from a long day. Nothing had gone right for me in the past 12-hours and by the sounds it was only going to get worse. Mason giggled as he ran away and I took a deep breath.

Kristen had been sitting in the living room on a pink Victorian-style chair, her hands properly folded in front of her on her lap. I stood behind the floral-print sofa and rested my hands on it. She stared at me for a long moment. Finally I said, “I’m going to my office.”

She stiffened, “Fine.”

“What’s the matter with you?” I asked, looking at her pointedly.

Kristen’s eyebrows rose slightly, “You really want to say it that way, Kevin?” she asked.

I shrugged, “I can’t do anything to please you recently so why the hell not, at least I’d know why you’re pissed off at me for once.” I turned and scooped up the pile of mail that had come off the silver tray on a table by the stairs and stomped up them to the small man-room that I called my office. I slammed the door and sat down at the desk.

That was when I’d found the invitation.

There were some days that I wondered if leaving the Backstreet Boys had been my wisest choice. The band had been tiring me out, sure, but so was married life, so was this world that was supposedly so normal. At least when I was in BSB I had my friends around me all the time, I wasn’t constantly under pressure, Kristen understood that I was tired from working.

I sighed.

I stared at the little Christmas tree in the corner of the room. Kristen had insisted that something Christmasy go into my office, even though I hate Christmas. “You don’t hate Christmas,” she’d said when I told her this, “You grieve through it, and it hurts, but it’s Christmas… can’t you find any joy in it?”

The answer was still a resounding no. There was nothing about Christmas that made me happy anymore.

I wished things in life were different, were more secure. I wished on some levels that I’d never left BSB. I picked up the invitation. ”The door is always open for you to come back, Kevin,” I could hear AJ’s voice in my mind. ”We miss you.”

I wondered if that were still true.

Ice-Cold Reception
Nick was flung across the sofa backstage, a Santa Claus hat draped across his head, watching ABC Family’s 25 Days of Christmas when I got there. He barely even looked up, transfixed by the Heat Miser.

“Hey Cuz!” Brian shouted when I walked into the room, dusting snow off of my navy blue pea coat. He wrapped his arms around me and beamed. “It’s great to see you!”

Nick glanced over from the sofa as though he hadn’t noticed me before, “Oh hey Kevin.” He turned back to the TV again, grabbing a bowl of popcorn off the coffee table to his left and propping it on his chest.

“Thanks,” I said. I shrugged off my coat and laid it neatly over the back of a director’s chair that was beside me. “Where’s AJ and Howie?” I looked around.

“AJ went to get coffee and Howie’s not here yet,” Brian replied. He looked at his watch, “He should be here soon, though, his flight landed at Logan at 2:30 and it’s almost 4…” he smiled. “You look tired, Kev.”

“I’m okay.” I sat down. “So what have you all been up to?”

Nick was chewing the popcorn especially loudly.

“We were doing some taping last week,” Brian replied, “Down at Nick’s studio in Franklin…”

I looked at Nick, “You have a home studio now?”

“Yeah, why not?” he asked, shrugging. He laughed and pointed at the TV, “Oh dude, I love this part right here.”

“You were never into the technical part of the trade before, that’s all,” I answered.

Nick shrugged, “Shit changes, Kev.” He stuffed his mouth with popcorn.

I looked at Brian, who shrugged. Brian laughed, “G’Lord Kev, it’s great to see you here again, seriously.”

“Yeah, it’s cool being here.”

“Any chance you want to get on stage with us tonight?” Brian asked with a laugh and a wink.

“Well actua—“

“KEVIN!!!!” AJ’s volume echoed off the walls, interrupting me. “Shit man you came! This is great!!” He wrapped me in a hug. “Awesome, awesome. Here’s my real Christmas present, right here.” AJ grinned ear-to-ear. “I miss you dude.”

AJ’s girlfriend Rochelle hung in the doorway behind him, an almost shy expression on her face. I only recognized her from the pictures of her I’d seen on the Internet after AJ proposed to her. I’d never actually met her before now.

I saw another girl, who I assumed was Lauren, bend down over Nick and lower a cup of coffee into his hand. She kissed him on the mouth upside down, her hair hanging over them like a curtain.

AJ grabbed Rochelle and tugged her forward, “Kev, this is my fiancé, Rochelle. But I call her Monkee. Rochelle, the infamous Kevin Richardson.”

“Hey!” she said, grinning, “Great to meet you. Alex doesn’t shut up about you.”

“My apologies,” I laughed, “I must be a terribly boring subject.”

Rochelle’s cheeks reddened.

“And you must be Lauren?” I said, turning my gaze at Nick and his curtain of black hair.

The woman looked up and then glanced at Nick. She straightened up. “Yeah, I’m Lauren Kitt,” she held her hand out to shake and I did. She stared at my arm before letting go of my hand, then forced a smile and turned back to Nick, who grabbed her hand back and promptly pressed her palm against his cheek and grinned like a naughty child before pretending to bite her fingers.

We started talking and were promptly interrupted as Howie arrived, Leigh in tow, with baby James strapped to his chest in a blue carrier. James’ legs hung down and his arms were around Howie’s neck. He was asleep. Nick leaped up off the couch, and wrapped his arms around Howie from the back and patted James’ back. He grinned and squeezed Howie, “D! You’re here!” he cried.

Brian glanced uneasily at Nick, then at me, before turning back to Nick and Howie. I knew what he was thinking. It was the same thing I was thinking. That’s what Nick should’ve reacted like when I walked in the room.

Nick squeezed Howie until Howie shrugged him off, “Okay dude that’s enough now,” Howie said in a slightly Latino accent. Nick laughed, but obeyed and tossed himself onto the sofa again, and Lauren nestled down in front of him, pulling his arms around her.

“So you gonna perform with us tonight?” AJ asked, play-punching my arm once everyone had settled down from the Dorough’s arrival.

Nick looked over.

I took a deep breath, “Well that’s actually something I wanted to talk to you guys about…” I answered.

Nick’s arms tensed around Lauren and she glanced back at him with a questioning stare that he didn’t respond to. He stared at me, his face blank. AJ’s eyes lit up, and Howie looked eagerly at me. “What’re you sayin’, Cuz?” Brian asked.

