January 28, 2003.� It was Nick Carter’s birthday – his twenty-third, to be exact – and he felt on top of the world.� He had released his first solo album the past October (okay, so it hadn’t made it to the top of the charts... but so what?� He was proud of it just the same) and would embark on his first solo tour in less than a month.� February 17 was the kickoff date, and he couldn’t have been more excited.� The thought of being out on the road, without the other Backstreet Boys, just him by himself, was invigorating.� The tour would be a short one, lasting not even a month, but that was okay.� There would be another solo album sometime and another tour.

This tour had to be brief because as soon as it was over, he would be getting together with Brian, AJ, Howie, and Kevin to work on the next Backstreet Boys album, which they hoped to put out sometime that summer.� After a two-year hiatus, it would be nice to get back into the studio with the Boys.� Nick only hoped things wouldn’t be... different... between the five of them.� After all, so much had changed since Black and Blue.� Brian had a baby, AJ was engaged (and would have been getting married in less than a month, but the wedding had been postponed), Kevin had been on Broadway, and, of course, there was Now or Never.� They had done so many things separately lately that Nick just had to wonder, would they be successful in working together again?� He hoped so.� Though he had to admit that once in awhile, he almost hated being a Backstreet Boy, he loved the guys, and he loved the group, and he didn’t want to call it quits.� Not yet.� He wasn’t ready.� He just hoped his bandmates felt the same way.

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

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

***

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

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

“’Right, let’s go.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh... yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

Nick stared.� “Huh?”

***

The girl blushed slightly.� “Um... well, I figured you wouldn’t recognize me.� And you might not even remember me, but I went to school with you.� Grade school.”

At the word “school,” it hit him.� “Leah?� Leah Gaylers?”

Her face broke into a smile.� “You do remember!”

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And standing here now, looking into her older, but familiar face, the pain and utter humiliation of that moment came flooding back to Nick in a whirlwind of emotion.

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

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

“Fine.”

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

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

“Yeah?”

“Um... you don’t have to or anything, but if you’re gonna be in Tampa for awhile... would you wanna grab a drink with me sometime?� You know, catch up on old times and stuff?”

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

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

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

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

Leah looked taken aback.� “I didn’t mean it like that.� I just meant... well... congratulations!� I think it’s awesome.”� She smiled again, and her brown eyes twinkled.� Nick gulped.� She was still so beautiful, just like in seventh grade.� If she hadn’t have done what she did back then, she would be completely irresistible to him now.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“Must just be growing pains,” he said out loud, which sent him into a fit of rueful laughter.� Growing pains, sure.� That was the last thing he needed – to be growing some more.� He was too big already, according to management and his mother, who seemed to feel that appearance counted more than talent in the music business.� His weight had been fluctuating since the last Backstreet Boys tour, and right now, it was at its peak.� He would have to do some major working out to take some of it off before the tour; he didn’t want to suffer through anymore fat jokes than necessary.� He looked forward to touring, knowing that jumping hyperactively around on stage for an hour or so every night would help take the extra pounds off.

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

Finally, just when he was about to chicken out and leave, the door to the ladies’ room swung open... and out stepped the very lady he had been awaiting.

Leah’s brown eyes widened in surprise when she saw him standing there.� “Nick?� What are you doing back here?”

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

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

Nick smiled weakly.� “Actually... I just... well... I know I kinda blew you off last night, and... well, if you still want to get drinks some time... that’d be cool.”

“Really?� Well, okay then.� When?”

“When?� Uh...”

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

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

“Would eight work?”

“Sure.� Where?”

“Um... how about Charlatan’s?”

“Sounds good.”

“Okay.� See you then?”

“Yup, see you then.”

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Great, and you?”

“Just fine.”

“That’s good.”

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

“Okay, good.”

More silence.

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

“Yeah.� Yeah, I guess we do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh great.� Are you performing in Tampa?”

“No, I’m not gonna be anywhere near here, unfortunately.� I’m basically hitting the major cities in all the regions of the country except down south.� How crazy is that?”

Leah laughed.� “Well, that’s too bad.� I’d love to see one of your shows.”

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

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

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

“Front row?”

“Maybe...”

They both laughed, and suddenly, it was as if they were old friends, not old enemies (or whatever they had been in seventh grade).� I was stupid for resenting her all these years, thought Nick, as he and Leah talked and laughed some more together.� We’ve both grown up, and she’s not the same girl she was then.� She’s much better.

Isn’t it funny how sometimes all it takes is one chance meeting for an old crush to come back in full force?� That was what was happening to Nick right then.� It was suddenly as if that whole seventh grade Back to School Dance disaster had never taken place, like he was back to being an innocent kid with his first crush on a girl.� He had realized by now that that crush had been quite shallow, based mostly on looks alone.� Leah had always been a pretty girl, and that was what had attracted him to her at first.� She was still pretty now, beautiful, in fact, but as he sat across from her and listened to her talk, he realized there was more to her than a nice body and attractive features.� She really was a nice person once you got to know her.

“Hey, Leah?”

“Yeah?”

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

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

“Uh-huh.”

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

He laughed.� “I know.� That’s okay.� I’m surprised you remembered.”

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

“Popular?”

Leah blushed.� “Well...”

“That’s okay,” Nick laughed.� “I know what I was in middle school.� I was a loser.”� Leah opened her mouth apologetically, but he continued, “It’s okay though.� That was ten years ago, and look where I am now.� It’s no big deal.”

She smiled.� “You’re exactly right.� And I’d like to make up for lost time.� So, if you’re not... you know... seeing anyone right now... maybe we could go out together more often.”

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

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

“I’d like that.”

***

The next morning, Nick woke up with new resolve.� It was the first of February, the beginning of a new month, and there were just over two weeks left before his tour.� He had rehearsals scheduled the following week, and he was determined to spend this week getting himself into better shape, exercising and trying to drop a few pounds before the tour.

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

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

When he stepped out of the shower half an hour later, he could feel his muscles beginning to stiffen up.� He cursed himself for not stretching them out after his run.� Now he would be stiff the rest of the day and tomorrow.� He remembered how he had been able to run forever as a child and never feel it.� But he was not a child anymore; he was twenty-three, and his body was beginning to protest heavy activity more and more.

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

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

Still, he had to admit that he felt much better once breakfast was over.� He had definitely gotten the day off to the right start, and he was determined to stay on track.� And hopefully not just until after the tour was over either.� That was when he needed willpower the most, for when he was not working, it was easy to sit on his ass all day, playing video games and eating, and go out drinking with his buddies at night.� None of these habits were good, and that was why his weight fluctuated so much between tours and off time.

He was not going to let that happen this time though.� He was going to lose weight for the tour... and this time, he was going to keep it off when the tour was over.� With an air of confidence, Nick strode out of the kitchen, ready to face the rest of his day.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know my stupid tutor?� Miss Daly?”

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

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

“God, that sucks.� What a bitch,” Nick agreed, immediately siding with Aaron.� “What if you work harder before the tour?� I mean, you still have like two weeks.� Then would Mom let you come?”

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

“So do I,” empathized Nick.� “I’m sorry, kid.� But it’s not the end of the world.� There’ll be other tours and plenty of time to spend together.� Maybe you can come visit after the tour, how does that sound?”

“Yeah, maybe.”� Aaron’s voice was glum, and he sounded as if he didn’t quite believe this.� Nick didn’t blame him; he knew he had broken a lot of promises to his brother in the past; it was just a part of the job – his schedule was always full, and his plans were always changing.� It was hard to find time to get together with Aaron, who was usually out in LA with the rest of the family, while Nick was in Florida.

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

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

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

***

“So, how are your tour rehearsals going?”

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

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

“That’s great,” said Leah.

“Yeah...”� Nick paused a moment, planning out his next words.� Then he said, “Hey, um... speaking of the tour... there’s something I was wanting to ask you.”

Leah tipped her head sideways.� “Sure, what?”

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

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

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

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

“Okay.� Let me know what he says.”

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

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

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

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

“Trust me, I’m not.� You’re beautiful, and I... I really like you.� A lot.”

Leah looked back at him, her coffee-colored eyes meeting his.� “I like you a lot too, Nick.”� She reached across the table and laid her hand on top of his.� He smiled and took hold of it, his fingers caressing the back of her hand.� Her skin was soft and silky and feminine.

Weeks ago, Nick had been telling people he was not interested in having a relationship.� He was tired of women; he had been hurt by them too many times.� And now here he was, falling head over heels for the first girl who had ever broken his heart.� Was he making the same mistake all over again?� His mind told him to be wary, but his heart was light and carefree and begged him to plunge ahead with the relationship.

And so he did.

***

That night, Nick lay sprawled across his sofa, his cordless phone pressed to his ear, listening to the endless ringing on the other end of the line.� Then, finally, there was a click and a harried “Hello?”

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

“Oh, hey, Nick!� No, it’s all good... I’m just trying to get Baylee to go to sleep.”

Nick could hear the baby now, screaming shrilly on the other end.� He grimaced.� “Aw, sorry, man.� Maybe I should call back later?”

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

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

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

“Oh... I’m sorry.”

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

“That’s good.”

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

“Yeah, I know,” said Nick.

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

“Baby,” finished Nick.� “I know.”� Actually, that was not the case.� Brian had been “real busy” for years, ever since he had gotten engaged to Leighanne.� He had changed.� Not in a bad way, just in a way Nick did not like.� The truth was, Brian had grown up.� He was an adult, mature and responsible, with a family to take care of.� And Nick... physically, Nick was an adult too... but he was still a kid at heart and figured he always would be.� He was all about having a good time, playing and partying hard, always the fun-loving practical joker.� Brian had been that way once too.� But he was different now.� Nick never wanted that to happen to him.� He vowed never to change, never to let some woman do that to him.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”� Nick felt stupid now.

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

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

“Yeah.� Anything else?”

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

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

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

“Blonde?”

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

“Blue?”

“Brown.”

“Oh.”

“And you know what the weird thing is?”

“What?”

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

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

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

“Uh-huh.� So what happened?”

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

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

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

“Really?”� Brian sounded intrigued.� “That’s totally weird.� And you, of all people.� I thought you were anti-romance right now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I just tripped,” Nick said quickly, face hot with humiliation.� “Let’s just go, okay?”

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

“Oh, Nick, this is so wonderful!” Leah gasped, forgetting her laughter, when Nick opened up the limo door for her.� When he had climbed in next to her on the other side, she exclaimed, “I haven’t been in a limo since senior prom!”

Nick just smiled, having nothing to say to that.� Of course, he had never gone to prom, but he had been in millions of limos during his career.� It was just one of the many things that separated him, a famous singer, from her, a low-paid stri-... exotic dancer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Helplessly, Nick looked at Leah.

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

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

“April.”

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

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

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

“Thank you!� Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“You too.”

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

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

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

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

“Wow,” she said.� “I’ve never been anywhere this expensive.”� She grinned awkwardly, and her cheeks pinkened.� “You’re probably used to it though.”

Nick shrugged, feeling awkward himself.� He realized she was uncomfortable, not used to these surroundings, and he suddenly wished he hadn’t gone all out for Valentine’s Day.� He was more of a low class guy himself, and he told her that.� “Yeah, I guess, but honestly, I don’t eat in places like this all the time.� I’m much more comfortable in a McDonald’s.”

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

Finally, it ended, and they pulled away, breathless.� Holding her at arm’s length, Nick gazed at Leah, his eyes drawn to hers.� He had heard people describe the fireworks they felt when they kissed certain people.� He had not experienced these fireworks often.� But with Leah, there had definitely been fireworks.� And looking into her eyes, he knew they had been there for her too.

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” said Leah, sounding disappointed.

“Why?� You wanted to do something?”

“Well, I dunno, I’m just not tired yet.� I’m wide awake from the show.”

Nick smiled.� “Sorry,” he said.� “Usually I’m still on an adrenaline rush now, but it seems to have faded early tonight.� But if you wanna stay up and watch a movie or something, go right ahead.”

“Okay.� I guess I’ll stay up awhile then,” said Leah.� “Go on to bed.”

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

***

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

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

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

“Leah!� Hey, I didn’t even see you standing there.� Did you sleep well?”

She shrugged.� “Yeah, I guess so, considering I’m on a bus.� How about you?”

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

“Um, not right now.”

“Okay.� Well, get something to eat whenever you feel like it.”

Leah nodded and sat down at the table across from him.� They made small talk and looked out the window while the bus drove on.� After awhile, the bus slowed, and Nick noticed a rest stop ahead.

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

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

“Yeah, me too.”

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

“What?” Leah quizzed from beside him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Later that afternoon, Nick’s cell phone rang.

“Nick Carter,” he answered.

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

“Nice to talk to you too, Mom,” Nick muttered, rolling his eyes.� His mother sounded irate, and he assumed the “trampy stripper” she was talking about was Leah.� Just how she knew about Leah and Leah’s career choice was beyond him.

“What did you say?”

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

“So it’s true?!”

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

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

“How did they find out she’s a-“

“Nickolas, I don’t know, but they found out, and now it’s all over the world that you’ve got some trashy new girlfriend that takes her clothes off for money.� Just lovely.� What were you thinking?� Don’t you care what people think of you?!”

Nick was outraged.� “No, Mom, that’s just it – I don’t!”

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

“I don’t give a crap what they think, Mom!� I never claimed to be a good role model, and I’ll damn well date whoever the hell I want!”

A click on the other end of the line signaled that his mother had hung up on him.� With a growl of rage, Nick turned off his cell phone and threw it onto the couch, where it bounced a few times and came to rest.� Aaron was right – Jane Carter was a bitch, an irrational, shallow, heartless bitch.� “Damn her,” he muttered angrily under his breath.

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

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

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

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

“How??”

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

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

“Leah, they’d probably go around calling you a slut anyway, so it’s not a big deal.� I like you for who you are, not what you do, and that’s all that matters.”

Leah smiled a little.� “Really?”

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, tell us more about your new girlfriend.� Rumor has it that she’s in the... exotic dancing field.� True story?”

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

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

“Thanks,” Nick replied, relieved.

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing much.� I was just wondering what we’re doing tonight since there’s no show,” she said.

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

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

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

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

“Leah?� You’re not mad, are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not tonight, okay?”

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

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

***

When Nick woke back up, he was shocked to discover that it was dark outside.� He had unintentionally slept for a good five hours.� He expected to feel a surge of energy after his unplanned nap, but instead, he was dragging even more than before.

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, she said she was going to go hit some clubs or something,” Joe replied.� “How come you didn’t go with her?”

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

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

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

“All right, catch you later, kid.”

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

And that was exactly what he ended up doing, returning to his room and ordering “Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers” on pay per view.� He managed to make it through most of the movie, but sometime during the last half hour, he unknowingly drifted off to sleep again, plagued with bizarre dreams of hobbits, elves, and... Leah.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, that’s okay.”

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

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

“Why?”

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

“Sorry,” Nick said irritably.� “I’ll leave you alone then.� Goodnight.”

Leah turned quickly and reached for the doorknob.� But, of course, being a hotel room, the door was locked.� And judging by the look that came over her face, Nick realized she didn’t have her room key with her.

“Locked out?” he asked with a chuckle.

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

“Just run down to the lobby; they’ll give you a spare key,” Nick advised her.� “Don’t worry, it happens to everybody.”

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

But her words were interrupted by a click, as her door suddenly swung open.� Nick’s mouth dropped open in surprise and then shock, as it suddenly dawned on him that someone had opened the door from the inside.� There was someone in Leah’s room!� He looked at Leah to find that the blood had drained from her face.� She was staring at him, her expression a mix of shock and guilt.� And that’s when he knew...

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t have a chance to get the rest of his words out.� Violently blinded by rage, Nick raised his fist and punched Justin as hard as he could, right in the middle of his sputtering face.� Justin cried out in pain, blood spurting from his nose.� But he was not too injured to retaliate; the next moment had him charging at Nick, his hands outstretched.� He collided into Nick, shoving him backward with extreme force.� Grunting, Nick stumbled backwards and hit the wall of the hall, his head banging hard against the plaster.� He clawed at Justin’s face and shoved him back, sending Justin flying backwards to the ground.� Nick pounced on him, and they wrestled on the floor, punching and ripping at each other while Leah screamed for them to stop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” Nick muttered.

“Then be glad it got broken up when it did.� I don’t think anyone else saw you, and if you don’t spill to the press, I doubt he will either.� Judging on how he looked, you kicked his ass.� I don’t think he’ll want that to get out on MTV.”

Nick had to laugh at that.� “Really?” he asked hopefully.� “Did I hurt him that bad?”

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

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

He suddenly realized that his worst fears had come true – he’d been screwed over by her again.� She’d played with him, cheated on him, broken his heart all over again.� And the second time hurt even worse than the first.

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

“You okay?” Joe asked gently.

“Yeah,” Nick muttered, refusing to look at him.� “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But he wasn’t.� Not by a long shot.

***

Nick couldn’t have been happier to see the tour end.� After that night, he had sent Leah packing; she had left on a flight home to Tampa that afternoon.� He had gone on with the rest of the tour, bruised from his fight with Justin, but not to the point that it was really noticeable.� He found out later that he had indeed broken Justin’s nose; Justin said in an MTV News interview that he had been hit in the face with a baseball.� Nick had chuckled, pleased with himself and already plotting the many ways he could blackmail Justin about what really happened.� But despite that, he was miserable.

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

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

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

And so, angrily, he swung the door open.

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

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

“Nicky...”

“Don’t call me that.”

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

“You should be.”

Leah gave him a pained look.� “I didn’t mean for it to happen,” she said.� “I just... I was drunk, and he... he took advantage of me.”

“Where did you even meet him?!”

“At a club.� I was just... sort of... starstruck, you know?� I went up to him to get an autograph, cause I thought it would be cool, you know?� And he started talking to me.� And he told me I was beautiful, and he offered to buy me a drink.� And I was flattered, you know, so I sat down with him, and we had drinks and talked, and then... well... things just got way out of hand!”

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

“So do you forgive me?”

Nick saw red.� “Forgive you?!” he exploded.� “You slept with another man behind my back!� And not just any man – Justin fucking Timberlake!� You cheated on me!� And now I’m just supposed to up and forgive you?� Where’s the fucking logic in that?!”

Tears filled Leah’s eyes.� “Nicky, please!� I’m so sorry!� I am!� I would never hurt you!”

“Well, you did.� Twice.� I gave you a second chance, and you blew it, Leah.”� He could feel a prickling sensation in the corners of his eyes and knew he was about to lose it.� Fighting to keep his emotion in check, he said in a low voice, “Go.� Just go.� Get off my property and don’t come back.”

“Nick-“

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

“But-“

“Now!”

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

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

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

“Stop it,” he told himself fiercely.� “Stop crying like some kind of fucking pussy.� It’s not the end of the world.� I didn’t even like her that much.”

He knew that was not true; he was only kidding himself.� He had liked her.� A lot.� But he didn’t anymore.� No, he was done wasting his time on Leah Gaylers.

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

***

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

His robe felt unusually loose on him, and while the tub filled, he took notice of his scale, which lay neglected in the corner.� He was sure he had lost weight during the tour; night after night of jumping around on stage would do that to a person.� Curious to find out exactly how much, he shed his robe and climbed onto the scale.� When the digital red numbers appeared, revealing his weight, he gasped aloud in shock and delight.� He had lost twenty-five pounds!� No wonder his pants had been so baggy on him lately... they must have been at least a size or two too big.� How had that happened?� Though he always lost weight when he was touring, he had never lost twenty-five pounds in a month before.

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

When the pain subsided, Nick sank back in the water, letting out a heavenly sigh.� This was the life.� He would have been content to stay in that tub all night, just relaxing and trying to take his mind off of Leah.� But eventually, he grew bored and climbed out.� Wrapping himself in his bathrobe, he perched on the edge of the tub and watched the water drain from it.

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“Hey, Nick?� It’s Bri.� Are you okay?”

Nick chuckled at Brian’s apparent concern.� “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said sheepishly.� “I just... uh... hurt my leg yesterday, and it’s a bit hard to get around right now.”

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

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

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

“Yup.� And everything’s going fine.”

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

“Aw... sorry, dude. �What happened?”

“Long story.”

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

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

“No problem.”� A silence fell between them, broken only by Brian’s question, “So... what are your plans for the rest of the week?”

“Don’t got any.”

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

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

“Well, I know... but you haven’t seen Leigh or Baylee either.”

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

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

“Nick?� You there?”

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

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

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

“Really?”

“Definitely.� When?”

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

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

“Great.� Will you drive up or fly?”

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah?� What?”

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

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

“You’re my best friend, Nick.� I want you to be a part of my son’s life.”

Nick couldn’t help but feel flattered at this.� Grinning, he said, “Aw, sure, Rok.� I’d love to be his godfather.”

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

“No problem, dude.� It’s an honor.”

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

“All right.� Later, Frick.”

“Bye, Frack.”

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Days passed, and Nick’s leg felt no better.� The bruises were healing, but his whole lower leg was still puffy, and the pain was as bad as ever.� It was getting harder and harder to walk, and inwardly, Nick knew he was going to have to see someone about it.� He was due to visit Brian and Leighanne that weekend, and hobbling around Atlanta on a busted leg didn’t sound like much fun.� Besides, he knew if Brian saw what a hard time he was having, he would whisk him off to the Emergency Room before Nick even knew what was happening.� Brian could be so overprotective, especially now that he was a father.

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

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

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

After Highlights, he flipped through a few crinkled issues of Reader’s Digest and then moved on to Woman’s Day.� Finally, as he was pouring over the latest “how to drop a dress size” article, the door to the waiting room opened, and he heard his name called.� A little relieved, but mostly nervous, Nick quickly stood up, dropping the magazine back in its slot on his way across the room to the nurse who was standing in the doorway.

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

“Yes,” he replied, forcing one back.

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

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

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

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

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

“I see.� Can you roll up your pant leg so I can take a look?”

Nodding, Nick pushed the leg of the wind pants he was wearing up above his knee, exposing the lower part of his leg.

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

“Yeah,” agreed Nick.

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

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

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

Nick nodded and smiled weakly, feeling slightly less humiliated.

“Well, you sit tight, and I’m going to get a doctor to come in and have a look.� He’ll probably want to run an x-ray, just to make sure you didn’t crack anything in there.”

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

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

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

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

When the doctor finally pushed his stool back, Nick said, “I was thinking maybe I have a stress fracture.� I’m a singer, and I’ve just been out on tour for the past month, doing a lot on stage.� Could I have fractured my leg from overuse like that?”

The doctor frowned.� “Maybe,” he said, stroking his chin.� “I’d like to get an x-ray; I think a fracture is definitely a possibility.� If you don’t mind, I’d like you to come with me down to x-ray.”

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

“No, your kneecap is up here,” said the doctor, pointing up near the top of the film.� “This black part here is actually a hole in your bone.”

Nick cocked his head in confusion.� “A hole?” he repeated.� “How did that happen?� Did I chip the bone or something?”

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

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

“No, no, I didn’t say that,” the doctor assured him, giving him a small smile.� “Don’t worry.� It’s just a precaution.� The hole could be nothing, or the x-ray could even be wrong.� But I want to be sure that it is just nothing.� Would you be willing to check into the hospital to have the tests run?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Next Friday,” Nick replied.

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

“Yeah,” Nick reluctantly answered.

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

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

It didn’t work.

***

When Nick came off the plane at the Atlanta airport two days later, he was on crutches.� Hobbling through the cluster of people in the terminal, Nick looked around for Brian.� Just when he was beginning to wonder if his friend had forgotten him, he heard that familiar Kentucky-accented voice call out, “Nick!”

His head turning in the direction of the voice, he spotted Brian pushing through the crowds to get to him.� He grinned and opened his mouth to say hi to his best friend, but Brian got out his words first.� “What happened?” he cried, eyeing the crutches.

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

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

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

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

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

Brian’s entire face brightened with this question.� “They’re just great,” he said.� “Excited to see you.”

“Baylee too?” Nick teased.

Brian laughed.� “He will be.� Come on, let’s go get your bags.”

They stopped at the baggage claim to pick up Nick’s suitcases, which Brian gallantly carried himself as he led the way out to his car.� Brian’s sporty blue BMW looked the same as always, but when Nick got in, he observed an infant’s car seat strapped into the backseat, just another reminder of how things had changed over the past year.

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

Justin Timberlake’s “Cry Me a River” droned through the speakers, and Nick wrinkled his nose in disgust, quickly changing the station.

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

“That’s okay,” Brian replied.� “I hate that song too.”

Brian wasn’t much into hard rock the way Nick was, so Nick found another pop station, a nice compromise.� “Good song,” he commented, as Michelle Branch’s “Goodbye to You” played.

“Yeah, much better,” Brian agreed.

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

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

“Yeah.� Maybe we’ll win next year.”

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

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

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

“Nope,” replied Nick.� “Have you?”

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

Nick snickered; it was fun to tease Kevin about his more-than-obvious comments.� That particular interview, done on the set of the “As Long As You Love Me” video, had become infamous.

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

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

***

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

“Hi!” Leighanne’s voice rang out perkily, and seconds later, she stepped into the entrance area, Baylee in her arms.� Nick’s eyes widened in surprise; Brian was right – Baylee had grown.� And Leighanne had shrunk.� The last time Nick had seen either of them was shortly after Baylee’s birth.� Baylee had been so tiny then... and Leighanne had still been rather huge.� But the weight she had gained during her pregnancy was gone now, and her figure looked almost the same as it had before she had gotten pregnant, only a few pounds heavier.

“Hey!” said Nick, grinning.� “You look wonderful, Leigh!”

Leighanne laughed.� “Thank you,” she said, returning his smile.� “You look great yourself... but what happened to your leg?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cute,” Brian agreed, grinning like a little kid.� “He’s almost able to sit up on his own, Nick.� Watch.”� Coming up to Nick, Brian sat Baylee up a little higher and moved Nick’s hand from the baby’s head to his back.� “See?” he said excitedly, as Baylee sat there.� “He just needs you to hold him up a little; before long, he’ll be sitting up all by himself.”

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

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

Nick grinned back at him.� “Really?”

“Definitely.”

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

In just over a week, there would be.

***

Nick flew home to Tampa after nearly a week in Atlanta.� At the airport, he embraced Brian for a final time and wished he never had to let go, never had to go home.� The next morning, he would be checking into Tampa GeneralHospital for a round of tests, a prospect that frightened him, despite how reluctant he was to admit it.� He had never been in the hospital before, except for the occasional trip to the Emergency Room with a minor injury.� He was nervous, and the fact that he knew he was going to have to go through it alone was disheartening.� Yet there was no point in telling anyone – he didn’t want to worry Brian or anyone else for no reason.

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

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

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

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

“You too, dude.”

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long have you been experiencing this pain?”

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

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

“No pain anywhere else, no,” Nick said quickly.� “As far as fatigue, yeah, I’ve been tired lately, but I also was on the road for a month, so that’s why.”

Dr. Kingsbury nodded, still writing.� “Anything else?� Weakness, numbness, weight loss?”

Nick frowned.� “Weight loss, yeah.� But not the other things.� And I’ve been working out and eating better, trying to lose weight, you know, so I don’t think that has anything to do with anything.”

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

“Um... excuse me, but are you asking these questions for some particular reason?� Like, is there some specific problem you think I might have?” he asked hesitantly.

Dr. Kingsbury stopped writing and looked up at him.� “This is just standard procedure,” she replied.� “I don’t want to leave out any possibilities.”

What possibilities? Nick wondered, but he didn’t ask.� Somehow, he had the feeling he wouldn’t want to hear the answer.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nick laughed, just relieved that it was over.

***

The CT scan later that day turned out to be much less painful than the blood test.� In fact, it wasn’t painful at all, except for the small injection Nick was given before the test.� “It’s just some fluid to make your bones show up better on the scan,” the technician told him before giving him the shot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She had cancer.

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

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

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

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

But the truth is... it can.

***

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

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

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

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

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

“Most likely.”

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

Dr. Kingsbury averted her gaze and answered slowly, “It could be any number of things; I’m not really sure at this point.� That’s why I want the biopsy done.”

Narrowing his eyes at her, Nick had a feeling she wasn’t being one hundred percent honest with him.� But, again, he did not press the issue.� He would find out the truth soon enough.

***

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

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

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

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

Seeing the bewildered expression cross his face, the nurse smiled and said, “The doctors put a tube down your throat during the surgery, which is why your throat is probably sore.� Don’t worry though, it’ll be better by tomorrow.”

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

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

***

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

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

Just when he had got himself settled, an orderly came with his breakfast tray.� The food looked rather unappetizing, as usual.� Not that Nick was very hungry anyway.� He hadn’t had much of an appetite throughout his hospital stay, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he had taken off a few more pounds in just those three days.

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

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

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

“Hey, Dr. Kingsbury,” he said and flashed her one of his half-smiles, remembering that saying about how a smile can brighten someone’s day.� Thinking Dr. Kingsbury was just stressed out about some other aspect of her job, he had no idea that he would soon need the smile himself.

“I have the results of your biopsy, Nick,” the doctor said, standing at his bedside and glancing down at her clipboard of papers.

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

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

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

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

“... you have cancer.”

***

“You have cancer.”

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

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

Bone cancer.

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

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

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

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

Nick took a shaky breath and did not reply.� What more was there to say?� He could not argue the diagnosis, could not deny the truth.� Everything made sense now.� The symptoms he had been experiencing, the tiredness, the weight loss, the pain in his leg... they had all been leading up to this diagnosis.

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

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

Cancer.

***

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

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

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

“And if it isn’t?”

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

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

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

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

“Good.� Now, to check those areas, we’ll do a chest x-ray and an ultrasound.� Both of these are simple, painless tests and won’t take long.”

Nick nodded, relieved.� However, he sensed there was another part coming to this spiel, and he was right.

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

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

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

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

“Anyway, to check your bone marrow, we have to do a bone marrow aspiration.� And I’ll be honest with you – that test isn’t very pleasant.� But it’s necessary; do you understand?”

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

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

“Treatment... you mean chemo, don’t you?” Nick asked quietly.� He had already thought of this likelihood, and it was freaking him out.� He knew what chemo did to a person – that was the stuff that made cancer patients so gaunt and pale... the stuff that made them get so sick and throw up nonstop... the stuff that made all their hair fall out.� He raked a hand through his cropped blonde hair and wondered... would it all be gone in a matter of weeks?

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

“I know,” Nick said, squaring his jaw.� “It’s okay.”

Dr. Kingsbury gave him an affectionate smile.� “You’re going to get through this, Nick,” she said optimistically.� “You’re a fighter; I can tell.”

Nick managed a tiny smile.� She seemed to think he was brave.� But he didn’t feel brave.� In truth, he was scared to death.

And that was exactly what he might be facing.

Death.

***

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

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

Yes, it was a perfect day all right.

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

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

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

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

“Uh, no, not really,” answered Nick.

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

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

Seeing his face, the nurse smiled understandingly.� “We’ll give you a local anesthetic to numb the area and relieve the pain.� You’ll probably feel some pressure when the needle goes in, but other than that, it shouldn’t be too bad.”

Yeah right, Nick thought, but he nodded and tried not to reveal the fact that he was on the verge of panic.

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

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

Nick squeezed his eyes shut until he felt his skin being pricked with the syringe.� It really wasn’t bad though, just a regular shot, and he relaxed a bit, thinking the actual withdrawal of his bone marrow could be no worse.� After all, it wasn’t even going to hurt, not with the anesthetic.

Lily waited a moment for the anesthetic to kick in, and when Nick’s hip region was numb, she said, “Okay, are you ready, Mr. Carter?”

He really wasn’t, but he figured he might as well get it over with.� “Sure,” he said through gritted teeth.� Lily and her assistant got into position, one on each side of the table.

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

“’Kay,” said Nick.� The technician placed his hands on Nick’s back and shoulder, holding him in place, and Nick felt a pang of fear.� This procedure must be pretty bad if they had to bring people in to hold even adults down...

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

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

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

“You doing okay?” Lily asked.

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

“What?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nick gaped at her.� Was she insane?� She wanted him to either have a catheter implanted inside his body or come to the hospital three times a week for treatments?� Both alternatives sucked, and he shook his head in frustration.� “No,” he said.� “I can’t do that, and I’m not having that catheter thing done either.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

“Why didn’t you?”

“Eh... once I did my psych rotation in med school, I decided it was too dull,” Dr. Kingsbury replied with a shrug.� “You don’t get to operate or do any really hands-on kind of stuff when you’re a psychiatrist.”

Nick nodded.� “I can see that.”

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

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

“Have you told anyone about your illness yet, Nick?� Family... friends?”

Slowly, Nick shook his head.� He hadn’t called anyone, not even his parents... no one knew.� He didn’t want them to know... not yet anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nick?� Did you hear me?”

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

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

“Yes,” Nick lied.� “I will.”

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

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

***

In the end, Nick settled on the catheter/portable chemo pump option, and Dr. Kingsbury scheduled him for minor surgery to put in the catheter at the end of the week.� After that, she said, he would probably be able to go home.� In the meantime, he would be starting chemo in the hospital so that he get used to it, and Dr. Kingsbury could figure out the proper dose to give him.

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

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

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

“Your doctor tried to arrange it so you could be in here alone for your treatments because of your celebrity status,” said the nurse who had brought Nick up to the room, “but there was a bit of a conflict today.� Don’t worry though, Claire won’t spill the beans about you.”� She motioned to the girl in the chair, who looked curiously over at Nick and offered him a slight smile.� Too nervous to manage a smile in return, he simply nodded in her direction.

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

Flora returned a few minutes later with supplies to start an IV.� Nick held his breath and looked away as she slid the needle into his inner elbow, and it hurt, but only for a few seconds.� One the line was in, the pain faded, and he swallowed back relief.� Flora taped down the clamp attached to the needle and then hung a bag of liquid on the IV pole next to the chair and attached the tubing from it to the clamp.� Moments later, liquid started dripping from the bag, through the thin tubing, and into Nick’s vein.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m Claire Ryan, by the way.”

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

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

She smiled.� “I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Claire smiled.� “I understand,” she said.

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

“Leukemia,” Claire replied.

“Oh... so how long have you had it?”

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

“Oh.� I’m sorry,” said Nick.

Claire smiled sadly.� “Yeah, it sucks, huh?� But...”

Nick waited for her to continue, and when she didn’t, he asked, “But what?”� It was then that he noticed Claire had closed her eyes, and her already-pale face had gone paper-white.� “Claire?� Are you okay?” he asked in concern, wondering if she had passed out.

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

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

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

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

“Lie still, Nick,” Flora said gently.� “I’ll be right back.”

Nick opened his eyes, but his vision was dim and fuzzy and bordered by blackness.� He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, but his sight did not return.� Flora came back then, lifted his head up a little, and placed something cold under the back of his neck.

“Does that feel better?” she asked.

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

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

“Yeah,” he murmured.� “You?”

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The doctor didn’t seem to notice, though, and continued seriously, “You need to clean the area around the catheter opening and change the gauze dressings daily.� For the first two weeks, you have to keep the area dry.� Either cover it with plastic wrap while taking a shower, or take a bath or sponge bath and keep it dry.� After that, you can shower normally, but make sure you change the dressing as soon as you get done – you don’t want it to stay wet.� It should take at least six weeks for the area to fully heal; after that, you can use soap and water on the area and cover the opening with just a band-aid.� Oh, and finally, no swimming.”

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

“No... I mean no swimming as long as you have the catheter,” the doctor reiterated.� “Catheters can easily become infected, and swimming in dirty water will most likely cause an infection.� And when you’re on chemo, infections can be especially dangerous because your immune system is weakened.� So absolutely no swimming.”

Nick’s heart sank.� Swimming was one of his favorite ways of exercising; he loved the water, loved his pool, loved the ocean... and now it was all being taken away from him. �Just like everything else.� His bone cells, his hair, his looks... his hopes, his dreams, his future...

His life.

***

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

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

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

But things were not fair.

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

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

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

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

“God, I’m such a friggin’ loser,” Nick muttered, as he stood there in the doorway, watching the dogs abandon him and still trying to catch his breath from the trek into the house.� Only weeks ago, he had been in great shape, his body muscled from working out.� Now it seemed he was already starting to waste away.

Suddenly both frustrated and furious, he slammed the door as hard as he could.� It snapped shut with a bang that shook the entire room.� Behind him, there was a loud crash and the tinkling of broken glass.

Turning awkwardly around, Nick saw that his painting of the ocean had fallen off the wall again.� Grunting, he leaned his crutches against the wall and, with effort, bent down to pick up the picture.� As soon as he did, shards of glass fell from the frame.� Turning it over, he saw that this time, the glass face of the frame had totally shattered.� It was ruined; he would need to get a new piece of glass for it another day.

With a sigh, he sat the painting carefully down on the floor, where it sat forlornly, jagged pieces of glass still clinging to the rim of the frame.� Symbolically, it reminded him of his own life.

Broken.

***

When Nick finally made it into his living room, the first thing that caught his attention was the flashing light on his answering machine, signaling he had new messages.� He groaned; having not been home to answer his phone in two weeks, he was sure he would have a ton of messages to listen to.

He was right.

Pressing the flashing button, he was greeted with his mother’s sickly sweet voice.� “Hi, Nicky, it’s Mom.� I haven’t heard from you in weeks, darling, and I was just wondering how things were going.� Call me back when you get a chance.”

Nick gazed sadly at the machine as it played his mother’s message.� He almost wished she were here with him now... almost wished she were there to tuck him into bed and bring him chicken noodle soup and 7up like she had when he was little and sick.� But he was an adult now, and his sickness was not just a simple cold or the flu.� It was not something a little motherly TLC could fix.

These days, he doubted his mother had any TLC left in her.� The only thing she had any tender loving care for was money.� Money and fame.� He wondered what her reaction would be when she found out he had cancer – would she be sad for him or pissed off that this very well could hinder his career?

Another message had begun to play, and this, too, was from Jane Carter. �“Nick, I left you a message two days ago, and you haven’t called back yet.� Please just give me a call, honey.� I miss you.”

“Yeah right,” Nick muttered, rolling his eyes.

The next message began with a different voice.� “Hey, Nick, it’s me, Bri.� It’s Saturday night, about... 7:00 pm, and I was just calling to find out how your doctor’s appointment went today – I know you told me you had one.� So, they got you all strapped up in a brace or cast or what?� Well, call me back when you get home.� Later, bro.”

A mix of sadness and guilt tugged at Nick’s heart at the sound of his best friend’s familiar voice.� Poor Brian, like everyone else, was still completely in the dark about this whole thing... he still thought it was just a simple fracture.� How wrong they both had been.

In between a few messages from reporters, his manager, and people like that, there were more messages from his mother, Brian, and eventually, the other Backstreet Boys.� The messages got firmer, more frantic, as they went along.

�“Nickolas Gene Carter, this is not funny!� I’m worried sick about you; you stop ignoring my calls and call me back right this instant!” his mother practically screamed over the phone.

�“Nick, it’s Howie.� Please give me or one of the guys a call soon; Brian said you haven’t been answering your phone in over a week, and he and Kevin are freaking out worrying about you – you know what Kevin’s like – and AJ and I have tried to call too, and you’re still not answering, so please, call one of us back and let us know you’re okay,” came Howie’s rambling message.

�“Hey, it’s Brian again.� Nick, please, please, please call me back when you get this.� I’m really worried about you.� Did I do something to piss you off?� Please, call back.”

Finally, the seemingly endless strain of messages came to an end.� Feeling overwhelmed, Nick flopped back onto the couch and buried his head in his hands.� He knew he needed to call everyone... knew he should tell them the truth... but the thought of actually doing that was extremely depressing.� Maybe he was still in denial, but he didn’t want them to know.� Not yet.� It was too soon – he was still trying to accept it himself, and he wanted to hold off their reactions as long as possible.

Still, when he heard the final message, his mother’s voice begging him to pick up the phone, he couldn’t help but obey.� When the message ended, he picked up the cordless phone and turned it on.� Bringing it slowly up to his ear, he listened to the dial tone for a few blank seconds before reluctantly punching in the number to his parents’ house in Los Angeles.

“Hello,” came his mother’s hassled sounding voice.

“Mom?”� His voice sounded raspy, and he swallowed hard.

“Nick!� Nick, is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”� Nick was not sure what to expect next – a sigh of relief, tears maybe? �What he got instead was a screamfest.

“Well, it’s about time!� Nickolas Gene Carter, where the hell have you been?!� I’ve been trying to get a hold of your for almost two weeks!� I’ve tried all your houses, and all I get is the answering machine, and your cell phone is never turned on!� What the hell is going on?!”

Nick sighed, stalling, trying to figure out what to say, what to tell her.� “I’ve been... busy...” he replied lamely.

“With that stripper whore of yours, no doubt!” Jane spat condescendingly.

Leah.� Oh God, why did she have to bring up Leah?� Didn’t he have enough other shit to think about?

But he didn’t say that.� In fact, he didn’t even tell her he and Leah were ancient history.� Instead, he followed his mother’s lead and replied flatly, “Yup.”

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that, like you don’t even care!� Don’t you realize how worried we’ve all been about you?� How could you be so thoughtless and irresponsible?!”

“Sorry.”

“That’s not an apology!� You’re not being sincere at all!� I want an explanation for your behavior, young man!”

“Don’t ‘young man’ me,” Nick muttered.� “I’m not a child anymore, and you can’t keep trying to control my life!� It’s not your job to freaking parent me anymore, Mom, not like you ever did before anyway.”

It was a low blow, but his leg was throbbing, his ears were ringing from her shrill, screaming voice, and he was slowly losing control of his emotions.� He knew if he didn’t join in the fight, he would probably end up spilling his guts about what had really been going on, and he was not ready to do that.� She didn’t deserve the truth anyway, as far as he was concerned.

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit!” Jane hissed.� “You should be damn grateful to have me as your mother!� Who took you to all those auditions, came to your talent shows, paid for your singing lessons, your acting classes, supported you in every way imaginable?� Huh?� That was me, and don’t you ever forget it!”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s all about all the time, all the money, you put into me.� Well, I’ve more than made up for that by now, Mom.� Whose money paid for the house y’all are living in now, huh?”

“This isn’t about the money, Nick, this-“

“Yes, it is about the money!� That’s all you fucking care about, and it’s all you ever cared about!� That’s why you dragged me to all that crap when I was little – you were hoping I’d become a star and make you money someday!”

“Don’t you dare say that!� That’s not true!� I never cared about the money!” Jane protested.

“Well you sure as hell never cared about me either!” Nick fired back.

“Shut up!� Shut the hell up!� I will not stand here and take this from you!” screamed Jane.

“Fine, then don’t.� Bye, Mom.”� Nick had pressed the End button on his phone before she could get another word out, terminating the conversation.� Letting the phone drop to his lap, he sank back against the couch, breathing heavily, shaking with a mix of frustration, misery, and rage.� Nothing like a phone conversation with his dysfunctional, insane mother to get his blood pressure up.

The phone in his lap suddenly began to ring, startling him.� He picked it up and looked in the little window that showed the caller ID.� Just as he had suspected, it was his mother.

“You blew it, you damn bitch,” he muttered through gritted teeth – he had always had a habit of talking to himself, especially when he was angry.� “See if I ever pick up the phone for you again.”

And he hurled the phone across the couch, where it bounced off one arm and came to rest on the cushion next to him, still ringing.

***

The next item on Nick’s agenda was calling Brian, and this he was dreading even more than calling his mother.� He knew there would be no fighting with Brian... but what would he tell him?� He wanted to tell the truth, wanted to get the weight off his shoulders, but he couldn’t.� Especially not over the phone.� He would need an excuse, a reason why he hadn’t answered his phone in two weeks.

In the end, he never did come up with one, but he called Brian anyway, knowing he had to.

Brian answered with a frazzled, “Hello?” and Nick could hear Baylee screaming in the background.

“Uh, hey, Bri, it’s me, Nick.� Is this a bad time?”

“Nick!� No, no, it’s fine!” Brian cried, his voice brightening.� “Where have you been?� Are you okay?� The guys and I have all been trying to call you, and-“

“Yeah, I know,” Nick cut him off.� “I’m really sorry, man.”

“Well, where were you?� What’s been going on?” Brian persisted, disregarding the apology.

“Um...”� Nick struggled for words, feeling like a cartoon character with an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other, the angel whispering, “Tell him the truth!” while the devil hissed, “Lie!� Make something up!”� Ignoring them both, Nick finally said, “I can’t really tell you.”

There was a long silence, and then Brian said, “Why not?� Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“Uh... well... it’s not like you think... you’ll find out soon enough, but... it’s not important now.”

“Well, it sounds important to me.”

“Bri, lay off it, please?” Nick begged.

“Nick, what’s wrong?� Why can’t you tell me?” Brian pleaded.� “You’re my best friend; I thought we could tell each other anything.”

“We... we can...” Nick said helplessly.� “It’s just... you don’t understand... but you will later... I can’t explain it, but I just... I can’t tell you right now.”

There was another pause.� Then, “Nick, are you trying to pull something over on me?� Like when we all decided to leave Jive, and you informed us out of the blue that you were staying with them and putting out a solo album?� What are you trying to hide from me?”

“Brian, don’t start with the damn solo album thing again!� Jesus, I didn’t realize you guys were all gonna act so pissy about that!� It’s not like I was ever planning on leaving the group; we were on hiatus, and I just wanted to do it while I could!� It’s always been one of my goals, and I decided to go for it while I had the chance.� I was living out one of my dreams with that album!”� Might be one of the last dreams I’ll ever get to live out, he added bitterly in his head.

“Nick, this isn’t about your album!� Stop acting so self-centered!� Can’t you see that we care about you and that we were worried about you while you weren’t answering your phone for two weeks?”

“Self-centered... so that’s what you think I am,” Nick said quietly.� “Okay then.� Well, you can call the other guys and tell them I’m still alive.� Talk to you later, Brian.”

And he hung up on his best friend.

***

A good hour later, still affronted over his argument with Brian, Nick decided it was time for a shower.� After two weeks in the hospital, he was sure he reeked of medicine and craved a nice, long, hot shower in his own bathroom to rid him of the stench.

Of course, that was not as easy as it sounded.� Leaning his crutches up against the bathroom counter, Nick carefully pulled his t-shirt over his head, his left shoulder aching with the effort.� Then he took the bulky brace off his leg, tossed it to the floor, and struggled to remove his boxers, trying to put as little weight possible on his bad leg.

When he was finally undressed, he reached for the roll of Saran wrap sitting on the countertop.� Feeling quite odd, he tore off a square of it and stretched it across the large gauze bandage hiding his newly-implanted catheter.

He couldn’t help but laugh as he secured it with duct tape; people across the country had been stocking up on duct tape and plastic sheeting to seal off their houses in case of a terrorist attack.� He was doing the same thing with his own body, trying to protect himself from water, from bacteria, from infection, which could wreak havoc on him with his immune system beginning to weaken from the chemo.� The chemo... that was his ally, going in to fight the enemy, cancer.� Cancer, the terrorist.

Amused with himself, for he had never been much of a metaphorical thinker, Nick limped over to the shower and turned on the spray.

***

When Nick was cleaned up and dressed, the phone rang again.� Cussing under his breath in annoyance, Nick reluctantly picked up the cordless in his bedroom and checked the caller ID, expecting it to be either Brian calling back to apologize or his mother calling back to bitch at him some more.� He really didn’t want to hear from either of them, not now anyway.� To his surprise – but not necessarily relief – the call came not from Littrell, Brian or Carter, Robert, but Richardson, Kevin.� Big Daddy Kevin, calling to check in on him, he supposed.� He wondered if Brian had already called his cousin and told him about their argument.� Nick rolled his eyes, but, knowing he really had no choice but to answer, he turned on the phone and put it up to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Nick,” came Kevin’s drawling voice.� “I haven’t talked to you in months, bud, how ya doing?”

He sounded friendly enough, and Nick relaxed, deciding he wasn’t in for a lecture after all.� “Yeah... I know.� I’m doing okay,” Nick lied.� “Just been busy, ya know.”

“Busy with what?”

None of your business, Kevin, Nick wanted to snip at him, but he held back and replied casually, “Oh, nothing much... just the usual kind of stuff.”

“Uh-huh.� The guys and I have been trying to get in touch with you for awhile... you haven’t been answering the phone.� We were a little worried about you, you know.� Is there anything going on?”

Yes, Kevin, I have bone cancer, and I’ve been in the hospital for two weeks, Nick wanted to tell him, but he only said, with as much apology as he could muster, “Yeah, I know, I’m real sorry, Kev.� I’ve just been gone a lot, and... uh... I think one of those teenyboppers got a hold of my phone number again because I’ve been getting all kind of crazy fan calls and shit, so that’s why I’ve been avoiding phone calls.”� The lie came so quickly to him he was surprised he hadn’t thought of it before, when he had talked to Brian.� He shook his head, half-pleased with himself, half-disgusted.

“I thought you had caller ID,” Kevin said wryly.

“I do.� I mean, I... did.� But, it, uh, hasn’t been working right lately...”

“I see.”� Kevin sounded skeptical, and Nick hurried to change the subject.

“So, enough about me.� What have you been up to, Train?”

“Train?� Haven’t heard that one in awhile,” Kevin said with a chuckle.� “Well, ‘Chicago’ wrapped about a month ago, and I haven’t really been up to much since I got back from New York.� Just enjoying my time with Kristin, you know.”

“Yeah,” said Nick, trying to hide his bitterness.� Dutifully, he added, “How’s Kris doing?”

“She’s great,” answered Kevin, and though Nick could not see him, he was sure his friend was smiling on the other end.� Kevin was just like Brian, obsessed with his wife, the total family man.� Not that that was a bad thing... it just tended to annoy Nick at times.� He couldn’t imagine settling down like that.� He used to think he would get married eventually, but now, marriage was just out of the picture.� As far as he was concerned, women sucked.� Backstabbing, cheating, using, abusive bitches, they were.

Besides, he might not have enough of a future left for marriage.� He was no longer the fun-loving, carefree kid he had been just months ago.� Now that he had cancer, he had more to think about than girls, parties, and booze.� More to think about than even music and his career.� His life was turning into a whirlwind of hospitals, doctors, needles, medications.� A collage of sickness.

“You there, kid?” came Kevin’s voice.

“Oh, yeah.� Um... so Kris is doing good?� That’s... that’s great.”

“Uh, yeah... Nick, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Nick replied adamantly.� “I’m sorry, I’m just spazzing out here, dude.� You know me.”� He laughed airily, but Kevin wasn’t buying the spacey dumb blonde routine.

“I talked to Brian,” he said flatly.� “You guys had a fight?”

“Not a fight really,” Nick replied carefully.� “We just had a little argument.� Friends argue, you know, it’s no big deal.� We’re fine.”

“He said you were acting weird, and I’m beginning to see what he was talking about.� I feel like there’s something wrong, Nick, like there’s something you’re not telling me.”� His tone softening, he added, “You know you can talk to us about anything, right?� Nick?”

God, why did he have to put this guilt trip on him?� “I... I know, Kev,” Nick said softly.� He knew this was his way out of lying; Kevin was giving him his chance to spill the truth right now.� Why didn’t he take it?� “But really, Kev, there’s nothing wrong.� I just... haven’t been feeling that great the past couple days...”� Well that wasn’t a lie at least.� “... and I think I’m getting a cold or something.”

“Oh... is that it?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Nick said quickly.� Please drop it, please drop it.

“Well, okay.� I won’t keep you much longer if you’re getting sick.� But the real reason I called you is to confirm our plans for next week.”

“Next week?” Nick asked blankly, his mind racing.� What’s next week, what’s next week?

“Yeah, you know, we’re all meeting in Orlando next week still, aren’t we?� To work on the album?”

“Oh... yeah, yeah!”� Next week?� He hadn’t realized it was that soon!� They had made these plans months ago, way before the start of Nick’s tour, but being cooped up in the hospital for two weeks had thrown him off.� Time had seemed to stand still for him... but life had kept going on around him.

“You didn’t forget, did you?” Kevin asked sternly, almost sounding hurt.

“No!” Nick quickly assured him.� “I would never forget that!� I just... lost track of what day it was, I guess.� But I’m excited!� Can’t wait to get started on this album!”� He hoped Kevin wouldn’t be able to make out the falseness of his enthusiasm.� It wasn’t that he didn’t want to work on the album.� He did.� It was just that with all this shit going on in his life, the last thing he could think about was music.

Then again, maybe it would make for a nice distraction.� And it came at the perfect time too, he supposed.� The chemotherapy regime Dr. Kingsbury had set up for him called for one week of chemo by way of the pump he would receive at his next doctor’s appointment and then two weeks off, then another week of chemo, then two more weeks off.� It would continue that way for several months, she said.� She counted his chemo sessions in the hospital as his first week of chemo, meaning he had the next two weeks free before he would get the pump that would attach to his catheter.� So if the guys came next week, it would give him at least a week where he could act normally and stall.

Once he was back on chemo, there could be problems, but he figured he would cross that bridge when he came to it.� He knew there was no way they would make any progress on the album with the burden of cancer hanging over all of them, and the guys really cared about getting this album done.� It would be unfair to tell them as soon as they got there.� Better to wait awhile...

Even in his head, the reasoning didn’t really sound good.� He knew he had to tell them.� But he wanted to put it off as long as possible.� And this newfound logic only gave him one more excuse to do just that.

***

Nick’s final week alone passed quickly, almost too quickly.� It seemed like one minute he was coming home to his house in Tampa after two weeks in the hospital, and the next, he was on his way to Orlando, where he would be checking into the same hotel as the other guys, who were joining him there to work on the album.

Their flights came in at different times, AJ and Kevin from Los Angeles, Brian from Atlanta, and Howie from New York, where he had been for a charity event for his Lupus foundation.� But, eventually, they were all there, checked into five adjacent suites at Orlando’s Clandestine Hotel, one of the finer hotels in the area.

