Brent laughed. “Who’s that dude she’s with? That the guy she cheated on you with?”
Nick could feel his face turning red; Brent had gotten it out of him shortly after the break-up that Leah had slept with another man. What he didn’t know was that the man in question was none other than Justin Timberlake, Michael Jackson wannabe, ghetto, white trash little prick that he was.
“No,” he answered, staring at the young man sitting with Leah. He looked nothing like Nick; dark-haired and wiry, wearing glasses, and dressed in some preppy ensemble that belonged in a Gap ad. He made a face; what was she doing with some drab, preppy kid like that?
As soon as this thought hit his mind, another one flashed through, this one even more unnerving – Oh my God, I’m actually jealous of him! Scowling, he spun back around on his bar stool, putting his back to Leah and hoping she hadn’t seen him looking at her and Mr. Goody Two Shoes over there.
“You should go talk to her,” Brent suggested, an amused smile creeping over his face.
“I’m not gonna go talk to her,” Nick said flatly, rolling his eyes and taking another swig of his Pepsi. “I’m over her. She can rot in Hell, for all I care.”
Brent’s grin grew even wider, but all he said was a skeptical, “Okay...” and turned to Lane, who was sitting on the other side of him. The two got lost in their own conversation, and Nick ignored them, glad to drink his soda and stare into space in private.
A light tap on the shoulder interrupted his thinking. Jerking out of his daze, Nick spun around, nearly choking on a mouthful of Pepsi as he saw who was standing behind him.
It was Leah. Hand in hand with Preppy. The nerve of her! Nick thought, seething. But, choosing the mature path, he turned his lips up in a cool smile and said simply, “Leah.”
“Nick,” Leah returned, smiling. “I thought that was you. How are you doing?”
Instinctively, Nick’s hand went to the hem of his shirt, giving it a tug to make sure it covered his chemo pump. “Fine,” he answered stoutly. “And you? I see you’ve found yourself a new toy.” He nodded to Preppy.
Leah’s smile faded momentarily, her brown eyes blazing. But almost instantaneously, the anger in her eyes flickered out, and another smile came over her lips, the same lips Nick had touched with his own, many a time. God, how he loved her lips...
Stop it! You do not! You hate her; you hate every thing about her!
“Nick Carter, meet David Hammond.”
David politely held out his hand to shake, but Nick ignored it, muttering only a “hi” in his general direction. Only when his hand fell did Nick steal a peek at David. The first thing he noticed was that this kid (man, really – his age was more apparent up close, though he still sported somewhat of a baby face) had money. His preppy gear was Armani, and the gold watch on his wrist was surely a Rolex.
Probably all Daddy’s money, Nick thought nastily, with a smirk of self-satisfaction. At least he had earned his own wealth.
“David, would you order me another drink?” Leah asked sweetly, and David immediately went to the bartender to fulfill her wish. Nick rolled his eyes.
“Nicky,” Leah said, her voice low.
“Don’t call me that,” Nick hissed.
“Nick, sorry. I want us to talk sometime. Maybe we could go out... for coffee or something, maybe? Whatever you want. I just... don’t like leaving things unsettled like they were with us, you know? I have some things to explain, and-“
“We didn’t leave things unsettled,” Nick said through gritted teeth. “I told you to get the hell out of my life and leave me alone. Did you not understand that?”
“Nick, I-“
“I meant it then, and I still mean it now, Leah. You’ve got that David guy, so why are you still after me? Let it go.”
“I’m not ‘after you,” Mr. Ego. But I still care about you as a friend, and I don’t want you to be an enemy. Can’t we just talk?”
“We’ve talked enough.”
“Nick...” She stared at him, her eyes pleading.
“Look, maybe, okay? I gotta go.” Before she could say another word, he slipped off the stool, brushed past her, and hurried off to the bathroom.
“Nick!” she called after him. “What happened to your leg?”