“Well I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, and if the door is still open—“

A lot happened at once. AJ let out a whoop of glee and Brian jumped at me to hug me. Howie started gushing about the door always being open… and Nick… Nick shoved Lauren out of his way, which merited a cry of protest from her, got up and stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

The commotion of the other three fellas’ reactions died immediately as the door seemed to hum with the anger that had caused it to close so harshly. We stared at the door. AJ looked at me. “Ignore him, he’s just being a shit.”

Something in my stomach turned. “Has he been like this long?” I asked.

AJ looked puzzled. “Long? No he was goofing off this morning. We were planning a prank on How—“ AJ stopped. He looked at Howie, whose eyebrows were raised. AJ grinned.

“He was fine, Kev,” Brian agreed. He paused, “I think he… he was nervous about you coming.”

“Nervous?” I asked, “Or pissed off?”

Lauren looked up from the couch, “Pissed off,” she answered.

“At least someone’s going to be point blank with me,” I said, glaring at Brian. I looked at Lauren, “Why?”

Lauren shrugged, “Why does Nick feel any of the quirky little things he feels?” she asked. “I just listen, you know? I don’t know the intricate workings.”

I sighed. “I’m gonna go find him.” I pushed my way out the door, leaving the other guys and their girls collected in the dressing room.

Better Off
Nick was in the parking lot, smoking. It was below zero and his nose was brilliantly pink in color from the biting cold. He was leaning against the brick building, ankle-deep in soft powdery snow. He was staring at the slush on the edge of the curb, darkened to a murky brown color by passing traffic exhaust.

I hesitated in the doorway, holding the door so it didn’t bang shut. Heat rushed out and Nick looked up, feeling the rush of warm air, and scowled when he saw me. “I suppose you’re gonna bitch at me,” he said, holding up the cigarette pointedly.

“I’m not here to bitch at you,” I said, letting the door close. Nick brought his hand to his mouth and dragged deeply, then let the smoke escape from his mouth in a dark gray cloud. “You’re gonna get cancer, though,” I said pointedly.

Nick shrugged. “They’re my lungs,” he said simply.

I had to bite my tongue not to launch into a seminar about the health risks associated with the smoking habit. I sighed and leaned against the bricks beside him. Nick straightened up, flicked the cigarette into the snow banking and moved around me for the door to the building. “See ya inside,” he muttered, reaching for the handle.

“What’s going on Nick?” I asked before he could step inside. Heat poured out. Nick stood frozen, holding the door slightly ajar. He closed his eyes. “You’ve been ice-cold to me since I came in that door,” I said.

Nick shook his head, “I’m not.”

“Yeah you are,” I said, “It’s like you don’t want me here.” Nick looked up at me. His eyes said it all. “You don’t want me here,” I said.

“I don’t get it, Kev,” he said in a defeated tone, “You leave, you come back, you leave, you come back… you gotta make up your mind cos yanno, we’re not gonna sit around waiting for your ass to make up it’s fuckin’ mind.” Nick’s eyes had grown beady.

“Nick, I-“

“We’re better without you, Kevin,” he added, interrupting me. I felt like my throat had been ripped out. Nick stepped into the venue and the door closed behind him. I turned to the street, my heart pounding in my chest, the cigarette on the ground smoking and melting a circle in the snow. I stepped on it, crushing the half-used tobacco on the exposed cement.

I’d made a mistake thinking that things could go back to the way they’d been before.

When I got back in the dressing room, the other three guys looked spooked, Lauren was conspicuously missing, and Rochelle was rubbing AJ’s shoulders. I stood awkwardly in the door. Brian was rubbing his hands together nervously. He looked up at me. “Hey,” he said.

Hurricane Nick had struck.

“Yanno what, I need to go,” I said.

“No dude, don’t leave,” AJ begged.

I sighed and grabbed my coat off the director’s chair. “Nick’s right. I don’t belong here anymore,” I added.

“You always belong here,” AJ argued.

Howie nodded, “Don’t let Nick bother you, he’s just worked up.”

I shrugged my coat on. “Tell him I said bye, okay?” I asked.

AJ pouted.

Brian sighed heavily, “I’m sorry, Kevin,” he said.

“Don’t be,” I answered, “I’m sorry.”

I turned and walked out the door into the frigid cold New England air. I stuffed my hands into my pockets and walked along the sidewalk, bumping elbows with people as I went. My wool coat felt thin compared to the subzero air. I stomped down the stairs to the underground train station and bought a newspaper from a vendor and swiped my credit card for the fare. I strangled through the rotating barricade and walked through the convoluted tunnels of the Mass Transit until I found the platform for the next train that ran through to Logan Airport. I sat down on a bench and unfolded the newspaper.

I’d been sitting there ten minutes before the crackled sound system announced that my train was approaching the station. I folded the paper and looked up… and that’s when I saw him.

Across the rails of the train… on the opposite side of the tracks… sitting on a bench almost exactly like I was, holding a paper and a cup of coffee in hands covered by gloves with the fingers cut out… was my father.

He looked up at me and smiled.

“Dad?” I whispered, and stood up, stumbling toward the edge of the platform.

Suddenly, the train blasted into the station, whipping past me, only a foot away from my face. I stopped short and blinked in surprise. I could still see him in strobe-like flashes as the windows passed by me, the lights flickering from the train’s power moving through the tunnel. My heart was racing, my stomach dancing in my gut, my hands shaking and sweating.

When the train halted, I bolted through its doors onto the opposite side of the tracks, looking around in a panicked manner.

He was gone.

Jerald
I was pretty certain I was going insane.

I was back out on the street, my breath coming out in puffs of lingering smoke against the subzero weather. My fingers were numb and stiff, and my teeth were chattering, but there was only one way out once you got down to the train platforms, and I knew what I saw. There was no mistaking him.

“Dad?” I called, spinning around, looking in every direction, “Dad?”

“Watch out mister,” a kid called, running by pulling a sled with another kid on it. They disappeared into the park across the street.

“DAD?” I yelled again. The buildings loomed ominously around me, traffic sped by, honking horns in the distance seemed to play a melody of confusion. My nose ached. It suddenly occurred to me that there were probably a million Dads around in this area, so I tried a different approach. “Jerald? Jerald Richardson!”