Nick was lying on the king size bed in his room, his bad leg propped up on a pillow, when he heard a loud knock on the door.� Grunting, he rolled off the bed, grabbed his crutches, and hobbled out of the bedroom, through the living room area, and to the door. He swung it open to find Kevin standing there.

“Hey, kid, how ya doing?” Kevin asked with a smile, eyeing Nick’s leg.

“Hey, Kev,” Nick said, returning the smile.� “I’m doin’ all right.� You?”

“Just fine,” replied Kevin.� “Hey, everybody’s here now, so we’re gonna all meet down in my room, okay?”

“Sure.� Just let me get my room key.”� Nick found the small key card, shoved it in his pocket, and followed Kevin out of the room.� They walked slowly side by side down the hall to Kevin’s suite, where Howie, AJ, and Brian already sat, watching TV.

“Well, looks who’s here!” AJ exclaimed when Nick and Kevin entered the room.� “Heya, Hop-a-long.� ‘Sup?”

“Hey, Bone.� Nothin’ much,” said Nick with a grin.

“Hey, Nicky!”� Howie cried, immediately coming over and squeezing Nick’s shoulder.� The left shoulder.� Trying to hide his wince, Nick smiled painfully and replied, “Hey, D.”

And then there was Brian, who, remaining in his chair, only offered a quiet “Hi, Nick” and a tight smile.� Nick nodded in acknowledgement.

The three others stood there a moment, noticing the tension between the two friends.� The awkward silence was finally broken up by AJ, who said loudly, “Well, don’t just stand there, Kaos, come on in and sit down.”� He and Howie scooted over, making room for Nick on the couch.

Kevin took a seat in the chair next to Brian’s and looked around the room, surveying them all.� “So,” he said finally.� “What are the plans for tonight, guys?� Dinner?”

“Dinner sounds good,” AJ piped up immediately.� “Where to?”

After some discussion, they settled on T.G.I. Friday’s, and an hour later, sat crowded together in a booth, enjoying a plate of potato skins and cheese sticks as appetizers.� Well, four out of five of them did anyway.� While the others talked, Nick half-listened, his mind wandering.� He couldn’t help but feel pity for himself.� Kevin, Howie, AJ, and Brian had nothing to worry about, nothing more to discuss than their families, vacations, and the album.� If only they knew all the things that were running through Nick’s mind at the moment.

Howie was the only one who bothered to notice Nick’s lack of interest in their conversation or the food in front of him.� “Hey, you okay, Nicky?” he asked, his brown eyes fixed concernedly upon Nick.

“Yeah, fine,” Nick mumbled, gnawing off the end of a mozzarella stick.

“You sure?� You’re not saying much,” Howie persisted.

“I’m fine, Howie,” Nick repeated firmly, but did make a conscious effort to join into the conversation after that, not wanting them to get suspicious.� Despite the fact that part of him wanted them to know what he was going through, he still vowed not to tell them until he absolutely had to.

Telling them would lift some of the weight from his shoulders, yes.� But it would also create another weight, the weight of sympathy.� And that was almost worse.

***

The rest of that week was better.� Working on the album, writing new songs and pouring over the lyrics they had already written, helped take Nick’s mind off of his other problems.� Music had always been his outlet, his escape, and now it was even more so than ever.

However, at the end of the week, grim reality forced its way back into Nick’s life, when he had to commute back to Tampa for his first doctor’s appointment since he had been discharged from the hospital.

The guys were clueless; he had told them it was just an appointment for his leg, to see how his stress fracture was healing.� Brian, with whom Nick had silently and unofficially made up with over the course of the week, had offered to come with him, but Nick had adamantly refused.� And so, Brian and the others stayed in Orlando, and Nick went alone to Tampa, wondering if this would be one of the last days his secret was safe.

This was the day he would be given his chemo pump and started on his second round of the chemicals... and if it was anything like last time, he would be sick as a dog.� He could claim to have the flu at first... maybe food poisoning would work later on... but eventually, he knew he would run out of excuses, the guys would realize something was going on, and he would have to confess.

But as he had assured himself before, he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

At Tampa General, Nick entered as an outpatient and headed straight to the oncology floor, where he was to meet with Dr. Kingsbury.� But of course, it was not as simple as it sounded.� Wearing a baseball cap pulled low over his face and a pair of dark sunglasses, Nick limped as swiftly as he could down the hall, trying his hardest to be invisible.� The last thing he wanted was someone recognizing him and leaking the story out to the paparazzi... why, then the whole world would find out, his friends and family right along with them.

When he reached the waiting area just inside the oncology department, he noticed several other people slumped in chairs, waiting their turn.� Avoiding their eyes, he shambled briskly up to the receptionist’s window and gave her his name, then turned to go and sit down, expecting a long wait.� He was pleasantly surprised when the receptionist smiled up at him and said, “Wait right there, I’ll tell Dr. Kingsbury you’re here.”

Nick stood where he was, and only a minute later, a nurse came into the waiting room.� “You can come on back now,” she said quietly to him, motioning for him to follow her.� As he limped after her through a doorway leading into a hall, he heard one of the people still waiting gripe, “Why the hell does he get to go back first?� I’ve been waiting here half an hour already!”

His cheeks reddening, Nick pretended not to hear and picked up the pace as he followed the nurse out of the waiting room.� In the safety of the hallway, he asked, “How come I didn’t have to wait like everyone else?”

The nurse smiled sheepishly.� “Well, we figured you wouldn’t want to recognized, so we tried to get you in as soon as possible so you wouldn’t have to sit out there.”

“Oh... well, thanks...” Nick struggled, “but... I don’t think that’s really fair.� You don’t have to do that next time; I’ll wait.� People will know about this soon enough, I guess.”

The nurse nodded and smiled.� “I guess you’re right.� Thank you for being so humble.� I’ve never treated a celebrity before, and I have to admit, I didn’t expect you to be down-to-earth at all.”

Nick smiled tightly.� “Well, not that I’ve ever intentionally acted bigheaded, but, hey, getting cancer is a humbling experience, I guess.� We celebrities are people too; we can get sick just like anyone else.”

A flicker of sadness passed through the nurse’s eyes, disappearing as quickly as it had come.� “Well, Mr. Carter, come on back with me, and I’ll take your vitals and everything before Dr. Kingsbury comes to examine you.”

“Okay. �And you can call me Nick, by the way, I hate the whole ‘Mr. Carter’ thing.”

The nurse smiled.� “Okay, Nick,” she said.� “And my name is Debbie.”

Once they had been properly introduced, Debbie took Nick to a small examining room at the end of the hall, where she sat him down on a padded table with that crinkly white paper on top and took his temperature, blood pressure, and pulse.� It all gave him a sense of d�j� vu as he thought back to the innocent clinic visit that had started this whole nightmare.

“Your vitals are all great, Nick,” Debbie said, making notes on his chart.� “How are things going with your Groshong device?”

Subconsciously, Nick’s fingers traveled to the left side of his chest, where his catheter was hidden beneath his t-shirt and a large gauze bandage.� “It’s okay,” he said.� “Not so tender anymore.”

“That’s good.� So you’re taking good care of it?� Changing your bandages when you’re supposed to and everything?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nick replied brazenly.

Debbie gave him a smile.� “Good.� Well, I’ll go tell Dr. Kingsbury you’re ready, and she should be in to check you out in a little bit.� While I’m gone, you can change into this gown.”� She picked up a folded hospital garment from the small counter area in the room and tossed it to him.� Nick caught it easily and made a face.

“Aww, do I have to?”

Debbie offered him a shrug and an apologetic smile.� “Hospital policy.”

“But I thought I got special treatment...”� Nick endeavored, giving her a toothpaste commercial smile.

“Nice try, but no can do.� Put on the gown,” Debbie replied with a smirk and left.� Groaning resignedly, Nick sighed and pulled his shirt over his head.

***

“Hi, Nick, how are you doing today?” asked Dr. Kingsbury with a warm smile, as she entered the room a few minutes later.

“Okay,” Nick replied.� “Of course, this is probably gonna be the last time I’ll be able to say that for awhile, right?”� He smiled good-naturedly, trying to hide his apprehension of the chemo and the pump and the whole rotten deal.

Dr. Kingsbury smiled back sympathetically.� “I know you’re not going to feel 100% all week, but hopefully you won’t be miserable.� Because you’ll receive a steady flow of chemo from your pump for about a week rather than an hour of chemo three times a day, the dosage won’t be as high, and your body should react better than it did while you were in the hospital.� I’ll also prescribe some medication to help with the nausea.”

Nick nodded.� “Okay.”

Dr. Kingsbury gave him a brief exam, then brought out a small, black pouch which looked similar to a camera case, only smaller.� “This holds your pump,” she said, holding it up for him to see.� “It attaches to your belt and hopefully won’t be too noticeable if you wear a shirt that will hang over it.� Now this is the actual pump...”� She unattached the velcro holding the pouch closed and pulled out a small tube-like device.� “It has a small line attached to it that will connect to your catheter to distribute the medication.� The cycle will run for about a week, until the medication runs out.� When that happens, you will simply detach the pump and dispose of it – I’ll show you how to do all that – and then you will have two weeks off chemo.� Then you’ll come back to get a new pump with another week’s dosage and so on.� Make sense?”

“Yeah, gotcha,” Nick replied.

The doctor smiled.� “Great.� Well, if you’re ready, I’ll just hook this up to you, and we’ll get you started.� The sooner the better, right?”

With a wavering smile, Nick managed a nod.� “Right.”

***

By that afternoon, Nick was on his way back to Orlando.� He drove a good twenty miles above the speed limit most of the way there, hoping he would make it before whatever nausea he might get this time set in.� Dr. Kingsbury had lectured him when she found out he had come alone, saying next time he should have someone there to drive for him in case he felt sick.� He promised he would, not knowing if that would happen or not.� It all depended on how long he could keep this charade up...

By the grace of God, Nick felt pretty good for most of the drive.� It was just as he was nearing the exit for a rest stop just outside of Orlando that he felt the first quivering sign of queasiness rock his stomach.� Immediately, he signaled and took the exit, speeding to the parking lot of the first place he saw, a McDonald’s.� By the time he was out of the car and dragging himself through the parking lot as fast as his crutches would take him, he had his mouth clamped firmly shut and was using all of his willpower to keep from throwing up right then and there.

He stumbled clumsily through the door of the McDonalds and headed straight for the bathrooms in the back, his queasiness coming to a head as the sickeningly greasy aroma of french fries assaulted his senses.� Bursting into the men’s room, he made it into the nearest stall just in time.� Ignoring the sharp pain in his shin as he tried his best to kneel down, he leaned over the grimy-looking toilet just as his stomach exploded on him, and he began to heave, the fiery bitterness of vomit stinging his throat

When he was finished, he grabbed a wad of thin, economy toilet paper and wiped his mouth, then flushed.� Feeling much better, he couldn’t help but peek under the stall to make sure no one else had been in the bathroom to hear his episode.� Luckily, there were no feet.� He stood up, feeling clammy and weak, but calm-stomached, and left the stall.

Stopping to wash his hands and splash cold water on his face, he made a face at his reflection in the mirror over the sink.� His skin looked sallow and pale, dashed with trickles of water and cold sweat.� He absently ran a hand through his limp-looking blonde hair, then stopped abruptly and inspected his hands, terrified he would find himself clutching a handful of flaxen locks.� But to his relief, his hand was bare, and his head of hair looked just as full as ever.� The hair loss hadn’t started yet, and maybe he would be one of the lucky few who didn’t lose their hair from the chemo.� Doubtful, but one could always hope.

With a sigh, Nick grabbed his crutches and hobbled back out of the bathroom, heading straight back for his car.� He wanted to make it to the hotel before he was hit with the next puke attack.

***

Nick had never been so relieved to see a hotel as he was when he pulled into the sweeping parking lot of the Clandestine.� He quickly shut off his ignition and climbed out, glad he had crutches to help him walk, for even his good leg was wobbly.� Suddenly as weak as if he had the flu, Nick slowly set off for the entrance of the hotel, praying he wouldn’t be recognized and spoken to.� By some miracle, he made it to the elevator in the lobby without being hassled and took it upstairs to his suite on the top floor.� Lurching to a stop (his stomach lurching dangerously with it), the elevator dinged, its double doors sliding smoothly open.� Relieved, Nick hobbled out only to spot none other than Brian Littrell moseying down the hall toward him.

“Hey, Nick!” he called, jogging down the hall. �“Did you just get back?� How was your appointment?”

“Yeah.� It was fine,” Nick mumbled.

“That’s good.� Well, listen, Howie and I went to the studio and laid down a demo for that song we wrote.� Come on and hear it; we think it turned out pretty good!”

Nick swallowed a groan and shook his head.� “Eh, I better not right now, dude.� I’m not feeling so hot,” he confessed.

Brian cocked his head in concern.� “Oh?� What’sa matter?”

“Uh... car sickness, I guess,” Nick fibbed.� “I just started feeling sick on the way home.”� Well, that was the truth anyway.

“Car sickness?� I didn’t know you got car sick,” Brian said in surprise.� “Air sickness, sure, but car sickness?� Especially when you’re the one driving.”

“Yeah, it’s weird, I dunno what’s up with that either,” Nick said with a wan smile and a forced laugh.� “But, anyway, I think I’m gonna go lie down for awhile.� I’ll come hear the demo later, okay?”

“Okay.� Hope you feel better soon, man.”� Brian gently clapped Nick on the shoulder and continued past him, letting Nick retreat to the comfort of his own room, where he made a pit stop in the bathroom, then collapsed into his bed and promptly drifted off into a light sleep.

***

Later that evening, Nick woke up, relieved to find that he had not asphyxiated on his own vomit in his sleep.� Slowly, he pulled himself into a sitting position and waited, testing to see if his nausea would return or not.� It didn’t.� Feeling much better than he had hours earlier, Nick rolled out of bed and decided to go see what the other guys were up to while he still felt decent.

Stopping in front of the full-length mirror mounted on the bathroom door, Nick adjusted his baggy t-shirt, making sure it fully hid the black pouch for his chemo pump, and combed his fingers through his flattened hair, trying unsuccessfully to smooth down the cowlick that was sticking up on one side.� All of a sudden, a pulse of terror rippled through him, and he pulled back his hands and held them out in front of him, palms up, expecting to find them covered in blonde hairs.� Once again, though, they were bare.� Letting out a gusty sigh, Nick wiped them on his pants anyway, gave his reflection a final once-over, and hesitantly left the refuge of his room.

Wobbling down the hall on his crutches, Nick stopped outside the door to Brian’s suite and rapped his knuckles lightly against it.� He heard muffled noises from inside, and then the door swung open.

“Hey, Nicky!” Howie exclaimed with a grin.� “Come on in!”

Nick managed a smile in return and made his way into the room to find Brian, AJ, and Kevin sprawled out on the floor in front of the TV, watching Adam Sandler’s Eight Crazy Nights, which they had evidently ordered on pay-per-view.

“Hey, Nick, you feeling better?” Brian asked, taking his eyes off the screen for one minute to glance at Nick.

“Yeah,” Nick replied plainly, sitting gingerly in a chair that was pushed up against the wall, somewhat apart from the others.� “Uh... may I ask why you guys are watching a Hanukkah movie when it’s March and none of you are Jewish?”

They all ignored him, Brian and AJ suddenly exploding into gales of raucous laughter at whatever had just happened onscreen.� Shrugging, Nick focused his attention on the movie as well, figuring the longer he could sit there in silence and not have to do or say anything, the better.

Unfortunately, in less than an hour, the movie had ended, and just as Nick was feeling the now familiar pangs of nausea assaulting his stomach again, Brian asked, “So, Nick, you ready to hear me and Howie’s new demo?”

“Uh... yeah, sure,” Nick replied.

“Great.”� Grinning like a kid on Christmas, Brian jumped up, ran over to the CD player he had set up on the desk, and tapped the play button.� Melodic piano music issued over the speakers, soon accompanied by Brian’s soft voice.� Vaguely Nick heard Howie join in, his voice blending and harmonizing with Brian’s, but the queasiness in his stomach was increasing, seeming to pump bile up his throat.

One hand lightly massaging his stomach, he clamped his jaws shut and closed his eyes, praying he would not throw up.� As he took deep breaths and struggled to hold power over his digestive system, he decided that that feeling, the feeling of having to throw up and not being able to, was one of the worst feelings in the world.

Ironically, as Brian and Howie’s song faded away, Nick’s nausea began to fade too.� Relieved and congratulating himself on holding his own, he opened his eyes to find the others, mainly Brian and Howie, looking expectantly at him.� He squirmed under their gaze, realizing he really hadn’t paid a bit of attention to the song.� He couldn’t even recall the chorus.

“Well?� What did you think?” Brian finally asked, waiting for Nick’s feedback.

“I... I liked it,” Nick said lamely.

Brian could tell he wasn’t being sincere; Nick saw the wounded look in his eyes.� But Howie leaned forward and persisted, “So do you think it would be good for the album?”

“Um...”� Nick struggled.� “Yeah, maybe.”

Howie and Brian exchanged glances.� AJ let out a snort.� “Why don’t you say what you really mean, Nick?” he said sarcastically.

“It’s okay if you didn’t like it, Nicky,” Howie said quickly, jumping to Nick’s rescue.� “Is there anything you think we could change to make it better?� It’s only a rough cut, so maybe if we just-“

“No, I did like it!” Nick quickly insisted.

“You don’t have to cover it up, Nick, it’s okay,” Brian said calmly, but Nick knew that although his friend was trying not to show it, he was disappointed by the lack of enthusiasm with which his song had been met.� Despite the fact that they had somewhat drifted apart over the past two years, Nick could still read Brian like a book, and he thought the ability was mutual.� But apparently it wasn’t, for Brian didn’t seem to realize that Nick felt like crap and hadn’t even listened to enough of the song to form an opinion.� Then again, that was a good thing, for it meant Nick was successfully hiding his illness.

“Well, I� thought it was great,” AJ piped up, glancing darkly in Nick’s direction.� Nick shot him daggers, wondering when the hell he had turned into such an asshole.

“Shut up, AJ,” Kevin muttered, his hawk eye immediately spotting the exchanged looks.� “We don’t have to make any decisions yet.� Let’s just leave this one as possibility, and we’ll come back to it later.”

The others slowly nodded, and Nick was off the hook.� But he could feel the nausea making a reappearance, and he sighed, knowing he was going to have to get out of there.� He couldn’t hold it back all night.

“I think I’m gonna head back to my room now,” he said quietly, slowly standing up.� His stomach churned, and his shin burned, and he yearned to return to his room before the guys grew concerned and learned what was going on.� He turned to get his crutches and earned a spurned look from Kevin, who said, his voice stern, “Uh, I don’t recall this meeting being adjourned yet, Nick.”

Nick gave Kevin a look of contempt and shot back, “We’re not the fucking Babysitter’s Club, Kev, and I didn’t realize this was a ‘meeting’.� Yeah, some meeting - we all sit on our asses and watch fucking Hanukah movies, and then when I wanna leave, you decide I can’t because all of a sudden we’re doing something important.� Well, screw that, I can fucking leave if I want to.”

The four others just gaped at him, Brian’s mouth slightly open in astonishment.

“Ooookay then,” Brian finally broke the silence, still staring at Nick with raised eyebrows.

AJ burst out laughing.� “Damn, somebody’s hormonal!� Is it that time of the month, Nicky?� You PMSing, bud?� Sheesh, go down a couple Midols and quit bitching, why don’t you?” he teased scornfully.

“Shut the fuck up, AJ,” Nick replied testily and started to hobble away from them.

“You know, Nick,” Kevin started after him, “the only reason we were watching a movie is because we were waiting for you to get your ass out of bed and come join us.� Then as soon as you do, you’re ready to leave again.� What the hell is going on with you?� If you don’t want to do this, just say it now because the rest of us are pouring our hearts and souls into this, and we don’t want you around if you don’t give a shit.”

Nick hesitated, wanting to turn around and tell the truth, explain to them why he was acting the way he was, admit that he was sick and about ready to throw up because of the chemotherapy he was on for his bone cancer.� But he didn’t.� Keeping his mouth firmly shut to keep from spilling his guts (figuratively and literally), he only shook his head angrily and kept on walking, bile rising in his throat, and tears rising in his eyes.

***

The rest of the week wasn’t much better.� Nick continued meeting with the others, continued insisting he did want to be there, that he did care about the album.� And the last part was true.� He had missed the guys and wanted to put out at least one more album with them.� Music was his life, and it was one of the few parts of it that still seemed to be going right.� Or it would be once he got off the chemo and started feeling better anyway.� He didn’t want to screw that up.� And that was another reason why he was still hiding the truth from the guys – he knew the album would no longer be a priority if they knew he had cancer, and he didn’t want that, partly for his own sake and partly for the others’.� They all cared about this album too, and it would be selfish of him to let them quit now on his behalf.

And so, he hid his symptoms as best he could, taking more than the prescribed amount of anti-nausea drugs Dr. Kingsbury had given him, which did help slightly with his vomiting.� The week as a whole was not very productive and ridden with tension and arguments, but as the saying goes, “This too shall pass.”� And pass it did.� By the end of the week, Nick had finished his second round of chemo, and right away, his symptoms disappeared.� He was still tired and weak, having not been able to eat much in the past week, but his stomach was finally at ease, and his hair was all still there, and he couldn’t have been happier at the moment.

Though they had no idea what had caused it, Brian, AJ, Howie, and Kevin noticed the change as well.

“Well, you’re sure chipper today, Nick,” commented Kevin, smiling amusedly across the table at Nick, who sat absently humming to himself.

“Huh?”� Nick looked up.� “Oh... yeah, guess so.”� He smiled genuinely and glanced down at the large menu in front of him.� “Man, I’m hungry,” he said, feeling the familiar pangs in his stomach.� He had not felt them all week, for the nausea had stolen his appetite.� But here they sat at the Denny’s a few blocks down from the hotel, waiting to order breakfast, and he was suddenly starving.� Pleased at the thought of food actually sounding good once again, he flipped through the menu, practically drooling over the pictures of greasy bacon and stacks of waffles smothered in whipped cream and strawberries.

“Well, good,” AJ said snidely.� “You were worse than Sarah when Aunt Flo’s in town.”

“Shut up,” Nick muttered, rolling his eyes in AJ’s direction.� But he left it at that, not wanting to let anything spoil his good mood.

***

That night, after a long day of hard work on the album, Howie said, “Hey, guys, why don’t we all go do something together tonight?� You know, like old times?”

The others exchanged glances; they hadn’t really gone out all together the whole time they had been in Orlando.

“Where would we go?” Brian asked.

“Uh... well... we could hit a movie, maybe, or...”

“Nah, I don’t feel like sitting through a movie.� How about a club?” Nick suggested.

The others looked at him in surprise, and Brian immediately took on the big brother role.� “Aw, Nick, I dunno... your leg... and...”� He glanced warily at AJ.� “Well, I dunno, I just don’t think clubbing is such a great idea.”

“Hey, don’t worry about me,” AJ said quickly.� “We can go clubbing if you all want to.� I’ll be the DD.”� He smiled resignedly.

“No, Brian’s right,” Kevin butted in firmly.� “Nick, you don’t want to go clubbing on crutches, do you?”

“Yes, I do,” Nick replied determinedly.� “I haven’t been clubbing in forever.”� This was true; after weeks of leg pains, weeks in the hospital, and weeks on chemo, he hadn’t been out much at all in almost two months.� He felt fine, except for the throbbing that almost always accompanied his left leg, but he had pain medication to dull that.� He wanted to take advantage of this sudden vitality while he still had it.

More torn looks were exchanged between the group members.� Finally, Howie, who seemed to be the swing vote, said, “Hey, if Nicky wants to, I’m in.”

“Aje, you sure you don’t mind?” Brian asked cautiously.

“Nah, it’s all good,” replied AJ.

“I won’t drink either, J,” Nick blurted out.� “We can chill together and knock back a couple of Dews, ‘kay?”

Kevin looked at him in surprise.� “Since when do you not drink, Mr. I Got Myself Arrested For Getting Drunk Off My Ass And Smarting Off To Cops?”� He grinned, his green eyes sparking teasingly at Nick.

“Funny,” Nick smirked.� “Actually, I’ve decided to cut back on the drinking, thank you very much.”� He crossed his arms smugly over his chest, as if this had actually been a choice he had made on his own.� It had not been, of course.� He had only been strictly warned by Dr. Kingsbury not to drink during the months he was on chemo, for the alcohol could have a bad reaction with the chemotherapy drugs.

“Oh... well, that’s great, Nick,” Kevin said, looking both perplexed and impressed at the same time.

“Yeah, it is,” AJ added, seemingly much happier himself.� “So, Kev... Bri... you in?”

“I’m in,” Kevin replied, and four pairs of eyes turned on Brian.

“Eh, I dunno...” he said, shifting his weight.� “Why don’t you four go on ahead?� I think I’m just gonna hang here and call Leigh.”

“That figures,” muttered Nick before he could stop the words from escaping his lips.

Brian retracted, his blue eyes turning icy with hurt.� “What did you say, Nick?”

“Nothing,” Nick mumbled.� “Sorry.”

“Come with us, Rok,” Howie urged.� “Let’s all go together; it’ll be fun.”

Brian nodded.� “All right,” he said.� “Let’s go.”

They separated to get ready and were on their way within half an hour.� They decided to hit a small club called The Rogue first, hoping it would be relatively un-crowded to reduce their chances of getting recognized.� Apparently, another local celebrity had the same idea in mind, for they had no sooner sat down with their drinks when they heard a voice say, “Yo, ‘sup, fellas?”

His stomach lurching at the gratingly familiar voice, Nick looked up from his Mountain Dew to see none other than Justin “I Screw Other People’s Girlfriends” Timberlake standing beside their table, an awkward expression on his face, which Nick desperately wanted to mangle with his fist.

“Hey, Justin!” Howie said with faked enthusiasm, and a forced, yet polite smile.� “What’s up?� I haven’t talked to you in awhile.”

“Yeah, I know,” replied Justin.� “I just been chillin’ out here, you know what I’m sayin’?� So what’s been up with y’all?”

“Working on our next album, actually,” Howie said.

“That’s cool, yo.� Hey, yo, Carter, ‘sup?”

“Nothing,” Nick said stiffly, avoiding Justin’s eyes.� He felt Kevin’s elbow jab into his ribs, as if to say, “Be nice; we’re supposed to all be friends, remember?”

Yeah, well, friends don’t sleep with friends’ girlfriends, Nick thought bitterly.

“Yo, Nick, can I talk to you a minute?” Justin asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Nick glared sullenly up at him for a moment, then finally said through clenched teeth, “Sure.”� Feeling the others’ eyes on his back, he got up and followed Justin away from the table, to a secluded corner of the bar.� “What the fuck do you want?” he demanded, as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Yo, chill out, dawg.� Look, I just wanted to say... I’m sorry, dude. �I didn’t know she was your girl, dawg, I swear!� She didn’t tell me or nothin’!� She was all hittin’ on me, and I just thought she was some single chick, you know what I’m sayin’?� I’d never try to steal your woman; I ain’t like that.”

“No, you’re just the scumball that gets a some random girl drunk and follows her back to her hotel room to fuck her.� You should be proud.”

Justin blinked and opened his mouth to retort.� But after a few seconds of standing there, gaping like a frog, all that came out was a random, “Drums.”

Actually, Nick was not sure if that really happened or not because he had already turned and stalked away, leaving Justin to pull his Michael Jackson wannabe dance moves and smack all the ghetto ho’s he wanted to that night.� He wanted nothing to do with that little prick ever again.� Justin Timberlake could go fuck himself, for all he cared.

“What was that all about?” AJ asked curiously, when Nick returned to his seat.

“Nothing,” Nick replied briefly, taking a long swig of his soda.� “Nothing at all.”

***

After one more carefree week, Nick headed back to Tampa for another doctor’s appointment, at which he would be put on his third round of chemo.� “Just another check-up for my leg,” he informed the guys, and they accepted his lie without suspicion.

Now, as he stepped through the doors marked Oncology at Tampa General Hospital, he was returned to the world he had managed to escape for the past two chemo-free weeks, the world of cancer.

Going to the waiting room, he signed in with the receptionist and took a seat, remembering his request to be treated just like any other patient and forced to wait to be seen.� Noticing a round-faced young woman watching him from one side of the room, he began to regret this decision.� He still had not told anyone about his cancer, and if one of these people leaked it to the press...

Nick quickly sat down in one corner, swiped a random magazine from the rack next to him, and bent over it, hiding his face.� Looking down at it, he realized first that it was upside down and second that it was one of those maternity magazines.� Feeling his face grow hot, he quickly turned the magazine right side up and hoped anyone watching him would just think his wife was expecting.� He tried to focus his attention on an article called “Breast Feeding: Ten Tips For You and Your Baby” and ignore the few others waiting in the room.

Just as he was staring at the illustrations accompanying the article, a female voice said, “Nick?”� Nick jumped, and the magazine fell from his hands, landing in a crumpled heap on the floor and making a lot of noise in process.� He looked up at the door leading to the examining rooms, but there was no nurse standing there.

“Nick?”

Nick’s head jerked in the direction of the voice and found himself looking over at the girl he had noticed when he came in.� She was sitting a few chairs down from him, a magazine turned face down in her lap, marking her spot.� She snickered at him and grinned.� “Hi.”

“Oh... hi,” Nick said back, still a bit discombobulated and feeling quite stupid.� He quickly bent down, red-faced, grabbed his magazine and hastily shoved it back onto the rack.� When he glanced back at the girl, he found she was still looking at him.� “Um... you... you recognize me, don’t you?� You want an autograph?� I’ll give you whatever, just, please, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell-“

The girl smiled and interrupted him with, “You don’t remember me, do you?”

“Uh...”� Nick stared at her.� She was obviously a cancer patient, her head covered in a baby blue scarf patterned with small white clouds.� Her skin was dull and putty-colored, brightened only by light blue eyes that looked oversized and out of place under barren eyebrows and lashless lids.� It was the eyes, though, that suddenly made him realize who he was talking to.� “Oh!� Uh... Claire, right?”

She smiled bashfully.� “Yeah.� Sorry to put you on the spot... I guess I look a lot different then I did when we met.� They’ve got me on some new drugs, and this is one of the side effects.”� Grimacing, she looked down at her body, which was no longer that of the frail, gaunt girl he had met at his first chemo session.� She now looked to be a good thirty or forty pounds heavier, and her face, which once had been so thin he could make out her cheekbones, resembled a moon pie.

Nick couldn’t help but gape for a few seconds, shocked and frightened by what had happened to her.� He had thought cancer drugs made you lose weight, not gain it.� Selfishly, he couldn’t help but wonder if this would happen to him.� God, that was the last thing he needed.� He had been teased enough about his weight already.� The thought of looking all fat and bloated and bald like the girl sitting next to him made him sick to his stomach.

“Well... sorry to bug you... I just wanted to say hey.”� Claire shrugged and picked up her magazine, suddenly looking very interested in it.� Nick noticed her pale cheeks turning scarlet and realized he had embarrassed her.

Humiliated by his rudeness, Nick quickly said, “No, you’re not bugging me.� I’m sorry, my mind’s a million miles away.� Anyway, it, uh, good to see you.� How are you doing?”

She shrugged.� “Oh, I’m hanging in there,” she replied.� “Still not in remission, but hey, they’re trying.”� Her voice was bright and flippant, but he could hear the quiver of worry embedded in it.� Again, his stomach lurched with trepidation.� Was she losing the fight?� Would he?

“So, anyway, how are you?� Still got your hair, I see.”� She smiled slightly at him.

He chuckled, nervously touching the blonde strands.� “Yeah... for now.� I’m doing okay, I guess.� Chemo sucks, but I guess you already know that.”

“Yup,” she laughed.� “So... what kind of chemo do you get?� Oral or IV?”

“Oh... uh... IV... I’ve got a... a catheter thingie...”� He shifted, uncomfortably aware of the small device poking out of his chest.

“Ohh, lucky you.� I’ve got one too.”� She pulled her t-shirt taut over her chest, and he could make out the tiny bulge.� He chuckled nervously, awed by how comfortable she was with the whole thing.� He was forever tugging on his shirt, making sure it was loose enough to hide the catheter.

The door leading to the exam rooms opened with a click, and a nurse stepped into the room.� “Claire?� You can come on back now.”� She smiled pleasantly in Claire’s direction, and Claire stood up.

“Well, see ya around, Nick,” said Claire, smiling at him.

“Yeah, I’ll see ya,” Nick replied, returning the smile as Claire followed the nurse out of the waiting room.� Reaching over, he picked up the magazine she had left lying on her empty chair, a tattered copy of Reader’s Digest.� He flipped it over.� It was open to a section called “Laughter is the Best Medicine.”� Smiling, Nick decided this was better than reading about breastfeeding and began to read the short entries.� He could use a laugh.

***

When Nick left the hospital later that day, he had traded in his crutches for the dreaded chemo pump.� As he made his way out to his car, the switch almost seemed worthwhile, for it felt extremely nice not to have to haul himself around on crutches.� According to Dr. Kingsbury, the fracture was healed, and he could put weight on the leg again.� This was easier said than done though, for his leg was weak from six weeks of not using it, and he still had to wear the brace for another week.� His gait resembled that of a crippled robot as he painfully limped through the parking lot and prayed no one was watching.

As he climbed into his car, his stomach rumbled with hunger.� He had not eaten breakfast that morning out of nerves, and now that the appointment was over, he was famished.� He considered stopping for a late lunch on his way out of town, but opted against it.� He wanted to make it back to Orlando before the nausea started and also knew that whatever he ate would only come back up again later.

He made it back to the Clandestine in record time and even managed to beat the nausea.� Still, though he felt fine at the moment, he decided to retreat to his room rather than tracking down the others, not wanting to take any chances of getting sick while they were around.

He made it up to the suite without being spotted, hung the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the doorknob, and went inside, immediately unstrapping the brace from his leg and pulling off his jeans.� He left both in a heap on the floor and climbed into his bed, which a maid had already been by to change.

Slipping between the freshly laundered sheets in just his t-shirt and boxers, he let out a relieved sigh and closed his eyes, hoping he could sleep through the queasiness that he knew would rear its ugly head sooner or later.

***

Nick was awakened by muffled screams and crashes.� Sitting up in confusion, he realized the sounds were seeping through the thin wall behind him, from the adjacent suite... AJ’s room.

“What the fuck is he doing in there?” he muttered out loud.� He tried to lie back down, but now he could not sleep.� Grunting, he rolled over onto his stomach, reached up, and slapped his palm against the wall as hard as he could, several times.� Maybe that would get the point across.� He waited, listening for a moment, then hit the wall again.� Suddenly, the sounds stopped, and the room felt into silence.� With a sigh, Nick rolled back over and slid down into the little cocoon he had created beneath the covers, anxious to return to the dreamless escape AJ had abducted him from.

No such luck.� No sooner had he gotten comfortable and let his eyes fall shut then they flew open again at the sound of loud knocking on his door.� “Go away,” he murmured groggily, burying his head in his pillow and willing his visitor to leave.� But the knocker was persistent and kept beating on the door.

Groaning, he rolled out of bed.� As soon as he stood up, pain ripped through his left shin, and his stomach was gripped with nausea.� “Shit.”� Gritting his teeth and holding his stomach, he shuffled across the floor, not bothering to put on his pants.� He flung open the door to find, as expect, AJ standing in the hall.� But it was not just AJ – Brian, Kevin, and Howie were right behind him.

“He emerges!” cried AJ melodramatically.

“What do you want?” Nick muttered flatly.

“What do you want?� You were the one beating on the wall.”

“Only to get the noise to stop.� What the fuck were you doing in there?”

“Watching ‘Godzilla.’� AMC’s having a cheesy old Asian horror movie marathon!” AJ announced gleefully.� In a terrible Japanese accent, he pointed down the hall and screamed, “Godzilla!� Godzilla!”

“Shh, AJ, we’re in a hotel!” Kevin hissed, but Brian laughed and started imitating the way the dubbed voices didn’t match up with the people’s mouths in the movie.

Nick just stood there, his mouth pressed into an expressionless line.� “Well, could you maybe keep it down in there?� Some people are trying to sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the afternoon; why the hell are you sleeping?” asked AJ.

“I don’t feel good, okay?” Nick snapped.� “Now leave me the fuck alone.”

“You don’t have to talk to us that way - we get the point, Nick,” Brian said irritably, while AJ just flashed Nick his middle finger behind Brian’s back.

“Sorry,” Nick mumbled unapologetically.� “I’m going back to bed; please don’t bug me anymore.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” scoffed AJ, rolling his eyes.

And then he left, the others following without a backwards glance.� Only Howie stopped and said quickly, “Hope you feel better soon, Nicky,” then continued on back to AJ’s room.

Nick shook his head, turned, and went back into his own room, shutting and bolting the door behind him.� He climbed back into bed and listened, half-expecting AJ to crank up the volume on his TV again just to piss him off.� But, straining his eyes, all he could hear were muffled voices coming from behind the paper thin wall.� He started to bury his head in his pillow once more and go to sleep, but when he heard one of those voices say his name, he perked up in interest.� Knowing he shouldn’t be trying to eavesdrop, yet too curious not to, he sat up and leaned against the wall, pressing one ear up to it.

He could just barely make out what they saying, but it seemed to go something like this...

“What the hell is going on with him?”

“I dunno... but he looked like crap.� Is he sick?”

“Again?� He was just sick like two week ago!”

“You know, maybe this is just some scam to get out of doing the album.� Maybe he wants out of the group and just doesn’t want to tell us.”

“AJ, Nick wouldn’t do that.”� That was Brian.� Nick smiled a little, grateful to his best friend for jumping to his defense.� “No, I think there’s something more than that going on.”

“But what?”

If only you knew, Nick thought, slowly sliding back down onto the bed.� He had heard enough.� They were suspicious, and he knew that this was the end of the road.� He was going to have to come clean with them, and soon, or they would find out themselves.� This week.� He had to tell them the truth.

Tomorrow, Nick thought with a yawn, nausea still panging his stomach.� He curled up on his side in the fetal position, one arm gently massaging his tender stomach, and closed his eyes, willing sleep to overtake him.

***

It was a good thing Nick had taken a nap that afternoon, for the night following it was spent praying to the porcelain god.� Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, a weary Nick fell into a restless sleep.

He woke up hours later, feeling not the least bit refreshed.� Still, not content to lie in bed all day, he decided to get up.� Dragging himself blearily out of bed, he did not notice the wisps of blonde hair that covered his pillow.� He felt like utter crap and decided a nice hot shower was the best hope for relief, so he staggered into the bathroom, turned on the spray, shed his clothes, and climbed in.

Sighing through the steam as the warm water massaged his body, Nick took the bar of soap and ran it over his skin, cleansing himself of the previous night’s torment.� Then he squirted a liberal amount of shampoo into his hand, rubbed his palms together, and raked his fingers through his hair, smoothing in the shampoo.� Closing his eyes, he continued to knead his scalp.� Finally, he pulled back his sudsy hands and placed them under the jet, opening his eyes to watch the white foam wash away.� But when he looked at his hands, he was shocked to see that shampoo suds were not all that covered his palm.� Stringy, wet, hairs were plastered to his skin.

“Oh my God...”� Nick’s voice was trembling just as much as the rest of him as he stared at his hands.� Putting them back under the water, he rubbed them together furiously, scrubbing at them, trying to wash the hair off.� The wet strands slid off his skin and landed on the smooth white bottom of the tub, working their way down to the drain with the flow of the water.

“Please, no, not yet...” Nick whimpered, gingerly reaching up to his head.� With his thumb and forefinger, he delicately touched a small lock of hair.� Separating a few hairs from the rest, he gave them a friendly tug.� Instead of clinging fast to his scalp, they slid out easily between his fingers.� Flicking the hair away in disgust and watching it wash down the drain with the rest, Nick could feel himself rapidly losing it.� Tears stung his eyes and slid down his cheeks, mixing with the shower water.

This was it.� The much dreaded side effects were starting, and his hair was going.� There was no more denying what was happening to him, and soon, he feared, the whole world would know.

Crying, Nick sank down to a squat, hugging his knees to his chest.� His shin throbbed under his weight, but he welcomed the pain.� Staring down at the hair flattened against the bottom of the tub, blemishing its pure porcelain whiteness, he felt sick to his stomach.� He was not sure if it was just another side effect of the chemo or the product of his own distraught state, but all of a sudden, he let loose, retching onto the tub bottom.� The watery beige vomit blended with the water, staining it light brown, and slowly washed away.

With one trembling hand, Nick reached forward and turned off the tap.� Immediately, the water that rained down on him like tears from Heaven stopped, and he was left with his tears alone.� The desecrated mix of water, suds, vomit, and hair washed away, but Nick remained, curled up in a ball on the tub’s cold, hard bottom like a frightened child.� Only when his skin was dry and covered in goose bumps did he slowly rise and climb out, only to throw a towel around his quivering shoulders and perch on the edge of the tub to wallow in his own misery.

***

Nick emerged from the bathroom awhile later feeling rather depressed, but also extremely foolish.� What was wrong with him?� He had broken down and bawled like a baby... over hair?� Sure, he liked his hair, and he knew plenty of teenage girls liked it too... but it wasn’t the end of the world.� It wasn’t even the end of his hair... sure, it would probably all fall out eventually and leave him bald, but it would grow back.� And that was better than slowly going permanently bald... which was what he was sure was happening to AJ, whose hairline was probably receding due to excess use of hair dye.

Nick couldn’t help but smile at that; it was one of the few things the guys could tease AJ about.� Yes, AJ’s hair, Howie’s random winking, Brian’s Christianity, Kevin’s eyebrows, and Nick’s... well... Nick’s any number of things – his “difficulties with words”, his lack of geographical knowledge, his arrest, his dancing, his former girlfriends, his constipated facial expressions in the “Quit Playing Games” video, his horrible German pronunciation, the pooping in the sock incident, his weight... the list went on and on.

At least his weight wouldn’t be an issue anymore.� That was the one good effect of his cancer – he had lost at least forty pounds by now, though the guys had yet to say anything.� Then again, he wore his clothes big and baggy now to hide the catheter and the infusion pump bag, so maybe they hadn’t noticed.� He just hoped he wouldn’t be put on whatever the hell that Claire girl was taking, or he’d gain it all right back again and then some.

But the issue at hand now was not his weight, but the episode he had just had in the shower.� What the hell was that?� Was the chemo messing with his emotions now too?� He felt like a pregnant woman (or how he imagined a pregnant woman might feel, though he had no real experience in that issue), overly hormonal.� Now AJ would really say he was PMSing.� If only he would get the food cravings... that would definitely be nice, for when he was on chemo, food lost all its appeal.� And to Nick, that was a tragedy.� Nick liked food.

He also liked Nintendo, and that’s what he decided to do next.� It would help him take his mind off everything, including his impending nausea.� So, turning on the TV and the Gamecube he had hooked up to it, he grabbed his controller and lowered himself painfully to the floor, stretching his legs out in front of him.� He realized his left leg still looked puffy and bigger than the right one.� Remembering he had forgotten to put on his leg brace after getting dressed, he half-crawled, half-dragged himself across the floor to retrieve it from the spot where he had dropped it the previous afternoon.� He strapped it tightly around his left leg to hide his swollen shin and eased himself back into his spot in front of the television.

Within minutes, he was totally entranced in the game and had forgotten about everything – his leg, his hair, his nausea, his chemo, his cancer, his career, and even his bandmates.

Blasting away an oncoming monster with a big gun, he couldn’t help but smile.� Nintendo ruled.

***

Nick’s Nintendo-playing was interrupted by a loud knock on the door.� Groaning, he paused his game, tossed down his controller, and, with difficulty, got to his feet.� He limped to the door and opened it to find, once again, all four guys standing in the hall.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Just wanted to see if you were up yet,” answered Brian.� “Come on, we’re gonna go get some breakfast.”

“Eh... I’m not very hungry,” Nick said slowly, his stomach protesting the word ‘breakfast’.

“Come on, Nick, you have to eat breakfast,” Kevin insisted, and just when Nick thought he was going to go into a whole spiel about how breakfast was the most important meal of the day, Brian interrupted and spared him the lecture.

“You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to; just come with us.”

Nick really didn’t think that was a good idea, but judging by the looks on their faces, this was something he probably wasn’t going to get out of.� So, with a sigh, he replied, “Fine.”

“Good,” said Brian.� “You ready to go?”

“Yeah, just let me turn off my game and get some shoes,” Nick muttered, trudging back into the room.� He shut off the Gamecube and TV and slipped on a pair of Adidas sandals.� Then he started to head to the door, but, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror hung near the door, he stopped and went back to his overflowing suitcase.� Digging through the unruly heap of clothes, he found what he was looking for: a squashed Tampa Bay Bucs baseball cap.� Tugging on it to reshape it, he jammed it over his still-drying hair, not caring that it clashed with his orange t-shirt.

“You coming, Nick?” called AJ.

“Yeah!” Nick shouted back.� He stopped at the mirror one last time, pulling the baseball cap low over his ears and giving his baggy t-shirt a tug, making sure it was successfully hiding the small black pouch strapped to his waist.� Then he left the suite.

“About damn time,” AJ teased, playfully slinging an arm around Nick’s shoulders.� Nick immediately stiffened, terrified AJ was going to pull off his cap and give him a noogie.� But AJ only let go of him and stared at him in concern.� “What’s the matter?” he asked.� “I’m only playing; why are you so tense?”

“Sorry,” Nick muttered.� “I just don’t feel much like playing.”� Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the others exchanging worried looks.

“Are you sick, Nicky?” Howie finally asked.

“Yes,” Nick answered, then added, “I think I’m coming down with flu.”

“Didn’t you just have the flu a few weeks ago?” Kevin asked suspiciously.

“Yeah... guess it’s still going around.”

“Maybe it’s not the flu.� Maybe it’s mono or something,” Brian suggested.

“Mono?� Ain’t that the ‘kissing disease’ or whatever?” AJ scoffed.� “Who ya been kissing, Nicky?”

“Ooh, I know who,” Howie jumped in, grinning.� “Leah, right?� Wasn’t that her name?”

“Ohh yeah, the stripper!” AJ exclaimed, eyes gleaming.� Snorting, he added, “Bet mono’s not the only thing he got from her.”

Nick stared at the two of them in shock... how did they find out about Leah?� He hadn’t told anyone about her, except for...

“Brian!� Why the fuck did you have to tell them about her?” he accused, angry and embarrassed.

“Nick... I’m sorry... I didn’t know it was that big of a deal.� If you had stayed with her, they would’ve found out anyway,” answered Brian calmly.

“Yeah, but they could have found out from me.� I don’t like you discussing my personal life with other people.� Jeez, you’re worse than a girl with all your damn gossiping.”

“Oh, Nick, chill,” AJ snapped.� “We’re just playing with you.� What the fuck is wrong with you today?”

“I told you, I DON’T FEEL GOOD!” Nick shouted.� “God, I can’t deal with this crap today.� Go get your damn breakfast; I’m going back to my room.”� He pivoted and started to walk in the other direction, but Kevin grabbed his shoulder.� “Oww,” Nick whined, squirming to get out of his grasp.

“Nick, stop it.� We’re going out for breakfast as a group, and if you’re still a part of this group, you’re coming with us,” Kevin said firmly, his fingers digging into Nick’s flesh.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘if I’m still a part of this group’?” Nick questioned angrily.

“Well, you haven’t been acting like you’re a part of the group.� What is going on with you?� One minute you’re happy and eager to participate, and the next, you’re pissed off and wanting to hide in your room all day.� What’s the deal with all the mood swings?� Are you bipolar or something?� Do we need to get you help?”� His tone was calm, serious, and matter-of-fact, but he was only pissing Nick off.

“Butt out, Kevin.� You’re not my dad, and it’s none of your business.� And no, I’m not bipolar.”

“All right.”

“Can we go now?� I’m starving,” complained AJ.

“Yes,” Kevin said.� “Let’s go.� Come on, Nick.”

Sighing heavily, Nick reluctantly followed them down the hall.

***

Awhile later, the five of them sat in a booth at IHOP, waiting for their breakfast to arrive.� Somehow, Nick had gotten scrunched in between Brian and AJ, where he sat, queasy and claustrophobic, ignoring the others’ conversation and praying for a fire or anything else that would offer him an escape.

Kevin brought him out of his spaced out state by nagging, “Nick, take off that cap.� Don’t you have any manners?”

“You’re not my dad, Kev,” Nick reminded him sullenly.

“Cripes, Nick, just take it off!” AJ exclaimed, reaching over and batting the cap off Nick’s head.

“No!” Nick cried, hands immediately covering his hair, his heart pounding fearfully.

“What?� What’s wrong?” said AJ.

“Nick?” Brian asked in concern, while Kevin and Howie just stared across the table at him.

Nervously, Nick let his hands fall and waited, watching their faces.� They only looked at him, perplexed, and he exhaled in relief, deducing that there must not be any noticeable bald patches on his head yet.

“Uh... here...” AJ said uncomfortably, handing Nick his cap back.

Nick took it wordlessly and set it on his lap, his heart still racing from the scare.� He knew he couldn’t keep doing this.� Close calls were more and more frequent now, and if he did not tell them, they would soon find out the truth by accident.� But breakfast was not a good time to do that.� He would procrastinate further.

Their waitress soon came, balancing a huge tray carrying five plates of food.� Nick held his breath as she placed a dish of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast in front of him, trying not to inhale its scent.� The others (mainly Kevin and Howie) had forced him to order something.� “You’ll be hungry by the time we get the food, Nick,” Howie had said, while Kevin continued to insist that Nick needed to eat breakfast.

Unable to hold his breath forever, Nick slowly exhaled, and the food smell immediately wafted into his nostrils.� Normally, the scent of sizzling bacon, browned toast, and hot coffee would be scrumptious, but now it only triggered his nausea.� Afraid he was going to throw up right onto his eggs, he quickly said, “I gotta go.”

AJ, who was sitting on the end, said calmly, “Go where?”

“Bathroom.� Move!”� AJ only snickered at his forcefulness. �Annoyed and desperate, Nick gave him a shove, sending him spilling of the booth onto the floor.� While the others laughed hysterically, and AJ sputtered in shock, Nick slid out of the booth, stepped over AJ, and took off hobbling as fast as he could on his stiff leg to the bathroom.

***

In the empty men’s room, Nick sank to his knees on the grubby, tiled floor and retched over the toilet bowl, not really bringing anything up, for his stomach was empty and had been for over a day.� Through his gagging, he heard the door swing open.� Unable to do anything, he continued throwing up until his stomach finally settled.� As he tore off a piece of toilet paper to wipe his mouth, he heard the apprehensive voice of his best friend ask, “Nick?”

“Bri?” he choked out, his voice shaking.

“Buddy, are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“No, you’re not.”� Then why did you ask if I was?

“I told you, I have the flu.”� Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“Aww, I’m sorry.� You want me to run you back to the hotel?”� Yes, yes, please!

“What about the rest of the guys?” Nick asked weakly.

“I can come back and pick them up.”

“Okay...”

“Okay?� Well, you come out when you’re ready.� I’ll go wait back at our table, all right?”

“’Kay.”

He heard the door open and bang shut as Brian left and sighed in relief.� Weak and shaking, he got to his feet, flushed the toilet, and came out of the stall.� As he washed his hands at the sink, he couldn’t help but glance up into the mirror.� His face was white and covered in perspiration.� Moaning, Nick cupped his hands under the faucet and splashed cold water onto his face.� It made him feel a little better.� Then he retreated from the bathroom, wanting to get back to the hotel as soon as possible.

No one spoke when he made it back to the table.� Brian just stood up and said softly, “Come on, Frack.”� Putting one hand gently on Nick’s back, he walked him out of the restaurant and to their rented Durango.

The ride home was silent.� When they made it back to the Clandestine, Brian and Nick took the elevator to their floor and went to Nick’s suite.

“What are you doing, Bri?” Nick mumbled when Brian followed him into the room.

“Taking care of you.� Come on, get into bed,” Brian said, nudging Nick into the bedroom.

“I’m not a baby; I can take care of myself,” Nick protested, but Brian ignored him.� Without a word, he turned down the covers of the bed.� Nick climbed in awkwardly, and Brian pulled the covers up around him like a mother tucking in her small child.

“Go to sleep,” Brian said gently.� “You’ll feel better.”� Nick nodded, rolling over so that his back was to Brian and closing his eyes.� “Nick, I think I’m just gonna hang out here until I go pick up the guys at the restaurant.� You know, in case you need me.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Nick murmured weakly.

“No, I want to.”

Brian went into the other room, closing the bedroom door behind him, and Nick snuggled up beneath the covers, trying to fall asleep.� He was just dozing off when he heard Brian’s cell phone ring in the adjacent room.

“Hello,” Brian answered the phone.� “Yeah, we’re here.� Nick’s sleeping.� Mm-hm.”

It was one of the guys.� Nick lay awake, listening attentively to the one-sided conversation.

“Yeah... I don’t know... he swears it’s the flu, but... yeah, I... hang on a minute...”� Suddenly, the door to Nick’s bedroom opened again.� Nick quickly clamped his eyes shut and breathed slow and deep, feigning sleep.� He heard Brian say, “okay, sorry, I just wanted to make sure he was asleep.”� The voice faded as Brian stepped out of the room and closed the door again.� Still, Nick could hear his muffled voice from the other room.� “Yeah, I’m in his room... didn’t want to leave him alone... anyway, yeah, I’m really worried about him too... he’s been so moody lately... and yeah, I know, he looks like he’s lost weight, and now he’s throwing up.� You know, I hate to say it, but I’m beginning to wonder...”� He dropped his voice a notch, but it was just loud enough for Nick to make out his next words.� “... maybe he has some kind of eating disorder.”

