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Author's Chapter Notes:
I'm SO sorry for the delay on this story, especially in the month it's featured. Fail! I've been working on my collaboration, "Song for the Undead," and just don't have the time to focus on two stories at once. I'm back into this one for the time being, though, so hopefully you'll get another update soon. Thanks for sticking with me! :)
Cary


I woke up first the next morning, our last one in Tennessee.

I rolled over onto my side, and there was Nick, still sound asleep on his back, his arms folded loosely over the top of the covers. I watched his bare chest rise and fall and his eyelids flutter as he slept, and I wondered what he was dreaming. He looked pretty peaceful, so it must have been something good. It couldn’t have been much better than the dream I was living, though.

That was how this whole week had felt to me: surreal, like a dream come true. I wasn’t just living with Nick Carter these days; I was loving him, and he was loving me back. Often. I’ve always been traditional – I’d never moved in with a boyfriend before, not even the last one – but I had no qualms over living in sin with Nick. It was like that Billy Joel song: Sinners are much more fun…

…Only the good die young.
I finished the lyric in my head, and the smile slipped off my face, my stomach somersaulting as I looked over at Nick. How could I be having fun when I’d just spent the previous day with Nick in his lawyer’s office, discussing his last wishes? How could I be living a dream when he was stuck in this nightmare?

But it wasn’t just him. It was my nightmare now, too – a recurring one. I’d been a part of it from the day I’d met him, from the moment I’d agreed to help him, but I was more than just involved now. I was totally immersed, in way over my head. I knew it was dangerous, to let myself get so attached to someone in Nick’s situation. I’d been down this road before, with my mom, and I knew it might lead to heartbreak. But I couldn’t change the way I felt; I couldn’t stop caring about him. That’s why they call it “falling in love” – it happens accidentally, and sometimes, it hurts.

Was it love I felt for Nick? Probably not, at least, not then. But I was certainly smitten with him, and the way my poor heart fluttered in his presence told me it didn’t care about getting broken. He was worth the risk.

My smile returned, and I snuggled closer to him as he slept on. I thought about getting up to cook breakfast, figuring he’d be awake before long, but I wasn’t ready to get out of bed. The gray light filtering through the window blinds told me it was going to be another dreary day, and I was in no hurry to start it. We were flying back to Los Angeles that afternoon, but I wished we could stay in bed in that house in Franklin forever. It was peaceful there; everything seemed more relaxed. Until yesterday, we’d hardly spoken of his illness or the upcoming transplant, pushing both to the backs of our minds so that we could enjoy ourselves. I wasn’t ready to go back to LA, back to the world of medical testing and treatments that awaited us there. I wanted to stay in this moment as long as I could.

As I burrowed under the down comforter, I felt Nick stir beside me. I shrank back, self-conscious over being caught watching him sleep. “’Morning,” I said softly, once he opened his eyes.

“’Morning,” he mumbled back, offering me a sleepy smile. There was drool crusted in the corners of his mouth, and his hair was sticking out all over the place, but I was a girl with a crush and didn’t care; the rumpled, disheveled look was sexy on him. “What time is it?” he wondered.

“Nine-thirty. We don’t have to get up quite yet.”

“Mm… good.” He smiled with satisfaction, closing his eyes again. Within seconds, he’d gone back to sleep. I was a little disappointed, but I let him rest. He was going to need it.

While he slept in, I forced myself to get up. I made a big breakfast, using the last of the groceries we’d bought for the week, and cleaned up the kitchen while I waited for him to join me. When he didn’t, I loaded the food onto a tray and took it upstairs to him. We ate breakfast together in bed, which was even better, except that it made it that much harder to get up again and get ready to go.

I showered and took my time getting dressed and fixed up for the day, packing carefully as I went. Nick lounged around in bed until the last possible minute, then threw on some clothes and crammed the rest back into his suitcase. It took him all of ten minutes to get ready, and then we were out the door, on our way back to the airport.

“Do we have to go back?” Nick groaned when we got there, hanging back from the check-in kiosk. I could tell he was feeling the same way I was.

“Hm… where could we go instead?” I mused, playfully tapping my chin as I looked up at the list of departures on a screen overhead.

He followed my gaze, a smile creeping across his face. “Hey, there’s a flight to Fort Lauderdale leaving in a few hours. We could fly there, then hop on down to the Keys. Bum around on the beach for a few days or go boating…”

“…Just sail off into the sunset and forget all about this whole crazy stem cell thing, right?” I added, smiling.

He nodded. “Exactly.”

It was funny how we both wanted to go somewhere familiar, comfortable. I was eyeing the flights to Chicago, missing my dad, but I didn’t want Nick to know I was homesick. Instead, I said, “Or what about Denver? We could go hiking, get lost in the mountains.”

“Why stop there?” Nick played along. “You want mountains, I want the ocean… We could just grab a connecting flight all the way to Tokyo. Gorgeous city. You haven’t tasted sushi till you’ve had it in Japan.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I haven’t tasted sushi, period, and don’t plan to, thanks.”

