Brent had seemed leery of the idea of going clubbing that night when Nick had talked to him on the phone in the afternoon, but after telling his friend that he was in remission and wanted to celebrate, Nick had talked Brent into it, and Brent had called the others and convinced them as well. And so, Nick, Brent, James, Frank, and Lane had piled into Nick’s Durango and headed out for a night of bar-hopping that was sure to make Nick feel “normal” again at once.
Hours later, Nick sat at a nameless bar, drinking himself into a stupor and marveling at how much things could change in a single day. At this time the night before, he had been tossing and turning in bed, his anxiety over that morning’s doctor’s appointment keeping him awake. But tonight, he was wild and free, having a wonderful time without a care in the world. Alcohol had easily gotten rid of his worries, his insecurities. Oh, and of course that little thing called good judgment. Not that he realized that at the time.
With each drink he knocked back, his confidence grew, and he became more outgoing, distancing himself from the safety of his friends and branching out to flirt with women, many of whom were too drunk themselves to figure out who he was and remember that he, Nick Carter, had cancer.
But not anymore. His cancer was gone now, a thing of the past. He was determined to forget about it and go on with his life, and tonight was the first step. With a black beanie pulled low over his head and the dim lighting in the various bars hiding his haggard appearance, it was impossible for anyone to see how bad he looked. And he preferred it that way, keeping himself in the shadows and concealing his true identity from the people he conversed with.
And he was successful too; for a long time, no one recognized him, or if they did, they didn’t show it. Tonight, he was neither Backstreet Boy, nor cancer victim. Tonight, he was just a regular guy.
That was until she showed up to ruin the whole charade.
“Nick?” the vaguely familiar voice asked from behind as he sat at the end of the bar. He spun around (nearly toppling right off the bar stool in the process) and found himself gazing into a pair of gorgeous brown eyes that made his heart melt and his stomach constrict at the very same time.
“Leah,” he spoke her name softly.
“Oh my God,” she said, her hand slowly rising to cover her mouth as she peered at him with shocked eyes. “I... I thought that was you.”
Nick didn’t answer at first, too busy taking in the appearance of the only girl who had successfully broken his heart not once, but twice. She looked irresistible, dressed in a tight, black skirt that showed every curve and stopped far above her knees, displaying her shapely legs, and a one-strapped red top that exposed her midriff, which was tanned and toned and enhanced by a glittering ring in her navel. He stared at her for a moment longer, his eyes traveling up and down her body and finally settling on her face. Offering her a crooked smile, he replied finally, “It’s me.”
Leah bit down on her bottom lip, her teeth penetrating the sheath of dark red lipstick she had painted on, and her hand drifted unconsciously to her golden hair, running up and down it, coiling tendrils nervously around her index finger. “Nicky... I... I can’t believe it...”
“Can’t believe what?” he laughed, casually taking a sip of his drink.
She pulled the unoccupied bar stool beside him nearer and perched herself on it, facing him, their knees almost touching. Resting her left hand on his thigh, she leaned over, looking closely at him, and asked in a solemn voice, “How are you doing?”
“Doing just great, thanks!” Nick answered light-heartedly, taking another swig from his glass. “And you? Where’s the boyfriend? Preppy.”
Her eyes darkened. “We’re, um... we’re having problems,” came her quiet reply, as she looked away from him.
“Sorry,” Nick said flatly, not really sorry at all.
“But I don’t want to talk about me,” she changed the subject quickly, ignoring his lack of compassion. “What about you? I’ve been so worried about you ever since I found out...”
“Found out what?” He played dumb, hoping to ward off questions of his health and well-being and fake expressions of sympathy.
“Well... you know...” Her eyes darted back and forth, and, her voice so low he could barely hear her above the noise of the bar, she hissed, “Your... your cancer.”
“Oh, that,” he said nonchalantly. “Well, don’t you trouble your pretty little head over me, baby, cause I’m perfectly fine.”
She frowned. “Nicky, we should talk.”
“What’s there to talk about?”
“Everything. We left things off on such a bad note, and I... I really want to make things up to you. Especially now.”
“Ohhh, I see!” he exclaimed loudly. “This is a sympathy thing, huh? You didn’t care about treating me like shit before, but I come down with a little something, and you’re all over me, wanting to ‘make things up to me’. What’s up with that?”
“It’s not that, Nick! I just... I realized what a horrible mistake I made, and I wanted to really apologize to you. Please... hear me out.”
“I’m listening,” he said with a smirk.
“Not here... let’s go somewhere more private, okay? Come on.” Before he knew it, she had grabbed his hand and hauled him off of his stool. Stumbling drunkenly, he let her pull him through the crowded bar and out into the breezy night. The fresh air was a nice change from the hot and stuffy interior of the bar, and he sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
“Let’s walk,” suggested Leah, her hand tightening around his as she led him slowly off down the sidewalk and turned the corner into the dark alley between the nightclub and the building next to it. He started to protest, suddenly wanting to get back to the people and the drinks within the club, but as he opened his mouth, she pounced, pressing her lips to his and sliding her tongue into the space between them.
