Chapter Eleven
Nick
We were so busy all day doing all the interviews and whatever that I completely forgot to have our room changed out and that night Brian and I ended up sharing the same bed again. We’d also forgotten to leave the heater running while we were out. I wiggled my feet under the sheets, the heater humming loudly. Brian was sitting in the desk chair, his hands over the heater vent like a homeless dude in a back alley over a trashcan fire. “It’s fucking cold,” I complained.
Brian rubbed his fingers together. “It’s winter,” he said.
“This is why I live in Florida and California, where Winter doesn’t happen,” I commented.
“It isn’t exactly a regular occurrence in Georgia, either,” he replied.
I rubbed my legs together, like a cricket or something, trying to generate body heat via friction. “If someone set fire to me right now I’d be like thank you,” I commented.
Brian chuckled.
“If I died and went to hell right now, it’d be heaven,” I added dramatically. I pulled the blankets up over my head.
“You ain’t goin’ to hell,” Brian said. His tone was casually serious.
I peeked out from under the covers. “Course I am,” I answered. “You’ve said so yourself.”
He looked over at me. “What?”
“You’ve said I’m goin’ to hell a ton of times,” I repeated.
Brian looked surprised, “When?”
“When I was using,” I answered simply. Brian leaned away from the heater, though his hands were still stretched toward it. His face is screwed up with confusion. “When, though? I don’t remember ever saying that to you.” The expression on his face and the tone of his voice isn’t one I know how to describe.
“I dunno,” I replied. “There’s been a couple times. Mostly during that hiatus before Never Gone, when I was using really bad and doing my solo stuff and you went all like uber-Christian. Robo-Christian.”
Brian frowned.
“There was one night in New York, we all went out, just before Kevin left the band. It was raining out. We were at that club - that one Howie liked back then. I think it’s closed now…”
Brian’s eyes glazed as he tried to remember what I was talking about.
“...and I was grinding with that girl on the dance floor and AJ was drinking that beer - the last beer, remember? Before he relapsed that time for like a weekend?”
The memory finally came to him - I could tell the way his eyes lit up at the words. He looked at me in surprise. “I thought you were beyond wasted, I can’t believe you remembered that night at all,” he admitted.
“I mean I was knockered,” I replied. “I only remember, like, bits and pieces, but… I sobered up real fast when you told me I was gonna go to hell. That’s, like, the ultimate insult to a Christian, ain’t it?”
Brian took a deep breath and stared down at the heater vent.
“Another time was when you wanted me to go to that Christian music festival you were doin’ at Disney and I was like no, and you asked why, and I said because Christian music is shit and you got pissed and told me off.”
Brian frowned.
I shrugged. “It ain’t a big deal. I mean, half the time I’m not even positive if I believe in Hell or Heaven. They’re kinda vague beliefs for me. I mean, I wanna believe it, but sometimes my brain just… I dunno.” I waved my hands. “But yeah, you’re the one that told me I’m goin’ to hell.”
“I didn’t mean it,” he said, “Obviously I didn’t even remember it.” Brian sighed, “I’m sorry I’ve been so judgmental.”
“S’all good,” I replied.
He shook his head, “Really, it’s not. That’s not what being a Christian looks like. I’ve been a bad representation of it.”
I shrugged again, “About on par for all the experiences I’ve had around Christians,” I commented.
Brian was still shaking his head, “Still not right. Maybe we’ve all been a bad representation.”
“Maybe,” I replied. I pulled the blankets back up around my chin and stared up at the ceiling. “Still, though, like I said, right now hell wouldn’t be entirely unheavenly.” I smirked.
“Hopefully the heater will warm it up in here soon,” he answered, getting up and pushing the desk chair back into the desk. He came over, “Now I’m gonna get under the covers, too, but you gotta, like, stay over there on your side.”
“As cold as it is in here?” I replied, “We’re so gonna end up spooning just to stay warm. And besides, don’t lie, you like it.” My voice dipped suggestively and I wiggled my eyebrows at him with a smirk.
Brian laughed, “In your dreams, Carter.”
“In yours, Littrell.”
Brian
By the next morning, day one of TV interviews in Germany, Nick’s face looked much better. I was glad he wouldn’t have to go on a bunch of shows with that awful bruise he’d acquired and I could tell he was relieved, too. Answering questions about it had become really awkward throughout the radio interviews - during which Jane Carter’s accusations had come up during every conversation about the fight.
We left the heater on this time when we left the hotel, having learned our lesson about turning it off the night before.
We even did the vocal therapy exercises first thing in the morning before taking off for the day, just the same as we’d done the morning before that. Maybe it was my imagination, but I felt like my voice was cracking less during the interviews while I was speaking. Maybe I could get my miracle after all, I thought. I was trying really, really hard not to get my hopes built up too high, but it was hard because things were going so well, I couldn’t imagine them ever turning sour.
I forgot how easy it was to be around Nick when we were getting along, and how much fun we used to have. My stomach hurt from laughing half the time. I felt young again, which sounds silly but it’s true. I’d been going through a major mid-life crisis sort of feeling lately as my 40th birthday approached, especially with my voice being all messed up. Nick and I getting along felt like I was eighteen again and everything just felt better - righter.