He shook his head, looking disappointed in me. “Man… you’re missing out.”

“I’d rather go to Europe… maybe Paris, or London…” I’d never been outside the country before, but all of a sudden, being with a Backstreet Boy had opened a whole new world of possibilities to me. I’d already seen more of the United States than I ever had before, thanks to Nick; I wished I could tour the globe with him, too.

The only problem was, like it or not, my Backstreet Boy had to go back to California. We both knew it, but we pretended otherwise, making more and more elaborate plans for increasingly exotic locations even as we sat on the plane, waiting for our LA-bound flight to take off. And while Nick was happy to get his feet back on the ground, I don’t think either of us were thrilled about landing at LAX.

“California, here we come, right back where we started from…” Nick sang under his breath during the cab ride back to his condo.

I looked over at him in surprise, but he was staring out the window and didn’t look back. “Did you watch The OC?” I asked, giggling.

When he finally turned his head, I was even more amused to see that he was blushing. “Only when I was dating Paris. She had a cameo on one episode, and she would, like, force me to watch that one episode with her over and over again on TiVo.”

“Just like Summer got stuck watching outtakes of The Valley with Grady Bridges in his Escalade? I remember that episode.” I laughed at the incredulous look he gave me. “What? I’m not judging you. The OC was a great show! Do you have the DVDs? We could have a marathon while you’re having your stem cell transplant.”

Nick snorted, shaking his head. He thought I was kidding. I wasn’t. It was a good idea!

“So, I have to ask… Seth or Ryan?”

He stuck his tongue out at me.

“Okay, fine… Marissa or Summer?”

“Stop.”

“Ohh, I see… Taylor, right?”

“I don’t even know who you’re talking about anymore.”

I grinned. “Well, I’ll just have to educate you, then, won’t I?”

“No… you won’t.”

“Of course, Season One is still the best, but the other seasons are worth watching…” I chattered on as long as I could, and by the time we got back to his condo, I, at least, was in a good mood again. And even though he acted like he was annoyed, I suspected Nick was, too. His mouth kept twitching at the corners, like he was trying not to smile.

I had to hand it to him: the trip to Tennessee really had been a great idea. It had been good for him, to get away for awhile, and it had definitely been good for us. I had never felt closer to him or more comfortable in his presence.

For once, I didn’t feel like a starstruck groupie who had scored with a celebrity. Despite the lovely house in Franklin, the lavish condo in LA, and the first class plane seats that had carried us between the two, Nick Carter was just a normal guy. Just a normal guy who happened to be great in bed and still look sexy the morning after. Just a normal guy who liked to tease me and flirt with me, who made my knees go weak with the right look and my heart race with the slightest touch. Just a normal guy who was sick and who needed me, not only to help him through the next few weeks, but to help him forget.

***

The weekend gave us two more days to relax, but Monday morning found us back at the oncology clinic to meet with Dr. Subramanien, Dr. Schnabeltier, and the rest of the transplant team. The German doctor made a round of introductions and then went over the results of the pre-transplant testing Nick had undergone before we left for Nashville.

“I’m pleased to say that everything checked out,” Dr. Schnabeltier announced, smiling. “I think you vill make an excellent candidate for transplant, Mr. Carter.”

Maybe it was just his accent, because I was used to the way doctors talked, but this one made it sound more like he was nominating Nick for political office than clearing him for a stem cell transplant. Even Nick seemed a little taken aback. He blinked and stammered, “So… so the tests all came out okay, then? You think my heart’s in good enough shape and everything?” He looked uncertain, and it seemed like a part of him had been almost hoping the transplant would be a no-go. Maybe he was just scared. I didn’t blame him.

Dr. Subramanien spoke up. “You’ll be closely monitored during all phases of the treatment, Nick, but we feel you’re strong enough to tolerate it.”

Then they started talking about each of those phases, laying out a schedule for the whole process. It would start the following week, with chemotherapy and more of the injections I’d given him on the tour, to stimulate stem cell production. Ten days later, they would begin the process of harvesting his stem cells, which could take a few days. Then he would have to undergo a course of high-dose chemo, which would wipe out his immune system, before getting the so-called “transplant” of his own stem cells to help build it back up again. He was looking at spending half of September and probably a good chunk of October in the hospital, and that was if there were no major complications. I assumed I would be spending a lot of that time at the hospital with him.

It was a lot to take in, and even when we finally walked out of the clinic and into the sunlight, Nick looked pale. Neither of us said much during the drive home, but I know we were both doing a lot of thinking. He was probably worrying, still wondering if he had made the right decision. I was just wishing I knew what to say to reassure him. But I’d said it all before, and the truth was, there were no guarantees. The transplant could cure him, or it could kill him, or it could do neither, but we wouldn’t know until he tried it. In my mind, it was worth a try, worth the risk, if it could prolong his life. Now, more than ever, I couldn’t handle the possibility of losing him.

Life and love are both full of risks. And we were a pair of risk-takers, Nick and I.

***