After: Oliver


Nick

Dogface and me, we go way back.

She was the first girl who ever let me see her boobs.

I remember the day really clearly. We had a "secret club" where we sat in this giant abandoned pipe in the woods outback of her house where there used to be a quarry. We'd sit in that old pipe and dare each other to say swear words. Dogface was the first person who ever heard me say fuck. The word was like dirty music rolling off the tongue into the hollowness. One day, we got there after school and Dogface complained about gym class where a girl named Annalee who had the biggest boobs in our whole grade and was wearing a bra and everything had made fun of her.

"She called me a Flatty," Dogface complained.

"Well you are a Flatty," I answered.

Dogface frowned, "Am not. Take it back."

"You are, too," I replied, "You're flatter than me and I'm a boy."

Dogface had resolutely pulled her shirt up and grabbed my hand and pressed it to her chest. "See?" she demanded as my palm cupped her right breast. "I'm not a Flatty," she said.

I never went out with her. I'd already seen her boobs so there wasn't much else for me to try to conquest. And plus, I mean, she was called Dogface for a reason. Her real name was Ashley but I don't think I ever called her that before. Instead, Dogface became my wingman.

And that's how it stayed.

It wasn't until just now that I ever realized that I kinda sort of wanted something else.




Ashley

I sat up in bed. My eyes flickered to the clock on the bedside table. I didn't know what had woken me up. It wasn't like I'd had a nightmare or there'd been a noise or anything like that. I fell back into the pillow and stared at the ceiling, a funny, unsettled feeling crawling around in me. I closed my eyes, but rest didn't come.

I rolled and grabbed the remote and turned on the TV at the foot of my bed. It glowed and flickered and lit up the bedroom's darkness. I gnawed on my lip as it shimmered, a bodacious blonde chopped onions and tomatos like there was no tomorrow. She looked like someone Nick would go out with. I wondered if he had. He'd dated almost everyone in Los Angeles, so why not this Vanna White Wannabe?

My phone rang. I glanced over at it as it vibed and shook across the table top beside the clock. It took me a second to realize that it was Nick's ringtone.

Speak of the devil, I thought.

I reached for the phone, muting the TV as I did so. "I was literally just thinking of you," I said as I answered.

"Ash.... ley...."

The voice was only a breath. Like one of the ringwraiths in Lord of the Rings. It was so un-Nick-like that I could barely recognize it. Plus, he didn't call me 'Dogface'.

"Nick?"

"Sshhh..."

"Nick?"

"Hi."

"Hey," I said. Goosebumps were crawling up my arms, "You okay?" I glanced at the clock, "It's like three in the morning."

"...Oliver..."

"What?"

The line went dead.

"Nick?"

Before: Two O'Clock


Ashley

"Two o'clock."

Nick lifted his drink from the bar and casually turned, his mouth on the rim of the glass, lips cupping it softly. His eyes roved the faces and bodies at two o'clock until they landed on our target. He turned back to the bar and put the glass down on the coaster. He picked up a couple peanuts from the dish at my elbow. "Really?" he asked.

"Yeah, I think so," I replied. I was leaning against the bar, back to the beer drafts, Nick on my right and some drunk girl on my left who was making her also drunk best friend swear she wouldn't let her go home with any guys from the bar like, no matter, like, what.

Nick twiddled the stem of the martini glass between his forefinger and thumb, spinning it on the bar top. He ate another couple peanuts. "Why?" he asked.

I shrugged. "She's not as wasted as the girl on my left and she's not as desperate as the girl with the thong playing pool."

"There's a girl in a thong playing pool?" Nick's voice was pitched. "What time is that at?" he asked, turning around.

"Keep your cool, Carter," I said under my breath, "Breaking ranks for lingerie. God." I rolled my eyes and he turned back to the counter slowly. "She has jeans over it," I added, "It's less of a show than you're imagining."

"Any show is show enough," he muttered, but he stayed subdued, facing his drink. He fished out the olive. "Olive?" he asked, nudging me.

I took it and popped it into my mouth, watching our two o'clock target for a moment as I chewed. Nick took a sip of his drink beside me. Meanwhile, across the bar, two o'clock was hijacking a glass from a nearby table while none of its occupants were looking. "I'm telling you," I said, "She's the one."

Nick finished off his drink. "Strategy?"

"Hmm." I studied her as she downed the drink she'd stolen and shimmied her way onto the dance floor, her hands up, and a loud, trailing woooo escaping her mouth. She found her posse amongst the crowd and they started dancing together. "Just approach," I said with a shrug. "If you move right, you might end up with a two-for," I added.

Nick turned, eyes trailing to Two O'clock and handed me a second drink. I took it and swished it, looking down at it as Nick raised an eyebrow at Two's backside.

"I mean you could trust your own instincts - ignore those of your trusty wingman and fly solo with Thongs but," I shrugged, "I'm telling you. Two's a sure bet."

Nick nodded. "All right." He took a deep breath, shook his shoulders out, and exhaled on me. "Does my breath smell?"

"Like death warmed over," I answered. "Don't breathe on her unless you're a necrophiliac and you're into that."

"No breathing," he nodded, "Got it."

I adjusted his tie. "Go get her, Tiger," I said.

Nick handed me a twenty. "Don't forget to close the tab," he said. "And for God sakes, take a cab, I don't wana pick you up again off the fucking freeway at four A.M. because you were too damn cheap to get a ride."

"Of course."

I watched as Nick wove his way through the cloud toward Two O'clock, accidentally bump into her, and begin a conversation. Even from this distance I knew the exact game he was playing. I could read his lips, see the words rolling off his tongue. I turned and put the untouched drink Nick had given me back onto the bar and made my way to the coat check room, putting the twenty Nick had given me into my bra.

Outside, the air was chilly and I walked with my hands stuffed low in the pocket of my jacket. My breath formed clouds on the air in front of me as I moved through the city. Lights streaked by, horns blared in the distance. The city was unusually loud for shortly before last call. But it was nice, having all the noise, it felt less lonely that way.




Nick

I could hear my phone somewhere vibrating. I peeled my face off the mattress it was pressed against and heard a feminine sigh. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a mass of blonde hair. I sat up slowly, being careful not to disturb the owner of the hair. I slid off the bed and crouched, naked, on the floor. My phone continued to vibe and I followed the sound of it on my hands and knees all the way to my crumpled jeans in the corner of the room. I pulled the phone out of the pocket carefully.

Dogface's contact photo was grinning up at me from the LCD, her crooked front teeth all bright white and stuff.

"Hello?" I breathed the word.

"I'll let you look at my boobs again if you have even the slightest idea what that girl's name is."

I gathered my clothes as quietly as I could and hermit-crabbed myself out the open bedroom doorway and into the hall, where I struggled with the buttons and straps of my clothes until I'd gotten them on and hustled down the stairs, carrying my shoes.

"You don't even have a smart ass guess?" she teased.

"Shut the hell up," I answered, and I hung up on her.

She called back.

"What?" I demanded.

"Well?" she asked, "Was I right or was I right?"

"Yeah, you were right." I'd reached the front door. I carefully turned the handle and let myself out, pulling it shut behind me. "You're always right, I dunno what you're gloating about."

Dogface laughed. "I just like hearing you say it."

"Yeah well."

"And was Two O'Clock good?" she asked.

"Very."

"No follow up, though."

"No follow up," I answered as I reached my car door, pulled on my sneakers, and slid the key in the ignition.

"One day, Carter, I'll find you a girl that'll earn herself a follow up."

"I've had follow ups before," I argued. "I'm not a total man whore."

Dogface snorted. "You're a man whore for sure, Carter. Follow up sex has nothing to do with your man whore status. I mean you'll eventually find someone that you'll follow up on forever."

I rolled my eyes. "I call bullshit."

"Someday it'll happen, you'll see."

"Shut up," I replied, and I hung up. Again.

Before: Game Fourteen


Nick

Dogface lowered herself into the booth across from me with a sigh, putting her messanger bag down on the leather seat and scooting in. "Shit, Nick, today was horrible." She frowned and reached across the table and took my beer, slugging it down. As she drank, I made a motion to the bar tender for two more bottles.

The Buccs were on TV. It was Sunday afternoon and Dogface and I had found this one obscure little bar that was like a Buccaneers haven and we'd taken to coming here on Sundays to watch them lose -- I mean, to watch the game.

The bar tender came over and put the beers on the table. I nodded my appreciation and glaced at Dogface for the first time since she'd walked in. She was dressed in this weird tweed jacket and a silk, ruffly button up top like she was a seventy-three year old librarian with a whispering complex. "You're not in your lucky shirt," I said disapprovingly, "You're gonna jinx 'em." I took a pull on the beer, "Besides, that shirt should be burned," I added, turning back to the TV.

Dogface took a pull off her beer. "Do you want to know what happened today or what?" she demanded.

I waved at the TV.

Dogface sighed. "Nevermind then." She put the beer down and slid back out of the booth and grabbed her bag. "Fuck you."

"Where are you going?" I demanded, ripping my attention from the TV.

"You're a selfish ass," she said. She pushed the bag's strap over her shoulder. "I don't have the emotional vacancy to put up with your fat ego tonight." Dogface turned an started out of the bar.

It was a moment of truth sort of play happening on TV, so it literally took everything in me to rip myself away from it. As I jumped up out of the booth the entire bar exploded in shouts and applause, and I chased after Dogface on the wave of voices as she ducked out the door and onto the street.

"Hey," I snapped as I rushed the couple feet that separated us. I grabbed her arm to stop her walking and she spun around.

"Don't!" she yelled.

A guy walking by slowed down, eye-balling us. "You okay?" he asked her.

"I'm fine," Dogface said to him, "Thanks."

He glowered at me as he walked away.

"What the fuck was that all about?" I demanded, waving at the bar's neon sign glowing overhead.

Dogface sighed. "I told you I had a horrible day and you didn't give a shit."

"The Buccs are on."

She pursed her lips. "I'm sorry. I wasn't aware the Buccs were more sacred than the Pope for Christ's sake."

"Of course you were aware of that," I said.

Dogface sighed again. "Just forget it Nick, okay? I'm not in the mood for football."

"But you called me a selfish ass with a fat ego," I pointed out.

"Well you are a selfish ass," she answered, "That shouldn't come as a surprise to you."

I stared at her for a long moment. "Are you mad at me?"

Dogface rolled her eyes. "Jesus Nick, what gave you the clue?"

I shrugged.

"I just wanted someone to listen to me, that's all," she said, her tone exasperated. I have a feeling I was supposed to have known that instinctively somehow. I scratched my shoulder. "You were watching the almighty Buccs, I know, I just... I dunno, I thought I was more important. I was wrong. I'm sorry."

I felt bad for some reason. I don't know why. The Buccs are more important than whatever weird girly shit she was going through, I was pretty sure. I shuffled my feet a second. Then I realized I was probably supposed to say that she was more important - that was what the awkward silence building between us was waiting for. But I also wasn't supposed to lie, so I was sorta kinda in between a rock and a hard place and --

"Go watch the game. I'm going home." Dogface turned around and started walking down the street.

"Wait," I called, "How am I supposed to score tonight without my wingman? What about the celebratory sex after the Buccs win?"

"The Buccs never win," she yelled.

"They do too!" I yelled, "They've won at least twice this season!"

"They're on game fourteen Nick!" she shot back.

I shoved my hands in my pockets and watch her shape disappear into the dark as she walked away. I sighed, and walked back into the bar and sat back down at the booth and stared up at the game. I drank my beer. I glanced over at hers when mine was finished and pulled it over. I looked at it. The neck had her lipstick on it. I stared at it's weird orangey hue before wiping it off with the cocktail napkin under it and taking a sip.

I wondered what had made her day so horrible.

When the Buccs lost, I blamed her for not wearing her shirt.




Ashley

I found myself crying on my way home. I wiped my hand across my eyes, which burned as my eyeliner leaked into them. I snuffled, and pulled my coat tighter across my chest. I climbed the steps to my apartment two at a time and slid the deadbolt shut.

My pajamas had never felt so welcoming. I threw the silk shirt into the corner of the bathroom and wished death upon it as Nick's words echoed in my mind. Back in the living room, I paused at the pathetic little Christmas tree I'd put up, clicking its cord into the outlet. It glowed at me, mocking me with its happiness. I sank into my couch and hugged the throw pillow to my face. The apartment was silent.

I'd fallen asleep when I heard knocking on the door. Loud and persistant. I kept the pillow pressed to my chest as I walked over to it in the tree's dim glow. I pressed my eyes to the peephole and was treated with a fish-eye lens view of Nick's big nose. I sighed and opened the deadbolt and unlocked it. I walked away, letting the clicking be Nick's indication to come in. Which he did. He closed it behind him and stared at me as I returned to the couch.

"Lock it behind you," I said, sinking back into the cushions.

I heard the locks click and then his big feet echoed as he walked over. "Hey," he said, sitting down in the chair beside my couch. He was still staring at me.

I curled my knees to my chest, the pillow smooshed in between.

"So they lost."

"They always loose," I said roughly.

Nick was quiet a moment. I could see him struggling with the next words. "I'm sorry I didn't say you were more important than the Buccs."

I wasn't sure how to respond to that. "What an asshole thing to say," I said quietly.

"I'm trying here all right? You know I'm not good at this crap."

"At what crap, exactly?" I demanded.

Nick looked uncomfortable, like he was sitting in a drippy basement with a single lightbulb shining down on him and I was interrogating him. "You know," he said, "Like feelings and crap."

I drew a deep breath and dropped my knees into an Indian position. "I know," I relented.

"So tell me about your horrible day," he suggested.

I shrugged, "It's not a big deal."

"Was someone a dick to you? Do I gotta go beat the shit out of some one?" he asked.

"Yeah someone was a dick to me," I answered, looking meaningfully at him.

A slow grin spread across his face, "I can't beat the shit out of myself," he said.

"Why not? I was looking forward to watching that."

He jumped up and moved over and sat on the couch next to me. "You can slap my face if you want," he suggested. "Just get it out of your system once and for all."

"You'd enjoy that too much, you kinky bastard," I shook my head. "You get slapped enough by the women you sleep with and never call back, you don't need me to slap you."

Nick grinned and snuggled into the cushions next to me, his cheek leaning against my shoulder as he stared at the Christmas tree. "Your tree's crooked," he said after a long moment.

It was true, it was kinda curvy around the middle.

"That's why I bought it."

"You like curvy things?" he asked.

"I like rejects."

Nick laughed, "Then why the hell do you like me?"

I shrugged, "Beats the hell out of me."

Before: Unibrow


Ashley

"Army, Navy, or Marine?" Nick asked, sipping the dregs of his pint.

I studied the brunette we were circling tonight for a moment. She had a purse with little birds all over it and lipstick the color of a cherry red Mustang. But other than the slutty lipstick, she looked kind of prudey. "Navy," I answered.

Nick nodded. He ran a hand through his hair.

"You do know the moment you go over there she's gonna know who you are anyways, though, don't you?" I asked.

Nick looked over his shoulder at her. "You think?"

"I bet you anything you want that she went to see you on tour." I guesstimated her age quickly. "In 1999. When she was fourteen."

Nick laughed. "You think she's that young?"

"I bet she's still in college," I answered, nodding. "Nursing degree. She wants to help save lives." I said the last line as whimsfully as I was capable of.

Nick grinned. "She can practice on me."

I took a sip of my drink.

"Okay. So. No Navy."

"No Navy."

Nick nodded and slid out of his seat. "Wish me luck."

"You don't need it," I said, shaking my head, "This one's in the sack."

"Well, not yet," Nick answered, winking. He wandered away towards the Brunette.

I finished my drink and carried our glasses up to the bar. "Hey can we close our tab? Nick'll pick it up."

The bar tender nodded and ducked away with the dirty glasses. I glanced back at Nick and the brunette. They were already talking over at the booth, her hand caressing the back of his neck, her fingertips playing with the hair at the top of his spine. I gnawed my lip and turned away. A guy was suddenly in front of me, and it was a close call that he didn't dump a pint of beer all over me.

"Sorry," he said. He gave me a once over and ducked away.

Even drunk guys don't hit on me.

I stepped out of the bar onto the sidewalk and started walking down the street. It was my nightly routine. Get out of work, go hook Nick up, walk home, sit in the dark with the glowing Christmas tree, stare at the wall, think about Nick and his flavor of the night, fall asleep at some point, and wake up just in time to call him and get him out of the one night stand's apartment before she woke up.

I really needed to get a cat or a dog or something.

When I got home, I turned on the tree lights and sat on the couch and turned on I Love Lucy.




Nick

"So what are you doing for Christmas?" Brian was packing up the last of our equipment in the studio. He had a sore throat and he sounded like shit so we'd called it early.

"More like who is he doing for Christmas," AJ chortled. He raised his hand for a high-five and our palms clapped together as I grinned and laughed.

Brian rolled his eyes, "Well that's the holiday spirit," he said. He tucked the case under his arm and turned to load it onto the dolly. I made a face at his back and AJ snorted. "Wouldn't you rather spend it with family?" he asked.

I laughed, "Yeah, I'd love to go to my mother's and listen to her bitch that her new mother-in-law hates her table cloth." I shook my head, "I'll pass, thanks."

"What about Angel and Aaron or something," Brian suggested. "I mean, didn't y'all decide to stick together this year?"

"They're going to some whatever, whatever, party, something," I replied. Brian raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't paying attention really," I answered. "Angel called while I was with a girl and --"

"Was she good?"

"Angel?"

"No dumbfuck, the girl."

This last exchange was obviously AJ, not Brian. Brian turned away, exasperated. "There's no talking to you anymore," he muttered. He shoved the last of the cans onto the dolly and rolled it out the door.

AJ was still waiting expectantly. I shrugged, "Eh."

"You don't remember do you?" AJ laughed, "You've had so much sex this week that you don't remember." He shook his head in the way that proud fathers do when they're impressed with their kids. "Taking up the slack now that I'm off the market," he said, patting my back, "I really didn't think you had it in you, but you've done good, kid."

Howie came in from the van where he'd been loading the dollies as Brian pushed them out. "What's Brian pissed about?" he asked.

"Nick's getting laid more than he is," AJ said.

Howie picked up a water bottle that may or may not have been his originally and took a sip out of it. He shook his head, "Why do you guys gotta antagonize him? You know he's going through a hard time."

"If Rok is going through such a hard time then maybe he should get his balls back and do something about it," AJ replied.

"Yeah anyway," I chimed in.

Howie thumbed over his shoulder, "Also, Kevin wanted me to tell you guys that you can get off your asses and come out and help us anytime now."

AJ and I got up and followed Howie out into the parking lot. Kevin and Brian were unloading the dolly into the van. Howie rejoined them. AJ took a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket and lit up. He held the pack to me and I took one, too. We watched the other three guys load up the stuff. "So... How's Ashley?" AJ asked.

"What?" I asked.

"Ashley," AJ said, "You know - Dogface."

"Oh Dogface is okay," I replied. I took the lighter he was holding out and sparked the end of the cigarette. "I swear the girl can read minds like the sparkley guy in Twilight."

"Edward," AJ supplied, taking his lighter back.

"Yeah, the guy with the pleated pants."

"That look is coming back," AJ said with a shrug.

I took a drag off my cigarette. "Why?"

"Why is it coming back? I dunno. Maybe the pants companies are just sick of all the skinny jeans."

"No, no. I mean why are you asking about Dogface?" I asked.

AJ shrugged. "Just curious. She's kind of hot you know."

"Eh."

AJ laughed. "You don't even see it."

"See what?"

AJ shook his head, "What you've got right in front of --"

"Are you fucks just gonna stand over there or are you going to actually make yourselves useful?" Kevin called, interrupting AJ, as he turned around to aim the dirty brow at us.

AJ raised an eyebrow. "Why'd we let him back in the band again?"

"When you rub the unibrow, a genie pops out and grants you magic wishes?" I suggested.

AJ tossed his half spent cigarette onto the ground and scraped it with his toes. "Oh is that why?" he asked.

I shrugged, "It's the rumor. I've never dared to rub the unibrow long enough to find out if it's true."

After: Flashes of Light


Ashley

I stared at the phone in my hand as the dial tone replaced the strangest phone call Nick had ever given me. I hit the redial button and waited. His phone just rang and rang and rang, Journey blaring out at me as his ringback tone. After a solid minute and and a half of Lights, it clicked into voicemail.

"Leave one."

"It's me," I said, "Call me back. Now." I hung up and waited.

Nothing.

I got up, pushing my covers aside and pulled on my sweatshirt, shuffled into my sneakers and made me way into the kitchen. I opened the fridge and pulled out a Red Bull. I stared at my cell phone, which I'd put on the counter, and waited.

Still nothing.

Still in my pajama bottoms, I broke my one golden rule about wasting money on cabs and called for a ride to Nick's house. It wasn't far, but at four in the morning even the kitchen was a hike. I didn't worry about how my hair looked or if my make-up was smeared and blurry. The cabbie looked at me like maybe I should've at least taken a glance in the mirror before he turned back to face the road.

When we got to Nick's house I tossed my money onto the seat beside the driver and climbed out. His house was dark, but I let the cabbie drive off anyway and I walked across the lawn to the front door and banged on it with my fist. "Carter!" I shouted, knocking all the harder. "Get your ass out of bed, pretty boy!"

With every knock, my heart echoed an equally intense beat. Intensifying the more obvious it became that he wasn't home.

I checked my phone for missed calls. Still nothing from him. I tried calling again.

"Leave one."

I stood there on his front lawn, staring up at his house. "I swear on the Buccs, Nick, if you're pulling some kind of stupid prank, I'm going to kill you."

Then I tried breaking into his house.




Nick

Flashes of light.

Flashes of light. They say you see your life flash before your eyes when you die, but all I saw was flashes of light and flashes of her. Her red hair, her freckles, her ugly orangey-red lipstick. I saw her nose that was a little too narrow for the rest of her face, and her oversized, almost protrubent blue eyes.

I could hear stuff, too. But it was weird stuff, like being underwater. I picture the sound of the air bubbling clam in my fish tank to sound like this to all the fish and stuff. The suckers on the bottom of the star fish's legs as it walks across the glass.

Flashes of light.

I feel like I maybe am blinking, or drooling, or maybe both. My mouth feels funny, my arms are longer than they should be. It's like I'm an alien or something.

Flashes of light.

And Dogface.

Before: Holiday Hos


Ashley

"I need a favor." Nick flung himself into our usual booth at the bar. He looked slightly disheveled, and just a little bit desperate or crazy or something.

I liked playing with him when he got like this.

"What kind of favor?" I studied the label on my beer bottle.

"The kind where I need you to go to a party with me," he said.

I started picking at the corner of the label. "A party?"

"Yeah."

"When is it?"

"Tomorrow night."

I raised an eyebrow. "A Christmas Eve party?" I asked. "Looking for your holiday ho?"

Nick took a deep breath. "Well... no, not exactly... See... Okay. So at the studio the other day Brian asked me about my Christmas plans and they all teased me about my holiday ho tradition and stuff and I got thinkin' maybe I should spend it with family this year. You know, since it's the first since... since Leslie... and--" he paused. He almost never talked about Leslie, so this caught my attention more than anything else he'd been saying. I looked up from the beer bottle. "Anyways I... I called my Mom and she invited me to this party she's having."

"Your mom lives in Florida I thought?"

"Small detail," he waved it off.

"Nick, why do you want me crashing your family party thing?" I asked.

"I kinda... I told my mom that I... was... kinda.. seeing you sort of," he said slowly.

"Seeing me?" I asked.

Nick's cheeks puffed out. "Well she wanted to know about you know, me and the ladies and... I didn't want to tell her that her baby boy was a man whore."

"So you want me to go so I can tell her?"

"No... I want you to go to pretend to be going out with me so my mom thinks we're like, you know, a thing or whatever." He stared at me.

I snorted. "Your mom obviously knows nothing about us if she thinks we'd ever end up together," I said, "Right?"

Nick shrugged.

I stared at him for a long moment, probably a hundred thousand thoughts rushing through my brain and not a single one of them solidifying long enough to form words around them to ask him what he meant by the shrug.

Just as I finally found the words, and opened my mouth, he said, "I means she was surprised, but really she knows squat about me anyways so yanno. And I'm not taking a holiday ho home to momma," he added. "I don't even take holiday hos home." He rubbed his nose. "Usually the Mariott, you know what I'm sayin?" He held up his fist to bump.

I bumped.

"So... will you?"

"What?"

"Come with me to my mom's?"

I sighed, "How do you know I don't have plans?" I demanded.

Nick laughed, "Because, you're a holiday loser. Every year you sit home alone and watch It's a Wonderful Life and cry and eat the giant popcorn tin your brother sends you," he said. Which he was dead on. I'd got the tin in the mail the day before and it was sitting beside my couch at home already with Jimmy Stewert smilling up from the cover of the DVD package sitting on top. I swallowed. "So c'mon, break your date with George Bailey and come to Florida with me."

I sighed. Sitting at home and eating popcorn every year and tearing up as Clarence gets his wings really wasn't the ideal way to be spending the holidays... especially if it was so predictable. But was spending it alone the same way as the last ten years any better than going and pretending to be dating Nick, whose tradition of going out and hooking up with the yearly holiday ho was only slightly more pathetic, really any better?

At least George Bailey loved Mary Hatch. At least there was a happy ending.

"Okay," I agreed reluctantly, despite myself.

Nick grinned, "Great. Go pack. We leave in a couple hours."

"What?"

"I got the tickets, lets go." He stood up and waited for me to get out of the booth.

"You got the tickets? But you didn't even know I was gonna go..."

"Of course you were gonna go," Nick laughed, "You can't say no to me."




Nick

"I hope they don't miss me too much."

"Who?" Dogface looked over at me as we shuffled forward in the line of passangers boaring the flight.

"The hos," I answered.

"Why would the hos miss you?"

"Because I'm not here to bang'em..." I said wistfully.

Dogface rolled her eyes.

"I go hos in different area codes," I sing-songed as we did the shuffle toward the door. "I can bang cock in Bangkok, can't stop, I turn and hit the same spot... Think not I'm the thiller in Manilla, Schlong in Hong Kong, pimp'em like Biship, Magic, Don Juan..."

Dogface shoved me as we passed the airline attendant, who scanned our tickets and waved us through.

I kept singing.

"I got condoms in a big ass sack...I'm slangin' this --"

"Welcome to Southwest Airlines fight 282!" The overly bubbly, busty blonde flight attendant waiting at the door grinned at us as we stepped into the door of the plane.

Maybe the holiday hos wouldn't miss me after all.

"Heyyyy baby," I said, grinning.

She waved me on by. I continued grinning and staring at her as I backed toward the seating area, bumped into Dogface, who kinda almost tripped, and sank into my seat beside her a moment later still watching the flight attendant.