Saying his name made the whole situation seem even more ridiculous. It made my heart ache. I was vividly reminded of my mother, calling his name through the house for weeks after his death… calling out offers for coffee or tuna fish sandwiches to the living room before remembering that his lounge chair was empty and would remain so. I remembered dialing the phone number and not remembering until I’d already asked for him that he was gone.

What was I thinking?

It’s not like there was a chance that he was alive and somehow alluded us for nineteen years. It’s not like there was any way that this man who I was frantically calling for was really my father. After all, my father was dead. I saw him die. We all did. We were in the room when his heart stopped. I was at the wake, I saw him in the pale blue suit and the white tie, sleeping peacefully on the satin that lined the casket. I heard the first clod of dirt hit the lid, and I’d left plenty of flowers and wreathes on the grave since.

But I know what I saw.

“Don’t be a fucking moron,” I muttered to myself. “Give up and go home. Or don’t. Nobody will fucking notice anyways…” I turned and shoved my fists into my pockets. “I’m apparently going insane… nobody needs me, nobody wants me… Everything’s just over. I should just fucking jump in the Charles and get it the hell over with… Do the fucking world a favor.”

I looked up at the dark sky. I could feel the cold freezing the tears that were filling my eyes. I felt worthless, like an old man sent to live at a nursing home because his family didn’t want him anymore. I lowered myself onto a bench by the tunnel to the subway. My throat closed up and the threat of a sob rested somewhere deep inside my gut, ready to burst out at any given moment.

It doesn’t matter if I even exist, I thought, I could disappear from the face of the earth right now, and nobody would be the wiser, nobody would give a fucking damn – not really. Maybe arbitrarily for a few minutes… a couple fans might wonder… but that’s about it. Nothing more would change. Nothing.

I’d never thought suicidal thoughts before… but maybe… just maybe…

I stood up, my mind racing a thousand miles an hour, trying to comprehend what I’d just decided to do.

A hand landed upon my shoulder, heavy and warm and real. I looked at it without turning my head to see the face. The hand was weathered, strong, tanned. Wrinkles and small round freckle-like marks showed its age and gave it character. I recognized the watch – a gold band with large, easy-to-read numerals, which I had given to him for Father’s Day once – and the arm and the shoulders and the neck and the chin… the familiar jawline that he’d given to me. My eyes met his, and my knees buckled. I thought for certain that I would pass out.

“Dad,” I breathed.

He smiled. “Ah Kevin,” he whispered.

“How…”

“We’re long overdue for a talk, son,” he said, wrapping his arm around me, “Long overdue.” His arm filled my body with heat, and I closed my eyes, sopping it up like a sponge. It had been along, long time since I’d felt such warmth run through my body. I reached up and clutched his hand that dangled off my shoulder.

Somehow, under the weight of his arm, even the freezing New England air didn’t feel so terribly bone chilling…

Coffee in a Diner
“Here you are sweetie.” The waitress dropped one mug and a stein of steaming hot coffee onto the diner table in front of me. “Can I get you any food?” she asked.

“I’m okay, really,” I answered, “Thank you, though.” She turned away, carrying her little order pad and moved off to start cleaning the counter with a damp cloth. I started assembling my coffee, ripping the little lids off the creamers and pouring sugar into the mug. My father watched in silence. “Are you sure you aren’t hungry or anything?” I asked him, “My treat.”

“I’m certain,” he answered. He studied the motions of my hands as I stirred the coffee, tapped the spoon on the edge of the mug and laid it on a napkin before lifting the steaming cup to my mouth. “You do that just as I always used to,” he said, his eyes traveling from my hands to my face now. “You’re a lot like me, I can tell, son.”

“I take that as an honor,” I responded, “A very high one at that.”

My father watched me silently for a few moments longer, then he leaned forward, reached across the table, and took my hands in his. “Kevin, I know you’re going through a lot right now… but what you were thinking tonight, it’s not true, and it bothers me that you might think those things.”

He’d always had an innate ability to see into my mind, so this statement didn’t surprise me at all. I looked into my coffee, as though it would spell out the words that I needed to say to answer him. I took a deep breath. “I’m frustrated, Dad,” I said, “I really am. I just feel as though maybe… maybe things would be better if I wasn’t around. I mean, Kristen and I are always fighting now and Mason’s stuck listening to that and that’s not fair to him at all. Then there’s the fellas, and Nick outright said they were better off without me…” I twiddled my thumb ever so slightly in the mug handle, running my digit along the smooth curve of the ceramic.

“Well Kevin,” he said, “I’m here to prove you wrong.”

I looked up at him and guffawed, “Prove me wrong?” I asked, “And how exactly do you think you’re going to do that?”

My father leaned back in the booth. “Well Kevin, you think they’d be better off without you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I answered solemnly.

He nodded, “Well then, son…” he smiled, “You never existed.”

“What?” I was confused, “What are you talking about?” I reached for my coffee mug, but it wasn’t there. “What the –“ I looked around the table, even side-to-side, as though the mug had jumped off the table. But of course it hadn’t. It was just – gone. “Where’s my coffee?” I stammered.

“If you don’t exist, then you never ordered it,” he answered simply.

My stomach did a little flip flop. “Okay dad,” I said, forcing a laugh, though my senses were strangely heightened, “Give me back the mug,.” I held out my hand.

“I didn’t take it,” he answered, “You don’t exist. You can’t order coffee if you don’t exist.”

The waitress stopped cleaning the counter top and walked towards us. I thought for sure she was going to stop at our booth, but she didn’t even glance our way. She started closing the blinds along the front of the diner windows before turning to retreat back behind the breakfast bar. “Miss,” I called as she walked by me, “Miss?” But she never even looked my way.

I looked at my father. “This is impossible,” I muttered.

“Christmas is a time of miracles, Kevin,” he answered in the same regal tone as he always had. I felt my throat close up.

“So I really never existed right now?” I asked, feeling oddly… light.

“Would I lie to you?” he asked. I shook my head. “Then no, you really do not exist right now.”

“It’s an odd feeling,” I said, “Not existing, I mean.”

My father smiled. “Let’s go see how everyone’s doing before we leave, shall we?”

“Leave?”