Ignoring her, he pushed his way through the crowded bar until he made it to the smoky men’s room, where he threw himself into one of the stalls and locked the door, fighting to keep a hold on the jumble of emotions that seeing Leah again had evoked.
He stayed in the restroom for a good five minutes and then emerged hesitantly, checking to make sure Leah had gone before he went back to the guys. She and Preppy were safely back at their table, so, hoping they would stay there, he made his way back to the bar and took his seat.
“You okay, man?” Brent asked, as Nick hoisted himself up onto the bar stool. “What was all that about with that Leah chick? She want you back, dude?”
“I think so,” Nick muttered dryly. “But I don’t want her back.”
“Haha, isn’t that one of your songs? ‘Don’t Want You Back’?”
Nick rolled his eyes. “No pun intended.”
“Here, the bartender refilled your drink,” Brent said, sliding the tall glass of fizzing brown liquid in front of Nick.
“Thanks.” Not really thirsty, Nick absent-mindedly picked the glass up anyway and took a drink. He couldn’t really say he was enjoying himself, but then again, he wasn’t completely miserable either. At least he wasn’t throwing up. That had been the biggest of his concerns, so he had taken double the usual dosage of his anti-nausea medication. It had proven effective. He wondered if Dr. Kingsbury had prescribed the wrong dosage because the medication normally wasn’t much help.
Making a mental note to ask her about that at his next appointment in two weeks, he swallowed another mouthful of Pepsi, deeply wishing it was beer instead. Everyone around him was drinking, but he had volunteered to be the designated driver for the group that night, his excuse for not drinking. They had only given him strange looks, for no one actually volunteered to stay sober – it was an assigned duty. But, relieved to be free to drink to their hearts contents, they had accepted it without question. And now he was the only sober one, the odd man out.
As he knocked back the rest of the Pepsi, he began to feel ill, the familiar pangs of nausea creeping up on him. He waited it out, hoping it was just from drinking too much soda. But when a few hearty belches did not relieve the sensation, he knew it had nothing to do with the Pepsi. Apparently he had jinxed himself; the double dose of anti-nausea drugs hadn’t worked so well after all. He sat stock still on the bar stool, breathing deeply, fighting the urge to run to the bathroom and throw up. He really didn’t want to end up hanging his head over another public toilet, especially in some grungy bar bathroom.
But eventually, it became too much to bear. Shaky and light-headed with queasiness, Nick mumbled a brief, “Be right back,” in Brent and Lane’s general direction, not even checking to see if they heard him, and slid off his stool, slinking immediately off to the restroom and praying it was unoccupied.
God was with him at that moment, for miraculously, the bathroom was deserted. Ducking into one of the empty stalls, Nick slammed the door shut, hastily locked it, and knelt down in front of the toilet. He had no sooner got to the ground than the dam broke, and he began to vomit. The bitter substance, tinged brown from the cola, burned as it ripped up his throat. Choking and gagging, he violently retched, finally expelling all the contents of his stomach.
The panging ache in his stomach fading slightly, he sank to the ground, weak, dizzy, and out of breath, not caring how dirty the floor might be. Sitting with his back pressed against the stall wall, he cleaned his face with a trembling hand. He pulled at his t-shirt, which was now sticky and damp with perspiration. God, it was hot in there...
Desperate for fresh air, he dragged himself up, panting with the effort. He flushed the toilet and turned, about to leave, when another wave of nausea hit him with full force. Gagging, he turned back just in time to make it to the toilet, his vomit swirling away with the still-flushing toilet water. He threw up again, and just when he thought, once again, that he was done, he threw up even more, not knowing what he could possibly have left to regurgitate.
Finally, he was left in dry heaves, retching and choking, yet getting nothing up. Moaning in agony, he pulled himself away from the toilet and slumped back onto the ground, the tiny stall seemingly gyrating around him, the walls coming nearer...
Overheated and dizzy, too weak and sick to move, desperate for some kind of relief, Nick let his eyes fall shut. The utter misery of that moment was the last thing he remembered before passing out right there on the bathroom floor.
***