During a break between shows, we scarfed down food in the back of the car and Nick asked the driver to bring us by this park that we used to shoot hoops at. He led the way across the park, laughing his head off as he went, the tail of his scarf flipping behind him as he ran. The ground was wet and there wasn’t anybody on the courts, but we struggled to jump the little four foot chainlink fence and ran around, playing one-on-one with an imaginary ball, arguing about whose imagination was cheating until we were out of breath and sweaty from running around like maniacs.
Nick’s face was flushed from the cold and the exertion as we climbed back into the back of the car. He grinned over at me. “Hey, thanks, by the way.”
“For what?”
“Just us gettin’ along and stuff,” he answered with a shrug. “I missed this.”
“Me, too,” I agreed.
He smiled, “Next time we’re here, we bring a b-ball and shoot hoops like the old times,” he said. “I’m sure we’ll come to Frankfurt on the next tour, once we get the album recorded and stuff.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, “I’ll whoop yer ass just like I used to.”
“I ain’t fat like I used to be no more, ‘Rok,” Nick said shaking his head, “You ain’t got the edge on speed like you used to.”
“I can still shoot with mad skills,” I answered.
Nick’s eyes gleamed with the prospect of competition. “You’re on,” he said.
The rest of the day carried on with the same positive attitude. We got dinner at a pub and shared a couple rounds of beers while we ate with Mike and Drew, talking in loud voices and even played a couple rounds of darts with a group of guys that were hanging out there. We stumbled into the hotel room late, singing Bon Jovi in falsetto vocals, our buzzes starting to wear into sleepiness.
We were back-to-back in bed, just about to fall asleep, in fact, when my phone vibrated on the nightstand and I leaned over to look at the screen.
It was a text message from Kevin.
We need to talk.
I put the phone back down, too tired to deal with serious Kevin. Nick was already snoring quietly behind me. I pulled the blankets up over my shoulders and nestled my head into the pillow with a yawn and one last stretch of my limbs. Whatever it was Kevin needed to talk about, it could wait.
Nick
I woke up to the sound of Brian throwing up.
“Bri?” I sat up, running my hand over my eyes, sweeping the sleep from them. “You a’ight?” I asked, shuffling to the bathroom door and leaning against it with one ear, listening for an answer.
“I’m all right,” he called back after a pause.
“You sure?”
“Uh hhhuh,” he groaned.
“You sick?” I asked.
“No I just like kneeling in front of toilets as a hobby,” Brian replied sarcastically.
“I’m sorry,” I said. I paused. “You don’t think it’s contagious do you?” This was vital information to me, seeing as I’d been sharing a mattress with the guy for the past couple nights. If I was gonna get sick, I wanted a warning about it ahead of time.
“I dunno,” he answered miserably.
I frowned as I backed away from the bathroom door. I sat down on the edge of the bed and glanced at the clock. It was still an hour before we had to get up. I thought about just laying back down and going back to sleep since we still had interviews all day, but then I heard Brian retching again.
I grabbed my wallet and went out into the hallway, down to the vending machine alcove and I got a ginger ale from the machine and headed back to the room, pouring it out into one of the complementary plastic cups from the desk before barging into the bathroom with it.
Brian’s face was buried in the toilet bowl as he knelt doggy-style in front of it. He looked up, all watery-eyed and red-faced as I walked in. “What’re you doin’ Frack?” he asked.
I waved the ginger ale at him and put it down on the back of the toilet cistern in front of him. “Taking care of you, what’s it look like?” I asked. I snatched a face cloth from the towel rack and ran it under cool water in the sink.
“I don’t want you to get sick, too,” he advised.
“Yeah, well,” I replied. I squeezed out the towel. “Probably it’s something you ate.”
He answered by throwing up again.
It felt awkward, but I sat down on the edge of the bath tub beside him and brought the cool cloth to the back of his neck as he threw up, rubbing his back. “Dude, if you ever tell anybody about this I’ll keel you,” I said, impersonating Howie on the last half of my sentence.
Brian chuckled into the toilet.
He sat up and I wiped his face a little with the cloth as he squatted there in front of the toilet, blinking, trying to regain composure. “It’s gonna be a’ight,” I told him. He nodded. I grabbed the ginger ale, shoving it into his hands, “Drink this. I wouldda got you a straw, but there ain’t any here. It’ll help settle your tummy.”
“Thanks,” he said, sipping the soda slowly.
We sat there in silence as Brian drank the whole cup of soda and I ran my hands around the edges of the cloth, staring down at it as I moved it between my fingers.
“You’re gonna be a good dad someday,” Brian commented after a few minutes.
I looked up at him.
“You’re such a gentle spirit.”
I snorted. “Me? Needs-anger-management-therapy me?”
“Taking-care-of-your-best-friend-when-he’s-sick you,” Brian replied, shaking his head.
I smirked, “Oh I swipe a cloth over your face and you think you’re my best friend now, huh?”
“Well, you’re mine,” Brian answered, not getting the humor in my tone.
“I’m kidding, B, you’ll always be mine, too,” I answered. “Even when you weren’t you were.”
