Suddenly, I found myself in an alley cast in shadows by tallish buildings that loomed overhead. It was a slim space (I probably could've touched both walls if I stood in the center and reached hard enough, or at least come damn close to it). Down to my right, some cars were rushing by in early morning sunlight. It reeked of rubbish and indistinct smells that turned my stomach... but also smelled faintly of - McDonalds?
I was just about to ask my father what this alley had to do with me not existing when a green metal door banged open and a pudgy version of Nick came out, hauling an overstuffed trash bag. He could barely pick it up. He got it just about out the door, and stopped, winded. He paused.
"Hurry it up, Carter, Jesus!" bellowed a tall, sharp looking man from inside. Heat poured out of the kitchen, and filled the alley with the smell of the burgers and fries. Nick nodded and pulled the bag out the rest of the way and let the door close.
The moment he thought he was alone, he dropped onto the ground, his back against the bricks of the building, and his hand massaging the stitch in his chest. He closed his eyes. "Fuck," he whispered.
I looked at my father, concerned, "What's wrong with him?" I asked.
"His heart is bothering him," my father answered.
"But I don't understand... when he got diagnosed with the cardiomyopathy he cleaned up, he lost weight... that had nothing to do with me. Why did that change?" I demanded, concerned.
My father shook his head, "He never got the diagnosis."
"Why?"
"He works three jobs, Kevin," my dad explained, "He's trying to make ends meet. He has child support payments."
"Child suppo--" I broke myself off, staring at Nick as he closed his eyes. "What about the band? Howie, Nick and AJ were in the Backstreet Boys before I was so I didn't change that..."
"They... broke up," my father said, "In 2001."
"Why?"
Before my dad could answer, though, Nick struggled to his feet. I watched as he stood up. He looked so... tired. I wanted to give him a pep talk, to encourage him and build up his ego. His eyes were dim. I stared at Nick's eyes. They were windows into a broken spirit.
"He never really had a father you know," my dad said, "Until you."
I looked down at my watch. Very similar to the one I'd given my dad, was one that Nick had given me for father's day in 1999. It was gold, with a nice face and roman numeral digits. Engraved on the back was the message To the man I admire most of all in the world, love Nick.
I ran my hand over it.
"Why would he not want me around if this was true?" I asked quietly.
My dad shrugged. "Maybe he's afraid you're gonna leave again."
I watched as Nick struggled to pull the bag down the alley toward the street. I could feel my eyes burning, threatening tears. Could that really be? Could it really be that Nick had responded like an angry child?
"It doesn't matter now," my father said, "You don't exist."
A tear fell from my eyes and onto my face and I closed my eyes, not wanting to see.