“Well we can’t stay here, not existing forever, can we?”

The Least Changed
It seemed like I blinked.

I shook my head, “How in the hell-“

We were in Kentucky, on my parents’ old farm. In the distance, I could see the Littrells’ house. Brian and I had grown up here. Sure, our families had both moved later, but this had been our childhood home. “What are we doing here?” I asked, surprised. I looked at my dad. “Is this like – Christmas past or something?”

“Wrong story, Kev,” my dad said, smiling sadly.

“But mom sold this house,” I stammered, “I bought her a –“ I stopped, realizing the keywords I’d said. I had bought her a new home, a smaller one that was easier for an older woman to keep up and to navigate. I gnawed my lip. “So she never moved.”

“Never,” my father replied.

“Well that’s a good thing,” I answered, “She always loved this house, she didn’t really want to leave even when I bought her the new place, so…”

My father smiled sadly. “Come, let’s go inside.”

I followed as he led the way to the front door and we walked inside. Nothing had changed since I was a boy. The furniture, the knick-knacks, everything was the same. Everything, that is, except my mother. She was still aged, as she’d been the last time I’d gone to see her. Even in her late years, my mom had a glow of beauty about her… but she seemed sad. She moved, wraith-like, from room to room, dusting the furniture with a cloth and some spray.

“Why is she so sad?” I asked.

“She’s lonely,” my father answered.

I thought of the long hours of Skype conversations she and I frequently had, the ones where she insisted I tell her every minute detail of the tours or, more recently, Mason’s every move, and when she told me stories about visiting the grocery store for beans and a recipe she learned from watching Rachael Ray.

“She doesn’t have that anymore,” my father intoned quietly. “The mortgage is so high, she can’t afford cable, and there’s no you to talk with.”

“What about Tim and Jerald?” I asked, referring to my brothers.

“They’re busy,” he answered. “And you were too but you always took the time out to call her, and you were always so patient to let her have her time she needed with you…” My father’s eyes misted, “But you don’t exist.” He smiled at me in a forced manner.

I stared at my mother as she paced about, dusting. I wanted to hug her. I moved closer and reached out a hand to touch her shoulder from behind. She turned, and her eyes lit up. “Hey mom,” I said. But before I could speak another word – she ran, right through me, to the front door, a flurry of excitement. “What the –“ I turned and looked at my dad.

“She can’t see us, Kevin,” he explained, “Nor can she hear us or feel us. We don’t exist... remember?”

My stomach churned.

“At least someone is around to visit her…” my father murmured, as my mother opened her front door and started gushing with joy. I couldn’t see who it was from where I was standing, I strained, listening.

“I was just about to make some chocolate chip cookies, dear,” she was saying, her voice trembling happily, “Let me see your coat. Take off your shoes, you can leave them there. I just washed the floor so keep your stockings on…” My mother came bustling around the corner, bee-lining happily for the kitchen.

“Cookies sound fantastic, Aunt Anne,” came a familiar voice, though the accent was much, much thicker than I’d last heard it. Brian followed after my mother, wearing dirty jeans, a plaid, long-sleeved shirt, and socks. He had a Wildcats baseball cap on and a pair of thin-framed glasses that sat awkwardly on his ears.

“Brian?” I gasped in surprise. I looked at my father. “But he’s in Boston, with the fellas.”

My father shook his head, but he said nothing.

Why isn’t Brian in Boston? I wondered.

I moved to follow Brian into the kitchen and he sat down at the small wooden table as my mother pulled a recipe book down from a shelf over the sink and started looking up the recipe for her famous chocolate chip cookies. The idea of them alone made my mouth water. Brian was sitting in the chair, seemingly contented looking.

“So how are things going over there?” she asked as she started collecting ingredients.

“Oh, you know,” Brian answered, “It’s quiet, as usual. Ma and dad are working on the song for choir tomorrow.”

“Aren’t you singing for Christmas?” my mother looked at him pleadingly.

Brian shook his head. “It’s enough that I’m going to be up there delivering the sermon, don’t you think?” he smiled and my mother laughed as she began mixing the ingredients into a bowl.

“I’m sure you’ll do a marvelous job,” she assured him.

I looked at my dad. “So Brian became a pastor instead of joining the band?” I stammered. Brian had started off with plans to go to college to go into the pastoral ministry, but I had -

I had called him and invited him to audition for BSB.

Brian never received the offer.

I stared at him in disbelief. He never got the chance to get out of Kentucky, to see the world. Brian never even moved out of his parents’ house. Despite, that, though, he seemed… content. He was there to visit my mother, he filled the void that I’d left behind. Sure, maybe he hadn’t gone into singing – his true passion - but he’d done what he’d always wanted to do. He’d gone to college, earned a degree, become a pastor, and kept his family close…

He was happy. Changed, but happy.

“C’mon…” my dad said, taking my hand, “There’s other things to see.”

The Alley
Suddenly, I found myself in an alley cast in shadows by tallish buildings that loomed overhead. It was a slim space (I probably could've touched both walls if I stood in the center and reached hard enough, or at least come damn close to it). Down to my right, some cars were rushing by in early morning sunlight. It reeked of rubbish and indistinct smells that turned my stomach... but also smelled faintly of - McDonalds?

I was just about to ask my father what this alley had to do with me not existing when a green metal door banged open and a pudgy version of Nick came out, hauling an overstuffed trash bag. He could barely pick it up. He got it just about out the door, and stopped, winded. He paused.

"Hurry it up, Carter, Jesus!" bellowed a tall, sharp looking man from inside. Heat poured out of the kitchen, and filled the alley with the smell of the burgers and fries. Nick nodded and pulled the bag out the rest of the way and let the door close.

The moment he thought he was alone, he dropped onto the ground, his back against the bricks of the building, and his hand massaging the stitch in his chest. He closed his eyes. "Fuck," he whispered.

I looked at my father, concerned, "What's wrong with him?" I asked.

"His heart is bothering him," my father answered.

"But I don't understand... when he got diagnosed with the cardiomyopathy he cleaned up, he lost weight... that had nothing to do with me. Why did that change?" I demanded, concerned.

My father shook his head, "He never got the diagnosis."

"Why?"