He felt her arms slide around his neck, her fingers lightly caressing his skin as she deepened the kiss. His mind screamed for him to break away quickly, but his heart betrayed him, thumping excitedly in his chest as her tongue massaged his. And with his brain as muddled as it was by all the alcohol he had consumed that night, it was not long before his heart won over, and he kissed her back, throwing his arms around her waist. His hands explored her back, then quickly headed south, while his tongue tangoed with hers.
It had been far too long since he had shared a kiss like this – Leah was the last woman he had been with, and that was over five months ago. Now he kissed her hungrily, as if he had just tasted a dollop of rich, dark chocolate for the first time in his life and was now ravenous for more.
But then she pulled away, smirking at the surprised look on his face, wickedly enjoying leaving him so unsatisfied. She had transformed into the bully on the playground, teasing him, holding the one thing he wanted high above her head, just out of his reach.
“Whew,” she sighed, exaggeratedly feigning a yawn. “It’s late, isn’t it? I’m tired. Guess I’ll just call a cab to take me home.”
“No!” he said quickly, sounding far more eager than he would have liked. Straightening himself, he added suavely, “You don’t gotta call a cab. I’ll take you home.”
“Would you?” she asked sweetly, batting her heavily-mascaraed eyelashes at him.
“Sure, babe,” he replied, taking her hand. “My car’s... somewhere...” He really wasn’t sure where he’d parked the Durango, but after traipsing around for a bit, they found it and got in. He briefly remembered that he had brought Brent and the guys along with him that night and knew they’d wonder where their ride home had disappeared to... but screw them, they could get a lift elsewhere. This was one opportunity he could not miss, at least in his wasted mind.
Now, driving is hard enough when you’re drunk, but when you’re drunk and trying very hard to pay attention to the road and not to the hottie on your right, who keeps touching you and kissing you and... licking you (?)... as you drive, it’s a hell of a lot harder. Yet by some miracle, Nick managed to make it to Leah’s apartment all in one piece and without a speeding ticket or an arrest for DUI or any other such nuisance. And that was a very good thing too, ‘cause it sure would have sucked if he had killed himself in a car accident on the very same day he was declared in remission from bone cancer.
Giggling, Leah led a staggering Nick up to her apartment, and once they were inside, she marched him straight back to the bedroom. Out of breath, yet so caught up in the moment that he completely forgot his medical problems (former medical problems), he allowed her to push him back onto her bed and position herself over him, her fingers lazily undoing the buttons of his shirt. He grinned dazedly up at her and received her sexy smile in return, her eyes flashing deviously as she took her own sweet time undressing him, loosening the buttons one by one. It wasn’t until she pulled open his shirt and gasped that he was jolted back to the reality of the situation.
He had cancer. Or had had cancer. And had received chemotherapy. Through a catheter in his chest.
And it was still there.
He groaned inwardly at the expression of shock, horror, and disgust that distorted her pretty face, which had definitely paled a few shades in the last two seconds.
“Nick,” she said shakily. “What is that?”
Nick closed his eyes and prayed she wouldn’t reject him. Suddenly, he felt he needed her, now more than ever. In the short time since she had kissed him outside the club, she had made him feel good about himself... more confident... loved... and, well... sexy. It had been a long time since he had had any real self-confidence; cancer and chemotherapy had stripped him of what little self-esteem he had built up over the years, right along with his looks, and he had never imagined that a girl would ever find him desirable again. Well, except Claire, but whatever her attraction was to him, it wasn’t physical, he could guarantee that. And Claire was no Leah. Not by a long shot.
Leah had kissed him... touched him... (licked him?)... wanted him. But she wouldn’t want him anymore. How had he been so completely asinine, letting her discover the freaking tube that was implanted in his chest before he at least got a chance to explain? Now she was going to think he was a disgusting freak... which he was... and wouldn’t want to touch him, nor look at him, ever again.
But he answered her question anyway.
“It’s... um... it’s a catheter... it’s used for giving chemo,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes shut, not wanting to see the look on her face. He knew his own face was bright red and wished he could just sink into ground and die. Screw remission; let the cancer take him.
He heard her suck in a breath and opened one eye, chancing a glance. She was still staring at his central line with wide, unblinking eyes, but the horrified look on her face had faded somewhat, replaced by one of curiosity.
“So you were on chemo, huh?” she said softly, finally pulling her eyes from the catheter and focusing on his face. “And you lost your hair?” Lightly, she traced one finger across his forehead, where his eyebrows should have been, had chemo not done away with them.
He nodded wordlessly.
“Can I see?” Her fingers moved to his hat, tugging the stretchy knit material gently away from his forehead.
“If you want,” he replied dully, and she slid the hat off. He heard a sharp intake of breath from her as she saw his bald head for the first time. But then, she was running her hands over its smooth surface, and then lowering her lips to plant a tender kiss right in the middle. Blushing again, he felt her mouth descend lower, peppering his head and forehead with soft kisses, then pecking his nose and cheeks, and finally, meeting his lips.
“I don’t care if you’re sick, Nicky,” she whispered breathlessly between kisses. “I want to take care of you... make everything up to you... make love to you...”
“I’m not sick anymore,” he answered as her hands roamed his bare chest, carefully avoiding the entire left side, where the catheter was located. “I’m in remission now.”
“Really?” Leah smiled sensually. “Then even better.” And she pulled him in for another heated kiss.
***
