“Bri?” he choked out, his voice shaking.
“Buddy, are you okay?”
“Fine.”
“No, you’re not.” Then why did you ask if I was?
“I told you, I have the flu.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.
“Aww, I’m sorry. You want me to run you back to the hotel?” Yes, yes, please!
“What about the rest of the guys?” Nick asked weakly.
“I can come back and pick them up.”
“Okay...”
“Okay? Well, you come out when you’re ready. I’ll go wait back at our table, all right?”
“’Kay.”
He heard the door open and bang shut as Brian left and sighed in relief. Weak and shaking, he got to his feet, flushed the toilet, and came out of the stall. As he washed his hands at the sink, he couldn’t help but glance up into the mirror. His face was white and covered in perspiration. Moaning, Nick cupped his hands under the faucet and splashed cold water onto his face. It made him feel a little better. Then he retreated from the bathroom, wanting to get back to the hotel as soon as possible.
No one spoke when he made it back to the table. Brian just stood up and said softly, “Come on, Frack.” Putting one hand gently on Nick’s back, he walked him out of the restaurant and to their rented Durango.
The ride home was silent. When they made it back to the Clandestine, Brian and Nick took the elevator to their floor and went to Nick’s suite.
“What are you doing, Bri?” Nick mumbled when Brian followed him into the room.
“Taking care of you. Come on, get into bed,” Brian said, nudging Nick into the bedroom.
“I’m not a baby; I can take care of myself,” Nick protested, but Brian ignored him. Without a word, he turned down the covers of the bed. Nick climbed in awkwardly, and Brian pulled the covers up around him like a mother tucking in her small child.
“Go to sleep,” Brian said gently. “You’ll feel better.” Nick nodded, rolling over so that his back was to Brian and closing his eyes. “Nick, I think I’m just gonna hang out here until I go pick up the guys at the restaurant. You know, in case you need me.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Nick murmured weakly.
“No, I want to.”
Brian went into the other room, closing the bedroom door behind him, and Nick snuggled up beneath the covers, trying to fall asleep. He was just dozing off when he heard Brian’s cell phone ring in the adjacent room.
“Hello,” Brian answered the phone. “Yeah, we’re here. Nick’s sleeping. Mm-hm.”
It was one of the guys. Nick lay awake, listening attentively to the one-sided conversation.
“Yeah... I don’t know... he swears it’s the flu, but... yeah, I... hang on a minute...” Suddenly, the door to Nick’s bedroom opened again. Nick quickly clamped his eyes shut and breathed slow and deep, feigning sleep. He heard Brian say, “okay, sorry, I just wanted to make sure he was asleep.” The voice faded as Brian stepped out of the room and closed the door again. Still, Nick could hear his muffled voice from the other room. “Yeah, I’m in his room... didn’t want to leave him alone... anyway, yeah, I’m really worried about him too... he’s been so moody lately... and yeah, I know, he looks like he’s lost weight, and now he’s throwing up. You know, I hate to say it, but I’m beginning to wonder...” He dropped his voice a notch, but it was just loud enough for Nick to make out his next words. “... maybe he has some kind of eating disorder.”
Nick’s eyes flew open, and he had to stifle back a laugh. Eating disorder? Yeah, right. Rather amused, he listened to Brian keep talking.
“Well, it fits, doesn’t it? Nick’s always been self-conscious of his weight, and now he’s lost a bunch... and have you seen the clothes he’s been wearing lately? They’re all about two sizes too big for him... to hide the weight loss, I guess... and he doesn’t want to eat, and now he’s throwing up... what, does the sight of food make him hurl now? Yeah... yeah... I think we do need to confront him about it. If he’s like bulimic or something, we need to get him help... psh, yeah, the press would have a hay day with that one...” Brian let out a sigh. “Well... I guess I’ll let you go then... just call when you’re ready to leave, and I’ll come get you... ‘kay... bye.”
Nick heard the cell phone click off and sighed. Now they thought he was bulimic? What a joke. Still, he could see now just how worried about him Brian was, and he knew it was time to tell the truth. He would do it later, once all the guys were back.
A feeling of dread gnawing at his insides, Nick tossed and turned, unable to sleep with this task looming before him. Of course, he would not have been able to get much sleep anyway, for the gnawing sensation quickly turned to the churning nausea to which he had grown so accustomed. With a moan of discomfort, he forced himself to sit up and struggled to get out of bed. Somehow, in all his tossing and turning, he had managed to entangle his legs in the sheets. His left shin aching and his stomach rippling dangerously, he struggled to free himself and finally ended up tumbling out of bed.
“Fuck!” he screamed, grabbing his swollen leg. Then he quickly let go and clamped his hands over his mouth again, for his stomach had not agreed with being jostled in the fall, and he could feel the burning sensation of vomit alighting his throat. Just as the door to the bedroom burst open and Brian ran in, Nick threw up, the sour, liquid substance spilling all down his front.
“Oh, Nick!” cried Brian, hurrying over to him. Nick looked up to see an expression of disgust cross his friend’s face, but it vanished quickly. “Come on, Nick, let’s get you to the bathroom.” Brian held out his hand, and Nick took it, letting Brian pull him to his feet. With Brian’s arm around his waist, he limped weakly into the bathroom and sat down on the closed toilet seat.
“Are you done?” Brian asked, wetting a washcloth and handing it to Nick.
Nick nodded, wiping his mouth off with the cloth. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t make it in time.”
“It happens,” Brian said with a slight smile. “And don’t worry about me – I’m used to puke by now. I never realized how often babies spit up.”
Nick smiled wanly. “Well, I’m not a baby. You don’t have to hang around and take care of me like Baylee; I’m a big boy.”
“I know, Nick, but...” Brian hesitated, looking mournfully down at him. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’m not bulimic, if that’s what you think,” Nick said with an emotionless chuckle.
Brian paled. “You heard me talking on the phone?”
“Sorry.”
Brian sighed. “It’s okay. Sorry for thinking you were bulimic. I just... well, you look like you’ve lost weight lately, and your clothes are... speaking of clothes, you, uh, ralphed all over your shirt.” Smiling, Brian pointed at Nick’s soiled t-shirt. “Here, let’s get that off of you.” Before Nick could protest, he reached forward, grabbed the bottom of Nick’s t-shirt, and begin to pull it up.
“No,” Nick cried, quickly grabbing the t-shirt, but not before the damage was done. The material fell out of Brian’s hands, and Nick looked up to see a bewildered expression on his face.
“Nick...” he started, staring at the small black pouch that had now been revealed. “What is that?”
Sighing, Nick carelessly pulled his t-shirt up and over his head, fully exposing not only the pouch, but the catheter, out of which an IV line ran, feeding into the pouch and connecting to the chemo pump. He watched as Brian’s mouth dropped open in shock, and fear flickered in his blue eyes.
“Nicky...” he breathed, and Nick’s heart ached, for Brian almost never called him Nicky. “Nicky... what... what’s wrong with you?”
Inside, Nick was struggling to hold back tears, but his voice was quite calm when he opened his mouth and spoke those horrible, fated words to his best friend.
“I have cancer.”
***