"He works three jobs, Kevin," my dad explained, "He's trying to make ends meet. He has child support payments."

"Child suppo--" I broke myself off, staring at Nick as he closed his eyes. "What about the band? Howie, Nick and AJ were in the Backstreet Boys before I was so I didn't change that..."

"They... broke up," my father said, "In 2001."

"Why?"

Before my dad could answer, though, Nick struggled to his feet. I watched as he stood up. He looked so... tired. I wanted to give him a pep talk, to encourage him and build up his ego. His eyes were dim. I stared at Nick's eyes. They were windows into a broken spirit.

"He never really had a father you know," my dad said, "Until you."

I looked down at my watch. Very similar to the one I'd given my dad, was one that Nick had given me for father's day in 1999. It was gold, with a nice face and roman numeral digits. Engraved on the back was the message To the man I admire most of all in the world, love Nick.

I ran my hand over it.

"Why would he not want me around if this was true?" I asked quietly.

My dad shrugged. "Maybe he's afraid you're gonna leave again."

I watched as Nick struggled to pull the bag down the alley toward the street. I could feel my eyes burning, threatening tears. Could that really be? Could it really be that Nick had responded like an angry child?

"It doesn't matter now," my father said, "You don't exist."

A tear fell from my eyes and onto my face and I closed my eyes, not wanting to see.

The Woman She Became
When I opened my eyes, we weren't in the alley anymore. Instead, we were out front of a little suburban home. It looked vaguely familiar to me - like something I'd seen once in a dream or something. I squinted at it. "What's this?" I asked my father, my eyebrows knit together.

"Don't you recognize it?" he asked.

"I know I should," I muttered, "But..." Then it clicked. I gasped. "This is Morgan's house."

"Mhm," my father nodded.

Morgan was the director of a play that I'd done when I was in college in Florida many, many moons ago. It was through Morgan and his play-writing experience that I'd actually met Kristen, who was one of his favorite lead actresses.

"What does Morgan have to do with anything?" I asked.

My father gestured to the front door just as two little boys about Mason's age came running out and bolted, yelling to each other, towards a van parked n the driveway. Both kids had on soccer uniforms and were yelling boisterously. I stared at them. They had big bushes of blonde hair, similar to Mason's but just a little redder, with Morgan's face, but still... there was something eerily familiar about them...

And then, there she was.

My Kristen.

She had a baby in a carrier strapped to her chest, and a cell phone cradled on one ear. A Canel purse hung off her elbow and she struggled to get the key in the door to lock it behind herself. She struggled to keep the baby level against her chest.

"Hurry up! Hurry up, mom!" screamed one of the little boys from the van window. "We're gonna be late!"

"I'm coming," Kristen said in an exhausted voice. I watched, slack-jawed, as she moved swiftly to the van and opened the door to toss in her purse. She moved around the van and opened the slider door and started strapping the baby into the car seat.

I moved closer, looking over her shoulder. It was a precious little girl with a button nose just like Kristen's. I felt my heart slam hard in my chest and I thought for certain she'd be able to hear ever thump it made in my chest.

Kristen had just gotten the baby buckled in when one of the two boys asked, "Mohh-ohhhm, did you remember those forms Coach needs today?"

"Ugh," Kristen let out a heavy sigh, "No, I forgot them. They're on the counter. Hold on." She started to unstrap the baby.

"I'll watch her, honey," I said instinctively, "You can go in..."

But Kristen ignored me, of course, and finished unbuckling the beautiful baby girl and, clutching her to her chest, moved back toward the house. I looked at the two boys. "You both stay right there," I commanded, "No getting into trouble." But even as I said it, the elder of the two punched the younger and the younger started screaming.

I bolted after Kristen. My father stayed on the driveway and let me follow her alone. I trekked into the house with her. Morgan obviously had made quite a bit of money somewhere since the last time I'd seen him - but not quite enough to actually buy a new house, or else he liked the one he had so much he just updated it. It was hard to tell which. I mean Kristen and the kids were all very, very well dressed and obviously well taken care of, and the house was no exception to that. It was immaculately clean and the furnishings were all gorgeous and expensive.

Kristen stopped in the kitchen and put the baby down on the tile, where she sat and sucked on her fist and cooed happily. Leaning against the counter, Kristen closed her eyes and stretched her back and neck the way she did when she was extremely stressed. I frowned, concerned, and walked over to her, planning to massage her shoulders and find out what the matter was, but she turned and passed right through me.

My stomach turned. I don't exist, I thought, I can't do anything to help her.

Kristen grabbed the forms off the counter and stood there, staring at them for a long moment. And suddenly, as though something she'd read had done the trick, she burst into tears and lowered her face into the crook of her arm against the counter. Her shoulders shook and her hair fell in clumps on either side of her face, like curly blonde curtains to hide her tears. My throat closed up. If there was one sound in all of the world that I hated more than anything else it was the sound of Kristen crying.

"Please don't cry, baby," I whispered, feeling goosebumps rising on my arms, "Please... Shhh, it's okay..." I reached for her back, desperate to do something... anything... to make her stop. But there was nothing I could do.

"MOM! WE'RE GONNA BE LATE!" The elder of the two boys was calling from the doorway. Evidently they were getting restless in the car.

"I'm coming honey," she yelled, straining to keep the tears out of her voice. She stood upright and swiped them away from her face as well, using the back of her hand, and lifted the baby girl up off the floor. "Come on Becky," she whispered, "Mommy's got you."

I followed her back out of the house and across the lawn. She handed the forms to the boys and situated the baby - Becky - into the car seat carefully once more. This angered the baby again, though, and the baby promptly began to cry.

"Aw mom does Becky gotta come? She's just gonna scream through the whole game..." whined the elder son.

"Yes, she does, Kevin," she snapped.

My heart froze at the sound of my name. Kristen had told me once that it was one of her very favorite names in all of the world. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. She didn't marry me...so she used the name for her son, I realized. I stared at the boy. He was the only Kevin she'd ever known.

Kristen climbed into the driver's side door and hesitated, holding the wheel in her fists, her eyes closed, before turning the key and starting up the vehicle. I watched as she backed the car down the driveway carefully.

"He's never home," my father intoned.

"Where is he?"

