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Chapter Fourteen
Point of View: Brian

My cell phone rang at 4:30 AM. Leighanne shot up beside me and grabbed the phone. She always panicked at phone calls in the middle of the night. I stretched as she answered it, rubbing my eyes. "Hello?" her voice was low from sleep, but lined with a thread of panic. "Yes, yes, he's here, hold on one moment, sir." She covered the mouth piece. "Brian, it's the Los Angeles police department."

In my experience, any time the police call you, it's usually not a good thing. Also in my experience, if the police call you at 4:30 AM, it's usually a really not good thing.

I took the phone. "Hallo?" I asked, my heart beat rising.

"Brian Thomas Littrell? You are listed as the emergency health contact for one, Nickolas Gene Carter, is this correct?"

I glanced at Leighanne, now fully awake, and got out of bed. She mimicked me, running to our suitcases to grab our clothes. She already knew we were leaving. She threw jeans and a t-shirt to me and quickly pulled on her own with one hand while digging for Baylee's with the other.

"Yes, that is correct," I answered solemnly, terrified of what I was about to hear.

"Mr. Littrell, I am sorry to bother you at this hour of the morning, but I'm calling from the hospital, and if it is at all possible for you to come down here..."

"Yes, yes, were coming," I answered, "Is he okay? What happened?"

"There was an accident, and we need you to sign some medical release forms, verify some insurance information..."

It sounded like garblegook.

Leighanne was dragging our son out of bed. Baylee's hair was a mess, he looked so less than thrilled to be being woken up.

"Is Nick okay?" I asked.

Leighanne looked at me when I said the name, an expression of terror crossed her face.

"Is he okay?" I repeated when he didn't answer me.

"Sir, we need you to come down to the hospital and we'll go over everything with you then."

Less than three minutes later, Leighanne and I had gotten Baylee out of the hotel room and down to the car we were renting. Leighanne was on the cell phone, frantically trying to reschedule our flight to Atlanta and to extend our stay at the hotel indefinitely. Baylee was crying because he was still sleepy, and didn't understand why we weren't paying appropriate attention to him. My hands were on the steering wheel, clutching so hard my knuckles were turning white from the pressure.

"I don't know if he's dead or alive," I muttered, feeling sick. "Jesus please, please," I whispered.

Leighanne's hand gently touched my shoulder, trying to comfort me.

When we got to the hospital, I pulled up out front and Leighanne switched seats with me, promising to catch up with me as soon as she got the car parked and found the nursery for Baylee to stay in. I bolted in the door. The emergency room person looked up. "I'm Brian Littrell," I gasped, though she seemed like she already knew that, the way she'd dropped the forkful of salad she'd been about to consume. "I'm here because I got a call about my friend Nick Carter. Where is he?"



Obviously I'd seen Nick lie in a hospital bed before - he's a klutz, I've actually seen it many times over the years, and of course just the week before. But this time it was different because this time he was barely recognizable as my best friend. I stood there, feeling sick to my stomach, staring at him. Stitches lined his forehead and left temple. His left arm and leg were in casts and his neck was in a brace. He had a full oxygen mask on, and about a million machines hooked up to him, including one that was pumping blood back into his system, and another that was making his heart beat. It scared me that they needed to force it to beat. His body was swelled, distorting his features. But it was Nick.

"Oh g'Lord," I whispered, stepping closer to the bed. He wasn't conscious. I touched his right hand gently, almost afraid he was going to pop or something. "What did you do, Frack?"