I turned to Dogface. "It's a Christmas miracle," I hissed.

She was tucking her backpack under the seat. "What?" she asked, looking up and pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

I shoved my bag under the seat, too. "She can be an extra special holiday ho. A mile high holiday ho."

Dogface glanced up at the flight attendant. "Shouldn't you be practicing for what monogamy looks like?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Monogamy looks boring," I whispered.

Dogface went back to shoving the bag under the seat.

"Dost thou not believe in Christmas miracles?" I asked in a goofy faux-British accent.

Dogface looked up again. "I hardly think you finding a girl you think is hot enough to bang could be classified as a Christmas miracle," she said.

"What else would you call it?"

Dogface thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Monday?"

"You're such a bitch," I laughed.

Dogface turned to her bag again, this time to get her headphones and iPod out. "I call'em like I see'em," she said.

Before: A Game of Clue


Nick

My Christmas Miracle Ho turned out to be Not a Miracle at all. As she passed us checking all the passanger belts were clicked into place properly, the gold band on her left hand caught the light streaming in from Dogface's window. "Looks like she's someone else's Holiday Ho," Dogface whispered once she'd passed by us, and was out of ear shot.

"Damn," I muttered, sitting back in my seat in frustration. "Breaking tradition is bad luck."

Dogface smirked. "It's okay, sweetie, the hos will be extra horny when you return to them in two days, that's all." She put her hand on my forearm, fake comforting me. "They will survive, Nick, and so must you. You need to move on."

"Poor hos," I muttered, shaking my head regretfully. "Nobody to take advantage of their Daddy issues. What will they do with themselves?"

"Maybe they'll gain some self respect," Dogface replied.

My eyes widened. "They can't. Not in two days. Right?"

"Not the whole city of Los Angeles. I don't think there's enough self respect karma in the universe to fix the whole of the Angel City."

"Oh good," I replied.

The flight was boring after I'd come to the unfortunate resignation that I wasn't gonna be having any holiday hos in the latrine. I was getting a little desperate, which I unfortunately only realized when I'd looked twice in the direction of a little old woman with blue hair. I glanced at Dogface, who was reading a book on her Nook. I leaned over. "What'cha readin'?"

She looked up, "A book."

"No shit. What book are you reading?"

Dogface contemplated for a moment whether she wanted to tell me or not. FInally, she replied, "Chinese Cinderella."

I pulled a face. Dogface had read and reread Chinese Cinderella about a hundred thousand times and I really didn't understand why. We'd been assigned to read it in school back when we were twelve. It was the most depressing book in the entire world about this Chinese kid that gets ignored and treated like shit by her family and in the end she gets treated like more shit by everyone else and eventually she learns to read or something. I dunno, but it's really depressing. But for whatever reason Dogface thought it was interesting or something and it'd been her favorite book since then and I think she seriously read it like twice a year. Maybe even more that I didn't ever find out about.

"Just because you don't like it doesn't mean I can't read it," she said hotly.

But she turned her Nook off and pulled out a deck of cards and we played a sloppy game of crazy eights on one of the fold down trays. Which I kept losing. After six consecutive lost games, I dropped my cards on the tray. "I don't wanna play this anymore," I complained. "You're cheating somehow."

"I'm not cheating," she said, "You're just terrible at this game is all."

I scowled, "I'm air sick and you're taking advantage of my handicap."

"You always have some excuse when you're shitty at a game," Dogface accused. "Like all those times you mysteriously got sick during Battleship just before I shot the last of your ships down, or that time when we played Jenga when you bumped the table during my turn."

"I did not bump the table."

Dogface raised an eyebrow.

"I own you at Clue," I shot back because I didn't really feel like arguing about the Jenga Game Incident. Which may or may not have been factual. I'll never tell.

"Only because you made up like fifty new characters, rooms and weapons and never told me," Dogface argued.

"So?"

"So last time it turned out to be a Zombie in the Gazebo with a Light Saber, Nick!" Dogface said, her voice getting a little squeaky as she said my name. "I didn't even know those were options!"

"I added it to the rule book," I said. Then I added, for emphasis, "In pen."

Dogface rolled her eyes, "Besides that - A, there isn't even a gazebo on the board, and B, Zombies do not have access to light sabers."

"It's not always logical," I said.

"Zombies and Light Sabers don't even exist in the same universe, idiot," she said, "At least normal combinations make sense."

"What the fuck would Kernal Mustard be doing with a rusty pipe, hmm?" I demanded, "That doesn't even make sense. That's something only the plumber would have."

"There isn't a plumber in Clue," Dogface said. She paused, "In normal people Clue."

"No plumber! Then who the hell is Mrs. Plumber married to?" I demanded.

"It's Mrs. Plum," Dogface said, rolling her eyes, "As in the color, or the fruit."

I shook my head, "You know nothing."

"I know nothing? It's Colonel Muster that has the rusty pipe, not Mustard, how's that for not knowing anything?" she demanded.

"Then why's his peg yellow, huh? Answer me that!"

"I don't know, but it's not Mustard," she said.

"You're a tard," I replied.

"No, you are."

"You are!"

"You."

"I'm tellin' my mom when we get to Florida!" I cried.

"Fine, go ahead," Dogface answered, "And I'll tell her what a manwhore you are. Your pipe's gonna get rusty if you ain't careful with all your Malibu Barbies."

"My pipe is not rusty!" I shouted.

Suddenly, Not-A-Miracle was leaning in front of me, her big bust right in my face. "Excuse me, is everything okay? I have a couple of passangers complaining about some shouting..." she smiled sweetly.

Why the hell did those boobs have to be the property of someone else for anyways? I wondered, staring at them.

"No we're fine, I'm sorry," Dogface said, her cheeks turning red.

Not-A-Miracle nodded, smiling still, "Indoor voices, please," she requested, and ducked away.

Dogface looked humiliated.

I watched Not-A-Miracle go then turned back to Dogface. "Think if I keep being naughty, she'll spank me?" I asked.

Dogface rolled her eyes. "You're a pig."

"And you're a bitch."

She laughed, "But that's why you love me."

I snorted, "Please," I said, "I don't love you."

Dogface laughed and turned to look out the window.




Ashley

Sometimes, I wonder if Nick has a soul.

I mean, it's funny because there's these moments with him where he's the most absolutely loving, kindest, gentlest person that I've ever met. He can make the entire world be bright and beautiful and safe and then turn around and be the biggest dick in the world. Like he's a giant penis with no heart. He just morphs into this whole other person, like a switch going off in his head. And it sucks because I never know which version of Nick I'm gonna get. And sometimes penis Nick can be really funny, but other times he just is so insensitive...

He kept nudging me, trying to get me to chat with him for the rest of the flight. He finally made due with just keeping a running commentary of his brain while I sat in silence staring out the window. He didn't shut up for a solid hour. And it wasn't until he got babbling during a showing of the Charlie Brown Christmas special that I finally had enough and answered him.

"Ever wonder why Charlie Brown is such a tool to Peppermint Patty? I mean she's like the only Peanut character that really wants anything to do with him and he treats her like crap..." he paused. "I mean, she's totally a butch and I bet she ends up with Marcy in the end, but..."

"What the hell kind of thing is that to say?" I demanded, turning on him.

He looked surprised. I'd been quiet so long I guess he'd believed I hadn't been listening to him. "Well - Seriously, Marcy's like a pining lesbian. I dunno why, I mean Peppermint Patty's ugly as all hell but --"

"Christ Nick."

"What?"

"You're such an asshole," I replied.

"What!"

"Only you could take a beloved Christmas story like the Peanuts and turn it into a Lesbian love triangle."

Nick looked flabbergasted, "Dude it's all right there in the story."

"Patty isn't even in this one," I pointed out, waving a hand at the teeny TV screen.

Nick shrugged. "I'm just sayin', like in general. Like in the Thanksgiving one."

"You're such an asshole."

Nick laughed. "Which reminds me... I was thinkin' the other day, and I think that if I die before you, I want you to destroy my computer hard drive before anyone else sees it. Especially if I'm married." He nodded.

I blinked. "What in the hell reminded you of that?" I asked.

Nick pointed at Charlie Brown.

I blinked.

"The lesbian triangle," Nick said, exasperated. "Because, you know - the porn stash."

I laughed in spite of myself. Only Nick could connect Charlie Brown to porn in less than a minute. "Oh Jesus Nick, I don't know about you sometimes, you're so fucked up."

Nick grinned. "Promise me you'll bust my drive before anyone sees?"

I rolled my eyes, "I promise to keep your porn stash my secret. I'll take it to my grave."

"Okay good. Also, you should also write like a heart warming memoir, you know, something about how good of a person I am and stuff."

"You're a good person?" I teased.

"Sure I am," Nick nodded, "I do like charity and shit."

"If by Charity you mean that girl you met at the Jack in the Box, then yes."

Nick grinned, "Ah yes, Charity. I remember her." He snorted. "I called that night a Nick in the Box value meal." His teeth were bright white.

"You're so sick," I laughed.

"So if you die, what can I do for you?" he asked.

I drew a deep breath, "Ohhhh, I don't know. Well for starters, you could not put Dogface on my tombstone."

Nick laughed, "But how else am I gonna find your grave to like, you know, put flowers and shit on it later?"

I raised an eyebrow. "You're gonna put flowers on my grave?"

Nick shrugged, "Who else is gonna?" he asked.

I laughed - but it was the kind of sad, hollow laugh that people give when it's not really funny. "Yeah," I said, "That's true."

We fell into silence for a long moment. The pilot came on telling us the temperature in Florida and that we'd be landing in a few moments, asking us to put our seats in the full upright position. I pushed the tray up into the back of the seat in front of me, the credits finished rolling on Charlie Brown, and Nick played with the buckle on his seatbelt.

He nudged my elbow with his elbow.

I looked at him. "Hm?"

"Don't ever die before me, okay?" he asked.

"Why? Putting flowers on my grave too much for you?" I half-teased.

Nick shook his head, "I just can't picture the world without you in it."

Before: Home for the Holidays


Ashley

Back in May, Nick woke me up in the middle of the night, banging on my apartment door, drunker than Jack Daniels himself. He'd warbled and droned out smatterings of explainations as he crash-landed on my couch, reeking of alcohol. I'd gotten a cool cloth and wiped his face until he'd closed his eyes, his face haunted with the dying embers of profound sadness. He'd been struggling since January to deal with his sister's death... and Nick doesn't exactly deal with things well or even rationally.

He does stupid things.

Like get drunk.

And wake me up at two in the morning four months later.

If he'd banged on anyone else's door by that point, they probably wouldn't have understood what was bothering him. On the outside, Nick seemed like he'd coped and moved on and maybe even become a better person because of his loss, like a lesson learned sort of thing. But I knew Nick better than to believe the outside. Hell, sometimes I think I know Nick better than he knows himself. Which is why that memoir idea of his is bad. Obviously that's not the only reason but it's one of the many reasons.

See, on the inside, Nick had been bottling, pushing and shoving emotions down until they were compact and compressed in teeny tiny little inescapable boxes of nerve endings. On the inside, Nick was trying to drown himself. He'd been sleeping around more and more and his once healthy habits were either forgotten or becoming more aggressive. He was jogging longer and harder until he'd call me and need a ride home because he couldn't muster the energy to walk back. In April, he'd sprained his weak wrist - the one he broke back in 2001 - while trying to lift a dumbell that weighed more than he does.

Honestly, deep down, I was worried about him.

So that night in May, when he closed his eyes, I thought he'd fallen asleep and I put the cool cloth on the coffee table and started to slip away when his hand grasped mine and his eyes blinked open and he strung his fingers through mine. Nick stared up at me. "Dogface," he said quietly, "It should've been me instead."

I shook my head, "Don't you ever say that," I said.

Nick stared up into my eyes. He has the bluest eyes you've ever seen. There's just something about them, when you look at them - like really look at them - they just go on and on and on like there's an entire galaxy in there. They were so sad that night though, his eyes, I mean. I felt like I could drown in them. He blinked them closed and tears snuck out of them.

"Oh sweetie, shh," I whispered, picking up the cloth and pressing it to his cheek, catching the tears, "Shh."

See, when things are compressed and compacted, eventually they expand and explode and everything in the world blows up everywhere. I knew that eventually I'd be picking up pieces of Nick off the ground.

I just prayed everyday that it wouldn't literally be pieces of him that I was picking up.

I say all this because this was the first time since Leslie had died that he'd gone to see his mother. Or any of his family besides the twins, who had become a bit of an instituion in the last six months.

And his mother wasn't exactly the nicest, most loving mother in the world.

I mean, she was the one who told him that she wished it was him instead of Leslie in the first place to trigger that whole episode back in May.

But Nick doesn't know that he told me that.




Nick

I stared up at the house. It was like that Mozart guy was playing a requium as I stared. I could almost feel the chill blowing across the lawn. I swallowed as I peered up through the rental car's windshield, leaning against the steering wheel.

"She has garden gnomes," Dogface said.

I nodded.

"Nobody with garden gnomes can be this intimidating." Her voice was gentle.

I licked my lips. "Yeah," I said. I reached for my backpack in the backseat. "I need a smoke." I pulled out a pack of cigarettes and climbed out of the car. Dogface joined me at the back bumper a moment later as I lit my smoke and leaned against the car's hatchback door. She didn't say anything, even though I know she hates my stress-smoking habit. We just stood there for half my smoke in silence.

"I haven't seen my family in years," she said finally.

I glanced over at her. It was really rare that Dogface talked about her family. I mean, I had a fucked up family, but Dogface's was even worse. She was adopted when she was four by a missionary couple who now lived in Uganda. She had no idea who her real parents were. She'd been shuffled through group homes until she'd been adopted.

"We'll go to Uganda for Easter," I said.

Dogface looked over, a half smile on her lips. "You're mental."

"It'll be cool. We'll speak Chinese and --"

"Uganda is in Africa, Nick."

"Okay so we'll speak African."

"They speak French."

"Why the fuck do they speak French in Africa?"

Dogface reached over and took my cigarette out of my mouth and tossed it onto the ground. She snuffed it with her toes. "My point, Nick, is that your family's rough, but you've all been through something terrible, but --" she took a deep breath, "You're gonna get through it. And you have the advantage of being able to do that. Together."

I nodded. Though I couldn't help but think far less positively.

"You're a good person, Nick," Dogface said. She reached up and fixed the tie I'd put on at the airport when we landed in Florida. She studied me for a long moment, seemed to approve, then said, "You deserve good things."

I glanced at the house. "C'mon." I reached out and grabbed her hand and we walked up the walkway to the front door. I stared at it. Dogface reached over and pressed the bell and inside an echo of voices and barking dogs resounded. I looked over at her, one eyebrow raised. She squeezed my hand. "I don't think I could've done this without you," I commented.

And then the door swung open.

After: Hang Ups


Ashley

I got hung up halfway through the window of Nick's garage, my body folded like a taco over the ledge, neither far enough in to pull, nor far enough out to push. I hung there, struggling against the house, my feet kicking against the outside wall of Nick's house, my airways being cut off as the window's frame cut into my rib cage. I scratched at the inside wall with my finger tips, fueled by the mental images of Nick laying somewhere in the house in need of my help. Then I caught grasp of a shovel, which promptly slipped between my fingers, and fell to the floor with a crash.

And the house alarm went off.

It was that sort of alarm that you feel vibrating your brain more than you really hear it. I squinted and covered my ears and let myself dangle there, half-in/half-out, picturing Nick somewhere in the house now feebly reaching out, unable to stop the alarm.

And then the alarm stopped.

I felt excitement rush through me and I looked up as the garage door opened, revealing a stainless steel kitchen and a stream of light that cast its glow through the empty garage. There in the doorway stood Chris, one of Nick's stoogey friends who I loathed mainly because he only seemed to show up when Nick was drinking or getting high.

Chris stared at me from the steps. He was unshaven and wearing sweatpants that looked dirty. "What in the fuck--" he started, but I interrupted him.

"Will you help me down?" I demaned.

Chris lumbered down the steps and over to me, reached out, and pulled me into the garage, copping a feel as he did so. I tumbled to my feet awkwardly and staggered into him before I could regain my balance and Chris grinned and winked at me. I stepped back, dusting myself off, slightly repulsed and reminding myself to shower later.

"What the hell were you doing?" Chris asked.

"Where is Nick?" I demanded at precisely the same time. My face was flushing though, even as I tried to play it cool, because it occurred to me suddenly just how stupid I looked, all worried and overreacting. I suddenly had a vision of Nick and Chris sitting in the basement, chugging Red Bull and smoking weed, filming videos of them setting Chris' hair on fire like the old days. I pictured Nick with his horrible drunk laugh that sounded like a barking seal.

Chris shrugged, "I dunno, he called and asked me to watch the dogs," he answered.

"When?" I demanded. And just as quickly as the image of Nick's seal laugh had come, it vanished and it was replaced by feebly-reaching Nick once more. "Where'd he go?"

"I dunno," Chris replied.

I felt like hitting him. Ass that he was, he probably was spending all his time smoking in Nick's basement and chugging Red Bull alone. His vacant expression only added to my suspicion.

Then it occurred to me. Nick was somewhere unknown, completely alone, and calling me saying cryptic stuff that doesn't even make sense. I had to figure out where the hell he was. I shoved by Chris as the panic rose up in my throat, muttering, "You're fucking useless," as I went. He followed me like a shadow up the stairs to Nick's studio-office and watched with a dopey look on his face as I started pawing through the paperwork on Nick's desk. "He didn't say anything about where he was going?" I asked.

Chris shrugged.

"Have you heard from him since he left?"

Again, Chris shrugged. Then he snuffled and wiped his nose on the back of his wrist. He looked like some kind of ape, like a science experiment gone wrong, like living proof of evolution theory.

It took me a few minutes of searching through papers to admit that the desk was no help in my search for Nick. There was just nothing there: nothing telling me that I was overreacting, but also nothing telling me that I wasn't. Chris just stood there all absent minded like while I searched.

I sighed and closed my eyes, my mind racing through a hundred different scary thoughts.

But the one that made me most scared of all was this silly, simple truth: He didn't call me Dogface.

Chris suddenly spoke, breaking the silence. "Want a joint?" he asked.

I opened my eyes just enough to squint up at him as he held out his palm, cradled in which was four thick joints, laying in the crook of his nicotine stained fingers.

"You stupid prick," I replied, repulsed. I shoved past him into the hallway.

"Is that a no?" he called.

I didn't answer.




Nick

It felt like hours since I'd heard Ashley's voice. What I wouldn't give to hear it again.

I squinted against the bright, flashing light. It flashed in a rhythm. Light... and dark. Light... and dark. Light... and dark. Like the light was swaying somehow.

There was a noise to my right and I tried to turn to look but the most blinding pain wrecked through my body as I attempted to turn my head. I felt trapped, and threatened, and the sound on my right seemed louder and closer and stuff and I struggled, trying to move, but I felt like I was strapped to the chair, unable to move. I fought against my bindings, but my every move burned through me. My head felt like it was being used as a kick drum.

It was a pain like I'd never, ever, ever felt in all my life before. A burning, tearing sensation and I let out a roar of agony, unable to choke back the reaction to the pain. "Oh fuck," I sobbed, "Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck!" Tears dripped down from my eye ducts, each one burning as they ran across my face. My face felt raw. I reached my hands - my abnormally long hands - and pressed them to my face gently, each cell of contact aching so badly I clenched my teeth. When I pulled my hands away, they were covered in blood.

I panicked.

Like so bad.

Before: Squirrels and Sweatpants


Nick

It was like an hour later before Dogface and I managed to escape the foyer of my mom's house to the basement guest room that she said was prepared for us. We went down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, both of us eager to get away. At the bottom of the stair well, Dogface flipped on the light switch and came to a stop. I stopped just behind her. I looked over her shoulder and saw it. The bed.

The one bed.

She took a slow step into the room and looked around. I looked around, too. But neither one of us saw a second bed. She turned to look at me, then glanced at the bed again. I licked my lips. She looked back at me. We both silently agreed not to speak of it, and both of us busied ourselves with tossing our bags onto the floor and opening them. I kept glancing back at the bed, though, then over at her.

I sleep with girls a lot but I don't ever sleep with them.

And even if I did, Dogface isn't a girl.

She's Dogface.

I ruffled through my stuff, rupturing all the shirts and pants and stuff so my bag seemed to ooze clothing artifacts, and I pulled out the pack of cigarettes I'd stashed down in the depths. I looked around for a window or a basement door that would lead to a backyard or something.

Dogface said, "You better not be planning on smoking those in here." I looked up. I don't know how she knew I'd pulled out cigarettes, considering she was back-to me, changing her shirt. Her back was narrow and smooth, her bra strap green with little yellow polka dots. I stared at her until she turned her head to look over her shoulder at me. "You know I hate the smell of that shit," she said.

"I know," I said.

Dogface bent over and grabbed another shirt from her bag, her jeans hugging her bottom, and she stood up, lifted the shirt up over the top of her head, and shimmied it on. I watched the material fall around her, landing on her hips. And I looked away, back down at my cigarrettes. I broke open the box and took one out and sniffed it, put it between my lips and inhaled without lighting it.

Dogface took a brush out of her bag and sat on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair.

"You're gonna get hairs all over the bed," I muttered around the cigarette.

"I'm sorry, but it was pointed out to me that my hair needs to be tamed," she said, "Not like I just flew across the country or anything, and not all of us a Jackie freaking Kennedy and capable of remaining perfect 24 hours a day."

She was referring to my mother's comments on her appearance when we'd been trapped upstairs. My mother had proceeded to give Dogface beauty tips almost immediately as she walked through the door. Including one where she suggested Dogface get botox on her chin and recommended a good dermotologist that could get rid of her freckles.

The brush made that loud scratching/ripping sound as she pulled it through her hair.

"At least you didn't have to listen to your future step-father tell you about the deer he gutted last week in North Dakota," I said.

"I wouldn't have minded being gutted, listening to your mother," Dogface answered.

"It was like reading the script for Bambi written from the hunter's perspective," I said.

Dogface laughed.

I glanced over at her and she was picking hair out of the brush, balling it up in her hands. "See, that's just gross," I said, waving my fingers at her, "Why's your hairs coming out of your head anyways, they should just stay in there, ugh."

"It's normal," Dogface answered, rolling her eyes.

"You're gonna be bald when you get old," I said in a threatening voice. "You're gonna have to get plugs and spray on hair, like AJ does."

Dogface rolled her eyes. "You're absurd. Like hair doesn't come out of your head when you brush your hair."

I shook my head.

"That's crap," she said, "You shed worse than a cat."

"Do not."

"There's hair all over your house."

"I have dogs," I said.

Dogface grinned, "Your dogs aren't blonde, dumbass."

"This is a stupid conversation anyways," I said. I turned back to my cigarettes, and stood up. "There's gotta be a door to the outside in here," I muttered. And I wandered back toward the stairwell and beyond into the unfinished half of the basement. I heard Dogface's brush start raking her hair again. The other side of the basement was full of boxes of crap all piled high in wobbly towers of cardboard. I moved between them carefully until I wound my way to the far wall, where I found a storm cellar door. "Eureka," I said. I climbed up the narrow cement steps and pushed open the metal doors. I found myself in the side yard of the house. I could see the rental car Dogface and I had arrived in sitting in the driveway.

I sat down on the edge of the grass and lit a cigarette, puffing in the nicotine like there was no tomorrow.

Dogface appeared a moment later, and I have to admit her hair did look better brushed. I wondered whn the last time she'd brushed it was. "Aren't you going to change?" she asked, looking up at me from the bottom of the steps.

"Why? I look good."

"Don't you want to get the plane smell off?"

"I like plane smell," I lied.

Dogface shrugged, "To each his own." She hovered there at the foot of the steps.

"Why don't you come sit?" I asked. She was making me nervous just standing down there.

"I hate the smell of those things," she gestured to the cigarette.

"So go upstairs and talk to my mother, then," I said.

Dogface scowled. "You're lucky I like you or I'd go back to the airport and spend Christmas in their lobby waiting for the return flight."

I laughed. "Don't tempt me. Whoever thought up this spending holidays with the family thing was a total masocist. Sadist? Masocist? Which one likes to fuck up other people?"

"Maybe they were both," Dogface said with a shrug. "They had to know how much being with family sucks if they were being a masocist which means they were torturing themselves by making it an institution, there by making themselves sadists as well."

"You're so fucking smart," I said. I pressed the butt of my cigarette against the step to put it out, and clamboured down the stairs. "That's why I keep you around you know, cos you know like everything in the universe."

"Not everything," she answered.

"It's true," I said. "Everything."




Ashley

The rest of the first day at Nick's mother's was just as awkward as the first hour had been. Jane kept telling me all these "beauty secrets" that were more like backhanded remarks about my appearance. Like suggesting a plastic surgeon for my nose, which she called beaky. I'd spent a good thirty minutes with my hand covering my nose before she pulled my wrist away saying touching my face would only make it more oily.

Nick seemed to be going through the same agony, though. True to his complaints, every time I overheard Jane's boyfriend talking to Nick, it was about some animal that he'd shot and killed. This included a tour of the trophy room, which took about an hour and Nick came back looking like he wanted to go throw up. I would've felt bad for him if Jane hadn't spent at least half of that hour lecturing me about biting my nails.

When Nick used jet lag as our excuse for going to bed at eight o'clock, I'd never been more thankful in my life for his smooth lying face. Jane shoved a cold, green gel pack into my hand. "For your eyes, dear," she said, "You're looking a little puffy."

I chucked the compress onto the desk in the guest bedroom the moment we were down the stairs. "My eyes aren't puffy."

"Squirrels," Nick said, his voice raspy with eagerness to say the word. "The mother fucker has squirrels stuffed and mounted to acorn shaped pieces of wood hanging on the walls upstairs. I'm not fucking kidding you. Squirrels."

"Big game hunter, huh?" I joked.

Nick shook his head, "It was like the room of death."

"So gross."

"Right?"

"In other news, your mom thinks I should get a nose job," I said.

Nick laughed. But he didn't say I shouldn't get one, or anything like that, which hurt. I turned quickly to my bag and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt of Nick's that I'd stolen forever ago. It was from a Journey concert we went to years and years ago. I pulled the shirt on and shimmied into the sweatpants. When I turned around, Nick was laying on the bed, legs crossed, arms up behind his head in nothing but boxers, and staring at me.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" I asked.

"Going to bed?" he said.

"If we're sharing a bed, you're putting clothing on," I replied.

"I have clothing on," he said, waving his big hands at his boxer-briefs.

"You're gonna need a lot more than that to sleep next to me," I answered. "Like a HAZMAT suit would be nice."

Nick laughed. "Shut up."

"I'm serious, put some pants on, I don't wanna be anywhere near that dingdong of yours, I know where that thing's been." I swatted at his legs until he begrudgingly got up and dug through his bag. I crawled into the bed and under the covers on the farther side.