"Right now? Probably at a film set somewhere, maybe in California. Tonight? Who knows where he'll be... or who he'll be with," he added sinisterly.

"Does she know he's cheating on her?" I asked.

My dad nodded, "But where is she supposed to go? She's got three children to look after."

The van turned at the end of the driveway and Kristen pulled away. I wanted to run after her, to force her to see me, to shake her and tell her to leave Morgan and come with me.

"But she's better off without you, isn't she?" my father intoned. "C'mon Kevin. We're still not finished."

"I need to help her," I said desperately.

"You can't, Kevin," he said, "You don't exist."

Buisinessman
When I opened my eyes, we were standing in an ornate office with wide picture windows that overlooked a busy city scape. Cars rushed by floors and floors below – maybe 24 levels or more. Sitting at a desk, back-to that breath-taking view, was Howie. He was wearing a slate-gray business suit and his hair was cut short, like a buzz. He barely looked like himself, he had a angry, pinched-looking expression on his face, and he was busily tapping away keys on a keyboard,staring at a screen through thick-lensed glasses. On his desk was a small, round photograph of Leigh, his wife, in black and white. The walls were lined with bookshelves with titles that pertained to real estate, mortgage values, and property laws.

“So Howie went into business with real estate?” I asked my father, glancing over my shoulder at him. “So he met Leigh. Not much changed here…” I felt relieved. I was glad that not much had been altered for at least some of the people I loved. My heart was still racing for Kristen.

“Well…” my father hesitated, “I wouldn’t say that.”

“Why’s that?” I demanded, “He ended up with Leigh, he must have James at home…” My father shook his head. “What?” I asked, confused.

My father sighed, “Howie’s a businessman, Kevin,” he explained, “Actually, he goes by Howard these days, too.”

“Howard?” I laughed. I looked at him. Well, Howard did sound more distinguished than Howie, I suppose. I frowned, “And what exactly does his being a businessman have to do with James?” I asked.

“Well he’s never home. He never had time to be with Leigh. They’re contemplating getting divorced, you know…” my father shrugged, “Because he’s never there, they never had the relationship that produced James.”

I stared at Howie. Nick had boasted quite loudly that he could pinpoint the night that James had been conceived. “It happened on the tour bus!” Nick had insisted, even though, mathematically, it didn’t make sense. “It’s so true,” Nick had shouted, “Howie and Leigh were goin’ at it like they were rabbits or something!” Howie had blushed and Leigh had laughed and called Nick exaggerative. “I am not,” Nick had pouted, looking at me with eyes pleading to understand, “They really were – like bunnies,” and with that, he held his arms up over his head to demonstrate rabbit ears.

“If the band hadn’t broken up, he still wouldn’t be home – he isn’t home anyways, why does being a businessman versus a music man make a difference in his life?” I asked, watching as Howie paused typing, rolled his chair backwards and stared at the screen for a long moment.

My father shrugged, “Perhaps the work contains less passion, tires him out more. How should I know? I didn’t claim to have all the answers to why things work out the way they did… just that this is what happened… since you don’t exist and all.”

Suddenly the phone on Howie’s desk rang and I jumped a mile in surprise. He didn’t even blink. He continued typing. The phone rang. And rang. And rang. Finally, he groaned and picked it up, glancing at his watch as he brought the phone to his ear. “Dorough Properties.” He paused, then sighed, agitated. “I told you I was going to be working late. A whole shitload of foreclosures went down this week and I want them all, if that’s quite okay with you….” He leaned back in his chair. “No. I won’t be home for dinner, just eat without me and leave it in the fridge. I’ll reheat it in the microwave.” He paused. “Then order out, I don’t give a damn, frankly.”

I looked at my father, aghast. “He’s not talking to Leigh like that… is he?”

My father nodded.

I looked back at Howie, pissed. I felt like boxing him up the ears and lobbing his nostrils off. How dare he, I thought. He has more manners than that…

“You don’t get it Kevin,” my father stated cooly. “He loves work and money more than he loves his wife.”

“But…” I frowned. “That’s not – Howie’s always – he’s…” I swallowed and closed my eyes. “Was he there…” I whispered, “When Hoke died?”

My father shook his head. “He didn’t care to be. He and his family broke apart a long, long time ago.”

“What about Caroline?” I asked, feeling my blood run cold.

“That’s what split them finally. Howie wasn’t there, he didn’t care.”

“But the Lupus Foundation…”

“Give money away to people who should be earning and working for their own money?” My father laughed, “Get into the mindset, son, he doesn’t care about anything except lining his pockets and padding his bank account.”

I felt those goosebumps return. I shook my head. “I had no idea I changed so much in so many of my friends lives…” I muttered.

“No?” my father smiled sadly. “And to think, the worst is yet to come.”

“The worst is yet to –“ I stammered, “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Their lives are shattered, Dad… How could it get any worse?”

He frowned. "Come on, son..."

And suddenly, I felt very... very... afraid.

The Heartstopper
I didn't want to open my eyes. I was fairly certain I knew what I would see, and I didn't want to see it. "Kevin... look," my father's voice echoed in my ear. I shook my head. "Kevin."

When I was a boy and he really meant what he was saying - a command or a factoid he wanted ingrained in my head - he would say my name in that exact tone. It was heavy and forceful and solid, with an irresistible, unarguable finality.

I opened my eyes.

Sunlight was streaming through two windows over a sink, which were decorated with yellow curtains with tiny pink flowers on them. The sink was full of bubbly water and dishes poked out of the soap suds here and there, glimpses of pans and forks and plates. I rubbed the back of my neck as I peered into the sudsy water. I felt out of place, dismayed by the serenity of the scene I'd landed in.

Where the fuck am I? I wondered.

I looked around the kitchen.The fridge stood behind me, humming and proud. On it were several magnets galore. The lower half of the fridge had ABC magnets that were pushed around spelling out various "little" words, evidence of a child in the house, though I heard none. I stepped closer and peered at the top half. A whiteboard with markered on dates and times for meetings and a grocery list hung in the center, a marker hanging off it on a purple ribbon. Beside it were more magnets of various shapes. Then I saw one I recognized and I plucked it off the fridge. It was a koala bear shaped magnet with little googly eyes and real fur of some sort which AJ had bought in Australia the first time we went there, a long, long time ago. He'd given it to Denise as a gift.