Nick’s eyes flew open, and he had to stifle back a laugh.� Eating disorder?� Yeah, right.� Rather amused, he listened to Brian keep talking.

“Well, it fits, doesn’t it?� Nick’s always been self-conscious of his weight, and now he’s lost a bunch... and have you seen the clothes he’s been wearing lately?� They’re all about two sizes too big for him... to hide the weight loss, I guess... and he doesn’t want to eat, and now he’s throwing up... what, does the sight of food make him hurl now?� Yeah... yeah... I think we do need to confront him about it.� If he’s like bulimic or something, we need to get him help... psh, yeah, the press would have a hay day with that one...”� Brian let out a sigh.� “Well... I guess I’ll let you go then... just call when you’re ready to leave, and I’ll come get you... ‘kay... bye.”

Nick heard the cell phone click off and sighed.� Now they thought he was bulimic?� What a joke.� Still, he could see now just how worried about him Brian was, and he knew it was time to tell the truth.� He would do it later, once all the guys were back.

A feeling of dread gnawing at his insides, Nick tossed and turned, unable to sleep with this task looming before him.� Of course, he would not have been able to get much sleep anyway, for the gnawing sensation quickly turned to the churning nausea to which he had grown so accustomed.� With a moan of discomfort, he forced himself to sit up and struggled to get out of bed.� Somehow, in all his tossing and turning, he had managed to entangle his legs in the sheets.� His left shin aching and his stomach rippling dangerously, he struggled to free himself and finally ended up tumbling out of bed.

“Fuck!” he screamed, grabbing his swollen leg.� Then he quickly let go and clamped his hands over his mouth again, for his stomach had not agreed with being jostled in the fall, and he could feel the burning sensation of vomit alighting his throat.� Just as the door to the bedroom burst open and Brian ran in, Nick threw up, the sour, liquid substance spilling all down his front.

“Oh, Nick!” cried Brian, hurrying over to him.� Nick looked up to see an expression of disgust cross his friend’s face, but it vanished quickly.� “Come on, Nick, let’s get you to the bathroom.”� Brian held out his hand, and Nick took it, letting Brian pull him to his feet.� With Brian’s arm around his waist, he limped weakly into the bathroom and sat down on the closed toilet seat.

“Are you done?” Brian asked, wetting a washcloth and handing it to Nick.

Nick nodded, wiping his mouth off with the cloth.� “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.� “I didn’t make it in time.”

“It happens,” Brian said with a slight smile.� “And don’t worry about me – I’m used to puke by now.� I never realized how often babies spit up.”

Nick smiled wanly.� “Well, I’m not a baby.� You don’t have to hang around and take care of me like Baylee; I’m a big boy.”

“I know, Nick, but...”� Brian hesitated, looking mournfully down at him.� “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m not bulimic, if that’s what you think,” Nick said with an emotionless chuckle.

Brian paled.� “You heard me talking on the phone?”

“Sorry.”

Brian sighed.� “It’s okay.� Sorry for thinking you were bulimic.� I just... well, you look like you’ve lost weight lately, and your clothes are... speaking of clothes, you, uh, ralphed all over your shirt.”� Smiling, Brian pointed at Nick’s soiled t-shirt.� “Here, let’s get that off of you.”� Before Nick could protest, he reached forward, grabbed the bottom of Nick’s t-shirt, and begin to pull it up.

“No,” Nick cried, quickly grabbing the t-shirt, but not before the damage was done.� The material fell out of Brian’s hands, and Nick looked up to see a bewildered expression on his face.

“Nick...” he started, staring at the small black pouch that had now been revealed.� “What is that?”

Sighing, Nick carelessly pulled his t-shirt up and over his head, fully exposing not only the pouch, but the catheter, out of which an IV line ran, feeding into the pouch and connecting to the chemo pump.� He watched as Brian’s mouth dropped open in shock, and fear flickered in his blue eyes.

“Nicky...”� he breathed, and Nick’s heart ached, for Brian almost never called him Nicky.� “Nicky... what... what’s wrong with you?”

Inside, Nick was struggling to hold back tears, but his voice was quite calm when he opened his mouth and spoke those horrible, fated words to his best friend.

“I have cancer.”

***

Brian’s eyes, light blue orbs of shock and fear, flitted back and forth, searching Nick’s face for any sign that this was just another of his infamous practical jokes.� But there was not even a hint of Nick’s devilish grin, and it only took seconds for reality to sink in.� Nick could almost see it happening, the realization dawning on Brian.� He waited for Brian to speak, and finally, he did.

“What... what kind of cancer?”� His voice was almost whisper-soft, and Nick had to strain his ears to make out his best friend’s words.

“Ewing’s Sarcoma,” he replied.� “It’s a kind of bone cancer.”

Brian’s gaze sharpened, his forehead furrowing as he stared at Nick.� Then, slowly, his eyes fell upon Nick’s leg, then snapped back up to his face.� “You mean... your leg... it wasn’t...”

“Wasn’t just a stress fracture,” Nick finished guiltily.� “No, it was a fracture all right, but it wasn’t caused by overuse.� Cancer’s been eating away at my bone.”

Brian drew in a breath.� “Nick... how long have you known?”� His tone was not accusing, only shocked and sorry.

Nick averted his gaze and mumbled, “Couple months.”

“A couple months?� Nick!� H-how could you not tell us?!” Brian’s voice jumped an octave, and the pained look in his eyes hurt Nick even more than his words.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, staring at his feet.� He had been a head taller than Brian for years, but now, suddenly, he felt much, much smaller.� “I know I should have told you, and I wanted to... but then I didn’t.� I kept it from you as long as I did because... because I didn’t want you to treat me differently.� I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me and get all anal and overprotective of me and all that.”

“Oh, Nick...”

His head hung, eyes on the floor, Nick expected Brian to continue, to say something like, “We would never treat you any differently,” but he didn’t.� There was a long pause, and just as Nick started to raise his head, a pair of arms gently enveloped him.

Swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat, Nick smiled sadly and wordlessly returned the hug.

***

Nick was lying in bed when the knock sounded on his door.� He took a deep breath and climbed off of the bed.� Slowly, hesitantly, he walked to the door, his palms sweating, his heart thumping against his ribs.

Brian had left half an hour earlier to pick up the others at the restaurant.� “Will you tell them for me?” Nick had begged him.

“Yeah,” Brian had relented glumly.� “I’ll tell them.”

Now they were back, and Nick knew that, like it or not, he was going to have to face them.� Swallowing hard, he opened the door.� And there they were, all four of them, looking lost.

“Come on in, guys,” Nick mumbled, standing back and opening the door further to let them in.

Brian stepped inside the suite first, meeting Nick’s eyes as he did so.� Nick blinked and looked away; the grave expression clouding those blue eyes was too much for him to bear.

Kevin, Howie, and finally, AJ followed Brian in.� They sat down silently, their expressions grim.� Nick figured Kevin would say something first, but surprisingly, it was AJ who started the conversation.

“Nick... please tell me this is some fucked up prank you and Brian cooked up,” he blurted, his voice angry, yet pleading, his eyes boring into Nick’s.

Nick wished he could tell his friend anything other than the truth.� But he could not.� Hanging his head, he replied softly, “It’s not a prank.� I have cancer.”� Glancing up, he saw AJ recoil as if he had been slapped, a look of anguish twisting his features.

“Nicky, we want you to know that you don’t have to go through this alone anymore,” Howie spoke up, his voice sounding strained.� “We’re here for you, and we’ll do whatever we can to help you through this.”

Nick nodded and tried to smile in gratitude.� “Thanks, guys,” he said, knowing they were only trying to be caring and supportive.

“So, Nick,” said Brian, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.� “Um... I take it your family doesn’t know about this either, do they?”

Nick shook his head and stated flatly, “My mom’s a psychotic bitch.”

AJ snorted, but a warning look from Kevin made him stifle his laughter.� Seeing this silent exchange, a lump rose in Nick’s throat.� This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted them to know.� No one could act normally now that something so abnormal was in their midst.� There would be no more laughing, joking, roughhousing.� Conversations would be solemn and strained; long silences would become frequent.� No one would go for long without remembering that Nick had cancer.� Poor Nick, poor little Nick...

“You can still laugh, you know,” Nick muttered, rolling his eyes.� But AJ didn’t start laughing again.� Instead, he exchanged wary glances with the others and focused his attention on his lap.� Nick sighed.� “Or don’t.� Whatever.”

“Nicky... talk to us,” said Howie, leaning towards Nick, his expressive brown eyes locked on Nick’s face.� “We all want to know exactly what is going on... when Brian told us you ha-... well, when he told us... he was clueless.� We’re all kind of still in the dark about this right now.� I mean... if you don’t mind my asking... how... how bad is this?� And how are they treating you?� And...”� Howie trailed off, shrugging.

Nick took a deep breath and steepled his hands in his lap.� “Okay,” he sighed.� “Here’s the deal.� I have Ewing’s Sarcoma, bone cancer.� It’s in my left leg, in my shin bone.� But that’s the only place – it hasn’t spread yet, which is good.”

“Thank God,” breathed Brian.

“As far as treatment goes,” Nick continued, “I’m on chemo at the moment.”� A sharp intake of breath from the others made him smirk.� “Yeah, chemo... it’s a bitch.”� With a sigh, he reached up, carefully sorted out a thin lock of hair, and gave it a yank.� He was met with some resistance, but not much; the hair slipped out of his scalp and ended up loose between his fingertips.� Grimacing, he held the tendril of blonde hair up and gave it a careless toss, the wispy locks flying from his fingers and floating to the floor.

“God... your hair...”� AJ shook his head regretfully as he watched the thin strands touch the carpet.

“Told you it was a bitch.� On top of that, I’ve been puking my guts out on a weekly basis.� Because of chemo.� Not because I’m bulimic.”� Glancing over at Brian, he saw his friend’s face blanch in guilt.� The others squirmed uncomfortably, and Nick realized they had probably all been suspecting the same thing.� He shook his head in annoyance, then realized it was all his own damn fault for deceiving them.

“Anyway,” he went on, “this is how I get the chemo.”� Swallowing, he grabbed the collar of his t-shirt and stretched it down far enough to expose the small tube protruding from his skin, just beneath his collarbone.� A collective gasp sounded, but Nick ignored it, rather enjoying freaking them out, and proceeded to finger the narrow IV line attached to the catheter tube, explaining, “This line connects to a chemo pump.”� Letting go of his collar, he lifted the bottom of his shirt to show the little black pouch that the IV line disappeared into.

There was a long silence, and then AJ burst out, “Oh my God... how in the hell did we not know about this?!”

Nick smirked.� “Guess I’m a good actor.”

“Nick-“ AJ’s voice was tinged with annoyance.� “You shouldn’t have to act around us.� Why didn’t you just tell us as soon as you found out?”

Nick shrugged, looking away.� “I just didn’t want things to be different between us,” he murmured.� “I didn’t want you guys to start acting all weird around me... and... and feel sorry for me.”

“Then we won’t,” AJ said firmly.� “But please, Nick... don’t hide shit from us like this.� We’re friends... brothers, actually... and we need each other.� I... I know how much I needed you guys when I was going through rehab, and you were there for me.� Now you need us.� Please, let us be there for you.� I know that I don’t know firsthand what it’s like to have cancer... but I know what it’s like to try to go through shit alone.� It sucks, man.� I know; I’ve been there.� Don’t try to deal with this yourself anymore.� You need help, you need support... isn’t that right, Kevin?� You would know – didn’t your dad need his family when he... Kev?”

As AJ trailed off, Nick looked up and followed his gaze over to Kevin, who, he suddenly realized, had not said a word the whole time they had been sitting there.� Now, studying the slumped figure, he was shocked to see tears brimming in the older man’s jade eyes.

“Kevin?”

***

At the sound of his name, Kevin stood up abruptly.� “I’m sorry,” he mumbled hoarsely and bolted, escaping the room before anyone had a chance to stop him.

Nick looked from AJ to Howie to Brian in bewilderment.� “What the...”

Brian cleared his throat.� “He hasn’t said much of anything since I told him.� I, uh... I think this has something to do with his dad.”

“Aww, crap.� I’m sorry, Rok, I shouldn’t have even brought that up,” AJ muttered, abashed.� “I didn’t think he would react like that... I mean, I thought he was over his dad...”

“He is.� Or he was,” said Brian.� “But, um...”� He shot Nick a sideways glance.� “... now that Nick has... well... you know... I think it’s reopening some wounds.� You know what I mean?”

AJ nodded silently.

“Nicky, maybe you should go talk to him,” suggested Howie.

“What am I supposed to say?”

“Well, I dunno... tell him... tell him you’re not going to be like his dad.� You’re going to beat this thing.”

Nick stared squarely at Howie.� “And how do you know that?”

Howie drew back.� “Nick, don’t say things like that.� Of course you’re going to beat it.� You’re a fighter; you’re not going to give up.”

“And Kevin’s dad didn’t fight?”

“That’s not what I meant!� I... oh, I dunno... I’m sorry, Nicky... forget I said anything...”� Howie sighed, running his hands through his black hair.

Nick shook his head.� “It’s okay,” he mumbled.� “I’m sorry too... guess I’m just not Mr. Optimism at the moment... I’m more in ‘glass is half empty’ mode.”

“Nick... I know it’s hard, but... you have to be optimistic,” Brian said quietly.� “You have to have faith.� This is a serious disease, but it is beatable.� This isn’t going to be like what happened to Uncle Jerald.� He had colon cancer; it’s entirely different.� You’re going to get through this.”

Nick offered his friend a tiny smile and nodded.� If any one of them had enough faith to get them all through this ordeal, it was Brian.� Nick only hoped he was right.

***

“Kevin?”� Nick rapped his knuckles impatiently against the door.� “Train, come on, open up.”� Heaving a sigh, he knocked again, louder.

After a minute, the door abruptly swung open to reveal a disheveled Kevin, his eyes bloodshot and watery.

“Kev...” breathed Nick, his eyebrows rising in concern.� “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry,” croaked Kevin.� “What are you sorry for?”

Nick shrugged.� “I’m sorry you’re upset.� I understand... this is about your dad, isn’t it?”

Kevin didn’t reply, only stepped back to let Nick in the room.� Closing the door after Nick had come in, he wordlessly walked back to the couch and took a seat, propping his elbows on his knees and resting his chin in his hands.

“Kevin,” Nick tried again, “I know this is probably really hard for you... after watching your dad die from cancer, I mean.� But... I...”� He swallowed hard, squared his jaw, and continued firmly, “I’m not going to die.� I’m gonna be fine.”

Kevin looked up, fresh tears springing into his eyes as he gazed at Nick.� His voice a mere whisper, he whispered, “I hope so.”

***

“It’s just a flesh wound,” mimicked Brian, AJ giggling, as the five of them sat around Nick’s suite watching Monty Python and the Holy Grail.� Desperate to take their minds off the obvious, they had opted to spend the night together, like old times, and have a comedy marathon.� Brian and AJ had gone out hours before, returning with rented classics such as Monty Python, Airplane, Vacation, and Dumb and Dumber, and a superb assortment of junk food.

Nick sat propped up in bed, while the others took to the floor, sitting amongst crunched in chips and popcorn kernels.

“Ugh, could you guys not do that,” he complained as Brian and AJ catapulted cheese balls at each other, trying to catch them in their mouths.� The smell of that artificial orange cheese powder was not helping his already-turbulent digestive system.

“Sorry,” mumbled AJ, his cheeks puffed out with cheese balls (he and Brian had apparently decided it was a good idea to see who could fit the most into their mouth).

“Hey, Nick,” garbled Brian, his mouth also filled, “Ya like sea food?”� Knowing exactly what was coming, Nick tried to look away, but not before Brian had opened his mouth wide and stuck out his tongue, exposing an orange mouth of slimy, chewed up Cheetos, some of which were plopping to the floor in spitty blobs.

While Brian laughed like a little kid, Nick clapped his hand over his mouth and got up as fast as he could, stumbling off to the bathroom.� As he slammed the door shut behind him, he heard AJ comment, “Jeez, Brian, that joke is so old!”

The image of half-dissolved cheese balls forever engrained in his mind, Nick sank to his knees, his shin screaming in protest, leaned over the toilet bowl, and retched.� As he was finishing, the door slowly opened.� Wiping his mouth off, Nick turned to see Brian hesitantly come in, his mouth empty and cheese-free, his expression solemn.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, Nick,” he said, stricken.� “I... I wasn’t thinking... it’s like I almost forgot, you know?”

Nick sighed.� “It’s okay,” he said.� “I want you to forget.� I want to forget.� That was the whole purpose of this night, right?� Guess it worked.”� Forcing a smile, he painfully climbed to his feet.

“Are you okay?” Brian asked nervously.

“Dude, I’m fine,” Nick insisted.� “See what I mean?� Now you’re gonna feel like you can’t have fun with me anymore.� Don’t be like that.� It’s okay to joke around and gross me out.”

“I made you throw up,” Brian pointed out.

“I would have thrown up anyway at some point,” Nick said with a weary smile.� “It was only a matter of time.”

Managing a small smile, Brian reluctantly nodded.� “Okay,” he said.� “You ready to go back in there?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”� Reaching over to flush the toilet, Nick slowly followed his friend out of the bathroom and into the main room, where he was met with concerned stares.� The five men continued watching their movies after that... but there was a lot less laughter.

***

The next day, it was back to business.

“We have some decisions to make,” Kevin said seriously, as he, Brian, AJ, and Howie sat crowded around Nick’s bedside.� It was not a good day for Nick, who had lain in bed all morning, weak and nauseated.� The anti-nausea medication Dr. Kingsbury had prescribed wasn’t working, and he was miserable.� But, as always, the show must go on, and they had much to talk about.

“First of all,” Kevin went on, “when are we going to tell management and the record company execs about all of this?”

“And don’t forget the fans,” added Howie.� “We’re going to have to do a press conference or something at some point.� We can’t keep them in the dark about this for too much longer, or it’ll get out on its own.� I mean, once it starts to get noticeable, it won’t be long before someone sees Nick in public and starts the rumors going.”� He cast a wary look in Nick’s direction.

Nick only rolled his eyes.� He didn’t have to look in the mirror to know how bad he probably looked.� Although his hair loss wasn’t noticeable yet, his hair was probably limp and matted from sleep, his skin pale, with dark circles under red-rimmed eyes from lack of sleep.

“I know,” said Kevin.� “The question is when.� How long are we going to let this go before we tell the truth.”

“As long as possible,” grunted Nick.

“Like you did with us,” AJ said with a smirk.� Nick did not reply, feeling a twinge of guilt.

“Well, I think it’s up to Nick,” Brian stated simply.� “This is his illness; let him decide what and when and how to tell everyone.”

Nick snorted.� “Well, if I had my way, it would be nothing, never, and no way.� But Howie’s right – everyone’s going to find out sooner or later, so I guess we can’t wait too long.”

Kevin nodded.� “So... around when do you think we should do this?� This week?� Next week?� Next month?”

“I don’t know,” Nick sighed.� He really did not want to think about this now.� “Um... I guess... let’s wait a couple more weeks.� I have my next doctor’s appointment in two weeks; we can do it after that.� Who knows, maybe I’ll be in remission by then, and we won’t have to mention it at all.”� He grinned sheepishly, somehow knowing that wouldn’t be the case.

Kevin smiled slightly.� “I hope that’s the case, Nick.� We’ll wait a couple weeks and see then.”

“What about the album?” asked Howie.� “Should we put things on hold?”

“No!” Nick said quickly.� “No, I want to get this album done.”

“But, Nick... look at you... you don’t feel like working, do you?� Not when you’re barfing your guts out all day.”� AJ looked sympathetically at Nick.

“I’m only like this the weeks I’m on chemo, and that’s only one out of every three weeks.� I’ll be fine,” Nick stated firmly, crossing his arms over his chest in an act of stubbornness.� “We’ve waited too long to quit working now.”

“Are you sure?” questioned Kevin, arching one thick eyebrow at Nick.� “Don’t feel like you have to be a trooper for us.� You’re sick, Nick, you need to take it easy.� We underst-“

“I said no, damn it!� We’re not stopping, and I don’t need to ‘take it easy’!� I’m fine!� Stop acting like I’m some delicate little pansy!”

Kevin and Howie exchanged worried glances, but AJ only burst out laughing.� “That’s the spirit, kid!� You heard him, guys, we’re not putting the album on hold, and that’s final.”

The corners of his mouth twitching upward, Kevin hesitated only slightly, then nodded.� “All right then.”

***

Later that evening, Nick was in bed, flipping through the TV channels in boredom, when his cell phone rang.� He debated over whether or not to answer it, then decided he probably should and hauled himself out of bed, staggering weakly over to his backpack.� He removed the ringing cell phone from its pocket, flipped it open, and held it up to his ear.

“Hello?” he answered, easing himself back into bed.

“Nick!� It’s Aaron,” came his younger brother’s voice.

Nick couldn’t help but smile, for he hadn’t talked to Aaron in weeks.� He had been so distracted, he hadn’t really thought about it, but now that he had finally heard from him, he realized he had missed the kid.� “Hey, AC!� What’s going on, bro?”

“Oh, not much, just thought I’d call and see what was up with you.� I haven’t talked to you in forever!� How come you never call anymore?”

“I know, I’m sorry,” apologized Nick.� “It’s just... I’ve been busy, with the new album, you know, and... well, Mom and I had a falling out a few weeks ago.”

He heard his brother’s sigh on the other end of the line.� “Yeah, I know.� Believe me, we all heard all about it here.� She is pissed at you.”

“Still?”

“I think.� She doesn’t talk about you anymore though.� And we’re not supposed to either, not around her anyway.”

“Oh.”� Nick frowned, a lump rising in his throat.� It was as if his own mother had disowned him...

“Sorry,” said Aaron.� “I probably shouldn’t have told you that...”

“It’s okay.� Screw her,” muttered Nick, but despite the anger he felt at knowing that Jane had forbidden even the mention of his name, part of him couldn’t help but be saddened by this... after all, she was his mother.� And though she had never been the best mother to him, even during his childhood, he couldn’t help but want her there with him.� He was sick, after all.� He swallowed hard, imagining her wiping his clammy forehead with a cool, wet cloth and stroking his back as he threw up, then tucking him back into bed and smoothing his hair, the way she had done when he was a child and stricken with the flu.� But now she was on the other side of the country, not knowing her eldest son was sick... probably not caring...

“Yeah, seriously,” Aaron agreed with a sigh.� “I wish I could live with you instead.”

“Live with me?”� Inwardly, Nick groaned.� What was he supposed to say to that?� “Oh, Aaron, I don’t think that’s such a great idea...”

“Why not?” the fifteen-year-old demanded.� “I haven’t seen you in freaking forever; I miss you, Nick!� And I didn’t get to tour with you, and then you said I could come visit after the tour, but then you never called, and I tried to call you, but you were never home, and your cell was never turned on, and-“

“Whoa, AC, chill!” Nick interrupted his brother’s distressed rambling.� “I know I said you could visit, and I’m sorry I haven’t called you, but I’ve been really-“

“Busy, I know,” Aaron replied sharply.� “That’s always your excuse.”

Defiantly, Nick cried, “Aaron!� I am!� The guys and I have been working our asses off in Orlando for the past month on our next album.� I do want you to come visit sometime, but now just isn’t a good time.� Wait till I’m back home in Tampa, and then maybe you can come down.”

“Sure.”� Aaron’s reply was flat and laden with sarcasm.

“No, really, you can come and stay with me, and we’ll do all kinds of stuff together.� We can take the boat out, do some water skiing or scuba diving or whatever you want.� Okay?”

“Whatever.”

Nick sighed and started to rake a hand through his hair, something he always had a habit of doing when he was stressed out by something.� But now, remembering that his hair was falling out, he retracted his hand just in time and slammed it against the bed instead.� “Fine, whatever, Aaron.� You don’t have to get all pissy with me.� I really can’t take this crap from you right now.”

“Of course not, you’re probably too busy, right?”� Giving Nick no time to answer, he went on angrily, “Well, fine, I’ll just leave you alone then.� Bye.”

“Aaron!” Nick protested, but a click told him his brother had already hung up on him.� Heaving another sigh, he shut off his own cell phone and dropped it at his side.� “Great... now another member of my family hates me.� What else can go wrong?”

***

“Nick, are you sure you feel up to this?” Kevin asked for the about the ten millionth time since they had arrived at the studio.

With a roll of his eyes, Nick retorted, “For the last time, yes!� I’m fine.”� Adjusting his headphones, he perched on the edge of the tall stool and closed his eyes, willing the queasy sensation that rocked his stomach to just go away and leave him alone.� The group had decided to go to the studio that day to record a demo for one of the new songs they had written together.� Kevin, always the worrywart, was convinced that Nick would not feel well enough to record.� Nick, on the other hand, was ready to prove that he could.� He had sung sick before; this was nothing.

If only he didn’t on the verge of throwing up every few minutes...

“Okay, you ready, guys?” asked Bruce, their producer, from the other side of the glass partition.� Inside the sound booth, the five men nodded.� The track began to play; it was a fast tempo that would require a great deal of energy and support.� As AJ took a breath and started the opening solo, Nick inwardly groaned.� Oh, why had he agreed to do this?� This song - an up-tempo in which he had a solo part - on this day, one of his chemo days.

The chorus came, and Nick harmonized along with the others, keeping his voice low, saving his energy for the next verse.� He could not let them down now, not after he had insisted to Kevin so many times that he would be fine.� Sucking in a great breath of air, he opened his mouth and let the music pour out, focusing on the beat of the music and not the pulse of his nausea.

It was not his best, but it was not his worst either.� He made it, and that was what counted.� As AJ took over for him, singing the next verse, Nick sat back in relief.� Glancing over at Kevin, he saw the older man smile at him and flash a thumbs up.� Nick grinned weakly back.� He could do this... no problem...

“That was pretty good, guys,” said Bruce when the song came to a close.� “Shall we try it again?”

Oh no, not again, not again, Nick chanted inwardly, closing his eyes.

“Um...”� He could hear the hesitation in Kevin’s voice and quickly snapped his eyes back open.

“Yeah, let’s do it again,” he said quickly, nodding in Kevin’s direction.� This was part of the job; very rarely did they get a perfect take on the first try, and even when they did get a good one, they liked to go back and try it again.� There was always room for improvement.� It was only a demo, but Nick wanted it to sound good.� And if they had to do it again, so be it.� He could tough it out.

***

“All right, let’s try another take.� That one wasn’t as good as the last one.� Nick, you were flat,” Bruce stated matter-of-factly.

Crap.� “Sorry, guys,” Nick muttered.

“It’s okay, Nick,” Howie replied cheerfully, while AJ only scowled through the glass at Bruce.

“Didn’t sound flat to me; I thought it was fine,” he argued.

Bruce gave AJ a patronizing look.� “Trust me, it was flat.� Things sound a lot different outside the recording booth.”

“He’s right, AJ,” Nick said tiredly.� “Let’s do it again.”

“You sure?”� Kevin flashed Nick his fatherly look of concern, which Nick chose to ignore.� AJ, on the other hand, refused to let the issue drop.

“Look, Bruce, it’s only a fucking demo.� Why don’t we just use the first take; that one wasn’t flat, was it?”

“No, but not all the parts were lined up exactly right either.� You’re doing it again,” Bruce said firmly, a “cut the crap” expression flickering in his eyes as they bored through the glass at AJ.

AJ opened his mouth to protest again, but Kevin cut him off, simply muttering, “Drop it, ‘J.”

“It’s okay; we can do it again,” Nick jumped in, his stomach protesting every word.� “We want to do our best, even if it is just a demo.”

AJ rolled his eyes.� “Fine, fine, we’ll do it again.”

The music was again cued, and they started the song for a third time.� Nick mostly mouthed rather than sang, for the notes just did not want to come out, and when they did, he knew they were less than satisfactory.� When they reached his solo part once again, he took a deep breath and, squeezing his eyes shut, belted out his part.� Whether it sounded decent or not, he did not know, for just the effort of it sent him into a coughing fit that disrupted the rest of the song.

“You okay, Nick?” Brian asked, as Nick coughed and gagged.

“No,” Nick gasped, holding his precariously gurgling stomach.� Sliding off the stool, he glanced back at Brian and mouthed “bathroom,” then took off without a word.

“Where is he going?” he heard Bruce demand as he burst from the booth and took off on running on his peg-legged gait to the nearest restroom, not sticking around to wait for the guys’ explanation.

Once in the sanctuary of the unoccupied men’s room, Nick hurtled himself into one of the stalls, collapsed to the ground, and practically buried his head in the toilet bowl, retching so intensely he was sure he was throwing up major internal organs along with everything else.� When he had vanquished his digestive system’s wrath, he cleaned himself up, flushed the toilet, and weakly hauled himself up.

As he started to unlock the stall, the door of the restroom swung open.� Immediately, Nick froze, holding the door of his stall shut.� His heart slammed wildly around in his chest, and little beads of cold sweat slimed their way down his back.� He knew he must look horrible and did not want to let whoever had come in see him, not unless it was one of the guys.

“Nick?� You okay?”

It was Brian.� Breathing a sigh of relief, Nick let the door fall open and timidly emerged to face his friend.

“Oh jeez, Nick, you look like hell.� Come on, come here.”� Putting a strong arm around Nick’s back, Brian guided him to the bank of sinks, where he stood gazing at his macabre reflection while Brian hastily pumped out a long sheet of paper towels from the dispenser.� Ripping off the coarse brown paper, Brian turned on the cold water and ran the bunch of paper towels under it, lightly wetting them.� Nick stood stiffly while Brian ran the soggy bundle over his face, wiping the perspiration and heat from his skin.

“This is so stupid,” Brian said, shaking his head disapprovingly, as he stared at their reflections, side by side in the mirror.� Nick stared too, comparing his sallow, unhealthy pallor to Brian’s vital, tan complexion.� “We should not be trying to record today,” Brian went on.� “You should be in bed, not in a recording studio trying to sing.”

Nick shook his head.� “We can’t put this off because of me.� I’ll be fine.� I just needed to take a puke break.� I feel much better now.”� He smiled weakly, but Brian only frowned.

“Stop trying to play it off like it’s nothing.� Come on, we are going back to that sound booth, and we’re telling Bruce that we’re done for today.� You’re going back to the hotel and getting straight into bed.”

“Damn, Bri, you’re worse than Kev,” Nick joked lightly.� “You ain’t my mom.”

“Aren’t, Nicky,” Brian corrected teasingly in a mother/teacher tone.� “But,” he added, turning serious, “somebody’s gotta be, don’t they?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, where the hell is your mother?”

“Out in LA, basking in the luxuries my cash has gotten her,” Nick replied dryly.

“Nick,” Brian sighed, “I know you and your mom have had difficulties, and I admit, I’m not crazy about her either.� But she’s your mom.� You have to tell her about this.� And your dad and your sisters and brother.� Don’t you care about them?� Don’t you want their support?”

“Brian, you’re my brother.� You, AJ, Howie, and Kev.� I don’t need anybody else.”

“That’s nice of you to say, but you need your family.� I think you should call them later today, once you’ve rested up a bit.”

Nick shook his head.� “You and the guys are more my family than they are.”

Another sigh from Brian.� “All right, whatever, Nick.� Come on, you ready to go?”

“Back to the sound booth or back to the hotel?”

“Whatever you want.”

Nick hesitated; he really did want to go back to the hotel... but that would mean another day wasted.� He’d be letting them down.

“And I know what you’re thinking,” Brian added.� “You’re not going to let us down if we go back to the hotel.”

Nick cocked his head in disbelief.� Good old Frick... he’d always been able to read Frack like a book.� “Okay,” he relented finally.� “Let’s head back to the hotel then.”

Brian smiled.� “Good.� Come on.”� Putting an arm around a slightly shaky Nick, the two friends slowly headed back to meet the others.

***

That night, Daddy Kevin called a “family meeting” in Nick’s suite.

“So, what’s this little pow-wow all about?” AJ asked, when they were all settled around the living room area.� Nick, who lay stretched out on the couch, didn’t know, but he had a feeling it had to do with him.

“I think we need to take a break,” Kevin announced without hesitation.

“What do you mean, ‘take a break’?” Nick asked apprehensively.

“I mean just that – take a short... hiatus, if you will.� A couple weeks, maybe?”

“Why?”

“I think we need it.� We’ve been working our asses off, and we just need a break from the work and from each other,” Kevin replied.� “Besides, I don’t know about you guys, but I’d like to go home and see my family.”

Nick watched as Brian, Howie, and AJ exchanged glances.� He could see the longing in Brian’s eyes in particular and knew his friend was yearning to go home to Georgia and be with his wife and son.� He hadn’t seen them in weeks; none of them had seen their families in weeks.� As for Nick, he hadn’t seen his family in months, but he wasn’t sure they actually counted as “family.”� Well, Aaron did... and sometimes their father... but other than that, to hell with them.

“If this is about family, I think it’s a good idea,” he spoke up.� “But I hope this isn’t because of what happened in the studio today.� I know I sucked, and I’m sorry, but I tried my best, and if you’d just give me a few more days, till I’m off chemo, I’ll be-“

“Nick, stop!” Kevin interrupted.� “This isn’t about what happened today at all.� You’re a trooper, buddy, and we appreciated you dragging yourself in there today.� But we all need a break.� You... don’t you want to go home to Tampa and your dogs and your boat and the ocean and all that?”

As soon as Kevin said those words, Nick’s heart swelled with desire.� Yes, he did want to go home... play with his dogs, sleep in his own bed, go out in his boat (when he wasn’t on chemo, that was – he didn’t think the rocking sea would do much for his nausea).� “Yeah,” he said wistfully, “I guess I do.”

Kevin smiled.� “Guys?� Any objections?” he asked the others.

AJ shook his head immediately, and Nick knew he was thinking of Sarah.� But Brian and Howie both hesitated.

“Nick,” Brian finally said, “are you sure you’re gonna be okay at home by yourself?”

Nick sighed heavily.� How did he know that was coming?� “Aw, c’mon, Bri, I’m not a baby.� I’m an adult now, for crying out loud, I can take care of myself.”

“I know, Nick, but you’re sick and puking your guts out all day, and... what if something happens?”

“It won’t,” Nick said firmly.� “So what if I throw up?� Big deal – barfing ain’t gonna kill me.”� Brian only sighed, not looking convinced.� “Brian... you know you want to go home and see Leigh and Baylee, you know you do.� So just go to them.� It’ll only be for two or three weeks, right?� You can call me whenever you want.� I can handle myself.”

“Nick, what if I came home with you?” Howie suggested, and Nick knew he had been worrying about the same thing.� God, Brian and Howie... the two them put together were worse than Kevin sometimes.

“I don’t need a babysitter, D,” Nick replied grudgingly.� “Go home to your mama, enjoy that home cooking while you can.”

“Well... why don’t you come with me then?” Howie offered brightly.� “You could stay at my place.”

“No, I want to go home, to Tampa, to my house.”

Kevin nodded.� “Well, I think that settles it then, doesn’t it?”

“When are we leaving then?” asked Brian.

“We’re supposed to be in the studio again tomorrow... so how about the day after that?”

“Sounds good.”

And so it was settled.� They were going home, Kevin back to Kristin, Brian to Leighanne and Baylee, AJ to Sarah, Howie to his family, and Nick to...

No one.

***

As it turned out, there were people awaiting Nick’s return, and they called him up his first night back.

“Nickay!� Good to talk to ya, dude.� How ya been?” boomed the jovial voice of Nick’s longtime friend Brent.

“Fine,” Nick replied dishonestly.� “You?”

“Great.� Me and the guys are goin’ out on the town tonight, wanna join us?”

Nick groaned inwardly; he had a feeling that’s what Brent had called to ask him.� He missed their wild, drunken, “guys night out” escapades, but at the moment, going clubbing and drinking was the last thing he felt like doing.� He was still finishing up his third round of chemo and didn’t feel well, not to mention he wasn’t supposed to drink alcohol.

“Aw, Brent, thanks, but no thanks,” he replied.� “I’m not feeling so hot right now.� Probably jet lag or something.”

“Jet lag?� Didn’t you drive?”

“Oh... uh...”

“Gotcha.”� Nick could just picture Brent’s grin on the other end.

“Okay, so it’s not jet lag,” he admitted.� “But I think I’m coming down with the flu...”

“Aww, quit being such a pussy.� Come hang out with us.� We haven’t seen you in months, bro.”

Nick sighed.� “Can’t we do this next week?”

“Just for awhile?� Come on, we won’t keep you out too late.� It’ll do you good to get some fresh air.”

“Fresh air?� In a bar?� More like stale, cigarette smoke-filled air.”

Brent chuckled.� “Okay, you win.� I guess we’ll just have to go without you then, man.� Drinking... hot chicks... you’re gonna miss out!� Are you sure you don’t wanna come?” he asked enticingly.

Nick hesitated.� “Maybe... but I’m driving.”� That way he could go home when he wanted, he figured.

“Hey, cool with me.� Pick me up at eight, okay?� James, Frank, and Lane are coming too.”

“Okay,” Nick agreed.� “See you then.”

“See ya.”

Brent hung up with a click, and Nick shut off his own phone with a sigh.� Why had he said he would come with them?� He liked hanging with the guys, but it was the last thing he felt like doing that night.� But he just couldn’t refuse.

***

“You sure are quiet tonight, Carter,” Frank commented later that night, as the five men sat at the bar of Charlatan’s, a club Nick came to often.� He had once taken Leah there, he remembered.� Strange, how that was the first thing he thought of when he thought of Charlatan’s.� He’d been there many other times with different people, usually Brent and the guys, so why did it bring back memories of Leah?

Maybe he wasn’t over her yet.

Yes I am, he assured himself.� It’s been months.� She’s a bitch, I hate her guts, and I have plenty of other crap to deal with.� I don’t need to be obsessing about her on top of everything else.

“Yo, Nick!” Frank shouted, finally grabbing his attention.

“What?” Nick asked dazedly.

“I said, you sure are quiet tonight.� What’s up?”

“Nothing... I’m just tired.”� The excuse sounded lame, even to Nick, but Frank shrugged and didn’t press the issue.

Taking a sip of his Pepsi, Nick smiled inwardly, thinking how Kevin would probably freak out if he had made that statement.� “Tired?” he could imagine Kevin repeating, eyes growing large, “Well, maybe you should go lie down.� You want me to call your doctor?� Are you supposed to be this tired?”

He was actually surprised Kevin or Brian hadn’t called his house yet to ask him how he was feeling.� They had both hinted that they would at the airport before his flight departed.� Normally, when the group flew home after weeks or months of being together, their goodbyes were fairly short, for they were usually so sick of each other, they couldn’t wait to board their separate planes.

This time, however, the goodbyes were different.

“Take care of yourself, Nick,” Kevin had said, his green eyes dark and serious.� “Call me if you have any troubles or if you need anything.� I’ll be in touch.”

Brian had given Nick a hug, which was normal of him, but unlike the normal, brief, brotherly hug, Brian pulled Nick close and held on to him like he was afraid to let go.

“Uh... Rok?” Nick had finally spoken up after awhile of this.� “You might wanna let me go now, or those rumors about us being gay are gonna start springing up again.”

Brian pulled back and smiled up at Nick, his blue eyes rather cloudy.� “I’ll see ya, Frack.� You give me a call if you wanna talk or anything.� And if you need me, I’m only a state away.”� He flashed a cheesy grin, but Nick had a feeling that was only a way of covering up another emotion.

“Hey, don’t start acting like your cousin, Rok,” Nick said lightly.� “I ain’t gonna die on ya or anything.”� It was meant to be a joke, but no one had laughed.� No one had even smiled.� Shifting uncomfortably, he added, “Go on, Bri, get home to that wife and kid of yours.”

That brought a smile to Brian’s face, and he could see the excitement dancing in his eyes.

“Give Baylee a kiss from his godfather.”

“Will do,” replied Brian, clapping Nick’s shoulder.� His hand lingered there a little longer than usual, finally giving Nick’s shoulder a light squeeze and dropping to Brian’s side.� “Bye, Nick.”

Nick smiled.� “Bye, Bri.”

Smiling again now at the recent memory, Nick wondered if he’d have an answering machine full of messages from the two of them (or maybe three – Howie could be a major worrywart sometimes too) when he got home.

“What are you grinning about?” asked Brent, bringing Nick back to the present.

“Nothin... just thinking.”� Nick left it at that, and Brent didn’t ask what he was thinking about.� Nick took another drink from his glass of Pepsi, absently staring at the wine rack and decorations on the wall behind the bar.

“Nick,” Brent said suddenly, grabbing Nick’s shoulder.� “Ain’t that your ex over there?”� Spinning Nick around to look, he pointed.� Squinting and following Brent’s line of vision, Nick felt his heart leap into his throat.

There, sitting at a small table across from some dorky-looking guy, was the one person he never wanted to see or even think about ever again.

Leah Gaylers.

***

“Yeah,” Nick gulped, “that’s her.”

Brent laughed.� “Who’s that dude she’s with?� That the guy she cheated on you with?”

Nick could feel his face turning red; Brent had gotten it out of him shortly after the break-up that Leah had slept with another man.� What he didn’t know was that the man in question was none other than Justin Timberlake, Michael Jackson wannabe, ghetto, white trash little prick that he was.

“No,” he answered, staring at the young man sitting with Leah.� He looked nothing like Nick; dark-haired and wiry, wearing glasses, and dressed in some preppy ensemble that belonged in a Gap ad.� He made a face; what was she doing with some drab, preppy kid like that?

As soon as this thought hit his mind, another one flashed through, this one even more unnerving – Oh my God, I’m actually jealous of him!� Scowling, he spun back around on his bar stool, putting his back to Leah and hoping she hadn’t seen him looking at her and Mr. Goody Two Shoes over there.

“You should go talk to her,” Brent suggested, an amused smile creeping over his face.

“I’m not gonna go talk to her,” Nick said flatly, rolling his eyes and taking another swig of his Pepsi.� “I’m over her.� She can rot in Hell, for all I care.”

Brent’s grin grew even wider, but all he said was a skeptical, “Okay...” and turned to Lane, who was sitting on the other side of him.� The two got lost in their own conversation, and Nick ignored them, glad to drink his soda and stare into space in private.

A light tap on the shoulder interrupted his thinking.� Jerking out of his daze, Nick spun around, nearly choking on a mouthful of Pepsi as he saw who was standing behind him.

It was Leah.� Hand in hand with Preppy. The nerve of her! Nick thought, seething.� But, choosing the mature path, he turned his lips up in a cool smile and said simply, “Leah.”

“Nick,” Leah returned, smiling.� “I thought that was you.� How are you doing?”

Instinctively, Nick’s hand went to the hem of his shirt, giving it a tug to make sure it covered his chemo pump.� “Fine,” he answered stoutly.� “And you?� I see you’ve found yourself a new toy.”� He nodded to Preppy.

Leah’s smile faded momentarily, her brown eyes blazing.� But almost instantaneously, the anger in her eyes flickered out, and another smile came over her lips, the same lips Nick had touched with his own, many a time.� God, how he loved her lips...
Stop it!� You do not!� You hate her; you hate every thing about her!
“Nick Carter, meet David Hammond.”

David politely held out his hand to shake, but Nick ignored it, muttering only a “hi” in his general direction.� Only when his hand fell did Nick steal a peek at David.� The first thing he noticed was that this kid (man, really – his age was more apparent up close, though he still sported somewhat of a baby face) had money.� His preppy gear was Armani, and the gold watch on his wrist was surely a Rolex.

Probably all Daddy’s money, Nick thought nastily, with a smirk of self-satisfaction.� At least he had earned his own wealth.

“David, would you order me another drink?” Leah asked sweetly, and David immediately went to the bartender to fulfill her wish.� Nick rolled his eyes.

“Nicky,” Leah said, her voice low.

“Don’t call me that,” Nick hissed.

“Nick, sorry.� I want us to talk sometime.� Maybe we could go out... for coffee or something, maybe?� Whatever you want.� I just... don’t like leaving things unsettled like they were with us, you know?� I have some things to explain, and-“

“We didn’t leave things unsettled,” Nick said through gritted teeth.� “I told you to get the hell out of my life and leave me alone.� Did you not understand that?”

“Nick, I-“

“I meant it then, and I still mean it now, Leah.� You’ve got that David guy, so why are you still after me?� Let it go.”

“I’m not ‘after you,” Mr. Ego.� But I still care about you as a friend, and I don’t want you to be an enemy.� Can’t we just talk?”

“We’ve talked enough.”

“Nick...”� She stared at him, her eyes pleading.

“Look, maybe, okay?� I gotta go.”� Before she could say another word, he slipped off the stool, brushed past her, and hurried off to the bathroom.

“Nick!” she called after him.� “What happened to your leg?”

Ignoring her, he pushed his way through the crowded bar until he made it to the smoky men’s room, where he threw himself into one of the stalls and locked the door, fighting to keep a hold on the jumble of emotions that seeing Leah again had evoked.

He stayed in the restroom for a good five minutes and then emerged hesitantly, checking to make sure Leah had gone before he went back to the guys. �She and Preppy were safely back at their table, so, hoping they would stay there, he made his way back to the bar and took his seat.

“You okay, man?” Brent asked, as Nick hoisted himself up onto the bar stool.� “What was all that about with that Leah chick?� She want you back, dude?”

“I think so,” Nick muttered dryly.� “But I don’t want her back.”

“Haha, isn’t that one of your songs?� ‘Don’t Want You Back’?”

Nick rolled his eyes.� “No pun intended.”

“Here, the bartender refilled your drink,” Brent said, sliding the tall glass of fizzing brown liquid in front of Nick.

“Thanks.”� Not really thirsty, Nick absent-mindedly picked the glass up anyway and took a drink.� He couldn’t really say he was enjoying himself, but then again, he wasn’t completely miserable either.� At least he wasn’t throwing up.� That had been the biggest of his concerns, so he had taken double the usual dosage of his anti-nausea medication.� It had proven effective.� He wondered if Dr. Kingsbury had prescribed the wrong dosage because the medication normally wasn’t much help.

Making a mental note to ask her about that at his next appointment in two weeks, he swallowed another mouthful of Pepsi, deeply wishing it was beer instead.� Everyone around him was drinking, but he had volunteered to be the designated driver for the group that night, his excuse for not drinking.� They had only given him strange looks, for no one actually volunteered to stay sober – it was an assigned duty.� But, relieved to be free to drink to their hearts contents, they had accepted it without question.� And now he was the only sober one, the odd man out.

As he knocked back the rest of the Pepsi, he began to feel ill, the familiar pangs of nausea creeping up on him.� He waited it out, hoping it was just from drinking too much soda.� But when a few hearty belches did not relieve the sensation, he knew it had nothing to do with the Pepsi.� Apparently he had jinxed himself; the double dose of anti-nausea drugs hadn’t worked so well after all.� He sat stock still on the bar stool, breathing deeply, fighting the urge to run to the bathroom and throw up.� He really didn’t want to end up hanging his head over another public toilet, especially in some grungy bar bathroom.

But eventually, it became too much to bear.� Shaky and light-headed with queasiness, Nick mumbled a brief, “Be right back,” in Brent and Lane’s general direction, not even checking to see if they heard him, and slid off his stool, slinking immediately off to the restroom and praying it was unoccupied.

God was with him at that moment, for miraculously, the bathroom was deserted.� Ducking into one of the empty stalls, Nick slammed the door shut, hastily locked it, and knelt down in front of the toilet.� He had no sooner got to the ground than the dam broke, and he began to vomit.� The bitter substance, tinged brown from the cola, burned as it ripped up his throat.� Choking and gagging, he violently retched, finally expelling all the contents of his stomach.

The panging ache in his stomach fading slightly, he sank to the ground, weak, dizzy, and out of breath, not caring how dirty the floor might be.� Sitting with his back pressed against the stall wall, he cleaned his face with a trembling hand.� He pulled at his t-shirt, which was now sticky and damp with perspiration.� God, it was hot in there...

Desperate for fresh air, he dragged himself up, panting with the effort.� He flushed the toilet and turned, about to leave, when another wave of nausea hit him with full force.� Gagging, he turned back just in time to make it to the toilet, his vomit swirling away with the still-flushing toilet water.� He threw up again, and just when he thought, once again, that he was done, he threw up even more, not knowing what he could possibly have left to regurgitate.

Finally, he was left in dry heaves, retching and choking, yet getting nothing up.� Moaning in agony, he pulled himself away from the toilet and slumped back onto the ground, the tiny stall seemingly gyrating around him, the walls coming nearer...

Overheated and dizzy, too weak and sick to move, desperate for some kind of relief, Nick let his eyes fall shut.� The utter misery of that moment was the last thing he remembered before passing out right there on the bathroom floor.

***

Nick awoke to the sound of voices, which seemed to fade distortedly in and out.

“How much did he have to drink tonight?”� That was a female voice, an unfamiliar one.

I wasn’t drinking, Nick wanted to respond, but his mouth didn’t want to form the words, and his eyelids felt too heavy to open.

Someone else answered for him anyway.� “Not a lot... all he had was one Pepsi with gin, that’s it!”� That was Brent.

Wait... gin?� The thought burst through the fog in Nick’s brain, and his mind raced.� I didn’t have gin in it... I didn’t have any alcohol... can’t drink... chemo...

�“He’s dehydrated.� Raul, start a line of saline.”

Nick winced as he felt a sharp prick in the crook of his arm.
�“He’s coming around... Nick!� Nick, can you hear me?”
Finally, Nick managed to open his eyes.� As his blurred vision cleared, he found the face of a middle-aged woman staring down at him.� Paramedic, he realized.� He looked around to find that he was lying on his back in the bathroom.� Someone had dragged him out of the stall, apparently, because now he was out in the open, in front of the urinals.� Another paramedic was tending to an IV line that had been put into his arm, and over the top of the female paramedic’s head, he could see Brent, Lane, Frank, and James hanging back, looking slightly terrified.

“Nick, you know where you are?” asked the woman.

“Charlatan’s... in the bathroom...” Nick replied, the beginnings of embarrassment coming over him.� God, the guys must think he was a total freak, passing out in a bathroom.� He’d never passed out before in his life.� Fainting was such a pussy thing to do.

“Good.� What did you have to drink tonight, Nick?”

“Just Pepsi.”� Brent’s comment came back to him – All he had was one Pepsi with gin, that’s it!� “I didn’t have any alcohol.”

“Your friend over there said you had gin in your Pepsi – is that right?”

Nick started to shake his head when he saw Brent blanch.� “Uh... Nick?� We kinda... uh... had the bartender add a little something to your drink... thought it would lighten you up a little bit.”

Oh shit.� So he had had alcohol... and this was probably why he had been warned not to.� Because he would end up puking his guts out and then passing out in a bathroom.� Fun.

“Damn it, Brent,” he murmured.� “Why the hell did you go and do that?”

“It was Frank’s idea,” Brent immediately said.

“Hey!� Don’t blame it all on me, asshole!” retorted Frank, giving Brent a shove.� Brent immediately shoved him back, and Lane and James had to immediately jump in the middle and break it up.

“Hey, get out of here, all of you!” the woman shouted angrily, turning to watch the four of them stagger out of the bathroom.� Looking back at Nick, she said, “Okay, Nick, we’re going to take you to the hospital.� You’re dehydrated, and since you passed out, they’ll probably want to check you out.”

Nick only nodded compliantly, as the two paramedics lifted him onto a stretcher.� As they wheeled him out of the bathroom and through the bar out into the warm night air, he couldn’t help but wonder if anyone had recognized him.� Would this be in the news the next morning?

As he was loaded into the ambulance, he tried not to think about it.� No use worrying over something he couldn’t control.

Although these days, it seemed like he couldn’t control anything.

***

In the Tampa General Emergency Room, doctors and nurses bustled around, barking out orders, poking and prodding, taking Nick’s vital signs.� A pair of nurses set to work on removing his clothes, and that was when one of the nurses exclaimed, “Oh!� You have a Groshong!”

He knew she was talking about his catheter, and he nodded.� “I’m on chemo,” he told her weakly.� “For Ewing’s Sarcoma.”

“You have Ewing’s, Mr. Carter?” a man in a white lab coat repeated.

“Yes.”

“Have you been treated at this hospital before?”

“Yeah.� My doctor’s Dr. Kingsbury.”

“Oh, Barb Kingsbury, yes.� I know her.� Sandra, page Dr. Kingsbury and pull up Mr. Carter’s chart, would you?”

“Sure, Dr. Lanville.”

“Are you experiencing any pain or shortness of breath, Mr. Carter?” asked Dr. Lanville, listening to Nick’s chest with his stethoscope.

“No... just a little light-headed,” murmured Nick.� The overhead lights were too bright; they were giving him a headache.� He closed his eyes briefly.

“Well, you’re severely dehydrated.� Have you been vomiting?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, from now on, try to drink plenty of clear fluids, especially when you’re on chemo.� And avoid carbonated drinks; they actually dehydrate the body even more.� We’ll get you rehydrated and go from there.� I’ll be speaking with Dr. Kingsbury, and we’ll decide what else needs to be done.”

“I’m okay,” Nick said stubbornly, wanting to avoid having to spend any considerable amount time in the hospital at all costs.� “I feel much better now.”

The doctor gave him a tight smile.� “We just want to make sure of that.”

***

"Hey, missed me, did you?”

Nick smiled tiredly as Dr. Kingsbury bustled into the room.� “Something like that,” he replied.

She chuckled.� “So, I hear you passed out tonight?”

Nick groaned, still humiliated by that.� “Yes,” he admitted.� “I’m okay though – they said I was just dehydrated.”

“Well, yes, that was probably just it.� Have you been vomiting a lot then lately?”

“Yeah... oh, I was gonna ask you about that.� That anti-nausea stuff you gave me – it’s not really working.”

Dr. Kingsbury gave him a sympathetic look.� “I’m sorry,” she said.� “They don’t have the same effect on every patient.”

