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Cary


I didn’t want to get up the next morning. Lying in bed next to Nick, listening to the slow, steady sound of his breathing, I felt totally content.

I had gotten over the awkwardness of sharing a hotel room and sleeping in the same bed; it was worth it to wake up, roll over, and see his face first thing in the morning. I usually woke up before him, so I could do damage control before he got a good look at me in the morning. But that day, I was in no hurry to get out of bed. Doing so would only remind me that I had to pack up my things and get ready to go to the airport, that in a few hours, I’d be on a plane, flying home. As eager as I was to see my dad and Hambelina again and sleep in my own bed, alone, I didn’t want to leave.

The past two months had been like a dream come true. Sure, sometimes the dream had been more of a nightmare, but for me, there had been far more highs than lows. I had toured with the Backstreet Boys, a group I had admired for over ten years, and developed a friendship with Nick. I had performed on a real stage, in front of a real audience, opening their show each night, singing my own songs. No voting, no risk of elimination, just a Backstreet Boys concert to look forward to when I finished my set. When I thought of leaving all that and going back to work at the nursing home, I felt almost sick. I liked the work I did and the people I worked with, but I was going to miss touring and being around Nick and the Boys so much.

I was lying on my back, staring up at the ceiling of our hotel room and thinking these thoughts, when I heard the mattress creak and the covers rustle, felt everything shift around me as Nick rolled over. I turned my head towards him and found him looking back at me. “Morning,” he croaked, his voice thick with sleep.

“Morning,” I said back, hoping he wouldn’t catch a whiff of my breath. I knew I should really get up and brush my teeth and my hair, but I still didn’t want to. It wasn’t fair that he could look so cute first thing in the morning, with his hair sticking up in tufts and his sleepy blue eyes at half-mast, while I looked more like Medusa.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Almost nine.” Checkout wasn’t until eleven, but since my flight left at one, I wanted to be on my way to the airport before then. The Boys and their crew had flights at similar times, so we were leaving from the hotel together. “I guess we should get up, huh?”

Nick groaned. “Yeah…”

I forced myself to get up first, making a beeline for the bathroom to freshen up before I faced him again. When I came out, he had only gotten as far as sitting up on the side of the bed, his long legs dangling over the edge of the mattress. He had the TV on and was staring at it blankly, a glazed look in his eyes. He didn’t even look at me when I said, “We should get some breakfast.” When he didn’t respond, I added, “Want me to run down and grab something to bring back up?”

Finally, he acknowledged me with a grunt. “Eh… let’s just order room service.”

“Okay…” I picked up the menu from the desk and handed it to him. “Whatever you feel like.”

I watched him scan the menu by the light of the TV. He looked exhausted, completely drained. For his sake, I was glad the tour was ending; he clearly needed the time off to rest and recuperate from the chemo and the crazy schedule.

We ordered a big breakfast of bacon and eggs, lots of protein, and had it sent up to the room. When it was delivered, we sat around eating and watching Saturday morning cartoons, until Nick’s phone started vibrating. He picked it up off the bedside table and checked it, smirking. “Howie… making sure we’re up.”

I glanced at the clock; “almost nine” had turned into “almost ten.” We really needed to start packing. “Tell him we are,” I said, scrambling off the bed. Nick stayed put, texting Howie back, while I dug a clean outfit out of my suitcase and went into the bathroom to change. I could hear Nick fumbling around in the room while I tried to make myself look presentable. When I came back out, he had gotten dressed and was repacking what was left of his chemo supplies in between layers of dirty clothes in one of his suitcases.

“You know what the worst part of the end of a tour is?” he muttered, using both arms to try to squash the heap flat enough to get his bag zipped. “I’ll tell ya – all the dirty laundry. I mean, damn, look at all this. I hate doing laundry. Usually I just leave it all in the suitcase, right inside my front door, ‘til I run out of clean clothes, and then I finally unpack, like, weeks later… right before I gotta get ready to go on tour again. It’s like a neverending cycle.”

I laughed. “Typical guy.”

He grinned. “Yeah… that’s why I need a woman – to wash my clothes. And dry ‘em and fold ‘em and put ‘em away for me…”

I smiled and shook my head at his male chauvinism, but inside, I was thinking, I’d do your laundry. I’d use fabric softener, too, so it would come out soft and smelling good. I bet you don’t even know about fabric softener… “Clearly, you need help with the folding part,” I said, eyeing the overflowing suitcase. He managed to get it zipped, even though the sides were bulging, and gathered up the rest of his stuff.

We lugged everything out into the hall and down to the lobby, the last of the group to arrive. The ride to the airport was long and quiet. I spent most of it looking out the windows, taking in the sights of Vegas before I left it behind. I wished I’d gotten the chance to do more sightseeing in the other cities we’d visited, but I would never say so out loud. Nick had already apologized for the tour being less than I’d expected, and I didn’t want him to think I was ungrateful. It was true that it hadn’t been exactly what I’d expected when I had first flown out to LA, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t had an amazing time.

Checking in and getting through airport security was an equally long process, but finally, we were all past the security checkpoints and ready to disband and head to our separate gates. Brian and his family were flying home to Atlanta, while most everyone else was going back to LA.

I hung back while Brian said his goodbyes to everyone, wanting to delay my own for as long as possible. A lump rose in my throat as I watched the way he hugged Nick, so tightly, patting his back and whispering something in his ear. It swelled even bigger when Nick squatted down to hug Baylee. I wondered if Brian and Leighanne had told him yet that his “Uncle Nick” was sick. Even Leighanne gave Nick a hug, and while she finished saying goodbye, Brian came over to me.

