He was waiting for Brian.
He needed Brian.
He had done so much thinking lately, so much worrying. His mind had just kept going and going, but now it seemed it had run out of batteries and died on the spot, leaving him dazed and blank, which was actually quite a relief. He was tired and wanted to just curl his head down onto his knees and go to sleep right then and there. But he couldn’t because Brian would be there soon. He had to stay awake for Brian.
He vaguely thought of the others... Kevin, AJ, and Howie. He wondered if Brian had called them. He hadn’t mentioned it on the phone, but it seemed logical that someone should call Kevin. Got a problem? Go to Kevin. That was how it had always worked, and he was surprised he had not called Kevin first. Because he definitely had a problem. Only he had a sick feeling that even if he knew about it, Kevin would not be able to solve this one. He would only freak out and fret until he got an ulcer, if he didn’t already have one from all that they had been through together. So maybe it was better that he had called Brian first after all.
He heard the muffled sound of a car door and sat up straighter.
Brian?
The doorbell rang, once, twice, hardly a pause in between.
Brian.
Nick painfully climbed to his feet as the bell sounded a third time and stumbled to the door, his bad leg nearly giving out on him as he gritted his teeth in agony. It was indeed getting worse, he could tell. How had he not noticed it before?
He opened the door to find his best friend of nearly eleven years standing outside. Brian’s appearance was haggard, his skin pallid, his hair matted and plastered to his head, his eyes bloodshot. Those eyes looked up to meet Nick’s, and Nick struggled to keep his composure as he saw the profound sadness registered in their cerulean depths.
“Nick?” Brian murmured, his voice hoarse. There was no trace of a smile on his thin, pale lips.
“Bri,” croaked Nick without emotion. “C-come on in.” He stepped back, tugging his gaze away from those expressive eyes, afraid of breaking down again, of losing it in front of Brian. It wasn’t like Brian had never seen him cry again, but they both seemed to be emotional wrecks already. The last thing they needed was more tears.
Wordlessly, Nick led Brian into the living room, and they sat down, Brian perching stiffly on the edge of the sofa, Nick throwing himself into a large recliner, wedging himself in sideways and draping his lanky legs over one of the overstuffed arms.
“Nick...” Brian trailed off, his mouth still open as he searched for the right words to say. Finally, he gave up and simply said, “Is this the only option you’ve been given?”
“Basically,” Nick mumbled without looking at him. “If I refuse the surgery, Dr. K thinks it will spread more, and then I’m basically fucked. Thirty-three percent is the highest chance of survival once it gets to somewhere else in the body.” How he had remembered that statistic was beyond him; he’d never been one to spurt random bits of knowledge like that. Then again, this was not random at all, not some useless piece of trivia. This was his life they were talking about.
The blood drained from Brian’s already-pale face. “So this is the only option.”
“No, I got two options – either the leg goes, or I go. Simple as that,” Nick replied flippantly, jiggling one foot and staring hard at the wall as he blinked back tears.
“Then... then the leg goes... right?”
Nick looked at his lap. “I don’t wanna live without my leg, Brian,” he said quietly. The foot stopped jiggling.
“I know, Nicky... I know. Who would? But... but if it’s the only option to save your life... you have to take it.” Brian’s voice was patient, yet firm, and he suddenly sounded very wise... almost Kevin-esque. But it didn’t take a wise man to see the obvious choice... if a person had to sacrifice either one leg or his life, he would easily choose to lose the leg, wouldn’t he? He could still live with only one leg - why die for nothing? It was simple, right? An easy decision to make.
Only it wasn’t.
The prospect of living with only one leg was so dismal that death almost seemed to be the better choice, to Nick at least. It was likely he would be kept alive if he chose to have his leg amputated... but would he really be alive? What was life without one leg? Nick had always been an active person... full of energy, athletic... he loved to be outdoors, whether on the beach or the basketball court. And more than anything, he loved to be on stage.
A sick feeling made its way into his stomach as he thought about his career as a Backstreet Boy. Dr. Kingsbury had said he would be able to continue his career... but how could he? He was not just a singer, but a performer, an entertainer. When he was on stage, he moved, whether it was dancing or simply jumping around. He could not imagine doing that on one leg. Nor could he imagine anyone wanting to see that even if he could. In the entertainment business, unlike in the Sprite commercials, image was everything. Sure, talent factored in there somewhere, but it was all about the look, about beauty and perfection. His cancer had already taken its toll on this aspect of him once. But if he went through with what Dr. Kingsbury wanted him to go through, he would be ruined. Crippled. Deformed.
Imperfect.
His life, the life he loved, revolved around his career, around being a performer. And whether he literally died or not, his life, as far as he was concerned, would be over if he allowed them to cut off his leg. He would retreat into the shadows, a mutant, an outcast, a has-been who would never really be again. He might be shunned... he might only be pitied. Either way, he would never again be idolized. He would never again have the girls he had taken for granted screaming his name, begging him to marry them, expressing their wishes to give birth to children of his blood. When he was spotted in public, people would no longer whisper, “That’s Nick Carter! He’s in the Backstreet Boys!” Instead, it would be, “That’s Nick Carter... he used to be in the Backstreet Boys. Then he got cancer, and he had to have his leg amputated...” And then the eyes would turn on him, eyes which had once been adoring, now just sympathetic.
“Nick?”
Brian’s voice cut into his thoughts, and he grunted an absent, “What?”
“Y-you have to do it. I don’t wanna lose you, Nick. It’s just your leg...”
“Yeah, my leg! It’s a part of my body, Brian, and they want to just hack it off!” Nick cried, turning hateful eyes upon Brian. “It’s easy for you to say ‘it’s just your leg,’ but you ain’t the one who has to face losing it, are you? You ain’t the one who has to face never doing what you love again, or... or never even being able to walk again, unless it’s on some freaky robot leg! What kind of life would I have if I let them do this to me?!” His voice rose and crackled as tears filled his eyes once again.
“I’m sorry,” Brian whispered. “You’re right; I can’t empathize with this. I can only imagine.... I’ll be quiet now; I won’t tell you what to do. It’s your decision. But Nick... think about it, okay? You’re not ready to just give up and die, are you? Please fight this, Nick. I... I can’t stand the thought of... of...” He trailed off, and Nick hesitantly peered over at him to find his friend slumped forward, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I’m sorry, Bri,” he said softly, climbing out of the chair and going to sit beside the older man on the couch.
“This isn’t your fault,” Brian murmured, his voice muffled. “You have no more control over this than I do. I... I just hate that you have to go through this.” He finally looked up at Nick with tear-filled eyes. “You’re like the little brother I never had, Nick, you know that. And... and when the group first got going, I... well, all of us, really... felt this unsaid responsibility for you... you were just this little kid, and we were older and felt like we had to protect you. We’ve always been trying to protect you, maybe even overprotect you a little.” He smiled through his tears as Nick nodded vigorously, his own eyes beginning to water.
“And now,” Brian continued, shaking his head, “you’re in trouble, and I want to be able to protect you from this... this monster that’s eating away at you.” He paused, bowing his head, his thumb and forefinger rising to pluck at the bridge of his nose again. “Only I can’t,” he went on, his voice now barely a whisper. “And it’s killing me, Nick. It’s killing me.”
***