“Well, can I take a higher dosage then or something?”

“I’m afraid not.� Keep taking them; I’m sure they’re helping somewhat.� I see you’re having to deal with some of the other side effects, too.”� Nick stared blankly, wondering what other side effects, when he saw her eyes travel upward to his head.

“Yeah,” he sighed.� “My hair’s falling out.”� He raised his hand self-consciously, his thinning head of hair feeling bald without the usual hat he wore.� The nurse had removed the hat he had had on earlier; it was now shoved in a bag under the bed, along with his other clothes.

“I know that’s got to be tough, especially for you,” Dr. Kingsbury said knowingly.� But Nick was offended.� What did she mean, ‘especially for you’?� Did she think he was some vain, arrogant, self-worshiping prick?� She must have noticed his expression, for she quickly added, “I just mean because you’re such a celebrity and a heartthrob.”� She batted her eyelashes exaggeratedly, gaining a laugh from Nick.

He rolled his eyes.� “Yeah, heartthrob, that’s me,” he muttered sarcastically.� “Not anymore.”

Dr. Kingsbury smiled sadly.� “You haven’t, uh, told the public about this yet, have you?”� Nick shook his head, looking down.� “I didn’t think so.� I hadn’t heard about it on the news or anything yet.� Not that I really keep up with the entertainment business much anymore, but... well anyway, if you’re planning to hold a press conference sometime and want me to speak, let me know.”

Nick smiled graciously.� “Thank you.”

“Not a problem.� Now,” she said, “getting back to business here, have you had any other symptoms lately?� Dizziness, shortness of breath, bruising, pain?”

“No, not really,” Nick said.� “It’s mostly just the nausea.� And I’ve been really tired all weak, but that’s from the chemo too, right?”

She nodded.� “Well, I don’t want to keep you here for too long then.� I’d like to do some bloodwork, just to make sure things look all clear, and we’ll probably keep you overnight just to check on you, but you’ll be able to go home bright and early tomorrow.� We can save the usual round of tests for your appointment in two weeks.”

Nick nodded, relieved.

“I’ll have a nurse come in shortly to take blood, and then you’ll be moved to a room upstairs so you can get some sleep.� It’s late, and I’m sure you’re exhausted.� I’ll be in to check on you in the morning.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Dr. Kingsbury left, and Nick let his eyelids fall closed, relieved to be left alone.� The doctor was right; he was exhausted.

***

Nick awoke the next morning feeling much better than he had the night before.� His nausea was gone for now, and he felt rejuvenated.� Slowly sitting up, he looked around the small, private room he had been moved to late the previous night.� It was on the Oncology Floor; apparently they had decided that because he had cancer, he automatically belonged in the cancer ward, no matter why he was in the hospital.� He couldn’t complain much though; at least he was fairly familiar with many of the nurses on that floor.

Bored now that he was awake, Nick turned on the television and started flipping, checking out the channel selection.� Being a Friday morning, not much was on.� Most of the shows were catered to the little kids, stay-at-home moms, and old people that were home in the mornings.� By some miracle, MTV was actually playing videos, something Nick hadn’t been witness to since the early 90’s.� As it turned out, so was VH1, but since VH1 was still living in the 80’s, Nick settled on MTV, watching both amusedly and disgustedly as that damn Timberfuck beat-boxed his way around a room of multi-colored lights in whatever his latest video was.� Nick wondered vaguely if he’d gone to see the new movie “Malibu’s Most Wanted” yet.� If he hadn’t, he definitely should, ghetto white trash wannabe that he was.� God, how Nick hated that self-centered, obnoxious, whiny little prick.

When Justin’s video ended, it naturally went to a commercial break (Nick couldn’t understand why there had to be a commercial break after every video), and he was about to flip when the flashy MTV News intro came on.� He hesitated, setting down the remote long enough to watch the news brief, in case something actually interesting had happened in the music business.

Some black guy that called himself Sway reported the news, while Nick sat wondering what had happened to Kurt Loder and John Norris (had he really been out of the loop for that long?).� He spaced out while the Sway dude rambled about Fifty Cent, but when he heard the words “In other news, Backstreet Boy Nick Carter...,” he immediately looked back up at the TV, his heart racing in trepidation.

“... was hospitalized last night, according to our sources, after passing out in a Tampa bar.� The name of the hospital has been withheld, and hospital officials declined comment when asked about Carter’s condition.� We will update you on this story as we know more.”
Shit.
How did they find out?
Don’t be stupid; there were lots of people in that club; someone probably recognized you and spilled to the media.
Nick groaned.� He knew he could just play it off, say he’d had too much to drink.� But that would be lying.� Fans would want to know what had happened, and he didn’t want to lie to them.� When Brian had had his heart surgery, they had told the truth.� When AJ had gone into rehab, they had told the truth.� Now Nick had bone cancer.

It was time to tell the truth.

***

As promised, Nick was discharged from the hospital later that morning.� He came home to find an answering machine full of messages, which he grudgingly played.� Only three really caught his attention – one from Brent, one from Howie, and one from his mother.

“Hey, Nick... dunno when you’ll actually hear this, but it’s 10:00 on Friday morning, and I’ve been trying to call the hospital since last night, but they won’t let me talk to you, so... um... call me if you get home and get this, and I don’t hear from you later today, I’ll come try to visit you at the hospital... if they’ll let me.� Damn you for being Mr. Celebrity.”� Brent laughed lightly.� “Oh well, if you’re listening to this, hope you’re feeling better.� Call me.”

Nick sighed.� He would call Brent when he was done listening to the other messages.� And he would tell him what was going on.� What was really going on.

“Nicky, it’s Howie.� Listen, I heard on the news that you were taken to the hospital last night, and I don’t know if it’s true or what, but I’ve been trying to call all the Tampa hospitals, and no one will tell me anything – they don’t believe me when I say who I am – and I tried your cell, but it was turned off, so I figured I’d just leave a message here.� When you get this, give me a call and let me know what’s going on.� I hope you’re all right...”� Howie trailed off, his voice worried, and then there was a click, and the message stopped.� Nick made a mental note to call Howie back too.� Knowing him, he had already called Brian, Kevin, and AJ, and they were probably all worried about him too.

There was a beep, and the last message played.� “Nick, this is your mother.� Call me the instant you get this; there are rumors going around that you passed out in some club last night and were taken to the hospital.� If that’s true, you were probably drinking too much again, weren’t you?� You’d think you’d have learned something from AJ’s experience with alcohol.� I don’t know what the hell has gotten into you, but I don’t like it at all.� I didn’t raise you and your sister to turn into wild, irresponsible, drug-using, binge drinking party animals.”� There was a heavy, irritated sigh, and then she finished, “I mean it, you better call back and not ignore this like you did before, or there will be hell to pay.”

“Thanks, Mom, for your concern,” Nick remarked dryly, deciding to ignore that message.� Hell to pay – yeah, right.� She couldn’t do anything to him.

He was already in Hell.

***

“I want to have some kind of press conference.� It’s time to come clean with the fans.”

Howie’s reply was simple.� “Okay, Nick.� Tell me when and where, and I’ll make sure the arrangements are made.”

Nick felt an overwhelming sense of relief, though he was not sure why.� “Thanks, D.� I want to do it soon... this week sometime.”

“I think that’s a good idea.� Where should we have it?� Tampa?”

“No...”� Nick sucked in a deep breath.� “I want to do what we did with AJ.”

There was a pause, and then Howie exclaimed, flabbergasted, “Go to TRL?!”
Nick smiled, imagining his friend’s eyes bulging out of his head on the other line.� “Yup.� Is that a problem?”

“No, of course not!� But, Nick...”� Howie fumbled for words, “that was so hard then, and this time... it would be even harder.� Much harder.� Are you sure you want to appear on live TV?� Maybe we could just call in... or the guys and I could go ourselves...”

“No, Howie, I wanna go,” Nick said firmly.� He really didn’t, not at all, and the thought of just talking over the phone or sending the rest of the group in his place was too tempting.� But this was for his fans... he had to be there, live, on TV, and break the news to them.� He had to show them that he was okay... that he would be okay... that they weren’t covering up anything.

“Well, okay, Nick,” Howie accepted reluctantly.� “I’ll call the other guys and let them know, and then one of us will get in touch with MTV.� I’ll get back to you when everything’s set up, okay?”

“Sure.� Thanks for doing this for me.”

“No problem!” Howie sputtered quickly.� “If there’s anything else you need, let me know.”

“No, I’m good,” Nick replied.� But as soon as the words had left his mouth, he did think of one thing... “Oh, wait, Howie?”

“Yeah?”

“There is something... when you call MTV, will you see if they can get Carson to host that day?� Or... or John Norris?� None of those new weird VJ’s...”� Carson got on his nerves sometime, but at least he was a familiar face... he had been there when they broke the news about AJ, when Nick had been sitting there, struggling not to cry on live television... and John, John Norris, he was a good guy... he understood... unlike so many others, he cared.

It was sort of a stupid request, Nick realized as he asked it, but even something small like that might make the horrible experience just a tad bit more bearable.

Howie laughed.� “Sure, Nicky.� I’ll see what I can do.”

Nick forced a laugh.� “They damn well better be able to get one of those two on... after all these years... and all those number one videos...”

Another chuckle from Howie.� “Damn straight.� Don’t worry, Nicky, I’m sure they’ll come through.”

“Yeah...”

“Well, I guess I’ll let you go then so you can rest.”

Instantly, the amused smile vanished from Nick’s face.� There it was again.� “So you can rest” – God, how he hated phrases like that.� He was not an infant, nor an invalid.

But what he hated worst of all was not those words, but the fact that they were actually justified.� A nap sounded like Heaven to him.� He was exhausted, fatigued from the previous night’s excitement and from the chemo in general.

In fact, he was sick and tired of the whole rotten deal.� Yes, that’s what he was.

Sick and tired.

***

Brent came over later that day.� Nick had returned his call and invited him, not wanting to break the news to his longtime friend over the phone.� Though it would be easier, it was just not the right thing to do, and Nick knew it.� So, Brent arrived, mildly concerned about Nick, but completely oblivious to the fact that anything was really wrong.

“How ya feeling, man?” he asked, slapping Nick’s back as Nick led him into the living room.

“Okay,” Nick replied.

“Look, I’m really sorry about last night.� For the alcohol, I mean... I didn’t know it would make you sick.� You just looked like you weren’t having much fun, and we thought it would help.� We weren’t gonna get you drunk or anything; you were the DD.� We just wanted to loosen you up a little, you know?”

“I know.”� Nick sighed.� “I’m not mad.� I just... I’m not supposed to drink right now, and it messed up my system.”

“Why aren’t you supposed to drink?”� Brent’s forehead creased with worry, and his eyes registered confusion.� The concept of not being able to drink was foreign to him; to him, James, Lane, and Frank, clubbing and drinking were about the second most important thing in their lives, proceeded only by their band, Born Into Kaos.

There was a time, only months before, when Nick had been right there with them, barhopping into the wee hours of the morning and coming home plastered, when he was not on tour.� How carefree he had been then... he had had problems to deal with, of course, he always did, but nothing compared to this.� He longed to go back to those days, when singing was his life, drumming and boating his hobbies, and Nintendo and drinking his other favorite pastimes.� Back to the days when cancer and medicine didn’t control his life, when he didn’t have to plan his schedule around chemo weeks, not knowing how sick he would be then, when he didn’t have to worry about cleaning a catheter every week and going for check-ups every three, and when he still had a full head of hair.

He was beginning to despise baseball caps.� AJ had loaned him a few skull caps that clung tightly to his balding scalp.� They covered his head all right, better than the baseball caps, but somehow, they just didn’t look as good on him as they did on AJ.

“Nick?� Why aren’t you supposed to drink?”

With a start, Nick realized he had let his mind wander.� Flustered, he replied, “Um... I’m on some meds... alcohol doesn’t mix well with them.”

“Meds?� For what?� Migraines?”

Oh, how Nick wished it was only migraines.� “No,” he replied.� “Um... Brent?� This is... this is r-really hard to say, but...”� He swallowed hard, forcing himself to continue, to say those dreaded words.� “I’ve been diagnosed with... cancer.”

He waited for the look of shock to appear on Brent’s face, and it did immediately.� But, just as quickly, it vanished, and his friend burst out laughing.� “Ha ha, nice one, Carter,” he laughed dryly, smirking at Nick.� “Damn, don’t say shit like that – I almost thought you were for real for a sec there!’

Nick did not laugh.� Silently, he just stared at Brent, hoping his eyes would deliver the message.� Finally, it did.� The color drained from Brent’s face, his eyes bugging out of his head as he slowly realized Nick was not kidding.

“No,” he said hoarsely.� “You’re not serious...”� Looking away, Nick only nodded.� “Oh my God... oh my God... Nick... h-how could you get cancer?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nick muttered emotionlessly.� “Like celebrities can’t get cancer?� I’m just a normal person like anyone else, Brent, you of all people should know that.� Of course I can get cancer.”

“I didn’t mean that... I just meant, you.� I mean, you’re healthy!� You’re athletic, you work out... okay, so you don’t really eat right, but who does?� How could this happen to you?� I don’t understand...”

Nick only shrugged.� “I don’t know either, but it did.� I’m sorry for not telling you earlier, but I just didn’t want things to get weird between us, you know?”

“Well, how long have you known?”

“Couple months.”

Nick said the words quickly, guiltily avoiding Brent’s eyes.� But Brent did not explode and ask why Nick had waited so long to tell him.� He only nodded.� “This really sucks, man.”

Nick snorted dryly.� “Tell me about it.”

“So does Brian and the gang know yet?”

“Yeah... I couldn’t hide it from them for too long.”

“Yeah... so... you gonna tell the guys?”

He meant James, Lane, and Frank.� Nick sighed.� “Maybe you could tell them... it’s hard, you know?”

“I bet.� Yeah, no prob, dude, I’ll tell ‘em.”

“Thanks, Brent.”

Brent stayed for a short while after that, but within half an hour, he had left, once Nick had promised he didn’t need anything and was fine on his own.� He could see that despite wanting to be there to support him, Brent was uncomfortable.� As much as he disliked that, he couldn’t blame him.

As a Backstreet Boy, he and the guys had taken many charity trips to hospitals, where they had visited sick children, including cancer patients.� While he had always enjoyed cheering them up, he had also been relieved when it was time to leave; hospitals and sickness and those poor children, all sallow-faced and gaunt and bald and tethered to IV’s, unnerved him.

And now, thought Nick with a sardonic laugh, the tables had turned.� He was one of them.

***

Howie called back awhile after Brent had left.

“The plans are all made,” he announced.� “We’re scheduled to appear on TRL on Wednesday.� They’ll be publicizing our ‘big announcement’ so all the Bsb fans will tune in.”

“Did you tell them what the ‘big announcement’ was?” asked Nick.

“No way... they’ll be finding out along with everyone else.� I’m sure they think it’s that we’re breaking up though.”

Nick rolled his eyes.� “Probably.� Assholes.”

Howie laughed, and Nick could just picture his smile.� “That’s the spirit, Nicky.� So anyway, I’ve already called Kevin about this, and he said he would call Bri and J, but we were thinking maybe we could meet in New York on Tuesday and maybe have a night to ourselves, get mentally ready for this.� Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah, that’s cool,” replied Nick.� “Do I need to call and get a plane ticket then?”

“Already taken care of.”

“Oh, okay... so everything’s set then?”

“Everything’s set.� All you have to do is show up, buddy.”

Nick smiled tightly and heaved a sigh.� “Will do.”

So there it was.� He would be leaving for New York City in three days, and after Wednesday, the whole world would know.

***

“Can I have your name, please?”� The thirty-something-year-old receptionist smirked.

Nick smirked back.� “Yeah, it’s Art Crenick.”� The alias was one of many that he used to sign into hotels; this one was not as creative as some, only the letters of his name rearranged.� But it worked.

“Okay, Mr. Crenick.� Welcome to the Revelation.� Here’s your room key.� Suite 8B.”

“Thanks.”� Nick took the key card from the woman’s hand and flashed her his infamous half-smile; he was well aware of the fact that that smile worked wonders on many women and used it to his full advantage.� Now it was one of the few aspects of his looks that he still had left; his blonde hair was nearly gone, its sorry remains hidden by a baseball cap pulled low over his face.

His face... yeah, the “baby face” the teenage girls all thought was so adorable was no longer full and vibrant, but thin and pale.� And that was not the only place his weight loss over the past few months was showing.� His clothes all hung on his frame.� He figured people would talk about that when they saw him on TV.� Some would think he had been taking care of himself, dieting and exercising to lose the weight.� But he knew otherwise; this weight loss was not healthy.

For once, he was glad they had make-up people; they would be able to cover his sallow complexion and make him look as close to his old self as possible for the TRL appearance.� But at the moment, he looked pretty grim, and he just hoped no one would find out what hotel they were staying in.� He really didn’t want to be seen this way, not until the news was out.� Then they would understand.� But if they got a good look at him now, rumors would run rampant... drugs, alcohol, eating disorders... God knows what the press would say about him.

A bellboy came immediately to take his suitcase.� Normally, Nick would have waved him off and carried the luggage himself, especially with it just being one suitcase and the carry-on duffel bag from his flight.� But, tired and weak from the after-effects of the chemo, he gratefully surrendered his burdens to the hotel employee, who escorted him to his suite.

“You can just set them down here,” said Nick as they reached the door to his suite.� Pulling out his wallet, he gave the bellboy his tip, and when the man had left, stuck his keycard into the slot, unlocking the door.� Clutching the knob with one hand, he hauled up his suitcase and duffel in the other, grunting at the effort of it, and started to open the door.� He was completely shocked when the door quickly swung open from the inside, almost pulling him down with it.

“Nick, there you are!”

It was AJ, standing in the doorway with a wide smile spread over his face.

“AJ!� Jesus, you scared the hell outta me!� I’m gonna have a heart attack!” Nick cried, his heart racing from the startle of having someone else open the door from inside his suite.

AJ’s eyes widened, and Nick could have sworn his face paled a shade or two.� “I’m sorry!� Are you okay??”� He looked truly worried, and Nick stared at him in surprise.

“Dude, I’m fine!� I was just kidding about the heart attack thing...”

“Are you sure?” AJ asked warily, studying Nick as if he expected to keel over at any minute.

Nick just stared.� “AJ, what the hell?� Cancer doesn’t give you heart attacks, you know.”

“Shh!” came a hiss from behind AJ, and then Kevin appeared.� “Cripes, Nick, don’t say that in the middle of the hall!� What if someone heard you?”

Nick checked quickly; the hall was empty.� “It’s fine, Mr. Anal.� Anyway, they’re gonna find out tomorrow, so who gives a shit.� And what the hell are you two doing in my room anyway?� Not that I’m not glad to see you, but-“

“Actually, this is our suite,” corrected AJ.� “All five of ours.”

“What?!� We’re sharing?� Where the hell is Howie?”

“Uh, actually, it was my idea, Nick.”� A meek Brian appeared between Kevin and AJ, smiling sheepishly at Nick.� “I just thought it would be nice if we all shared a suite, like old times.”� He shrugged, offering Nick a cheesy grin.

AJ snorted.� “We didn’t share a suite in the old times anyway, Rok, it was a room.� A tiny, crappy room with two double beds if we were lucky.� And you want to recreate that experience because...?”

Brian rolled his eyes good-naturedly.� “So sue me.� I just thought it would be fun, and Howie agreed, so there.”

“Well, what does Nick think?” AJ shot back, and of course, they all turned to Nick, even Howie, who had come up with the other four.

“Uh... I dunno, I think it’s cool,” Nick said finally.� Really, he had to admit that he did like Brian’s idea... he had fond memories of the “old days,” the nights they would spend cramped all together in dingy hotel rooms, staying up talking and playing Nintendo into the early morning hours, almost like a slumber party.� Of course, anal Kevin would eventually try to force them all to go to bed, and then Brian, AJ, and Nick would tease him and purposely disobey and annoy him further, but hell, that was half the fun of it.

Now that he thought about it, he actually missed those days... back when things were simple and uncomplicated, when he was just a teenager with nothing on his mind but girls, money, and the lifelong dream of fame that seemed on the verge of coming true.

“See?� Ha!” Brian gloated, laughing in AJ’s face.� Playfully slinging an arm around Nick’s shoulders, he led his younger friend into the suite.� “It’s a little more swanky than what we had in the old days, huh?”

“Yeah...” Nick agreed, checking out the bedroom, where there were two queen size beds.� “Wait,” he said suddenly.� “We’re not actually gonna sleep together, are we?� That’s so...”

“Gay?” offered AJ with a smirk.

“Uh, yeah, very.� I think I’ll take the floor.”

“Aw, Nick, you don’t have to do that,” Brian said quickly.� “You take one of the beds, and somebody else can have the other one.� Then the couch in the living room is a hide-a-bed, so someone can have that.� And the other two will just sleep on the floor.� We did that in the old days, too, no big deal.”

“I call bed!” AJ and Kevin both shouted at the same time.

“Sorry, J, I’m older, I get it,” Kevin claimed, crossing his arms over his chest smugly.

AJ rolled his eyes.� “Yeah, whatever, old man.� I’ll just take the couch bed then.� Rok and D, guess you’re stuck on the floor.”

“That’s fine,” conceded Howie with a shrug, and Brian nodded.

“I can sleep on the floor too if one of you guys wants the bed,” Nick offered.

“No, no, Nicky, take the bed,” Howie insisted, and Nick scowled.� In ordinary circumstances, he would have been forced on the floor simply because he was the baby of the group.� Now he was being treated differently... and he knew exactly why.

“No way, you take it.� I’m the youngest, and Howie, you’re gonna be hella stiff if you spend the night on the floor, old man.”

“Old man?!” Howie exclaimed, mouth dropping open in indignation.� “That’s Kevin!”

“You’re gettin’ up there too, dude.� Who’s turning the big 3-0 this year, huh?”

Howie rolled his eyes.� “You’ll be there too before you know it, kid.”

Nick laughed lightly, but no one else did.� As silence fell, he couldn’t help but notice the looks exchanged between the others.� What, did they think he wasn’t going to live to see thirty?� Wow, way to be optimistic, guys.� Well, he would show them.� He wasn’t going to let the cancer take his life, oh hells no.� He was gonna beat Ewing’s sarcoma’s bitch ass.� Yeah... take that...

Sure... right... as if he really had any control.� Like it or not, he couldn’t help but admit that he really had no say in what happened to him.� His future now lay in God’s hands alone, and only He could decide whether Nick would win the fight for his life... or lose it.

***

“It’s been almost two years since their last TRL appearance, but today, Backstreet is back!� Please welcome Kevin, Howie, Brian, AJ, and Nick to the show!”

The Total Request Live studio in Times Square erupted into wild cheers and screams and random squeals of “Bsb rules!” and “I love you, Nick!”

Pasting a smile on his face, which had been brightened by makeup, Nick followed the rest of his group mates into the study, touching the excited fans’ hands on the way.� The five men were seated on stools next to Carson Daly, whom MTV had recruited to host the show that day, a rare occurrence these days.

“Welcome back to the show, guys,” Carson said as the audience died down, shaking the Boys’ hands.� They mumbled their thanks, and Carson continued, addressing the viewers, “The Backstreet Boys are here today to make an important announcement, which they’ve kept top secret.� Not even we here at MTV know what it is yet, but they called last week asking to say it first here on TRL.� The last time they did this was, of course, a couple years ago when AJ checked into rehab for depression and alcoholism.� AJ, how are things going with you now?”

AJ cleared his throat, but when he spoke, his voice was still raspy.� “I’m doing okay, Carson, thanks.� Actually, what we want to talk about today has to do with Nick.”

He paused, and Nick saw him look to Kevin for help.� Kevin, their fearless leader, took over with only a slight hesitation.� Also clearing his throat, he continued, “Uh, as y’all might have noticed, Nick’s leg is in a brace.”� He motioned to Nick’s left leg, which stuck out awkwardly in front of him, stiffened by the immobilizor brace.� “Nick fractured his shin bone back in... what, mid March?”

“Yeah, March,” Nick echoed hollowly.

“March, yeah... so a little over two months ago... anyway, he, uh... he went to the doctor, and they found that he... that he...”� Kevin trailed off, his voice beginning to choke up.� As he looked away, pinching the bridge of his nose, Howie continued, surprisingly calm and controlled.

“They found that the fracture was caused by a small hole in bone, and, uh... th-the hole was caused by a... a disease called Ewing’s Sarcoma.� It’s... um...”� Howie swallowed.� “It’s a form of cancer.”

Nick could hear an ensemble of gasps from the audience, which was all teenagers, most of them female.� The tears started instantly, girls hugging each other and wiping their eyes, tears leaving black trails of mascara down their cheeks.� He found he could not look at them; turning away, he fixed his gaze on the floor of the studio, afraid to look up for fear he would lose it himself.

Fans were crying... hell, Kevin was almost crying, and Brian probably was too, if Nick knew him as well as he thought he did.� Howie seemed to be holding it together, and AJ... well, who knew.� Nick wouldn’t look over at him to find out... for the thought of seeing AJ cry... well, hell, AJ almost never cried.� The last time Nick had seen him in tears was when he told them he needed help for his alcoholism.� He never wanted to see that again.

The studio was filled with a torturous silence, which was finally interrupted by Carson’s quiet words, “I’m so sorry, guys... Nick...”

You gotta be tough, Nick told himself.� For the guys... and most of all, for the fans...� He looked up, swallowing hard, blinking away the mist from his stinging eyes.� “It’s gonna be okay,” he said, trying to strengthen his shaking voice.� “I’m... I’m on c-chemotherapy now, and I’m... I’m doing great, so... yeah... I’m gonna beat this thing.”� He pasted a smile on his face, knowing it didn’t look genuine, yet not caring.

Carson smiled too, though his smile looked just as fake.� Beneath it was a grave, concerned expression.� “Well, we here at MTV will be praying for you, and I know all your fans will be, too.”� The crying girls in the audience nodded vigorously.

“Thanks, guys,” murmured Nick, wishing they could get out of there now.

“So, um... if you don’t mind my asking, what does this do to the future of Bsb?” Carson pried, ruining the moment.

Kevin didn’t look quite composed yet, so Howie answered this one as well.� “Well, we thought about putting the next album on hold, but Nicky’s been a real trooper... he’s adamant that we don’t go on another hiatus because we’ve been out of the scene for so long, so... we’re gonna try to keep working on the album, and we’re looking at a release date sometime this year still, hopefully in the fall.”

Carson nodded.� “Well, that’s great, guys, we’ll be looking forward to it.� Anything else you’d like to say?”

“No, I guess that’s about it,” Howie replied, looking to the others for confirmation.� Nick nodded; Brian, AJ, and Kevin did not respond.

“Okay.� Well, again, I’m so sorry to hear this bad news, but thank you for announcing it here on MTV first.”

Howie nodded.� “No problem.� We wanted to get it out, let the fans know before the rumors start spreading.”

“Yes, you guys have always been great about being honest with your fans.� Well, thanks for coming to the studio today, guys.� Sorry it had to be on such bad terms.� Hopefully you’ll be back this fall when your album is released, and Nick will be in good health.”

Forcing another smile, Nick gave a short nod, hoping the same thing.� He would gladly tolerate another two-hour MTV special full of psychotic fans, prying and/or stupid questions, and cheesy trivia games that made him look like a total moron if only he could have his health back.

“Well, again, thanks to the Backstreet Boys, and good luck to Nick.� Now, falling back to number two, here’s Justin Timberlake with ‘Rock Your Body’...”

Oddly enough, there was no screaming, no cheering, as the video came on, and the Backstreet Boys walked out.

And that was that.

***

Much of the rest of that day was spent on the phone.� The Boys had been flooded with calls following their TRL appearance.� Management was outraged that they had to find out the news through MTV, other artists were calling with their sympathies, as well as the guys’ families... and then there was Nick’s family.

Nick had been dreading the call from his parents that he knew would come, and sure enough, it came shortly after they had left MTV studios.� Sitting in silence in the back of a limo, riding to their hotel, Nick’s cell phone rang.� Flipping it open, he sighed and answered it with a weary, “Hello?”

“Nicky!”

It was his mother, and naturally, she sounded distraught.� It had been months since he had talked to her, months since he had hung up on her, swearing to himself that he would never speak to her again.� She had not called since, and he had not cared, not really.� And he could not really say whether he was glad she had called now or not... in fact, he felt completely void of any emotion as he said quietly, “Hey, Mom.”

“Nicky, please tell me this isn’t true... Angel saw you on TV, and she called me in, and I... oh God, Nick, this can’t be happening.”

“It is.”

“Well, why didn’t you tell me then?!”� In a flash, her tearful, plaintive stammering had vanished, overtaken by hysterical screaming.� “I’m your mother!� Why didn’t you tell me?”� She was sobbing now, and he could not tell if she was really angry with him or not.

He did not answer, just listened guiltily to her heavy breathing and muffled cries.� He felt the urge to comfort her somehow, but what could he say?� What could he do?� He was on the other side of the country.� And he had hurt her.� It was his fault.� He had caused this.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, but the words had no meaning.

“Nicky... your father and I... we’ll... we’ll come to Florida... I’ll take care of you,” she said, her voice shaking with tears.

“No, don’t do that.� I’m fine.� I don’t need taking care of.� And anyway, I’ve got the guys.”� That was not exactly true, but the thought of having his mother fussing over him, breathing down his back 24/7, was torturous.

“No... you need your mother!”

You’re not my mother.� The words formed in the back of his throat, but he swallowed them away, refusing to let himself say them.� He would only hurt her more.� And he could not do that.

“Mom, you’ve got the other kids to take care of in LA.� Stay there.� I’ll be fine.� I’ll come out and visit you sometime.”

“When?”

“I dunno, when I can.� Look, Mom, I gotta go now.� Talk to you later.”� He heard her start to sputter a protest, but he terminated the conversation and snapped the phone closed, breaking off his ties with her, shutting her out of his life.

***

The next week was utter chaos.� After a few more days in New York together, the guys had gone their separate ways again, promising to keep in touch and get together again later to resume work on the album.� When Nick returned to Tampa, he found himself being harassed by paparazzi on a regular basis.� He declined interviews and refused comments, not wanting to encourage anyone, but it didn’t seem to be working.� And when the press was not calling, his family members were.� Jane called almost every day, but when he chose to answer the phone, their conversations were always short and strained.� He discovered that the line “I’m tired; I think I’m gonna go take a nap” was a great way to blow her off.

After over a week of staying cooped up in his house, hiding from the media, Nick was forced to emerge.� It was time for his three-week check-up and the fourth round of chemo to begin.� Oh joy.� He couldn’t have been more thrilled.

Luckily, the paparazzi had backed off a bit, for apparently his cancer wasn’t such big news after a week and a half, so the journey to Tampa General was fairly uneventful.� For once, Nick felt almost comfortable going up to the Oncology floor, not terrified that he would be recognized.� So what if he was?� The world knew now; it would be perfectly acceptable for him to be seen there.

The waiting room in the oncology department was once again fairly uncrowded, and Nick couldn’t help but wonder if it had been arranged that way on purpose to save him from being bothered by a bunch of other people while he waited. �If it was, he had to admit he was grateful.

Glancing briefly around the room before he took a seat, he noticed Claire, the girl he had met twice before on the oncology floor, sitting on one side of the room, engrossed in a copy of Redbook magazine.� He crossed the room and sat down near her, leaving one empty chair between them.� She looked up as he took a seat and smiled.� “Hi, Nick.”

“Hey, Claire.� Looks like they’ve got us on the same schedule for doctor’s appointments.”

Claire laughed.� “Yeah, I begged my doctor to look up what time you were supposed to come for appointments and schedule me for the same time.� I... I just can’t get enough of you.� I tried to get her to look up your address and phone number for me too, but she wouldn’t.� I’m sure I can find out where you live though; I heard they give tours.”

Nick blinked, completely unnerved, and couldn’t help but shift to the side of his chair farthest away from her.� Seeing the bewildered expression on his face, Claire immediately burst out laughing. �“Oh my God, relax, I’m just kidding!� I’m not a stalker.� As far as I know, this scheduling thing is pure coincidence.� Or maybe,” she added, smiling suggestively, “it’s fate.”

Nick was not quite sure what to make of that, so he just smiled and expelled a weak, “Oh.”

Claire’s expression turned serious.� “Sorry,” she said with an apologetic smirk.� “Didn’t mean to freak you out.� I was just messing with your mind.”� She shrugged.� “Gave me something to do.� If you haven’t noticed, this place is extremely boring.”

Nick laughed.� “I’ve noticed.”

“Yeah, so anyway... I’m sorry.� I’m really not a stalker... in fact, I’m not even a fan, really.� No offense or anything.� I just like ‘N Sync a lot more.”� Nick must have made some sort of disgusted face at that comment, for she burst out laughing yet again and added, “Just kidding.� God, I can’t stand them.� I’m not really into much pop though... I’m more of a rock person.� Sorry.”

“No, no, that’s cool!” Nick said, relieved.� “I am too.”� Then, realizing that sounded sort of strange, considering he was a Backstreet Boy, he added, “I just sing pop.� Go figure.”

“So, who’s your favorite rock band then?” Claire asked.� “Sorry, I know your fans probably already know this by heart, but, like I said, I’m not really a fan.”� She smiled impishly, and Nick couldn’t help but grin back.

“Probably Journey or Nirvana,” he replied.� “You?”

“Oh, that’s cool.� I like both of those groups too, but I’m more into modern stuff lately.� Linkin Park and other bands like that.”

“Oh yeah, LinkinPark’s great.� Their new album kicks ass, do you have that?”

“Oh yeah, bought it the day it came out.� It’s awesome!”

Another pair of smiles were exchanged, but then, before the conversation could continue, the door to the waiting room popped open, and a nurse stepped in.� “Claire?� You can come on back now.”

“Oh yay,” Claire remarked dryly, rolling her eyes in Nick’s direction.� “Well, see ya later.”

“Yeah, see ya.� Good luck.”

Claire smiled.� “You too.”� And she followed the nurse back, leaving Nick to himself.� While he used to enjoy his privacy and solitude, especially in awkward places such as this, he now found he actually enjoyed her company.� She was not the type of girl he would normally even give the time of day, but exchanging small talk with her as they both waited comforted him somehow.� Maybe it was because, despite the fact that they barely knew each other and didn’t even really talk about it, he knew they had something in common.� They shared the same curse, the curse of cancer.

***

“Hi, Nick, how are you doing today?” Dr. Kingsbury asked kindly, smiling at Nick as she entered the small examining room where he sat, feeling awkward in a backless hospital gown.

“Pretty good,” he replied automatically, knowing he wouldn’t be able to use that same answer within a matter of hours.� So, what are your plans for the afternoon, Nick?� Well, I’m gonna go home and barf my guts out all day, how about you?� Fun, fun.

“... complaints?”

“Huh?”� Head jerking up, Nick realized he had been spacing out again and had no idea what the doctor had just said to him.

Dr. Kingsbury smiled patiently.� “How have you been feeling lately?� Any complaints?”

Nick shrugged.� “Nah, I’ve been okay, I guess.”

“How’s your leg been?� Any pain?”

Nick grimaced.� “Yeah, it still kinda hurts when I walk on it, and other times, it just throbs, even when I’m just sitting there.� The painkillers help kinda, but not all the way.”

She nodded.� “Well, we’ll do the usual x-ray on your leg, and then I’d also like to get some other tests run today as well.� A CT scan, bone marrow, and a chest x-ray.”

Bone marrow.� Those two words screamed through Nick’s brain, and he could have sworn he heard a mental “dum dum dum” of doom accompany them, but maybe that was all in his head.� In fact, maybe the whole thing was just in his head... maybe she hadn’t said those words at all... maybe...

“Nick?� Did you hear me?”

“Uh...”� Nick felt his cheeks turn crimson, “did you say a bone marrow test?”

“Yes.”
NOOOOO!!!� “Again?!� But... but I just had one!”
“Over two months ago, you did.� But I need to do another one, just make sure we’re still in the clear.� To make sure the cancer isn’t spreading.”

“Spreading?� But I thought that’s what the chemo was for!� To keep it from spreading!”

“Shh, calm down.”� Dr. Kingsbury rested a gentle hand on his shoulder and continued, “That is what the chemo is for.� I just want to make sure it’s doing its job, that’s all.� You’ll be having these tests every few appointments until you go into a good remission.� I know it’s not exactly fun, but it’s important.� Early detection is crucial, as I’m sure you know.”

He had stopped paying attention at the word “remission,” his mind beginning to wander again.� Remission.� The word was an oasis, a slice of Heaven in the midst of Hell, a destination that lay just behind the horizon in a place he was sure he would never reach.� It was the lighthouse shining from the rocky coast, beckoning to him as he struggled against the relentless waves to row to shore, throwing his whole weight into each stroke of the oars only to be pitched right back again by the rapid waters.� It was the top of the endless stairs in Super Mario 64, which you could only reach by getting the required seventy stars; otherwise you would just keep going and going and going, like the small, Italian version of the Energizer bunny, never quite able to reach the gateway to the third and final Bowser level that lay at the staircase’s pinnacle.

“Nick?”

“Oh.� Sorry.� I’m listening.”� Nick blinked, forcing himself to focus on what Dr. Kingsbury was saying.� God, he had to have the world’s shortest attention span... maybe he had ADHD...

“Good.� All right, so anyway, I’ll do a quick physical exam, and then I’ll take you for your x-rays and CT scan.� We’ll save the bone marrow aspiration for last.”

“Oh yeah, gotta save the best for last,” Nick muttered dryly.

Dr. Kingsbury just gave him a sympathetic smile and slid her stethoscope into her ears.� She slipped the other end down the front of Nick’s gown; he winced as the cold metal touched his skin.� “Now take a deep breath...”

***

The chest x-ray and the scans of his leg were simple and painless, but, sitting nervously in the exam room an hour later, Nick knew the upcoming bone marrow test would not be.� He was dreading it with every fiber of his being, even more so than he had done the first time around.� The first time, he had gone into it na�vely, ignorant to the massive needle and crushing pain that went along with it.� Now he knew.� And he was scared shitless.

He swung one of his long legs back and forth, the other held stiffly in place by the brace, and prayed for a fire drill or a bomb threat or anything to get him out of that godforsaken place and save him from that hellish procedure.

No such luck, he realized unhappily as Dr. Kingsbury came back into the room.

“All right,” Dr. Kingsbury sighed.� “Just this last test, and then I’ll get your pump attached and turn you lose, okay?”

“Yay,” Nick replied without emotion.

She just patted his shoulder and helped him lie down on his stomach on the padded examining table.� His heart pounded, slamming crazily against his ribcage as panic crept up on him.� All of a sudden, a high-pitched beeping sounded.

“Oh, my pager,” said Dr. Kingsbury, and Nick looked over his shoulder to see her remove the beeper from her pocket and look at it.� “Oh no, it’s the ER...”� She sighed.� “Oh, Nick, I’m going to have to run down there and see what they need.� Do you mind waiting a little while, or do you want me to just get a nurse to do the bone marrow?”

He quickly considered these options and quickly made his choice.� “I’ll wait for you,” he replied.� This was good because A) Dr. Kingsbury was a doctor, not a nurse, so maybe it wouldn’t hurt so bad when she did it, and B) this would give him longer to stall, maybe even escape.

“Are you sure?� It could be awhile...”

“It’s cool.� Don’t got any other plans for today,” Nick said, flashing her the Carter half-smile, which she couldn’t help but return.

“Well, all right.� I’ll try not to keep you too long.� Be back as soon as I can.� You just relax.”� Then she darted out of the room.

***

Nick flipped himself over and sat up, dangling his legs off the table once more.� Looking around the room, he wondered what would happen if he was not there when she returned.� Stupid bone marrow test... he didn’t need one of those... maybe he could just slip on out of there... but not right out the open door, that would be too easy.� No, maybe he could climb out the window... hm, too bad it was on the fifth floor... he laughed, picturing himself repelling down the side of the building on a rope made of bedsheets in his leg brace and hospital gown, his boxer-covered ass to the wind.

“What’s so funny?”

Shocked to hear a voice that was not his own, he jerked his head toward the door, where Claire Ryan stood, leaning casually in the doorway, a wry smile playing on her lips.

He grinned sheepishly.� “Nothin’.� So, you all done?”� She was dressed in street clothes, purse slung over one shoulder.� It was a pretty safe bet that she was on her way out.

“Yup.� How about you?� Almost done?”

He shrugged.� “Basically... still got the, uh, bone marrow test to do... Dr. Kingsbury’s gonna do it, but she got called to the Emergency Room.”

Claire grimaced and gave him a sympathetic look.� “Ugh, bone marrow, huh?� That sucks the big one.� Have you had one before?”

“Oh, yeah, once,” he said, trying to be casual, as if it was no big deal.� He didn’t want her to know what a big baby he was.

Claire gave him a skeptical look.� “Oh yeah, right, like you’re not freaking out.� Don’t even tell me it didn’t hurt.� They always say it’s not supposed to, but I beg to differ.”

He quickly ended the macho act and gave her a wavering smile.� “Uh, yeah,” he admitted.� “It killed.� It was horrible.”

“Ha, I knew it.”� She smiled triumphantly.� “I knew you weren’t so tough, Mr. Backstreet Boy.”

“Hey!� I resent that!� We Backstreet Boys are tough!� We’re, like, you know, from the streets.� The-“

“back streets,” they said in unison, and Claire giggled.� “Oh yeah, you guys are real ghetto all right,” she teased, and Nick just laughed.� It felt good to do that, and for a moment, he almost forgot the terror of the bone marrow exam.� Then there was a pause, and the feeling of panic came back in full force.� Damn.

“I saw you guys on MTV last week,” Claire said, her face sobering.� “I gotta say, I think that was really cool of you, going on live television in front of all those people and telling them this.� I think I would’ve rather crawled in a hole and died.”

Nick smiled, somewhat flattered by this.� “Really?� You don’t seem like the type to be all embarrassed.”

Claire blushed, refuting that statement just by body language.� “Nah, I would be... I try to be outgoing and stuff, but that’s just a way of covering up being self-conscious.� I literally would have died up there in front of all those people.”

“Well, I seriously was about to,” Nick laughed.� “Talk about being self-conscious.� Y’all probably think I’ve got it all together and am all confident and shit, being a popstar, but I’m not.� Not at all.”

“That’s good to know.”� Claire smiled.� “Nice to know that you’re human, I mean.� I don’t like guys that are too overconfident and all egotistical.� And I have to admit, I used to think that you would be that type.� Hell, that’s part of the reason I started talking to you that day we met in the chemo room.� I mean, I recognized you and all, and I wanted to see what you were like.� Well, that and the fact that I was the only person in there, and it was boring, and I wanted someone to talk to.”� She shrugged, grinning.

“Well, that’s fine by me.� I’m glad you did.� You’re like my little cancer buddy now.”

“’Little cancer buddy?’” she repeated, feigning an offended look.� “Gee, I feel special.”

He laughed.� “Well, I didn’t mean it like that... sorry... I’m not too good with words.”

She snorted.� “I can tell.� Nah, it’s all good though.� Maybe I can just be your buddy though?� The cancer part’s kinda... I dunno... morbid?� And, well, I’m not exactly ‘little’.”� She glanced down at herself, and suddenly, Nick saw what she meant about being self-conscious.

“Hey,” he said softly, “don’t diss yourself.� You look fine... and besides, you can’t really help it, can you?� It’s the medication?”

“Yeah... but still, I kinda look like a chipmunk at the moment... and I feel like a lard ass.� I’m actually much thinner normally... you’d just never know it from looking at me now.”

“Oh no, I knew that... you were a lot skinnier when I met you before.”

She smiled sadly.� “I know.� I used to be almost disgustingly skinny, all gaunt and stuff from the chemo.� Now it’s the total opposite.� Just another lovely side effect – isn’t chemo great?”

He laughed cynically.� “Well, it’s made me lose weight... so that’s good, I guess... but other than that, hells no.”

“Got that right,” Claire giggled.

There was another brief silence, and, watching her standing there in the doorway, Nick suddenly felt guilty for keeping her there.� “Hey, you can go anytime, you know.� You don’t have to stay and talk to me if you don’t want to; I can wait here by myself like a big boy.”

“Oh yeah,” Claire laughed.� “I’d leave, and the next thing you know, you’d be scaling down the building, trying to escape.”

Nick stared.� “Dude... I was just thinking the same thing!” he exclaimed in amazement.� Chuckling, he added, “That’s what I was laughing about when you came by.”

“Oh,” Claire laughed.� “That’s weird.� Great minds think alike, I guess.� Believe me, I’ve considered formulating an escape plan many times too.� But anyway, do you want me to go?”

Well, how was he supposed to answer that?� If he told her yes, she would think he didn’t want her there, which wasn’t the case, for he rather enjoyed talking to her, and it was definitely helping to take his mind off the bone marrow aspiration.� On the other hand, if he said no, she would feel compelled to stay, and he didn’t want to make her stay there if she didn’t want to.� And why would she?

“Um... well... I don’t care,” he finally answered.� “Totally up to you.� If I were you, I’d get my ass out of here as quick as I could – which wouldn’t be that fast, on this leg – but I don’t mind you being here if you wanna stay.� Helps get my mind off the damn bone marrow thingie.”

She smiled.� “That’s kinda what I thought... well, I can stay, if you want me to.� I’ll even hold your hand, if that would help.”

“Hold my hand?” Nick repeated doubtfully, feeling like a five-year-old.� He laughed, “Uh, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Why not?� My older brother used to always come with me and hold my hand.� It helps, trust me.� I probably almost broke his hand, I squeezed so damn hard, but hey, it kept me from screaming.”

Nick laughed.� “Well, I wouldn’t wanna break your hand...”

She grinned.� “Hey, I’m tough, kid.”

“Kid?� Who you callin’ kid?� How old are you, anyway?”� He began to realize how little he knew about her.

“Twenty-three.� You?”

“You’re twenty-three?”� She really didn’t look it; he had always thought she was more like nineteen, twenty at most.

“Sure am.� How old are you?”

“Heh, I’m twenty-three too.� Not such of a kid, huh?”

She smiled.� “Guess not.”

All of a sudden, they heard footsteps coming down the hall, and Nick’s heart begin to race again, thudding around in his chest in rhythm with the approaching footsteps.

Claire peeked out into the hall and then looked at Nick, grimacing.� “I think that’s your doc.”

“Aww...”

“Okay, I’m back,” Dr. Kingsbury announced breathlessly as she breezed into the room, followed by a nurse whose name Nick did not know.� “Oh!”� Dr. Kingsbury stopped abruptly, noticing Claire standing just inside the door.� “Well, who are you?� Girlfriend?”

Claire laughed, her cheeks turning red.� “Not quite.� Just his... buddy.”� She winked at Nick, who couldn’t help but smile, despite his nerves.

“Yeah, uh, she’s gonna stay in here with me... if that’s okay.”� He looked hopefully at Dr. Kingsbury, who nodded casually.

“Sure, that’s fine.� Nick, if you could just flip back over on your tummy again, and... sorry, what was your name, hon?”

“Claire.”

“Claire – if you could just go on this side of the table... that’s the way.� Okay.� Let me just get set up here, and we’ll get this over with.”

“Great,” grumbled Nick, rolling over so that he was lying face down.� Claire pulled up a chair next to one side of the table, and Dr. Kingsbury and the nurse stood on the other side.

“All right, Nick,” Dr. Kingsbury said after a moment.� “Debbie here is just going to help keep you lying still-“� A.K.A. hold me down, Nick thought.� “-and I’m going to give you a little shot of anesthetic to numb your hip.”

Yeah, that was the easy part.� Nick barely flinched when the small needle slid into his hip, knowing the second needle was going to be much, much worse.� Wordlessly, he felt Claire take his hand, and he let his fingers wrap around hers gratefully.

“Okay, Nick... you’ll feel some pressure now... hold very still...”

He squeezed his eyes shut, gripped Claire’s hand (trying not to hold it too tight), and waited for the pain.� And it came, and it hurt like a bitch, just as much as last time, even with Dr. Kingsbury doing it.� His eyes began to water, and he unintentionally cut off the circulation in Claire’s fingers, but in some small way, it helped just having her there.� It didn’t relieve the pain, but it somehow made it more tolerable.� Maybe it was because he knew she had been through the same thing, more times than he had.� She knew.� She empathized.

She understood.

***

“You feeling better, Nick?”

It had been half an hour since the bone marrow aspiration, and Dr. Kingsbury had let him lie in the examining room for a short while to recuperate before he attempted to drive himself home.� Claire had gone; Nick insisted she didn’t have to stay any longer, feeling bad for keeping her there as long as he did.� He didn’t mind anyway; somehow he didn’t feel like talking as much when his hip was searing with pain. �He was more content to just lie there and moan and bitch in his head about how much it sucked.

“Yeah, I’m feeling better,” he answered now, and truthfully, he was.� He was sore, but the pain had dulled to a weak throb that was definitely tolerable, considering that’s what his left shin basically felt like all the time.� With some difficulty, he managed to sit up.

“Okay.� Well, let me get your new infusion pump going here...”� He untied his hospital gown and pulled it down in front so that she could get at his catheter.� With the nimble fingers of an expert, she quickly hooked the thin line of the new pump into the catheter.

“There you go, sir.� Your clothes are over there,” she said, pointing, “so go ahead and get dressed, and you can go.”

“Okay,” Nick said.� “I’ll see you in three weeks then.”

Dr. Kingsbury nodded, smiling, and started to leave the room so he could get changed.� Then, she stopped.� “Oh, wait, one thing,” she said, turning back.� “The results of your tests won’t be in till probably tomorrow morning, and I’m sure things will be fine, but if anything looks out of the ordinary, I’ll give you a call, okay?”

“Oh, okay,” Nick replied casually, not thinking anything of it.

But the doctor called him the very next day.

***

It was almost noon when the phone rang, but Nick was still in bed, battling nausea.� “Go away,” he mumbled, groaning as the phone’s shrill, constant ringing plagued his ears.� With a sigh, he rolled over and blindly reached for the cordless on the night stand next to his bed; he managed to grab it from its cradle, and, squinting tiredly, looked at the caller ID in the little window on the phone.� Reporters had been calling him pretty much everyday since the TRL appearance, but he had done his best to ignore them all.� He sure as hell didn’t want to talk to one now.

But the caller ID did not register a private or blocked call, which was usually what it said when it was a reporter or solicitor.� Instead, it said Tampa General.� Immediately, a wave of nausea rippled through Nick’s stomach, but this time, he was sure it wasn’t from the chemo.� A sheet of cold sweat broke out on his skin, and with a shaking finger, he punched the “talk” button on the phone and held it up to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Nick?”� It was a woman’s voice, and he knew, just as he had suspected, that it was Dr. Kingsbury.

Oh God, oh God, why is she calling?� His mind raced, coming up with all the worst possibilities.� What had his tests shown?� That the cancer had spread?� Oh God... how bad was it?� Is she gonna tell me I’m going to die?

“Hello?� Nick?”

“Oh, yeah, this is Nick,” Nick said quickly, heart pounding erratically.

“Oh, good morning, Nick.� This is Dr. Kingsbury.”

“Hi...”

Dr. Kingsbury must have sensed the uneasiness in his voice, for she continued quickly, “Nick, I know I said I would call you if anything turned up in your test results, and I don’t want to scare you.� Your chest x-ray and bone marrow biopsy both looked great; no cancer cells.� But the x-ray and CT scan of your leg show that the hole has not been reduced by as much as I would have expected.”

“So what does that mean?” Nick asked, wondering if he was supposed to feel relieved or not.

“It means that the chemo is not working as well as it should be.� I’d like to try you on some stronger drugs to see if that helps.”

“Stronger drugs?” Nick repeated in dismay.� “Will that make me even sicker than I am now?”� Nausea coursed through his body, reminding him just how much the stuff he was on now sucked.

“Probably, yes.� And I know that’s no fun, but Nick, we need to try it.� The therapy you’re on now just isn’t doing the trick, and I’m afraid if we don’t try a more potent drug combination, the hole will get bigger, and the cancer will begin to spread.� We need to keep it contained. �You understand?”

“Yeah,” Nick replied glumly.� “So when would I start that stuff?� In three weeks?”

“No, I would prefer you start on it this week.� And I’m afraid you’ll need to stay in the hospital for a few days while you adjust to it.”

“What?!”� Oh man, this was sucking worse and worse with each passing moment...

Dr. Kingsbury chuckled.� “I had a feeling you wouldn’t like that.� I’m so sorry, Nick, but that’s just the way we have to do it.� I can’t just give it to you in a pump the very first time and send you home with it.� We have to observe you here at the hospital to make sure you don’t have a bad reaction to it.”

“What, you don’t call throwing up and having your hair fall out a bad reaction?” Nick snapped.� On the other end of the line, Dr. Kingsbury was silent, and he immediately felt a bit guilty for giving her a hard time.� It wasn’t her fault; he knew she was only trying to do what was best for him.� “Sorry,” he mumbled an apology.

“That’s all right.� I understand,” said Dr. Kingsbury gently.� “What are your plans for the week?� Are there two or three days you could set aside to check into the hospital?”

“Yeah,” Nick sighed.� “I haven’t made any plans for this week; I try to keep the chemo weeks free cause I usually feel too shi- I mean, bad - to do anything.”

“Okay... so... when should we get this show on the road?”

Show on the road... bad choice of words... how he wished he were on the road now, with the guys, touring, instead of here... would he ever be able to tour with them again?� Or would this stupid disease always be here to ruin all his plans?

“Nick?”

“Oh, sorry... um... I guess let’s get it over with as soon as possible... can I come tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow would be fine.� I’ll make all the arrangements, and you can check in tomorrow morning.� Okay?”

“Sure,” Nick replied dully.

“Great.� I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow then, and if things go well, you’ll be out of the hospital by Wednesday morning.”

