It had not been until he had actually gotten out onto the water, felt the familiar rolling beneath his feet and smelled the familiar scent of seawater that he realized how much he had truly missed this. Besides music, being out on the ocean was his favorite pastime, his favorite means of relaxation. Even now, with the heavy burden he had carried on his shoulders for over three months, it did wonders to calm his nerves and soothe his worry.
It was a perfect day to be doing this. It was very hot outside, but being on the water cooled the temperature considerably, and Nick was quite comfortable. The sky was blue and cloudless; the sun shined brightly. This only served to compliment Nick’s unusually cheerful mood.
When he was far enough out to only be able to glimpse the shore in the distance, he shut off the motor and let the boat drift. He had discovered that he could only stand so long without feeling weak and was glad to sink down onto a seat and let the boat take him wherever it chose. He stretched back contentedly in his seat and flicked off his baseball cap, letting the breeze cool his head, which was beginning to sweat underneath the cap.
As the boat drifted lazily in the vast waters, Nick let his mind wander. Being out on the ocean, he thought first of his family, his father in particular, who had passed on a love for the water to his eldest son.
It had been almost two weeks since he had thrown his mother out of his home, and he had had no contact with her, his father, or any of his siblings since. He had not tried calling for fear his mother would answer or see his name on the caller ID; he did not want her to think he was looking to apologize because he wasn’t. He figured his brother and sisters were either mad at him or forbidden by Jane to call him, and he knew for a fact that his father probably wouldn’t call so long as he was still feuding with Jane.
Bob Carter was the opposite of his high-strung wife; he was very mellow and preferred to stay out of arguments, particularly family ones. But if it came down to taking sides, Nick knew he would always side with Jane, whether he truly agreed with her or not. Bite back his tongue and agree with his wife, and he would be safe. Disagree, and he would feel her wrath; there would be hell to pay. Bob was the only one Jane could always count on to back her up, and the power she had over him was more than Nick could overcome.
Rolling his eyes irritably at the thought of his mother, he forced himself to think of something else. A small stereo softly playing one of his old Journey albums brought to mind his biggest passion, even bigger than the ocean. Music.
Despite the lengthy Backstreet hiatus, Nick had not let the music die, going into the studio often to write, record tracks for “Now or Never,” or just experiment. And when the album had finally come out, he’d done heavy promoting, making television and radio appearances and performing. And then had come the tour, where he had spent nearly every night singing onstage. And even after his diagnosis, he’d been in the studio, covering up his illness and dedicating every ounce of his energy to the music, giving it his all. But then they had decided to take a break. Just “a couple weeks,” Kevin had said, but it had been over a month, and no one had mentioned getting back together to work on the album.
His good mood beginning to fade as he slowly realized how long it had been since the Backstreet “family meeting” in Orlando, Nick sighed heavily. It was all his fault. He knew the only reason why they hadn’t gotten back together yet was because of him, because he was sick, and the others felt he wasn’t up to it. And maybe they had a point... on the weeks he was receiving chemo, he knew it would be nearly impossible to get anything decent recorded in the studio – they had tried that, and it hadn’t worked. And even when he was not on chemo, he was tired, weak, listless, his body ravaged and struggling to recover from the previous week’s assault.
But he could do it. He could write, he could sing, he could do whatever they needed him to do. He had been with them for ten years now, and he was used to performing sick. It was just one of the downsides of being a Backstreet Boy – appearances couldn’t be backed out of for a little thing like the flu, and concerts couldn’t be cancelled unless you were practically on your deathbed.
And he wasn’t.
No, he wasn’t at his best now either, but he was very much alive and suddenly filled with determination. He wanted to get back into the studio, to get the album done, to please both the guys and the fans, not to mention himself because he was looking forward to it too. A new album, a new tour... those things represented normalcy in his life, and he wanted them back. Restless weeks spent on a tour bus seemed like paradise compared to the torturous weeks he had spent in the hospital.
Someday, he assured himself, I’ll be out there on the road again with the guys.
In other words, someday things would be back to normal.
Confident in that thought, Nick propped up his feet and leaned back as far as he could in his seat, perfectly content for the first time in a long while.
***
Nick was not sure exactly how many hours he spent on the water, but by the time he was docking his boat, the sun was sinking low in the sky. Once home, he saw that it was just after seven and couldn’t believe he had been out so long. The picnic-style lunch he had brought onto the boat with him was long gone, and his stomach growled with hunger, reminding him that dinner was long overdue.
As he walked through the foyer, prepared to go into the kitchen and scavenger for food, something on the floor caught his eye, something he had not taken notice of in almost three months. It was the painting, the beautiful ocean landscape he had once had hanging on the wall there. He recalled slamming the door and causing the painting to fall, breaking its frame. He had set it down and ignored it ever since. Now, stooping down, his left leg aching in protest, he carefully picked up the painting and looked at it. It was gorgeous, the golden sun setting behind the sparking dark blue ocean, its darkening rays reflecting on the water’s surface. His breath caught in his throat just looking at it and thinking of the ocean from which he had just come.
He knew then that it was time to get a new frame and put the picture back up. Tomorrow, he told himself, carrying the delicate frame into the kitchen with him and placing it where he would be sure not to forget about it.
Opening up the refrigerator, he stuck his head in and began rummaging around, frowning in dismay at the meager selection that lay before him. He sighed; nothing there looked particularly good to him when he thought of his mouthful of canker sores and the discomfort eating would put him in.
He slammed the fridge door shut and tried the freezer, hoping to find a carton of ice cream greeting him. Surprisingly, there was one – a tub of mint chocolate chip. It sounded like heaven to him, and he eagerly took the carton from the shelf and pulled off the top... only to find a very miniscule amount stuck to the sides and not even covering the bottom.
Damn.
Growling, he tossed the near-empty container into the trash and decided he was just going to have to go out and get himself some more ice cream because that was the only thing that seemed both edible and appealing to him at the moment, and he absolutely had to have some.
“How come ice cream places don’t deliver anyway?” he grumbled as he slid his feet into a pair of flip-flops. “Or what happened to the ice cream trucks with the little bells? That would be perfect right about now.”
He smiled slightly, remembering the ice cream man that had patrolled his neighborhood during the summers of his childhood, doling out ice cream cones and popsicles to eager herds of grubby children. Did such a thing even exist anymore? Not in his neighborhood. Then again, maybe that was because there were few children in his neighborhood. It was mostly older people enjoying luxurious retirements or wealthy, middle-aged business people who only emerged from their homes to go to work. He supposed an ice cream man wouldn’t be able to stay in business just by working the streets of his area... then again, old people loved ice cream too. His grandparents had anyway; they had always kept their freezer stocked with it for him and his younger siblings.
Realizing he was getting totally side-tracked, Nick forced himself to stop thinking and grabbed his car keys. He was halfway out the door before he remembered a hat; going to the grocery store with his clean-shaven head bared for the world to see would not be good. He realized the baseball cap he had been wearing earlier was still on the boat, so he grabbed a navy blue beanie instead and pulled it down snugly over his head. The sensitive skin burned underneath the knit hat, and he wondered if he had gotten a little too much sun. Either that or it was razor burn.
Shrugging carelessly, he continued on out into his large garage and climbed into his dark green Durango. He was on a mission now.
***