"I hate sleeping in pants," he complained, "They ride up my legs and shit."

"Well you could sleep on the floor naked for all I care, but if you're sleeping in this bed you're putting on clothes."

"Maybe you should sleep on the floor, since you're the one that gives such a shit," he suggested.

"And lose my beauty sleep? Your mom would hang you for suggesting it."

Nick crawled into bed, now wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and socks and tucked himself under the covers. He rolled to look at me. "I have a condom in my wallet if you get to feeling frisky," he whispered.

"Don't hold your breath."

He chuckled as he rolled over and shuffled and moved and shook the bed for several long moments getting comfortable. "Night Dogface," he said finally. And that was it for the night.

Before: Sleep Cupping


Ashley

I woke up at three in the morning to feel Nick curled into me, his bare chest pressed against my back, his arm hooked around my shoulder and hand resting on my abdomen. He had his face pressed into my hair and the back of my neck, his breathing rhythmic and smooth. I lay still, just feeling him there, feeling safe and enjoying the warmth that radiated off of him. I was almost back asleep when I felt his hand shift slowly from my abdomen, under my shirt, and up to my boob...

My eyes popped open.

"What the hell are you doing?" I shoved him off me, sitting up rapidly.

I moved with such velocity that he was thrown off the side of the bed, hitting his head on the night stand as he flipped over and out. He made a noise akin to a large bull getting crosschecked as he hit the floor. "The fuck is going on?" he cried, and he sat up, his hair all messy and sticking up in weird places.

I sat there with the blankets pulled up to my chin. "You - you bastard, trying to feel me up..."

Nick scoffed. "Feel what up? You're a flatty, remember?"

"I am not," I snapped back.

Nick rolled his eyes, "I wouldn't touch you."

"You just did," I answered.

Nick looked surprised, "What?"

"You were cupping," I accused.

Nick shook his head, "I was not, you'd know if I was cupping you."

"I do know that you were cupping me!"

Nick snorted.

"You were sleep cupping, then," I accused.

Nick's eyes widened, "I don't sleep cup."

"You slept-cupped."

He stood up and glowered at me.

"Nick you were pawing all over my boobs," I said, exaggerating what happened only slightly, "I think I know what you were doing to my boobs."

His nostrils flared. I don't know why he didn't want to conceed on this, but he looked truly angry, and he set his jaw. "I wouldn't cup you," he said in a tone that sounded like I should probably take offense to it.

I did.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I demanded, "What? You don't wanna touch my boobs because they're somehow less boobalicious because they're attached to me?"

Nick huffed and rolled his eyes.

"My boobs are perfectly good boobs!" I shouted at him, "They're perky and squishy and they're perfectly centered and evenly distributed, unlike that girl you banged last week that looked like she needed a front end alignment."

"Her name was --" Nick faultered. He realized he had no idea what her name was. "She had great hair! And she had a mackaw, okay? That was her major drawback. Not the boob thing."

"So now you don't have follow up sex with people who have birds? Let's add that to your list of excuses why not to get serious with a woman! Because she has birds can join the ranks of moaned to loudly, offered me breakfast, and has adhesive ducks on the floor of her shower."

Nick glowered at me. "You fucking know how I feel about adhesive ducks."

"And you fucking know how I feel about smoking and yet you do it all the goddamned time around me." I rose up onto my knees on the bed.

Nick raised his eyebrow. "You're being ridiculous."

"I am not," I said.

"Look I'm sorry I sleep-cupped you or whatever," he said, "I didn't do it with my right mind. I wouldn't touch you with my right mind, okay? I'll sleep on the floor." I snuffled and watched as Nick grabbed one of the two pillows off the bed and threw it onto the floor. "I gotta take a pee," he announced and he disappeared up the stairs.

I sat back down on the mattress and grabbed the second pillow, hugged it to my chest, and stared at the door where he'd disappeared.

The bed was cold without him there.




Nick

When I got back downstairs, Dogface was curled up under the coversand my pillow was back up next to hers, the covers turned down on her side. I crawled in next to her, kept my back to her, and also curled up.

I lay there staring at the dark room, listening to her breath and feeling her body move up and down with her every exhale/inhale. I shifted a little, and she sighed and shifted, too.

I don't really know what it was I was feeling. It was something, though, something somewhere deep inside me. I turned my head and stared at the back of her, at the way her hair lay on the pillow. I wondered what in the world I would do without Dogface. See, a lot of people in the world think that Brian's my best friend, but that was never really true. I mean yeah he's always gonna be my bro and for a long time he was my best bro, but Dogface was always my best friend. Or maybe what she was went even deeper than that. I don't know if there's anything deeper than best friends other than maybe soulmates.

Dogface was always there for me when I needed her to be.

I guess what I was feeling was grateful.

I turned back away, staring off into the dark again, and she shifted behind me, and I heard her sniffle, and the blankets moved a little.

I sat up, and looked down at her.

"Dogface?" I whispered. She moved and looked up at me. Her eyes were blotchy and I realized she was crying. "Are you okay?"

Dogface nodded, "I'm okay."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded again and swiped her fist over her eyes.

"Then how come you're cryin'?" I asked. I lay down and held out my arm and she nudged over until my arm was around her shoulder and she was laying in the crook of it. She pressed her cheek against my shoulder. "People who are okay don't generally cry."

Dogface was quiet for a long moment. "Have you ever wanted for something so badly that you could almost taste it?"

I thought for a moment. "Like a sandwich?"

"No, not like a sandwich," she said, a tidbit of annoyance inching into her voice. "I mean like, something, something worth keeping forever."

I drew a deep breath, "Well, I dunno. I guess. I mean I wanted my career, you know? I wanted to be famous."

Dogface was quiet for a long moment.

I laughed, "I've wanted girls, you know? When you see that hot girl across the bar and you just know there's something there, something special, something... and you just gotta nail her all night long."

Dogface sighed a heavy sigh. "You're never gonna change are you?" she asked.

"I certainly hope not."

"Good night Nick," she said, and she rolled away.

"Was that it?" I asked, "That's all you were cryin' for? You thought I was gonna change?"

"No."

"What then?"

"Nothing. You don't get it."

"I can get it, if you explain it better."

"Nick, I could spell it for you and you wouldn't get it, so just forget about it and let's go to sleep before your mother comes down here and starts exfoliating my face or reconstructing my ears or something." She pulled the blankets up to her chin.

I sat there staring at the ball she'd formed under the covers. I sighed, and rolled back over, too, so we were back to back again.

"I think your nose is narrow," I said into the dark.

"Of course you do," she said. Her voice sounded funny.

"But I think it's perfect like it is," I added.

She was silent.

"And I like your freckles, too, also."

"Goodnight, Nick."

"Goodnight, Dogface."

Before: The Nutcracker


Ashley

Jane Carter has a thing for Nutcrackers. Her house was decorated with them like crazy, they were everywhere. And in the background, the Nutcracker Suite ballet music was playing quietly so that every now and then I had the brilliant opportunity to look about and find Nick across the room and watch him move around to the delicate tinkling of the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. I mean, it's not like he was specifically dancing, he was just moving naturally. It's just that everything he did at his mother's house seemed so precautious and delicate compared to how he usually moved that the music actually fit quite well. This is how I entertained myself while trying to ignore Jane's persistantly demeaning conversation.

And matters were not helped by anything when the other Carter siblings arrived, either. BJ just immediately started "helping" Jane at the "arduous task" of making my hair hang so "my angles weren't so severe" in my face. Then when the twins arrived, Jane spent several long moments grilling Aaron for every last detail of his life in New York, where he was playing on Broadway and getting lots of girls to fall for his sweet boy act that he'd perfected thanks to the help of his big brother. I could tell by the deer in headlights expression on his face that the last thing he wanted in the world was to admit to his mother that he was a playboy, too, and that he'd been dreading just such an inquisition.

He was saved by his twin, Angel, who came over after she'd spent a good deal of time blasting on Nick for losing at paintball last time she'd seen him in Nashville. "Hey Ashey," she said to me, grinning, "What are you doing here at a family Christmas?"

I mean the question sound innocent enough, but the intent behind it made me feel less than invited. I started to answer her, but then Jane spoke up:

"Haven't you heard," Jane said, "she and Nick are a couple now. Can you believe that, after all theses years..."

Aaron lowered his drink from his mouth, a bemused grin on his face, and I could tell that he most certainly did not believe it. Aaron, above all the Carter siblings, knew all about my status as Nick's wingman. Aaron had showed up last minute on his birthday one year and Nick didn't have a gift for him so he talked up my talent to convince girls to sleep with him and then employed me to help Aaron get hooked up.

The fact that Nick didn't think that was fucked up just explains how fucked up that is.

Anyways, now Aaron's eyes were glowing with desire to inform Jane of how not-coupley my relationship with Nick was, until I shot him dagger eyes.

"You two?" Angel laughed, her eyes dancing with amusement, "You and Nick... a couple?" She grinned, "What happened? Did he like knock you up?"

BJ choked on the white wine she was sipping, spitting it into her glass with wide eyes and puffed out cheeks. She looked like a blow fish.

Jane looked wildly at Angel as she raked the comb she was using to rearrange my hair, pulling the strands harshly. I felt like I was being scalped.

"Now Angel," she snapped, "Just because Ashley has gained a... considerable... amount of weight since - since...." she hesitated. "Since...February..."

"I haven't gained weight," I said, "And certainly not a considerable amount..."

"...and she isn't exactly the sort of gorgeous woman that Nickolas usually goes for... or even, really, pretty in the classic sense..."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"...doesn't mean that you need to insinuate that she's knocked up," Jane concluded, ignoring all my interjections.

Angel gnawed her lips. "Well I mean ---" she shrugged. Then she looked at me. "Are you?"

"Dude," Aaron said, nudging her.

"No," I snapped.

"Ohh Angel," Jane said, as though she were just remembering, "You could recommend a physical trainer to Ashley, then, couldn't you? Get rid of this tum tum of yours, dear?" She patted my abdomen, "And maybe a plastic surgeon also, Angel? You know, for her nose?"

I felt my lid blow and before I could stop the words from rushing out of my mouth, I'd waved my hands, sent the comb flying and shouted, "STOP!"

All their eyes were on me. Even Nick's and Jane's boyfriend's from across the room. The comb had hit the TV set and was sitting sadly on the floor in front of it. BJ had spilled a little of her wine on herself and Aaron was staring at me dropped jawed. Angel's eyebrow was up, Jane's eyes narrowed, her boyfriend dumbfounded, and Nick a little scared.

"Nick would sleep with a toothless hillbilly cow if he thought he could get off on her," I yelled, "But it's so fucking shocking that he'd be with me. I'm sorry I'm not pretty enough or smart enough or rich enough or whatever enough. I'm sorry I don't have a big nose like you, or hair of a shiska goddess like you, or the cash to get botoxed to high heaven like you," I said pointing at BJ, Angel, and Jane respectively, "But y'all can relax because apparently no amount of hair product, manicures, dermatologists, rhinoplasties, boobjobs, personal fitness trainers, or - or - or - or WHATEVER will ever make me good enough for Nick. I get it, okay? I GET IT. I'm not invited here." I stormed to the door, "No wonder Leslie fucking killed herself! Nobody is EVER good enough for you people!"

There was a resounding silence as I shoved my way into the basement, and in the instant before the door slammed shut I heard the explosion of reactions that poured out of their mouths, seemingly all at once.




Nick

It was literally the worst thing that she possibly could've said. It's like she took a poll - what would most piss you off to hear me say? - and then said it. Only my mom's stoogey boyfriend didn't react to Dogface's words. And it was probably because he was too stupid to get it or something. But the moment that the words left Dogface's mouth, all friggin' hell broke loose.

"What in the HELL IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?" my mother bellowed, as BJ burst into tears and the two twins practically frothed at the mouth. My mother turned on me, "You have some nerve bringing a smart mouthed little bitch home to me," she snapped.

I blinked in surprise, my mouth flapping like a fish, unable to form words. How the hell did this turn into being my fault? I wondered.

"Yeah Nick," BJ wailed, "Your girlfriend's a dream." She had the ugliest face when she cried.

I didn't understand how this all was my fault and I reacted the only way I knew how: defensively. I scowled, "Well maybe if ya'll weren't being so fucking nitpicky at Dogface she wouldn'ta blown her lid!" I said.

"Why are you sticking up for her! She just accused us of - of - of --" my mother couldn't finish the sentence and she finally stopped and swooned herself right into a chair.

Suddenly Dogface was back, her bag on her shoulder.

"That's right!" my mother shouted, standing up, "Get your ugly face out of my house!"

"Mom," I said. "She didn't mean what she said, she --"

"I did so!" Dogface shouted back. "I meant it because it's true and you know it, Nick. You've said it a hundred times if you've said it once..." she turned to my mother, "You're too hard on them. You expect too much out of your kids, you expect perfection and guess what? Nobody's perfect! Not even you, as shocking as that may come to you."

My mother was seething. "GET OUT!"

"MY PLEASURE!" Dogface continued on to the front door and let herself out.

I stood there awkwardly.

My mother looked at me, "YOU TOO!" she shrieked. "Get out! Get out of my house, if you're going to be so ingrateful as to stand up for that," she said, waving her arm at the door.

"But --"

"GET OUT!" she yelled.

After: Chicken


Ashley

When he was a kid, Nick's uncle liked to share stories about his time serving in the army in Vietnam. It's because of this uncle that Nick and I became friends. Let me explain. See, this uncle told Nick about a little game he and his buddies back in 'nam used to play when they got bored out in the foxholes. This game was called Chicken. And for those of you who don't know Chicken, the basic rule of the game is this: throw a dagger at your best friend's foot and the person who gets the closest without actually stabbing the other person's foot, wins. Nick decided this was one hell of a cool game and came to school the next day with a pair of Crayola safety guard scissors and a plan. He wanted to become the ultimate Chicken champion.

I just know you're laughing at this right now, but I swear it's going somewhere.

So here's the picture for you to imagine: Six year old Nick with his neon screen safety guard scissors stands in the center of the playground riff raff and asks, in as deep a baritone voice as a six year old can possibly have, imitating the voice and tone of his uncle, "Which one of you Dogfaces wants to take me on?"

See, this is what his uncle claimed to have asked.

All the other kids backed away. But me, well, I didn't have much to lose and I was very much a tomboy and I thought Nick was cute, so it was like, well duh I'm gonna do this - challenge accepted, you know? So I stepped up.

Nick looked at me skeptically, "You're a girl," he said dismissively.

"I can beat you," I challenged.

And it was on. We competed until it was quite clear we'd never settle the game of Chicken using Nick's safety scissors, which wouldn't even stab through the grass, not to mention each other's feet (this became apparent after the moment when Nick should've lost the first time when he hit my sneaker and the scissors bounced off). The first day was a draw, but we agreed to play until one of the two of us lost. And it went on for days. Indian burns, noogies, punches, slaps, pinches. You name it.

Nobody ever won. It was just this on going game that went on and on and on and on and -- actually, every now and then, we still play it.

Which is what I thought of as I paced up and down Nick's living room, my stomach churning and my brain working double time to figure out where he was. Maybe, I thought, in a slightly irrational sounding mental voice, maybe he was playing some kind of crazy ass game. A ploy to make me freak out and lose at Chicken. Maybe, even as I paced back and forth in the living room, Nick was hiding out somewhere, watching, laughing his ass off, just waiting for the moment to declare our 27-year battle a win in his favor.

I turned to look at Chris, who was zoning out on the couch with a bottle of beer in his hand, the TV flickering news stories at him.

I rushed over and stood between him and the TV. He leaned trying to see around me. I moved. He leaned the other way. I moved again. "Chris," I said, "He isn't here. Right?"

Chris waved at me to move out of his way, "What?"

"Nick," I replied, bouncing foot-to-foot, trying specifically to stay IN his way, to keep his attention on me. "You're not like helping him pull off a prank?"

Chris didn't focus on me, though. He just kept trying to lean around me to see the stupid news.

"Whatever he's paying you to keep your mouth shut about this prank," I said desperately, "I'll pay you twice that."

Chris raised one eyebrow.

"I have powers," I said, "I can help you get hooked up with almost any girl. Just ask Nick. My powers are great." I sounded like a wicked witch in a woodland hut trying to seduce the tinman into surrendering Dorothy.

Chris' second eyebrow went up.

"We can turn this on him," I said, "Get him back for all the times he's been a giant prick."

His eyes went wide, jaw a little slack.

"All you have to do is tell me where Nick is."

"THERE!" Chris pointed, his hand flying forward, his finger aimed directly at me... but slightly to the left... beyond me. I turned slowly, and my eyes landed on the TV.

I screamed.

If Nick was playing Chicken.... he had most definitely just won.




Nick

I struggled against the restraints that held me into the seat for what felt like forever, though I was told later that it was actually only a couple of moments. I thought I'd been there for days by later guesstimations I made, but I found out it was really less than an hour that it took them to get to me, only about 50 minutes, in fact.

It was 50 minutes that changed my life.

One moment, I was a thirty-almost-three year old playboy with a bright red tie around my neck with a voicemail on my phone about a memorial service I felt obligated to attend, about to order the hell out of the vodka on the in-flight menu... and the next...

It started with the ding of the seatbelt light. The flight attendant was gorgeous, and I turned to make a dirty comment to Ashley and -- she wasn't there. I reached for my buckle, to undo it, and my light pinged, and an attendant was there telling me to put my seatbelt back on until after we'd reached altitude, and the plane moved across the tarmac. I clicked my buckle as she went back to her preflight checks and closing compartments, and I sat there, wondering where the hell I'd been about to go, what I'd been about to do. And the pilot announced that the runway was clear, and the plane's wheels groaned as they moved across the tarmac, picking up speed with every second, and the plane started to launch itself into the air, that almost weightless feeling pulling down on my stomach as it left the ground...

And well, like I said. Everything changed.

Because that weightless? It feeling stuttered. It shook.

But then, there was a terrible sound. The ripping of metal, the choke of an engine.

And it gave out.

And those next 50 minutes from that moment - when my world literally went crashing down - those were the minutes that changed everything.

Especially the first few minutes.

Those are the ones that I spent... well, you know. Dead.

Before: Christmas in Terminal A... Part One


Nick

By the time I got downstairs, threw my shit in my bag, and got out of my mother's house, I had no clue where ol' Dogface had got to. I was seething. I couldn't believe my mother, blaming me for the crap Dogface had said. I mean sure it was stuff that I'd thought of and wondered a couple times - if things had been different between us all before Leslie had died, would she still be here? If I had personally been a better brother, what then? All Dogface had really done was give a voice to the deepest fears that had lived inside each of us for the past eleven months. But still. You'd think that my mother would've avoided underlining the crucial point of Dogface's point by not kicking me out on Christmas Eve. You know?

I got into the rental car and texted Dogface.

Where u at?

It took her a moment to reply. Down the street.

Stay there. Be rite there.

I backed out the driveway and turned, pulling up behind Dogface. I unrolled the window and she stood on the sidewalk. "I'm not going back there," she said firmly. "I'm not going through the rest of Christmas getting told I'm ugly."

"Get in the car," I said.

She shook her head, "I swear to Christ, Nick, I'm not putting up with that anymore."

"I know, and I'm not neither. We're going to the airport."

Dogface picked up her bag and haucked it into the backseat before climbing in and buckling up in shot gun. She looked over at me as her seatbelt clicked. I could feel her eyes on me as I turned back into the street and started driving to the airport. She gnawed her lip a moment. "So... what happened?" she asked.

"I came to get you," I answered. Somehow, I didn't want to tell her what really happened. I wanted to keep that private. I don't know why. It just felt... I dunno, like I'd be asking for a pity party if I told her. And I didn't want a pity party. I just wanted to forget it ever happened.

She frowned, "I'm sorry."

"Its not you," I replied.

"Actually it really was," she said.

I shrugged.

We fell into silence for several long moments before she said, "So Christmas in Los Angeles, huh?"

I shrugged, "If we can find a flight. Which all things considered isn't gonna be easy tonight."

"Are you pissed at me?" she asked.

I sighed. "Not really," I replied. "I just... I'm more pissed with myself, I guess. I mean, the only reason everyone got so mad was because you were right."

Dogface looked at her knees and rubbed the caps gently. "I'm sorry I ruined your Christmas," she said quietly.

I stared ahead out at the eerily clear roadway. Everyone was at home, with their families or whatever, enjoying the peace and joy of Christmas. They were laughing, drinking eggnog, eating ham dinners and watching movies. They were hanging stockings by fireplaces with care and baking Christmas cookies. Nobody was on the road at this hour except us rejects.

I couldn't bring myself to answer Dogface.

"Next year, you should just... leave me in California... me and Jimmy Stewert and my popcorn and I won't bother you," she rambled. "Then you can spend Christmas with your family."

I drew a deep breath. "You, me, and Jimmy Stewert," I said, "It's a date."

Dogface raised an eyebrow.

"You are my family," I explained simply.




Ashley

"Well this isn't at all depressing," Nick said, sitting down with a huff at a green plastic table we'd walked halfway across the airport to find. It was crowded as all hell, people were running every which way. We'd gotten separated and lost like fifteen times. There was so much noise as people talked, walked, ran, and rushed on, dragging along suitcases and bewildered looking children.

I put my tray down across from Nick's, and started rummaging around through my bags of food. "You could've stayed at your mom's," I said.

Nick didn't answer. Instead, he put his full concentration on the container of salad he'd bought. I watched as he struggled to open it, poured his dressing over the top of the lettuce and spinach, and shoved the first forkful into his mouth and begun chewing.

"You're like a rabbit," I said.

Nick looked up from his greens. "What?" he asked, mouth full. A piece of spinach fell out and landed on the table. He picked it up and put it back in his mouth.

"Gross."

"What?" he asked again.

"Any number of things could've happened to this table --" I started.

"You think people are having sex on tables in airport terminals?"

"-- and you just pick up the lettuce and eat it like it's nothing --"

"That was spinach," he said.

"The five second rule doesn't actually exist you know," I said.

Nick shrugged, "I have yet to extract dickdiaroo."

"Oh I'm sure your dick has diaroo," I replied.

Nick smirked. "You're awful interested in what my dick does and does not have."

I snorted. "You wish."

Nick's smirk didn't fade. He stabbed the lettuce and spinach up with his fork, his eyes never leaving me as he bent down and took a bite of the Greek dressing covered greens.

"Seriously, though, you eat like a woman."

"When I don't eat like a woman, I grow like a chia pet," he answered.

"It looks like you're eating a chia pet," I retorted. I opened up my Burger King bag and took out the whopper and fries I'd ordered. Nick watched as I undid the wrapper and folded it back to create a holder on the burger, then took a big, lingering bite. I hummed in appreciation. Even though the burger was stale, I made it sound like it was orgasmic.

Nick was still staring at me. He was chewing a colossal mouthful of lettuce.

I waved my fries at him. "You want one?"

His eyes narrowed.

I took one out of the little cardboard cup thing and waved it at him.

He snatched it like a seagull and stuck it in his mouth. "Fuck," he groaned. "That tastes good." I laughed as he stole the whole cup of them. "You want my pomegranate?" he held up the pom he'd gotten.

"No that's okay, you keep your creepy healthy food over there."

"It's not creepy," he said, laughing, "Why the hell is a pomegranate creepy?"

"It's like an alien egg sac or something," I replied. "Creepy."

Nick made a grossed out face, "Sick, Dogface. Sick."

"Besides, you were cute fat."

"I was not," he argued, "I looked like a teletubbie with hair."

I snorted on the Sprite I'd just taken a sip of. "Oh my God, you totally did."

"See?" Nick laughed, "It just proves you've got magic wingman powers of some sort though, Dogface. Because even when I looked like a giant teletubbie, you still managed to get me some."

"You're famous," I replied, "I owe my wingman skills more to easy targets than to actually skills."

Nick leaned back, eating my fries, his salad completely abandoned. "Who'da thunk," he said, musing, staring up at the ceiling as he sucked the salt off a french fry in a way that would've made a gay guy plotz in lustful agony, "That you'd end up being my holiday ho?"

I laughed. "Sorry, but no," I shook my head. "Never happening, Carter. Never happening."

Nick laughed and sucked the fry completely into his mouth.

Before: Christmas in Terminal A... Part Two


Ashley

Once Nick had devoured the rest of my fries, thrown away his sala, broken down and bought his own Whopper and fries (which he reluctantly shared with me), and spent a good deal of time and energy worshipping junkfood before regressing low enough to buy a cheap knock off of a Twinkie at a kiosk, which he then spent even more time and energy bitching about the closing of the Hostess factory and how much time he'd wasted not eating Twinkies while they were still open... well, there wasn't much else to do. I mean, it's an airport, which is crappy enough to spend a couple hours in during a layover, but thanks to Nick's family we now had almost a whole day and Nick was persistent that we'd get in on a standby and didn't want to just get a hotel room. He insisted that he could get us onto a flight by pulling a few famous people strings.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked a poor airline employee, who looked bewildered and exhausted at the same time.

"Nick, c'mon, nobody gives a shit who you are," I said.

"Dude, I'm a Backstreet-fuckin'-Boy!" he said.

"Nobody cares," I answered. The employee looked grateful that I was trying to tame the beast.

Nick fumed.

"Look, Diva Delicious," I said once I'd gotten him away, "Stop being an asshole."

"I'm not an asshole," he said, pouty like a five year old.

"You're acting like one."

A couple ran by, the girl had blonde hair and the guy, whose skin was fairly dark, had wavy red hair. Nick turned, glowering at them as they approached and the airline employee waved them through. "DID YOU SEE THAT?" he yelped.

"See what exactly?" I asked.

He squwaked and squealed for the next two hours, insisting that the couple had been Taylor Swift and Harry Styles from One Direction. They definitely weren't, but despite the fact that I said this repeatedly and gave him some damn good reasons why they weren't Haylor, Nick still insisted and complained.

"They got ushered right by us," he muttered, "Sonsabitches."

By this point, we'd meandered around while Nick bitched and complained and come to rest on the chairs by the terminal that our flight would eventually be departing from, Nick having finally given up and admitted we were never gonna get on a plane, and it being more hassle than it was worth now to go to a hotel as we were already past security. Nick was laying on his back across five seats and I was on my back across three, my knees bent as I did a crossword puzzle from an abandoned newspaper. The seats were only slightly padded and I could feel my neck stiffening as I laid there. The hub bub and craziness had died down and soon the only sound was the drone of the walkways, the quiet audio track of 24-hours of Christmas Story on TBS, and the distant sounds of a frenzy for the last flight to New York City somewhere across the airport.

Nick sighed, long and low. "Holidays are bitches," he said.

"Yup," I said.

