A wet drop splashed onto his hand. Not a cold raindrop, but a warm tear, which had taken a solitary path down his cheek and plummeted from his chin. Others soon followed as he cried silently and shamelessly. It wasn’t the first time he’d sat on the beach all alone and wept, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
But this time, he was not all alone. And only when she sat down beside him did he realize this. Startling, he jerked his head to the side in shock, wondering how long she’d been there, watching him.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” His voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat, trying to swallow back the lump that was preventing him from speaking properly.
“Are you all right?” She answered the question with a question of her own, crawling around to crouch in front of him and study him closely. Even in the dim light, she could apparently see the moisture on his cheeks. Gently, she reached out to wipe his tears away. Her fingertips lingered on his cheek, stroking it lightly as she leaned closer.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I... I didn’t mean it.”
“I know.” Their faces were so close, he could feel her warm breath caressing his skin.
With a tiny smile, he brought his hands up to cup her face and tilted his head slightly, leaning in to brush his lips against hers. “I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured, speaking against her closed lips.
“You better,” she replied, allowing him to slide his tongue into her mouth as it opened.
There were few words after that, as he let his body do the rest of the apologizing, first exploring her mouth, then venturing to the surrounding areas, leaving a trail of tender kisses down her neck. He attempted to roam further, but was stopped by her shirt. Noticing this, she quickly stripped it off and tossed the obtrusive material aside. He did the same, leaving her hands free to wander the breadth of his bare back, while he sprinkled her shoulders with kisses, pushing down her bra straps so as to not miss a single spot.
Dipping his head, he let his lips drift lower, gliding across the gentle slopes of her breasts. Her arms rose to encircle his neck, and her fingers crawled up through his hair, her nails digging into his scalp as his kisses made a path down her cleavage. As he reluctantly ascended again, kissing along her collarbone, he felt her breath in his hair as she pressed her lips to his forehead. Her hands moved from the back of his head to his shoulders, and she pushed him backward, easing him down to the ground. Stretching out on the sand, he pulled her down with him so that she was lying on top of him, face to face, skin to skin. A seductive smirk spreading across her face, she leaned in close and captured his mouth in a passionate kiss.
Thunder clapped, and lightning flashed, but he hardly noticed. It was nothing compared to the electricity that flowed between their lips, sending a current of tingling shockwaves through his body.
“Water and electricity don’t mix,” he murmured, as the heavy clouds overhead cut loose, and it began to rain.
“Don’t worry,” she breathed, her hands running up and down his bare chest. “Even a monsoon couldn’t put out our fire.”
“Then burn, baby, burn,” he panted, igniting another fiery kiss that kept his blood sizzling and his body hot, even as gales of cold rain cascaded down on them both, soaking them to the bone.
Laughing, she broke the kiss and slid off of him, her knees sinking in the wet sand as she struggled to get to her feet. “Come on!” she shouted above the downpour, grabbing his hands and pulling him up. With a shriek that cut through the stormy night, she took off running, spinning in wild circles and stumbling in the uneven mounds of sand on the flooded shore. “Come on!” she cried again, beckoning exaggeratedly to him as she romped into the turbulent water.
“You’re crazy!” he called, laughing, but he followed anyway, chasing after her until they were both waist deep in the ocean. He held onto her tightly, afraid the crashing waves were going to knock her right off her feet.
“Kiss me, Nick!” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck. Leaning down, he met her lips once again, and heat radiated through his body, warding off the chill of the water. When they broke the kiss, she threw back her head, shaking out her wet hair like a dog. “I love the rain!” she exclaimed, letting go of him and throwing her hands up into the air.
“I love the rain too!” he echoed. Catching her wrist, he pulled her close again, wrapping his arms around her drenched body. A rumble of thunder sounded, and lightning lit the sky once again, illuminating her sparkling eyes and radiant, dripping face. “Claire,” he cried breathlessly, “that’s not all I love. I... I love-“
But a clap of thunder drowned out the rest of his declaration, and the lightning that followed was so blindingly bright, he closed his eyes...