“Okay.� Bye, Dr. Kingsbury.”� He hung up and lay back down in bed, burying his face in his pillow.� He closed his eyes, but could not go back to sleep.� The queasy sensation of wanting to throw up, mixed with his newfound worry, kept him wide awake.

***

Brian called that evening, asking how Nick’s doctor’s appointment had gone.

“Sucked ass,” Nick replied flatly.

“Why, what happened?” Brian asked cautiously.� “Was everything okay?”

Nick sighed.� “Well, the chest x-ray and bone marrow looked good, but the CT sc-”

“Whoa, whoa, what?� Chest x-ray?� Why did they do that?” Brian interrupted, and Nick realized just how in the dark he was about this whole thing.

“To see if the cancer’s spread to my lungs,” he explained and heard Brian suck in a nervous breath of air.� “Don’t worry,” he added quickly.� “It hasn’t.� But anyway, the x-rays they did on my leg showed that the hole hasn’t closed up that much yet, so my doctor wants to put me on some new chemo drugs that are more powerful than the ones I’m on now.”

“Oh no... will that make you sicker?”

“Yup.� Sucks, don’t it?”

“Yeah... so when will you start that?”

“Tomorrow.� And they have to put me in the hospital to do it – something about to see if I have a reaction to the new drugs.”

“Oh my gosh... that sounds serious...” Brian remarked, his voice filled with apprehension.� “Do... do you want me to come stay with you?”

“Oh, no way, dude, I’m cool,” Nick said quickly.� It really didn’t sound like such a bad idea to him, but admitting that would be selfish.� Brian had a wife and kid now; he needed to be with them in Atlanta.� Besides, Nick didn’t really need Brian seeing him stuck in a hospital bed, all sick and puking like that.� Let him stay home and see Baylee crawl or whatever it was he did instead.� Speaking of Baylee...� “Hey, what’s my godson been up to lately?” he asked, changing the subject.� “Can he talk yet?� You gotta teach him to say my name, man.”

Brian laughed.� “Nick, he’s only six months old... babies don’t talk till they’re like one.”

“Oh.”

“Dude, you’re the one with all the younger siblings.� Don’t you remember anything?”

“Hells no, how would I remember that?� I was like seven when Aaron and Angel were born; that’s too young to remember when they started talking and shit.”

“You know, you better work on that potty mouth of yours before I let you near my son again,” Brian teased.� “When he does start talking, I don’t want his first words to be ‘hells no’ or ‘and shit’.”

Nick laughed.� “Ya know, maybe you shouldn’t have made me his godfather then.� I’m a bad influence.”

Brian chuckled.� “Yeah, but AJ’s probably worse.”

“What about Howie?� Howie don’t swear.”

“Yeah, and he doesn’t say ‘Howie don’t’ either.� Great, now my kid’s gonna pick up bad grammar from you, too.”

“Huh?”

“’Howie doesn’t,’ Nick,” Brian lectured.� “It’s ‘Howie doesn’t’.”

“Oh.� Whatever.”

Brian just laughed.� “So anyway,” he said, “how long will you have to stay in the hospital?”

“I dunno, a couple days.”

“That sucks... are you sure you don’t want me to come visit?”

“No, Rok, seriously, I’m fine.� I’m a big boy now; I can handle this on my own.”

“Maybe, but you shouldn’t have to.� Being in the hospital sucks no matter what, but it’s worse on your own.� When I went in for my surgery, I don’t know what I would have done without you guys and my family being there.”

“Well, yeah, but that was different.� This ain’t that big of a deal.� I’m not having surgery or anything, and it’s only for two days.� I’ll be fine,” he said again.

“Well, all right,” Brian finally relented, “but, listen, you call if you need anything, okay?� I’m just a state away.”

Nick smiled.� “Okay, Bri.� Thanks.”

“No problem, bud.� I’ll let you go now then; I’m sure you’re not feeling too well.� Talk to you later?”

“Yup,” said Nick.� “Talk to you later, man.� Bye.”

They hung up, Nick smiling.� That was Brian for you, taking after his cousin, always a little overly concerned when it came to Nick.� Sure, it got annoying at times, especially now that Nick was all grown up, but still, he had to admit... he liked it that way.� Brian truly cared.� And that was what mattered.

***

Checking into the hospital the following morning was something like willingly going to jail.� (Do not pass Go.� Do not collect $200.)� The hospital was his prison, the room on the oncology floor his cell.� He was issued the standard garb, a paper-thin patterned gown, and sent to bed, where he awaited Dr. Kingsbury’s visit.

“Good morning, Nick,” she greeted him with a smile.� “How are you feeling?”

Nick shrugged.� “All right, I guess,” he muttered unenthusiastically.� He noticed that she was carrying an IV bag filled with fluid and asked, “So, is that the new stuff?”

“That’s it,” answered Dr. Kingsbury and hung the bag on an IV stand next to his bed.

“Ohh man, are you gonna have to put one of those IV’s in my hand again?” Nick asked, filled with dread at the thought a needle sliding into his vein.� He had to admit, it really didn’t hurt once it was in, but boy it sure stung as it was going in.

“No, actually, I’ll just attach it to your catheter.� Lucky you, huh – that central line comes in handy.”

“Yeah,” Nick said, relieved.� He watched with mild interest as Dr. Kingsbury hooked a line from the IV bag to the tube in Nick’s chest.� She made some adjustments, and moments later, the fluid began to drip from the bag and run through the thin tube into his catheter.

Dr. Kingsbury stood and watched it for a few minutes, then asked, “How are you feeling now?� Everything okay?”

“Yeah...” Nick answered cautiously.� “Why?� Is this stuff gonna make me turn freakin’ purple or something?”

Dr. Kingsbury laughed.� “No, but some people feel a burning sensation when the chemo goes into their bloodstream, and others get physically ill right away.”

“Oh... well, I feel okay...” Nick said hopefully.� Grinning mischievously, he added, “So can I go home now?”

“Haha, nice try.� No, like I said, I still need to keep you here to observe how you tolerate the chemo.� It’s great that you feel fine now, but – and I hate to say this – you’ll probably feel a lot worse by this afternoon.”

Nick nodded dolefully and knew she was probably right.� He hated it, yet if this new medication did the trick, put him in remission, and cured his cancer, it would be worth the misery, right?

That’s what he tried to keep telling himself anyway.

***

The effects of this new chemo came even more quickly than Nick had expected.� Within half an hour, he was already throwing up, and something told him he was in for a hell of a ride.

“God... this... sucks,” he choked, as he doubled over an emesis basin, purging the contents of his stomach.

“I know, sweetie,” whispered Nichole, one of the nurses, who comfortingly rubbed his back in small circles as he vomited.� “Just let it all out.”

He didn’t seem to be having any trouble doing that; his body was going to let it all out whether he wanted to or not.

The intense sensation of nausea lasted the entire day, accompanied by frequent bouts of vomiting.� Around 5:30 that evening, an orderly brought in Nick’s dinner tray.

“No thanks,” he muttered weakly as the orderly set the tray of covered dishes upon the tray attached to Nick’s bed.

“You should try to eat something,” the orderly advised.

“I’ll just puke it right back up again,” Nick retorted sullenly, trying to hold his breath to avoid inhaling the scent of food, knowing it would probably just set off his stomach again.� “Can’t you just take it away?� It’s making me sick.”

“Sorry, not yet.� Try to eat; you might be surprised,” the orderly replied casually and left.

Glaring at the tray in front of him, Nick let out a breath and was immediately greeted with an odd smell that reminded him of dirty dishwater and wet dog.� Appetizing.� Deciding to not reveal the mystery that lay beneath the covers on all of the plates, he pushed the tray away and rolled over so that he could not see it.� Out of sight, out of mind, right?

Wrong.

Within seconds, he was retching into the basin again, not sure whether it was the food or just the chemo that had triggered the vomiting again.� Wiping his mouth off with a tissue, he collapsed miserably back into bed and rang for a nurse to come rinse the basin, only to have him dirty it up again in a few minutes.

A young nurse that he had not seen before appeared in his doorway right away, almost too soon.� She didn’t look any older than him, and he felt his cheeks go red, embarrassed to be seen in that condition by one of his peers.� The middle-aged nurses he did not mind; they were like mothers to him, and they understood.� But to younger generations, he was Nick Carter, the Backstreet Boy, the celebrity.� He was not supposed to be lying in a hospital bed, mostly bald and puking nonstop.

“Here,” he mumbled, holding the filled basin out toward her without looking at her.

“Oh!� S-sure!� I-I can rinse that out for you.”� He felt her take the basin from his hand and chanced a look at her, only to catch the look of surprise on her pretty, young face.

“Sorry, guess you’re not used to this.”� He gave her a wan smile.

“Oh, no, it’s... it’s not that,” she said quickly.� “I just came b-because, um, well, I know you’re not accepting phone calls, but B-Brian Littrell called, and he begged me to come see if you would take his call.”� She said this last bit very fast, and he noticed her face turning bright red.� He recognized the starstruck look of a fan and smiled, relaxing a bit.

“Oh.� Well, thank you.� Yeah, I’ll take his call.”

She grinned.� “Okay.� Here you go.”� She picked up the phone from the bedside table, pressed a button, and handed it to him.

“Hello?”

“Nick, finally!� You wouldn’t believe the hoops I had to jump through just to get you to answer!” came Brian’s Kentucky drawl.

Nick laughed weakly and said, “Just a minute, Rok.”� Cupping his hand over the mouthpiece, he asked the nurse, “Would you get me a pen when you bring that back?”

“Oh, sure!”� She hurried away with his basin.

Smiling slightly, Nick put the phone back to his ear.� “’Kay, I’m here.� Sorry, one of the nurses is a fan.”

Brian chuckled.� “Yeah, must be the one I talked to.� I had to sing to her over the freaking phone to get her to believe who I was and come get you to talk to me.”

Nick laughed.� “Did you really?”

“Sure did.”

The nurse came back then and gave Nick the empty basin and the pen with a hurried, “There you go.”

Blushing, she started to turn away and leave again, but Nick mumbled a quick, “Hang on again, Bri,” and said to the nurse, “Hey, wait a minute.”

She turned back.� “Yeah?”

He swung his tray in front of him, grabbed the napkin from his dinner plate, and checked her nametag.� Samantha was her name.� Smiling, he scribbled a quick note to her on the napkin and scrawled his signature across the bottom, handing it to her along with the pen.

Glancing down at it, she grinned and whispered, “Thank you!”

“No problem, hon,” he replied, managing a slightly feeble version of the Carter half-smile that he knew his adoring female fans all loved so much.� The look on her face was priceless and brought a genuine smile to his own as she uttered another empathetic thanks and left the room, positively glowing.

Once he was alone, he brought the phone back up and said, “’Kay, I’m back.� I just signed her a quick autograph.”

“That was nice of you.”

“Well, you know me,” Nick muttered sarcastically.� “So, what’s up?”

“That’s what I was calling you for.� Nothing much is going on here; Leigh’s finishing up dinner, and Baylee’s playing here in front of me, and I thought I’d call and check up on you.� How you doing?”

“Eh... okay...” Nick said slowly.

Brian could see right through him, even over the phone.� “Yeah, right.� You don’t sound like you’re okay.� How are you really?” he pressed.

“To be honest?� Sick.� I never knew a person could throw up so much in one day,” Nick admitted, seeing no point in trying to hide the truth from his best friend any longer.

“Aww... Nick, are you sure you don’t me or somebody to come down there?”

How many times was he going to ask this?� “For the last time, no,” Nick replied, half irritated, half flattered that Brian cared so much.� “Jeez, Brian, I think you’re turning into your cousin.”

“NOOO!” Brian screamed in mock horror, and Nick laughed.

They say laughter is the best medicine, but all that jostling wasn’t really too good for his stomach.� Suddenly very queasy, Nick choked out, “Oh God, hang on,” tossed the phone down, and leaned over the clean basin once more, vomiting a pale yellow solution of stomach acid and not much else, for he hadn’t eaten a thing all day.� It burned as it went up his throat and left a bitter taste in his mouth, which he rinsed out with water.� He carefully set the basin aside and picked up the phone again.� “Sorry,” he said weakly.

“Are you okay?� Were you just throwing up, Nick?”

“Maybe...”

“Nick... God, somebody should be there with you.� You know, your mother should be with you.� Why isn’t she?”

“Cause she don’t know I’m here, and I don’t want her to.� I don’t talk to her anymore.”

Brian sighed heavily.� “You are so damn stubborn.� Well, listen, I know you probably feel like crap now, so I’ll let you go.� Try to get some sleep, and feel better, okay?� Call if you need anything.”

“Okay,” Nick replied.� “Bye, Bri.”

“Bye, Nick.”

They hung up, and Nick lay down in bed, waiting desperately for his stomach to settle.

At some point, he must have fallen asleep, for when he closed his eyes, it was growing dark, and when he opened them again, it was light.� He wondered vaguely if he had been given something to make him sleep.� Still groggy, he looked around the room and was startled to see a figure slumped in a chair in the corner of the room.� Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he stared in astonishment.

“Mom?”

***

At the sound of his voice, Jane Carter shifted in her chair and opened her eyes.� “Nicky,” she whispered, smiling tiredly.� Rising slowly, she dragged the chair over to his bed and sat down again.� “How are you feeling?”

“What are you doing here?” he asked her, ignoring her question.

“What do you mean, what am I doing here?� I came to see you, of course,” she replied matter-of-factly.

“Well, yeah, I figured that, but... why?� I mean... how did you know I was here?”

“Brian called.� He said... uh... he said you weren’t doing too well...”� She studied her manicured fingernails, purposely avoiding his eyes as her voice tapered off.

Nick rolled his eyes, muttering crossly, “Brian overreacts.”

“Not by the looks of things.”

Nick’s eyes narrowed.� “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Jane glanced up quickly, then looked away as soon as their eyes met.� “I just mean that you don’t... well... you... you don’t look good.”

Nick sighed in disgust.� “Is that the only thing you care about?� What I fucking look like?� Yeah, I look like shit, okay, I know!� I can’t help it – it’s the damn chemo.”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant-“

“Well, I lost weight, I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear that.� Look, you see!”� He tore off the covers, exposing his body, which had thinned considerably since the last time she had seen him.� “At least now you can’t badger me about my weight anymore.”

A hurt look crossed his mother’s eyes, and part of him felt guilty.� But secretly, another part was glad.� Half of him wanted to hurt her, wanted to make her feel bad.� She had done it to him so many times before... she deserved it, as far as he was concerned.

“Nicky-“

“Don’t call me that; I’m not five anymore.� I don’t need to be babied, and you don’t have to come all the way to Florida, pretending to be my mother, just because I’m sick.”

He knew he should stop saying things like that; he was going too far, he was crossing the line.� But at the moment, he didn’t care.� Caught up in the moment, wanting to release the months of pent-up anger at her, he kept firing his mouth off, not thinking, not taking her feelings into consideration at all.

She was crying now, silent, her head down, forehead resting against the heel of her hand.� He stopped.� “Mom?” he asked, his tone softening.� She did not respond.� “Mom?” he said again.� “I’m sorry.� I...”� He started to go on, to apologize, to tell her he hadn’t meant most of the things he had said, but the intense emotions seemed to have caught up with him, and he suddenly felt extremely nauseous.� Not again, not now, he thought miserably, diving for the emesis basin.� He retrieved it just in time and slanted over it, heaving.

He could not see much while he was doubled over, choking and retching, but all of a sudden, he felt a hand lightly touch his back.� Too weak to pull away, he continued to throw up, allowing her to gently rub his back.� When he was done, she said softly, “Here, let me take that” and placed the basin on the bedside table.� Then she eased him back down into bed and whispered, “Hang on just a minute.”� She left his side and went into the bathroom, where he heard water running.� Then she returned, carrying a warm, damp cloth, which she handed to him to wipe his mouth with.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, too drained to be angry with her anymore.

She only sat back down, and silence filled the room.� It was broken by her quiet inquiry, “How often do you throw up like that?”

“I dunno... a lot,” he answered tiredly.� “It’s no biggie; I’m pretty much used to it by now.”� This, of course, was far from true, but he couldn’t let her know that.� He was a grown man; he couldn’t be bitching and whining about throwing up.� That would only make her worry more, if indeed she really was concerned about him.� He kind of figured she had to be though, to come all the way from California.� Either that or this was all some publicity stunt.� He tried to push that possibility far from his mind and be optimistic.

“Oh, baby...” Jane whispered, her voice filled with sorrow.� Gingerly, she reached out and touched his bare left shin.� Running her fingers lightly over his skin, she said, “So this is where it all started, huh?”

“Yup.”

“How does your leg feel?� Does it hurt?”

“Yeah.� It still hurts to walk on it, and it throbs sometimes, you know.� I got pain meds for that though, and they help.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

The small talk diminished, and Jane sat back in her chair, nervously biting her lip, not knowing what to say.� Racking his brain, Nick asked casually, “So, how’s the rest of the family?� They’re all still in Cali, right?”

“Yeah, they stayed behind this time,” replied Jane.� “I thought it would be better if maybe I just came to see you at first.� But if you want them to come-“

“No, not now,” Nick interrupted quickly.� “They don’t need to see me like this... ‘specially the kids, you know.� Aaron and Angel.� It’ll probably freak ‘em out.”

Jane nodded.� “I think your brother’s plenty freaked out already.”

“Is he?”� Nick felt bad, wishing he’d called Aaron, talked to him about this.� The last time he had heard from his brother was before the TRL appearance, before the whole world found out about his cancer.

“Yeah... he doesn’t really talk about it though.� You know boys – never want to share their emotions.”

Nick smiled.� Well, that was definitely true.� “I’ll call him sometime, when I’m feeling a little better,” Nick promised.

“And when will that be?� When will you get out of here?” Jane wondered.

“Probably tomorrow morning.� I’m just in here so they can test the new chemo.”

“Yes, that’s what Brian told me.� Well, that’s good.”

“Yeah.”

Again, they drifted off into silence.� For the past few years, Nick’s relationship with his mother had been strained at best, so this conversation was really not much different from the usual ones.� Small talk or arguing – that’s usually what their conversations consisted of.� At least the cancer hadn’t changed that.� Nick only hoped that maybe, somehow, his being sick would help bring them back together, repair their broken relationship.

Their broken relationship... it seemed everything in his life was broken these days... even his life itself.� Nothing was going right anymore.� There was a time, just a few months ago, when he had been on top of the world.� Now his love life was nonexistent, his family ties were frayed, he felt suffocated by his bandmates and separated from his other friends... not to mention, he was suffering from a life-threatening illness.� His whole world was crashing down, falling apart.� Breaking.

Could it ever be fixed?

***

Birds chirped lightheartedly, and a warm summer breeze wafted through the slightly open window, rattling the mini-blinds and freshening the small, stuffy room.� The sun shined through the slates of the blinds, creating strips of light amidst the shadows across the tiled floor of the dimmed enclosure.� It was a perfect June day in Tampa, Florida, and had it been a normal one, Nick Carter would have been out in it, probably cruising in one of his boats.

But, of course, it was not a normal day, just as no day had been normal since that fateful one in March, when he had been told he had Ewing’s Sarcoma, a form of bone cancer.� And now, on this beautiful summer afternoon, he was cooped up inside a hospital, fighting nausea, battling chemotherapy, combating cancer.

His mother had been there with him, but she had gone for lunch at his insistence, and he was rather glad.� Though she had only been there a matter of hours, he was already sick of her hovering over him and somehow knew that deep down, she was probably enjoying their brief separation just as much as he was.

This whole scenario – the hospital, the medications, and naturally, the big c-word – made her very uncomfortable, he could tell.� Although she tried to hide it, he could see it in her eyes whenever she looked at him.� Every time a nurse came to check on him and adjust his IV, he noticed her gaze drift down to the catheter implanted just below his collarbone, where an IV line ran into him and dispensed his chemotherapy drugs, the drugs that had been making him violently ill and constantly nauseated for the past two days.� It scared her, he knew, though she would never admit it.� And he felt bad, but it wasn’t like there was a thing he could do about it.

The truth was, it scared him too.� Not the catheter and the tubes and the stench of medicine – no, he was used to all that by now.� It was simply the cancer that terrified him and the possibility that it would take away the rest of his life.� He was only twenty-three, far too young to die, and yet, he very well could.� His chances of beating the cancer were good; at least that’s what Dr. Kingsbury told him.� But still, he had cancer, and cancer killed.� That was the grim reality of it.� And that was what scared him.

The door to his room clicked open, offering a welcomed intrusion into his bleak thoughts.� He looked up, expecting to see his mother back already, but instead, a nurse walked in.� Slightly relieved, he pasted on a pleasant smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and mumbled a “Hi” in greeting.

“Hello,” replied the nurse, whom he hadn’t seen there before.� He glanced at her nametag – Karen.� “I’m just here to check vitals.”� She had a cute accent... Australian, maybe?

“Hey, where you from?” Nick asked.� “You from Down Under?� Crikey!” he added, doing his best Crocodile Hunter impression.

A smile tugged on the corners of her mouth as she tried to keep a straight face.� “Uh, no, I’m English, actually,” she replied.

“English?� Oh, like from England?”

“Yes, England.”

“Oh.� Like the Bayt-uhls.”

“Yes,” Karen replied, her eyes twinkling, smiling at him in a way that made him feel rather stupid.� He shot her his half-smile, hoping to make up for it.� “So, how are you feeling?” she asked, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm.

Pausing to survey his symptoms, Nick was surprised to realize that he really didn’t feel too nauseous at the moment.� He didn’t exactly feel good, for he was tired and weak and sort of clammy, but still, it was an improvement over the way he had been feeling earlier.� Maybe he was adjusting to this new chemo after all.

“Okay, I guess,” he answered, as Karen pumped the cuff until it was uncomfortably tight around his arm.

“Your BP’s 120/70 – that’s very good,” commented the nurse as she unstrapped the cuff.

“Oh,” replied Nick.� “Uh, good.”

“Now let me just check your temp...”� She stuck a thermometer in his ear, and seconds later, it beeped.� Pulling it out, she held it up and frowned at the reading on it.

“Don’t tell me I’ve got a fever,” Nick groaned, watching her expression carefully.

Karen bit her lip.� “Let me take it again; this device is a bit dodgy at times.”� She put the thermometer back into his ear, and again, the reading was met with a frown.� “Well,” she sighed, “it looks as if you have a fever, Mr. Carter.� 100.2.”

“Oh,” said Nick, “well that ain’t that bad.� I’ve had temps much higher than that before.� One time, a few years ago, I had the flu, and it was like 103-“

“I hate to tell you, but it could be serious,” Karen interrupted him grimly.� “Fever is a sign of infection, and the chemotherapy lowers your white count, which makes it much more difficult for your body to fight infection.� I’ll fetch a doctor.”� She bustled out of the room, and something about the way she was hurrying made an icy block of fear form in the pit of Nick’s stomach.

And suddenly, he didn’t feel well at all.� Maybe it the effects of fever setting in, or maybe it was only psychosomatic, but all of a sudden, he was not only nauseous, but dizzy and trembling, cold one minute, hot the next.� It felt no different than having the flu, but the flu was nothing, and this, according to the nurse, could be something.

Karen returned a few minutes later with a Hispanic man in a white lab coat – the doctor, Nick assumed.� She was speaking rapidly to him in her quaint British accent.� “I took it twice, Gustavo, and the reading was the same – 100.2 degrees Fahrenheit.”

“You are right; it could be an infection,” replied the unfamiliar doctor in a heavy Spanish accent.

Deliriously, Nick smiled, finding it interesting to hear the two very different accents blending together as the nurse and doctor conversed.� But immediately, the doctor’s attention was turned to him, and the serious expression on his face wiped the hint of a smile from Nick’s.

“I am Dr. Lugo, Mr. Carter,” the doctor said.

“Uh, hi... where’s Dr. Kingsbury?”

“She’s not on call at the moment.� She should be here later this evening.� But do not worry, I will care for you until she arrives,” assured Dr. Lugo, leaning over Nick’s bed and pressing his fingertips into Nick’s neck, feeling all down his jawline.� His hands were cool and felt nice on Nick’s warm skin.� “Your glands are swollen.� You are developing an infection.”

“So what does that mean?” Nick asked nervously.

“It means we are going to move you into the Intensive Care so that we can observe you more closely.”� Nick’s heart thudded rapidly in his chest; he didn’t like the sound of that.� “Karen, order a CBC and lytes and call transport.”

“Certainly, Dr. Lugo.”� Karen walked out, leaving Nick alone with the doctor.

“Are you moving me now?” he asked.

“In a little while, when transport comes to take you to the ICU.� I need to get going now, but I will come to check on you later.� Your nurse Karen will be back to take some blood in a few minutes.”

“Okay,” Nick said grudgingly, and Dr. Lugo left the room as well.� He lay there, nervous and frightened, until Karen returned.

“I just need a blood sample,” she said, “and I can take it from your central line without having to stick you.”� Nick nodded, used to this by now.� He tugged the strings tying his hospital gown in the back until they came undone and let her slide the gown off his chest and shoulders so that his catheter was exposed.� Karen expertly inserted a needle into the port, and a few minutes later, she had a small vial of his blood.� “I’m going to take this to the lab now,” she told him.� “Someone should be here to take you to ICU in just a bit, Mr. Carter.”

“Thanks,” Nick replied dully and watched her leave again.

Lying alone in his bed, feeling weak and feverish, he thought of his mother and wondered if she would be back after lunch.� Suddenly, he wanted her there with him.� The prospect of being shipped off to the Intensive Care ward by himself scared him.� ICU – that was for really sick people.� He didn’t like to think of himself as “really sick.”� But the reality was slowly sinking in – he was really sick.� Not only did he have cancer, but now an infection... an infection that, according to the doctor and nurse, could be very serious.� They both seemed worried, which made him terrified.� Infection, intensive care... God, what if he died?

His whole body felt like it was on fire, and then, suddenly, he was cold again.� Shivering under his meager bedcovers, he was suddenly painfully aware of his own mortality.� He had been ever since the diagnosis of Ewing’s Sarcoma, but now, listening to his heart beat erratically in his ears and feeling the perspiration slide down his burning forehead, he really felt it... the fear, the fear of death.

“Are you Nickolas Carter?”

Nick looked up to see a short black man in navy blue scrubs standing in his doorway.

“Yeah,” he said weakly, and the man nodded and came further into the room, wheeling a gurney with him.

“Can you slide on over to this for me?” the man asked, positioning the gurney right next to Nick’s bed.� Nodding, Nick painfully eased himself onto the gurney, realizing just how weak he had become.� The man covered Nick in a thin sheet, tucking it around his chest and put the sides up on the gurney, making Nick feel somewhat like an infant in a crib.� Then, without a word, he wheeled Nick out of the safety of his room and off toward the unknown world of Intensive Care.

***

In the ICU, there were no private rooms, just glass cubicles for each patient. �Nick was taken to one in the far corner and helped from the gurney onto the bed.� Immediately, a nurse came up to his bed.

“Hi, Mr. Carter, my name is Mersey, and I just need to get you hooked up to some monitors so we can keep track of everything that’s going on with you better,” she said and immediately started bustling around him.� Hooking up an IV line to his catheter port, she explained, “We’re going to start you on antibiotics to help you fight the infection.”

Nick nodded, watching as Mersey hung a bag of liquid on the IV pole beside his bed.� Then she started sticking small, round leads to his chest.� Even before she went to explain what they were for, he blurted, “Is there something wrong with my heart?”

“Oh, no, sweetie,” Mersey said quickly, smiling down at him.� “We just like to keep track of everything here in ICU, and your heartbeat is one of them.”� She flipped a switch on a machine somewhere above his head, and he heard the familiar “blip... blip... blip” of a heart monitor.� And though she said it was routine, it scared the shit out of him, reminding him just how much he hated hospitals and all things medical.

By the time Mersey was done, he had several IV lines coming out of his catheter, giving him various intravenous drugs, and was attached to numerous other monitors.� A thin canula had been put into his nostrils, giving him oxygen.� It tickled and made him want to sneeze, but when he complained that he could breathe just fine, Mersey only shook her head and replied, “Sorry, it’s pretty much standard that all ICU patients go on oxygen.”

She finally left him alone, but he didn’t feel alone at all – in fact, he now knew what it might feel like to be a goldfish trapped in a fishbowl, for that’s exactly what he felt like trapped in that glass cubicle.� Doctors and nurses bustled all around, checking on patients, and when he had strength enough to keep his eyes open, he could see everything.� The only good thing was that most of the other patients there were probably too sick to care that he was Nick Carter, Backstreet Boy, so no one bothered him.

As promised, Dr. Lugo came to see him shortly after he had gotten settled in.� “We’re still waiting on your lab results,” he told Nick.� “How do you feel?”

“Like crap,” Nick admitted honestly.

“I’m sorry.� The antibiotics should help make you feel better,” the doctor replied, motioning to the IV.� As he flipped open Nick’s chart and started to scribble something on it, Nick heard a familiar voice talking loudly to a nurse outside his cubicle.� Looking up, he saw his mother brush past Mersey and burst in.

“Nick!” she cried frantically, dashing up to him.� “Oh God, baby... what happened??”

“I have some kind of infection,” Nick murmured quietly, as his mother fussed over him, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead and brushing back the last wispy tufts of hair that clung to his almost-bald scalp.� At some point, he had been wearing a bandana to hide that, but it had been removed sometime during all the hubbub when he got to the ICU.� By now, he felt too ill to care.

“That’s what that nurse told me, but how?” Jane Carter demanded, looking from Nick to Dr. Lugo.� Speaking more to him than to Nick, she said, “He was perfectly fine when I left an hour ago, and now he’s in Intensive Care.� What the hell happened?”

“Your son has probably been battling this infection for awhile longer than that, Mrs. Carter, but the symptoms did not start to appear until a short while ago.� We have him on antibiotics now though, and hopefully they will combat the infection.”

“Hopefully?� What do you mean, ‘hopefully’?� They damn well better get rid of the infection!” Jane cried hysterically, her eyes blazing.

“Mrs. Carter, please calm down,” Dr. Lugo said patiently, his mellow accented voice never rising.� “We will not know what kind of infection it is until we get Nick’s bloodwork back, but it does not seem too critical at the moment.”

Jane nodded, some of the color leaving her cheeks as she settled down and focused her attention back on Nick.� “Do you need anything, sweetheart?” she asked, a tone of false cheeriness creeping into her voice.

“I’m kinda cold,” Nick shivered.

Turning to Dr. Lugo, she snapped, “Did you hear him, he’s cold!� He needs another blanket!”

“I’ll have a nurse bring one, ma’am,” Dr. Lugo said with a nod and ducked out of the room, looking slightly intimidated.� Nick rolled his eyes and then shut them all together, remembering why he hadn’t wanted his mother around earlier.� This was going to be a long afternoon.

***

“So, it’s true.� I’m off for one morning, and you totally fall apart on me.� What is going on, Nick?” teased Dr. Kingsbury, eyes sparkling mischievously as she smiled down at Nick.� Just as Dr. Lugo had promised, she had come on duty that evening and had stopped by right after dinner to check in with him.� Jane had gone to the bathroom, and he was glad to have a chance to talk to Dr. Kingsbury before his mother could harass her the way she had the rest of the staff the entire day.

Nick managed a weak smile.� “Well, hopefully now that you’re here, you can fix me up,” he said softly, his voice hopeful.

“Well, Nick, your bloodwork came back, and I just saw it.� It looks like you have the flu.”

“The flu?” Nick repeated.� “Well, that ain’t that bad.”

“Well, it could be worse, at least it’s not pneumonia.� But the thing is, influenza – the flu – is a viral infection.� That means it can’t be treated with antibiotics like a bacterial infection can.� So all we can do is keep you hydrated, try to keep your fever down, and wait it out.”

“Oh.� That sucks,” Nick sighed tiredly.� “So when can I go home?”

Dr. Kingsbury pursed her lips.� “Not for a few more days at least.� Once you’re through the worst of this, I’ll probably be able to release you, but it’s too risky right now.”

Nick sighed again.� “That’s what I figured.”

“Well, look on the bright side,” Dr. Kingsbury said with a sympathetic smile, “we did stop your chemo to give you a chance to recover.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” Nick muttered, but really, it made no difference to him.� He was still nauseated, only now it was because of the flu, not the chemo.� Big deal.

Over the beep of the heart monitor, he heard the familiar rapid clicking of high heels on the tiled floor and knew that his mother was returning.

“Oh!” exclaimed Dr. Kingsbury in surprise when Jane entered Nick’s cubicle.� “You must be Mrs. Carter.”

“Yes,” Jane said, eyeing the other woman.� “Are you Nick’s doctor?”

“Yes.� Barbara Kingsbury,” Dr. Kingsbury introduced herself, extending her hand to Jane.

Jane shook it and promptly said, “Nick’s still not feeling well.� What can you do to make him better?”

“Well, as I was just telling your son, his labs are back, and it looks like he has the flu.� It’s serious in chemo patients, but it could always be worse.� The problem is, it’s viral, so it can’t be treated with antibiotics.� So we’ll be taking Nick off the antibiotics.”

“Then how will you get rid of it?” Jane demanded.

“The only thing that will take care of the flu is time.� We just have to keep Nick as healthy as possible and wait it out,” Dr. Kingsbury explained.

Jane’s eyes narrowed skeptically.� “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Of course I do,” Dr. Kingsbury replied evenly.� “Ask anyone – there is no treatment for the flu other then plenty of fluids and rest.� And that’s what Nick is getting now.� So we’ll keep him here a few more days until his body is able to fight it off.”

Nick half expected his mother to question the doctor again, but she did not.� Instead, she smiled, took Nick’s hand, and said, “Did you hear that, honey?� You’re going to be better in a few days.”

“I heard, Mom, I’m not deaf,” Nick muttered dryly, sick to death of her bitching at the hospital staff one minute and treating him like a little boy the next.� Why couldn’t she just accept that the staff was qualified and he was an adult and just treat everyone respectably for a change?

“Don’t smart off to me,” Jane snapped, giving his hand a hard squeeze, then dropping it.

“Whatever.� I’m going to sleep.”� Half because he truly was tired and half out of defiance, Nick closed his eyes.� Dr. Kingsbury left, and he feigned sleep, faking it until he really did drift off into a fatigued slumber.

***

Nick woke up completely disoriented.� Taking a moment for his senses to absorb everything around him, he became aware of the steady, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor, which brought the previous day’s events all back to him.� He was in ICU, sick with the flu.� And at some point, he had falling asleep.� He looked around for his mother, wanting to know the time, but she was not in the cubicle with him anymore.� And, seeing as there were no windows in the ICU, he had absolutely no idea what time of day it was or how long he had been out.

He heard murmuring voices outside his cubicle, and, looking in their direction, he saw the nurse from the day before, Mersey, talking to another nurse.� He recognized the other as one of the Oncology nurses, the young pretty one for whom he had signed an autograph.� Samantha was her name, if he remembered correctly.

Samantha glanced over him now, her features brightening when she saw that he was awake.� She and Mersey both came into his cubicle.

“I was wondering when you were going to wake up,” Mersey said with a smile, coming up to his bed.� “How are you feeling?”

“Kinda crappy,” replied Nick.� Totally shitty was better phrase to describe how he was feeling.� He felt shivery and weak all over, and even though he was lying down, a slight sense of dizziness plagued him.� His chest was tight, and there was an odd buzzing in his head.� Surprisingly, his stomach felt fairly calm, thanks to the termination of his chemo treatments.� He was grateful for that much.

“What time is it?” he wondered.

“Just after ten.”

“Oh my God... I slept a long time then,” said Nick in surprise.

“Yes, you did.� That’s good though; it will help your body fight the infection.� Can I get you some water or ice chips or anything?” Mersey offered.

“Water would be good,” said Nick, licking his dry lips.� Mersey nodded and left the cubicle, and Samantha stepped forward.

“Hi,” she said.� “How are they treating you up here?”

Nick smiled.� “Just fine,” he assured her tiredly.

“That’s good.� Well, I just wanted to let you know that there’s someone here to see you, if you want.� Do you feel up to a visitor, or should I tell her you’re not feeling well?”

Her?� “Who is it, my mom?” Nick asked curiously, somehow doubting it was his mother.� She came and went as she pleased; no one ever asked for his permission to let her visit.� But who else could it be?� He didn’t really have any close female friends, his sisters were in California, his love life was now nonexistent, and certainly they wouldn’t let a fan up to visit.

“No, I saw your mom in the cafeteria; she’s getting breakfast,” replied Samantha.� “This is Claire Ryan; she said she’s a friend of yours?”

“Oh,” Nick said, brightening.� “Yeah, let Claire in.”

“Are you sure?� Because technically, only immediate family is supposed to be allowed in here.� But she begged me to tell you she was here, and you know Claire, she just has a way about her.”

Nick chuckled.� “Yeah, I know.� Let her on in; I’ll just say she’s my sister if anyone asks.”

Samantha smiled.� “Okay.� I’ll go bring her in.”

“Thanks, hon.”� Nick flashed her the half-smile, causing her to blush, and then watched as she walked quickly away, his gazed focused right on her ass.� Hm, not bad, he thought, wondering vaguely if there was some rule about nurses and patients having relationships.

Ha, as if.� Like any woman would ever be attracted to him now.� He knew if the fans got a load of him, of his nearly bald head, his pallid skin, and the small tube coming out of his chest, among other things, they would be disgusted.

He knew he was being shallow, but God, he missed his looks.� He had taken them for granted, not really seeing himself as “cute” or “hot” or “fine” or “sexy” or whatever the fans liked to call him.� He had often wondered what it was they saw in him.� He’d never really figured it out; he’d just come to realize that if he did the half-smile or stuck his tongue out, he could get a good reaction out of most girls, both young and old.

But now, when he looked into the mirror, he saw a hideous wreck of the man he used to be, a deterioration of the old Nick.� No one would say he was “hot” now, and it made him yearn for the blonde hair he had haphazardly spiked with gel every day without thought, the tan he had gotten without really noticing just from being out in the Florida sun.� It was stupid, he knew, to be thinking about what he looked like when he was so sick.� But he couldn’t help it.

Samantha returned, Claire in tow.� Her head was covered with a bandana, as always, and today, she wore a surgical mask over her mouth and nose.

“Heya, Baldy,” she teased, blue eyes sparkling, as she plopped down in the chair beside his bed that Jane had formerly occupied.

“Baldy?” Nick repeated indignantly, trying to play it off, as if the name didn’t really sting.� He knew she was just playing with him, but he was self-conscious.� “Who you callin’ Baldy?”� Playfully reaching up, he quickly swiped the bandana from her head, exposing her shiny, bald scalp.

“Hey, give that back!” Claire squealed, laughing as she grabbed the bandana from his hand.� But she did not put it back on, only dropped it to her lap.

“So, uh, what’s with the mask?” Nick asked casually.

“Oh, well, I didn’t wanna pass any of my cooties on to you, and I didn’t want to catch the flu from you either.”

“Oh, why not?� It’s great fun,” Nick remarked sarcastically.� “You could get the cubicle next door to me.”� With a wave of his hand, he motioned to the area on the other side of the glass partition.

“Sorry, I think I’ll pass.”

Nick smiled.� “So... what are you doing up here?� Came all the way to see me, did you?”

She laughed.� “Not quite.� I was in oncology, and I heard one of the nurses say that you were in ICU.”

“Oh, did you have an appointment or something today?”

“No, I was just visiting some of the kids there.� I come up a lot when I’m not working and hang out with them, read to them and stuff.� It gets boring, you know, and the nurses and people don’t have time to keep them occupied.”

“That’s really sweet of you,” Nick said sincerely.� “You know, it gets boring here too...”

“Want me to read to you?” Claire laughed.� Bending down, she opened up her bag and pulled out a thin, yellow book.� “’Curious George Flies a Kite’,” she said, holding it up.� “It’s a masterpiece.”

Nick chuckled.� “So you like kids, do you?”

“Sure, love ‘em.� How about you?”

“Yeah... I like kids,” Nick replied, and his mind wandered to Brian’s son, his godson.� He hadn’t seen Baylee in months; maybe he would look into making another visit to Atlanta when he was better and out of the hospital.� He was sure Brian wouldn’t mind.

“So anyway,” Claire said, “when do you think you’ll get out of this place?”

Nick shrugged.� “I dunno... Dr. Kingsbury said probably not for a few days.”

“That sucks.� Well, I’ll come hang out with you if you want,” she offered.

He smiled.� “That would be cool.� You’re a lot better to hang out with than my mom.� I dunno why, but all of a sudden, she’s gotten very...”� He searched for the right word, “... clingy.”

Claire nodded knowingly.� “Yeah, I bet.� My mom’s the same way.� Good thing she and my dad are living in Gainesville; otherwise they’d be at my place all the time.� It’s bad enough that my mom calls almost every day, just ‘checking up on me’.”

Nick chuckled.� “Well, my mom-“� And then he stopped, for as he said the words, he noticed her walking through the ICU toward his cubicle.� “Speaking of which...”

“Oh, you’re awake!” Jane exclaimed brightly when she got inside the cubicle, hurrying over to his bed and kissing his forehead.� That was strange, for he couldn’t remember the last time his mother had kissed him.� It had been a very long time.� “And who are you?” Jane asked flatly, as if suddenly noticing Claire was sitting there with him.

“My name’s Claire Ryan,” Claire introduced herself, offering her hand for Jane to shake.

Jane just looked at it a moment and ignored it, asking instead, “Are you a patient here?”

“Off and on.� I’m not now though.� I was just here visiting some other people and heard that Nick was up here.”

“Only family members are supposed to be allowed back here,” Jane said coldly.

“It’s okay, Mom,” Nick broke in quickly.� “Claire’s a friend; I don’t mind.� We talked one of the nurses into letting her come back; she’s supposedly my ‘sister’.”� He smiled, but Jane did not return it.

“Um, I’d better go now anyway,” Claire said, standing up and glancing at Nick.� He saw the uncomfortable look in her eyes and felt a flash of rage streak through him.

“You don’t have to go,” he said sharply, glaring at his mother and then looking back at Claire.

“No, I really should get home anyway,” she said.� “You take care of yourself, Nick, and feel better.� I’ll see you later.”� She winked, and Nick managed a small smile, still pissed at his mother.

“Okay,” he said reluctantly.� “See ya, Claire.”

Claire left, and as soon as she was out of earshot, he turned to his mother, eyes blazing.� “What the fuck was that all about?” he demanded angrily.

“What was what about?” Jane asked innocently and then reprimanded, “And don’t swear.”

“You know what I’m talking about.� You were rude; you treated Claire like crap.� You practically kicked her out.”

“I did not,” Jane said haughtily, nostrils flaring in indignation.� “She just didn’t look well to me, that’s all.� I didn’t want her getting sick from you.”

“Yeah right,” Nick muttered.� “She didn’t look well cause she’s got cancer, and she had a mask on specifically so she wouldn’t get sick from me.� You were just treating her the way you treat any girl you see me with.”

“Well, she’s not a whore, is she, not like that last girlfriend of yours?”

Nick sighed heavily.� “I wish you’d drop that,” he said through gritted teeth.� “And for your information, Claire is not a stripper, and she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Good,” Jane said quickly, angering Nick even further.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” he spat.� “Good that she’s not a stripper, or good that she’s not my girlfriend?”

“Both,” Jane said simply.

“Why?”

“Oh, Nick, honestly!” Jane exploded, throwing her hands up in exasperation.� “You have a reputation to uphold – what would people think if they saw you with a girl like that?”

Nick’s mouth dropped open.� He was utterly speechless – she did not just say that.� “Oh my God, Mom... get out!”

“Nickolas-“

“No, get the fuck out of here!� I cannot take this shit from you anymore!� Get out!” he screamed, wrenching himself up into a sitting position, his chest heaving.

“Nicky, don’t, you’re getting yourself all worked up,” Jane said fretfully.

“GET OUT!” he shouted.

Mersey, his nurse, dashed into the cubicle.� “Is there a problem?” she asked, looking from Nick to Jane and back to Nick.

“No-“ Jane started to say, but Nick interrupted her.

“Yes!� I want her out of here!”

Mersey nodded.� “Mrs. Carter, why don’t you step outside with me.� Maybe you can go and get some coffee, take a little break.”� She put her hand on Jane’s shoulder to guide her out, but Jane pushed her away.

“I just had coffee; I’m staying with my son!” she protested defiantly.

“Mrs. Carter, your son has requested some time alone.� We have to obey his wishes.� Please come with me.”� Again, Mersey reached out to touch Jane, but Jane ducked away from her grasp.� “Mrs. Carter, if you don’t leave the ICU with me right now, I’ll have to call security.”

That stopped Jane.� Smoothing her clothes, she nodded and composedly followed Mersey out of the cubicle, her head held high, refusing to look at Nick as she left.� He was glad; he didn’t want to look at her either.

When she had disappeared, he sank back down into bed.� Oh God, he really didn’t need all that.� He felt truly horrible now, hot and light-headed and short of breath.� His chest felt as if an elephant was perched on it, pressing down on his ribcage, and it was hard to breathe.

“Are you all right, Nick?” Mersey asked, breezing back into the cubicle.

“No,” Nick said, beginning to cough.� “I don’t feel so good,” he managed to choke out, violent coughs racking his body.� “I can’t... breathe...”� He started to pull himself up, panicking.

“Shh, calm down...”� Easing him back down, Mersey quickly pressed a stethoscope to his chest and listened.� A look of alarm crossing her face, she said quickly, “I’ll be right back.� I need to get a doctor.”� Then she ran from the cubicle, leaving him struggling for air, terrified, well aware of the fact that something was very wrong.

***

“You have pneumonia, Nick,” Dr. Kingsbury said, listening to Nick’s chest with her stethoscope.

“Pneumonia?” Nick gasped, coughing.

“Yes.� The flu has progressed to pneumonia.� I know you’re having trouble breathing, so we’re going to try an oxygen mask, and if that doesn’t work, we might have to put a tube down your throat to help you breathe.”

Oh no, that really didn’t sound good.� “No,” Nick rasped, “I think I’ll... be okay.� I just need... a minute to... catch my... breath.”

Dr. Kingsbury just shook her head and covered his mouth and nose with an oxygen mask.� Nick hated it immediately, but after a short while, breathing became easier, and he was able to relax.

“There you go, that’s better,” Dr. Kingsbury said soothingly.� “Now you keep this on, and I’ll be back to see how you’re doing in a little while.”� She smiled down at him, and he nodded, waving her off.� She left.

So he had pneumonia.� Well, that was just great.� It seemed he was never going to make it out of this place – first he was only going to have to stay two days for the chemo, then a few more days for the flu, and now who knew how long he would be stuck there, fighting pneumonia.� Pneumonia was very serious, he knew.� People could die from pneumonia, even people who weren’t on chemo or anything like that.

If having the flu had scared him, it was nothing compared to the fear he felt at the prospect of dying from pneumonia.� And now he was all alone – his mother was gone, Claire was gone... he had no one.� What if he died there, alone in the fishbowl that was ICU?� He thought of the many goldfish he had kept as pets during his youth and how, eventually, he’d found each one floating lifelessly on its side on top of the water, dead as a doornail.� If he could not fight off the pneumonia... that would be him (except for the floating on top of the water part).

***

“Dr. Kingsbury, his sats are down to 85.”

“Thanks, Mersey.� Get me an intubation tray,” replied Dr. Kingsbury.

“What does that mean?” Nick wheezed through the oxygen mask, as the nurse left his cubicle.

“It means you’re not getting enough oxygen,” replied Dr. Kingsbury.� “I’m going to have to put that tube I mentioned down your throat.”

“Oh no,” Nick moaned.� “I... I don’t want that...”

“Nick,” Dr. Kingsbury said seriously, looking him right in the eyes.� “I know that doesn’t sound like much fun, but if we don’t intubate, you will probably go into respiratory distress from the pneumonia.� And then you could die.”

Die.� The very word sent icy chills up and down Nick’s body, and he nodded his understanding.� “Okay... put the tube in then.”

Dr. Kingsbury nodded, giving him a tight smile.� “Now, when Mersey gets back with my supplies, I’m going to inject some medication into your IV that will put you to sleep.� When you wake up, the tube will be down your throat, and you will have a respirator breathing for you.� It can be a strange feeling, so we will probably keep you sedated until you can come off the respirator.� You’ll probably be a little out of it for the next few days.”

Nick nodded, trying to hide his terror.

Mersey returned, and Dr. Kingsbury set to work, assembling supplies and instruments on a stainless steel tray beside the bed.� Nick closed his eyes, not wanting to watch.

“Okay, Nick,” the doctor said finally.� “I’m going to inject this into your central line, and you’ll start to feel very sleepy.� Just relax, okay?”

Weakly, Nick nodded and closed his eyes, while she pulled back his gown to access his catheter, a small syringe in one hand.� “There,” she said a moment later, backing away.

The effects of the medication were almost instantaneous.� Suddenly, Nick could barely keep his eyes open.� He let them fall shut, and before he knew what was happening, he was carried away into a drug-induced sleep.

***

The water was gray and murky, wind-tossed.� Choppy waves rolled toward him, high and swift, some carrying him with their power, others washing over his head, drenching him in cold salt water that seemed to seep right through his skin, chilling him to the bone.� He coughed and choked as he was hit with another face full of water.� The force of it left his cheeks raw and stinging, his eyes burning, the taste of salt on his tongue.

He continued to tread water, keeping himself afloat, trying to dodge the waves, but he was growing steadily more tired.� His arms ached, but still, he kept them moving, knowing they were his only lifeline.� He looked around again, squinting into the horizon, frantic, searching for any sign of land or life.� But all around him, he could see nothing but ocean.� The very ocean that had been his friend for so long was now his mortal enemy, desperate to claim his life with its wild, tossing waters.

�“Help me!” Nick gasped, his shout cut short as his mouth filled with salty water.� He spat it out, gagging, coughing, still bobbing in the relentless waves.

His arms were betraying him now, his strength and endurance rapidly leaving him.� Again, he searched the wide expanse of water for a boat, and when he did not see one, he raised his eyes to the stormy skies, praying for a helicopter.� Lightning forked across the dark clouds, but there was no aircraft.

He was growing panicky now, his eyes filling with desperate tears, which spilled down his already wet cheeks, mixing with the salty sea as they dripped from his chin.� He took one last desperate survey of the scenery around him, praying for a way out, for a rescue.� And that’s when he saw it – something small gliding fluidly through the water toward him.

Not a boat.

A fin.

�“Oh my God,” he breathed, taking in another mouthful of seawater.� He froze, his whole body tensing up, his pounding heart the only muscle moving within it.� It was a shark; it had to be a shark.� His greatest fear.� And it was coming right at him.� He could see the fin rise and dip below the surface of the water, waves crashing over it, hiding it from his view.� But he knew it was there, swimming nearer and nearer, hunting him.

His mind seemed to freeze up right along with his body, and he had no idea what to do.� Swim?� But where?� If not... stay?� Try to keep still, hope that he would not aggravate the carnivorous creature into attacking?

Too scared shitless to hold still and stay near that animal, he chose the former and, boosted by a sudden rush of adrenaline, took off swimming, his arms flailing like a windmill, his legs kicking frenziedly behind him.� He was terrified the shark was right behind him, coming after him, but he refused to look back.� He just kept swimming, blindly, thoughtlessly, acting on pure instinct, the instinct that all creatures possess – survival.� The will to live.

He was slowing down, his lungs burning, his stomach cramping, his muscles weakening.� Water rushed over his head as he sank in the water, struggling to keep his head above the surface, struggling to keep swimming.� Hysterical, he chanced a look back just in time to see the fin sink swiftly beneath the dark water just a few feet away.� And before his mind had time to truly realize what was happening, he felt it.� A pinch on his left foot.� And he knew...

Just as he realized the shark had nipped him, it came again, only this time, it was not a pinch, but a sharp stabbing sensation, like a thousand knives being plunged into his shin.� And then came the tug.� Before he could resist, his exhausted body was yanked below the surface, the pressure and pain in his leg increasing.� He struggled, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, waving his arms blindly, kicking his right leg.� His foot connected hard with something, and then the pressure on his other leg vanished.

His heart thudding crazily inside his chest, his lungs screaming, desperate for oxygen, he used his arms to pull himself back to the surface.� Breaking through the water, he gasped and choked, sucking in mouthfuls of air.� As the pain in his lungs vanished, his leg began to sear with pain.� Forcing his eyes open, he chanced a look down and saw that the water around him was turning a deep shade of red, dyed with blood.� His blood.

Gritting his teeth, exhaustedly paddling his arms to keep himself afloat, he tried to lift his leg, only to find that he could not feel it.� The pain was agonizing, but... something was not right...� With a shaking hand, he reached below the surface and gingerly felt his thigh.� His fingertips traveled down it, reaching his knee, but when he tried to feel lower... nothing.

Crying out, he jerked his hand out of the water.� His fingertips were tinged light pink with diluted blood.� Panting, he threw back his head and floated on his back.� And then, he tried again to lift his left leg.� Pulling up his head as his body began to sink, he caught a glimpse of his leg raised above the water, and he saw it... the stump.� The bleeding stump of a leg, severed below the knee.

His stomach rolled, and he became violently ill, throwing up right there in the water.� He bobbed up and down, tossed by the waves, growing dizzy from shock and blood loss, knowing in some far region of his mind that he was about to die.� Weakly closing his eyes, he gave up, quit his struggle, letting himself sink beneath the stormy waters.� But just as his head went under, he heard it.

A voice.

�“Hello!” it called, a female voice with a strong British accent.

Up, he urged himself, struggling to reach the surface in a last ditch effort to live.� Weakly lifting his head above the water, he looked in the direction of his voice and saw a large rowboat coming toward him, the waves tossing it roughly from side to side.

�“Is anyone alive out there?” called the British voice.� “Can anyone hear me?”