Nick continued on like I hadn't agreed with him, like he had a point to prove, "They're depressing as hell. Like all holidays in general." He listed, "Thanksgiving... Easter... Valentine's... Birthdays..." Pause. Then, "Well Halloween and Saint Paddy's are okay, but other than that Holidays really suck ass. Huh, Dogface?" he looked over at me, craning his neck back to see me, which forced his face into a squint.

I put my crossword puzzle down. "Ayyyye, I hate'em," I grumbled in a pirate voice.

Nick laughed. "Arrr," he agreed. He rolled onto his stomach. "Make'em walk the plank, the scoundrals."

"Aye," I said, nodding, "And cut off their hands!"

Nick snorted, "They ain't got hands."

"That's because I cut'em off."

Nick flipped back onto his back again and grinned up at the ceiling, his hands tucked together on his chest. I lifted my crossword back up again. "You're so ridiculous," he said, a laugh in his voice.

"You are, too," I replied.

Nick turned his head again. "I never in a billion years thought I'd spend Christmas with you like this," he laughed.

"I never thought I'd have a whopper for Christmas dinner."

"Hot damn it was good, though," he said appreciatevely.

"Your lack of having had any junkfood enhanced the taste a lot," I replied. "You haven't eaten anything but rabbit food in so long it could've been garnished with toejam and you would've liked it."

Nick chuckled, "True."

"You probably like toejam," I accused jokingly.

Nick grinned, "Put it on my toast every morning." He licked his lips.

"You're gross," I said, laughing.

Nick pointed up at the TV, "It's the best part."

I looked up just in time to see Flick get his tongue stuck to the flagpole. Nick laughed. "If we was in this movie," he said, "Which one would we be?"

"I'd be Flick," I replied, watching Ralphie run off because the bell rang.




Nick

The airport got quiet. I got quiet. Dogface got quiet. The lights dimmed as the airport tried to conserve energy. The few people left in the airport were employees and the few pathetic hopefuls like myself and Dogface. I stared up out the window, long after Dogface had fallen asleep watching Christmas Story on the postage stamp sized TV set, and stared up at the stars in the midnight blue sky. I was exhausted, but my mind wouldn't shut off, the way minds don't shut off on the night before Christmas.

It was at that moment that I realized it.

I'd spent the last two weeks leading up to Christmas trying to think of something to get for Dogface. She's not easy to buy stuff for, so it'd been a challenge and I'd finally thought of something: a copy of Tom Petty's song Free Fallin' on vinyl. She loved the song, it was her favorite in the whole world. I'd spent a week locating a copy of it on eBay, autographed by Tom Petty, and another week eagerly awaiting for it to arrive. Then I'd spent like three hours wrapping the damn thing and now, sitting at an airport well after midnight on Christmas Even, I realized I'd left it in the basement at my mother's house when I'd left in such a hurry.

I glanced at Dogface, sleeping so peacefully across from me. Something sorta like guilt crawled around in my stomach, and I wondered how the hell I'd managed to forget her present after all the crap I'd gone through to find it. The one time I'd actually spent some time thinking about something and investing time in it and I fuck it up. Incredible.

For a moment, I was tempted to just roll over and go back to sleep and let her laugh it off with me the next day. And for a moment, I even let myself think that this was acceptable. She probably wasn't expecting anything anyways, I told myself, and I turned onto my side so that I was facing the back of the chairs and closed my eyes. But then I imagined Dogface the next morning, pulling a big present out of her bags for me and me being all sorry no gift because I'm a dumbass and I realized I couldn't do this.

I rolled, Ninja-style, out of my seat and sat on the floor, staring at Dogface for a long moment, making sure I hadn't worken her up by moving abruptly. When I was certain she hadn't woken up, I crawled down the length of the rows of chairs before standing up and rushing off into the quiet airport toward the little gift shops that we'd woven through earlier when I'd got my so-called Twinkie. I had no idea what the hell one gets for a girl in the airport on Christmas Eve, but there was no way in hell I could just not have anything for her.

Unfortunately the Godiva Chocolate kiosk was closed, but I ducked into the magazine store and poked around at all the stuff that said Miami on it. Plastic snow globes with flamingos in them, hats shaped like flamingos, cards with pictures of beaches, and chocolate bars shaped like crocodiles fileld the shelves.

I spent way too long, and, considering what I ended up with, way too much money. And I didn't even get any wrapping paper of any kind, so when I got back to the chairs, I hijacked the crossward puzzle she'd been doing and used the paper to makeshift wrap the gift I'd managed to find for her. It looked like crap. I frowned at it and tore the bag to make a really lame ass bow. I sighed.

At least I had something for her. But I knew she deserved better.

Before: Christmas in Terminal A... Part Three


Nick

I didn't sleep so good that night. I think I still felt kina guilty about forgetting Dogface's good present or something. Or maybe my body just didn't like the whopper and fries when it'd been promised a real Christmas Dinner. I dunno. I just know I didn't get a whole lot of sleep and I stayed awake most of the night watching Christmas Story go over and over and over again and, as the sun rose, seagulls weaving between the clouds outside the winow.

Around the millionth time that Ralphie had settled in for a long winter's nap hugging his Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action 200-Shot Range Model Air Rifle (with the compass in the stock), I glanced over at Dogface. She was sleeping peacefully, but I could tell she was going to wake up soon because her nose was twitching. Her nose always twitched just before she woke up. Not quite ready to face her yet, I rolled off the seats and walked to the bathroom across the hall, noding hello to a disgruntled security guard who was just leaving the john. I took my time in there, avoiding going back out for as long as possible. I brushed my teeth with my fingers and messed with my hair a little. I studied myself in the mirror, leaning closer to get a real good look at the weird crinkles around my eyes that were beginning to appear.

Over the years, I've spent a lot of nights in airports. Its just something that comes part and parcel with the jetset life that I lead. Once, in Stockholm, we celebrated Kevin's birthday in an airport. It was utterly depressing. Basically, I'd grown up in an airport. Also depressing. And Miami was an airport that I frequented. In fact, for awhile, Miami had been my key international airport for travelling in and out of. There was a time that I'd stood, perhaps in front of this very same mirror, and stared back at the reflection of a teenage kid with 90's fashion sense and a bowlcut.

I wondered how different I was, really, from that teenage kid.

Not very, I decided.

I wondered how proud of me that kid would be? Would he be at all?

I took a deep breath and decided standing in the restroom thinking about bygones and avoiding Dogface wasn't going to make the day any less depressing, so I headed back to out little encampment.

Dogface was standing up, stretching, when I got back. She looked up from clutching her ankles, her hair all dangling in her face. "Where'd you go?" she asked, "I was hoping you'd at least have coffee when you came back."

"Bathroom," I replied, dropping onto my seats.

Dogface stretched to one side, enlongnating her legs. I noticed the security guard do a double take as he patrolled by. She stood upright, rolling her spine and eclipsing the staring robo-cop. "Think Starbucks is open yet?" she asked.

I shrugged, "I ain't got a clue."

Dogface rolled her neck, which made a popping sound, then sat down, apparently done stretching for the morning, and pulled her bag closer to herself. "You're not sick, are you?"

"Sick?" I asked.

"Well you were in the bathroom forever."

"Yeah."

"So you're fine?" she asked.

I winked. "I'm fine, babe."

Dogface rolled her eyes, "You're such a pervert. Oh and have I mentioned obnoxious?"

"You love it," I said.

"You wish." She chucked a box at me suddenly - a red box with a big silvery bow on top. "Merry Christmas, jackass," she added.

I hesitated for only a moment. I mean, I felt guilty, but dude it's a present. So I ripped open the paper and stuck the bow to the side of my head (because, really now, what else do you do with bows?). Insie the box was a Ninja Turtle action figure - Donatello. When I was ten, I wanted Donatello so bad that it hurt. I asked for him every damn day from Thanksgiving until Christmas Eve. But I didn't get him. Until now. I looked up at Dogface as I pulled Donatello from the box. "Holy fracking hell," I gasped. "How did you ---?"

Dogface grinned. "I found a collector selling his old figures on eBay, and I asked if he had the 1990 Donatello figure and described it and he did and voila."

"Shit this is awesome." In the box was all the accessories that Donatello was promised to have come with. I snatched the pieces up excitedly, "Holy shit I'm totally playing with this. Like everyday. On my living room carpet."

Dogface laughed.

At the sound of her laugh, a spark of guilt crawled through me again. I felt even crappier for leaving the LP at my mom's house and a part of me wanted to open my bag and freak out, pretend that I'd just now found out that I'd left it, and just completely bypass giving her the lame ass airport store gift altogether. But I didn't want her to think that I was faking having forgotten it, either, like I hadn't gotten her anything at all. Which was such a me thing to do. The fact was, I'd forgotten quite a few holidays in the past. Christmas, Birthdays... you name it... So instead of telling her, I pulled out the newspaper wad encasing the replacement gift, and I held it out to her.


Ashley

"Here." Nick thrust a ball of newspaper at me. It was my crossword from the night before. I took it and stared at it.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Your present," he answered.

I hate to even admit this - I mean, I feel like a total bitch for feeling let down, but I mean... I don't know. I always made this big shtick about not wanting anything for Christmas, so really I shouldn't have expected anything. But still, even though I said I didn't, I really did want something, and especially something from Nick. Something from Nick that would mean something to me. Which is why I went out every year and I painstakingly spent time researching and thinking of the perfect gift that he would treasure. Every damn year. But, like it always was with Nick every year and every other day of the year, I was always an afterthought for him. If he even thought of me at all, that is.

I smiled, depsite the pit of ache that was beginning to collect in the cess pool of my heart. "Thanks," I managed, my smile almost hurting my mouth to hold in place. I opened the paper slowly, my fingers trembling. All I wanted in the world was to peel it back and find something special in there. That's all I wanted. Please don't let it be a let down, I prayed silently with all my might. But the paper parted and in the center was a cheap necklace with a small bulb of beach sand hanging at the end of it with teeny tiny sea shells buried in the sand. It had a tag on it that read Greetings from Miami in a Flamingo pink font where the i's were dotted with little flowers.

"Oh wow. Pretty," I forced the words out of my mouth, and I reached up and attached the necklace around my neck. It felt heavy. It felt like it was shrieking he doesn't love youuuu at me. I touched it, smiled with a little too much teeth, and nodded, trying to prove to him that I liked it.

Nick smiled weakly back.

A really awkward moment passed between us, neither of us really looking at the other. Finally, Nick stood up. "Breakfast," he said.

I nodded and stood too, balling up the newspaper. "Sounds good."

"Yeah, coffee sounds good," he nodded.

We gathered up our stuff and set off in silence towards the Starbucks down the hallway, neither of us saying anything. At the kiosk, the barista apologized that they were just opening and the coffee would take a couple minutes to brew, and we stood around waiting while the coffee steamed and hummed and the barista set up all the food in the case. A family walked by briskly in the midst of a stream of single-looking solo flyers and the mother was pulling the kid along, looking hurried. I overheard the kid asking her a question, to which she replied, "Santa visited gramma's house, don't worry, there's lots of presents waiting for you there..."

I didn't realize Nick was watching them, too, until he leaned closer. "When did you stop believing?" he asked.

"I never really did," I replied, shrugging. "Santa doesn't really visit foster homes." Nick looked uncomfortable, like he always did when my childhood came up. He rubbed the back of his neck. "When did you?" I asked, "I don't remember you ever talking about it."

He licked his lips, "When I didn't get Donatello."

"Do you believe again?" I asked.

Nick shrugged, "No 'cos this year I asked for a Holiday Ho and I didn't get one."

"You get one of those every year," I replied. "Maybe Santa sent you something else."

Nick shrugged. The barista called us over and Nick galloped over for the coffees. He came back a second later and put mine in my hand. "Do you think you'll tell your kids there's a Santa someday? Even though you didn't believe in it?"

I shrugged. "I don't know if I even want kids," I answered.

"What? Why?" Nick asked.

I hesitated. The real reason was because I didn't think I'd ever find someone that I wanted to have kids with, or would want to have kids with me. But I felt dumb saying that to Nick, of all people. So I just shrugged again and replied, "They might grow up to have my nose."

It was much, much later that afternoon, on board the plane, on the way back to Los Angeles, probably somewhere over Kansas, when Nick turned to me, tapping my hands to get me to take my headphones off. I looked up at him. "What?" I asked.

"You should tell them."

"Tell who what?" I asked.

"Your kids," he replied. "When you have kids someday, you should tell them about Santa Claus."

I stared at him. I'd almost forgotten the conversation by then. "But I-"

"No buts," he shook his head, "You'll have kids. They'll have perfect noses."

I snorted. "You don't even know if I'll ever get married, not to mention have kids."

Nick shook his head, "You'll get married. And you'll have lots of babies and you'll name them really boring, generic names, and you'll tell'em about the fat guy that leaves toys under the tree."

"Nick, I can't even remember the last time I went out on a real date with someone," I laughed.

"Only because you're holding out."

"Holding out?" I laughed, "For what?"

"A follow-up kind of guy," Nick answered.

After: Be There


Ashley

"Get up!" I shrieked at Chris. He was staring at the TV, shock written all over his face. I had a feeling my face looked very similar. "GET UP!" I cried.

Chris blinked away the devastation his face, "Fuck," he whispered.

"GET UP!"

"Why?" he looked at me. "What good is getting up gonna do?" he demanded.

Instead of answering him, I started sobbing. "I don't know!" I cried, "I don't know. Fucking hell, Chris... We need to - to - to help or - or to - to --" I was shaking. I felt like every organ in my body had been ripped out. The TV was still flashing pictures of the plane, the dark black billowing smoke rolling out of its crushed engine like something from a movie as firemen worked to hose it down. Ambulances, police vehicles, fire trucks, you name it, they surrounded the scene. There were people everywhere, rushing around behind the news anchor, a woman whose two piece skirt suit was a vivid color of plum that matched her lipstick perfectly. Among the passangers was Nick Carter of Backstreet Boys fame, she'd said, showing a picture of Nick taken the year before for the NKOTBSB promotion.

Just that simply. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Shit Ashley, how the hell are we supposed to help?" Chris asked, looking frustrated as I felt.

"I don't know," I sobbed.

Chris stood up and stepped over to me. He pulled me into him and I just let it happen. I pressed my face into his chest. "I wanted him to be hiding here," I sobbed.

"I know," Chris said. He rubbed my back. "I told you, he ain't though."

"I wanted you guys to be smoking pot in the basement," I cried.

"We don't do that anymore, you know that," Chris said.

"But it was better than him being hurt," I pressed my face into his chest.

Chris didn't reply. He was very still.

"We need to go to the hospital," I gasped. I pulled back. "Chris, we need to go to the hospital."

"They're not going to let us in, Ash," he said, "We aren't his family."

"Oh fuck his family," I choked. "They aren't here for him, as usual. I'm here for him. I'm his family."

Chris sighed, "Ash, they won't let you in."

"But he needs me," I said thickly, "I need him."

"They didn't... they didn't say he's okay," Chris said quietly.

I looked up at him, "That's why we need to go to the hospital," I said.

"No... Ashley, you don't get what I'm saying." Chris looked pale. "They would've said it if he was okay."

"What?"

"If Nick was okay. They would've said something like nobody was hurt or something."

I stared at him. "What are you saying?"

Chris hesitated.

I realized what he was saying. I shoved back from him like shrapnel. "Shut the fuck up," I said. Then, louder, "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

"Ashley, I just --"

"SHUT UP!" I yelled. I felt like I was going to throw up. "Chris," I said, "He can't. He can't. No. I need to get there. I need to talk to him. He has to be okay. I told him a lie last night. He needs to hear the truth."

"What?"

"Chris, please. I just need to be there."




Nick

I only vaguely remember when they found me. I couldn't remember being dead yet at that point. It was part of the foggy past. It wasn't until later that I remembered my talk with Leslie. When they found me, I was drowning in confusion, unsure where I was or what was going on other than the wavering, flashing lights and the fact that I needed to hear Ashley again. Some part of me worried that I'd been abducted by aliens or something, that's how foreign and strange everything seemed. So when these guys in hazmat suits came in and started cutting away the seatbelt from me, I fought them. I struggled to escape. No words would come out of me, I was that scared, so I just tried to shake them off silently, desperately.

"It's okay son, we're here to help," came a muffled, yelling voice.

The next thing I knew I was being moved forcibly to another table, strapped down again, still struggling. It wasn't until I could no longer move and got a good look around that I realized that I wasn't being abducted. I was on the plane, I remembered. I was staring up at the rounded ceiling, lined by two rows of storage compartments, broken open and spilling out their guts of luggage all over the place. I rolled my head to the side and saw the dark blue flesh of the seats, and the tiny porthole windows. There was an orange glow outside the window.

I looked up at the guys with the hazmat suits as they moved. I could see the beads of sweat on their brows. They wore looks of fearful, focused determination. Heroes, I thought, They're heroes. And I stopped struggling.

They moved me out of the plane, and the wreckage became apparent to me as they carried me quickly away. The nose of the plane was smashed into the ground like a bent paper cup and one of the wings was missing. The tail stuck up in the air, the windows were shattered. Fire was consuming the ground around the plane, which sat in the center of a suburban neighborhood. A mailbox stood less than ten feet away from what used to be the cockpit.

I looked up at the hazmat guys. They were pulling off their helmets and talking rapidly in loud voices to guys in blue scrubs as they put me down on a gurney, which I was again strapped down to. Like I was gonna go anywhere. And the guy in scrubs leaned over me and he shouted, "My name is Dave. Can you tell me your name?"

My mouth floundered for words, my lips quivered. "Nick," I gasped out the word.

"Okay, Nick. We're gonna get you feeling better, okay?" Dave's eyes were boring into mine.

I struggled to nod.

Dave started touching my arms and legs, "Can you feel my hand, Nick?" he asked, "Can you feel this?"

"Yes," I said.

"Okay. What hurts, Nick?"

I didn't know how to answer him.

"Tell me Nick what hurts the most right now?" he asked again. I felt like I was being lifted into the air, and the ceiling of the ambulance came into view beyond Dave's face, but he never went away.

"Ashley," I answered.

"What was that?" Dave asked, bending closer.

"Ashley," I repeated.

Dave looked back at the hazmat guys. "Was there someone with him?" he shouted.

"I need Ashley," I gasped.

Dave looked back at me, "Where was Ashley seated?" he asked.

"Home," I answered.

"She isn't with you?" Dave asked.

"No," I said.

"How about you tell me about Ashley, while I start getting you fixed up, okay?" Dave suggested. "Tell me about her. Is she your girlfriend?"

"No."

A woman in scrubs reached over for my arm and stuck a needle in me. I felt the burning sensation of drugs entering my system.

"She's a good girl," I whispered, "She loves her mama. Loves Jesus, and America too. She's a good girl, crazy about Elvis. She loves horses..."

Dave gave me a funny look.

"I'm a bad boy for breaking her heart."

"Is he singing that Tom Petty song?" the woman with the needle asked.

"I think so," Dave said.

"I'm a bad boy for breaking her heart," I repeated, and I closed my eyes.

Before: New Year's Eve


Nick

I didn't hear from Dogface for a couple days after we got home. It'd been an awkward "see ya" when I'd dropped her off. It wasn't the first time that we'd "taken a break" after I managed to somehow disappoint her, but I found myself wondering this time if she'd be coming back. I sat in the bar in the booth we usually took and half waiting for her to show up. She didn't. I tried calling her once and left a lame voicemail telling her that, even though I wouldn't be in Los Angeles for midnight on New Years Eve (I had a show with the fellas on the East Coast), I'd still call her at midnight.

She never called back.

So off I flew to the East coast for a short spin of holiday shows with the fellas. AJ and I shared seats on the plane and we'd no sooner got our buckles on than AJ turned to me, "So... tell me about your holiday ho."

I told him this bullshit story about the flight attendant Christmas Miracle, who I said was named Betsy, and me shagging in the latrine somewhere over the midwest. We did it twice, just for good measure, I said. And I told him Dogface had high fived me when I got back to my seat and we'd drank a couple scotches on the rocks and watched Breakfast Club the rest of the way to Miami while the slightly mussed up flight attendant tried not to meet my eyes.

"Shit you always got a good story," AJ said, shaking his head and leaning back in his seat. He pulled his headphones out of his carry on bag. "Too bad that one didn't happen, huh?"

I looked at him with narrow eyes, "What do you mean?"

"You, and the flight attendant --" AJ said, "It didn't happen."

"And how do you know that?"

AJ smirked, "Because you remembered the holiday ho's name," he answered.

"Shit," I muttered.

"So, what really happened?" AJ asked, fiddling with his iPod. "What'd you do? Bang Ashley? She ain't been around in like a week."

I pulled a disgusted face, "That's sick."

"What?"

"Dogface is practically my sister, that's gross, man," I said, "I wouldn't be completely shocked if it came out somehow she was like my secret twin or something creepy like that." AJ laughed. "What? It's possible. She's a foster kid, you know, that's what happens with them kids like that. If they strike up a connection with you, it turns out it's some dark underlying sixth sense thing, you know? Like she can feel the uterus we shared."

"Now who's sick?" AJ asked with a snort of laughter.

"Well it's true," I said, "You hear about that shit happening all the damn time."

"I'm just saying you two might be more perfect for each other than you're willing to admit, that's all I'm saying."

"Well you're wrong," I answered, "Dogface and I would never work together. She doesn't like Alien, dude. That's not okay. And her taste in music? Dude. Dude. Seriously. Have you seen her iPod? It's like the place shitty bands send their CDs to keep themselves from passing into complete obscurity."

AJ rolled his eyes and started putting on his headphones.

"No seriously, man," I said, staying his wrist midway to his ears, "She has Savage Garden on there. Like the whole CD. Not just that one song that everyone liked for like a year, but the whole damn album."

AJ pressed play on his iPod.

When we landed in Connecticut, I expected to find a voicemail from Dogface on my phone when I turned it on, but there wasn't anything. Not even a text. I put my phone back in my pocket and tried to push it out of my head. I mean, who cares if she doesn't respond, right? And I got over it.

I was busy anyhow with the fellas and the fans and everything that was going on. We had shows back to back to back, including the big one on New Years Eve in Pennsylvania. It was nice getting back on stage, and I realized I missed the sweat and effort that went into touring. I had grown up on stage. I felt more alive there than I did anywhere else in the world. I did some of my best thinking there. Which is how I came to the conclusion that I had the ultimate gesture to make up with Dogface literally right at my fingertips.

Which is why at midnight, when the other guys were kissing their wives and the fans were all screaming and cheering and there was confetti flying everywhere, I dialed Dogface's cellphone number.

"Hey you've reached Ashley, I can't answer my phone right now, but leave your name and number and I'll call you back as soon as I can. Bye!"

"Hello Dogface, this is Nick, and I'm calling you from the future. You're living in my three hours ago, back in 2012, and I just wanted to call you and let you know that future you forgives me for being a toolbag. I miss my wingman, Dogface. So here's my proposal! I'll be on a plane first thing in the morning. Let's you and me go out tomorrow night, none of this sitting at home watching televised celebrations crap you're doing right now. We'll party like it's 2012. I'll buy. Happy New Year, Dogface."

I hung up and looked around. Leighanne was practically climbing Brian like he was a tree, their mouths pressed together in a way I wasn't entirely sure was appropriate for Baylee, who was standing only a couple feet away blowing a noisemaker, to see. AJ was face-timing with Rochelle, a conspiracy of fans huddled around him wishing the new mommy Happy New Year as well, and Howie was speaking Spanish sexy talk to Leigh. Fans were gathered all around me, like a huddle on a football field, and I turned around and looked at them all. My eyes met one in a blue dress, covered with sequins.

Well, she wasn't my typical type, but hey. Beggers can't be choosers.




Ashley

"We'll party like it's 2012. I'll buy. Happy New Year Dogface."

I stared at the phone. On TV, the ball had just dropped in Times Square, and Ryan Seacrest was shouting and there was confetti. It looked foreign on mute, and I put the phone down on the couch cushion next to me and stared at it for a moment. I cast a glance at the Christmas tree, which I'd lit one last time.

How fucking lame was I, sitting on my couch, an empty bucket that had once contained Pork Fried Rice from my favorite Chinese delivery tipped over on my coffee table, and Rockin' New Years Eve on mute on the TV. I was thirty-two, and I'd spent the night pining after some guy that barely knew I was a female, who was a million miles away, probably jumping some unsuspecting fan's bones, even as he was leaving messages for me on my phone.

Well fuck him for assuming I was home tonight.

I got up and went into my room and opened my closet and pulled out the sluttiest looking dress I had on the rack. I threw my comfy PJs onto the bed and shimmied into the dress.

I wasn't giving him the satisfaction of just assuming I never did anything. I did stuff. Fuck him for thinking I never did stuff. Probably only called me so he didn't have to actually kiss someone at midnight. He thought that was bad luck, thought kissing at midnight meant you'd stay with that person forever, like an oath. He was superstitious about it. Nick would do anything not to kiss someone at midnight on New Years Eve.

I put my hair up and swiped color onto my lips and mascara onto my eyes. I flung my purse onto my shoulder and slid my feet into my strappiest heels and teetered down the stairs and onto the sidewalk. I walked to the bar that Nick and I frequented and I ordered a Molson on his tab and popped the cap off on the edge of the bar and I sat down in our usual booth and I breathed in the smell of cigars and alcohol, perfume and cologne that mixed in the air and stared up at the TV, which was by now showing Nashville's celebrations as the new year approached, crawling across North America towards me.

A guy approached the table. "Hey," he said.

I looked up. It was Chris, Nick's old friend.

"Hi," I answered.

Chris dropped into the booth across from me. "How's it hangin'?" he asked.

"Just fine," I replied. I took a pull off the Molson.

Chris was either really bad at picking up vibes, or he was just ignoring the shield of ice that I was mentally putting up between the two of us. He stared at me. "You're looking good tonight," he said, his voice loud to come over the music.

"Thanks," I replied.

"I'm surprised you didn't go to Pennsylvania with Nick," he said.

I shrugged, "He invited me, of course," I lied, "I just turned him down. I mean who wants to spend New Years Eve watching some lame concert with him, right? Boring! He called me at midnight, though." I laughed, a little too loudly so it sounded fake even to my ears, "Thought I'd be home. On New Years Eve! Please."

Chris nodded and took a sip of the drink he was holding.

"I'm a party girl, yessiree," I said, nodding into my beer bottle.

Chris smiled. "You meeting up with anybody?"

I contemplated. "No," I answered.

"Can I buy you another one of those?" he nodded at my Molson.

"Yeah sure, why not," I answered.

Before: I Can't Do This


Ashley

"He obviously got it right there at the airport," I was shouting, waving the stupid beach sand bulb necklace in Chris' face, a little battlion of empty Molson bottles at my elbow. "I spent months, Chris, looking for that fucking Ninja Turtle and he gives me a piece of cheapass tourist shit and --"

Chris sipped his drink. He was on his second vodka whatever the hell he was drinking.