Brian laughed tiredly and it turned into a yawn.
“Okay that’s it, mister, bed time,” I stood up and pointed out of the bathroom in an authoritative way.
Brian stood up, “Alright, alright.” He flushed the toilet and I followed him out into the room and watched as he got into bed. “What’re you doing?” he asked when I didn’t get in bed, too.
I’d started pulling my clothes out of the suitcase. “Well… I mean, I gotta go do all our interviews,” I said, “Gotta get up in like fifteen minutes anyways now, I might as well just get ready now.” I shrugged. Brian sighed and started to get up. “What’re you doing?” I asked.
“Getting up,” Brian replied.
“Ohhh no you don’t,” I said, waving my hand at the bed, “Get back in there, mister, you’re resting. I’ll do the interviews.”
“Alone?”
“Yeah alone,” I replied. “I’ll be a’ight. I’ve done a solo interview before.” I laughed, “And besides, I kinda had it comin’, I made you do that one by yourself in France, remember?”
Brian dropped back onto the pillow with a relieved expression on his tired face, “Oh yeah,” he said, “You’re right. You did. Good luck with that.” He chuckled sleepily. “Thanks for not makin’ me get up, Frack,” he said as he melted into the pillow, mumbling something.
“Just feel better, Frick,” I answered. “We’ll do your vocal therapy when I get back. ‘Cos you ain’t gettin’ out of it, so this better not be an elaborate plan to ---” I paused. Brian was already asleep. “Well damn, that was quick,” I commented.
Brian
I felt even worse when I woke up. Every muscle in my body felt like Jell-o. I groaned as I rolled over, sweating half to death, though I was fairly certain that the heat wasn’t on high enough that I should be sweating. My stomach turned and I groaned again, closing my eyes and holding still, hoping everything would stop turning if I stopped moving. I wasn’t sure what had woke me up, it was dark in the room - Nick had pulled the shades before leaving, and completely silent. I breathed heavily, just staring down at my pillow shakily.
My phone vibed on the nightstand with a voicemail. I must’ve missed a call. The ringtone was probably what woke me up, I realized.
Slowly, trying not to disturb my queasy stomach, I reached for the phone and pulled it across the nightstand to me. It was Kevin. “Ugh,” I moaned. I still didn’t feel like talking to him. I pressed my face into the pillow. I didn’t want to be awake. I closed my eyes.
But Kevin called back.
I groaned yet again and swiped my finger across the screen. “Kevin?” I asked, my voice came out all thick and froggy.
“When the hell were you going to tell us?” he asked.
I kept my eyes closed. “Huh?” I asked. Did he mean about me being sick? I wondered, because I only just found that out myself…
“You’re quitting?”
“Quitting?” I felt so shitty my brain wouldn’t wrap around the word’s meaning at first, so I just repeated it like a mocking bird.
“Quitting the band?” he asked.
My eyes popped open. “Where’d you hear that?”
“This fucking contract we all got in our email?” he snapped, “The one from Jen outlining current and future royalties as of your departure?”
Despite the room rolling out of control, I jumped up and rushed to the desk. I felt nauseous, but I wasn’t sure if it was from being sick or the implications at hand. I opened the lid to my computer and stared at the screen as it lit. My hands were shaking as I clicked on my inbox icon and it hopped, loading.
“When were you gonna tell us, man?” Kevin asked. This time, he sounded more hurt and sad than angry.
“I wanted to talk to Nick first,” I stammered.
Kevin’s voice was defeated. “Of course you did.”
My inbox opened and I stared at the email from JSo on top. New Contract pending Brian’s departure, please look this over and we’ll talk in the meeting next week when Nick and Brian return from Europe.
“How’d he take it?”
My heart sank.
“I… I didn’t get a chance to talk to him yet,” I admitted.
But that was a lie. I’d had plenty of chances, tons of opportunities had presented themselves. I just hadn’t taken any of them. I’d put it off and put it off and now it was coming back to bite me in the ass. I shook my head, staring at the email.
“Why the hell not?” Kevin demanded, “Aren’t you two getting along still? You said you worked it out.”
“We did,” I answered, “But -- I mean, I didn’t want to -- to ruin it, I guess. It was nice just getting along with him, I didn’t --” I sighed. “Shit.”
Kevin sighed, too, “I mean, he’s gonna find out now, once he gets this email.”
“Maybe he won’t get the email before he gets back,” I hoped.
Kevin was quiet.
“Kev?”
“It’s not just the email you gotta worry about.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t y’all have interviews today?”
“Yeah. I’m sick, he went without me…” I looked at the clock, “He should be back soon.”
“Well, AJ texted me before I called you,” he said. “I hadn’t checked my email yet, it’s still early here, but Perez Hilton cracked the story overnight and then this morning TMZ called AJ looking for a comment... The media knows already. Somebody let it leak.”
I ran my hand over my face. “I’ll talk to him the second he walks through the door tonight. Maybe foreign media won’t have picked up on it yet,” I said.
Kevin took a deep breath, “For your sake -- and Nick’s -- I hope not.”
There's Us by Pengi