He was taken back to the movie “Titanic,” which was odd because he had only seen the movie once, many years ago when it came out, and he had spent most of the end making fun of Howie for crying at it.� And why he was remembering this now, when he was near death, was beyond him, but the mind works in mysterious ways.

�“Help!” he screamed, his breath coming in shallow gasps, water rushing into his mouth and nose and covering his head.� “Help me!”

With the last tiny bit of strength, he reached one arm high above his head and flailed it back and forth above the water, the desperate signal of a drowning man.� As he was heaved up and down with the waves, he caught glimpses of the boat coming nearer and nearer.� Then...

�“We’ve got you,” said the British woman, and he saw hands reaching out to him.� Frantically, he reached out to them, and they grabbed him, pulling him up out of the water and hoisting him into the boat.� As his body hit the hard bottom of the boat with a painful thud, he looked up to see familiar faces hovering over him... Brian... AJ... Kevin... Howie... Karen, the British nurse from Oncology... Samantha, the young cute nurse... Mersey, from ICU... Dr. Lugo, the Spanish doctor... Dr. Kingsbury... and... Claire.

�“He’s lost his leg,” he heard Samantha whimper.

�“Never mind that,” said Dr. Kingsbury.� “It’s the infection we have to worry about.”

�“No, not the infection,” said Claire, speaking in a low, droning voice.� “The evil... it lurks down deep within... hiding till the strike begins... growing stronger every day... it shall take your breath away...”

�“We need to intubate,” Dr. Kingsbury interrupted, pushing Nick’s head down.� “Mersey, the tube.”� And Nick watched in horror as the nurse handed the doctor an empty brown cardboard paper towel roll.

�“No!” he cried.� “That won’t fit down my throat!”

�“Just relax, Nick...”

�“No!� No, stop, don’t!” he screamed, as Dr. Kingsbury hovered over him, tipping his head back and trying to force his mouth open.

�“Cut it out!” shouted Claire suddenly.� “CUT IT OUT!”

***

“CUT IT OUT!”

The forceful words echoing hauntingly in his mind, Nick’s eyes flashed open to find that the dark ocean, the boat, Claire and the rest... they were all gone.� The walls of bare whiteness and glass, the sterile smell, and the high-pitched beeping reminded Nick of where he was – the hospital, ICU.� It had all been a dream, a horrible nightmare.

He took a moment to let this sink in, then, concentrating hard, tried to lift his left leg.� He saw it rise slightly beneath the bedsheets, the whole long thing, and although it hurt to do so, he felt immediate relief.� Wondering if the drugs they had given him had caused him to dream such scary shit, he looked around, wondering where his nurse was.

Something in the very corner of his cubicle catching his eye, he glanced over and jolted in surprise when he saw a figure curled up in a chair.� On second inspection, he realized that it was Howie, and that he was sound asleep, scrunched in a very uncomfortable-looking position in the stiff chair.

“Howie,” Nick tried to say, but his throat felt funny, and no sound would come out.� Alarmed, his hands flew to his mouth and were met with tubing.� The respirator.� So they had put a tube down his throat.� He let his hands drop and assured himself that at least it was not a paper towel roll, like in his dream.� Still, he couldn’t talk, and he had to find a way to get Howie’s attention.

His fingers crawled blindly down his neck and to his chest, where he touched one of the wire leads stuck to him, measuring his heartbeat.� He gave it a pull, and off it came, the others pulling off along with it.� Immediately, he heard the short, steady beeps of the heart monitor transform into one, long, continuous wail.

Flatline.

Well, that was cool.� He glanced over at Howie to see if the sudden change in noise would awaken him, but his friend did not stir.� Damn Howie.� What if his heart really had stopped beating?� He’d be dying over there, and Howie would still be sitting on his ass, sound asleep.� Some friend he was.

Vaguely, he heard a voice call over some intercom, “Code Blue to ICU 9!� Code Blue to ICU 9!”� It didn’t occur to him that ICU 9 was his cubicle or that a whole team of doctors and nurses were running to it at that very moment, ready to resuscitate him.

Clear! Nick thought and secured the leads back to his chest.� The short, steady beeps returned.� We got him back, Nick thought, thinking it might be fun to be a doctor.� Maybe he could persuade that cute nurse Samantha to let him play with some of those shocking paddles when he felt better.

At that moment, the code team burst in, lead by Mersey, the only familiar face of the bunch.

“Nick!” she gasped when she saw that he was awake.� “Are you all right?!”

“Where’s the code?” a man behind her asked, looking around in confusion.

“No code,” Mersey said breathlessly.� Striding up to Nick’s bed, she checked the wire leads on his chest and frowned, apparently seeing that they were not placed in the same spots as they had been before.� “Did you pull these off?” she asked him.

Nick nodded guiltily.� Whoops.� Maybe that hadn’t been such a good idea.

It did its job though.� Amidst all the commotion, he looked over at Howie to see his friend leap out of his chair, a befuddled expression on his face.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice high and frantic.� “Nick!”

“Nick is just fine,” Mersey said dryly.� “He only pulled the leads off his chest and gave us quite a scare.”

“But he’s awake?” Howie asked, hurrying over to Nick’s bed.

“Hey, Howie,” Nick started to say, then remembered he couldn’t talk.

“He’s triggering the vent,” said Mersey, glancing back at one of the men in white coats that had come charging in with her. �“Should we extubate?”

The man came up and looked at Nick’s monitors.� “Yeah, I think he’s ready.”� Looking down at Nick, he asked, “Do you want me to take the tube out of your throat?”� Vigorously, Nick nodded, his eyes pleading.� “Okay.� Then when I say so, I need you to blow, like you’re blowing out a candle.� Got it?”� Again, Nick nodded, and the doctor took hold of the hose coming out of his mouth.� “Ready?� Now – blow out.”

Gathering together all of his strength, Nick blew, and the doctor pulled the tube from his throat.� Immediately, he was sent into a violent coughing fit, his throat burning.� He gasped for breath, choking, hacking, trying to fill his lungs with a single precious breath of air.

“Just relax; it’ll pass,” urged the doctor.� “Mersey, get him on a mask.”

The nurse covered Nick’s mouth and nose with an oxygen mask, and a moment later, he lay back in relief, the sweet oxygen pouring into his lungs.� He took a few deep breaths, and his coughing ceased, though the fiery sensation in his throat did not.

“M-my throat,” he rasped, his voice soft and hoarse, as if he had a bad case of laryngitis.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” said the doctor.� “Don’t worry; it will feel better in a few days.� Your voice will recover too.� I know that’s important to you, being a singer and all.”� He gave Nick a knowing smile.

“Good,” Nick whispered, although singing was the last thing on his mind.� He hadn’t thought about singing or the Backstreet Boys or the new album in a long time.� His career seemed to be growing forever more distant to him, something that lay just beyond his reach.� Would he ever be well enough to record and tour again with the group?� Maybe he should tell them to just go on without him...

“How do you feel, Nick?� Are you in any pain?” Mersey asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Not too bad, I guess,” Nick answered.� “My chest is kind of tight, but that’s just the pneumonia, right?”

“Yes.� But that should go away in a few days.� You’ve gotten through the worst of it now.”

The nurse’s words struck him as strange, and he looked up in confusion.� “How... how long did I sleep?” he wondered.

“You’d been out of it for about a week,” replied Mersey, and Nick’s mouth dropped open in utter shock.

“A week!” he cried.� It had only seemed like a few hours!� “W-was I in some kind of coma or something?”

“Not a coma, just unconscious,” she said.� “You drifted in and out, but we had to keep you sedated most of the time because you kept thrashing around and trying to pull out your tubes and things.”

He shook his head, his head still spinning with this knowledge.� A whole week... he had just slept through an entire week of his life.

“Well, if you’re feeling better, Dr. Dunn and I will go and let you visit with your friend.”� Mersey glanced over her shoulder at Howie, who had retreated back from the bed.

“Oh... okay.”� Nick watched as the doctor and nurse left the room and then looked to Howie.� “D... what are you doing here?”

Howie smiled slightly and dragged a chair up to Nick’s bed, into which he then lowered himself.� “Your mom called,” he replied.� “Well, really she called Brian, and Brian called me and the guys.� She was really freaked, and she thought we would want to come and be with you.”

“So are the other guys here too then?” Nick asked, surprised that his mother had called them.� Had he really been that sick?

“Just Brian.� AJ and Kev are still out in California, but they’ve been calling every day to see how you’re doing.”

“So I guess I was pretty sick then, huh?” Nick said slowly as he absorbed this information.

“Yeah,” Howie answered, his brown eyes wide and serious.� “You have pneumonia, Nick.� That can be pretty serious anyway, but in your case... well...”

Nick nodded.� “I know.� I just didn’t know it was that bad... and I didn’t think I’d been unconscious for a whole freaking week!� It seemed like I had just slept for a few hours... I had this dream... God, it scared the shit out of me.”

Howie frowned.� “What did you dream about?”

Nick snorted.� “You’ll just laugh.”

“I won’t laugh.� What was it about?”

“It was another shark dream.� Where I’m swimming, and a shark’s after me.� Man, I haven’t had those since I was a kid.”

“I know,” said Howie, both of them remembering how Nick had had nightmares about sharks when he was just a teenager and homesick on tour.� Sharks – they had always been the one thing he feared.� Some people had nightmares about vampires or spiders or clowns.� Nick dreamed about sharks.

“Yeah... this one was hella freaky though.� The shark... it... it bit off my leg, dude.� And, God, the blood... it was fucking gory!”

“Ew.”� Howie shuddered.� “Don’t tell me any more, man, I don’t wanna hear it.”

Nick smiled.� “They musta given me some pretty strong drugs to make me dream all that whacked out shit.”

“Yeah, it was probably the sedatives,” Howie said with a grin.� “God, I’m glad you’re back, Nicky.� You scared me, you know?� You scared us all.”

Nick shifted uncomfortably in the bed, embarrassed.� “Sorry.”

Howie laughed.� “No, don’t be sorry!� Not like you could help it.� Anyway, I better go call the hotel – your family and Rok will want to know you’re awake.”

“My family?” Nick repeated.� “They’re here?� All of them?”

“Everyone except BJ.� Your mom said she had some kind of modeling something or other, I dunno.”� Howie shrugged.� “But yeah, your dad and Leslie and Aaron and Angel all got in the same day I did.� So anyway, I’m going to go call them, okay?”

Nick nodded slowly.� “Okay.”

Howie smiled and started to leave the room.� Then he stopped, turned back, and walked back to Nick’s bed, bending over and gently wrapping his arms around him.� Surprised, Nick patted Howie awkwardly on the back until Howie finally pulled away.

“What was that for?” he laughed slightly.

“Sorry.”� Howie smiled sheepishly.� “I just... well... like I said... you scared us, Nicky.� It’s good to have you back.”

Nick smiled blankly and nodded.� “It’s good to be back.”

***

“Oh, Nicky, thank God.”� Those were the first words out of Jane Carter’s mouth when she came into Nick’s ICU cubicle later that day.� Hurrying up to his bed, she bent over him, hugging him as best she could with him lying down in bed.� “How are you feeling, baby?”

No apology, no excuses, no words about what had happened the last time they had spoken.� She just pretended like it hadn’t happened, which was what she always did.� This time, Nick didn’t really mind.� Although very weak and tired, he was feeling better than he had before and was just glad the worst was over.� Now was not the time to be arguing with his mother.� So he returned the hug and pasted a smile on his face.� “Better,” he answered her question truthfully.

Jane smiled, misty-eyed, as she looked down upon him.� “What a relief,” she said.� “The sooner you get better, the sooner you can get out of here and start working on the new album again with the boys.”

Nick stared up at her.� The album?� So that was top priority with her, huh?� It was important to him, too, it really was, and he did want to get back to working on it, but, come on, he had just woken up from a coma (or close enough), and she expected him to start thinking about working again?� But of course, that’s just how Jane Carter was.� Business-oriented and money-loving.� He could have retorted something about that, too, but he chose not to this time.� No need for an argument right then.

“Yeah,” he murmured vaguely, then added, changing the subject, “So where’s the rest of the family?”

“Outside,” replied Jane.� “You want me to bring Dad in?� The nurse said we could only have two people visit at a time.”

“Oh okay.� Yeah, let Dad come in then,” Nick replied.

His mother disappeared, returning with his father.� And after about ten minutes, they left and sent Leslie and Angel in.� Angel cried when she saw him, and Leslie looked like she was about to pass out, so they left after only a few minutes.� And then in came the two people that meant the most to him of the bunch – Aaron and Brian.

His best friend came in first, his younger brother hesitantly following behind.

"Hey, Nick!" Brian said brightly, immediately dropping down into the chair next to Nick's bed.� "Good to see you awake finally.� How are you feeling?"

He spoke with ease and smiled as if he was totally relaxed, but Nick knew his friend better than that.� Brian hated hospitals as much, maybe even more, than he did.� Then again, who actually did like hospitals?� Maybe the people that worked in them, but Nick doubted too many other people did.� Brian was doing a good job at trying to hide his discomfort though.

Aaron, on the other hand, was not.� He remained in the doorway, arms crossed stiffly over his chest, head down, looking rather lost.

"Hey, Bri."� Nick smiled.� Then, looking over Brian's shoulder, he called, "Yo, AC, c'mon in here!"

Aaron took a hesitant few steps forward, stopping a good three or four feet shy of the foot of Nick's bed.� Nick laughed.� "You can come closer than that if you want, dude.� I ain't gonna bite you."

He happened to glance over at Brian, who shook his head very slightly, giving Nick a look that said, "Don't push him."� Aaron took one more baby step toward the bed and stopped, frozen.� Nick frowned, but didn't say anything else.

"So, Nick, how are you feeling?" Brian asked again, having not gotten a reply the first time around.

Nick shrugged, about to admit that he was still feeling pretty crappy (even if it was less crappy than before), when he recognized the worried look on Aaron's face.� Twisting his lips up in a smile, he answered instead, "Pretty good actually."� He watched Aaron carefully to see if his brother relaxed, but he really didn't.� Nick figured he probably looked pretty bad, possibly even worse than he felt.� Not mention, his voice was still raspy and hoarse, very unlike his own.� Maybe that was it - he just didn't seem his old self, and unfamiliarity was what was making Aaron so distant.

Deciding to worry about Aaron later, he focused on Brian instead, asking, "So where's Leigh and Baylee?� Home in Atlanta still?"

"Yeah," Brian replied.� "Leigh told me to tell you she hopes you're feeling better soon.� She wanted to come see you, but I wasn't so keen on putting the baby on a plane, you know?"

"Oh, I know.� That's okay," Nick said, not really caring.� Leighanne was cool, and Baylee was cute and all, but he'd rather have Brian to himself.

"Yeah..."� Brian glanced over his shoulder.� Then, with a meaningful look at Nick, he added casually, "Well, I just stopped in to say hey and see how you were.� I'll let you and AC hang out for awhile now, and I'll be back later, 'kay?"

Nick smiled gratefully, silently thanking Brian for understanding.� He hadn't even spoken to Aaron in months, and he felt bad for it.� He knew he really needed to have a one on one with his brother, and Brian knew it too.

"He's all yours, kiddo," Brian remarked to Aaron on his way out of the room, playfully ruffling Aaron's blonde hair.� Aaron opened his mouth, as if to protest, but before he could say a thing, Brian ducked out of the room, and Aaron was left alone, looking trapped.

Rather hurt, Nick said softly, "C'mere, Aaron" and motioned for him to come up to the bed.� Reluctantly, the fifteen-year-old walked up and perched himself on the very edge of the chair Brian had been sitting in.� "Look, bro, I dunno what your problem is... if you're mad at me, that's cool, I understand.� Or if it's just cause all this," he waved his hands in vague circle that included all things medical and everything having to do with his altered physical state, "then I understand that too.� I know I look like shit, and my voice ain't quite right yet, but I'm still your same dumb old brother."

That brought a slight smile to Aaron's lips, and as the teenager's brown eyes met Nick's blue ones, Nick knew instantly he had hit the nail on the head.

Clearing his throat, Aaron finally spoke.� "Are you really feeling okay?" he asked, eyeing Nick warily.

"To be honest?"� Nick smiled sheepishly.� "I feel kinda crappy.� But better than before," he added quickly.� "Don't you worry about me; I'm gonna be just fine, okay?� Hey, and now that you're finally in Tampa, we can hang out like I always said we were going to... play some Nintendo, shoot some hoops, take the boat out..."

"Can you do all that?" Aaron interrupted it.

Nick frowned.� "'Course I can do all that," he said stubbornly.� "I ain't handicapped, for God's sake.� I'll be out of this dump in a few days, once the pneumonia's all gone, and then I can do whatever I damn well please."

"Sorry," Aaron mumbled, sending Nick into a fit of guilt for snapping at him.� Not like it was his fault.

"Nah, 's okay.� I'm just kinda pissed off at this whole thing, ya know?� It sucks."

"I know, it sucks ass!" Aaron burst out, and Nick had a feeling the kid had been waiting to say that for a long time.� Well, he was right, it did suck ass.� Major ass.

***

Nick was discharged from the hospital on a Friday.� After spending eleven days in the hospital (eight more than he had expected), he couldn’t wait to get home.� He was still weak, but the pneumonia was gone, and he was feeling much better.

Unfortunately, that feeling would only last another week.� He had another doctor’s appointment scheduled the following Saturday, and he would begin his next round of chemo then.� And then it was back to the nausea and throwing up.� Fun, fun – he could hardly wait.

Nick and the rest of the family were escorted back to his home in a limo.� This was something Nick’s mother had arranged, despite his objections.

“We’ve already taken your car back to your house, and I don’t want you driving anyway, not when you’re so weak,” she had told him firmly.

The family was also now coming to stay at his house for the remainder of their time in Florida.� This, too, his mother had arranged.� In other words, she had invited them herself.

“Why, it’s just silly for us to be cramped in some hotel when you’ve got plenty of space for us in your house,” she had said, leaving him no choice but to say they could.� Nick really only half-minded though. He hadn’t spent time with his brother and sisters in a long time, and it would be nice to have them around.� And as for his parents... well, he could tolerate them for a few days, which was how much longer he hoped they were going to stay, although he wasn’t sure.

Inside the limo, Nick leaned back, resting his head tiredly against the seat, anxious to reach home.� The first thing he was going to do was take a shower and wash the smell of hospital from his body.� Then he was going to crash in his own bed.� God, that would feel good after over a week of sleeping in a tiny, railed hospital bed.

Unfortunately, things did not quite go as planned.� As soon as the limo reached the tall gates encircling Nick’s yard, he could see that there was going to be trouble.� Camped out on the lawn in front of the gates were a whole flock of reporters, their cameras and microphones ready.

“Oh my God,” Nick groaned, peering out the tinted window at them all.� How did they know he was coming home that day?� In fact, how did they know he was even in the hospital?� He had been avoiding the media since long before his hospitalization, with the exception of TRL, and as far as he knew, the only people were aware of the fact that he had been in the hospital were his family and his friends.� He hadn’t told anyone else, and he was sure none of the people he loved would do that either.� Unless...

“Just park it here, this is fine,” Jane was telling the limo driver.� “Bob, come on, let’s get out and help Nicky out.� Kids, you follow after we get Nick out.”

“Mom?” Nick asked through gritted teeth.� “What are all these damn reporters doing here?”

“Oh, I’m sure they’re just here to see how you’re doing, maybe get a few comments from you,” she replied flippantly and opened the car door before he could get another word out.� His father followed her out, and immediately, the press swooped down on them like buzzards, thrusting microphones in their faces, snapping pictures with cameras, video cameras filming the whole scene.

Jane reached a hand back into the limo and patted Nick’s knee.� The bad one.� He winced as it throbbed with her touch, but she was too caught up in the moment to notice.� “Come on, honey,” she said.� “Let me help you out.”

“Get them out of here,” he protested, not budging.

“Nick, they’re just concerned about you.� You don’t have to give them any long interviews, just a comment and a few pictures, okay?� Your fans are concerned about you, you know.� They want to know that you’re all right.”

“Do I look all right to you?” Nick exploded.� “God, Mom, how blind are you?� I look like a freak – you think I want my fans to see me like this?”

“They love you, Nick, they won’t mind,” she replied.� “Now, come on.”

“You brought all these people here, didn’t you?” he accused.� “What the fuck are you trying to do?”

“Watch your mouth.� Of course I didn’t bring these people here.� They found out you were being discharged and came here to wait for you; I can’t help that.� But the least you could do is give them what they’re asking for.”

“Well, how did they find out I was being discharged?” Nick pressured.� “Did a certain someone tip them off?”

“Nickolas Gene Carter!”� His mother feigned a wounded look.� “I can’t believe you think I would-“

“Yeah, whatever, Mom.”� She had done it, he knew she had.� But it was too late now – he really had to get inside the house, and it was apparent that these reporters weren’t going to leave until they had caught a glimpse of him.� Might as well get it over with.

Pulling his baseball cap low over his head, he pushed away his mother’s outreaching hand and stood up on his own accord, ducking as he climbed carefully out of the back of the limousine.� Jane’s arm came protectively around his waist as he stood, squinting in the bright sunlight and trying to avoid the cameras that were all focusing on him.

“Nick!” shouted one reporter, practically shoving his mic up Nick’s nose.� “Your mother tells us you were in the hospital for cancer treatments and pneumonia.� Is that accurate?”

Nick shot Jane a look.� Yeah right, you didn’t tell them.� “Yes,” he told the reporter grudgingly. �“I came down with pneumonia, but I’m better now.”� With that, he started to push his way through the crowd, trying in vain to get to the gates, but the paparazzi blocked his path, and his mother clutched him tightly.

“Nick, how are your treatments going?” another reporter asked.� “Is your cancer in remission?”

I wish, he thought wistfully, ignoring the question all together.

“Nick, have the other Backstreet Boys been around during your ordeal?� Are they being supportive?”

“Yes,” he muttered.

“And how about your family?”

He didn’t answer.� Jane prodded him in the ribs, but he ignored her.� Finally, she took over, answering in a weepy voice, “Nick’s father and I brought the children all the way from California to be with him.� We’ve been at his side day and night through this horrible ordeal.”

The reporter nodded, a look of sympathy crossing her heavily made-up face.� “I’m sure this has been very difficult on you all, hasn’t it?”

“Oh yes,” answered Jane emphatically.� “We’ve spent almost all our time at Nick’s side, camped out at the hospital.� I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in months, ever since I found out about the cancer.� You just can’t imagine what it’s like to... to...”� She trailed off, her voice sounding choked.� Nick glanced down to see tears welling in his mother’s eyes and couldn’t help but wonder if they were real, or if she had forced them.

“I’m so very sorry,” said the reporter, and then a younger man pushed her out of the way to get through to Nick.

“Nick, I notice you’re wearing a baseball cap – have you lost your hair?� How do you think having cancer is going to affect your image and the public’s opinion of you?� What do the fans think?”

“Oh, fuck off!” Nick cried, giving the man a shove.� It was a feeble attempt though, not forceful enough to knock him off his feet.� Damn.

“I’m sorry, we need to get Nick inside now,” Jane said, her voice ringing out loudly.� “He’s still very weak from his illness; I’m sure you understand.”

Yeah, right, Nick thought, but surprisingly, the waters parted as the reporters reluctantly backed away, clearing a path to the gates.� Bob opened them, and Jane escorted Nick slowly through, her arm still wrapped tightly around him.

“I can walk on my own, you know,” he hissed under his breath, annoyed with her.� But she ignored him, continuing to hold on to him until they were out of the reporters’ line of vision.� Then she let go.

***

“That doesn’t count, Angel, I was further back than that!”

“You were not, you were right in front of that crack!”

“Nick?� Wasn’t I further back than that?”

“I dunno, Aaron, I wasn’t looking.”� Sick of listening to the twins bicker as they played HORSE with Nick’s basketball in the driveway, Nick climbed painfully to his feet.� “I’m gonna go in and get something to drink,” he announced.� “You two want anything?”

But they were too busy arguing about whether Angel’s shot had counted or not that they didn’t hear him.� Rolling his eyes, he turned to go into the house, but the sound of a car approaching stopped him.� He glanced back to see a black jeep pulling up and could just pick out Brian and Howie in the front seat.� Abandoning the idea of getting a drink, he limped painfully off the front porch and started down the driveway to meet them.

“Hey, guys,” he greeted them, smiling.� “Wassup?”

But neither Brian, nor Howie smiled in return. Grim-faced, Brian said nothing, just thrust something into his hand.� He looked down at in surprise – a magazine.� Not just a magazine, but a tabloid.� The National Enquirer.� A picture of a sweaty Justin Timberlake and Christina Aguilera arm in arm graced the cover, accompanied by the headline, “Justin and Christina: Things Heating Up On the Justified/Stripped Tour.”

“What the hell is this?” Nick asked, his nose wrinkling in distaste.� “Like I care who that fucker Timberlake is bon-“

“Not that,” Brian said impatiently, ripping the magazine from Nick’s hands.� Flipping through it so fast Nick could hear the sounds of pages tearing, Brian got to the page he was looking for and handed it back.� “This!”

Nick saw what “this” was as soon as he looked down at the spread.� The title on the left page read “Backstreet Boy’s Heartbreaking Battle” and under it were two pictures, side by side – one of his parents sitting in chairs, his mother’s face buried in her hands, his father’s arm around her shoulders, and the other of...

“Where the fuck did they get these?!” Nick exploded, as he looked down in horror of a picture of him lying unconscious in the bed in ICU, a tube coming out of his mouth and his molting head uncovered for the world to see.

“I don’t know,” Howie said carefully, “but I have an idea.”� He pointed to the caption below the picture of Nick’s parents, and Nick read it, seething.� “Nick’s parents struggle to keep their composure as they wait for word on their son’s condition.� ‘It’s just so hard,’ sobs a tearful Jane Carter.� ‘We just keep praying that our baby will make it through this.’”

Nick’s mouth dropped open.� “Oh my God... she didn’t...”

“Unless they just randomly quoted her, she did,” Howie said gently.� “And where else would they have gotten the pictures.� Hospital security was tight around you, Nick.� They couldn’t have gotten in unless a family member let them... unless she took them herself.”

Nick shook his head, unexpected tears rising in his eyes, distorting the magazine article.� “I can’t believe she did this,” he said hoarsely, drawing the back of his hand across his eyes.

“It’s okay, Nick,” Brian said gently, slinging an arm around him.� “It’s out now, and there’s nothing you can do about that, so forget about it.� But you can do something about the cause of all this...”

“Yeah,” Nick said, squaring his jaw and nodding.� “Yeah, I can.� And I will.� She’s screwed me over one too many times.� This is the last straw.”

Exchanging glances, Howie and Brian nodded regrettably.� Nick knew they couldn’t relate.� Both were “mama’s boys” themselves; they came from nice, normal families and had nice, normal mothers who loved them rather than take advantage of them for money or attention or whatever it was Jane Carter was in search of.

Why did he have to get stuck with such a screwed up, dysfunctional family?� He loved them, he really did, but they, his mother in particular, got to be too much at times.� This time was the worst though.� He had been pissed off enough when she had gone to the Enquirer with her sob story about how he had chosen Mandy over her and deserted his family at Christmas.� But this... this was a million times worse than that.� She had exploited him, put him on display, and all so that she could sob about how rough she had it and gain some sympathy from the world.� And he hated her for it.

He had said he hated her many other times, even believed it sometimes.� But now, he was sure of it.

He hated his mother.� Hated her with every fiber in his being.

And he wasn’t going to put up with her anymore... her fakeness, her lies, her backstabbing.

He was through.

She was out.

***

“OUT!” Nick screamed.

“What?!” Jane gasped.� “What did you say to me?”

“I think you heard,” growled Nick.� “I said, OUT!� GET OUT!”

“Nicky... what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?� THIS is what’s wrong!”� He tossed the magazine at her, and it hit the kitchen floor with a splat, landing in a crumpled heap.� “You went to the fucking National Enquirer and took pictures of me while I was fucking comatose?!”

“Oh, Nick, it wasn’t like that,” Jane tried to defend herself.� “I did it for your fans.� The press had been relentless, trying to contact you for interviews and things, and I thought doing this would stop-“

“For my fans?� Oh yeah, it was so great for all the little ten-year-old girls to see pictures of me like that!� You probably scared the crap out of them!� And that’s not even half of it!� What about me, huh?� My personal life?� My body?� My rights?� You totally exploited me!”

“Nick-“

“I’m your son!� How could you do that?!”� He was near tears now; he had never been so enraged with her in his life.� Then again, she had never done anything so horrible to him.

“Nick, I...”� She shook her head, at a loss for words.� He had rendered her speechless.� Well, good, he was tired of all her lame excuses.� For the fans, his ass.� It was for her, all for her.� She craved attention and apparently was milking his cancer for all it was worth, trying to be the victim, the oh-so-supportive, loving mother that everyone pitied for having such a burden upon her.� Not to mention, she had surely been paid a hefty price for those rare photos, and he knew how important money was to her, even though she was already swimming in it, thanks to him.

“You need to pack your things,” Nick said slowly, his teeth clenched, his shaking hands balled into angry fists at his sides, “and get the fuck out of my home.� Don’t call me, and don’t email.� As far as I’m concerned, you are no longer my mother.”

Jane’s eyes were bright with tears, but they did not affect him.� He no longer cared.� She had hurt him so badly that he wanted to hurt her back and felt no remorse when he did so.

“Fine,” she whimpered quietly, turning on her heel and leaving the kitchen.� As soon as she was out of sight, he left the room himself, storming upstairs to his bedroom and slamming the door shut, locking it behind him.

Ten minutes later, there was a knock.� He ignored it.

“Nick?” came his brother’s voice.� And still, he ignored it

“Nick, come on, let me in!”

Aaron sounded upset, and his love for his brother giving in, Nick grudgingly hauled himself off his bed and went to the door, unlocking it and opening it a crack.� Peeking out into the hall, he checked to make sure Aaron was alone and then opened the door wider, letting his brother in.� He closed and locked the door behind him and sat down beside Aaron on the bed.

“Go apologize,” Aaron urged him.� “Mom’s a mess; she’s all crying and stuff.� She’s making us get all our stuff together; she said we’re going home on the next flight.”

“Yeah,” Nick said tonelessly.

“I don’t wanna leave!” Aaron cried.� “I haven’t gotten to spend any time with you, and if you and Mom don’t make up-“

“I’m sorry, bro, I really am,” Nick interrupted.� “But this is her doing, not mine.� Can’t you just stay here with me?”

“I asked; she said no.� She’s making us all leave.”

“Sorry.”

“Nick!”

“Aaron, I can’t!� Don’t you get it?� Don’t you realize what she’s done to me?� I’m not going to apologize, and I’m not going to give her a second chance.� She’s had countless second chances, and she’s blown them all.� This is it – she’s no longer my mother, and I’m not her son.”

“You don’t mean that...”

“Yes!” Nick shouted.� “Yes, Aaron, I do!”

Aaron was silent.� “Fine then,” he sniffed after a moment.� “Then I guess I’m no longer your brother.”

“Now stop, you know that ain’t true, AC,” Nick said.� “You’ll always be my brother, and no matter what happens with the rest of the family, I’ll always love you, Squirt.� You know that, right?”� Aaron just shrugged, sniffing again.� Was he trying not to cry?� Nick felt bad.� “Aaron...”� He put his arm around his brother, hugging the lanky teen close to his body.� “Come on, AC, don’t be sad.� This sucks, I know, but I ain’t gonna lose touch with you, okay?� You call me whenever you want, and we can email... whatever you want.”

Aaron shook his head.� “It’s not the same.”

“I know.� But things can never be the same now, after what she’s done to me.”

They left it at that.� Aaron shrugged out of his embrace and stood up, wordlessly walking to the door.

“Aaron,” Nick called as he started to unlock it.� His brother looked back.� “Don’t let her do it to you, man,” Nick advised.� “Listen, if she gets to be too much, you call me.� I’ll make the arrangements, whatever, I’ll fly you out here, help you escape.”

Aaron nodded, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.� “Okay.”

Nick smiled.� “C’mere.”� Reluctantly, Aaron walked back to him, and Nick hugged him tight.� “Take care, okay?� I’ll see ya, Squirt.”

“You take care too,” came Aaron’s muffled voice as he buried his face in Nick’s shoulder.� “If you... if you, you know... get sicker... or something... please call me.”

Pulling away, Nick looked down to see tears in his brother’s eyes.� He smiled sadly.� “I will.� But that ain’t gonna happen.� I’m gonna be better soon, I promise.� And you know what?� I’ll call you when I’m all better.� When things are back to normal.� And then maybe I can get you back out here to visit, and it’ll be so much more fun than it was this time.”

Aaron nodded.� “Okay,” he said, managing a tiny smile.� “Yeah, you do that.� Call when things are back to normal.”

He left then, and, locking the door again behind him, Nick couldn’t help but hear his own words echoing in his head.� But things can never be the same now.� Deep down in his heart, he knew it was the truth.� Call when things are back to normal.� Yeah, right.

Things would never be normal again.

***

Nick was not at all surprised to find Claire in the waiting room of the outpatient clinic on the oncology floor that Saturday.

“Hey, you!” she called when he walked in, patting the empty chair beside her.� Grinning, he quickly signed in and then took a seat.

“Hey,” he said.

“How are you doing?” Claire asked, her blue eyes expressing concern.� “I heard you had pneumonia.”

“Where did you hear that?� I thought patient information was confidential,” Nick teased.

Claire blushed.� “Oh, I got connections,” she replied with a sheepish smile.� “But seriously, how are you doing?� Pneumonia... that’s pretty bad...”

“Yeah,” said Nick.� “But I’m over it now.� Feeling much better.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”� There was a pause, and then Nick asked, changing the subject, “So, what have you been up to?� Oh, and sorry my mom kicked you out that one day.”

Claire laughed.� “Love how your mind just jumps from one thing to the other.� And that’s okay....� But anyway, I haven’t been doing much, just working, hanging out, you know.”� She shrugged.

“Where do you work?” he wondered.

“Why, you wanna drop by and pay me a visit sometime?” she asked, smiling suggestively.

He laughed. �“I dunno... maybe... where do you work?”

“The office of Dr. Barry Somers, D.D.S.”

Nick cocked his head in surprise.� “You work for a dentist?”

“Yup.� I’m a dental hygienist,” she replied.

“Oh... wait, you mean you stick your hands in people’s nasty mouths all day?” he asked in disbelief.� Why anyone would want to do that was beyond him.� He thought it sounded totally gross.

“Something like that,” she laughed.� “My dad’s a dentist, so the dental thing kind of runs in the family, I guess you could say.”

“Oh... I see.”

They were submersed in silence once again.� Giggling nervously, Claire held up the copy of People she had been reading before he had come in.� “Magazine?”

“As long as it ain’t The National Enquirer,” Nick replied dryly, setting the tattered magazine on his lap.

Claire grimaced.� “I was wondering about that... I take it that wasn’t your doing?”

“No,” Nick snorted, his eyes darkening.� Smiling sarcastically, he elaborated, “My mother.� She’s trying to live out her lifelong dream of being famous through me, trying to earn the sympathy of all the Enquirer readers... ‘oh, poor Jane Carter, having to deal with her famous son’s sickness.� She’s such a strong woman.’� Ha, yeah right.� I should invite those people back out so they can interview me. �You think that would make a good story?� ‘The Cold, Black Heart and Evil Soul of Jane Carter: Secrets Only A Son Knows’.”

Claire only smiled awkwardly and did not reply.

“Sorry,” Nick said with a sheepish grin.� “Didn’t mean to dump my family problems on you.� Anyway, it’s taken care of now – I’ve kicked her out of my life.� Now I just need to kick her out of my thoughts too.”

And at that very moment, in walked just the distraction Nick needed, in the form of his azure-eyed, wavy-haired, five foot seven inch best friend, Brian Littrell.� He had talked Nick into letting him tag along for his doctor’s appointment that day and then insisted on dropping Nick off at the front of the hospital and parking his rented jeep himself.� Although Nick had told him how to get to the oncology clinic, he had begun to think Brian would never make it there.� Maybe he had been abducted by aliens or something... or, of course, simply getting lost was always possibility as well.

“Jeez, Carter, you didn’t tell me it was like a maze getting up to this place,” Brian said as he strode into the waiting room, looking around as he sank into a chair on the other side of Nick.

“Did you have some trouble finding the place?” Nick laughed.� “Gee, I’m sorry, Bri, but I’ve always managed to find it okay.� Guess you’re just not good with directions.”

Brian rolled his eyes.� “Oh yeah, Mr. “Is Norway in Sweden?”� Like you’re so good with directions yourself.”

Leaning forward in her seat, Claire watched the two friends exchange their playful banter, her eyes alight with amusement.� “Brian, right?” she asked finally, when it became clear that Nick had forgotten all about introductions.

“Oh!” Nick exclaimed, embarrassed.� “Sorry – yeah, this is Brian Littrell.� Bri, this is Claire Ryan.”

“Nice to meet you,” Brian said cordially, shaking Claire’s hand.

“You too,” she replied with a smile.

The door on the other side of the waiting room popped open, and a gray-haired nurse stuck her head in.� “Claire?� You can come on back now.”

“Well, nice meeting you, Brian.� See ya, Nick,” Claire said as she stood up, slinging her purse over her shoulder.

“Later, Claire,” Nick replied as Claire followed the nurse out of the waiting room, the door falling closed behind them.

“So,” Brian said, looking at Nick with elevated eyebrows.� “I didn’t know there were girls your age around here.� No wonder you didn’t want me to come along – didn’t wanna share.� So... Claire, huh?”

Wrinkling his nose, Nick slugged Brian playfully in the shoulder, rolling his eyes.� “Yeah, Rok, like I’d come here and bone some chick with leukemia.”� He shook his head.

“Probably healthier than gettin’ it on with that stripper girlfriend of yours.� Lord knows what STD’s she might’ve been carrying,” Brian smirked.

“Now you sound like AJ.� And for your information, it looks like Leah’s doing pretty good.� Last time I saw her, she was with some rich little prick,” he remarked, inwardly seething at the memory.

“You keeping tabs on her now?” Brian laughed.� “And, excuse me, ‘rich little prick’?� How is that different than you?”

“Uh, excuse me?” Nick sniffed, feigning offense.� “I am not a prick, and I sure as hell am not little, as we all know.”

Brian smiled uncomfortably.� “Well, you’re littler now than you used to be... if you don’t watch out, you’re gonna have scrawny little chicken arms again,” he said, playfully squeezing Nick’s upper arm, which had noticeably less muscle tone than it had months earlier.� The comment had only been made jokingly, but it stung because Nick knew it was true.� First he was fat; now he was much thinner, but a lot less muscular too.� He wasn’t sure which was worse.� He really needed to get off his ass and work out some more.� Screw the weakness and nausea – he could tough it out.

“Hey, you okay?� I was only playing,” Brian said in concern.

Nick pasted on a smirk and quickly retaliated with, “Sorry, dude, just thinking about how I better start lifting again cause I sure as hell don’t want looking like you – talk about scrawny little chicken arms!”

“Hey!”� Grinning, Brian pushed up the sleeve of his t-shirt and flexed his bicep.� “Yeah, who’s talking now?� Look at that, would you?� Hoisting a baby around’ll do that too you.”

Nick smiled.� “Maybe I should come up to Atlanta then, let little Bayleemeister give me a workout.”

“You should,” Brian said seriously.� “I’m headed home on Monday – come home with me, why don’t you?”

“Nah... maybe some other time, but not this week.� I got a million things to do.� I really need to call Brent and the fellas... I haven’t hung out with them in awhile.”

“Oh.”� Brian nodded, understandingly.� “Okay.� Well, another time then.”

“Right.”

Another nurse came into the waiting room then, this one young and brunette.� “Mr. Carter?” she called.

Nick slowly stood up and crossed the room to her, a gnawing feeling of dread in his stomach.� Brian followed.

“Oh, you brought a friend with you,” commented the nurse, eyeing Brian with interest.

Nick smirked.� “Yup.”

Brian held out his hand.� “I’m Brian,” he introduced himself.

“I know,” smiled the nurse.� “My name’s Kathryn... most people call me Kat though,” she added, shaking his hand, her brown eyes never leaving his blue ones.� Nick had to struggle to keep from cracking up; it was obvious that this girl was a Brian fan.

“Nick, I’m going to take you to the room at the end of the hall, straight on back,” Kathryn said, her professional manner returning.� Nick nodded, and he and Brian followed the petite nurse down the hall.

Kat, he thought... “Meeeow,” he uttered, doing his best cat noise.� The nurse spun around with flashing eyes, and Nick immediately looked at Brian, doing his best to act surprised.� Brian looked over at him, just as shocked, and then looked back at Kat to see her eyes fixed on him.� She was struggling to look offended, but Nick could see a smile tugging on the corners of her mouth.� Brian’s face turned beet red as he realized Kat thought he had done it.� He opened his mouth, but she turned back around before he could say anything.

“Ow,” Nick hissed as Brian elbowed him in the ribs, hard.� He looked over at his friend, smirking, trying not to giggle.� As they walked on, he considered reaching out and grabbing the nurse’s ass, then blaming it on Brian again, but he didn’t for fear of being slapped... because somehow he doubted she would slap Brian.

“Right in here.”� Kat held the door to the exam room open and ushered Nick in.� She placed a folded hospital gown in his hands and said, “Strip and change into this.� I’ll be back in a few minutes to get your vitals.”

“You want me to wait out here, Nick?” Brian asked.

“Nah, ‘s okay, you can stay.� Not like you haven’t seen me in my boxers before,” Nick replied, stressing the word boxers and watching as the nurse’s cheeks grew pink.

Haha, that was fun.

***

“Well, that wasn’t so bad, Nick,” Brian commented as he drove Nick home from the hospital later that day.� “I thought they were going to stick needles in your hip and stuff... the bone marrow test you told me about...”

“No, that’s only every few times I come, thank God,” Nick muttered.� “Come down here in about six weeks if you wanna see me go through that torture again.”

Brian frowned, but didn’t reply.� They rode in silence for a few minutes, Nick enjoying the peace and quiet.� He tried to focus on that rather than the moving car and passing scenery; it only made him queasy.

It was his first round of the new chemo on his own, out of the hospital, and already, he could tell it was going to be pure hell.� He could feel the sickness creeping up on him, and they had barely gotten out of the parking deck.� He cursed the potent chemicals flowing into his bloodstream by way of the catheter, cursed their very existence.

It just wasn’t fair – he had felt so good coming here, and now he felt so bad, and it was only going to get worse.� He had a long week ahead of him and could only look forward to a week from that day, when he would be free of the chemo and back to feeling fairly decent, or as decent as a person with cancer could feel, he supposed.

He slumped over against the door, pressing his cheek up to the cool window glass.� It felt good on his skin, which had grown hot and sweaty as the nausea worsened.� He closed his eyes, the darkness soothing.

It was only a matter of minutes before Brian glanced over and noticed his change in posture.

“You all right, Nick?” he asked, a tremor of fear rocking his voice.

“Yeah,” Nick murmured, not moving.� “Just a little woozy.”

“Well, are you gonna be okay?� You need me to stop?”� Brian’s voice rose with mild panic as he fired concerned questions at his sick friend.

A weak chuckle escaped Nick’s throat.� “Nah, I’m good for now,” he replied lethargically.� A moment later, as nausea rippled through his system, he mumbled, “Just please hurry, ‘kay?”

“I’m tryin’, buddy,” Brian assured him worriedly.� Giving Nick a sidelong glance, he added, “Whatever you do, don’t throw up in the jeep, all right?� The rental place’ll probably charge me big bucks if I bring it back all puke-stained and smelling like ass.”

Nick smiled wanly.� “I’ll try not to.”

But that got harder and harder to do as they got closer and closer to Nick’s beachside residence.� As soon as Brian had parked in the drive, Nick was out of the car, staggering dizzily up the walkway to the front door, desperate to get to a bathroom.

He didn’t make it.

Leaning off one side of the porch, he heaved and retched into the landscaping.� Almost instantaneously, Brian had leapt out of the car and sprinted up to his side.� Now he stood with one arm on Nick’s back, rubbing it in small circles as Nick threw up.

“Thanks,” Nick mumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he straightened himself.

“Come on, buddy,” Brian said softly, guiding Nick into the house.� He walked Nick slowly up the staircase and into his bedroom, where he pulled back the sheets and light comforter covering Nick’s king-sized waterbed and eased him down into it.

“You don’t gotta tuck me in, Brian, I’m a big boy now,” Nick murmured hazily, drawing a hand over his pale, sweaty face.

“Lie still,” whispered Brian.� “I’ll be right back.”� He ducked into Nick’s bathroom, where he retrieved a clean washcloth from the linen cupboard and dampened it with cool� water.� He brought it back into the bedroom and handed it to Nick.� “For your face.”

“Thanks.”� Nick took the cloth and dragged it slowly over his face with one trembling hand, savoring the clean, cool moisture against his perspiring skin.� Brian took it when he was finished, leaving it draped over the bathroom faucet to dry.

“You can go back to the hotel now if you want,” Nick said when he came back into the bedroom.� He knew Brian would probably protest, but he would rather be alone, crappy as he was feeling and embarrassed as he was to be seen so weak and miserable.� It wasn’t like Brian had never seen him throw up before; in fact, it had been a group joke for years now that Nick had the weakest immune system of any of the Backstreet Boys – he was always coming down with something or the other.� But no one, certainly not Nick himself, had ever dreamed that he would come down with this, cancer of all things.

Brian shook his head mulishly, just as Nick knew he would.� “No,” he said firmly.� “Sorry, Nick, but I’m not leaving yet.� You’re sick and weak, and there’s no way you should be up here all by yourself.� If something were to happen...”

“Bri, nothing’s gonna happen,” Nick said irritably, but he knew it was a lost cause.� Mellow as he usually was, Brian could be extremely stubborn when it came to certain things, and Nick’s well-being was one of those things.

Brian only smiled.� “Sorry,” he repeated flatly.� “Tell you what – I’ll just go out on your balcony, okay?� That way you can be alone and get some rest.� If you need me, just call, I’ll hear you.”

Nick nodded.� That sounded reasonable.� “Okay,” he relented.� He watched as Brian unlocked the curtained french doors that opened up onto a small balcony overlooking the backyard and Nick’s private beach, which led right out into the ocean.

It was a beautiful view, and for a fleeting moment, Nick felt almost envious, wanting to go out and enjoy it with his best friend.� He recalled sitting out there many an afternoon, letting the hot sun bronze his skin and the oceanic breeze ruffle his hair, inhaling the salty scent of the sea.� But today, the heat and the bright sunlight would only irritate him, he had no hair left for the wind to tease, and the stench of salt and fish would probably just worsen his nausea.� Better to stay inside, in the darkened, air-conditioned sanctuary that was his bedroom.

He watched as Brian pulled the door shut behind him and disappeared behind the lightweight drapes, which provided a barricade against the afternoon sunlight which streamed brilliantly through the windowed doors.� Then he closed his eyes, willing sleep to take him away, to deaden his nausea and camouflage his weakness.

But it didn’t happen.

Kept awake by his discomfort and the threat of throwing up, he lay flat on his back, unable to toss and turn for fear of unsettling his already unsettled stomach.� He became aware of a bad taste in his mouth, the sour taste of vomit, and he swallowed hard, trying to wash it away.� His throat felt dry and parched, and swallowing was difficult.� He needed a glass of water.

For a moment, he considered calling Brian, but then he decided that was stupid – the bathroom was just a few feet away, and he always kept a drinking glass by the sink, too lazy to go downstairs to the kitchen for a drink in the middle of the night.� Very slowly, he sat up and gingerly swung his long legs over the side of the bed and set his feet on the floor.� He sat there a moment, waiting for the vertigo he felt to go away, and then he stood up, clinging to the bed with one hand to keep from losing his balance.� Chemo really took a lot out of him, he realized yet again, as he padded slowly across the lushly carpeted floor.

He made it to the bathroom and filled the small glass with tap water.� He took a sip, swished it around his mouth, and spat it out into the sink.� Then he took a long swallow from the glass, which helped immensely.� He downed the water, hoping it was not a mistake to drink so much, set the glass back down on the counter, and shuffled back out again.� His stomach churned precariously with each step, but he told himself fiercely, You’re not gonna puke... you’ll feel better once you’re lying still again...

Mind over matter, right?� That’s all there was to it.

He reached his bed and climbed slowly into it, lying perfectly still until the soft rocking of the waterbed ceased.� And amazingly, the rocking of his stomach ceased along with it.� Relieved, he closed his eyes again, concentrating on sleep.

And finally, it took him.

***

Nick woke up totally disoriented.� His mind in a fog, he looked around and realized he was in his own room, in his own bed, entangled in his own covers.� How long had he been out?� Struggling to sit up and free himself from the sheets that had somehow gotten twisted around his legs, he squinted over at the clock on his night stand.

“6:05?” he read.� “Damn...”� He had slept for a few hours, and now it was dinnertime.� Not that he’d be eating anything.

Though he was still a little dizzy sitting up, he realized that the nausea had passed for now and decided to take advantage of it by getting up for a bit.� Slowly and carefully, he eased himself out of his big bed and rose upon shaky legs.� Standing still a moment, he waited until he was steady and balanced, then progressed across his bedroom floor with slow, measured steps.

Clinging to the banister for support, he made his way down the stairs.� As he neared the kitchen, he was shocked to hear muffled voices.� Stopping to listen, he recognized them as Brian’s and Howie’s and went ahead into the large room.

His two friends were sitting at his small kitchen table, talking quietly.� Brian was fiddling with the tab on a can of Coke, and Howie had a half-eaten banana in one hand, which he was unconsciously waving around as he talked.� They did not even notice Nick standing in the doorway until he cleared his throat, and then they looked up in surprise.

“Nicky!” exclaimed Howie.� “You’re up!� How are you feeling?”

How had he known that question was coming?� Fighting to keep from rolling his eyes, Nick only smiled tightly and replied, “Oh... okay.”

“Really?� That’s good,” Brian said with a smile.� “Wanna come sit down?”� He eyed the empty chair across the table from him.

“Yeah, sure.”

“I didn’t really feel comfortable leaving you here alone,” Brian said apologetically as Nick shuffled across the tiled floor to the table, “so I invited Howie over to keep me company.� Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, ‘s cool,” replied Nick, pulling out the chair and easing himself down into it.

Howie took a bite out of his banana and then said, swallowing, “So, Nick, um, how long are you on this chemo thing for?”

“A week,” said Nick, the familiar scent of banana wafting down the table and entering his nostrils.� Normally, he wasn’t too bothered by bananas, but right then, all he could think of was that powdery stuff that school janitors sprinkle on the floor when somebody barfs.� It smelled like bananas.� At least the stuff the janitors at his school had used did.� It had been a decade since he had been in real school, and yet, he could still remember that odor, always associated with the unpleasant aroma of fresh vomit.� And thinking of it now made him want to do just that – vomit.

Holding his stomach, he slid his chair back and stood up more quickly than he had moved all afternoon, ignoring the immediate dizziness and staggering across the room to the kitchen sink, which was surprisingly and luckily empty, for it seemed Brian and Howie had put themselves to work and done his dishes for him.� He leaned over the sink now and emptied the contents of his stomach, the pale yellowish-brown liquid that came up staining the white porcelain.� When he was finished, he turned on the faucet, first dipping his head under to rinse his mouth, then letting the water run into the basin, washing the last traces of his vomit down the drain.

He felt Brian’s hand on his back and the quiet question, “You okay, buddy?”

Nick nodded.� “Howie,” he said through clenched teeth, “Could you please get rid of that?”

“Get rid of what, Nicky?” Howie asked innocently.

“The banana,” Nick muttered.� “The fucking banana.� It’s making me sick.”

“Oh... oh, God, Nick, I’m sorry!” Howie apologized, quickly dumping the unfinished piece of fruit into the garbage.� “I’m really sorry,” he said again, coming up to stand beside Brian at the sink.� “Are you gonna be all right now?”

“I guess.”� Nick started to run a hand through his hair, a gesture he always did when he was frustrated.� But he was greeted with nothing but a few soft wisps covering a hard scalp.� “Fuck,” he whispered, letting the hand drop.

“What?� Your hair?” Brian asked knowingly.

Nick only nodded, not trusting his voice to speak, suddenly caught up in emotion.

“I’m sorry, man,” Brian whispered.� “If there’s anything we can do...”

“There is,” Nick said suddenly, an idea popping into his brain.� “I want you to shave it.”

“Shave it?”

“My head, shave my fucking head.� Get rid of what’s left on it cause I can’t stand it looking like this anymore.� I just wanna get it over with and be totally, fucking bald.”

Brian blinked.� “You serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious!� I’ve got shaving cream and a razor upstairs in my bathroom; would one of you go get it please?”

Brian and Howie exchanged glances.� “I’ll go,” Howie volunteered and disappeared, heading back up the stairs.� He returned a few minutes later with a regular old razor and a can of shaving cream.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked uncertainly, as Nick sat back down at the table, a dishtowel draped over his shoulders.

“Positive,” Nick said firmly.� “You ain’t gonna hurt anything; I’d eventually be totally bald anyway.� You’re just speeding up the process a little.”

Howie bit his lip, then offered the supplies to Brian.� “You wanna do it?” he asked.

“Whatever.”

Brian started to reach for the razor and shaving cream, but Nick interrupted with, “No, D, I want you to do it.”

Howie and Brian both looked at him, Howie beginning to laugh.� “Me?� Why?”

“Yeah, why?” Brian repeated, trying to look offended.� “I can do it.”

“Howie, you spend an entire freaking hour on your hair alone every morning.� I know you’ll be able to do this,” Nick replied matter-of-factly.� Brian burst out laughing, while Howie just looked as if he were trying to tell whether that was a compliment or not.