"-- and I'm sick of being an afterthought, you know?" I put the necklace back on, tucking it back against my chest, where it'd been since Nick had given it to me. "It's not fair that I put him first everyday of my life - everyday, Chris, everyday - and he just keeps shoving me on the back burner because he like thinks he can take me for granted or something."

"I don't know how he could," Chris said.

I twirled my bottle on the table in front of me. "It's not fair, Chris."

He shook his head, "It's not, you're right."

"You get me," I whined.

"It's just how Nick is, Ash," he said. He leaned back, took another sip of his drink. "Nick grew up famous, right? He literally grew up with people falling all over him and treating him like he shits rainbows and gold."

"I have never treated him like he shits rainbows or gold," I said.

Chris laughed, "Nick drops a fierce duece."

"Can't use the bathroom for hours after him without a surgical mask," I laughed, too.

"But my point is, he's used to taking people for granted because most people are falling over each other to let him take them for granted. You know that. You're the one that told me that, girl."

I pouted. "I just -- I thought I was different. I thought -- I've always thought --"

"What? That Nick and you were like some fucked up fairy tale where he was one day gonna wake up and be in love with you?" Chris snorted. "Christ, Ashley, get with the picture. Nick's a player. He thrives on it. He's never gonna settle down. It'd take some colossal, unforseeable calamity to ever tame him. He's a beast."

I rested my chin on my beer bottle. I was feeling light headed. "All I want in the whole world is for Nick to open his eyes and see me and feel the same way I do," I said. My voice was staring to slur, the edges of words blurring together. My passionate anger from moments before, when I'd been mid-tirade, was burning off. I looked at Chris, "All I want is for him to love me."

Chris drew a deep breath, "I'm sorry."

"It was easier when you two did nothing but get high all the time," I said, "It was easier to ignore it when he ignored me. There was a reason for it. Now it's like he doesn't even see me. He sees every woman. Chris, he was joking about wanting to have sex with a girl with an eyepatch and a bald spot the other day, but the second someone says something about me and him being a thing he goes all weird and gets grossed out."

Chris slid out of the booth. He held his hand out to me. "C'mon, Ashley, let's get you home."

"Home sounds nice," I agreed. Chris pulled me to my feet and wrapped his arm around my back.

Outside, it was cold and I pressed myself against Chris. Revellers were lining the streets, shouting to each other and blowing noise makers. It was drizzling a little and puddles were forming along the sides of the streets. Hookers called out their enticements and a Jamaican guy with dreadlocks was hitting a beat on a steel drum outside of a liquor store. Chris walked me past the sketchy neon signs to the brick apartment building I lived in, several blocks away, where the noise and music from downtown only just barely reached. He stopped outside and I grabbed onto the wrought iron fence post that enclosed the teeny tiny excuse for yard. I stared at him as I swung myself gently on the posts.

"Christopher," I said, "Am I really that ugly? As ugly as he makes me feel?"

"You aren't ugly," Chris answered. He stepped closer.

"He makes me feel like the ugliest girl in the world," I said. I hummed the Miss America Beauty Pagent theme song for a moment to myself, and I laughed. "Why does he do that?"

"I don't know," Chris said. He came even closer.

"It's infuriating," I mumbled.

"I know," he said.

I stopped swinging myself and stood in front of him. "Do you still have pot, Christopher?" I asked.

"Why are you calling me Christopher?" he laughed. "Nobody calls me that."

"Remember that one time I got high with you guys up in Canada and we got ice cream at the pier and Nick jumped into the ocean in his briefs?" I mused.

Chris smiled, "You jumped in, too."

"Yeah."

"You had on that red bra," Chris said. He leaned closer. Our chests were touching. Somewhere far off across the city, I could hear the countdown. Was it really almost midnight? Was it really almost 2013 already? Another year of waiting and hoping, of wishing for Nick to see me really almost over?

I stared up at Chris.

His eyes closed.

And I realized he was about to kiss me.

My mind raced. A million questions went through it. Was this what I wanted? Was Chris someone I wanted to kiss at midnight? I thought about Nick's theory, about Nick himself, and about the pot that we smoked that time in Canada. Chris' breath kind of smelled like that pot. He was coming closer. I closed my eyes, too, because that's what you do and I felt Chris' breath as he got close enough and his lips grazed mine and I was just about to push up with my toes to meet his mouth as the strains of Auld Lang Syne drifted over the city when my phone vibrated.

I pulled away from Chris, our lips never quite connecting, and pulled the phone out of my pocket and looked down at the text message I'd just received.

Happy New Year Dogface... 2013, wow...anything's possible huh?.

I looked up at Chris. "I can't do this, I'm sorry." I turned and rushed up the steps of my apartment building, leaving him out on the sidewalk.




Nick

Happy new year was all Dogface wrote me back. She'd probably been almost asleep when I texted, and I felt bad 'cos I probably woke her up. I pictured her sitting on her couch, pictured the Chinese food container, and her stupid fuzzy socks she wore instead of slippers. And this AJ thought I'd bang? Please.

I hopped an early morning flight and watched the sun come up out of the porthole window headed back to Los Angeles. I fell asleep for most of the flight, I hadn't slept thanks to the Fan in the Blue Dress, whose name I never even bothered to ask. AJ sat beside me, again fiddling with his iPod, looking sleepy, too. At the airport, AJ and I stood waiting for our luggage with a couple trollys.

"Okay so I know we talked about this," he said, "And I know what you said, but - now hear me out, okay? What if you and Ashley are perfect for each other?"

I shook my head, "Dude, seriously. That'd be like you hooking up with your step sister. It's sick. Just drop it."

"I'm just saying, it'd be a hella shame to let something perfect go because you can't see past your own fucked up little tweedle brain there, man," AJ said, waving his fingers at my head. "You don't see it, but I'm telling you every single other person in the fucking universe does."

I rolled my eyes, "You and, who? Brian? Brian doesn't give a shit who I end up with, only that I end up with someone. You know him and his wholesome goodygoody morals and all that."

"I'm talking Howie and Kevin and everyone, even Jenn and Eddie and Q and everyone."

"You're all nuts," I answered. I yanked my suitcase off the spinner. "Even if reality was suspended and I did even remotely find Dogface attractive that way, there's still the bit where I don't want to get married or have kids or any of that classic white picket fence American dream apple pie shit. I don't want it, and that's what Dogface was like built for."

AJ shrugged, "I never thought I wanted it either but I'm telling you man nothing smells sweeter than my daughter's dirty diapers."

"That's really sick, Jay."

AJ grinned. "Speaking of..."

I turned around and spotted Rochelle a few feet away, carrying Ava in a sling on her chest. AJ rushed over and wrapped his arms around Rochelle and Ava in one fell sweep and he pressed his nose to the baby's face and made googley noises.

I sighed, "I'll see ya'll around," I said.

"See ya," AJ called, barely acknowledging me.

I walked out to my car and hoisted my suitcase in.

When I pulled up to my house about an hour later, I found Chris sitting on the front step, his suit undone at the collar, his neck tie wrapped around his fist. He had a bottle of Jack beside him on the stoop, mostly gone, and he was leaning against my door. I parked and got out and walked over to him, kicked his foot. "Hey, Chris," I said, "Wake up, man."

Chris blinked blurrily up at me. "Oh hey douche tool," he slurred.

"Hey." I reached down and pulled him up to his feet, "What're you doing here?"

"I came to - to give you - a - a piece of my mind," Chris answered. He wobbled.

"A piece of your mind, huh?" I sniffed him, "Shit man you smell like the inside of a bottle."

"You take'er for granted," he hiccuped.

I pulled Chris up the steps and into the door. "C'mon, man," I said. I deposited him on the couch.

"Take her and take her and you just don't have a shit's clue," he muttered.

"Not a shit's clue what you're talking about," I agreed. I left Chris in the living room and went back out front to collect his empty Jack bottle, and my suitcase from my car. When I got back inside, I could hear Chris snoring, so I threw the bottle away and hauled the suitcase up the stairs to get some sleep of my own.

Before: Good Days and Great Lays


Nick

Chris was gone when I got up later that evening. Other than his necktie, which was on my living room floor, there wasn't even any evidence that he'd been there. I couldn't help but be amused by how much he must've had to drink - or perhaps smoke/snort/whatever - last night to end up at my place of everywhere he could've ended up in the city of Los Angeles.

I got dressed, put on my own suit and tie, and slid my wallet into a breast pocket. I stopped and got a bottle of champagne, red solo cups, and a box of Slim Jims, and headed to Dogface's apartment. I knocked and she opened the door wearing a dress and her hair all done nice. She smiled, "Hey," she said, smiling, "Nice tie." She ran her hand across it.

"Thanks," I said. "I think you bought it."

"Did I?"

I shrugged, "You or some costume designer on some tour," I answered.

Dogface waved me into the apartment, "I'm almost ready," she said.

"Do whatever it takes," I answered. I wandered around the living room. There was chinese container on her coffee table. "So... quiet night last night, huh?" I asked, holding it up. I could see the light from her bathroom spilling into the hallway.

She ducked out to look. "Oh... yeah," she said, "Just... you know, stayed home."

I walked over to a shelf she had and squinted. All the pictures on the shelf were from various things we'd done together and group photos from her various homes she'd grown up in. All her myriad of parents. I licked my teeth. "Aren't you gonna ask how the show went?" I called out.

"Yeah, how'd the show go?" she asked.

"Went good," I answered. "Dude, you should've seen the babe I nailed last night."

Dogface's response was delayed a moment. "Hot one, huh?"

"Oh yeah, I think she was probably like nineteen or twenty."

"Hot and young. Wow. Not even born when you started working. Impressive Carter. No follow-up?"

"Seriously? You have to ask? She was in fucking Pennsylvania."

Dogface came out, attaching earrings to her ears. "Well you never know. She might be small enough to fit in your pocket at that age." She grabbed the clicker and turned off the TV, which had been playing a rerun of Millionaire, from way back when Regis was still hosting it. "I'm ready."

I looked her over, "Not bad." I opened her front door and she picked up a purse from her table and ushered herself out into the hallway. I followed and once she'd gotten all her trillions of locks done, we headed down to the car I had waiting for us out front. "I got us champagne and red solo cups."

"Just like college," she said.

"That was the best part of you being in college," I laughed, "Access to all the sweet frat parties." I opened the car door and Dogface climbed in. Inside, it was dark but neon runners lit the corners of the car ceiling. I poured her a red solo cup of the bubbly and the car started rolling off to the club I'd told the driver we were headed to.

"Only one thing missing, though," she said.

I held up the Slim Jims.

Dogface grinned, "Aw, you remembered."

We rolled along, drinking the champagne and eating Slim Jims until we reached the club. There was a line a mile long stretching on down the street, the beat was reaching the curb.

I climbed out and Dogface followed, leaving the solo cups behind, and we walked up to the bouncer, who gave me a fist bump and asked how I was doin' and waved us on through. Dogface stuck close behind me as we entered, the room was musty and crowded and music blasted so loud the floorboards and walls shook and it vibrated somewhere in my veins. Dogface followed me through it all to the bar, where we found ourselves a corner where we could almost hear each other when we shouted over the music.

"This place is nuts!" Dogface shouted.

"The VIP room's a little quieter," I said, "But I figured we might do better getting a target down here and bringing her up with us."

Dogface stared at me for a moment, then she yelled, "Oh, are we looking tonight? I didn't think we were."

"What else would we do?" I laughed, "That's what we do isn't it?"

"I just thought -- nevermind."

"What?"

"Nevermind, Nick," she replied.

The bartender came over with our drinks and we stood side by side at the bar, staring out at the girls all around us. Her elbow brushed mine and I looked down at it. It was a bony little thing and she had freckles on her arms. I looked at her face. Her dimples, the bright color of her eyes, the way the mascara or whatever framed them. I looked back out at the people grinding and bumping and dancing all over the dance floor.

"So what're you looking for tonight, any particular flavors?" she asked.

I shrugged, "Maybe something foreign?"

She sipped her drink and pointed. "How about her?"

"She looks like a Russian Lesbian," I said, glancing the direction she'd pointed.

"Not that one, the one next to her," Dogface amended.

"Probably the first one's girlfriend," I replied.

Dogface laughed. Her eyes roved the room. She looked back at me. "You know what we haven't done in a long time is just go to that sports bar and talk," she said.

"The Buccs are done for the season," I said.

"Not about the Buccs, just about anything, you know, like just talking."

I shrugged. I pointed across the room, "Her," I said.

"The Egyptian looking girl?" she asked, squinting through a purpley colored fog that filled the room.

"No the blonde," I answered.

Dogface contemplated. "Could work."

I hesitated. "You know, though, the girl from last night was a blonde. Meh." I sipped my drink, scanning the room.

Dogface turned to me, "Hey can we go sit down for a second?" she asked.

"Yeah okay, I can figure out what nationalities I need to complete my map," I said.

Dogface followed me as we wove through the crowd to the stairs that led us up to the VIP level seating and into a small room to the side of the pit that I had reserved. Inside, it was much quieter. Couches lined the walls and a TV hung in a corner. Dogface sat down. She reached up and let her hair out of the bun that she'd piled it into. I grabbed the remote off the coffee table in the center of the room and flipped through the channels that they'd provided in the room, including a porno channel, which I paused on briefly before going on. Dogface was shaking her hair out, running her fingers through it.

"Nick," she said.

I looked over at her.

She sighed, "Nevermind."

"That's twice you've started to say something and changed your mind," I said. I grinned, "Do you want us to get you a dude, too?" I grinned and reached over and shook her knee, "When was the last time you got some?"

She muttered something I didn't hear.

I leaned closer and I caught the scene of her hair. It was like some kind of fruit and a flower or something mixed together, sweet and tangy and nice. I'd never noticed Dogface smelling like anything before. I breathed deeper. I opened my eyes and downed the rest of my drink from the bar. In a cooler beside the table stood two more bottles that I'd ordered ahead of time for the table and I reached in and refilled my glass, did a quick shot, and refilled it again.

I poured a shot for Dogface, too.

"To 2013," I said.

"2013," she replied.

We both downed the alcohol. I refilled it yet again. "May it be ever so awesome, full of good days and great lays."

"Great lays," she muttered, and we raised our glasses and downed them.




Ashley

Looking back, I'm not sure when it is that I started making bad choices that night. Probably somewhere around the fifth shot of whatever Nick was feeding me mixed with the solo cup full of champagne. My head started feeling disconnected from my shoulders and the noise and colors of the club outside the glass wall of the VIP room were hypnotizing and I grinned stupidly up at Nick. It felt like a hundred thousand years ago or more that I'd bitched about him to Chris. Now, Nick Carter looked like nothing less than a demigod.

We were out on the floor again, looking for Nick's foreign dish of the night, and he was several drinks deep, too, and his eyes were getting less and less focused as the night and the music wore on and on. It was probably nearing midnight by the time we spotted the latino girl across the bar that he decided he wanted. He turned to me. "Do I look sexy?" he asked, all sloshy.

I fixed his tie. "Yes," I slurred.

"Okay then," he grinned, "I'ma go tap dat." He waved vaguely at the latino.

"Condom," I managed.

Nick patted his pocket. "Here." He reached into his breast coat pocket. "Hold onto my wallet." He handed it to me.

"Okay." I slipped it into my bra.

"Thanks." He teetered away, carrying a drink identical to the one the latino girl held in her hand.

A guy launched himself against the bar in front of me. He was older and smelled funny. I moved a couple feet away. "Hey sweets," he said, eyeballing me.

I turned away.

"Hey," he said, grabbing my hair, "You got some nice hair here, like fire."

I shook my hair away.

"Let me buy you a drink sexy," he said.

I picked up my glass from the bar, "I already have one, thank you though."

"So another one."

"This is my last."

"A refill for the lady," he called to the bar tender. He looked at me and grinned. "You here all alone? And on New Years? No boyfriend to kiss?"

Even though the density of the alcohol I'd already consumed it struck me that this guy was uber creepy. I hesitated and pulled out my phone, pretending to ignore the guy. I sipped my drink.

"Hey that ain't nice," he grunted. He slapped my phone out of my hand and it fell to the floor.

"What the fuck?" I snapped, and I ducked for the phone, grabbed it off the floor and, in the process of standing up, I smacked my head on a table. "Shit," I groaned, holding my head. "Ugh." I stood up, tucking my phone into my bra with Nick's wallet. I grabbed my drink off the bar counter and wandered back through the crowd toward the VIP room. I didn't realize until I got there that the creepy guy had followed me. He caught me by the elbow just as I was about to go into the room and he followed me in. "Leave me alone," I snapped. I put the drink on the table.

He grabbed my arm and spun me around. "Hey don't you ignore me," he said roughly.

"Let me go," I snapped. But pretty much everything - from the lights to the walls to his stubbly face looked like a kaladescope in my vision and I couldn't fully focus on anything. I felt so lightheaded, like I was about to pass out or something...

"I just wanna get to know ya," he said, and he leaned closer, his breath smelled. I turned my head away. "Pretty thing like you... What you got access to a VIP room for if it ain't to use it, huh, sweets?"

"Hey back the fuck off her."

I looked up, turning my head back toward the door. It was Nick.

The guy let go of me and I felt my knees give way as I dropped onto the couch and closed my eyes. Everything around me was sort of dreamy... hazy... far off. But I'm pretty sure Nick was just about to beat the shit out of the guy when I passed out.

After: Like You Were Worried About Me Or Something


Ashley

There have been three times since I have known him that I have legitimately feared for Nick's life.

The first was in 2003, when we were still living in Florida. He was down on the Keys in his little drug haven that he'd created for himself. Chris was out there with him but that only meant more trouble could be generated. I lived in Tampa. If you know anything about Floridian geography, then you know that's a pretty good distance apart, despite being in the same state. There was a mother of a hurricane on its way to blast the state overnight and everyone had spent the day binding and securing everything then getting the hell out of town, and I was waiting for Nick to come because he was supposed to be staying with me until it blew over. Instead, at ten o'clock at night, I got a phone call.

"Heyyyyyyyyy lady," he drawled the words out in that twangy voice he only had when he was high or drunk or both. He laughed.

"Where are you?" I asked, looking out my window. It was so pitch black outside I couldn't see a thing. The wind was howling.

"Chris and me decided to stay in Marathon," he announced, giggling like a teenage girl calling her crush for the first time.

"What?" I gasped. The keys had been evacuated. They'd been talking for hours about the traffic on the bridge and the danger imposed by staying out on the islands.

Nick laughed, "Yeah we had this idea. We're gonna film a - a - a Nickumentary about the hurricane. Ooo so spooooky..."

There was a loud crack and Chris let out a shriek like a girl, which was followed by Nick's laughter and a whoop of a mystery third person. "Gotta go lady, I think the roof just broke..." and he hung up.

I thought for sure he was gonna blow away into the Gulf and drown, probably laughing like a hyena the whole time. I didn't hear from him for a couple days, either, because the phone lines were down, and I remember legitimately fearing what I would hear when everything had finally settled down and the power was back up. But three days later, he showed up on my door step, looking hung over and exhausted. I'd hugged him tighter than the jaws of life and he'd gasped out, "Jesus, you'd think you were worried about me or something."

The second time I legitimately feared for his life was around mid-February this past year.

One year ago to the day. Nick's sister, Leslie, died of a drug overdose. Nick was just starting his first solo tour in just about a decade when he got the news. I was standing backstage when his cell phone rang. He'd looked at the caller ID. "What the fuck is my Dad calling me for?" he'd said, confusion in his voice, and he'd turned away from the stage, covering one ear. "Dad?" he'd called into the phone, and his brow had furrowed and he'd looked ready to throw up. He'd dropped to his knees, the phone hitting the floor as he dropped it, and I'd dropped down right beside him. He'd clutched my arm so tightly, like he needed something, anything, to hold onto.

I'd been so scared for him during the months that followed. He'd refused to do anything he didn't have to do. He did the shows and the soundchecks and the appearances on TV and radio that he had to do, but other than that he locked himself in the hotel room or the tour bus and he stayed there and watched TV and spoke meager amounts of words. I wasn't the only one in the entourage that feared Nick would hurt himself.

So this one night, he cancelled the show late in the evening, when we were all already set up at the venue and fans were already collecting outside. He cancelled it via text message to Eddie and all it said was I'm not coming. Eddie had gone into massive crisis aversion mode with the fans and I'd demanded a bodyguard drive me back to the hotel immediately because for Nick to cancel a show was just not heard of. When I got to the hotel and back up to the room we'd been sharing, I freaked out to find the room empty, Nick just missing. I opened the shower stall like twelve times and even was desperate enough to check under the bed before sitting and bursting into tears.

Chris and Nick had stumbled through the door an hour later, drunk as skunks. Nick, who was a bit drunker than Chris was at that point, sloshed to the bed and landed next to me, wrapping his arms around me, "Heyyy lady," he'd said, again with that twangy voice.

"Where the fuck were you?" I'd wailed, wrapping my arms around him.

"Jesus," Nick said, "You'd think you was worried about me or somethin'."

And that brings us to time number three.

I was pacing up and down the waiting area in the hospital. They couldn't tell us a damn thing because, just as Chris had said, we weren't family. I'd texted the crap out of Angel, the only other Carter whose phone number I had stored on my phone, and I'd panicked and waited for a response, for anything. Chris just sat dismally in his waiting room chair, watching me go back and forth.

"I can't handle this, Chris, not tonight of all nights," I said. My arms felt cold, my stomach ached because I was hungry. Outside the sun was coming up, painting the sky a pale salmon color. I could feel tears welling up.

Chris rubbed his neck. He stared up at me. "C'mere, sit down."

"I can't sit down."

"You need to sit down, you've been pacing that floor an hour, you're gonna wear it thin."

I burst into tears.

Chris stood up and came over, wrapped his jacket around my shoulders, and guided me to the seats beside him. "Relax," he said, "You gotta relax."

"We've been best friends since we were eight, Chris. I don't want the last thing I ever said to him to be a lie."

"What'd you say to him?" Chris asked.

I coughed, "He asked if - if..." I bit my lips.

"What?"

I shook my head.

"No c'mon, it'll help."

I looked up at Chris, "He asked if it meant anything to me."

"If what meant anything to you?" Chris asked.

"Nothing," I answered, and I looked away.

"What'd you say?" Chris asked.

"I said it didn't."

"But it did."

I nodded, "Of course it did."

Chris rubbed my shoulder again and pulled me close. I leaned my head against his shoulder. I never thought I'd find myself hugging Chris in the waiting room at a hospital. Ever. I mean I'd made it a point to hate Chris for most of the time I'd known him. Maybe jealousy. I mean Nick paid him more attention than he'd ever paid me, and it hurt like hell.

My reason for being so hard on Chris wasn't really even Chris' fault, I realized. It never had been.

I pulled back and looked Chris in the eyes.

"Thank you for being there for me," I said quietly.

He nodded.

"Thank you for listening to me," I added.

Again, Chris nodded.

I kissed his cheek.




Nick

There's nothing weirder than that first moment, when you wake up and can't quite remember where you are or how you got there. I opened my eyes and found myself staring up at a plain white ceiling and I went to sit up but it hurt like hell to even try so I stopped and I listened and I heard a beeping and a dripping and I looked to my side and saw the IV and the heart monitor and the blood falling through the tubes into my arm. I stared down at my arm. It was bruised really badly from my elbow down. My hand was in a cast.

"Jesus," I muttered. I moved my other hand to my face, and realized I had bandages across my face. "What the --" I started panicking. The beeping on the heart monitor increased and within seconds a nurse had rushed into the room. She was wearing blue scrubs. She grabbed me by the shoulders and laid me back down.

"It's okay," she said, "Calm down, sir... calm down..."

"Where the hell am I?" I gasped.

"You're at the hospital," she said, looking me in the eyes.

"What happened? What happened to my hand? Why's there bandages on my face?" I asked, my heart thumping in my chest.

The nurse's voice was so calm. "You've been in a very serious plane crash, you're one of the lucky ones." She added, "It's going to be okay. We're taking good care of you."

Suddenly it rushed back into my mind. All of it. The plane, the smell of sulfur. Dave. Ashley.

"Where's Ashley?" I asked, "Dave said he'd get Ashley. I need Ashley."

The nurse nodded, "We'll find her." She checked a few things on the monitor and the IV and then she sped out of the room.

I felt tears burning my eyes.

You've been really stupid, Nick... The words were like an echo in my mind. They weren't my words, they weren't in my voice.

And then I remembered Leslie.

Before: Taking Advantage


Nick

The thing I love most about club music is it's loud enough that when girls say stupid things I can't hear them. Vice versa, too. When I say stupid things, girls can't hear them, either. It makes it nice because you can say pretty much anything you want and if you say it with a smile the person you're saying it to will either think they misheard you or didn't hear you the first time to begin with.

The thing I don't love about clubs is that too many scurvy guys try to take advantage of this lack of hearing.

And the guy that was talking to Dogface at the bar was notoriously one of those guys that followed girls to the bathroom and took advantage of the noise. I looked at my Mamasita, whose big chest was jiggling gently with her dancing, and her eyes were slightly unfocused. This was a sure shot. I glanced back at Dogface.

"I'm sorry, I gotta go," I yelled into Mamasita's ear.

I don't know what she thought I said, but it must've been something back because she threw her drink in my face and stormed away with her girlfriends. A couple people looked over at me with raised eyebrows. I had sludgey green drink rolling down my chest. It was freezing, made mostly of ice. "Shit," I gasped, shaking it off. "Shit that's cold."

I turned around to find Dogface again, but she wasn't at the bar. Neither was the douche bag. I looked around, scanning the room, and the light caught her red hair as she climbed the stairs toward the VIP room, wobbling slightly, carrying her drink. The douche bag was right on her heels. "Excuse me," I muttered, pushing between people, attempting to cross the dance floor. I shoved and pushed my way along, watching as the guy followed Dogface into the VIP room and closed the door behind them.

It took me entirely too long to get there, I could feel my heart pounding. When I opened the door, he had her by the arms. "Hey back the fuck off her," I shouted as I came in the room. He let her go and she dropped like a lead to the couch beneath her. I grabbed the guy by the shirt and spun him into the wall, getting right in his face, "If you even so much as look at her again I swear to Christ I'll rip your dick off."

The guy glowered at me.

"Maybe I should anyways and do all them girls a favor, you piece of shit."

"Like you're one to talk, I've seen you, always here every night, picking up different women." He spat. "You're not any different than me."

"I don't take advantage of women," I snapped.

"Of course you do," he answered, "They don't regret me anymore than they regret you the next morning, just because you're some high and mighty Backstreet Boy or whatever you are you think it ain't a crime you going around using women? Like you're some gift God gave'em?"

"Get the fuck out of here before I kill you," I growled and I shoved him toward the door.