This was Denise McLean's home.

"Why is there a child here?" I asked my father, looking at him. But he didn't answer. I put the magnet back and continued studying the fridge. Now that I'd spotted something familiar, I realized a lot of the things on the fridge looked familiar to me, and then in the very uppermost top right corner was a tiny framed photo of AJ and Denise. Denise was hugging AJ's shoulders, and he was peering out, one of the rare times in the mid-days of the band when AJ had removed his sunglasses. He looked tired and his brown eyes were sad, but Denise was smiling gleefully, clinging onto her sun as though her life depended upon him.

Suddenly, a little boy - clearly adopted - came bounding into the room, carrying a pot of Play-doh. He seated himself at the kitchen table. Denise came in behind him. The boy was probably six or seven, and was beaming ear-to-ear. Denise breezed through me to the cupboard, but as she passed the fridge, in a reflexive-like manner, she kissed her hand and touched AJ's picture.

My stomach turned.

I looked at my father. "Where is he?" I asked. Then, with an air of hopefulness, "Is he on tour? Wait, no he moved to California with Rochelle, right? He still met Rochelle?"

My father's eyes darkened. "He didn't meet Rochelle, AJ. There is no tour, the Backstreet Boys were over by 2001, remember?"

"A solo tour then..." I mumbled, feeling desperate.

"Kevin..." my father stared at me.

And he said it. He said it without even saying any words. I could feel the weight of his thoughts on my shoulder, of the words he was holding back resting on me. I felt my throat expand and my chest tighten and I became so dizzy, even as Denise and the little Asian boy were laughing and talking right beside me. This wasn't Denise's son, Denise's son was AJ, Denise's son was - was -

I couldn't even bring the word to my mind.

"He can't be dead," I hissed. The kitchen scene slowly faded away and I found myself kneeling in some grass. "Dad, he just can't be dead," I pleaded.

"Kevin, don't you remember what happened?"

I closed my eyes. "He can't be fucking dead."

"How many drugs he was taking... how often he was drinking and clubbing and you were driving him home... how many times you stopped him from killing himself on the tour bus..."

"Someone else had to have noticed," I begged him.

My father shook his head, "Kevin... you saved AJ's life. You were the voice of reason in a mass of chaos. Why do you think AJ clings so dearly to you?"

Tears sprang out of my eyes and I couldn't control them. They made my throat burn. I bent forward and grasped the grass in my hands. "AJ deserved a second chance at life," I said quietly, "He deserved better than he was giving himself, he- just no. He can't be..."

"Kevin... open your eyes, look around you..." my father whispered, "You were the only one who saved him in the end."

I sat up and cast a blurry glance around. I saw the grave, but I couldn't read it. I reached out my hands and felt the etched letters instead.

"Kevin," my father whispered, "Do you still believe that any of them would have been better off without you?" he asked.

My heart was slamming in my chest and I could feel my hands shaking against the cold granite stone and I shook my head bitterly, not looking at him or at the stone, just crying, out of control. "No," I gasped, "No they wouldn't have been any better off without me."

My father's hand rested on my shoulder. "Kevin, my boy, you were important, you were crucial even, in all of these people's lives..."

I sobbed.

"Come, Kevin, it's time to go."

I shook my head, "I can't."

He came closer, and knelt beside me. "You can't?" he asked, "Why?"

I pressed my cheek against the stone. "This can't happen, Dad," I pleaded, "Please... Make it okay again."

"I can't do that, son," he answered.

"No dad, please," I begged him, "Daddy..." I added, feeling like a little boy. I grabbed his hand, "Daddy please, you always made things right again, always. You were my hero, you saved me so many times, you were the one I always counted on, that I knew would never let me down. Please, help me now... Please make everything right again..."

My father's voice was low, "Kevin... I can't."

I felt my gut and my heart rip apart from each other inside me and I let out a moan of agony that I hadn't heard come out of my mouth since the day he had died. It was an animalistic, pain-filled sound that wrenched itself right out of the very soul of a person... of my soul.

"Kevin," he whispered, "Christmas is a time of miracles, you know..." he said quietly.

"How can there be any miracles here," I gasped, "AJ is gone... Nick is destitute... Howie's a miser... Kristen is in agony... Brian doesn't sing... The world is gone mad." The words strangled me and I closed my eyes and returned my face to the stone.

"Kevin," he whispered, "You can fix this."

"How?" I asked.

He smiled... a smile so warming and so rich and so wonderful... that I would never forget it as long as I lived my entire life. "Ah Kevin, my son... all you have to do is........"

Wake Up
"...wake up."

Wake up? I asked... but the words echoed in my head, rather than coming out of my mouth. Dad?

"Wake up, son..." The voice was deep...

"Dad?" I blinked open my eyes and found myself staring up into the face of a man - a tall man with Red Sox baseball cap on. He was bundled up and had on gloves without the finger tips. He was dark haired and handsomly featured. From a distance - say, across a couple train tracks? - he could've been mistaken for my father, quite easily.

But he was not my father.

"Son, you need to wake up," he pleaded, "Are you okay? You took quite a fall there..."

"A fall?" I blinked in confusion... and realized I was laying on my back in crisp, ice-cold snow, made hard by the frigid air all around me. "I- I fell?" I sat up and looked around.

The public gardens loomed to my left, the train station to my right. A pool of ice sat by my feet, and this guy - this stranger who I'd chased out of the subway tunnel in a fit of delusion - was kneeling beside me, a concerned look on his face.

Then, panic struck me.

"Have you ever heard of the Backstreet Boys?" I gasped out.

He blinked at me in surprise. "Um.. of course.." he murmured, "Who hasn't?" He laughed. Then he said, "Well at least I know you don't have amnesia..."

"What?"

"Well you're one of them aren't you?" he asked.

My heart slammed in my chest. "Yes!" I gasped out the words, "Yes, yes! I do exist! YES!"

He looked at me like I was loony.

"Sorry," I muttered, getting a grips, "I just.. I had the most ridiculous dream..."

"Well, you hit your head on the snow so..." he said. He paused, "Hey, why aren't you over at the Wang Theater? My niece is there for the show tonight, actually," he paused, "Doesn't that start in like twenty minutes?"