“Okay,” he sighed finally.� “I’ll do it.”� He paused.� “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” Nick repeated.� “Just get on with it before I have another puke attack.”

“Fine.”� With another sigh, Howie popped the lid off the can of shaving cream and squirted a liberal amount into the palm of his hand.� Rubbing his hands together, he gingerly smoothed the thick foam over Nick’s head.� Nick shivered; it was cold and tingled his scalp.

“Be careful now, don’t nick me,” he advised, as Howie wiped his hands off on a towel and picked up the razor.

“He won’t nick you... Nick,” said Brian and then began to laugh.� “Get it?� He won’t nick you?� Nick?”

“Funny, Rok,” Nick said dryly, but he couldn’t help but smile.� Brian was so retarded sometimes.

“All right,” sighed Howie, holding up the razor.� “This is it.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Howie,” Nick said with a roll of his eyes.� “Just do it already.”

Smirking, Howie just shook his head and took a deep breath, then lowered the razor to Nick’s head.� He dragged it slowly and gently down the middle, parting the layer of shaving cream and revealing a stripe of pale, hairless skin.� Nick studied Brian while Howie worked, watching him wince every time Howie rinsed off the razor in a bowl of warm water, leaving leftover mounds of shaving cream and tufts of blonde hair floating behind.

When the job was done, Nick stood up without a word and headed straight for the small guest bathroom on the downstairs floor.� He flipped on the light and braced himself for what he would see when he looked in the mirror.� Swallowing hard, he sidestepped in front of the vanity and gazed into the mirror at his reflection.� When he first caught sight of his glistening, bald head, he felt a tremor run through his whole body.� But the more he looked, the more he got used to it.� It certainly looked better than it had before anyway.� But still, it was unnerving to see all of his hair gone, his head completely bare.

“You all right, Nick?” a voice interrupted Nick’s scrutiny, and he looked over to see Brian standing in the doorway, Howie peeking in from over his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” he replied, nodding at his reflection in an assured way.� “Almost looks like I did this on purpose, you know... like I wanted it like this...”� He ran a hand slowly over his head, reveling at its smoothness and how odd it felt to his fingertips, which were so used to raking through his thick, blonde locks.

Brian smiled.� “Sounds like something AJ would do.”

Nick snorted.� “Yeah.� Boy, won’t he be jealous when he sees this bad-ass ‘do.� Quite the trendsetter now, aren’t I?” he remarked sarcastically.� He flashed a big cheesy grin and double thumbs up at his reflection and heard Howie and Brian’s relieved laughter.� But, staring at his mirror image, he saw that the smile did not carry to his eyes, which showed every feeling of self-consciousness, insecurity, and humiliation that he possessed.� The smiled wavered, and he began to feel sick to his stomach.� Whether it was just the chemo or the visual representation of what the chemo was doing to him, he did not know.� All he knew was that he needed to throw up, and now.

“Just a minute, guys,” he moaned, suddenly diving for the door and slamming it closed, practically right in their faces.� He heard their dumbfounded voices call out his name in concern, but all he could think about was getting to the toilet.� Sinking to his knees in front of it, he threw up the lid and buried his face in it, while his ravaged body raised holy hell once again.

***

By the end of the week, Brian and Howie had gone back home, and Nick was alone again.� And once he was off the chemo and feeling better, it wasn’t just the loneliness that plagued him, but boredom as well.� He was sick and tired of lying around, cooped up in his house all the time.� Yet the thought of going out in public scared him.� He hadn’t been able to go out and do normal things for years anyway because of his celebrity status, but now it was even worse.

Sometimes he still caught paparazzi or fans lurking on the edge of his property, and he knew all the major magazines and networks were itching to get an exclusive interview with him.� They had been calling nonstop for weeks and weeks, and when he did actually pick up the phone – which was rare – he always told them no.� Not yet, anyway.� Maybe in the future, when he was in remission and looking normal again, he would make appearances and talk about his experience.� It was not something he wanted to do; it was something he knew he should do.� For the fans.

He knew they were worried about him; he had gotten tons of cards in the mail and presents and flowers sent to his home from the obsessive fans who knew where he lived.� And according to Jive, his fan club had gotten millions more cards and get-well gifts, some of which had been forwarded to him.� He was appreciative of the support and wanted to give something back, but not now.

The truth was, superficial as it sounded, the thing that bothered him the most was what the fans would think if they got a good look at him.� He looked nothing like the blonde, blue-eyed, baby-faced Nick Carter they were used to.� If he had looked bad at his TRL appearance, it was nothing compared to how he looked now.

He had weighed himself that morning, just for kicks, and calculated how much weight he had lost since his diagnosis.� It had to be around thirty pounds.� Add that to the twenty-five he had lost over the course of his tour (which seemed like decades ago, but had really only been about three months), and he had lost close to sixty pounds total.� No one could call him fat anymore.

His clothes hung loose and baggy on his lanky frame, and he had been forced to buy new pants to accommodate his thinner waistline.� His stomach, which he had always been horribly insecure about, no longer stuck out (which meant AJ could no longer poke him and go “Hoo hoo!” like the Pillsbury Doughboy, a great disappointment for sure).� It was flat now, and when he had used to be able to pinch rolls of fat away from it, he could now only come up with folds of loose skin.� His arms were like sticks, and his face had thinned considerably, to the point of looking gaunt.� His cheeks were hollow, and his skin was a pasty shade of white.

With his newly-bald head, he thought he looked like an old man, not the vibrant twenty-three-year-old he had once been.� All he needed now was a cane, and some days, he didn’t think that was such a bad idea.� The fracture in his leg had healed now, but the bone was still weak from the tumor that had eaten away at it, and it still gave him pain.� Some days, when his leg was throbbing, and his stomach was churning with nausea from the chemo, even getting out of bed seemed an impossible task.

But today, it was different.� For the first time in a week, he actually felt pretty good.� His appetite hadn’t quite returned yet, and he was still very weak from the seven torturous days he had barfed his way through, but hiding out in the house just didn’t sound too appealing that day.� For a moment, he considered calling up some of the guys and going out that night... but then his thoughts drifted back to his grim appearance and the vultures who continually stalked him, and he grew doubtful.

Sighing, he got up and wandered into the kitchen.� He opened up the refrigerator and saw a jug of lemonade sitting on the top shelf, practically beckoning to him.� He pulled it out, poured himself a glass, and sat down at the table to drink it and think.

Jiggling the glass so that the ice clunked against the sides, he contemplated his options.� Go out with the guys and risk getting recognized, harassed, and mobbed?� Or stay home by himself and be bored to tears?

Lifting the glass to his lips, he tipped it back and took a large drink of the cold lemonade.� But as soon as he swished the tart yellow liquid around in his mouth, he knew it was a mistake.� He had forgotten the most recent side effect of the new chemo he had been put on - canker sores.� Lots of them - big ones - had formed on his gums and the inside of his cheeks.� They had not been so noticeable while he was on chemo and not eating, but the sour lemonade made the them sting horribly.

Wincing in pain, he impulsively spit out the lemonade, letting it spray all over his kitchen table, and hurried over to take a sip of water from the faucet to rinse his mouth.� He dumped the rest of his lemonade down the drain and then walked back to his table, which was now wet with sticky lemonade.

“Shit,” he muttered, sighing heavily as he looked down upon the mess he had made.� And that’s when he knew he had to get out of the house.� He couldn’t take it anymore; he needed to escape, to go somewhere and take his mind off all the crap.

Not bothering to clean up the lemonade, he took off for his “office,” which served no purpose except to house his laptop, which lay untouched on the desk he rarely sat at.� But he sat there now and rummaged through the drawers in search of his address book.� He found the thin, navy blue leather book, pulled it out, and flipped it open, leafing through the pages until he found Brent’s phone number.� Picking up the phone, he punched in the digits and listened to the phone ring.

“Hello?” Brent answered finally.

Nick cleared his throat.� “Hey.� It’s me, Nick.”

“Nick!”� Brent sounded surprised to hear from him, and Nick couldn’t blame him.� The two hadn’t talked or seen each other in quite awhile.� After Brent found out about Nick’s cancer, their friendship had seemed to taper off.� Nick knew it was half his fault for never getting in touch with Brent, but he couldn’t help but wonder if Brent wanted it that way, if he wanted to distance himself from Nick.� If that was true, well... again, Nick couldn’t blame him.� It hurt, oh yes, but he also understood.� It had to be hard to sit there and watch one your closest friends slowly deteriorate from a scary thing like cancer.

Nick remembered feeling sort of the same way after Brian’s heart surgery five years earlier... after the surgery, he would have avoided that hospital like the plague if Kevin and the others had let him, but of course, they didn’t, forcing him to come along on their daily visits.� Nick remembered vividly the awkwardness he felt, perched in a stiff-backed chair as far away from Brian’s bed as he could get, barely even making small talk with the man that was his best friend.� It wasn’t Brian that was the problem; it was what had happened to Brian.� It had scared Nick to death, seeing Brian so pale and weak and imagining someone actually cutting into his chest, into his heart.� He felt horribly guilty, but he couldn’t deny the fact that just being around Brian freaked him out.� This had lasted for about a week, and once it began to sink in that Brian really was all right, he had begun to relax, and their relationship had gone back to normal.

Nick was hoping the same thing would happen with him and Brent (and his other friends as well).� That was another reason he was calling – he hoped that hanging out with Brent would help prove to his friend that he was all right, that he was still the same old Nick, despite the fact that he looked like a freak.

“Hey,” Nick said again with a little chuckle.� “Wassup?”

“Oh, uh, not too much, man.� How about you?� How’s it going?” Brent asked casually, making standard small talk.� Nick smiled a little on his end of line, knowing instinctively that “How’s it going?” meant so much more than that.� It meant, “how are you feeling”... “no, how are you really feeling?”... “how’s your cancer?”... “are you getting better?”... “are you dying?”... “how are you dealing?” and so on.

“Okay,” Nick replied, knowing that saying, “Oh, it’s going good” would both be and sound like a total lie.

“That’s good.”

“Yeah... so anyway, you doin’ anything tonight?” Nick asked, deciding just to get to the point and not bother with the strained small talk any longer.

“Oh... um...”� There was a long pause, and finally Brent said, “yeah... me and some of the guys are gonna hit a few clubs and stuff.”

“Sounds like a good time,” commented Nick, expecting to be invited along.� He knew that if he was working or on tour and called Brent up on a free night in Tampa, he would be asked to go with them in a heartbeat.� But that was not the case this time.

“Yeah, well, you know...” Brent trailed off unenthusiastically.� “It’ll be the same old, same old.� Lots of drinking and dancing with the chicks and stuff...”� He was trying to make it sound uninteresting, probably so that Nick wouldn’t want to come.� Nick knew how that kind of thing worked.

“Yeah,” he played along.� “I’m sure you’ll have a good time though.”

“We’ll see,” replied Brent, then added hurriedly, “too bad you can’t come.� I know you’re not supposed to drink, and I’m sure you don’t feel up to going out dancing and stuff.”

“Yeah,” Nick said hollowly and did not elaborate.� He considered insisting that he did feel up to going out and inviting himself along, but it was apparent that Brent didn’t want him to go.� And when he thought about it, Brent was probably right.� He now knew firsthand why he wasn’t supposed to drink while on chemo, and he sure as hell didn’t want to repeat that experience.� And spending the night in an array of equally stuffy, crowded clubs didn’t sound all that appealing either.� He wanted to go out, but that wasn’t quite what he had had in mind.

Suddenly, he didn’t feel like talking much anymore.� “Well, I gotta go now,” he said quickly to Brent.� “Just wanted to call and say hey.”

“That’s okay,” replied Brent.� “I gotta go anyway.� Talk to ya later, dude.”

He hung up with a click, and so did Nick, a range of emotions brewing within him.� Angry, hurt, and left out, he shoved the address book back into his drawer and slammed it shut.� There was no use trying Lane, James, or Frank; they were surely some of “the guys” Brent had mentioned.

So much for going out that night.

He supposed he’d just stay at home with his dogs and his Gamecube after all.

Maybe he’d order a pizza.� Or maybe he’d just heat up a frozen one to avoid scaring away the pizza delivery boy.

All alone with a box of pizza, a stack of video games, and his pugs for company.� How sad.

That thought just depressed him, so he yanked open his desk drawer once more, determined to find someone to hang out with that night.� But as he paged through the address book, he realized that Brent, Lane, James, and Frank were pretty much the only close friends he had nearby anymore.

It was hard to keep friends when you were a celebrity; he had found that out the hard way.� Not that he had ever had a lot of friends anyway; in fact, he had been something of a social reject growing up, always picked on and excluded from his classmates at school.� His best friends had been, for the most part, his siblings.� Sad, but true.� But that made it even better when he had become a Backstreet Boy – he had gained not only a career and fame, but four best friends and “brothers” and the privilege of being able to gloat at the people who had tormented him as a child.� Too bad he wasn’t so lucky anymore...

With a sigh, Nick slowly slid the address book back into its drawer and started to close it, resigning himself to the “pizza, Nintendo, dogs” idea.� But then he was hit with an idea.� Tossing the address book aside, he hoisted out the fat, heavy, Tampa phonebook instead and flipped it open.� He found what he was looking for, picked up the phone again, and started dialing.

***

“Hey, thanks for meeting me here tonight,” Nick said, feeling almost shy as he looked over at the girl sitting across the table from him.

Claire Ryan smiled.� “No problem.� I’m always in the mood for pizza – well, almost always – and I could never pass up coming to Leonardi’s.”

Nick nodded.� “Yeah, this place is perfect,” he commented.

The small pizza parlor had been Claire’s idea.� “You’ll love it,” she had told Nick enthusiastically over the phone when he had suggested meeting at a place that was small and secluded, a place where he was not likely to be recognized or mobbed.� “It’s my favorite restaurant in Tampa; I always end up going there when I don’t feel like cooking.� It’s not too classy or anything, but the food is great, and it’s cheap.� Not to mention, it’s never too crowded.� It’ll be perfect.”

Taking another look around, Nick couldn’t help but agree totally with her.� Leonardi’s was old and shabby, but clean.� It was a no-frills kind of place – sparsely-decorated, paneled walls, simple wooden tables and chairs covered with red-and-white checked plastic tablecloths in the middle and booths along the walls, the wooden tabletops also covered in plastic tablecloths, the vinyl upholstery of the seats torn in various spots.

Nick and Claire had taken the large, wrap-around booth in the very back corner, as far away from the few other diners as they could get.� Nick had worn sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled low over his ears, hoping to disguise himself as much as possible.

“I think you’re attracting even more attention to yourself in that get-up,” Claire had teased him good-naturedly when she saw him, whipping the sunglasses off of his face.� He had only blushed and pulled his hat down tighter, trying to cover up the fact that he was bald underneath it.

He did this again now, running his hand over the top of the cap and smashing it down onto his head as far as it would go.

“Quit that, would ya?” Claire said, and Nick looked up to see a smirk playing on her lips.� He smiled sheepishly, both unaware that he had been doing it and that she had been watching him.� It had become a bad habit, the flattening and pulling of his baseball caps, probably a replacement for the nervous habit he had always had of running his hand through his hair.� He did it without even knowing now, always unconsciously insecure of his appearance.

“Sorry,” he muttered sheepishly and forced his hands into his lap.� Maybe if he just sat on them...

“You should just leave it off,” Claire suggested.� “People would think you shaved your head on purpose.� I know guys who’ve done that.”

“You’re forgetting one thing – I’m famous.� The whole world knows what’s wrong with me; no one will think I did it on purpose.”

“True, but if everyone knows what’s wrong with you anyway, why do you care if they see your head?� I mean, they would probably expect you to be bald, right?”

He had to admit, she had a point.� Still, he was self-conscious and couldn’t bear to be seen in public with a bare head.� And apparently neither could she, for she was always wearing a bandana over her head.� She must have had a million of them, too, because she always seemed to be wearing a different one.� Tonight it was tiger-striped in vivid orange and black.� It rather reminded him of AJ and his leopard-print cowboy hat.

“I dunno,” he answered her finally.� “I just don’t feel comfortable with it yet, I guess.”

She smiled.� “That’s okay.� Neither do I, really.� I was just giving you a hard time.”

He grinned and studied her for a moment.� “You ever considered getting a wig?” he asked her, his eyes following the jagged stripes of her bandana.

“Oh, I have one,” said Claire.� “Just never wear it, except for special occasions – it itches my head.”

“Oh what, and tonight’s not a special occasion?� Dinner with Nick Carter – I think that’s pretty damn special,” he teased.

“Oh yeah, you would.� You and the millions of your adoring female fans.� But not me; I have my standards,” she shot back haughtily, flashing him a grin.

He just smirked back at her.� “So, what color’s your wig?”

“Guess,” she smiled.

“Blonde?”� With her blue eyes and fair skin, she looked like a blonde.

“Nope.”

“Um... brunette then?”

“Wrong again.� It’s black.� Jet black,” she answered, beaming at the surprised look on her face.

“Black...?”

She giggled.� “Yup.� It makes me look really goth cause I’m so white...”� She held out her arm and looked at it.� “Well, not this pasty white usually, but still pretty fair.”

“So what are you naturally?� Blonde?” he asked.

She cocked her head at him.� “What’s the deal with blondes?� You like blondes do ya... Blondie?”

“I like all ladies,” he retorted smugly.� “But, no, you just look like you would be a blonde.”

She smiled.� “Well, you’ll just have to wait and see if I am or not when my hair grows back.”

“Oh, I’ll look forward to it,” Nick remarked dryly, smiling back.

Finally, a waitress came to take their order.� Speaking of blondes, she was very blonde herself, fair highlights accenting her natural golden shade of hair.� Add this to the fact that she was young, tall, skinny, and blue-eyed, and Nick thought he had died, gone to Heaven, and met an angel.� He wondered if he should try a line like that on her, then decided it probably wouldn’t be a good idea for two reasons� - 1) Claire would most definitely laugh her ass off at him, and 2) the waitress would probably just look at him in disgust.� If he had looked like the old Nick Carter, blonde and so-called attractive, it might have worked, but there was no way in hell it would work now.� He resigned himself to that fact and kept his mouth shut.

“Hi,” the waitress said in a perky voice.� “My name’s Jessica, and I’ll be your server tonight.� Can I get you two some drinks to start off?”

Nick motioned for Claire to give the girl her drink order first, and Claire nodded, saying automatically, “Sure... I’ll have a lemonade, please.”

“One lemonade,” Jessica repeated, scribbling it down on a little notepad she clutched in one hand.� “And for you, sir?”

Well, he knew there was no way in hell he was going to have lemonade.� “Um... I’ll just have ice water,” he said, deciding that would be safe.

“And one ice water.� Got it.� I’ll be back in a sec,” said Jessica as she walked away.� Nick studied her barely-there excuse for an ass for a moment and then decided he preferred the ghetto booty to the bony butt on her.

“Nick Carter, are you staring at her ass?”

Claire’s playful scolding made him jump and quickly avert his eyes.� “Of course not,” he answered hastily, trying to hide his smile.

“Oh, you were too.� Typical guy,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

Jessica returned with two dark red glasses, which she set down in front of them, placing two straws between them.� “Are you ready to order yet?” she asked.

Nick and Claire exchanged glances; they had been so busy talking, they had barely even glanced at the menu.� “What do you like on your pizza?” Claire asked him.

“Meat,” Nick said automatically.� “Pepperoni, sausage, whatever.� And cheese – extra cheese.”

She nodded.� “Sounds good to me.”� Looking at Jessica, she said, “We’ll have a large sausage and pepperoni with extra cheese.”

“Okay,” Jessica said brightly, writing their order down, and walked away.

“Do you think one large will be enough and all?” Claire asked Nick after the waitress had left.

“A large?� Uh, yeah, that should be plenty,” he replied.

“Okay, just making sure.� I wasn’t sure if you could polish off an entire pizza yourself like some guys I know or not.”

Nick laughed.� “Well, technically, I probably could or at least used to be able to, but I haven’t had much of an appetite lately.”

“Wow, wish I was you,” Claire snorted.� “I guess you got the good drugs, the kind that take away your appetite.� I got the ones that make it even bigger.� I could probably eat the entire pizza if I let myself.”

“Really?” Nick laughed.� “Wow, I think that’s the first time I’ve heard a girl say that.� Most of the girls I’ve been out with just order salads for dinner and pick at them and then say how full they are.� I’m like, “Yeah... sure you are...’.”

Claire rolled her eyes.� “Well, I’ve never been like that.� I’ve always had a ‘healthy appetite,’ let’s just say.� I used to be able to eat whatever I wanted though without it showing, but the chemotherapy I’m on now has totally been screwing with my system.� The appetite thing plus the water weight just makes me-“

“Hey, you think we can change the subject?” Nick interrupted, not really wanting to hear about things like bloating... it reminded him of when girls discussed “that time of the month,” a subject that always made him feel extremely uncomfortable.� He knew was just a part of life, but sheesh, he didn’t want hear all the gory details.

Claire laughed.� “Sure.� Sorry,” she apologized quickly.� “Yeah, let’s talk about happy things now.”

“Okay,” Nick said warily.� “Happy things like what?”� It seemed there just weren’t too many happy things in his life to discuss anymore.

Claire shrugged.� “I dunno... like flowers and kittens and shit?”� She grinned impishly.

“Kittens?� Nah, I’m more of a puppy person.”

“Me too,” Claire laughed.� “Cats are too damn temperamental.”

“Yeah,” agreed Nick.

“So...” Claire began, as the conversation faded to silence, “what else makes you happy, Nick Carter?� What are you into besides the music thing?”

What else makes you happy, Nick Carter? her words echoed in his mind.� It was a good question.� It had been so long since he had considered himself truly happy that he almost didn’t know what to answer.� But then he thought back to the one thing that had always made him happy...

“The ocean,” he said wistfully.� “I’ve always loved the ocean.� It’s like my... my sanctuary... the one place I can go to take my mind off of all the crap I have to think about and just chill, you know.� It’s my escape.”

Claire nodded seriously, looking him right in the eyes as he spoke.� It rather unnerved him; he wasn’t used to getting all deep and thoughtful, and having her look at him so intently made him feel self-conscious.

“Sorry,” he blushed.� “Didn’t mean to go all fruity on you.”

Claire frowned.� “Why are you sorry?� And I don’t think you’re fruity.� That’s cool.� So I bet you’ve probably spent a lot of time by the ocean recently then.”

“Actually, no, I haven’t,” Nick answered truthfully, realizing just how long it had been.� “My poor boat hasn’t been taken out in months.”

“Oh.� Well, you should take it out.� Clear your mind and all that.”

“Yeah...” Nick said slowly.� “Yeah, I should...”

The service at Leonardi’s was much faster than most of the pizza places Nick had been to, and their pizza was brought to them in no time.� It looked and smelled delicious, even to Nick.� Covered in hot, bubbling cheese, browned to perfection, and piled with layers of pepperoni and sausage, it beckoned to Nick, and he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into a slice.

He slid a slice onto Claire’s plate and then took one for himself.� Without hesitation, he picked it up and took a big bite off the end, eager to try it.� It tasted like heaven in his mouth.� Claire was right; Leonardi’s did make great pizza.� He was surprised that in all his years of living in Tampa, he had never discovered this wonderful little place before.� It was not until he started chewing and swallowed that he realized he had made a mistake.� The hot, zesty pizza burned the sores in his mouth, making it too painful to enjoy.� He swallowed with difficulty, grimacing.

Glancing up from her slice, Claire looked at him in concern.� “What’s wrong?” she asked.� “Does it taste funny?”

“No,” Nick choked quickly, embarrassed.� “No, it’s really good.� Just, uh, a little hot.”

“Oh.� Good,” said Claire.� Shrugging, she added, “Some of the chemo drugs I’ve been on have screwed up my sense of taste, so I was just wondering if that was it.”

“Oh, no,” Nick shook his head.� “No, it’s not that.”� He forced himself to take another bite, somehow feeling as if he would disappoint her if he did not eat.� Trying not to wince, he chewed carefully, strategically trying to avoid the sores.� But that was impossible, for they had cropped up all over the inside of his mouth.

He glanced up, only to see Claire watching him again.

“What?” he asked, swallowing again.� “Do I got cheese hanging off my chin or something?”� He swiped at his mouth with his napkin.

“No... you just... never mind,” she said, going back to her pizza and chewing in silence.

He just stared down at his own, hungry and wanting to eat it, but dreading it at the same time.� God, this sucked.� Wasn’t the baldness and barfing enough?� Wasn’t it bad enough that he could barely eat for a week because he was so nauseous, and now, when he finally did have an appetite again, he couldn’t eat because his mouth was full of raw canker sores?

After a few minutes of silence, Claire let her half-eaten slice of pizza drop to her plate and looked at Nick.� “Is it mouth sores?” she asked, as if she could read his mind.

Nick stared at her.� How did she do that?� “Yeah,” he admitted.� “The pizza’s really good, but I just... it hurts to eat it...”

Claire smiled sympathetically.� “Just a minute,” she said.� Then she called, “Excuse me, Jessica?”

Their young, blonde waitress, who had just finished taking another table’s orders, hurried over.� “Yes, can I get you anything?” she asked Claire.

“Yeah, two large milkshakes please. �One strawberry and one-“� She paused and looked back to Nick.� “What flavor?”

“Oh... uh, vanilla, I guess,” he answered in surprise.

“Coming right up,” Jessica said with a smile.

“They make awesome milkshakes here too,” Claire told Nick.� “And they feel a lot better on your mouth, trust me.� I’ve been there.”

She smiled understandingly, and Nick smiled back, reassured.� It was odd, but he felt extremely comfortable around Claire, even though he didn’t know her that well yet.� He wasn’t even sure if they really had anything in common, except for the fact that they were both battling the same type of disease.� But that was enough.� It had created some sort of bond between them, and though she was still practically a stranger, Claire Ryan felt like a friend to him.� A friend that understood what he was going through in a way none of his other friends could.� Because as close as he was to Brian and all his other friends, he had a special connection with Claire that he would never have with any of them.

Jessica returned, balancing two tall fountain glasses on a tray.� One was filled with light pink ice cream, the other with creamy white, and both were topped with copious mounds of whipped cream, a single cherry perched on the peak.

“Thank you,” Claire said and pushed her plate of half-eaten pizza aside.

“Do you want a box for that?” Jessica asked, eying the nearly-full pan of pizza.

“Yes, please,” answered Claire.� “Actually, bring back two, would you?”

“Sure.”� Jessica left and returned right away with two flat pizza boxes.� Claire divided the uneaten pizza into halves, putting one half into one box and the other into the other box.

“You take half of it home,” she said to Nick, “so that you can eat it later if your mouth feels better.”

“Thanks,” said Nick, touched by her thoughtfulness.� He took a slow sip of his milkshake, struggling to suck the thick substance through his straw, and swallowed carefully.� Claire was right; the cold ice cream did feel a lot better swishing around in his mouth than the pizza had, and he eagerly drank some more.

“Hits the spot, doesn’t it?” Claire asked, plucking the cherry off the top of hers by its stem and twisting it around slowly between her fingers.

”Yeah,” Nick said earnestly.� “You rule, you know that.”

“I know,” teased Claire with a grin, popping the cherry into her mouth.

Nick smiled, taking another sip from his shake, glad that he had gone out with her tonight instead of with his guy friends.� Maybe he wasn’t off in some sleazy nightclub, plastered and surrounded by beautiful women, but he was having a good time just the same.

“What would I do without ya, Claire?” he bantered, but really, he meant it.� Thinking back to their talks in the clinic waiting room and her visit to him in the hospital and, of course, tonight, he realized the whole sucky ordeal he had endured thus far would have been even suckier without her companionship.

***

Nick followed Claire’s suggestion and took his boat out the very next day.� And as he stood, slowly turning the wheel, guiding the large boat through the relatively calm waters, the breeze in his face and the sun at his back, he knew it had been a very good suggestion indeed.

It had not been until he had actually gotten out onto the water, felt the familiar rolling beneath his feet and smelled the familiar scent of seawater that he realized how much he had truly missed this.� Besides music, being out on the ocean was his favorite pastime, his favorite means of relaxation.� Even now, with the heavy burden he had carried on his shoulders for over three months, it did wonders to calm his nerves and soothe his worry.

It was a perfect day to be doing this.� It was very hot outside, but being on the water cooled the temperature considerably, and Nick was quite comfortable.� The sky was blue and cloudless; the sun shined brightly.� This only served to compliment Nick’s unusually cheerful mood.

When he was far enough out to only be able to glimpse the shore in the distance, he shut off the motor and let the boat drift.� He had discovered that he could only stand so long without feeling weak and was glad to sink down onto a seat and let the boat take him wherever it chose.� He stretched back contentedly in his seat and flicked off his baseball cap, letting the breeze cool his head, which was beginning to sweat underneath the cap.

As the boat drifted lazily in the vast waters, Nick let his mind wander.� Being out on the ocean, he thought first of his family, his father in particular, who had passed on a love for the water to his eldest son.

It had been almost two weeks since he had thrown his mother out of his home, and he had had no contact with her, his father, or any of his siblings since.� He had not tried calling for fear his mother would answer or see his name on the caller ID; he did not want her to think he was looking to apologize because he wasn’t.� He figured his brother and sisters were either mad at him or forbidden by Jane to call him, and he knew for a fact that his father probably wouldn’t call so long as he was still feuding with Jane.

Bob Carter was the opposite of his high-strung wife; he was very mellow and preferred to stay out of arguments, particularly family ones.� But if it came down to taking sides, Nick knew he would always side with Jane, whether he truly agreed with her or not.� Bite back his tongue and agree with his wife, and he would be safe.� Disagree, and he would feel her wrath; there would be hell to pay.� Bob was the only one Jane could always count on to back her up, and the power she had over him was more than Nick could overcome.

Rolling his eyes irritably at the thought of his mother, he forced himself to think of something else.� A small stereo softly playing one of his old Journey albums brought to mind his biggest passion, even bigger than the ocean.� Music.

Despite the lengthy Backstreet hiatus, Nick had not let the music die, going into the studio often to write, record tracks for “Now or Never,” or just experiment.� And when the album had finally come out, he’d done heavy promoting, making television and radio appearances and performing.� And then had come the tour, where he had spent nearly every night singing onstage.� And even after his diagnosis, he’d been in the studio, covering up his illness and dedicating every ounce of his energy to the music, giving it his all.� But then they had decided to take a break.� Just “a couple weeks,” Kevin had said, but it had been over a month, and no one had mentioned getting back together to work on the album.

His good mood beginning to fade as he slowly realized how long it had been since the Backstreet “family meeting” in Orlando, Nick sighed heavily.� It was all his fault.� He knew the only reason why they hadn’t gotten back together yet was because of him, because he was sick, and the others felt he wasn’t up to it.� And maybe they had a point... on the weeks he was receiving chemo, he knew it would be nearly impossible to get anything decent recorded in the studio – they had tried that, and it hadn’t worked.� And even when he was not on chemo, he was tired, weak, listless, his body ravaged and struggling to recover from the previous week’s assault.

But he could do it.� He could write, he could sing, he could do whatever they needed him to do.� He had been with them for ten years now, and he was used to performing sick.� It was just one of the downsides of being a Backstreet Boy – appearances couldn’t be backed out of for a little thing like the flu, and concerts couldn’t be cancelled unless you were practically on your deathbed.

And he wasn’t.

No, he wasn’t at his best now either, but he was very much alive and suddenly filled with determination.� He wanted to get back into the studio, to get the album done, to please both the guys and the fans, not to mention himself because he was looking forward to it too.� A new album, a new tour... those things represented normalcy in his life, and he wanted them back.� Restless weeks spent on a tour bus seemed like paradise compared to the torturous weeks he had spent in the hospital.

Someday, he assured himself, I’ll be out there on the road again with the guys.

In other words, someday things would be back to normal.

Confident in that thought, Nick propped up his feet and leaned back as far as he could in his seat, perfectly content for the first time in a long while.

***

Nick was not sure exactly how many hours he spent on the water, but by the time he was docking his boat, the sun was sinking low in the sky.� Once home, he saw that it was just after seven and couldn’t believe he had been out so long.� The picnic-style lunch he had brought onto the boat with him was long gone, and his stomach growled with hunger, reminding him that dinner was long overdue.

As he walked through the foyer, prepared to go into the kitchen and scavenger for food, something on the floor caught his eye, something he had not taken notice of in almost three months.� It was the painting, the beautiful ocean landscape he had once had hanging on the wall there.� He recalled slamming the door and causing the painting to fall, breaking its frame.� He had set it down and ignored it ever since.� Now, stooping down, his left leg aching in protest, he carefully picked up the painting and looked at it.� It was gorgeous, the golden sun setting behind the sparking dark blue ocean, its darkening rays reflecting on the water’s surface.� His breath caught in his throat just looking at it and thinking of the ocean from which he had just come.

He knew then that it was time to get a new frame and put the picture back up.� Tomorrow, he told himself, carrying the delicate frame into the kitchen with him and placing it where he would be sure not to forget about it.

Opening up the refrigerator, he stuck his head in and began rummaging around, frowning in dismay at the meager selection that lay before him.� He sighed; nothing there looked particularly good to him when he thought of his mouthful of canker sores and the discomfort eating would put him in.

He slammed the fridge door shut and tried the freezer, hoping to find a carton of ice cream greeting him.� Surprisingly, there was one – a tub of mint chocolate chip.� It sounded like heaven to him, and he eagerly took the carton from the shelf and pulled off the top... only to find a very miniscule amount stuck to the sides and not even covering the bottom.

Damn.

Growling, he tossed the near-empty container into the trash and decided he was just going to have to go out and get himself some more ice cream because that was the only thing that seemed both edible and appealing to him at the moment, and he absolutely had to have some.

“How come ice cream places don’t deliver anyway?” he grumbled as he slid his feet into a pair of flip-flops.� “Or what happened to the ice cream trucks with the little bells?� That would be perfect right about now.”

He smiled slightly, remembering the ice cream man that had patrolled his neighborhood during the summers of his childhood, doling out ice cream cones and popsicles to eager herds of grubby children.� Did such a thing even exist anymore?� Not in his neighborhood.� Then again, maybe that was because there were few children in his neighborhood.� It was mostly older people enjoying luxurious retirements or wealthy, middle-aged business people who only emerged from their homes to go to work.� He supposed an ice cream man wouldn’t be able to stay in business just by working the streets of his area... then again, old people loved ice cream too.� His grandparents had anyway; they had always kept their freezer stocked with it for him and his younger siblings.

Realizing he was getting totally side-tracked, Nick forced himself to stop thinking and grabbed his car keys.� He was halfway out the door before he remembered a hat; going to the grocery store with his clean-shaven head bared for the world to see would not be good.� He realized the baseball cap he had been wearing earlier was still on the boat, so he grabbed a navy blue beanie instead and pulled it down snugly over his head.� The sensitive skin burned underneath the knit hat, and he wondered if he had gotten a little too much sun.� Either that or it was razor burn.

Shrugging carelessly, he continued on out into his large garage and climbed into his dark green Durango.� He was on a mission now.

***

Standing in front of the freezer cases at one of the oldest, smallest, and least popular Tampa-area grocery stores, Nick contemplated his selection in peace, his eyes roaming the shelves of ice cream, his mind processing the various brands and flavors.� There were too many to choose from.

After a moment, he opened up one of the cases, reached in, and selected a carton of mint chocolate chip, his favorite.� He hesitated a moment, then also grabbed a container of rocky road.� And maybe... banana split?� Ew, no, nothing with the word “banana” in the title.� Cookies and cream, perhaps?� Or maybe strawberry cheesecake instead?� Mmm... cheesecake... oh hell, why not both?

Smiling triumphantly, Nick grabbed one carton of cookies and cream and one of strawberry cheesecake and added them to the stack he was accumulating.� I should have gotten a cart, he thought; the four tubs of ice cream he had in a death grip under one arm were painfully cold against his skin.

He started to hurry his purchases up to the cash registers at the front, afraid his arm was going to freeze to the side of the ice cream containers, and he’d have to pour scalding water all over his arm just to pry it off... that thought reminded him of “A Christmas Story,” when the kid gets double-dog-dared to lick the flagpole... he smiled to himself and did not realize there was someone behind him until a voice asked, “Hungry much?”

Startled, Nick spun around, almost dropping his ice cream in the process, and found himself face to face with Claire, of all people.

“I thought that was you,” she said with a smile, and her eyes traveled to the four cartons of ice cream in his arms.� “Gorging yourself on ice cream, are you?� Sounds like my kind of night.”

“Hey,” he said with a shaky laugh, still getting over his shock.� “What are you doing here?”

She held up a frozen pizza.� “Just got off work and thought I’d grab something to heat up for dinner when I get home.”� Shrugging, she added sheepishly, “I’m not much of� cook.”

He noticed for the first time that she was wearing hot pink scrubs, a white bandana dotted with tiny pink flowers wrapped around her head to coordinate.� “Oh,” he said.� “You don’t get off till seven?� I didn’t think most dentists’ offices stayed open that late.”

“Oh, well, I actually got off at five,” she clarified.� “But then I dropped by the hospital and hung out for awhile.”

He blinked.� “You go to the hospital to hang out?” he asked.� Wow, looks like someone needs a hobby.

“Well, yeah, I hang out with the little kids up in oncology,” she elaborated.� “I read to them or play video games with them and stuff.� It gets lonely up there; I’m sure you know that.� And haven’t I told you all this before?”

He shrugged.� “Maybe... well, that’s cool of you.”

“Yeah...”� She trailed off, studying him a moment, then asked, “So, what did you do today?� Hang out outside all day?”

“Yeah, I took my boat out... how’d you know I was outside all day?”

“’Cause apparently you forgot the Sunblock, Lobster Boy.”

If Nick’s face had been red before, it became even redder now.� “Really?” he asked, clapping a hand to his cheek.� It stung with the touch and felt warm against his fingertips, and he realized he had gotten sunburned.� He hadn’t even noticed it, having not glanced in a mirror since he got back (he tried to avoid mirrors as much as possible these days).� It surprised him; usually he tanned very easily and rarely got burned.

“Ohh yeah,” said Claire.� Her eyes scanning upward, she asked, “You did remember to cover your head, didn’t you?”

Nick grimaced, glanced around to make sure there were no other people in sight, and slowly tugged off his hat, the skin of his scalp tingling unpleasantly once again.� “How bad is it?” he asked, bending over so that she could see the top of his head.

There was silence at first, then a sharp intake of breath, and by the time he straightened himself back up to look at her, she had her hands over her mouth, stifling back giggles, her eyes wide.

“God, Nick,” she breathed after a moment.� “It’s already blistering!� That’s gotta hurt like a bitch.”

“Yeah,” he said, gingerly pulling the hat back onto his head.� “It does...”� He was just beginning to realize how much it stung now and wondered if the knowledge made it seem even worse.

“You should put Aloe on it,” Claire advised knowledgeably.� “It’ll cool it off, make it feel better.”

“Aloe?” he repeated dumbly.� “What’s that?”

“It’s like this clear stuff that you put on your skin... it’s good for sunburns.”

“Oh.� Well, where do you get it?”

“You should be able to find it at any drugstore or some place like that.� I’ve got some nice-smelling stuff from Bath and Body Works... I use it all the time, cause I burn so easily.� Damn my white Irish skin,” she laughed.

“Bath and Body Works?” he repeated, wrinkling his nose.� “Well, I sure as hell ain’t gonna set foot in there... that place freaks me out.”

“What, you don’t like to smell pretty after you shower?” she asked innocently and then giggled at the expression on his face.� Then the smile left her face, and, suddenly seeming almost shy, she said, “Hey, if you aren’t doing anything tonight other than pigging out on ice cream... do you wanna come over to my place?� I can, you know, let you borrow my Aloe...”� One side of her mouth turned up in a half-smile.

He returned the smirk and quipped, “Only if I can bring my ice cream.”

“Oh, you bet!� I wouldn’t let you come without it,” said Claire.� “So... whaddya say?”

Nick grinned cheekily.� “I say you’re on, girl.”

***

“It’s not much,” Claire said, as she unlocked the door to her apartment, “but it’s all I can afford.� I like to think of it as... cozy.”

Having followed Claire from the grocery store to her apartment building, Nick now stood waiting as she jiggled the doorknob and slowly pushed open the door, interested to see what the apartment looked like on the inside.� On the outside, the building was old and small, but well taken care of.� The halls they had walked through were in need of a paint job and maybe some new carpeting, but other than that, the place seemed decent and clean.

As Claire led him inside her apartment and flipped on the light switch, he saw right away that the inside was nothing like the outside.� “Cozy” was an accurate word to describe it, for it was indeed tiny.� But whereas the halls leading to the apartment had been drab and dim, the apartment itself was bright and inviting, decorated in a cute, thrifty fashion.

The tiny kitchen was painted pale green, with speckled white Formica counters over white cupboards and a small, battle-scarred kitchen table made of blonde wood in one corner, two matching chairs tucked neatly under it.� A small vase of flowers and placemats on the table added color to the room, while an amateur-looking still-life watercolor of a bowl of fruit mounted on the wall over the table gave the room charm.

“I painted that in one of my art classes in high school,” Claire said, noticing Nick looking at the painting.� “I know it’s not very good, but my mom insisted I put it up.”� She laughed, and he joined in.

“I think it’s good,” he complimented her.� “I’m not much of a painter myself.� I’m more into drawing and cartooning and stuff.”

Claire cocked her head at him.� “Are you really?” she asked.� “I didn’t know that.� That’s very cool.� I should have you do a caricature of me sometime.”

“Sure,” he replied.

“Well, here, let’s put the ice cream in the freezer,” she said, taking his plastic grocery bags and stuffing them into her freezer, along with her pizza.� “And I’ll show you the ‘living room’.”� She made quotation marks with her fingers as she led him into the small room that served as a living room.

Its walls were painted a dark shade of purple, which normally Nick would have thought hideous, but somehow, it worked in this room.� A big, slip-covered couch, accompanied by two side tables, took up most one wall, and a small entertainment center with a TV and VCR occupied the other wall.� An old armchair sat under the window, a short bookcase beside it, filled to the brim with books and magazines.� All around the room, seemingly wherever she could find room, Claire had placed colorful candles and lamps and other odds and ends, leaving the room crowded, but charming.

“I like it,” Nick said, looking around.

“Thanks,” said Claire.� “It’s getting a little too cluttered looking, I think.� I’ve got way too much junk.� One of these days, I’m going to save up and move someplace bigger.”

Nick shrugged.� “Don’t worry about it.� I’ve never liked big houses.� I bought myself this giant mansion as soon as I had the money, but I ended up selling it... it was just way too big to live in alone; I kept getting freaked out.”� He laughed.� “The house I live in now is smaller.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s still a glorified mansion compared to this,” said Claire.

“You should come see it sometime,” offered Nick.

“Okay,” Claire replied, apparently impressed by the proposition.� “So... Aloe, right?� I’ll run and get that; it’s in the bathroom.� Make yourself at home.� There’s the remote.”� She pointed out the remote control sitting on one of the small tables beside the couch and walked down a tiny hallway leading off the living room, ducking into a room that Nick assumed was the bathroom.

Sinking down onto the couch, which turned out to be rather sunken in the middle, Nick picked up the remote and turned on the television.� He was flipping absently through the channels when Claire came back and squealed, “ET!”

“Huh?”� Nick looked at the TV long enough to realize that he had stopped on USA, and that ET was on, then said, “Oh, yeah.� ET.”

“Aww, I loved this movie when I was a little kid,” Claire said fondly.� “It was one of the first movies I saw in the theaters.� My mom took my brother and I to see it when I was like two.� Of course, I don’t actually remember that, but... you know...”

Nick laughed.� “Yeah.� My first movie was I think The Fox and the Hound.”

“Aww...” Claire smiled.� “That’s a great Disney movie... makes me cry.”� She laughed.

Nick rolled his eyes.� “Girls...� But yeah, anyway, ET... man, I haven’t seen this in years,” he said, glancing back at the movie.

“Yeah, me neither.”

So, wordlessly, they agreed to leave it on.

“Here’s the Aloe,” Claire said, handing him a small bottle of pink-tinted, clear liquid with little blue sparkles or something floating in it.

“Ugh,” he said, reading the label.� Sure enough, it was from the Bath and Body Works store, and it was pink.� With sparkles.� Could you get any girlier?� “Dude, I dunno about this... I don’t wanna look like I put body glitter on my head...” he said uncertainly.

Claire laughed.� “Don’t worry, it rubs in and doesn’t show.� Here, take off your hat.”� He slowly pulled his hat off and set it down on the table, while Claire positioned herself next to him on the couch, rising to her knees so that she could reach his head properly.� She squirted a glob of the stuff into her hand, rubbed her hands together once, and laid them lightly on the top of his head.

“Shit, that stuff’s cold!” he exclaimed, shivers running down his spine.

“Sorry,” she said, rubbing it in with gentle hands.� “But it feels good, doesn’t it?”

He had to admit, it did feel good, cool and soothing on his hot skin.� And it had a nice scent, too, like coconuts.� It reminded him of the beach.� “Mmm, that does feel good,” he said, closing his eyes as her fingers continued to massage his scalp.� She paused to squirt some more into her hands and then kept going, rubbing the cool gel into his skin.� After awhile, her fingers began to descend downward, gently kneading his neck and shoulders.

“Do you like that?” she asked softly.

“Oh yeah, that’s wonderful,” he breathed, eyes still closed in bliss.� How long had it been since he’d had a girl massage his shoulders like that?� Had Leah ever done that to him?� He couldn’t remember... and didn’t really want to either, for thinking of Leah was still slightly painful.� He forced the thoughts of Leah out of his mind, focusing instead on the feel of Claire’s fingertips on his skin.� Damn, she was good.� He decided they’d have to hang out more often from now on.

It had been awhile since he’d had a female friend.� Most of the girls he was ever with wanted to be more than friends, and that caused problems because it always turned out that they were only interested in Nick Backstreet, not Nick Carter, and only wanted his money or a record deal, not his love.� Or they just went and cheated on him, like Leah had.� It was better just to stay friends with girls, like he was with Claire.� It was a great relief to be able to hang out with someone like her and be assured that it was only a friendship, nothing more.

“You’re really good at this,” Nick commented.

Claire snorted.� “Well, it’s not really an art or anything,” she laughed.� “It’s just something you do...”� She shrugged.� “My friends and I used to take turns rubbing each other’s backs at our sleepovers when we were younger.”

Nick glanced over at her.� “Really...” he said interestedly.� “Shirts on or off?”

“On,” she said, rolling her eyes.� “Not to spoil whatever kinky lesbian fantasies you had going there, but yeah, we didn’t strip and have some back-rubbing orgy or whatever you were thinking.”

Nick laughed.� “Well, that’s still a new one to me.� Must be a girl thing cause the guys and I never did anything like that.”

“You mean the Backstreet Boys guys?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t cause then people really would think you guys were gay... well, even more than they do already.”� She snickered.

“Hey!� We’re not gay!� And anyway, you said it wasn’t a gay thing to do!” exclaimed Nick.

“Whoa, chill, I’m kidding,” she giggled and let her hands travel down his back, rubbing it in small circles, using her fingernails.� His skin tingled pleasantly with her touch.� “Want me to keep going?” she asked.

“Ohh yeah... that is, if you don’t mind.”� He shot her his half-smile.� “It does feel really good.”

She smiled and nodded.� After a moment, she said casually, “You know, it probably would feel better if you did take your shirt off.”

Nick whipped his head in her direction.� “Claire Ryan,” he said, feigning shock, really just teasing her, “are you trying to get me to strip for you?”

His goal was achieved when her cheeks flushed bright pink.� “No!” she protested quickly.� “I just thought... never mind.”

“Nah, I’m just playin’ with ya,” Nick said.� Actually, he had had the same idea in mind but didn’t want her to think he was trying to put the moves on her.� As if he would.� “I think you’re right, actually.� You wouldn’t mind, would you?� If I took off my shirt?”

“No,” she laughed.� “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I minded.� Go ahead; it’s no big deal to me.”

He nodded and took off his t-shirt, grimacing as he glanced down and saw the small gauze pad covering the exit site of his catheter.� But his embarrassment faded quickly when he realized that there was no need to be embarrassed at all, for Claire had one too.� That was the good thing about Claire – there was no reason to feel awkward or insecure around her because she was going through the same thing as he was.

“Scoot up,” she said, nudging him forward so that he was perched on the edge of the couch.� Then she sank down so that she was sitting properly, turned him a little so that his back was facing more toward her, and pressed her fingers into his back again, kneading his skin, working his muscles.

“Oh god,” he whispered.� “That feels great... I’m gonna hire you to be my personal masseuse from now on, ‘kay?”

“Oh yeah?� How much you gonna pay me?”

“Whatever you want,” he moaned as she dug her nails into his flesh.� “Or I can just get you a record deal, if you want – that’s what most other girls want when they hang out with me.”

She burst out laughing.� “A record deal?� Me?� Haha, you apparently haven’t heard me sing before.”

“Oh, you don’t have to be able to sing,” he assured her.� “Look at Mand- I mean, Willa Ford.� You think she can sing?”

“Good point,” snickered Claire.� “But then again, Willa Ford’s a one-hit wonder, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, I guess so.� Okay, so maybe being able to sing is fairly important.”

“Well then I’m out cause I’m fairly tone deaf,” Claire replied.� “Ask any of my friends.”

He laughed.� “Well now, I gotta hear that... we should hit a karaoke bar sometime,” he said, his eyes gleaming wickedly.

“Oh yeah,” she said sarcastically, playfully hitting his shoulder.

“You hit like a girl,” he told her matter-of-factly.� “Now get back to that back-rubbing, woman.”

“Oh, woman, is it?” she repeated in mock offense.� “Well, in that case, I think I’ll just stop...”

“No, don’t!” Nick begged.� “Keep going, baby... all night long!”

“Nick!” she hissed.� “Can you say that any louder?� My neighbors are gonna think we’re up to something in here...”

“So let ‘em think it,” he replied deviously, moaning loudly, “Ohhh, Claire!”

Smacking him, she tried to keep a straight face, but burst out laughing and, gasping for breath, screamed, “Ohhh, YES!� YES!� NICK!”

Laughing, Nick said, “See, now we gotta go to your bedroom and jump on your bed... make the people below you think we’re really going at it.”

She burst out laughing.� “Uh, no, I don’t think so.� You’re already shirtless – you don’t need to tempt me any more.”� He must have blushed or gotten a look on his face or something, because she glanced at him and then started laughing again.� “Whoa, chill, I’m kidding!� I’m not gonna rape you or something, don’t worry.� You’re not even my type.”

“Oh yeah?” he shot back defensively.� “Well, what’s ‘your type’ then?”

“I dunno... I guess I like ‘bad boys’,” she said seductively.� “And you... well, you’re kind of a pussy...”

“Hey!”

She started laughing again, holding her stomach as she did so, and when she finally stopped, she was breathless. �Panting, she said, “Hey, how about some of that ice cream?� I dunno about you, but I’m starving.� I never did get around to putting that pizza in the oven.”

“Ooh yeah, I’m starving too.� Ice cream sounds great,” he said, temporarily forgetting all about his massage and focusing on the next best thing – ice cream.� They both got up from the couch and wandered into the kitchen, where Claire hauled out the four cartons of ice cream, two spoons, and two bowls.

“There you go,” she said, slapping a bowl and spoon down on the counter in front of him.� “Have at it!”

***

“Well, I think I’m gonna go change my clothes,” Claire announced when they had finished their ice cream.� “Be right back.”� She headed off to her bedroom, and Nick remained on the couch, watching “ET”.� When Claire reappeared a few minutes later, she had traded her dental hygienist’s scrubs for a pair of thin, cotton pajama pants and a ratty-looking t-shirt. Flopping down onto the couch beside Nick, she pulled her bare feet up with her, hugging her knees to her chest.

“Oh no!” she cried as her attention moved to the TV, “this is when they come to get ET!”

“I know,” Nick said.

“I always cry at this movie, when ET dies...”

Nick chuckled lightly, refusing to admit that he, too, had cried at the end of “ET” before.� Of course, that wasn’t quite as bad as Howie crying at Titanic – Nick would never let him live that one down.� A loveable alien was one thing, but Leonardo DiCaprio?� Ugh.

After that, their conversation died down, and they watched the rest of the movie in silence, Nick stiffening awkwardly when he heard tiny sniffles coming from Claire’s side of the couch.� Crying girls always freaked him out.

By the time the movie ended, it was ten p.m., and pathetic as it sounded, Nick was already getting sleepy.� Normally he was more of a night owl, but the chemo had taken its toll, leaving him feeling tired almost all the time and ready to go to bed at early hours.� Still, he didn’t feel like going home just yet, and Claire didn’t seem too anxious for him to leave yet either, so he decided to stay awhile longer.� Flipping through the channels, Claire found back to back episodes of “The Man Show” on Comedy Central, and they settled back to watch.

I’ll go home when this is over, Nick told himself.

But eleven o’clock found both him and Claire sound asleep on the couch, his head leaning back against the sofa, mouth hanging open, snoring slightly, while Claire’s head had fallen onto his shoulder.� And by the time Nick awoke and realized this, the sky was already beginning to lighten.� Squinting groggily around the room in search of a clock, Nick saw that it was just past five in the morning.� He had slept for six hours straight, sitting up, on a couch.� How he had managed to do that was beyond him, but after so many years of touring and spending every night sleeping either on a bus or in one unfamiliar hotel bed after another, he supposed he had grown accustomed to being able to sleep anywhere.

Claire was still slumped against him in sleep, and he didn’t want to move and wake her, but he was dying to get up and stretch.� Carefully scooting out from under her, easing her head down to the couch, he stood up, his muscles screaming in protest.� He shook out his shoulders and rotated his neck, trying to get the crick out.

“Are you still here?” he heard a muffled voice say and turned to find Claire blinking tiredly up at him from the couch.