He stumbled to regain his balance and he laughed, "Hitting a nerve am I, pretty boy?" he asked.

"I said get the fuck out of here," I replied.

He smirked, but he ducked out of the room.

I turned back to Dogface, who was laying on the couch. I picked up her glass and sniffed it. It didn't smell like he'd put anything in there, but who could tell. I felt lightheaded as the adrenaline wore off, but the buzz was officially killed. I pulled Dogface up to her feet and she fell into me, her arms instinctively wrapping around my neck. "I love you," she murmured as her head landed against my chest.

I hugged her to me. "C'mon, let's get you home. This was a mistake." I pulled her along out of the VIP room and down the stairs to the exit, where I called for the driver to come around for us. The night air was cold. She clung to me like a koala bear as we waited for the car. The driver got out and helped me get Dogface into the back, and he closed the door behind us.

In the lush car interior, Dogface curled into me, her hand clinging to my shirt in a little fist. I stared at her hand, at the lines on her knuckles and the color on her nails. I pressed my face into her hair, smelling that fruity, flowery smell I'd noticed earlier. She felt delicate for the first time since I'd known her. Dogface had always been tough, almost boylike, but for the first time she felt like a girl.

When the car came to a stop in front of her apartment building, I paid the driver and told him he could go home for the night. "I'm staying here," I said. I hoisted Dogface into my arms and carried her up the stairs. I put her down on the hallway floor and fished her keys out of her pockets and struggled with her twelve billion locks on the door. "Jesus, even with the keys nobody's getting in here," I muttered to her. She didn't reply. Instead, she was humming Free Falling. I finally got all the locks undone and I lifted her back up, carried her inside and put her down on her couch before going back and resealing the door.

I knelt on the floor beside the couch and put a pillow down behind her head.

She half opened her eyes, "I think I'm drunk," she whispered.

"I think so, too," I replied.

She reached out and put her hand on my face, "There's no other face in the entire world I'd rather see," she whispered.

I laughed, "You're talking crazy, Dogface."

"I love you, Nick Carter," she murmured.

"Good night, Dogface," I said. I stood up, her hand flopped back to her side and she stared up at me. I started walking away.

"Nick," she called.

I turned back. "Yeah?"

"Aren't you gonna try to take advantage of me?" she asked, "I'm a drunk girl, you know."

I shook my head, "No," I said, and I felt profoundly guilty.




Ashley

"Oh God, my head." I felt like my brain was imploding. I clutched my head and rolled onto my side. The sound of the couch moving with my weight was like a freight train on high speed. "Holy shit," I groaned.

"Hey you're awake!"

"Oh Jesus say that quietly." I looked up and saw Nick standing there. He knelt down.

"Sorry," he said, just above a whisper. He held out a cup. "Black coffee. It'll help." I took the mug and forced myself to sit up. It was like straightening the tower of Pisa. Nick sat down next to me, clutching his own mug. He put an arm over my shoulder. "How you feeling today?" he asked.

"Like I got hit by a bus," I answered, sipping the coffee. "What in the hell happened last night?"

"Some tool tried to take advantage of you," he replied. "I gave him the ol' heave-ho, sent him packin', drove him out of Dodge. You know. Other old Western cowboy phrases for kicked his ass."

The coffee was bitter, but it did provide a nice rush to my head. And it was warm. Considering how cold I felt, warm was good. "How'd we get home?"

"I carried you in," he answered. "I hope you don't mind, I slept on your bed."

"No that's fine," I said. Though I did wonder fleetingly why he chose to deposit me on the couch and take the bed himself instead of vice versa, but I didn't say anything. "I don't think I've ever been that drunk in my entire life," I said.

"I know you haven't," Nick supplied. "You were completely wasted."

"I'm sorry."

"It's my own fault, half the drinking you did was the shots I gave you," he laughed, "Half? All but like one drink was what I gave you." He leaned back against the couch cushion.

"Did you at least get some time with your mamasita?" I asked.

Nick shook his head, "She threw her drink at me, in my face." He laughed.

"What'd you do?"

"Told her I had to go help you," Nick shrugged. "I think she misheard what I said, though."

"Aw you gave up your New Year Ho," I said.

"That's two hos you owe me," Nick laughed.

"I'll have to work on that."

Nick shrugged. "Eh..."

"Eh?"

"I think I'm becoming a new leaf this year," he said.

I raised an eyebrow, "A new leaf?"

"Yeah," Nick nodded. "Here it is... my New Year's resolution --"

"Oh Lord," I rolled my eyes.

"Do you wanna hear this or not?"

"I wanna hear it."

"Okay. So my New Years resolution --- I'm gonna only sleep with girls who are sober." He swept his hand across the air in front of us like a marquee.

I snorted coffee.

"I don't want what I do to be mistaken as taking advantage," he explained, "I don't do that. I'm just really good in bed and there's enough of the Carter to go around, if you know what I'm sayin'." He winked.

"You're mental," I said.

"Of course, hooking up with a completely sober woman is slightly more of a challenge than sleeping with a drunk one," he said, rubbing his chin. "Good thing I have a fucking brilliant wingman."

"This leaf's gonna last like one night," I said.

Before: Nick's New Leaf


Ashley

Nick dropped into the booth and smacked his head against the table top between us, banging it against the wood repeatedly like he was tapping out morse code or something. I stared at him for a long moment, took a pull off my Molson, and raised an eyebrow. "Troubles, bubbles?" I asked, tilting my head to look at him.

"All. The. Fuckable. Girls. Are. Drunk." Each word was punctuated by a bang of his head on the wood.

It was a week later and so far Nick's new leaf had left him with nobody to sleep with at the end of the night.

"Maybe your standards are too -- well, I was gonna say high, but really they're low if the girls you're interested in are all drunk." I put my beer down on the table.

"Why aren't you helping me?" he whined.

"Nick, I dunno if you've noticed, but this is all I ever do when you go scouting," I said, shrugging, "I point out a girl, we talk about the dirty things you wanna do with her, then you go do them and I sit here a few minutes to make sure you're really going through with it, then I go close the tab out at the bar and walk home."

He looked up at me, his cheek smooshed against the table top. "But your withholding your magic chick vibes or whatever or something," he whined.

"You could always give up your 'new leaf'," I said, making bunny ears in the air around the word.

Nick scowled.

"What made you make up this rule anyways, it never bothered you before."

He shrugged, "I just - I saw what that douche bag at the club tried to do to you and I don't wanna be that guy."

"That guy was like sixty," I said. "And smelled like he didn't get the memo about Tide or Crest products having been invented."

"See? I rarely do my laundry and I never brush my teeth."

"You pay people to do your laundry for you - and really? You never brush your teeth? I thought that was just a joke the guys had." I reached over and pushed his lips apart with my fingers like a dog show judge analyzing a dog. "Gross," I said, "Have you ever considered the fact that maybe the sober girls aren't drunk enough to overlook the plaque in your teeth?" I let go of his lips.

He licked his teeth. "It's not that bad."

"Oh it's that bad."

"My hotness to plaque ratio makes it not that bad. If a ugly person had plaque that'd swing the game, but on a hot guy like me it doesn't matter," he reasoned.

I shook my head and took a swig of my beer. "You know," I said, putting the bottle down on the counter with a thunk, "You're really full of yourself for a guy who hasn't had sex in a week."

Nick scowled.

I smirked.

"You're mean," he accused. He turned his head so his other cheek was against the table top and he was looking up at the TV in the corner of the room out of the corner of his eyes.

I leaned over and patted his shoulder, "You know you're nothing like that guy, right?" Nick looked up at me, the skin under his chin bunching up against his arm. "At least what I remember of him, which honestly isn't much. But I remember you coming through the door and I remember thinking that I was safe because you were there."

"Yeah?" he asked.

I nodded, "I always feel safe when you're there."

Nick smiled weakly. He sat up. He reached over and took my now empty Molson bottle and started picking the label off of it, leaving little label shreds all over the table. He looked up at me, his tongue still rubbing his teeth. "Have you ever... I dunno, thought about us?" he asked.

I tried to breathe normally. "About us?"

"Yeah, you know. Like you and me. Hooking up or something."

I sucked my lips into my mouth over my teeth and shrugged. "I dunno," I lied.

Nick kept peeling the Molson label off the bottle. "Howie and AJ, they think we're gonna end up together," he snorted when he laughed.

I felt like my throat was sealing up. "They do?" I squeaked.

Nick nodded. He'd gotten the entire label off the bottle. He looked up at me. "I think they're crazy." He stared into my eyes. "But I dunno. Maybe there's something there."

My mouth was bone dry. "Are you um, just saying this... because you think I'd be an easy lay and it's been a week since you've got some?"

Nick shrugged. He glanced at the door. "Hottie at ten," he said. He ran a hand through his hair and slid out of the booth. "Don't wait up for me, darling," he said, and he trotted away.




Nick

My hands were pools of sweat. What the fuck had I just done? I hadn't seen any hottie, I just needed a reason to get the hell out of that booth. I bolted into the men's bathroom on the far side of the bar and locked myself in a stall and sat down on the closed toilet lid. I took deep breaths that were riddled with dirty toilet stench and beer and throw up that wafted from the next stall where a guy was wretching.

I was so obviously desperate for sex that I was willing to hit on Dogface of all people. AJ and Howie were my excuse. They were putting shit in my head and I was regurgitating it like one of my stupid lines for the ladies I put the moves on.

She'd seemed repulsed.

And what really was fucked up was the more repulsed by the idea she'd seemed the more I kinda wanted her.

I wondered how long I had to hide out in the bathroom before she'd go home, thinking I'd scored with the hottie I'd run off to.

I pulled out my phone and started playing Angry Birds Star Wars edition on my phone. I wasted fifteen minutes this way before I decided to go check and see if Dogface had left. I snuck to the bathroom door and opened it and craned my neck to look at the booth. She was gone. I let out a breath of relief and stepped out of the restroom. I needed to find an easy, sober bitch that would sleep with me and get Dogface out of my head.

I went over to the bar and ordered a fresh drink and a shot. I did the shot and sipped the drink and looked around for a girl to hit on. There was a nice lookin' girl with black hair at the end of the bar reading, so I approached, carrying my drink.

"Hey," I said. I waved at her book, "Good book."

I have no idea what the title was.

"Yeah? You've read it?" she asked, she grinned, "Not many guys would read it."

I hoped it wasn't a va-jay-jay book. Or worse: Nicholas Sparks.

I shrugged, "I'm not like most guys."

She closed the cover and put it down on the bar. I almost choked. It was Chinese-fucking-Cinderella. I'd recognize that damn book anywhere. Dogface had read it probably a thousand times, including just over Christmas on the plane headed to my mother's house.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," I answered. I'd swallowed my drink wrong and it was now burning my esophogus. "I'm fine," I answered. "Swallowed wrong."

The girl looked concerned.

"I'll be okay." I added, "Really."

"So do you read a lot?" she asked.

"All the time," I lied. I think the last time I picked up a book I was being graded on it.

"What's your favorite?" she asked. I was about to make up a title when she squealed, "Wait no! Let me guess!"

That seemed easier than making up a book. "Okay, but you'll never get it," I said.

"The Catcher in the Rye?" she guessed.

"Oh shit how did you guess that? In one guess too!" I faked surprise. "Shit, you must really get me." I grinned and leaned closer. She grinned, too.

But then a funny thing happened.

I was looking at this grinning, hot girl who was totally sober and seriously into me, at least who she thought I was, and I noticed her nose wasn't right. It was too... I dunno, wide, and kind of... I dunno, long, maybe. It wasn't short and narrow, like.... Dogface's. And her almond shaped eyes were just an itty bitty too far apart and her mouth was narrow and fat with plump lips. Her lip stick was pale pink not that weird coral red color that Dogface wore all the time. The one that matched her hair.

I backed away, "I'm sorry." I said, and I downed the rest of my drink in one swallow, and went out the door.

I stood on the sidewalk and flapped my arms in my coat pockets for a moment, looking back and forth up the city street. Every person who passed me by, I noticed something about them that wasn't Dogface-ish. They didn't have the right tone of red in their hair, they wore stuff too frilly to be her, their walk was too swishy, their elbows not bony. No freckles. No tall forehead.

I don't know what I was thinking.

Maybe I wasn't.

I just know when Dogface opened the door twenty minutes later, she looked as surprised as I felt.

Before: Horny Rabbits


Ashley

"You aren't a pizza guy."

That was literally the only thing I could think to say when I opened the door and Nick was standing there.

He stepped into the apartment and he closed the door. His body was very quickly very close and his cologne smelled intoxicating and his breath still carried a little bit of the sweet alcohol smell of his last drink at the bar. His hand wrapped around my back, his palm spread across my spine. He pulled me close to him.

I put my palms on his chest, where those stupid foot tattoos he once had used to be. "Nick," I said thickly, "I think we need to talk about this before we --"

"We do too much talking," he answered, and he leaned in as I started panicking and his mouth came down on mine, warm and soft and perfect and I felt all the rational start to melt. I started to give in, I started to sink into him, to surrender, to let go of thinking... but then I imagined the moment after the kiss broke, after the sex ended, after the good feelings washed away What then?

I shook myself away from his mouth, "But Nick..."

"No buts." He came down again, his mouth hot and sweet.

I pulled back, "Nick, what if we do this and it isn't -- it isn't perfect, and... what if it ruins everything?"

He shook his head, "It can't ruin anything. You're Dogface and I'm Nick. Nothing can ruin that." His mouth came to my neck, "There's lots of people who have friends with benefits."

I closed my eyes. I felt equally repulsed and delighted by the idea of friends with benefits with Nick. I tingled. I wanted to be that kind of girl, the kind of girl who would be okay with benefits without wanting more, without getting jealous every time Nick put the moves on another woman. I wanted to badly to be her. I could be her, I told myself, I could be that person that could do all that stuff.

Nick's mouth worked along my neckline and he nudged me backward slowly until we'd fallen onto my couch and he was laying over me, the length of his body pressed against the length of mine, his fingers entwined with mine. I closed my eyes as he kissed me over and over again. Maybe I was dreaming, I thought, because this felt awful familiar, like every fantasy I'd had since I was twelve years old.

Nick's palm was clammy and cool when he pressed his hand against my stomach. It slid up under my shirt to my bra and he cupped my breast softly. It took me back to that moment when we were kids in the storm pipe when Annalee Donaldson had called me a Flatty and I made Nick feel to see I wasn't a flatty.

I pictured telling our children how I'd met Nick when we were kids.

And I realized I couldn't be that girl that did friends with benefits. Least of all with Nick.

"Nick," I gasped as his fingers left my chest to start unbuttoning my shirt. "Nick," I said again. He didn't answer. I pushed him back and sat up. "Wait," I said. He sat there on the other side of the couch, his eyes trained on my chest, two of the buttons undone, my bra was peeking out. I took a deep breath, "Wait. If we're going to do this, we need to do it for real, not just because you're... desperate."

"Desperate," he repeated, nodding.

"We can't just be like two horny rabbits," I added, my voice shaking slightly.

"Horny rabbits..."

"Nick, I need you to promise me something."

"Promise you something..." he nodded.

"If we do this, I can't just be like everyone else," I said. "Nick, if we do this, I need to know I'm going to get a follow-up."

Nick's eyes became focused and he stared at me. "What?"

"Nick, we can't just be friends with benefits."

He blinked. "Why?"

"Because," I said levelly, "That's not what I want for us."

He stared at me for a long moment. "What do you want?"

"I want the follow-up, Nick," I replied.

He sat there silently for a long moment, staring at his knees. He closed his eyes, swallowed. He stood up, and without a single other word to me, he walked out the door.

I was still crying by the time the actual pizza guy got there a few minutes later.




Nick

I was disgusted with myself.

I walked down the street feeling sick until I ultimatly threw up in some person's front yard bush. Then I kept walking, clutching my stomach and feeling even sicker. I couldn't believe what I'd been about to do, how carelessly I'd launched myself into that position. I really was no better than that douche bag at the club, I thought to myself, and I stumbled along the sidewalk hating myself and everything I'd done since Ashley had touched my shoulder in the bar.

I went to Chris' house because I didn't know where else to go. He answered the door with a joint hanging from his mouth and I reached up and took it and took a long drag before I'd even said hello. He waved me inside and closed the door. "You look like shit," he said instead of saying hi, either.

"I feel like shit," I said.

Chris took his joint back and waved me into the living room. "What happened?"

"I almost slept with Dogface," I said.

Chris took the joint out of his mouth and put it down in an ash tray. "What?" he looked super concerned.

"We were at the bar tonight and there was this... I dunno, this moment... and I felt... it felt weird because it was like I almost wanted her." I shook my head, "It was so fucked up man."

"You.. didn't... did you?" he asked.

"What?"

"Have sex," he clarified, "With Ashley?"

"No," I said, "Only because she said she wanted more and I freaked out and I just.. I just got up and left."

Chris stared at me, his eyes wide and an he stood up and he did a couple paces back and forth, running his hands through his hair, "Aw shit Nick, aw shit."

"What?"

Chris looked at me. "What're you, stupid?" he asked.

"Stupid?"

"Yeah, you're a complete fucking retard," he said fiercely. "Jesus Christ, man," he added.

"What are you talking about? She had like babies in her eyes practically," I said, "She was talking about forever, I could tell the way she looked."

"What's wrong with forever with Ashley exactly?" Chris demanded, "Nick, have you thought about it? About forever with Ashley?"

"I can't think about forever with anyone," I said, "You know how I feel about marriage and shit. I'm not about to throw away everything by settling down and getting married. I'm not about to be fucking Brian for Chris's sake."

Chris's next words stunned me then, but in retrospect I don't know how I didn't already know this: "Fuck Nick I'd do fucking anything to have Ashley love me as much as she loves you for even just a minute!" he yelled, "And she offers it to you and you throw it away like a woman like that comes down the pike every day? You're a fucking idiot, bro!" he picked up the joint and shoved it into his mouth and took a long drag off it so that it smouldered and ashed at the end and he put it back down in the tray and he sat back down.

"I didn't know," I said.

Chris shrugged, "Neither does she."

"Why don't you tell her?" I asked.

Chris snorted, "Nick, she's all about you, don't you realize that?"

"That's bullcrap," I said.

Chris shook his head, "She'd never go for anyone else so long as you were still a possibility."

After: The Moment That Changed This Story


Ashley

It was after twelve hours of waiting that my cell phone rang.

I almost killed poor Chris launching myself out of the seat and yanking the phone out of my pocket. We'd somehow managed to fall asleep sitting up in those God-awful chairs, Chris' arm around my shoulders and my face pressed against his chest. He blinked up at me blurrily as I withdrew the phone from my pocket, standing in front of him, my hands shaking so much I could barely hold the thing still enough to see the display screen.

Nick's face was grinning up at me from the screen.

"Oh Jesus, Jesus, Jesus," I wailed out my praises, "It's him, it's him, it's Nick!"

Chris looked torn between relief and something else, but I couldn't quite put a name to the emotion. "Answer it," he urged.

I swipe my thumb across the screen. "NICK!" I yelled into the phone. Several people glanced my way, awakened or disgruntled by my volume. "Oh my God Nick, I'm so relieved you're calling me, I've been worried sick about you, I saw the news on TV and --"

"Hello?" the voice coming across the phone was a woman's.

I stopped mid-sentence. "Hello?" I said back.

"Is this Ashley?" the woman questioned.

"Yes, yes, this is Ashley," I said, my stomach dropping into the very pit of my guts. I looked at Chris. His eyes were trained on mine, wide and anticipating, waiting. He sat on the edge of his seat and I could see every muscle in his body was ready to spring into action, wherever duty might call. I swallowed nervously. "Who's this? Where's Nick? Is he okay?"

"My name is Cynthia, I'm a nurse. I have Nick here and he is asking for you."

"Oh my God," I gasped.

"What?" Chris asked, his muscles tensing even more.

"It's a nurse," I answered him quickly. Then, "I'm at the hospital where they said the victims of the crash were being taken! Where is he? Where can I go to see him?"

"Room 6732 in the Chapman-Olson wing," the reply came. "Come quickly, he's waiting for you."

I hung up the phone, "6732! Chapman-Olson. C'mon Chris, c'mon." I grabbed his hand and yanked him to his feet, barely waiting for him to be standing upright before bolting across the waiting room to the receptionist's desk. I banged against the counter with my palm to get her attention. She waved at me to wait while she finished her phone call, but I cried, "Please, the Chapman-Olson wing! Please!"

She waved at a sign on the wall, irritated. Chris jogged to catch up with me as I ran to the sign, my heart rate elevating with every step I took. The sign was a map of the entire hospital campus, and the Chapman-Olson wing was clear on the other side of it. I pointed at it on the map, then took off down the hallway. Chris ran to keep up with me.

"Did - she - say - how - he - is?" Chris panted as we rushed down the hall.

I dodged a hospital bed that was sitting out in the hallway. "No," I said, "Only that he was asking for me. Chris, he was asking for me." I felt tears spring to my eyes.

Chris didn't reply.

I felt like I couldn't run fast enough. I pictured bursting through the door and seeing Nick there again, wrapping my arms around that big stupid neck of his and telling him I was sorry for everything, that I hadn't meant a word of the things I'd said.

I couldn't wait to tell him that I'd lied.

The campus of the hospital seemed to stretch on and on and on and on forever. We passed people walking through a galleria, past a food court, through an atrium with a fountain, down hallways lined with beds. We took an elevator up when our hallway ended and rushed along to a stairwell that promised to bring us to the sixth floor reception area in the Chapman-Olson wing and, at long last, my chest bumped against the counter of the nurse's station.

Chris trod beside me, clutching a stitch in his chest. "Je - sus," he groaned. He bent forward, panting.

I looked at the nurse who was staring up at me with surprise in her eyes. "Cynthia - Cynthia called me -" I gaspd the words out.

"Ashley!" the voice was to my right and I turned to see the woman whose voice I'd heard over the phone. She looked sick, her brow stitched tightly in the center, her hands wringing.

"Is he okay? Where is he?" I begged, "Can I see him?"

She hesitated. "Well..." she said, "I'm ... I'm afraid there's been a mistake."

"A mistake?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, "Nick has, um, changed his mind."

"Changed his mind?"

"Yes," Cynthia nodded, frowning severely, "You cannot see him tonight. You may come back tomorrow and possibly see him then."

"What?"

"Good day," Cynthia said.

Chris stood up, "But we just - literally - ran across this entire hospital," he said, "We just waited twelve hours to see him."

Cynthia sighed, "He's - he's decided he does not wish to see you at this time. You may come back tomorrow," she reiterated, and with that, despite the cries of dismay and argumets that Chris and I were shouting at her back, she walked away.

I looked at Chris. My heart had gone from beating so fast I could feel it in my throat to nearly stopping in just a moment's time. My eyes were filled afresh with tears - thick, huge tears that I could barely see around. "He doesn't wanna see me," I cried.

Chris stepped up to me and pulled me into him, again, and took a deep breath, "I'm sure that's not what she meant."

"Yes it is," I cried. I pressed my face into Chris' chest and let my tears spill into his shirt. His chin was on the top of my head. I grabbed hold of the shirt, balling my fists around the fabric. "What have I done?"

"C'mon," Chris said thickly, "Let's get you home. You need to lie down."

"I don't want to go home," I cried.

Chris sighed, "C'mon. We need to go somewhere else at least, then," he said. "C'mon." I let Chris guide me away.




Nick

In retrospect, the moment that really changed this entire story may not have been the one when the plane's engine cut. It may have been when I decided to brush my teeth.

I'd fallen asleep when one of the nurse's, a kind, older woman with bright eyes and grey hair, named Cynthia, had come in and awoken me. She said that she'd found my phone in my jacket pocket and she'd called Ashley as I'd been requesting since I woke up. She said Ashley was in the hospital and was on her way to see me. She said it would only be a couple minutes before she got there. And then someone had called her from the other room and she'd excused herself and promised to bring Ashley in the moment she got there.

"You wait there now," she said, "I'm going to get you fresh bandages and I'll be right back."

I'd laid there nervously in the bed, my heart beating wildly, imagining the moment when Ashley walked through the door, imagining Ashley's face - her eyes and her hair and her mouth. And as I laid there, I'd thought of a conversation I'd had with her. About brushing my teeth. I ran my tongue over my teeth and, when I found the plaque building up there, I felt sick. I couldn't tell Ashley how I felt with plaque all over my teeth. All I could picture was her noticing it, and one day telling our kids and our kids kids about the moment when I told her I loved her and how there was plaque all over my teeth.

I rang the nurse's bell three times, in my defense, before giving up and deciding to do it myself.

I struggled out of the covers, my legs were shaking, my hands pooling with sweat. It took several moments to untangle myself from the knot of blankets and IV wire that I'd become wrapped in. I sat on the edge of the bed, queasy and unsure of myself. I launched myself off the bed and landed on my feet and immediately lurched forward, clutching the bedside table in an attempt to steady myself.

"Fuck," I groaned. I closed my eyes, willing every ounce of my strength to move. I shuffled a couple steps toward the door that I only knew was a bathroom because a scrub nurse had come in and used it to throw away the doohickey she'd used to cap the thermometer she stuck in my ear. Luckily, I had a lot of practice walking unsteadily from my wild days of drinking and drugs. I could stagger with swagger. I held onto various objects to keep what little balance I was in posession of. When I reached the door, I leaned on the handle and stepped inside the bathroom.

I may as well have crossed the Sahara desert without a water source.

I staggered to the sink basin and bent forward. It wasn't until this point that I realized I had no tooth brush. I turned on the tap and, with a shaking hand, I wet my finger and did the best that I could do, scraping my teeth with my fingernail. I looked up at the mirror hanging over the sink.

I couldn't breathe. I stood there, horrorstruck, staring at a face that I couldn't for the life of me recognize. It was like I was paralyzed by shock.

The left side of my face was stuck in a sneer, a horrible gash ran from the corner of my nose to the corner of my mouth and back to my jaw line. My entire left cheek was a jarring, garishly bright red, like it was on fire, like it wasn't covered by skin.

I stepped back, too quickly, and I hit the wall behind me and I slid. I landed on my ass, my legs sprawled before me. Pain rushed through my body. The IV ripped from my wrist. I felt my heart rate shoot through the roof, and I started yelling. Screaming, even.

A barrage of nurses rushed into the room. It took them a moment to realize where I was and to regroup, one of them climbed over me, and I recognized Cynthia's voice trying to speak words of sense to me, trying to calm me down, but an unspeakable blast of horror had filled me. My face. My face.

"Nick, Ashley's on her way, we need to get you back to bed," Cynthia begged, "You need to cooperate with us. Please. Calm down, please calm down."

"Fix it," I begged, "Fix it, make it go away!"

Cynthia gripped my arm, struggling to get me to my feet. "Shhh, come on, Nick," she begged.

