Exhausted. Fed up. Irritated. Spent. Yep, it all defined Nick and he couldn’t wait to get home. The flight back from LA had sucked, the trip in LA had sucked and he never heard from Ben either. It all just sucked.

Since it all sucked, he went shopping. To buy away his guilt for leaving Ben hanging on a broken promise and because…he wanted to. He opened up his new bag, having to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. He’d bought so much, he had to buy another bag to carry it all home. FAO Schwartz loved him now, that was definite.

Finally finding the plastic bag in amongst his underwear, he pulled it out to check out his purchases…to make the ride home from the airport go quicker. He wanted his shower…his bed…his home.

He found a couple of CD’s for Kitty. Their collection was sparse at best, but she seemed to really like music. So, he found a few that she and her friends might like, tossing in one of his brothers, of course. For Jack, an Exo-Toa Bionicle doo-hickey thing. And another set of something that went with it. It was all gobbledy gook to Nick. All he knew is Jack had drooled over them at the Disney store earlier in the summer. And the truth was, Nick enjoyed helping him build them. If only Jack could hush for five minutes when he was trying to figure out those stupid charts.

For Liz, he’d blown a wad of money and he didn’t care. It was going to be shipped in a few days, but to gear her up for it, he bought a small portion. A princess, a fountain and a frog. By the time he saw her the whole thing might be there…a castle. Filled to the gills with little furniture, dolls, everything. She was going to freak.

For Solana…well, this may have to wait, but he’d found a cute little necklace and bracelet set for Rosalie. Cheapy stuff, but good for her. It looked like grown up things and she loved that. So, on a whim, he hit his favorite jewelry store and asked if they had anything to match in the adult variety. And they did. Some day, she’d get it. Maybe soon, maybe not. He’d have to feel that one out.

Then Ben…easy enough. A new ball glove. A real good one too. He was using an old glove his mom found at a garage sale. Had insisted on it, but dammit, the kid had earned a new one. He was playing his butt off. Getting to all the games, all the practices, learning to chill his temper when he knew he’d pitched a perfect strike and the dumb batter jumped, thus manipulating the ump to call it a ball. Yep. A new ball glove. The kid deserved it.

He sifted through the few trinkets for his brother and sisters and folded up the sack, shoving it into his duffle. Leaning back, he smiled as the van got closer to home. Life was looking good. The business end of his life was a shambles, however...part of it anyway. But his solo stuff was pretty much ready to go. Some photo shoots, a video shoot and major promotion awaited, but he was ready. As for the others? Piss on ‘em. He was doing this. He was going to succeed. There was no other alternative.

Nick tipped the driver and slid out of the van, breathing in the hot, sticky Florida air. Yeah, it was thick and oppressive, but it was home. He jumped up his one step and fussed with his key in the lock, leaning funny to keep the two bags on his shoulder. He finally stumbled in and tossed his bags on the foyer tile and punched his security code in. And then, he breathed again.

It was a good thing. It would be his last good breath for a long time to come.

His house. His home.

Trashed.

Vandalized.

Violated.

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breath. He couldn’t stand. Sliding down the surface of his door, he could only muster the strength to cover his hand over his mouth, praying he wouldn’t puke all over the floor. He wasn’t able to move to the bathroom.

Furniture was over turned. Not one piece was upright. Pictures had been ripped off of their hangers and tossed, many laid in shambles with shattered glass and broken frames. Paperwork he’d left on his dining room table was scattered and from his vantage point on the floor, torn into shreds all over the place…like confetti. His stereo system was still there, but CD’s were all over the floor, cases broken, CD’s stepped on, videos and DVD’s ripped from their cases and strings of video tape littered the area.

In the kitchen, cabinet doors were open, some hanging off of their hinges and all their contents tossed to the floor, some in shards, some just sprinkled all over the tile. The refrigerator too was open, food spoiling, milk dripping down the shelves, beer bottles broken and dripping everywhere.

He had to get up and look at the rest of the damage, but he couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

Finally, mustering up enough strength to stand, and feeling like the nausea had subsided enough to trust his balance, he turned and looked at the lock on his front door. Unharmed. A thought crossed his mind and he jogged to the garage entrance and checked that door. No forced entry. His sliding door was closed in back; he’d seen that already, but the deck looked a shambles too.