“’Morning,” he said with a sheepish grin.� “Apparently we fell asleep.� I just woke up.”

“What time is it?”

“Like five.”

“Wow...”

He chuckled.� “Yeah... well... I guess I should just go then... you probably want to go back to bed.”

“Nah... I’m good for now,” Claire said, pulling herself up into a sitting position.� “Besides, I might as well make you breakfast before you leave.”

He blinked.� “Breakfast?� I thought you didn’t cook.”

“I don’t,” she smiled.� “But I can make eggs... or pancakes...”

“You don’t have to.� If anything, I should be making breakfast for you.� After that backrub last night...”

“Good point,” said Claire.� “You cook.”� She grinned expectantly at him, and he laughed.

“Well... okay...”� Uncertainly, he wandered into the kitchen, where he stood blankly for a moment, wondering what to make and how to go about doing it.� I can do this, he thought after a moment; he was not completely clueless in the kitchen.� Living alone as a bachelor, he couldn’t afford to be; he had to provide for himself somehow, and he refused to act like some stuffy, snobbish rich person and hire a cook.� He was not entirely helpless.

Pancakes sounded good to him, so he started opening cupboards in search of a box of Bisquik.� Luckily, the kitchen was so small that there wasn’t much storage place, so he was able to find what he needed easily.� Carefully following the pancake recipe on the side of the Bisquik box, he had a batch whipped up in no time and was flipping browning pancakes on the griddle (and feeling very domestic, mind you).

“Mmm,” Claire inhaled, coming into the kitchen just as Nick started piling the hot pancakes onto two plates.� “Dang, Nick, those look good!� I didn’t think you’d have a clue how to do that!”

“I used Bisquik,” he admitted, handing her a plate stacked with pancakes.

“So?� I still didn’t think you’d be able to do it,” she laughed.� “So Mr. Backstreet Boy does know his way around a kitchen... interesting.”

“Hey, I cook for myself at home,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Do you really?� You don’t have someone to do that for you?”

“Nope.”

“Do you have a cleaning lady?”

“... Well, yeah...”

“Ha, gotcha on that one,” she said smugly.� “Of course you’d have a maid.”

“Well, she’s not like a maid maid like you’d think... I mean, she doesn’t live with me and walk around in a skimpy black dress with a white apron and a feather duster all the time.� She just comes once a week, ya know,” he explained.

“I see.”� Claire smiled, glanced down at her plate, and then said, “Well, come on, let’s eat before these get cold.”� She rummaged through the refrigerator and retrieved a tub of margarine and a bottle of maple syrup, which she placed on the kitchen table between them as they both sat down.� His appetite aroused by the aroma of warm pancakes, Nick eagerly smeared butter across his stack and then proceeded to drench it in syrup, the thick, brown liquid flowing down the sides of the mountain of pancakes like hot lava on a volcano.

“So,” Nick said between bites, “what are you up to today?”

“Working,” replied Claire through a mouthful of pancake.� Swallowing, she added, “I’m on at eight.”

“Oh, fun.”

“Uh, yeah.� So, how about you?� Doing anything interesting?”

“Probably heading to Michaels to pick up a picture frame for this painting I have, if that counts as interesting,” laughed Nick.

“Oh, I love Michaels!” exclaimed Claire.� “I spend way too much money there on scrapbooking stuff.”

“Scrapbooking?”

“Yeah, I’m addicted to scrapbooking; it’s awesome!� I should get you into it...”

“Ha, yeah right,” Nick chuckled.� “Sorry, but I don’t think scrapbooking is really a ‘manly’ hobby, you know?”

“Oh, psh,” Claire replied with a roll of her eyes.� “I don’t know why it’s considered girly to organize your pictures and memory stuff in a book.”

Nick just shrugged; he could actually almost picture Kevin doing something like that... the guy was forever taking pictures and filming them with his camcorder, and he was just anal enough to want every photograph he owned categorized and organized neatly in a memory album.

When they were done eating, Nick asked, “You want me to help you with dishes or anything?� I kinda made a mess...”� He eyed the bowl he had used to mix the pancakes; it was now encrusted with dried batter.

“Nah, that’s okay.� You cooked; I’ll clean,” she replied reasonably.� “I’ll have just enough time to straighten up before I have to go get ready for work.”

“Well, okay... if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” she replied.� “So, you gonna take off now?”

“Yeah,” Nick replied.� “Hey, thanks for inviting me over last night.� It was fun.”

She smiled.� “Yeah.� We should hang out more... but at your place next time.� You know I wanna see how the other half lives.”� She winked, and he just rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, whatever.”� He grabbed his flip-flops and as he slid them on, asked, “Hey, do you want my phone number?� I mean, it’s unlisted, obviously, so you can’t just look it up like I can yours... just in case you wanna hang out or something.”

“Oh yeah, sure,” she replied.� “Let me grab you something to write it down on cause if you just tell it to me, you know I’ll forget it in like two seconds.”� She rummaged through one of her drawers and came up with a small tablet of paper and a pen, which he used to jot down his number.

“There ya go,” he said.� “Well, I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, see you... on the nineteenth, if not before, right?”

“The nineteenth?” Nick repeated blankly.

“Doctor’s appointment?� Or don’t tell me they messed up the scheduling this time around?”

“Oh!”� Nick laughed.� “No, I think it is on the nineteenth... so yeah, I guess I’ll see you then.”

“It’s a date,” smirked Claire with a roll of her eyes.

“Oh yeah... oncology clinic waiting room... great date,” Nick nodded sarcastically.

Claire giggled.� “Well, you’d better scram now cause I gotta start getting cleaned up, or I’m gonna be late.”

“Yeah,” said Nick.� “See ya later.”

“See ya.”

They exchanged smiles, and he left the apartment, trudging through the dreary hallway and down the narrow stairwell until he reached the small parking lot, where his SUV was parked.� Yawning, he climbed inside and started his engine, hoping he wouldn’t fall asleep on the drive home.� It was way too early to be up.

***

Nick trudged into the outpatient clinic on the oncology floor in a state of depression, July nineteenth having come sooner than he would have liked.� The enjoyable two weeks he had just had were to be followed by another torturous week of chemotherapy, and he had to wonder, when would it all end?� Three months of his life had been spent trapped in this relentless pattern so far.� How many more months like this would he have to endure?� Was the newer chemo even working?

Lost in thought, he absently crossed the small waiting room and signed in with the receptionist, not even noticing that Claire was there, as planned, until she said his name.

“Oh, hey, Claire,” he responded, offering her a slight smile as he slumped into the chair beside her.

“Hey yourself,” she replied.� “What’s up?� You look kinda... out of it.”

“Just been thinking,” Nick shrugged.

“Oh.� Anything you wanna talk about?”

Typical girl, Nick thought, always wanting to ‘talk about it.’� Well, he didn’t feel like talking about it; in fact, he didn’t feel much like talking at all.� “Nope,” he replied, hoping she’d take the hint.� Apparently she did, for she left it at that and went back to the magazine she had been reading before he walked in.

He managed to find a dated copy of Sports Illustrated hidden among all the women’s magazines and picked it up, pretending to be immersed in an article about Tiger Woods.� As he stared at the pages without really seeing them, he couldn’t help but realize how awkward the silence between him and Claire suddenly seemed.� Though the two were still new friends, they always seemed to have something to talk about, and he felt comfortable telling Claire things he wouldn’t tell most of his other friends.� Then again, who could really expect to have a good conversation in the middle of a doctor’s office waiting room, with the dreadful scent of rubbing alcohol permeating the air and the apprehensive butterflies that fluttered annoyingly in Nick’s stomach (and probably Claire’s as well)?

He hadn’t been sitting there pretending to read his magazine for long when Claire was called back.� She stood up and followed the nurse out of the waiting room without a word to Nick, who began to wonder if his silence had pissed her off.� He sat stewing about this for awhile until his own name was called and then followed the nurse, Marianne, to an examining room.

After he had changed into the usual gown, Marianne weighed him and took his temperature, heart rate, and blood pressure, then told him to wait for Dr. Kingsbury to come and see him.� He knew the drill.� He waited for a good ten minutes, and then Dr. Kingsbury came into the room.

“Hi, Nick,” she said with a smile.� “How have you been feeling?”

“Fine,” he replied, then added honestly, “Well, a little tired, you know.� But other than that, I’ve been good.”

The doctor nodded.� “The fatigue is just another side effect of the chemo, I’m afraid.� Nothing to worry about though.”

“Oh yeah, speaking of side effects,” he brought up, “that new chemo stuff has been giving me horrible canker sores.� Like so bad I can barely eat anything but ice cream.”

With a look of sympathy, she said, “Yes, that’s another side effect of some chemotherapy drugs.� I know they’re a real pain – no pun intended – but all I can tell you to do is maybe try some of the over-the-counter products for mouth sores.”

Nick nodded, sighing.� The canker sores were long gone by now, but he had a nasty feeling that they’d crop up again in full force after this next round of chemo.

“So, no other complaints?” Dr. Kingsbury asked.� “How has your leg been feeling?”

“All right,” Nick said with a shrug.� “I mean, it hurts a little every once in awhile, but not like it used to.”

“Good,” Dr. Kingsbury smiled.� “Well, I’m going to look you over real quick, and then we’ll get to your x-rays and scans.”

“No bone marrow this time?” Nick asked pleadingly.

“No bone marrow this time,” confirmed the doctor, adding with a wink, “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Oh yeah,” Nick scoffed, relieved.

“I probably will schedule you for one next time you come though,” Dr. Kingsbury told him, and he sighed resignedly.

The physical examination, as well as the tests done on his leg, went the same as always, and when everything was done, Dr. Kingsbury left Nick to wait in the examining room until the x-rays were back.� He didn’t mind doing this, figuring if there was going to be bad news, he’d rather just hear it today rather than get another phone call later in the week.

The longer Dr. Kingsbury took to come back to talk to him, the more anxious he grew, becoming certain that there was a problem, that the chemo was still not working, that he was going to be given his death sentence.� But when the doctor finally entered the room, her arms laden with charts and envelopes and the notorious new chemo pump to attach to his central line, there was a smile on her face.

“Hey, Dr. K,” he said casually, relaxing a little when he saw her smiling.

“Good news, Nick,” she replied brightly, dropping her burdens on one of the counters and sliding a few black, filmy x-rays out of a tall manila envelope.� Sliding them onto the light board mounted on one of the walls, she flicked a switch, and the board flashed on, illuminating the dark slides.� Nick squinted at the films of his knee and lower leg, trying to tell what they revealed.� “The chemo is doing its job – the tumor in your leg’s shrinking.”

Nick smiled, exhaling in relief.� “It is?� Does that mean I’m in... remission?”

“Well... I wouldn’t say that quite yet,” Dr. Kingsbury replied hesitantly.� “But I’d say you’re definitely heading toward a remission.”

Nick felt a slight wave of disappointment, but forced himself to concentrate on the good news and nodded.� “That’s good,” he said.

“Yes, very good.� I don’t want to get your hopes up, but if your progress keeps up, this week could be your last round of chemo.� Intravenously, that is.� Even after you go into remission, you’ll have to take chemotherapy drugs in pill form, but those don’t have near the side effects.� So,” she said, smiling, “keep your spirits up.� You’re reaching the final stretch here.”

Nick nodded, smiling back.� “Thanks, Dr. K,” he said, and as she hooked him up with his new chemo pump, he didn’t even mind.� This week would suck for sure... but after that, he would be just about home free.� Or so he hoped.

Stopping only to set up his next appointment for the ninth of August, he took off for home in a race against the nausea that would soon accompany the toxic fluids that were now flowing straight into his bloodstream.

When he reached home, he was still feeling pretty well, but decided to go up to bed anyway, hoping to head the nausea off, for sleep was the only relief from it.� Removing all of his clothes, with the exception of his boxers, he sank beneath his sheets and closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind and lull himself to sleep.� And he had almost succeeded, too, when the sudden ringing of the phone beside his bed jarred him awake.

“Damnit,” he mumbled, rolling over to grab the cordless, cursing himself for not just ripping the stupid cord off the wall.� He glanced into the caller ID window and was surprised to see Claire’s name and number there.� He knew she had probably been started on her next round of chemo that day too; why would she feel like talking now?

She’s probably just calling to give me crap for this morning, he thought irritably, remembering the strained silence in the waiting room, and considered just not answering.� But, after the phone rang a second and third time, he finally sighed and clicked the Talk button, putting the phone to his ear and answering with a hassled, “Hey, Claire.”

“Nick?” came the voice on the other end, and in just that one word, he was able to pick out two things.

It was indeed Claire.� And she was crying.

***

“Claire?” Nick asked, his heart beginning to pound swiftly in his chest.� “What’s wrong?”

“I just got home from the hospital,” she sniffled, her voice thick with tears.

“Yeah... what happened?”� But in his heart, he already knew.

Her next words confirmed his worst fears.� “It’s getting worse, Nick,” she sobbed.� “My bloodwork this time around was bad, and my doctor ordered a bone marrow stat, and it showed thirty-five percent blasts.� That means thirty-five percent cancer cells.� Last time it was only twenty-five.”� She dissolved into tears again.

Though he wasn’t entirely sure what those figures meant, just hearing the numbers climb made Nick’s blood run cold.

“God... I’m so sorry, Claire,” he said into the phone, feeling incredibly lame... but, come on, what was he supposed to say?� Despite what they had in common, this was something he could not really relate to, especially when he had just given the good news that he was nearing remission.

“I’m sorry for calling you,” she said, “but I... I didn’t know who else to... to talk to, and you... well... you’re the only one who really understands.� I haven’t called my parents yet...”

He cleared his throat.� “It’s all right, Claire, I’m glad you called.� I... I want to be there for you... the way you’ve been there for me.”� He remembered how she had held his hand during his last bone marrow aspiration, visited him in the hospital, rubbed aloe on his sunburned scalp... she had done so much to make this easier for him, and he hadn’t done a damn thing for her, and now... well, he felt so helpless... what could he do?� What could he say?

“Thanks, Nick,” she sobbed.� “That mean so much to me... I’m so sorry for blubbering to you this way, but... I don’t know what I’m going to do... I... I’m so scared, Nick...”

Nick felt sick to his stomach, and he knew it was not because of the chemo.� Claire, the very same Claire who had had the nerve to strike up a conversation with him in the middle of his very first chemo session, the Claire who had always spoken so casually about her cancer and the problems that went with it, was scared.� And hearing her admit it made it all the more real to him.� He had always sort of looked up to her in a way, admired her not only for having the knowledge and experience that he lacked, but for being so comfortable with herself and so able to talk about the kind of things he would be mortified to discuss.� He had thought her brave.� And he still did, but the girl sobbing over the phone, crying as if her very soul had shattered, was not the Claire he knew.� It was as if the hero had fallen.

He had to do something.� Be there, at least.� Not on the phone, but in person.� “Claire,” he said.� “Do you want me to come over?� I... I don’t want you to have to be alone.”

There was a pause in which her sniffling stopped, and then she replied in a tiny voice, “No, you don’t have to.� You’re back on chemo now too, aren’t you?� You probably feel like shit; I wouldn’t want you to-“

“Claire, I feel fine, and even if I was throwing up, it would be nothing compared to what you must be feeling,” Nick said.� “I’m coming over.”

To some it might have been a sacrifice, leaving the comfort of your own bed and going to console a sobbing friend when you yourself weren’t feeling 100%.� But to Nick, there was no choice in the matter.

He was going to Claire.

***

Half an hour later, Nick stood outside Claire’s apartment and knocked on the door.� She answered right away, significantly calmer and more composed than she had sounded on the phone.� Still, she looked a mess, her cheeks blotched with tearstains, her eyes red and puffy from crying.� She was dressed sloppily in a pair of baggy gray sweat shorts and a red t-shirt that was ripped at the bottom.� And, studying her, he noticed that she had removed the scarf she had been wearing around her head that morning.

He realized it was only the second time he had seen her without her head covered, and the sight of her pallid, perfectly bald head only added to her vulnerability.� The bright, colored, sometimes even outrageous bandanas she always wore added vibrancy and life to her appearance, and now, seeing her without one, he noticed how pale her cheeks were and how dull her eyes suddenly seemed.� It was as if the spirit had gone out of her, leaving behind just a hollow shell of the girl he had sat next to just hours before in the clinic waiting room.

Smiling through her tears, Claire wordlessly stepped back to let him enter.� He did not walk past her, but instead wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a gentle hug.� She nearly collapsed into his embrace, her body leaning into his chest, her head immediately finding his shoulder.� He felt her whole back trembling as she began to cry again in his arms, and he silently ran his hand slowly up and down it, letting her do so.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, pulling back at looking up at him sheepishly.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said firmly, putting his arm around her and walking her into the living room.� They sat down together on the couch, and Claire sighed, but did not say anything.� There was an awkward silence for a few moments, until Nick finally went ahead and asked the question he’d been afraid to ask the whole time.� “So...um... what’s the plan?”

Claire sighed again.� “There’s really only one option at this point,” she said softly.� “A bone marrow transplant.”

Nick nodded; he’d heard of bone marrow transplants before, but didn’t know much about what they entailed.� “So,” he said, “how exactly would that work?� Would you have to wait for a donor?”

“If none of my relatives are good matches, then yeah,” she replied.� “They’ll test my family first.”

“When will they do that?”

“As soon as possible.� Of course, I have to tell them first... God...”

“You should tell them today,” Nick said softly.� “Let them know right away.� Then at least you won’t have to worry about that on top of everything else, and I’m sure your parents will want to be with you.”� How strange it was that he was telling her to do the very thing he had not done himself.� He realized there were only two people he actually had told about his cancer himself – Brian and Brent.� Everyone else that knew had been told by someone else – Brian had told the other Boys, Brent had filled in his other friends, and his family and everyone else in the world had found out on MTV.

“Yeah,” Claire said softly.� “You’re right.� I’ll call home later today.� I...”� She started to trail off, and Nick glanced curiously over at her to see that her face seemed to have gone even paler than before, if that was at all possible.

“Are you all right?” he asked apprehensively, and she slowly shook her head.� She sat stock still for a moment, her mouth clamped shut, and then jumped up and took off, ducking into a room off the tiny hallway.� Bathroom.

Moments later, muffled retching noises could be heard coming from behind the closed bathroom door.� Just the sound made Nick feel very queasy himself, and he had a foreboding feeling he’d be next in line to puke his guts out in Claire’s toilet

The sound of flushing could be heard, and Claire stumbled out, looking slightly green.� “Sorry,” she muttered weakly, sinking back down onto the couch beside him.� “God, I can’t believe they’re still making me take chemo... the fucking stuff isn’t even working!” she cried, leaning over and resting her forehead against the heels of her hands.

“I know,” Nick whispered, lightly running his hand over her back again.� “Do you want me to walk you back to your bed?� Sleeping usually helps for me.”

She hesitated a moment, then replied, “I guess so.� If you don’t mind.”

“’Course I don’t mind.”� Smiling slightly, Nick stood up slowly and reached out a hand to help her up.� She took it gratefully, and he pulled her up from the couch.� Slinging an arm around her waist once again, he led her down the small hallway and through the other doorway.

Claire’s bedroom was small and cramped, but with the pale blue paint on the walls and the floaty white curtains billowing gently in front of the single window, it seemed more airy and spacious than it would have otherwise.� A double bed took up most of the room, a dresser and desk being the only other furniture able to fit comfortably.� Pulling down the cloud-patterned blue comforter and pale yellow sheets, Nick eased Claire down into the bed, where she immediately curled herself into the fetal position, hugging her knees to her chest and gazing plaintively up at him.

“You want the covers up?” he asked her.

She shook her head.� “Too hot.”

“Okay.”� Nick stood there in the center of the room, awkwardly shifting his weight from foot to foot and wondering what he should do or say next, when all of a sudden, he felt it creeping up on him.� The nausea.� He let out a soft groan.

“Are you all right?” Claire questioned, and just when he was about to answer that he was fine, it hit him full force as it had done to her minutes earlier.� He ran out of the room and into the bathroom across the narrow hall, flipped on the light, and dropped down in front of the toilet, already gagging.� There was an explosion as he vomited atomically into the toilet, his body heaving with each miserable retch.

When he was finished, he flushed and wiped his mouth with toilet paper, then turned on the faucet at the sink and dipped his chin to it, rinsing his mouth.� With a heavy sigh, he turned off the light and staggered out, his body weakened from the attack.

“Oh, Nick,” Claire whispered, looking up at him with sympathy in her eyes as he shuffled back into her room.� “I’m so sorry for making you come over here, Nick.� You should go home.”

He shook his head.� “You didn’t make me come over; I wanted to,” he told her.� “I’ll be okay.� We’re in this together, right?”� He offered her a weak smile, and she cracked one back.

“Right,” she whispered.� “C’mere, Nick, come lie down on the bed.”� Rolling over, she patted the empty space beside her and looked up at him expectantly.

Uneasy, he hesitated, and she laughed lightly.� “Come on, it’s okay to lie on a girl’s bed without feeling like you have to have sex with her.� We’re just friends; it’s cool, right?”

“I guess,” Nick smiled, the sound of her laughter comforting him.

“There you go,” she said as he kicked off his shoes and sank down onto the bed beside her.� “Sorry, I was afraid you would pass out if I made you stand by my bed any longer.� This is better, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he replied, lying back and rolling over to face her.

She smiled wanly at him.� “Look at us... we’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” she said with a soft giggle.

“Yeah,” he agreed.� “Quite the pair.”� He managed a smile in return, feeling more relaxed.

There was nothing to feel awkward about; they were friends, like Claire had said, and right now, they were seeing each other at their worst.� Bald and pale, nauseated and throwing up, Claire crying, Nick worrying... they were both miserable, but misery loves company, and lying there, in the company of each other, things didn’t seem quite so bad.

***

After that day, Nick didn’t see Claire for the rest of the week, and it was just as well.� He spent most of the week in bed, too sick to stray too far from the bathroom, too weak to move anyway, and from the few phone conversations he had had with her over the course of the week, he knew that her parents had driven from Gainesville and were staying in a hotel, while her brother and his wife made frequent trips from their home in St. Petersburg, which was less than half an hour away.

According to Claire, the whole family was going to be tested that week to see if any of them would be good bone marrow donors.� She promised to call and tell him the results when they found out, and for the first time in many years, Nick found himself praying, actually praying to God that one of her family members would work as a donor.� If none of them did, he figured it was unlikely any of her more distant relatives would either, and that would mean waiting for an unrelated donor, which he knew could take a long time.� Time that Claire may not have as the leukemia continued taking over her body.

The thought of Claire dying was deeply frightening to Nick.� Though they were still new friends, Nick had come to care about her.� And in a way, he felt he needed her.� In the past few weeks, she had become his rock, his support, his one and only ally in the war against this disease.� Recently, she had been there for him and made things easier... and it scared him to think of how much harder dealing with this would become if she was taken away from him.� Selfish?� Maybe.� But that was how he felt.

While the rest of the week had been a living hell, both physically and emotionally, the following Saturday proved to be a good day.� The completion of what he hoped would his last round of chemotherapy left Nick in good spirits, relieved to wake up and not feel nauseous, to be able to eat and keep his food down (though the outbreak of canker sores in his mouth once again made eating difficult), and to be able to walk around the house without feeling like passing out from the dizziness and fatigue that always accompanied the nausea.

When the phone rang that afternoon, and Nick saw Claire’s name and number on the caller ID, he reached immediately for the phone, then hesitated.� What if the news was bad?� What if no one matched?� Did he really want to hear that?

Well, he couldn’t just ignore her.

“Hello?” he answered cautiously.

“Hi, Nick,” came her familiar voice, and he tried to read the emotion in it.� It was impossible – he couldn’t tell what kind of mood she was in or what kind of news she had for him.

“Hey, Claire,” he replied and waited.

“Well,” she started and sucked in a breath.� He listened, impatient for her to continue.� “Kyle’s a match,” she exhaled, saying the words all in one breath.

“Kyle?� Your brother?� He matched?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh thank God.� That’s great, Claire!� Aren’t you happy?”

“Oh yeah,” she replied, “I am.� But, I dunno... I guess I’m just kind of overwhelmed right now.� I just got back from the hospital.� Dr. Rodrigo had all of us come in for the results of the blood and bone marrow tests, and after she told me that Kyle would be my donor, she filled me in on everything else that was going to happen.� God, it’s just...”� She trailed off, sounding flustered.

“I’m sorry,” said Nick.� “So what exactly does happen?� And when?”

“Well, I have a week to think about it and decide whether or not I want to go through with-“

“What’s to decide about?� You’re doing it, aren’t you?” Nick interrupted.

“Yeah, I am,” Claire said.� “But, you know, they want to give you some time to prepare.� So anyway, next Monday, I have to check into the hospital for ‘Phase 1’ of the transplant of the process, which is like where they run tests and crap to make sure I’m really a candidate... then ‘Phase 2’ starts a few days after that, and that’s when I’ll get the actual transplant.”

“I see,” said Nick.

“So you’ll come to see me in the hospital, right?” Claire blurted suddenly, a hint of laughter in her voice.� He could tell she was smiling and couldn’t help but smile himself.

“Sure,” he replied.� “You know how much I love to hang out at the hospital in my spare time.� Oh no, wait, that’s you.”

“Aw, shut up.”

“So, you got any plans for tonight?” Nick asked.

“Not that I know of... why?”

“Well... I thought maybe we should celebrate... you know, celebrate you finding a match,” he suggested.

“Um, okay... what did you have in mind?” she wondered.

“I dunno, nothing big, I just thought we could go out for ice cream or something?� That’s about all I can eat at the moment, so...”

“Ice cream sounds great,” said Claire.

“Awesome.� You want me to pick you up?”

“Sure, if you want.� I haven’t seen any of your sweet rides yet, so that’d be good.”

He laughed at the “sweet ride” comment and replied, “Okay... pick you up at eight?”

“Sounds good.� I’ll see ya then.”

“Yup, see ya,” he said, and they hung up.

***

After some debate in the car, Nick and Claire settled on the Dairy Queen, which looked relatively uncrowded.� Ordering two medium-sized Blizzards, they selected a booth in the very back corner and sat down, Nick facing the back wall, Claire sitting across from him.

“Mm, this is just what I needed,” Claire sighed happily, plunging her spoon into her Reese’s Blizzard.

“Me too,” agreed Nick, taking a bite of his mint M&M one.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying their ice cream, when the door to the restaurant opened, and four teenage girls walked in.� Nick glanced over his shoulder at them, then quickly looked away and sank low in his seat, hoping they would not notice or recognize him.

“I think you’re safe for now,” Claire said in a low voice, watching them over her shoulder.� “They’re too busy talking to notice you.”

He grinned sheepishly, feeling like she could read his mind.� Then again, he supposed his body language had given his fears away.

A few minutes later, the same posse of girls sat down in the booth directly across from where he and Claire were seated.� Trying to watch them without looking like he was watching them, he observed them to be high school age, probably around sixteen or seventeen.� They were good-looking girls and were dressed to impress, all wearing tight, low-cut clothes, their hair done stylishly, their faces caked with too much make-up.� They were apparently deeply involved in a conversation, for they were all talking animatedly and not paying attention to anything around them as their voices carried to Nick and Claire’s table.� As he played with his food, absently stirring his Blizzard and watching as the rainbow of colors from the M&M’s swirled with the green ice cream, turning it to a muddy brown, Nick couldn’t help but eavesdrop.

“Well, I think Ava should run for president,” one girl was saying, twirling a french fry in her French-manicured fingers as she spoke.� “Then I’ll be vice president, and Taryn, you can be secretary, and Elle, you’ll be treasurer.”

“That sounds good,” said one of the girls sitting on the other side of the table, “but how are we going to assure that we all win the election in the fall?� Someone told me before school got out that that bitch Susi and her friends were planning on running this year.� I’m sorry, but if I won, and one of them got on student council too, I’d just die.� It has to be all four of us; then we can have total control over the student council.”� She attacked her little cup of ketchup, forcefully plunging a fry into it.

“Good point, Taryn,” said the girl sitting across from her, nodding her head.� “We’re just going to have to make sure we have enough people to vote for us.”

“How are we going to do that?”

“We’ll do whatever it takes... bribe them, threaten them, let them sit with us at lunch for a day... whatever.� We’ve got to win at all costs.”

“Ooh, Ava... that’s scandalicious all right,” giggled the fourth girl.

Scandalicious.� That was the name of one of Nick’s songs.� He sank lower in his seat, watching the girls out of the corner of his eye, still listening to their conversation.� God, they’re shallow, he thought, as they went on listing people who would surely vote for them for student council.� What he would give to only have to worry about such petty things as who would be elected as student council president.

“Oh yeah, Ashley totally would vote for us.� And what about Laurie?”

“Yeah, there’s possibilities with her.� Oh, and don’t forget Janelle; she’ll vote for us if I ask her to.� I can probably even get her to make some campaign posters and stuff for us.� She’s better at that than I am.”

“Oh yeah, speaking of the campaign, we should get somebody to be our PR person, sort of.� You know, they could, like, recruit more people to vote for us and get the word out that we’re running and stuff.”

“Oh yeah, great idea, Taryn!� What do you think about that, Elle?”

When the other girl did not answer, Nick glanced over and found her looking directly at him.� His eyes widened as they met with hers, and he quickly looked away, turning his whole body to face the wall and hoping she did not recognize him.

“Elle?� Hey, Elle, wake up!”� Nick glanced back to see one of the girl’s waving her hand in front of Elle’s face.

“Sorry, Emily... what were you guys saying?”

Phew, Nick thought as the girls got back to their conversation.� I guess she didn’t recognize me.

“Are you okay, Nick?” Claire asked, and he looked up to see a perplexed expression on her face.� “You’re acting funny.”

“I’m fine,” he replied quickly, taking a bite of melting ice cream and trying to tune out the girls.� But then the one called Elle said the thing he had been dreading.

“Hey, Emily... don’t look now, but you know the guy that’s sitting over there?� Is that Nick Carter?” asked Elle in a whisper that still managed to carry over to Nick’s table.

Oh God, he thought with a groan, as all four heads turned in his direction.

“Oh my God, you guys, that is him!” hissed one of the others.� “He looks awful!”

“I know... that’s so sad... look at what’s happened to him...”

Nick could feel his face burning scarlet with humiliation.� Meekly, he chanced a glance at Claire to see her face reddening too, but somehow, he sensed her flush was from anger, not embarrassment.� He noticed her eyeing the girls’ table out of the corner of her eye, a frown distorting her features.

“You know, we can hear you over here,” Claire said loudly as the girls kept on whispering about him.� At her words, all four of them stopped, their heads whipping in Nick and Claire’s directions, their cheeks turning pink as guilty expressions washed over their faces.� They exchanged glances, but said nothing.� “If you’re going to talk about someone behind their back,” Claire went on angrily, “at least do it where they can’t hear everything you’re saying!”

“S-sorry,” stammered the one called Ava.� “We didn’t mean anything bad... we’re big fans of you, Nick.� We were just wondering if that was really you.”

“It’s me,” Nick said flatly.

“Um... you think we could get your autograph?” Ava asked hopefully.

Claire’s mouth dropped open, and she stood up.� “No, you can’t have his autograph!� What the fuck is wrong with you little twits?� First you insult him, then you ask him for his autograph?� Leave him the hell alone!”

“And who the hell are you?” Ava asked, her eyes narrowing coldly.� “His girlfriend or something?”� She gave Claire the once over, her eyes traveling up and down her body, her lips contorting into a disdainful sneer.

“She’s my friend,” Nick spoke up, not about to let Claire fight his battles for him, “and it’s none of your business anyway.� Come on, Claire, let’s get the hell out of here.”� Standing up abruptly, he snatched his half-eaten Blizzard and stalked up to the front of the restaurant.� Claire grabbed her ice cream as well, and as she started to follow him, she mysteriously stumbled, and the cup of ice cream flew out of her hand, managing to bounce right off Ava’s chest and fall into her lap.� As Ava screamed in horror and knocked the cup off, Nick saw a trail of sticky, dripping ice cream running all down her shirt, leading to a puddle of it her lap.

“Oh my God!” she screamed.� “This outfit was brand new!� What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“Whoops, sorry,” Claire replied with mock sincerity.� “Clumsy me.”� With that, she turned on her heel and marched to the front of the restaurant, where Nick was staring at her in utter shock.

“I can’t believe you did that!” he exclaimed as soon as they had burst out the door, Claire laughing hysterically.

“I know!� I’m evil, aren’t I?� I’ve never done anything like that before!”

“Jesus, we’re never going to be able to come back here!� First you practically cuss out some teeny, and then you drop ice cream all over her?� They’re gonna have Wanted posters with your face plastered all over this place!” Nick cried, trying to sound serious, but failing miserably as he began to laugh out loud, tears filling his eyes as he pictured the expression on that girl’s face.� “God, Claire, that was so fucking awesome!”

She smiled, but as they got into the car, she said, “God, I feel kinda bad... I mean, that was really mean... I wasn’t really thinking, I just... did it.”

“Hey, don’t feel bad, that girl deserved it.� Besides, it’s just ice cream, it’ll come out, won’t it?� It wasn’t even chocolate,” Nick assured her as he stuck his key into the ignition.

“Hey, you better hurry up and drive,” Claire commented, glancing over her shoulder.� “I keep waiting for her little posse to come out and chase us down.”

“Well, they ain’t gonna catch us in this baby,” Nick laughed, revving the engine of his sporty, black BMW and whipping out of his parking space, tires screeching as he put the car into drive and took off.

“We’re fugitives now, baby!” Claire shouted as they sped down the highway.

Adrenaline pumping through his body at the excitement of their “getaway,” Nick threw back his head and laughed, pressing his foot to the floor and feeling the car accelerate swiftly and smoothly.� The yellow light at the intersection ahead put an abrupt stop to their adventure though.� “Damn,” Nick muttered under his breath and dutifully put on the brakes as the light changed to red.

***

Claire checked into the hospital at the end of July.� Her hospital room, clean and cool and pristine white, contrasted sharply to the world outside the hospital, which was bright and unbearably hot, typical of a Florida summer.� The sunlight streaming in through the open mini-blinds of Claire’s single window provided the only connection to the outside world, and as Nick sat in a chair beside her bed, his gaze kept flitting to that window.� He wished he could be out there, particularly on his boat in the ocean, where the fresh aquatic breeze would keep him cool, and he would smell the salty sea, rather than medicine and antiseptics.

He liked Claire and all, but God, did he hate being here.

Still, a promise was a promise, and he had sworn to Claire that he would come here to visit her.� Okay, so he didn’t remember actually swearing he would... but he had told her he would anyway, and that was about the same thing.� And as much as he didn’t want to be sitting around a hospital, he knew it was just something he had to do.� She had been there for him during his last hospital stay (until his psychotic mother had scared her out of the room, of course), and he would be there for her now.

“Anything interesting going on outside?” Claire asked, jarring Nick from his thoughts.

He glanced over at her.� “Huh?”

“You keep looking out the window,” Claire pointed out with a slight smile.

Damn.� She had caught him.� Did the girl miss nothing?

“Oh, I was just watching a... bird.� Yeah, there was this cool bird...”

“I see,” she smirked, looking as if she didn’t quite believe him.� He did not reply, but forced himself to look back at the television.� He had no idea that Monday afternoons were so lame.� There was absolutely nothing on.� Claire had finally found one of those stupid decorating shows on the Discovery Channel and was totally engrossed in watching some flamer reupholster a chair.� Nick, on the other hand, was bored out of his freaking mind.� Which was why he had gone back to looking out the window and wishing he could be anywhere but here.� Until Claire had caught him.

“I can tell you’re not liking this.� Want me to see if there’s anything else on?” Claire asked.

“Sure,” Nick replied dully and allowed her to flip through the channels again.� VH1, it seemed, was having yet another marathon of their “I Love the 80’s” series, which Nick had seen one too many times already (hey, when you’re stuck at home with nothing to do other than trying not to throw up, even VH1 can look good, and come on, reflecting back on the 80’s is funny), but it was better than Christopher Lowell and his “just raaavishing!” shade of magenta fabric.� Exchanging glances and consensual shrugs, they settled on “I love 1987,” and Nick forced himself to watch it and not the “cool birds” outside.

“So,” Nick said as the show went to a commercial break, “they start your tests and stuff tomorrow then?”

“Yup,” replied Claire with a sigh.

“What kind of tests?” Nick asked, biting his lip at the thought of whatever torture they were going to subject her to.

She shrugged.� “Basically everything, it sounds like,” she replied flatly.� “And not just physical stuff... they’re supposedly going to send some psychiatrist to talk to me too, to make sure I can handle the ‘emotional burdens’ of getting a bone marrow transplant.”� She shook her head and rolled her eyes in exasperation.

He snickered.� “What, do they think the ‘emotional burden’ of it is gonna make you freak out and try to hang yourself with your IV line or something?”

“Probably,” she laughed.� “So yeah, anyway... should be fun.”

“Oh yeah,” he sarcastically agreed.

They fell into silence again, and Nick absently let his eyes travel back to the window.� Watching the wispy white clouds drift lazily across the vast, blue sky, he became lost in his thoughts and was only yanked back into reality by the sensation of someone watching him.� Suddenly, uncomfortable, he tore his eyes away from the window and looked at Claire to find her staring back at him.� They both looked away as their eyes met, Nick immediately focusing his gaze back on the TV, watching it unblinkingly.

“Hey, Nick?” Claire’s voice drifted softly over.

“Hey, Claire?” he mocked, grinning.

Rolling her eyes, she smiled.� “I was just gonna say... with all this going on now, I haven’t had a chance to ask you... how are you doing?� I mean... well, you know... health-wise?”

Oh God, why did she have to ask that?� What was he supposed to say?� The truth?� That he was probably headed for a remission when she needed a bone marrow transplant to live?

The look on his face must have given him away, for, looking at him in concern, Claire asked, “Nick, what is it?� You’re not hiding anything from me, are you?� Come on, you know you can tell me anything.”

He sighed.� “I know... I just... I didn’t want to say anything ‘cause it just didn’t seem fair, but-“

“Are you in remission?” Claire asked, her eyes growing round.

The corners of his mouth twitched into a guilty, crooked smile.� “Not quite... but my doctor said I probably will be soon.”

Claire broke into a huge grin that lit up her face.� “Nick!� That’s awesome!� I can’t believe you didn’t tell me all this time!”

“Well, I would’ve, but that was the day you got your... news... and, you know, I...”� He trailed off, wondering how to put it into words.

“Felt guilty?” she finished for him, hitting the nail on the head.

“Yeah.”

“Nick Carter, don’t you dare feel guilty!� This is great, and I’m so relieved!� You should be happy, not all worried about what I think.”

He smiled sheepishly and shrugged.� “Well, I am, but... you know... it’s just not fair...”

“Hey, don’t worry.� I’ve been in remission before too, and if this whole bone marrow thing works out the way it’s supposed to, I’ll be cured.”� She grinned, but somehow, the smile didn’t seem sincere.� He could sense the insecurity behind it and frowned.

“Really?” he asked.� “If this will cure you... then why didn’t you do it before now?”� It seemed the obvious choice to him – just get the whole thing over with from the start and be cured, not go through months of chemotherapy, only to go into remission, relapse three years later, and have to repeat the whole process.� But there had to be a reason...

“Well... it’s too big a risk, I guess.� That’s why they try chemo and everything first.� This treatment is just sort of a last ditch effort...”� She went quiet, her voice trailing off into nothing, and he felt a tremor of fear ripple down his spine.

“What kind of a risk?” he asked.� “I mean... how dangerous is this thing?”

Her eyes locked with his, no trace of the usual twinkle of amusement alighting them.� Instead, all he saw when he gazed into their light blue depths was fear.� And he realized the truth... as hard as she was trying to hide it, as upbeat as she was trying to be, this was totally freaking her out.

She was scared to death.

“Claire?” he asked softly, not tearing his eyes from hers.

“Fifty-fifty,” she whispered, looking away.

His stomach lurched.� Fifty-fifty.� It was a coin toss.� Heads, she won.� Tails, she lost.� And this was not just any game, but a battle of life and death.� If she lost, she’d be losing her life...

He wanted to say something optimistic, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out.� He couldn’t find the right words; what was he supposed to say to that?

He chose to say nothing.� Instead, he reached out and gently cupped her chin in one hand, tilting her head to look at him.� When he met her eyes again, they were filled with tears.� Sniffling and smiling sheepishly, she blinked, trying to force them back, but to no avail.� All it took was one single tear to escape, staining her skin as it traveled slowly down her cheek, and the floodgates opened.� She did not burst into tears and fall back dramatically on the bed like he saw in movies, but just sat there, crying silently and trying to avoid his eyes.

“Claire,” he whispered, getting up from his chair and perching himself next to her on the edge of her bed.� He put an arm around her and hugged her close to him, letting her cry.

“I’m so sorry, Nick,” she whimpered.� “I hate crying... especially in front of people... I can’t believe I’m doing this to you again.”

“Jeez, Claire, I don’t mind - you have a reason to cry,” he said exasperatedly.� “What, you think I didn’t cry when I found out I had... you know...”

She pulled back and looked up at him, her eyes filling with fresh tears.� “You did?” she sniffled, looking at him in sympathy.

“Yeah,” he admitted, oddly unembarrassed.� “Right there in front of the doctor.� I just... lost it...”

She smiled tearfully and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him close.� “Hey, wait... Claire?” he said, caught off-guard by this.� “Um, I’m supposed to be comforting you here...”

Laughing, she pulled away and looked up to him, her eyes regaining some of their sparkle.� “That’s okay.� I think I’m done now.� I just... get kinda depressed, you know, thinking about all this... it scares me, it really does.� I mean, fifty-fifty...� When you think about it, the odds could be much, much worse, but still... it’s like somebody with their hands behind their back going, ‘Pick a hand.’� And one hand has the cure in it... and the other one has... well, death.� What if... what if I pick the wrong hand?”� Her forehead creased with worry as the fright came back into her eyes.� “I’m afraid to die, Nick.� I know you’re not supposed to fear death, but... God, I’m twenty-three... I want to get married, have children, travel... you know, the usual kind of stuff.� What if I never get to do all that?”

You will, Claire.� You’ll be able to do all of that.� You’re not going to die, he wanted to tell her, but he knew she wouldn’t buy it.� The truth was, he didn’t know what was going to happen any more than she did, and it scared him too.� His life wasn’t at risk; he was getting better.

But he was in danger of losing the girl that was quickly becoming one of his best friends.

***

Nick cleared his throat as he stepped up to the podium, behind which a man in a suit stood.� “Hi,” he said.� “Um, I’m supposed to be having dinner here with the Ryan party.� Their reservation was for 7:30.� I don’t know if they’re here yet or not, but...“

“Ah, yes, sir, they’ve already arrived.”� He waved over a woman wearing black dress pants and a white blouse and said to her, “Could you please show the gentleman to the Ryan party.”

“Right this way,” the woman beckoned to Nick, leading him through the classy restaurant.� Les Tambours was one of Tampa’s finest, and he was supposed to be meeting Claire and her family there for dinner that night.� It was a Friday evening, and after a whole week of tests in the hospital, Claire had been granted a reprieve of sorts, an evening to leave the hospital.� This had seemed somewhat strange to Nick, and when he had asked her about it, she had explained in her flippant, ‘I’m going act like this is all one big joke to cover up my real emotions’ kind of way.

�“Oh, it’s going to be like the Last Supper... or the calm before the storm, maybe... anyway, they’re letting me out of this dump for a few hours because tomorrow I start ‘Phase 2’ of the BMT – bone marrow transplant, that’s what they call it - oh God, now I’m starting to talk like a doctor - not cool!� Um, anyway, yeah, ‘Phase 2’ means going into isolation – new, special, super-clean, sterile, germ-free room – and starting on chemo and immune suppressants drug, and then the actual transplant.� Dr. Rodrigo said it’ll be at least six weeks before I can leave the hospital after the transplant, and that’s just if there’s no complications.� So yeah, basically they’re giving me one last look at the outside world before they lock me away.”

�“Whoa,” Nick said, blinking in astonishment.� “Sucks to be you.� So will you be allowed to have visitors during all that?”

�“Supposedly only immediately family, but hey, the staff up there likes me.� I’m sure I can kiss some ass, pull some strings, and get them to let you in,” she replied with a cheeky grin.

He laughed.� “All right, you do that.”

Well, Claire was getting her “Last Supper” indeed, and her parents had picked a fine place to have it in.� It reminded him of when he was little – every time he’d had to go to the doctor as a child, for physicals or immunizations or stitches or whatever, his mother had taken him straight out for ice cream or a toy right afterward.� He wished it still worked like that, for he would have earned a buttload of ice cream cones and Nintendo games by now.� Anyway, the fancy restaurant that Claire’s family probably never would go to normally was like a toy, some kind of bribe or reward for what she was about to go through.� Well, as far as he was concerned, she more than deserved it.

The hostess led Nick to a large, round table in a far corner of the spacious restaurant, where five people were sitting.� Nick hadn’t met any of Claire’s family before, so he didn’t know what they looked like, and he almost didn’t recognize Claire at first either.� He was about to tell the hostess she had the wrong table when the black-haired young woman looked over at him and waved, smiling.

Stunned, he realized it was Claire and immediately hurried over, his face a mask of shock and surprise at her appearance.� She had traded her usual bandana for a wig of sleek, raven black hair, styled in a perfectly straight, layered bob that fell to her shoulders.� So this was the “goth” wig she had described at the pizza place that night, the one she only wore for “special occasions”.

“Claire,” he gasped.� “Your hair...”

“You like?” she smiled, self-consciously stroking one side of it.

Actually, he wasn’t sure he did.� It was strange to suddenly see her with hair, and it looked kind of funny on her... maybe it was just that the color wasn’t right.� It looked fake.� But of course, he wasn’t about to tell her that, so he returned the smile and said, “Yeah, it looks awesome!”

“Well, here, sit down,” Claire said, patting the back of the empty chair beside her.� “And let me introduce you to my family.”� Nick sat down, smiling nervously at the four unfamiliar people, and Claire went around the table, introducing them all.� “Nick, this is my dad, Kris... my mom, Carrie... my brother, Kyle... and Kyle’s wife, Amber. �And guys, meet Nick Carter.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Claire’s father, a big man with dark, reddish-brown hair, said, shaking Nick’s hand.

“We’ve heard so much about you from Claire,” added her mother, who was small and blonde, offering a petite hand to Nick from across the table.

Claire’s brother, who had to be close to thirty and looked a lot like his father, with dark red hair and the physique of a football player, gave Nick a quick handshake and a hello, and his wife Amber did the same.

“So you’re going to be Claire’s donor?” Nick asked Kyle, but Claire answered before her brother could get a word out.

“Yes,” she said, “but we’re not going to talk about that tonight.”� Smiling sweetly at Nick, she picked up her menu and glanced at it.� “You ever been here before?” she asked him.� “I haven’t – way too hoity-toity for me.� Look, I even had to put on a dress tonight.”� She looked down at herself, her lip curling in distaste.� Nick followed her eyes to see that she was indeed dressed nicely in a short, halter-top dress made of red fabric with little white polka dots.� That was a new one too – he’d never seen her in anything but t-shirts and pants before.

“You look nice,” he complimented her, sensing that she was feeling insecure.

“Well, thanks.� You look nice too,” she returned, eyeing the button-up shirt and dark gray slacks he had grudgingly put on for the night and adding in a whisper, “And you look more comfortable than me too – my back is killing me.� I just need to be lying down with my sweats on.”� She stuck out her bottom lip in a pout.

“Ohh, that’s right.� You doing okay?”� Nick had almost forgotten about Claire’s “harvesting operation,” which they had done Wednesday morning.� It had been a very minor surgical procedure to take out some of her bone marrow.� The intent was to keep it frozen and stored in case her body rejected Kyle’s marrow later; then they could put back her old bone marrow long enough to keep her alive until a new donor was found.� She had compared the operation to “about 50 million bone marrow aspirations,” and he bet she was pretty damn sore... he hurt bad enough after just one bone marrow test.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she said with a shrug.� “But on top of that, this damn wig is itching the hell out of my head, my shoes hurt to walk in, and my bra feels like it’s about to fall down.� Being a girl sucks sometimes, you know that?”

“Whoa, okay, TMI,” he said, holding up his hands in defense.

She giggled, looked at the menu in her hands a second time, and asked again, “So, have you been here before?� What should I get?”

He had been there before, but it had been awhile.� Picking up his own menu and looking it over, he shrugged.� “I dunno... I think I’m gonna go for the steak.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” she agreed, reading the description of the steak dinner in the menu.� “I think I’ll have that too.”

“Cool,” he said, impressed.� Most girls he went out to eat with ate like birds and ordered light things with chicken or just a salad or something.

“I told ya I have a healthy appetite,” Claire said with an impish grin.� “Besides, this is going to be the last good meal I’ll have for awhile – better make the most of it, right?”

“Right,” Nick agreed.� “You go for it.”

She smiled.� “I think I will.”

***

“Oh my God, I’m stuffed,” Claire groaned to Nick awhile later, as the others finished eating amid light conversation.

“Me too,” he chuckled.� He pushed back his plate and played with the cloth napkin in his lap, balling it up in his hands and twisting it around until he realized what he was doing and set it back on the table.� Now that dinner was over, he was rather bored.� He felt removed from the family’s conversations most of the time, not knowing any of them except Claire.� Luckily, she was paying plenty of attention to him and seemed to notice he was getting restless (could it be the napkin-twisting that gave him away?)

“You wanna walk outside?” she whispered to him.

“Sure,” he replied.

Clearing her throat, Claire caught the attention of her mother and said, “Nick and I are gonna step outside.� I want some fresh air.”

“Are you feeling okay?” her mother asked, her eyes boring into Claire with concern.

Claire rolled her eyes.� “Yeah, I’m fine.� So we’ll be outside, okay?”

“All right, hon,” Carrie relented.

Claire started to get up from her seat, but almost immediately, her face contorted into a grimace of pain, and she sank back down again.� “Claire, you all right?” Nick asked quickly.

“You sound like Mom,” Claire groaned, then added, “I’m fine... just the back, you know... I forgot how stiff it was...”

“Here,” Nick said, sliding his arm underneath hers and slowly helping her up.� “You good?” he asked when she was on her feet.

“Fine. Thanks,” she said sheepishly.� “Come on, let’s go.”� She started to walk quickly away from the table, but he noticed how she slowed down after just a few steps.� She was hurting and trying hard not to show it.� He didn’t say anything when he caught up to her though and simply walked slowly alongside her as they navigated between tables and made it outside the restaurant.

“Phew, that’s better,” Claire said, inhaling deeply as they got outside.� It was a beautiful night out, warm, but not too hot, a light breeze tickling their skin as they walked slowly down the landscaped sidewalk in front of the restaurant.� “Look at the sky,” Claire sighed, glancing up.� Nick followed her gaze to see a gorgeous array of twinkling stars spattered across the cloudless, darkening sky.� On the horizon, the sun was setting, a medley of golden and pinkish hues tingeing the sky around it and slowly melting into shades of blue, which dimmed to the velvety navy of night.

“It’s pretty,” Nick said softly.� “Sometimes I take my boat out at night... you can really see the stars when you’re out on the ocean, away from the city and the lights and everything... they’re beautiful.”

“I’d love to see that,” she said huskily, and he smiled at her.

“I’ll take you sometime,” he promised.

“Okay... hey, mind if we sit down up here?”� She had spotted a stone bench along the end of the sidewalk.

“No, sounds good to me,” he said, walking toward it with her.� He noticed how her body was slightly hunched over, almost like an old lady’s, and knew her back must be just killing her.� They reached the bench, and he helped her sit down, then sank down beside her.� She was sitting stiffly on the backless bench, and, realizing her discomfort, he scooted back and slung one of his long legs over the other side of the bench, so that he was straddling it.� “Here,” he said, “Turn this way and put your feet up.”� He eased her back so that she was leaning against his chest, and she pulled her legs onto the bench, stretching them out straight in front of her.� “Is that better?” he whispered in her ear.

“Much,” she said, glancing up at him, a smile on her face.� “You’re good to me, you know that?”

“Well, you’re good to me too.� That’s what friends are for, right?” he asked with a chuckle.� “Cheesy, you know, but true...”

“Sure,” she agreed, laughing lightly.

They fell quiet, simply enjoying the pleasure of each other’s company and the silence, interrupted only by the soft chirping of crickets, the whispers of the trees as the soft summer breeze ruffled their leaves, and the occasional car passing by.

“Nick?” Claire said softly.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking...” �Her voice trailed off, and he sat waiting for her to continue.

“About?” he prompted after a moment, when she did not go on.

She let out a sigh and slowly pulled herself off of him, painfully swinging her legs off of the bench so that she was sitting properly.� She turned to face him, her blue eyes large and luminous in the soft glow of the moon and distant streetlights that played across her face, the sun’s dying rays bathing the world behind her in dim, golden light.� The smile she gave him was wavering and uncertain, but when she spoke, her eyes radiated conviction.

“I don’t know if it’s the right time to say this, but I just feel like... if I don’t say it tonight, I might not have another chance.”� She bit her lip, yet never took her eyes off him, looking at him in a way that made him uncomfortable.

“So say it,” he whispered, perplexed.� Honestly, he was anticipating another conversation like the one they’d had at the hospital on Monday, with her suddenly opening her heart to him and pouring out her feelings, how scared she was about what might happen to her... he braced himself for this and was fully prepared to take her in his arms again and let her cry.� Crying girls made him uncomfortable, and he hated to see her in tears... but if any girl had a reason to do so, it was Claire.� He didn’t mind.

He sat still and waited for whatever it was she had to say.� But when she finally did say it, it was the last thing on Earth he was expecting to hear.

“Nick,” she said softly.� “I... I think I’m falling in love with you.”

***