I struggled to a standing position, the nurses working together to help lift me up. I felt like I wanted to throw up. I caught a glimpse of the mirror once more as they hoisted me, and I yelled out, "No! No, no, no! No that's not me, this is a joke. Tell me you can fix it! Please tell me!"

Cynthia took hold of my hands, "Come with me. Come on, Nick. We're gonna get you back into bed..."

"No," I said. Then I realized that Ashley was coming, that worse than any amount of plaque, she wouldn't be able to help but see this. She would tell our kids and our kids kids how I looked like I'd peeled my skin off my face before I told her I loved her. She'd tell them how I looked like a freak, like a monster, how I was terrifying. "Ashley can't come in here," I begged, grabbing Cynthia's wrist, "She can't see me like this."

In retrospect, the moment that changed this story was the moment when I turned Ashley away.

Before: It's Been One Week...


Nick


I'd spent a lot of time thinking about Dogface.

I thought about what it would be like seeing her mug on the counter by the coffee pot in the morning when I was pouring my coffee. And I thought about seeing her weird chick food in the fridge when I opened it to get out the milk for my cereal. I thought about sitting down in the living room with her, watching the highlights on ESPN. I thought about her leaving books and magazines around the room, and of this weird tiny blanket that she kept on her own couch at her apartment. I pictured spending everyday of my life with Dogface.

Really, it didn't look that different than my everyday life.

Maybe it wouldn't be terrible if Dogface was always around.

But I had a feeling she was probably really pissed off at me after what I'd done. I knew I'd need a Grand Sweeping Gesture. But I couldn't think of one. So I didn't call her immediately, and the more time that passed the grander the sweeping gesture had to be.

Three days before my birthday, I was suddenly inspired.

And it started with a flight.

When I knocked on my mother's door almost nine hours later, she looked shocked to see me there. "Nickolas," she said, her eyes red-rimmed, like she'd just been crying. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I left something here at Christmas," I said, "And I need it back."

She looked disappointed, but she backed into the house, holding the door opened. I stepped into the house and looked around. It was quiet and dark, dust caught in the sunlight hung in the air. I jogged into the house and down the basement stairs. The record was still there, under the bed where I'd left it back in December. When I came up stairs, my mother was laying on the couch, her eyes covered with a damp face cloth. I stood in the doorway awkwardly, unsure if I was supposed to talk or just leave.

"I - uh -" I spun the record in my hands.

"Just go if you want to," she muttered.

I wanted. But despite that, I couldn't just go. I hesitated, wanting so badly to be cold enough to just take off. But something about her laying there with that towel on her face made me feel guilty. So I asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fucking splendid."

I really wanted to be the guy who took sarcasm seriously.

I looked around the house. And that's when I realized what was missing: dead animals. "Where's - uh -" I couldn't remember her boyfriend's name.

"Craig left," she said.

"Oh."

"Found a younger woman," she continued.

I licked my lips. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," she said, moving the towel from her eyes, "Just a typical man, that's all." She waved at the door. "Go on, Nick, go on and be a man."

I sighed.

"Of course, it's not just men," she continued, her voice thick with drama, "It's everyone. Everyone leaves me. Even Leslie."

"Mom..."

"No," she said, "Don't. Just leave."

I looked at my watch. If I wanted to get back to the airport in time for my flight home to LA, I needed to leave now. I looked own at the record. I sighed and put it, and my backpack down. I walked out and sat down in the chair by the couch. "Mom, it's not your fault, about Leslie."

She looked up at me.

"I mean, us kids aren't perfect, none of us are. Sometimes it's because dad, sometimes it's just life circumstances, you know? But it's not you. We're just fucked up is all."

My mother said, "I'm always so alone...and I wonder why, I wonder what I did to cause it. Why am I such a bad mother? I try so hard to be good to you kids..."

I had to bite my tongue to keep from mentioning the way she'd treated Dogface.

"I just fail you all the time," she said.

I shook my head, "No, mom, you don't fail us."

"I do, too," she said. Her eyes were brimming with tears. "It's been almost a year, and you know, we still haven't had a proper memorial for Leslie, as a family?"

This was something we'd exchanged words about several times over the past year because it was mostly my fault that we hadn't. I didn't go to the funeral. I'd been on tour, and I'd used touring as an excuse to not face everything that happened.

"So let's do it," I said.

"Do what?" she asked.

"Let's have a memorial for Leslie," I said. "We'll all be there, we'll all talk and remember and it'll be good. We can say good-bye properly, as a family."

She looked hopeful, "Where?"

I thought for a moment. "Niagra Falls," I answered.

"Niagra Falls?"

"That was Leslie's favorite place, and it's beautiful, and it's common ground so you and dad can both go without it being weird. I'll buy the flights."

"Really?" she was sitting up now, excited. "When?"

"On Thursday," I said, "The one year anniversary."

She leaped up, she wrapped her arms around my neck. Her hands were cool against the skin on the back of my neck. "That would be so beautiful," she said, and I felt the tears slipping down her cheeks.

And she spent the rest of the time I was there making plans.




Ashley

After Nick left the night we almost became friends with benefits, I couldn't sleep. I felt like crap. I ate the whole large pizza I'd ordered, and them promptly regretted it. I felt like throwing up. I paced my hallway, my mind racing. When I got tired, I sat on the couch and watched back to back to back episodes of Everybody Loves Raymond and Roseann on TV Land. I hugged my knees and tried to convince myself that everything was going to be okay and that Nick would forget about the whole thing and things would just return to normal, like it never happened, like he never put his hands on me, like he'd never walked out the door.

But did I want that? Did I want Nick to pretend it never happened, and have everything go back to the way that it was before? Or would Nick ignoring me hurt even more now? I could not unknow that Nick wouldn't have given me the follow-up if I'd given in without asking him.

I finally fell asleep around four in the morning, exhaustion literally not allowing me to stay awake any longer. My alarm went off at six, and wok me up. I moved through my day like a zombie, droning mindlessly through my working hours, and went instinctively to the bar that night. I sat in our booth for hours, waiting, looking around for Nick, but he never came. I didn't give up until after ten, when the waitress had asked me four times if I was interested in moving to an empty spot at the bar.

The next day, I called in at work and I stayed on my couch. It went on like that for the next week: me, laying on my couch and only moving to go to the bathroom, get food, and once to change the batteries in the remote control.

Each day that I didn't hear from him, I felt even worse. Here I was, at age thirty-two, alone and laying on my couch, sitting and waiting for a guy who had walked out on me to come back. Maybe that's what Nick had realized, maybe that's why he'd bolted and disappeared and abandoned me, just like my parents. Maybe I wasn't follow-up material for anyone.

It was the day before Nick's birthday before I heard from him.

I was wallowing in week-old sweatpants and a Journey tee that I'd stolen from Nick forever ago. I was hugging a pillow and running my fingers over the bulb of beach sand around my neck that he'd given me, watching Message in a Bottle on a cable broadcast. It was muted, and I was just staring at Kevin Costner in the rain when my phone vibrated on the coffee table. It spun against the wood. I stared at it, almost unrecognizing it. I picked it up slowly, staring down at the photo ID that told me it was Nick.

The picture was from Halloween, when Nick and I had spent hours making candy corn cookies for the kids in my apartment building before going out to a party dressed as Winonna Ryder and Edward Scissorhands. In the picture, he wasn't in make-up yet. I'd thrown flour at him while we were baking, and it was on his face. He was smiling up into the camera. The picture had always made me feel better bcause at the time I'd felt like a fortune cookie had been cracked open and it had read this is your future. But now... now it felt like the fortune had read never gonna happen.

I thought so long that his phone call went to voicemail.

I clicked play.

"Heya Dogface... It's me. Look, I ain't heard from ya in a bit, and I ain't gonna be in LA tomorrow to head out to the airport with you but I got your ticket all booked for Vegas. You're coming, right? You better be! It ain't my birthday without my wingman, Dogface. So check it... I emailed the flight info to you. Flight leaves in the mornin'. Don't be late, a'ight? Okay so I gotta go. Talk to ya later, Dogface!"

I closed the voicemail and opened my email. Sure enough, Nick had sent me all the information for a flight to Las Vegas.

I sat up. The pillow fell off my lap and onto the floor.

Whatever it took, I had to go to Vegas and show Nick that I was willing to be whatever he needed me to be. I needed him to see that I understood, that I didn't need him to be a follow-up guy.

I jumped up off the couch to go pack. I was now a girl on a mission.

Before: No Geishas


Ashley


I've never been a huge fan of Las Vegas for the same reason I don't feel any real connection to Los Angeles (other than the proximity to Nick): the lights are too bright, the people are too "city", and man is there a lot of ways to get into trouble.

I texted Nick the moment I arrived at the hotel. The car service he'd hired had driven me right to the front doors of the too-tall, almost incandescent-gold building. I'm here.

k. im in penthouse a. cya up here

It was like Dorothy stepping out of the sepia tone house from Kansas into the bright colors of Munchkinland. The inside of the hotel was glitz, glamour, and girls. They were everywhere. Half of them were dressed to the nines with dresses cut both high at the bottom and low at the top and girls wearing tee shirts with Nick's face emblazoned upon them. A gaggle of them were standing around a potted plant where Nick's security guards stood in front of the elevator.

"Ashley!" one of them called, spotting me headed their direction. He waved at me and I waved back. When I got close enough, he squeezed my shoulders into a crushing hug. "How've you been? Missed ya at New Years."

"Oh you know," I shrugged.

I could feel the fans' eyes on me, boring holes. "Who's she?" one whispered.

"One of Nick's friends," another answered. But she put bunny quotes around the word friends.

"Is Nick upstairs?" I asked, trying to ignore them.

"Yes he is," he replied, and he waved me access to the elevator. I climbed aboard. And despite my usual etiquitte in such situations, when the doors were about to close, I gave the one finger salute to the bunny quotes girl.

The elevator carried me to the top of the building. When it let me off, I stood in a glamorous little hallway, facing the door of the hotel room. I parked my suitcase and stood staring at the door, preparing myself. Despite all my big plans, I knew it was gonna kill me when Nick opened the door and a dozen girls were in there. I took a deep breath as an image of Nick in a golden bath tub seething with pink foam and being fed blueberries by geishas with ferns to fan him with flit through my head.

I knocked.

The door opened. And there stood Nick, fully dressed, in a suit no less, and no geishas anywhere. "Come in," he said, stepping back and holding the door open. I stepped inside. The lighting was low, candles lined a table a couple feet away. On the table was two bottles of Molson and what looked like the best fucking Chinese food I ever saw in my life. There was a pink Carnation laying across one of the plates and a package wrapped in gold paper on the seat in front of it.

"What is this?" I asked.

"It's the pre-party," Nick replied. "The flower is to say I'm sorry, and the gift is a long overdue thank you."

"Thank you?" I asked, looking up at him, "Thank you for what?"

"For being you," he replied.

"What?" I felt my eyebrows cinch together.

"You're good to me," he said, "And I don't say that enough."

"You never say that," I said, shaking my head.

"Well I am now," he answered, "And like I said, it's long over due."

I felt my throat swelling up with emotion.

Nick rolled my suitcase in and around the corner of the doorframe. He led me to the table and swept me into the seat where the gift in the golden paper was, handing it to me with an almost half bow. I felt confused by the change since I'd seen him last, and my heart was pounding in my chest. I watched as he slid into the seat beside me, turning so that he was facing me. "Open it," he said.

With shaking hands, I reached for the corner of the paper and slowly pulled it off, revealing the single LP version of Tom Petty's Free Fallin' - my absolutely favorite song in the world. And it was autographed. I felt tears in my eyes. "Oh my God, where did you find this?"

Nick smiled, "You like it?" he asked.

"Love it," I answered, turning it over to look at the back cover.

Nick smiled, "I'm glad."

I looked up at him. "Thank you," I said thickly.

He reached over and swiped away a stray tear at the corner of my lashes. His touch made a thrill crawl down my spine. I stared into his eyes.

I put down the record on the table and I stood up. I crawled onto his lap, straddling him, and I ran my fingers through the hair at his temples, tilting his head back so that I was looking down into his face, and I leaned forward and kissed him, deep and heavy, my hands continuing on through his hair to the nape of his neck. I felt his hands land on my hips, pulling me closer, and my chest pressed against his.

"Ashley," he said, "I --"

"Shh," I said.




Nick

It was the hottest fucking thing I've ever experienced in my entire life.

I kissed her and she ran her fingers through my hair, her nails scratching my scalp. And then she ran them down my spine, sending shivers through every nerve in my body. She stood up and took off her sweater, dropping it on the floor. Her breasts weren't so flat anymore that she'd grown up, and they were cupped together in a bra that peeked it's lacey edges over the neckline of a low cut tank top she'd been wearing underneath with little flowers all over it. She smelled like honey and coconut and watched as she unbuttoned her jeans and slid out of them. Her underwear was yellow and had the Batman logo on her butt, which I saw when she turned around and motioned for me to follow her.

I did.

She led me into the bedroom, where she sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes staring up at me as she slid my suit jacket off and unbuttoned my shirt. My chest bare, she grabbed me by the belt loops and pulled me closer to her so I was standing right in front of her. She slid her fingers up my chest, hooked them over my shoulders, and pulled me down on top of her.

I felt her legs wrap around me.

I could hardly breathe, my heart was pounding in my chest so hard that I thought for sure she must hear it, like a gong going off. But if she could hear it, she didn't make a single indicatio of it. She pulled me closer and we moved our way up the bed to the pillows, where she laid back, her hair pooling around her head. I couldn't keep my hands off her another second. I cupped her chest with my hand and bent forward, smelling her skin and she kissed my forehead, and the world seemed to spin.

It was perfect. It was more perfect than I ever could've imagined it being, and it took every ounce of energy in my body to take my time and really savor her. Every smell, every taste, every feeling, I stored it all in my mind, memorizing her the way astronomers memorize the constellations and patterns in the stars and planets. My mind was blown again and again and again every time she moved. I couldn't believe that all this time, all these years I'd spent searching for women, she'd been right there beside me, all the while capable of this.

It seemed like hours. I don't know how long it really was, but when we were finished, we lay there in the bed, fit together like two puzzle pieces, the lights of Las Vegas outside the wide window, and I had my arm around her side and I fell asleep smelling her, feeling her close to me. And it was into the dark silence that filled the room, when she'd fallen asleep and was breathing rhythmically, that I whispered, "Now that deserves a follow-up."

Before: Interrupted


Ashley

My eyes blinked open at 6:48 according to the bedside clock. I stared at the red numbers glowing in the pitch black darkness, at the city lights outside the window, stretching away into what seemed like oblivion. Nick's arm was around my middle, his fingers tucked between my stomach and the mattress, his body pressed lengthwise against mine, his face buried in the crook of my neck. I could feel his breath as it came out of his nose in my hair, feel his chest rising and falling. They weren't the deep, rhythmic breaths of sleep, they were the short, quiet ones of someone laying still.

So I laid still, too, not wanting to break the spell we were under, not wanting the feeling I had of complete security to end. Nick's mouth moved against my neck, "I think we need to talk."

I swallowed. "Yeah," I answered.

Still, neither of us moved.

The clock blinked along, minute after minute, as we laid there in silence, neither of us moving other than the slight twitches that people make. Nick flexed his toes and I sniffled. But other than that, we didn't move.

Suddenly there was a loud bang as the door to the hotel room was opened and Nick's PR manager, Eddie, was shouting, "Nick! Dude, you're gonna be late for your own damn birthday party, where the hell are you buddy?"

"Fuck, my birthday." Nick sat up and rolled away.

I don't know if he felt it, the moment shatter, but I could all but see the fairy dust floating faintly down from the ceiling. I could all but hear the poof. I sat up, too, hugging blankets to cover my chest as Nick scrambled for his underwear, pulling them up only just in time for Eddie to push open the bedroom door, saying, "Nick, seriously, where in the hell are yo--ohh." He stopped mid-sentence, as the light came on overhead, his fingers paused on the switch, Nick clutching his suitpants in one hand and his other having just finished adjusting himself in his briefs. "Sorry," Eddie said, then he half-glanced my way, "Sorry," he muttered, then he realized it was me. "Ashley?" he gasped.

"Hey," I said from under the blankets I was pressing to my coller bone to cover up. My back was bare and I had a feeling he had a good enough view of the side of my torso to know I was naked.

"When did you get here?" he asked. I could tell this was extremely uncomfortable for him.

"A couple hours ago," I replied.

Eddie's eyes darted between me and Nick. "I'll - uh - wait out here." He backed out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

Nick quickly started dancing into his clothes, hopping while pulling up his pants, grabbing other articles off the floor. He was in the process of buttoning his shirt when he looked up, "There's a dress for you in the closet of your room."

I looked up at him.

"You know, for the party, because I knew you wouldn't bring one."

"How did you know my size?"

"Dogface," he said, "I know everything." He shrugged on the suit jacket. His hair stood up in patches, much messier than usual. It was just-fucked hair, something I'd seen on him many a time in the morning when we went to get coffee or as he stumbled out of a private VIP booth or a bathroom stall with a woman.

I stared up at him. "Not everything," I answered.

Nick slipped his hands in his suitcoat pocket and pulled out his wallet. He tossed a hundred dollar bill and a ticket on the bed, "The club is on the ticket. Just get a car to bring you over. Money if you need it before we hook up -- I mean, meet up -- at the club." His face reddened. "I'll see you there. We need to talk." He walked quickly out of the room and I sat there on the bed staring at the money and the ticket, a sinking, terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I heard Nick and Eddie talking, though muffled outside of the room so I couldn't understand what they were saying, and a moment later, the hotel room door banged closed and I knew I was alone.

I rolled out of bed and grabbed my tee shirt and pulled it over my head. I picked up the ticket and the money and stared at the way the bill was creased and worn. It was an old bill, and the features of it looked narrow and ugly compared to the new bills. I walked stiffly through the penthouse, got my suitcase and dragged it behind me. My feet did not make a sound on plush carpet. I opened the second bedroom's door and found he'd had flowers put on the nightstand and when I opened the closet, sure enough, a garment bag hung inside. I unzipped it and found a black dress with lace detailing. I slid it off the hanger and carried it to the bathroom to get ready.

I wasn't sure if i felt like Cinderella with a ticket to the ball, or a hooker with a Benjamin.




Nick

"Since when are you and Ashley --?" Eddie asked in a hushed tone the moment I came out of the bedroom.

"Shh, for Christ's sake, Eddie," I snapped. We hadn't even left the hotel room yet, for all I knew she could hear us.

Eddie opened the hotel room door and we stepped into the entry way, onto the elevator, and rode it down. "Seriously, man, details," Eddie said.

I caught sight of myself in the mirrors that lined the ceiling of the elevator, and I ran my hand through my hair. "I don't really know yet," I said, "That was the first time." I shrugged.

"Is it serious?" Eddie asked. "Or just -- you know, one of those flings of yours?" I started to answer, but before I could, Eddie spat out, "I mean she's great you couldn't really ask for someone better to be serious with, you two are perfect, and I think we all sort of expected it to hpapen at some point... Just, you gotta be careful, so you don't ruin your friendship, you know, because girls...they're funny..."

"I don't know yet, Ed," I said, shaking my head.

"Well, were you serious?" he asked.

I wasn't sure how to answer. My pause was long enough that the elevator came to rest at the bottom of it's journey and the doors dinged open. The moment they parted, we were blasted with the screams of a lobby full of fans.

"Did I mention there was a few people waiting for you?" Eddie shouted over the din.

We struggled through the crowd out to the limosine in front of the building, and Eddie let the VIP girls climb in behind me. They fought briefly over the seats on my left and right, and soon they were all piled in, followed by a security guard, Eddie, and Chris, who high-fived me as he climbed in.

Chris.

At the site of him I felt something in my stomach twitch. Last time I'd seen him, he'd confessed that he loved Dogface and was worried that I'd used her for sex. He'd reprimanded me for not thinking more of her. He grinned at me from across the limo, his arm around the back of the seat, a pretty girl on either side of him.

The limo rolled through Vegas, the girls chattering loudly, music playing. I know I was talking and goofing off and flirting with the fans but for the life of me I can't tell you what I said or did. I just know I'd feel my mouth moving and they'd all laugh or a camera would flash from across the car. The girl on my left was brave enough to hold onto my arm and I let her, and the one on my right looked like she wanted to be that brave but didn't quite dare to, so I wrapped an arm over her shoulders and she started shaking like she couldn't believe she was there.

When we got to the club, searchlights were slicing the night in front of it. Music pounded from inside, lights flashed. There was a smattering of paparazzi outside, more interested in me now that Backstreet was about to make it's full fledged return for the twenty year anniversary. Eddie climbed out first, and ushered the girls out. The two on my sides very reluctantly gave up their positions so close to me and Chris and I were the last two out.

Chris nodded at my hair, "Have some fun already did'ja?" he asked, winking. "You dog." He climbed out first, then me.

Security flanked me up to the door, and the cameras flashed as I went by.

Inside, Eddie escorted me, Chris, and the VIP girls up some stairs to the side of the door and we emerged a moment later on a plush balcony that overlooked the dance floor. The VIP booth was sleek and stylish and had full bottles of liquor just waiting to be consumed. I looked over the rail at the girls below and they let out shrieks and pointed up at me, their hands jostling and waving. I waved back, and Eddie handed me a microphone as the music cut and a light trained itself on me. I held the microphone to my mouth, "Laaaadies," I called. They shrieked all the louder, "Who's ready to get this party started?" I asked. Squeals. "Okay, let's burn it up!" and the music burst forth again.

I turned back to the VIP booth as Chris was telling the girls all some story about me that had them laughing. Eddie took the microphone and turned it off. "I'm going to go downstairs to meet Ashley at the door," he said, "I'll send her up when she gets here."

I nodded. "Thanks."

Eddie hesitated. "Nick," he said, "Seriously, I hope you know what you're doing with her."

"I know," I replied.

He walked away, headed downstairs.

I really needed a drink.

After: Completely Different Person


Ashley

Chris brought me back to Nick's house.

Everything there smelled like him. It was like a giant Museum of Nick Carter. I'd joked once that if Nick was ever hard up on cash, he could cut the front of his house off, seal it off with glass, and sell tickets to fans so they could watch his every move.

"Like a reality TV show?" Nick had asked.

"No more like an aquarium," I answered.

I'd spent an hour that day talking in a National Geographic narrator voice, "Observe how the native Carter places his keys on the table beside the key hook instead of hanging them up actually on the key hook... The Carter carefully plans his meals, thinking ahead to whether he plans a quickie in the club bathroom or an overnighter at a random target's home... Blonde hair, blue eyes, and long, sexy fingers allow the Carter to easily select a mate..."

Now the house felt foreign and unwelcoming, like I didn't belong inside it.

I let Chris guide me in anyways.

He deposited me on the couch where this whole hell had started over thirteen hours ago. "Are you thirsty?" Chris asked. I nodded. "Be right back," he said, dashing away.

The TV was muted, but the news was still showing coverage of the plane crash, where the firefighters had finally tamed the flames, and the dead had been counted. Out of the 230 passangers on board the flight, only seventeen were still alive.

"What do you want to drink?" Chris called from the kitchen.

"What's he got?" I asked.

"What I can only assume used to be soy milk, but now has curds floating in it, and beer," Chris called back. "And also some kind of green sludge in a blender."

"The sludge is wheat grass and carrot juice," I answered, "And I'll take a beer."

The fridge door slammed and a moment later, Chris was handing me a Molson. He had one of Nick's Buds in his hand and I realized that somehow Chris had known the Molson in Nick's fridge were mine. I studied the bottle for a long moment, then looked back at Chris as he popped open his bottle, took a sip, and lowered himself into the cushion at the far end of the couch. I realized suddenly that I knew almost nothing about Chris. I'd never cared to.

He suddenly seemed like a completely different person to me than he'd been when he first stepped through the door into Nick's garage.

"Thank you," I said quietly, "For being so nice to me and being here through all this."

Chris nodded, staring down at the beer, "You're welcome."

I sipped my beer, still watching him. He was spinning the cap from his bottle over his fingers, a talent that I'd seen people in moves do but never in real life. The bottle seemed to dance across his knuckles on it's own will. "Why are you so nice to me?" I asked, "I'm such a bitch to you."

Chris laughed, never looking up. He shrugged, "You're not bad," he answered, and he flipped the cap into his palm. He looked over at me. "I think you're perfect."

I smiled, "I'm certainly not perfect."

"As close to it as anyone real is ever gonna get," he insisted.

Our eyes met. And I just knew. I felt like the breath had been taken right out of my lungs and I looked away, staring at the carpet, at anything but at him. Chris likes me. The thought raced through my mind and veins like wildfire. Oh God, he likes me.

"I'm sorry," he said. And I had a feeling he maybe knew what was going on in my nervous system, all the synapses firing away.

I shook my head, "No, don't be."

I still wasn't looking at him, but I could feel it when he looked away from me, too. We sat there on Nick's couch in silence, each staring at our respective beer bottles. After an incredibly long pause, he looked at me. "Is it possible?" he asked. "Is there anything I could do or say that would make you think about it?"

"You already are," I answered.




Nick

I lay in bed staring out the window. In the corner of the room, the TV was on, the noise drifting quietly off the walls. Sitcom laughter seemed to echo. Nurses floated in and out of the room like ghosts, checking vital signs, changing bandages, and asking me how I was. But I was hypnotized, lost somewhere else, watching the lights of the cars travelling along the winding freeway into the City of Angels.

Then I thought about Leslie. About the things that I'd seen and heard in those first few moments after the plane had crashed... and the words she said echoed in my mind as I watched the city. Red and white lights, yellow lights, blue and green lights... they blended together in that bokeh style beyond rain drops that had begun to fall, splashing against the window.

I wondered if my mother and the rest of my family had gone to Niagra Falls without me, if they'd talked about Leslie, if they'd gotten their closure. I knew, despite having not made it to Niagra, that I'd gotten mine.

I'd gotten to say good-bye.

Of course, when I said it, I thought I was saying good-bye to the world. Instead, I was changed. I had become a completely different person than the one I had been when I got on the plane.

I thought mostly about Ashley.

And I wished more than anything that I hadn't sent her away. I wished I'd told her I love you instead.

Before: Just Like Any Other Girl


Nick

I milled around near the stairwell, sipping drinks and being wished Happy Birthday by every person that passed me by. I barely heard them, though, because I was thinking about Dogface and what had happened, what it meant, if it meant anything at all, and what this feeling was that felt like it was consuming me slowly. I didn't know what I was going to say, only that I needed to talk to her immediately.

A fan had caught me up in a conversation when Dogface came up from the stairs, followed by Eddie. She had on the dress I'd gotten her, and she'd done her hair real nice. Her eyes roamed around the balcony railing for a moment before they landed on me. Something in them was different than it'd been before, and I had a feeling it was me that had change it.