I leaped to my feet. "I didn't miss it?" I cried, excitement coursing through my body. "AJ's not dead and I didn't miss the show!" I grabbed his hands and roughly pulled him into me and hugged him. I'm sure he was beyond perplexed by now. "Thank you sir," I cried, "But I gotta go." And I ran, being careful for the ice this time, back to the street, where I hailed a cab, rather than wait for the train. The cab would take half the time. "To the Wang," I cried as I hopped in. The cab sped through downtown Boston traffic, and I bounced in the backseat, barely able to contain myself, my every nerve ending on fire.

When it pulled up out front of the theater, I threw a large bill - not caring how large it was - at the driver and bolted out of the cab and into the theater's front doors. Fans were being let into the gates, and they screamed when they saw me, but I didn't slow down for even a second. I pushed past them into the theater's main room and down the aisle between the seats, past more screaming fans, until I reached the stage. With an agility I thought I'd long lost, I hoisted myself over the barricade, much to the shocked expression on the faces of the security guards standing behind it, and pulled myself onto the stage. They stared gape - mouthed at me - all in recognition, all in shock of my sudden appearance - and let me go as I ran for the backstage passageway.

The Boys were crowded around each other, clearly about to begin the pre-show prayer. Nick had his head rested on Lauren's shoulder, and Baylee was kicking a soccer ball around. Howie was getting ready to start herding them all into the circle for the prayer and Brian's arm snaked around Leighanne's back.

"I told you he wouldn't stay," Nick was saying to AJ, who was staring at the ground, his face disappointed and sad. Nick shook his head, "Kevin never stays..." he added, his voice sad, rather than angry.

Just then, Baylee looked up. "UNCLE KEVIN!" he cried, and he bolted for me, his arms spread wide.

All their head turned towards me. Eyes widened, jaws dropped, and AJ let out a "WHOOP!" and slapped Nick on the back, "And I told YOU he'd always come back!" he yelled, and AJ ran for me, very similarly to how Baylee had.

"Oh Lord," I cried, wrapping my arms around AJ, "You're fucking alive... and you..." I grabbed Brian, ripping him away from Leighanne. "You're here, you're singing..." Brian looked confused, as did AJ. I turned to Howie, who still had James' baby carrier strapped to his chest, "You have James!!" I kissed James' head. "You're not a miser!" I hugged Leigh, then Rochelle. "You're all here, you're all okay!" I felt like I might explode with relief.

"Where the fuck else would we be?" AJ mumbled, scratching his nearly-bald head.

Then I turned to Nick.

He had tears in his eyes.

I stepped over to him. "Nick..." I whispered. Lauren backed away and Nick looked at her, slightly panicky, then looked back at me.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I shouldn't have said that shit to you... I ... I didn't mean it, I mean... Kev, you're- you're the closest thing to a dad I've ever had and--"

Before he could finish, I pulled him into my chest and wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug. His arms melted around me, too, and I could fee his face press into my shoulder as he started crying. "I'm sorry I left," I whispered, "I'm not gonna leave again, though, I promise. I'm always - always - here for you, Nick. Always."

From Now On Our Troubles Will Be Miles Away...
"We have a really special treat for everyone tonight..." Brian was saying, holding his old-fashioned style microphone in his palms like he was cradling something precious.

All four of them were perched on stools that sat in pools of light cast by the spots that were on them, accented by the glow of actual candles. The vibe was very similar to that of our Night Out performance, and it had a comfortable, Christmasy feel, as a Christmas tree, strung with colored lights, loomed behind them. They had on dorky holiday sweaters - AJ's featuring a menorah and Nick's a light-up Christmas tree that blinked - and Santa Claus hats.

The stage floor was covered with oriental rugs and presents, individually wrapped CD singles of the fellas singing a couple Christmas songs, for the fans to bring home after the show.

Brian grinned, "Tonight, we have a very special guest appearance by -" he paused for dramatic effect, knowing once he started the sentence, everyone was going to go beserk, "My cousin, Kevin Richardson..."

"Oh my God!" screamed one girl. Several others echoed the cry. Others just screamed.

I walked out onto the stage sedately, and a roadie rushed over with a fifth stool for me to sit on. Nick grinned, "Welcome back Kev," he said, smiling, and I could see the joy glimmering in his eyes this time.

AJ reached over and squeezed my arm.

"Merry Christmas everyone," I stammered, in awe.

It was hard to believe, sitting there on the stage, that less than an hour ago - or had it been longer? - I'd been ready to quit existing... to give all this up. I smiled, "My father," I began, "Was a wonderful man.. and he loved Christmas more than any other holiday..." I smiled, "He said Christmas was a time of miracles, and - well..." I smiled, "Sitting here with you tonight... I.. --"

And then I saw her.

Kristen.

She had just pushed the door to the theater open. She was wearing a dress, with a long, wool coat on over it, and her hair done up nice and pearl earrings. She had on petite gloves and was carrying a little clutch. She looked like she just stepped out of an old fashioned western or something. Some film from the 20's anyways.

"Kris," I whispered. I stood up and all eyes turned to see my wife.

She walked smoothly down the aisle of the auditorium, Mason in tow, and carefully was assisted on stage by security. Fans watching. Several giggled and pointed or waved to Mason, who was hoisted onto the stage also and looked around, blinking at all the unfamiliar faces curiously.

Kristen wrapped her arms around my waist.

I wrapped my arms around her, too.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, "I've been so cold lately." I pulled her close and left a kiss on the crook of her shoulder where it met her neck. "I promise, it'll be different now."

Kristen's face was warm from the ice cold outside.

"I love you Kevin," she whispered.

"I love you, Kristen," I said in return, "Don't you ever forget that." I smiled. "I need you, Kris."

She smiled up at me.

I turned back to the microphone. "I believe in Christmas miracles," I said, smiling. "Because... miracles, the happen everyday. Miracles like my friends," I gestured to the fellas, "And my family." I squeezed Kristen's shoulder.

The band started playing quietly, and I cleared my throat.

"Have yourself a merry little Christmas..." I sang.. and in my heart, I could almost hear my father... singing alongside me... smiling because I'd remembered that Christmas really was a time of miracles after all.