“It was great to meet you, Cary,” he said, offering a friendly grin. “Thanks for opening the show for us, and thanks for everything you did for Nick.” He hesitated, then added sheepishly, “And I’m sorry, for making assumptions about the kind of relationship you had with him. You know what they say about people who assume…”

I grinned back, astonished. Brian Littrell was actually blushing in front of me, instead of the other way around. “It’s okay. I don’t think you’re an ass, Brian. You’ve always been my favorite Backstreet Boy, you know.” I winked, blushing, too, by that point, and when he opened his arms to offer a hug, I accepted it eagerly. My hurt feelings had healed; I was just glad the guys knew the true story now.

“Take care,” he said, as he pulled away. “Who knows what’s in store for the rest of the summer, but I hope we see you again soon.”

I nodded. “Me too,” I whispered, as I watched him turn and walk away with his wife and son.

Then it was my turn to say goodbye. I started with Howie and AJ and everyone else I’d met on the tour, saving Nick for last. I hate goodbyes, and I was dreading saying it to him. When it was time, he took my elbow and walked me a few steps toward my gate, away from what was left of the group, and then turned me toward him. “I just wanna say thank you, again, for everything,” he started in a low voice. “I know I’m not the easiest person to live with, and I’m sure I created a really awkward situation for you, but…”

I quickly shook my head. “I had an amazing time,” I interrupted. “Really. I… I wish you weren’t sick, and I’d do anything to make this go away, but I really appreciate the opportunity it gave me, to get to know you and go on tour with you. Thank you for that.”

He nodded, pressing his lips into a tight smile. “We’ll do it again sometime,” he said lightly. “Hopefully in August.”

I smiled and nodded back, and neither of us acknowledged the fact that there might never be another tour. It may not be healthy, but sometimes, it’s just better to be in denial. “I’d love that,” I replied.

“We’d love to have you. You’re an awesome performer, you know. And an even better nurse… nurse practitioner… whatever the hell you are.” He made a face, his tongue poking through his teeth. “You’re a good friend, too. Thanks for keeping me company and… you know… keeping my secret, even though you didn’t want to. Here… this is to make up for all my bullshit.” He held out a strip of paper. I realized what it was and tried to refuse, but he thrust it into my hand, and before I knew it, I was staring down at a check. A check for twenty thousand dollars.

“Are you kidding me?” I said before I could help myself, my eyes bugging as I stared down at the check. “I can’t take this!”

“I told you I’d pay you,” he replied, shrugging, like it was no big deal. “You never said what you make at your day job, but hopefully this is enough to cover two months’ salary.”

It was way more than I made in two months. Hell, I could buy myself a new car with this! But I wasn’t going to accept it. There was no way I could. I shook my head rapidly, trying to force the check back into his hand, wrinkling it in the process. “Nick, really, I appreciate the thought, but you don’t have to do this. We had a deal; it was an even trade. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Take the check,” he persisted, and then, as if he could see the idea forming in my head, he added, “And if you rip it up, I’ll just send you another one. I’ve got your address, remember?” He grinned.

I sighed in exasperation and reluctantly tucked the check into my purse, deciding I could keep it, but not cash it. He had so much money, he’d probably never know if I had or hadn’t. “Thanks,” I whispered, feeling myself blush.

With a wave of his hand, he said, “No, seriously, thank you.”

I swallowed hard, red-faced and trying to keep my emotions in check. “You’re welcome. Just do me a favor, okay?”

“What?”

“Take care of yourself. And now that they know, let the guys in. Let them help you.”

He nodded. “Okay, Nurse Cary,” he sing-songed.

“I’m serious,” I said, but I was smiling, even though I sort of felt like crying. “Be a good little patient, and listen to your doctor’s orders.” Thinking of the days of testing and treatment ahead of him, I added, “Will you call me, after you meet with her? I mean, you don’t have to, if you don’t want to, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep in touch and hear how things are going…” I trailed off uncertainly, hoping he wouldn’t mind this request. I thought we were friends, and he’d used the word just now, but sometimes, I wasn’t sure how to read him and his feelings toward me. He could be so unpredictable and moody, playing hot and cold – warm and friendly, even flirty, one minute, cool and casual the next. I didn’t always know how to react to him.

Luckily, he smiled and nodded again. “Sure.”

I smiled back, feeling relieved. “Thanks.”

He spread his arms wide then, and I stepped eagerly into his hug, wrapping my arms around his lanky body. Even though he occasionally looked puffy from the steroids he’d been taking with his chemo regimen, he felt so skinny and bony, like he was wasting away. Again, I wished I could go home with him and fatten him up with some of my home cooking and do his laundry and keep house for him, the way I had before the tour… but I knew that part of our relationship had passed. He didn’t need me anymore. And if he did, he’d never admit it, just as I would never impose on him. So I patted his back and forced myself to pull away, saying, “’Bye, Nick.”

“’Bye, Cary. Text me when you make it home, alright?”

“Sure. I will.”

He gave me another nod and a grin, and I hiked my carry-on bag up onto my shoulder and gave him a little wave as I turned and made myself start walking.

I had a lot to look forward to when I got home. The next day was the Fourth of July, and there would be fireworks and a neighborhood barbecue in my dad’s backyard. I was turning twenty-nine the day after that, and it would be nice to spend my birthday at home, with family and friends. I’d have dinner with my dad, then go out for drinks with Jess and the girls, telling them all about the tour.

But as I trudged off toward my gate, I couldn’t help but glance back.

***