Touching nothing, he was on a mission now. There had to be a broken window. Something. His security must have been on the fritz. He sucked at getting that shit checked anyway. There was no way this was done by who he suspected. No fucking way. He refused to accept it.

Quickly, he made his way through his house, grimacing at the damage in each room, seeing that no windows were broken. His office was a shambles, computer monitor on the floor, blank paper from his printer torn and thrown all over…and his desk drawers open and emptied. Bastards had to somehow break locks to accomplish that. God knows what all they’d read…hopefully they didn’t take the time. It was bad enough that they’d thrown everything…everywhere. He was feeling queasy again. Not wanting to look at the mess any longer, he hit his studio. And fell to the floor again.

Everything, every tangible thing had been over turned, pulled away, touched, moved, messed with. Every piece of equipment. Every cord. Every stand. Every god damned piece of his drum kit. The heads all had holes, the cymbals were off their stands, the sticks…the mother fuckers. Every one of them broken into pieces. Pedals were bent out of shape…his kit was ruined.

And worse than that? This was his display room for awards, for special gifts from fans, for all the material things that represented his career. And they were all over the place. Just like the pictures in the living area, the plaques and record certifications were tossed on the ground, glass shattered, framed broken, dreams…thrown aside like yesterday’s garbage. His curio of presents had been busted open, glass broken and toys, trinkets, pictures and books strewn across the floor and into the hallway. They left no corner unturned. No memory unscarred. And left no window broken again. Damn.

One final room. His bedroom. He was afraid to look. All he’d wanted was his bed, his shower, his retreat. What had they done to it? Peeking in, he was almost relieved. Bed linens were ripped and on the floor, pictures of course, off the walls and broken in pieces, curtains torn off its rod…nothing special now. Nothing creative.

The feeling in the pit of Nick’s stomach was louder than he wanted to hear right now. And as exhausted as he was, he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t rest now. He was back to that place he’d been so many months before. He wanted to be numb. He wanted to stay that way. Jogging into his closet, he yanked a dress shirt and clean jeans off of a hanger and quickly changed clothes, checking for decent appearance in the cracked mirror. Jesus Christ. They had filled his sunken tub with dirt. Not a lot, but…he was out. Numb. He needed numb. Now.

“Why are you so desperate to go out tonight, man…I’m hurrying!” Nick stood in Tony’s bathroom doorway, a nervous ball of energy, growing impatient at this moron’s sudden vanity.

“Come on, dammit. You’re beautiful. Let’s go!”

“God…are you already on something tonight?”

“No, Christ Tony. Let’s just go. I need…I gotta get out of here.”

Finally Tony was satisfied and they were off. To a club. Any club. Anywhere. Nick just wanted it loud and free with the booze. That’s all he wanted.

After tossing back a couple of tequila shots, Nick made his way to the dance floor and let it go. The music swept him away as the alcohol made its way to his head. He continued like this for what felt like hours. Shots, dance. Shots, dance. He was finally getting there. Numb.

He looked down at the blond gyrating against him and threw his head back in total surrender to the moment. She could have blown him right there on the dance floor and he wouldn’t have cared. He motioned for another shot to be brought out to him and of course, with lightening speed it was. The power was almost as intoxicating as the liquor.

Yanking on the woman’s hair as she shimmied back up his body, he brought her in close, sharing breath, drunk on her hands that were sliding up and down his ass and back. He leaned in, wanting to taste her…taste what she’d been drinking…sense what only he wanted to sense.

And just as his lips brushed against hers, he stopped. Blinking back the image in his head, he tried again, but the girl knew something was up. “Nick?”

“I’m fine, baby...come here.”

Easy enough. She leaned in again and before contact, he pulled back again. Dammit. It was like a dream in fast forward. Flashes of Ben, Lani, Rosalie, Jack…everyone who mattered anymore. Even Aaron and his sisters. All he wanted was a damned kiss. What was happening?

Shaking his head again, he stepped back, mumbled a drunken apology to the girl and took off, away from the dance floor, away from the VIP, outside of the club as far as his wobbling legs would carry him. To hell with Tony. He probably was in no condition to drive him home anyway. As he tore through the crowd, his mind settled on one face, one image.

Lani.

Why was she haunting him now? Checking his watch and finally focusing in on the time, he took a risk. Time to test the friendship. To see how deep the waters really ran. He pulled out his cell and took a deep breath.

“Lani. It’s Nick. I…I need you.”