~ Chapter Forty Nine ~

Stacy opened all the drawers of her dresser and stared down, wrinkling her nose.  She hated packing.  Felicia should have come over to help her.  Stacy had to look professional for the next four days.  Professional was not an image she did. Half the time her socks didn't even match.

She heard the front door slam shut, and seconds later, the stereo started playing.  Nick must have vaulted the couch in order to reach it that quickly.  Nick had been drafted after the game to do an interview and she had taken the bus home after the game.  It was nice of him to stop by before she left - four days was starting to seem longer and longer, the more she thought about it. 

Matchbox Twenty was blaring out of the speakers this time.  Stacy shook her head and started pulling underwear out of one of the drawers.  ‘Bent' would always remind her of Nick, and not because he had played the song into oblivion.  It was the lyrics - she suspected it was one of the reasons he listened to it, though of course, he wouldn't admit it.

"Hi!"  Nick piped cheerily, ricocheting into the room and tossing his coat, hat and a pile of assorted junk from his car onto the middle of the bed.

"Good interview?"  Stacy wondered.

"The usual."  Nick lifted one eyebrow.  "They ask me a bunch of stupid s---, I fudge around without really saying anything, they thank me for being so..."  He scrunched his face up in thought.  "I can't remember the word..."

"Congenial?"

"No... yeah, well, it doesn't matter.  Your word is good."  Nick shrugged.

"What's the mess?"  She wrinkled her nose at the bed.

"Cleaned out my locker."  Nick explained.

"What's this?"  Stacy held up a spiral bound notebook, the 99 cent, 120 pages kind that could be bought at any drugstore. 

"It's mine!"  Nick lunged across the bed, yanking it out of her hands. 

"Top secret information, no doubt."  Stacy raised her eyebrows.

"It's just stuff I mess around with on road trips."  Nick shrugged.  "Drawings and stuff.  It's kind of personal, okay?"

"Fine."  Stacy let it drop.  He could have his notebook full of pictures, it didn't really surprise her he wouldn't let her look at it anyway.  It was yet another door he slammed in her face, as soon as she got in too close. 

"What are you doing?"  Nick wondered, watching her pull clothes out of the closet.

"Packing."  Stacy critically eyed both of the suits she owned.  She would have preferred to just wear khakis and her beat up sweater.

"Why?" 

Stacy turned, half amused, half annoyed.  Nick's capacity for functioning in normal society was almost nil.  "I'm flying to Minneapolis in six hours, remember?"

From the look of complete shock on Nick's face it had slipped his mind.  "You have to?"

"Yes."

"I figured you were gonna come to LA."  Nick said quietly, sinking down on the edge of the bed.

"Believe you me, I would prefer to go to LA."  Stacy muttered shortly. 

"Then why don't you?"  Nick sounded as frustrated as she was. 

"Because I can't."  Stacy could barely keep herself from yelling at him.  He had heard exactly how important this trip to Minneapolis was - he had heard it several times.  It either hadn't registered, or he hadn't been listening in the first place.  She could only take so much of Nick's ‘me' attitude. 

"I just assumed you were gonna come to LA."  Nick was turning the guilt trip on her now, and that was unfair.

"Nick, I can't!"  Stacy gave up trying to remain calm.  "What are you trying to do?  You want me to pick either you or my career?  Is that what this is?  Because that's what's happening here!"

"No!"  Nick jumped back up.  "That is not what I'm doing!  God, I just..."

Stacy cut him off.  "If I had my way - I would go to LA with you.  Don't make me out to be the bad guy here - because I'm not, and that's not fair to me."

"I..." Nick started.

"You know, for once - I know you're not used to this - but for once, everyone is not going to cater to your every little whim and abnormality.  And you're just going to have to live with that!"  She felt bad as soon as she said it, but then again, maybe he needed a reality check.

"Stacy..."  Nick started again.  "What... why... what did I do?"

"You didn't do anything."  Stacy retorted.  "Maybe that's part of the problem - because I can only take trying to figure out what you actually meant by something so many times! Or the fact that there's an entire..."  Her eyes fell on the book still in Nick's hand.  "An entire notebook full of stuff that you won't tell me!  Every single time - you let me get so far, and then completely cut me off!  And I'm tired of it!"

Nick's eyes widened in disbelief.  "That's what this is about?  Okay - fine!  You want the damn notebook!"  He was screaming now.  "Here!  Look at the f----- notebook!  I don't care!"  He flung the notebook across the bed at Stacy, it landing on the floor next to her.

Stacy gripped the hanger still in her hand tighter.  What she felt like doing was reaching across the bed and slapping him as hard as she could.  "I don't care about the stupid notebook!  This is not about the notebook, Nick!  This goes way beyond that!"

Nick ran his hand through his hair.  He didn't look angry anymore.  Now he just looked confused, a little shocked, and most of all, hurt.  "You don't get it."  He said quietly.

"I don't get it?  Why don't you try explaining it to me for once!  Because just ONCE, I would love it if I didn't have to try and decipher what it is you're trying to say!  So what don't I get?"  She knew she was going too far.  She could see the look in his eyes, she was taking the little trust he had in her and flinging it back in his face, but if she backed down now, she was going to drop everything and go to Los Angeles.  That was the scariest part - right now, if he asked her again, she would quit everything and go to LA. 

"Never mind."  Nick stepped back from the bed and turned towards the door, letting her have the last word. 

"Never mind?"  Stacy threw at his back.

"Yes, never mind!"  Nick spun around in the doorway, yelling again.  "It doesn't matter!  I'm not gonna do this, Stacy!"  He slammed the door and a few moments later, the front door to the apartment slammed so hard the mirror above her dresser rattled.

The apartment was silent, except for the muffled sound of Matchbox Twenty in the living room.  Stacy slowly let go of the hanger, letting it fall onto the bed.  Her hands were shaking. Slowly, she sank down onto the bed, not sure whether to cry or scream. 

She had the sinking feeling she had just made one of the biggest mistakes of her life.