And when he opened them, he found himself sitting up in his bed, bathed in a sheen of sweat and breathing hard.
A dream, he realized with a sinking feeling. Nothing but an amazing, exhilarating dream.
Damn.
Sighing, he turned to fluff his pillow and saw with a sinking heart that it was covered in blonde hair. He brushed away the loose strands in disgust and started to lie back down, then changed his mind. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was already after seven and figured he might as well get up. There would be no more sleep for him that morning.
Despite the time, it was still fairly dark in his bedroom, and when he crossed the room on crutches and looked out the window, he saw why. The day was foggy and overcast, the sky blanketed by heavy, gray clouds. Normally, Nick liked sunshine and blue skies, but the weather outside fit his despondent mood perfectly. Not bothering to put on his prosthesis, or even to comb his hair, he simply put on a shirt and went outside, disheveled and barefoot.
It had apparently rained during the night, just as in his dream, for his deck was soaked. He carefully made his way down to the beach, trying to avoid a fall. After his trip to the ER the previous morning, the last thing he needed was another injury. Trying to hobble through wet sand on crutches (his wrist stinging in protest the whole time) was not exactly practical, but the prosthesis alone wasn’t really an option, for he was still quite unsteady on any terrain that wasn’t perfectly smooth and level.
He navigated the beach slowly, enjoying the feel of the wet sand squishing between his toes. It was a sensation he had not experienced in quite some time. He neared the water, selected a spot, and sank down to the ground, tossing the crutches aside and stretching his leg out in front of him. He could feel the moisture of the sand seeping through his rumpled shorts, but he did not care.
He let his other senses take over, inhaling the familiar scents of seawater and summer rain, listening to a seagull’s mournful call, gazing pensively into the hazy distance. The morning fog was thick and hid the surrounding scenery, secluding Nick in his own private snow globe of sorts. He found he liked it that way. He couldn’t see the neighboring houses or people, and they couldn’t see him. Perfect.
Sitting there in his foggy daze, he let his mind wander. It went straight to Claire. To the dream he’d woken up from that morning and to the words he’d said to her the day before. Part of him was regretting them already. The other part scolded him for being so selfish. He couldn’t call her up and beg for her forgiveness now. And it wasn’t like she was going to miraculously emerge from the fog and proceed to make out with him there on the beach, thereby solving all their problems. It just didn’t work that way in real life. In real life, people didn’t frolic through the ocean in a thunderstorm, dodging lightning, nor did they make out on a wet mound of sand in a downpour and utter suave, cheesy lines about fire and electricity. In real life, smart, pretty young women like Claire did not make out with sick, pathetic losers who were missing limbs and going bald.
Which brought him right back to why he had pushed her away in the first place. Anything to absolve her of the guilt trip she’d apparently sent herself through. He knew she’d only been spending so much time with him because she felt sorry for him and would feel bad about herself if she didn’t stick by his side. He was grateful for everything she’d done for him, and in the weeks following the amputation, he had needed her. But it had been over two months now. He needed to learn how to deal with things on his own, and she needed to get her life back. Though it pained his heart to admit it, he was confident he’d done the right thing. He might have hurt her, but she would get over it and move on with her life in time, and that was exactly what she needed to do.
You need to get your life back too, a little voice in the back of his head prodded.
“What life?” he muttered out loud, absently drawing patterns in the sand with his index finger. How could he get his life back when it seemed all his time was spent being shuttled back and forth from the hospital, for either physical therapy sessions or chemotherapy treatments? More notably, how could he get his life back with only one leg? His life before cancer had struck him down revolved around his career, around being a musician, a Backstreet Boy, as well as a solo artist. He could still sing, even put out an album if he wanted to... but would he ever get his career back? His days as a teen idol were gone, that was for sure. The young girls who had once made up a large portion of his fan base would turn to Justin Timberlake or Nick Lachey, and the few who would still support him would be doing it only out of sympathy. And he did not want sympathy.