"Excuse me," I told the fan, interrupting her babbling, and shrugged by her, headed for Dogface. She looked up at me as I came to a stop in front of her. "Hey," I said.

"Hey."

Eddie stood there like a third wheel for a moment, then he said, "Well, you kids have fun," and ducked away quickly.

Dogface took the drink out of my hand and downed the rest of it.

"We need to talk," I said, as she handed me back her empty glass.

She nodded.

"C'mon." I took her by the hand and glanced back at the VIP booth. Eddie had joined them and Chris was telling either another story or a joke or something that had the girls he'd managed to hold onto at the booth laughing. I guided Dogface the opposite direction and we ducked behind this big statue of a flying pig to the side. I leaned against the wall so I was completely blocked by the pig. "Okay. So. About before."

She grabbed a bit of her hair, pulling on it, running her fingers through it and over it. "It didn't mean anything, Nick," she said.

"What?"

"The sex," she said, shrugging, "It didn't mean anything."

I blinked at her a couple times. "It didn't?"

"No," she said. She laughed, "Look, I can tell you're really uncomfortable thinking that I'm expecting some grand gesture from you, but don't worry about it, okay?" She smiled, "Nick, you don't have to follow up with me, it's okay. It was just a one-time thing, all's forgotten."

"Okay," I stammered.

"Everything's just gonna go back to the way it was is all," she added.

"Okay," I said.

Dogface smiled. "It was nice, though, you did good soldier." She turned and walked away before I could say anything in response.

I stood there and felt like I'd been socked in the gut or something. What the hell just happened? I took a deep breath. This was what I'd wanted, right? I'd wanted to sleep with her, get her out of my system, then have it all go back to the way it was, right? When I wasn't pegged down by one person and I could sleep with as many hos as I wanted to.

I wasn't sure if I was trying to remind myself or convince myself.

When I stepped out from behind the pig statue, the girl that I'd been talking to before Dogface got there rushed over, as though wanting to make sure nobody else got me before she had finished with me. "Is that your girlfriend?" she asked.

"No," I said. It felt weird saying no after what had happened before. You got exactly what you wanted.

"No?" the girl looked around us, then sidled closer to me. "No girlfriend on your birthday?" She made a pouty face, looking up at me with doe eyes and putting her finger on her lower lip seductively, "But who will give you your thirty-three spankin's?"

Her lips were so moist and red and she lowered her finger and just stared at me, those lips of hers right in my face... so I kissed them. I'd hoped as I swan dove into her face that the weird feeling lingering inside my gut would disappear, but it didn't, so I pushed the girl into the same corner where I'd been with Dogface beside the pig statue and I pressed her against the wall and my hands roamed over her, my mouth moving from her mouth to her jaw to her neck to her shoulder to her collar bone. I touched her breasts, her back, her ass, even ran my hand slowly along her thigh. I was trying desperately to find something - some sort of off switch or something - that would kill the ache in my stomach.

"Oh Nick," the girl gasped, and I slid my hand up her dress, pushed my fingers into her underwear even. She moaned into my ear.

Suddenly I heard a cry like a wounded animal from behind me, softer than the girl's moans, but sharp enough to slice through me.

I turned around.

It was Dogface.

She stood there with her jaw dropped, her eyes wide, her breaths coming out short, fast, loud, and shocked. Her lower lip moved, like she was trying to form words, but all that came out were squeaks.

I stepped back from the girl, whose skirt fell back down where it belonged. "Don't stop," she gasped from the wall.

"Dogface..." I started.

But before I could even begin a full sentence, she'd turned and run pellmell out the door that led to the stairs.

"Excuse me," I said to the girl for the second time, and I dashed after Dogface.

My heart was slamming. I couldn't believe I'd done this. I couldn't believe I'd just --- How stupid could I be?

I took the stairs two at a time, emerging onto the street just as Dogface was flinging herself into a waiting cab. She pulled the door shut just as I got there and I grabbed for the handle, but she'd locked it. I knocked on the window, the cab started pulling away, "WAIT!" I shouted, "Wait, wait! Come back!" I hollored, "COME BACK!"

But the cab pulled away, and though I ran a couple paces after it, there was no getting it back as it's tail lights disappeared among the sea of traffic.

"Come back," I whispered.




Ashley

I couldn't breathe.

I rolled onto the seat, clutching my stomach, heaving breaths making my whole body throb with pain. "Oh God, oh God," I sobbed. I covered my hands. The driver must've thought I was a complete nut job.

"Are you okay miss?" he asked, glancing in the rearview mirror at me.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," I choked the words out.

"Did he hurt you, miss?" he asked.

Yes, I thought. "No," I answered, because I knew it would be taken wrong if I said yes.

The driver moved onward.

At the hotel, I told him to wait for me, that I'd only be a moment, and I ran up the stairs, past the gaggle of fans that were still standing outside. I rode the elevator to the penthouse and let myself in. The table that had been so beautifully set for us was still sitting there in the dark, the candles having extinguished themselves long ago, probably while Nick and I were... I couldn't even bring myself to finish the sentence in my mind. An hour ago, I probably would've finished it making love but now the only adjective that seemed to fit was fucking and I hated to think that was all I'd been to him.

Someone to fuck.

The record was still sitting on the table.

My stomach wrenched at the sight of it, at how special he'd made me feel when he gave it to me compared to how shitty I felt now. I ducked quickly into the bathroom and threw up, shaking and falling to the floor hugging the bowl. I'd been so fucking stupid to think that I could do this, to think I could sleep with him and not care, be 'friends with benefits' and not expect more. I should never have given in.

I'd destroyed everything I had ever cherished.

I'd broken the only family I'd ever known.

I couldn't stop puking. Just over and over and over again in waves until my stomach was empty and I just shook and seized and lay there pathetically, crying. Finally, I stood, shaky and weak, and I turned on the faucet, gripping the counter top for stability. I splashed warm water on my face. Mascara streaked my cheeks, my eyes were red and swollen. I grabbed the complimentary mouthwash and quickly gargled it, spitting into the sink. I took long, shaking breaths, staring down at the drain. Then I looked back up, swiped my mascara off my face with the back of my hands.

I went into the bedroom and took my suitcase, shoved my things into it, and rolled it back to the main room. I picked up the record from the table, staring down into Tom Petty's hazy, doped up eyes and sighed. "Why couldn't it have just been perfect?" I asked him. Of course, he didn't answer. I put it back down on the table. I couldn't bring it with me. I'd never be able to look at it or listen to it without thinking of this night and the unbearable pain that was now racing through my body.

I desperately wanted to break it, but I didn't quite have that much hatred in me. Although breaking something or punching someone would relieve a lot of stress, I thought.

I rolled the suitcase into the hallway and rode the elevator down to the lobby, where I dragged it back out to the waiting car, through the crowd of fans waiting out front for Nick to return. My eyes randomly met the girl's from earlier - the one who'd done bunny ears around the word girlfriend when I'd arrived and greeted Nick's security team.

"What's the matter, slut?" she called tauntingly my direction, "Not the flavor of the week anymore?" She pouted at me mockingly.

Her friend laughed, "I hope you got paid well, whore!"

I felt my muscles tighten. "Fuck you," I snapped, "Mind your own business."

The driver of the cab had gotten out and was loading my suitcase into the back. He now was glancing nervously between myself and Bunny Ears.

Bunny Ears took two steps closer, barely staying balanced on her ridiculously high stiletto heels. She teetered, jabbing her finger into my face. "At least I don't sleep with whoever it takes to get backstage. I know what sluts like you do," she accused, "I saw how you flirty and friendly you were with those security guards."

My jaw set. This bitch was going down. "FIRST of all, get your finger out of my face before I break it. Second, you trust me, honey, you don't have to flirt with no security guards to get Nick Carter to sleep with you. Just get in line. He'll do you all before the night's over. Don't worry, you've got boobs, he'll get to you."

The girl looked affronted. "How dare you," she said. And I'm not sure, honestly, if she was more pissed because I insulted her or because I'd insulted Nick. Seriously some of his fans would probably get equally upset over either.

"He might even let you cut forward," I said, "Considering you're dressed like a total hoochie!"

And she lunged.

I was just about to lunge back when suddenly Eddie was there between us, his arms outstretched, pushing us apart. "BREAK IT UP!" he bellowed louder than anyone as tiny as Eddie is could possibly yell. He pushed me against the cab and pushed Bunny Ears back. She stumbled and her ankle almost gave out in her mile high heels. "Hey now, break it up, both of you. Ashley, what the hell are you doing?"

"Oh doing the manager is more classy than doing the security guards, is it, Ashley?" Bunny Ears spat at me.

"Excuuuuse me?! Say what now?" Eddie looked at her, eyebrows raised, incredulous.

"I'm going home," I snapped. The driver ran back to the front of the car and jumped in, and I opened my back door and started to slip into the cab.

"Wait! Ashley, wait," Eddie jumped in the doorway, keeping me from slamming it shut. It hit his back. "Just give us like ten minutes, let's sort this out, hey? Nick needs to talk."

"He can talk to the girl he was playing with at the club," I said, "Or this bitch over here looks like his type." I waved at Bunny Ears who started to look pissed off again.

"Enough," Eddie snapped before she could start up again. He looked at me. "C'mon, Ashley, don't do this, you're overreacting."

"I'm overreacting?"

"He's right in the car here, Ashley, please," Eddie begged.

"Tell him he can call me sometime," I replied, pulling the door shut hard enough that Eddie was forced to jump out of the way, "Just like he calls any other girl he fucks."

Before: The Call


Ashley

Nick didn't call me.

Those first hours after I got home from Las Vegas - via bus because that was the fastest way back to LA that I could afford - I waited and I prayed and I hoped. I sat beside the phone like a sentinel, begging him with every ounce of my body to prove me wrong and call.

I imagined the entire conversation. I pictured him saying something like I'm calling about a follow-up or something. I don't know. Whatever it was would be terribly witty and I'd laugh and he'd laugh back and he'd come by and never go away again. I imagined our entire future together as I sat there, staring at the phone, waiting... and, later, when I got bored of sitting, staring, waiting, I carried it in my back pocket, listening, waiting, and doing things to keep my mind busy.

I listened for the phone as I unpacked my suitcase, folded my clothes and hung the dress I'd worn home in the closet in the garment bag it had come in. I listened for it as I made dinner and set my table for one and popped the lid off a beer. I listened for it as I sat in front of my TV, watching sappy chick flicks that made me cry for hours on end - The Notebook, Pretty Woman, Breakfast at Tiffany's, Pretty in Pink. You know. The classics. I listened for it as I did the dishes, cleaned out my fridge, reorganized the cabinet, and scrubbed the inside of the microwave clean. I listened as I ate an entire pint of Ben & Jerry's ice cream.

But the phone never rang.

On Wednesday night, the 30th, I was laying on my couch and I had a strange feeling I couldn't quite put my finger on. I had been watching a rerun of How I Met Your Mother on TV when I muted the sound and sat up on the couch, trying to figure out what the itching feeling inside me was. I hesitated, then reached for my cell phone, half expecting it to ring. But nothing happened. I glanced at the clock - it was almost ten-thirty.

I turned off the TV set and stood up, hugging my blanket around my shoulders. The phone sat there silently on the coffee table. I gnawed my lip.

Then I remembered that the next day was the one-year anniversary of Leslie Carter's death. I wondered if Nick was okay, and for a split moment I almost picked up the phone and dialed his number, forgetting for just a second about everything that had happened. I caught myself in the motion of reaching for the phone and hesitated.

But what if he needs you? I asked myself. But then, No, I thought. He has to call you first. If he needs you, he will call you.

I forced myself to put the phone down.

I went to bed a couple hours later. It took me a long time to fall asleep, fighting that itching inside of me, that urge to call him. And even as I finally did drift off, I was still listening, waiting.

A small part of me will always wonder what would've happened if I had called. If things would have turned out differently that night. If things would've turned out differently in my entire life.




Nick

I had a late night flight to Buffalo for the memorial ceremony for Leslie.

I took my time getting ready, hoping that maybe I could get the balls to call Dogface and ask her to come with me. I couldn't imagine making it through the next 24-hours without her. I'd done nothing but think about her since Las Vegas. I felt like a tool, and I didn't know how to tell her so. I didn't know what to tell her at all, about any of it. I was afraid she'd ask me what the sex had meant to me and I'd gurgle out some stupid, half-thought answer, or worse, a joke of some sort. I didn't know what the sex had meant, I didn't know what the feelings I was having were.

I only knew that what I'd done had been incredibly, unbelievably stupid.

I couldn't blame her if she never spoke to me again, ever, for the rest of either of our lives. I had no idea how she could ever forgive me for what I'd done.

Ever.

But it was tempting to call just to hear her voice, no matter how angry she might be with me. I almost gave in around ten-thirty, when this explosive amount of bravery took over me. I got halfway through dialing her number before I stopped and hung up and chucked the phone into the couch cushion in frustration. Why the hell was this so hard? I'd called Dogface a thousand times.

Because this time you've hurt her and you know it, a voice inside my head whispered.

I paced, cracking my knuckles, frustrated. I grabbed the phone again, fully intending to call Dogface but instead, I called Chris and asked him to watch the dogs for me. "I gotta thing," I told him. "I'll leave the key in the usual hiding spot."

"Okay," Chris agreed.

"And hey, if Ashley calls let me know?" I requested.

"Course," Chris said.

"Thanks. I have some stuff I need to talk to her about."

"Got'cha," Chris answered.

I packed my suitcase with a heavy feeling in my stomach. The prospect of going to a memorial service of any kind sounded tedious and heart breaking and I felt like I'd been through enough heart break for a hundred lifetimes. I didn't need anymore. If I didn't feel obligated to go, I wouldn't have. I mulled around the house until I finally couldn't wait any longer to leave before ending up missing the flight.

I headed out to the car. The city lights were cool against the dark sky overhead. It was nearly one in the morning by the time I got to LAX and printed off my boarding pass. I clutched my ticket as I walked to the security check point and took off my shoes and checked in. At my terminal, I tried to ignore this old couple who were holding hands and kissing softly by the window. I tried to ignore the two little kids - a boy and a girl - who were playing with plastic airplanes, making them take off and land smoothly on the chairs of the waiting area.

We boarded the plane.
I buckled my belt.

The pilot announced we were ready for take off.

The girl next to me was from Iran, she said. She had a shroud around her head. A maroon shroud.

Somewhere on board, a baby let out a cry.

Two businessmen were tucking away their iPads for take off.

A woman was nervously clutching her husband's hand.

The girl next to me, the Iranian, said, "I am nervous to fly," her accent was thick.

The plane began its taxiing on the tarmac. It rolled and thumped along until it had positioned itself perfectly for the launch.

The plane's velocity climbed as it moved forward down the runway.

"I hate this part," I told the Iranian girl.

She nodded in agreement.

The plane hit the speed it needed to lift off, and the pilot lifted it nicely off the ground. A moment of gravity suspended took over, and then we were climbing through the air, up.. up.. up.. toward the clouds overhead.

And suddenly there was a lurch, like turbulence.

I clutched the arm rest.

The plane shuddered again.

A tugging, heavy feeling that I cannot describe accurately rushed through my body. I'm assuming it rushed through everyone else's body, too. The Iranian girl grabbed my hand and squeezed, and a general murmur of whooaaa went through the cabin. The baby that had been crying before was now downright shrieking.

And there was this breathless instant that lasted probably less than a couple seconds but felt like a lifetime in which the plane seemed to hover weightlessly and the angle turned from straight upward...to downward...in a smooth, graceful arch. In my mind, I pictured the graceful turning of an Olympic diver.

And then it plummeted.

The Iranian girl crushed my fingers in her hand. Literally. That's how tight she squeezed.

People screamed.

Bags fell out of the cargo holds.

Warning sounds and alarms went off, the lights dimmed, oxygen masks fell from the ceiling, waving so violently as the plane shuddered it's way down that nobody seemed able to catch hold of them. My hand hurt so bad I saw stars.

There was a ripping sound and I looked out my window and saw the wing of the plane detach itself.

The city lights were visible out there, too. I stared at them as my mind wrapped itself around what was happening. This plane is crashing, I thought, And we're all going to die. I'm going to die on the same day as my sister... and somewhere out there, I thought, Ashley is waiting for me to call her. And I wasted my chance. I wasted my chance to call her and to tell her I'm sorry and to tell her -- to tell her --

And to tell her that I fucking love her.

That's what my problem is. I love her. I love Ashley.

It was the reason I couldn't take that the sex had meant nothing to her was because I loved her and it meant something to me, God damnit.

Maybe that was the reason that I had never given a shit about the follow up because I'd already found her.

Maybe that was why I could never find anyone that was right for me, why I bounced from girl to girl to girl to girl because none of them were ever, ever as perfect for me as she was.

I wanted the follow up.

I wanted to be with her forever.

I wanted to have babies with her and grow old with her and die with her.

I love Ashley.

I struggled to get my cell phone out of my pocket with my free hand. I had to tell her before I died.

I dialed her number and was about to hit send when the plane hit the ground.

The metal crunched loudly and I felt myself snap against the seat buckle. I smashed against the window, a suitcase flew by. The grip on my hand relaxed.

I was shaking, suspended by my seat buckle against the chair, my face pressed to the window. I could taste blood in my mouth. Breathing was really hard, the belt crossed my windpipe and was tight across my chest. Every muscle in my body ached. With a trembling hand, I tapped send, and I brought the cellphone to my ear.

This is gonna be the last thing I do before I die, I thought to myself. I'm going to hear her voice.

The phone rang. Her ring back tone was Free Falling.

She's a good girl...

Please pick up Ashley... you need to know...

She loves her momma...

Please.

"I was literally just thinking of you."

It was beautiful. It was the most beautiful, magical, musical sound I'd heard in my entire life. My eyes filled with tears because I'd never see her again and I felt like I was gonna throw up. I struggled to get the words to my mouth to tell her what I needed to tell her. Things were going black around me, like an old Polaroid photo beginning to fade from the edges.

"Ash..ley.." I struggled.

"Nick?" her voice pitched with concern.

I tried to say her name again, but all I could get out was the shhh part. My nerves were trembling, I could hear my heart beat in my head, throbbing. Could feel myself seizing up. Jesus, I really was going to die.

"Nick?" Her voice sounded so far away. I could feel the distance and I hated it. I hated every mile between her and I.

"Hi," I choked.

"Hey," she said. "You okay? It's like three in the morning."

I couldn't wait any longer. If I didn't say it right now, if I didn't get it out of my mouth, I wasn't ever going to. I couldn't see. Everything had faded away. My breaths were short, far apart, and the pain in my body was further away than she was. It was almost like she was right there...

"I love you," I said.

I closed my eyes.

There was a brilliant flash of light, so bright I could see it right through my eyelids. The phone slipped from my hand, fell, clattering down through the seats ahead of me. I opened my eyes, and outside the plane was a funny... flashing... glowing sort of light that shimmered and shook and trembled...

Fire? I wondered.

I squinted.

"Nick."

I knew that voice.

"Nick."

I hadn't head it in over a year.

It was Leslie.

During: The Falls


Nick

It was Leslie.

I don't know how it happened but I wasn't in the plane anymore. I was standing on the ledge that overlooked Niagra Falls. The water poured over the cliff, pouring down into the pool below, spitting mist and rainbows. Leslie was standing by the edge, her hands on the railing, one of those big silver view finders beside her. She was looking over her shoulder at me, a smile on her face. It'd been years since I'd seen that calm, peaceful look in her eyes. She waved me over, "C'mere for a second, Nick," she said.

I walked over and leaned against the railing on my elbows, my hands clasped in front of me, staring down at the water. It was really nice here, I could see why she liked it so much. It gave a person time to think. Though my mind was so clear and free at the moment that there didn't seem to be much to think about.

Except...

I looked at Leslie. "Why am I here? Because of the crash? Because I'm dead?"

"Well, yes and no," She had turned back to look down at the falls. "Because of life, Nick," she said with a shrug. Leslie turned to look me in the eyes. She sighed, "So much has happened."

I nodded.

"You've grown a lot," she commented. She reached over and swiped away something on my shirt. She studied me a moment.

"Am I dead?" I asked.

Leslie didn't answer. Instead, she said, "Remember when we were little, Nick, and this one time I had that bright idea of being like Mary Poppins and jumping out of the tree fort you made with my umbrella because I thought I could fly?"

"That was stupid," I laughed.

Leslie smiled, "Yeah it was. But you grabbed me and kept me from doing it, remember, and you threw my umbrella over the side to prove it wasn't magic and it broke when it hit the ground."

"Yeah I remember that. You were so mad. You told mom and dad I broke it and you got me in deep trouble."

"I said I hated you," Leslie said.

"Yeah," I said.

"I didn't," she told me.

"I know," I replied.

Leslie licked her lips, "I didn't mean it that time anymore than I did the other times I said it to you. Like all those times when we did that stupid reality show, or that time we fought when I got engaged, or when I said it to you that time you visited after Alyssa was born." She took a deep breath, "And I know I never said sorry for all those times. Especially that last one. I had chances to, but I didn't take them, and then one day all my chances to say what I felt were gone. You know?"

I turned back to the falls. My heart was in my throat. I had a feeling I knew where this was going. "I did the same thing," I said. "I didn't take my chances to say I love you to Ashley and now I'll never get to." I looked down at my clasped hands. "I'm not even sure she heard me when I said it. I called her, you know."

"I know."

"Do you know if she heard it?"

Leslie smiled sadly, "I can't tell you if she did or not."

"Why?"

"I just can't."

"But you know."

"Yes, I know."

I sighed, and I felt vaguely frustrated, the way you feel when something completely out of your hands happens.

"Here, look at this." Leslie waved at the viewfinder beside her.

"I don't wanna look at the water," I said stubbornly.

"Just look at it, Nick," Leslie insisted.

I stepped over and pressed my eyes to the lenses. I felt Leslie guide the viewfinder for me, and my eyes roamed over the water, over the rainbows and mist, to the pool below. And I realized it wasn't a pool, it was the whole world. I know that sounds really corny or something but seriously, it was, and I could see everything, like a God's-eye view. It was so weird. I squinted as Leslie adjusted the focus and everything went blurry, then seemed to zoom in and slowly become clearer. And I saw Ashley. She was standing on my lawn in her pajamas, yelling at my house.

"She's looking for me," I said.

"Yeah," Leslie answered.

I took a step back from the viewfinder and looked at Leslie. "Does Ashley love me?" I asked.

Leslie laughed. She reached up and moved the view finder again. "You tell me," she said, nodding at it for me to look back through it again.

I hesitated. My palms felt sweaty. I stepped up to it again. My eyes pressed again to the lenses and this time it was like watching an old home video where the colors were slightly fading from the film...

I saw Ashley when we were kids and we were in class in the fourth grade together and she was sitting behind me staring at my hair, drawing I (heart) Nick all over the inside of her notebook...

And then we were in seventh grade and it was the first school dance and somehow I knew she was hoping I would ask her but instead I chose to stay home and play video games so she went to the dance alone but she didn't dance with anyone because she only wanted to dance with me. Halfway through the dance, she'd left and come over my house and we'd played on the NES system for hours, me in my sweatpants and her in her dress that she'd saved her allowance for months for.

Then, it was 1994 and she'd come with me to a performance at Sea World and she sat in the front row with tears in her eyes watching as me and the fellas sang...

Again in the front row a few years later at the Homecoming concert in Orlando.

Giving me the last bite of ice cream.

Purposely missing a shot playing hoops.

Praying me taking her with me to Paris on the Backstreet Boys tour for her sixteen birthday meant I wanted to be her boyfriend.

Jealous eyes at every girl I'd ever gone out with.

Her leaving the bar after hooking me up with the latest girl of the night, walking home alone, hugging herself.

Crying in the backseat of a cab in Las Vegas.

I backed away from the viewfinder. I couldn't breathe. It'd all been right there, all along, the entire time. From the moment I'd met her, Ashley had been in love with me. And she'd waited quietly, patiently for me to see her. And it had taken an airplane crashing into the crust of the earth to make me open my eyes.

I lowered myself to my knees and covered my eyes.

Leslie stood there over me, looking down. I could feel her eyes on me.

"Why didn't I just see her before?" I asked.

"Because you weren't meant to," she answered.

"How could I be so selfish?" I asked.

Leslie's voice was quiet. "Nick, it's time to say good-bye."

I looked up at her, she was silhouetted by the sun. I could hear the roar of the falls. I stood up, my legs shaking. I took hold of the view finder, and looked into it one last time for one last look at Ashley. She was beautiful. I felt my throat close up.

"Goodbye," I whispered. Then, I turned back to Leslie. "Okay," I said, "I'm ready."

She smiled. "Okay..."

"Wait," I said. I wasn't sure what would happen. I guessed I was going to go on to like heaven or something. Maybe every person got their own version of Heaven. This one, Niagra Falls with the view of the people she loved below, was obviously Leslie's. I wondered what mine would be like. I wondered if other people could visit it. I wasn't sure, so I had to ask my question now, before it was too late. I'd learned my lesson about not saying things when you had the chance.

"Yes?" Leslie asked.

"Two things."

"Okay."

"One. I've missed you. This year has been hell. I wish I'd been a better brother to you. You deserved better than I ever gave. Not a day went by this year that I haven't wished I could rewind and do it all over again. I wish I'd been there for you better, wish I'd been more understanding. I wish I'd been there to help you when you were sad, when you were hurting. I'm sorry that I wasn't."

Leslie smiled, a tear glistening in the corner of her eye, "You are a good brother, Nick."

I swiped at tears in my own eyes, averting my gaze from her. "But I'm sorry none the less. Because I could've been better. I could've loved you better." I took a deep breath, "I love you, Leslie."

"I love you, Nick."

I felt like I should rush forward and hug her or something, but I didn't know if there was like rules against that in Heaven or whatever and I stayed cemented to my spot. I felt my throat throbbing.

"And second?" Leslie prompted. "You said there was two things."

"Second," I said, "Why did you show me all this? Why tell me that she loved me now that it's too late and I can't change it? Why not just let me go on wondering?"

Leslie smiled.

"That's the best part," she said. Her voice seemed to echo, and I looked around... Niagra was vanishing, the ledge was disappearing, even Leslie was fading. The viewfinder, gone... Everything was black darkness. And in the darkness, I felt something numb and far away, slowly coming closer, and then... I realized I was sitting, belted into a seat, my face was raw and I had pain... my nerve endings waking up, feeling the heat and the ache... a hazy memory image of Ashley swimming in my mind... her red hair, her narrow nose... Flashing lights somewhere... Light...and dark... Light... and dark...

I wasn't dead.

And then I heard, like a whisper of a memory.... the end of Leslie's sentence.

"Because the story isn't over yet."