And what about the group? The Backstreet Boys? It had only been months since their last album had been released (though it felt like years to Nick), and they had yet to tour. Back at the beginning of February, when they’d dropped the album, they’d had a summer tour in mind. But it was summer now, and a tour obviously wasn’t happening. Would it ever? Nick wondered. Touring to him meant spending countless weeks, sometimes months, on a tour bus, staying in hotels all across the country, all around the world, living out of a suitcase, and singing and dancing for nearly two hours almost every night of the week.
Clearly, touring was out of the question now.
But would it always be? Or would they be back on the road together someday?
Deep down, as hard as it was to imagine it happening, Nick wanted there to be another tour. He was at home on the road and onstage. At heart, he would always be a performer. It was in his blood, and despite all the changes he’d been through, nothing would change that. But even so, he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to get back onstage and do what he’d loved to do.
AJ was right about one thing though – they needed to talk about it. All five of them, together, as a group. Sooner or later, they would have to make some decisions and figure out how they were going to play the cards they had been dealt, the cards Nick had been dealt.
Approaching footsteps snapped Nick out of his daze, and he glanced over his shoulder to see the silhouette of a figure appear through the fog. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he just stared, waiting. But as the figure came into view, he saw that it was only AJ.
“Nick! Damn, man, there you are,” AJ said, his gruff voice sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet morning. “D and I were wondering where the hell you went. Couldn’t see a damn thing from the house either, with all this fog. Good thing you left tracks.”
“Tracks?” Nick repeated blankly.
“Yeah, footprints. Well, and crutch-prints,” chuckled AJ. “I followed ‘em all the way down here. Felt like a huntin’ dog or something.” He grinned.
Nick snorted. “Well, good job, Rover.”
“Thanks. So, are you about ready to head back up to the house? It’s almost eight-thirty, and you’re supposed to be at the hospital at nine for your chemo, right?”
“It’s eight-thirty already?” Nick asked in shock. Had he really been sitting out here for over an hour?
“Sure is.”
Nick sighed, glancing out at the misty water. He was not ready to go inside yet, and he certainly was not ready to go to the hospital for yet another round of chemotherapy. It would just make him nauseous and make his hair fall out even faster. He hated the whole business and wished he could just be done with it all.
And that’s when a thought hit him. Sooner or later, they would have to make some decisions... Maybe he’d start right now, by making his own decision. His mind raced, but within a few moments, it all became very clear to him. He knew what he wanted. And he knew what he didn’t want.
He didn’t want more chemo.
“Nick? Hello? Should we go back now?” AJ asked, touching his shoulder.
“No,” answered Nick. “I’m not going.”
“Not going? Not going back to the house, or-“
“Not going to the hospital,” Nick clarified. “I’m through. No more chemo.”
AJ studied him, biting his lip. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Nick said curtly. AJ was silent, and after a moment, Nick sighed and added, “I can’t take any more, J. I... I hate it. It makes me sick, and m-my hair’s starting to fall out again, and... I just don’t wanna go through it anymore.”
AJ nodded, squeezing his shoulder. “I understand,” he said softly. “I’d probably feel the same way.”
Glancing up at him, Nick offered AJ a tiny smile. “Thanks, Aje,” he whispered.
“No prob, dude. Do you wanna stay here longer? I can go back and tell Howie your decision. I guess one of us should call the clinic and tell them you’re not coming. You might want to talk your doctor later too and let her know, right?”
“Yeah,” said Nick, “I’ll take care of it. Go on up to the house, and I’ll be up in a little while, okay?”
“Okay,” agreed AJ, turning and starting back for the house. Nick watched him retreat until his form vanished in the fog. Then he turned his gaze back upon the water and smiled a little. One decision had been made. And as far as he was concerned, it was a step in the right direction.
***
