Kevin
Kristin’s birthday and mine were almost exactly two months apart. On August fourth, I gathered with my late wife’s family and friends from Kansas for a beautiful birthday celebration of life. There were flowers, balloons, and candles in her favorite colors and cupcakes in her favorite flavors. We ate good food, listened to good music, and shared good memories of the most amazing person I’d ever met.
Afterwards, I flew on to Kentucky, where Mason and I spent two weeks with my family. I enjoyed being home, seeing the renovations my brothers had done to make my mom’s house more accessible for me, and reconnecting with old friends, including my childhood best friend and former bodyguard, Keith.
“You ever think about moving back here, man?” Keith asked over lunch one day.
I gave him a suspicious look across the table. “Did my mom put you up to this?” She hadn’t given up on trying to convince me to stay in Kentucky instead of going back to California.
“What? No,” he replied quickly. “I was just thinking, now that you’re not so busy with work anymore, it might be the right time to try reopening The Music Workshop.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Really?” Keith and I had started a music academy in Louisville a few years earlier, during the Backstreet Boys’ hiatus before we began recording Never Gone, as a way to give back. Our main goal had been to help educate and guide aspiring musicians from our home state through the process of writing and recording music, landing a record deal, and navigating the entertainment business. It was fun while it lasted, but it fell apart after we went back on tour with the Boys, forcing us to close our doors. Since I’d left the group, Keith and I had both gotten busy with raising our families and pursuing other opportunities. I hadn’t thought about The Music Workshop since before Mason was born.
Keith shrugged. “It was just a thought, but… yeah, why not? I know it might not be as easy for you to find work as an entertainer these days, but you still have a lot to offer. You know more about music and the business than most people, especially in these parts. You could teach classes, provide personal consulting… all the things we talked about doing when we first opened our doors. And you’d make money doing it.”
I considered the idea. It would be nice to have a steady source of income again and find a way to get back into the music business, even if it meant working behind the scenes instead of on the stage. But it would also mean spending most of my time in Kentucky, and I still wasn’t sure I was ready to leave L.A. “I’ll think about it,” I told Keith – and I did.
By the end of my visit, I hadn’t made a decision one way or the other, but it was surprisingly hard to leave Lexington. My brother Jerald accompanied me and Mason back to L.A. and stayed for another two days to help me get settled before he went home. After that, I was on my own for the first time since the accident.
Of course, I wasn’t really alone. I had hired a live-in nanny named Layla to help with Mason. I paid her to be my personal assistant as well, helping me with household tasks during the day and turning me at night. Sam still came over five days a week to do my morning routine, and on her days off, an aide from the home health agency helped me get out of bed. I continued going to therapy on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, which kept me busy. I even started hanging out with some people from my quad class at the rehab center. We got together a few times in September to watch the Summer Paralympic Games, which turned out to be more fun than I ever would have guessed. It was inspiring to see athletes with disabilities like mine playing sports and competing in events I never would have thought possible. It gave me hope that maybe, someday, my life would be more than what it was then.
Before I knew it, summer had turned to fall. On October third, my phone rang first thing in the morning as the home care aide was helping me get ready. “It says it’s from Nick?” he said, picking my phone up from the bedside table to check its flashing screen.
I smiled. “Answer it.”
He swiped the bottom of the screen to accept the call. “Hello? Yes, he’s right here; hang on one second.” He handed me the phone, threading my fingers through the handle on the back of my phone case so I could hold it.
“Wassup, my brother?” I greeted Nick, bringing the phone to my ear.
“Happy birthday, old man!” he replied. “Whatcha doin’ tonight?”
I snorted. “Watching baseball and reading Goodnight Moon for the two hundred fortieth time? I dunno… probably just gonna have a quiet Friday night in like I do every other night.” I knew I should feel lucky to have lived to see another birthday, but I didn’t feel much like celebrating. It would have been different if Kristin were still alive and I wasn’t in a wheelchair.
Nick laughed. “No, you’re not. AJ and I are taking you out tonight!”
“You’re in town?” I asked in surprise. The first North American leg of their tour had wrapped up in early September, but as far as I knew, Nick had spent his whole break in Tennessee.
“Yeah, I’ve got a check-up with my cardiologist next week,” he reminded me. “I decided to fly in early for your birthday. So you better start thinking about where you wanna go tonight.”
I knew I couldn’t say no to him after that. So I picked a low-key place where we were unlikely to be bothered by paparazzi or fans.
Nick and AJ came over to get me around seven. I cringed when I heard the doorbell ring, worrying it would wake up Mason. With Layla’s help, I had just finished putting him to bed early (which involved reading Goodnight Moon for the two hundred fortieth time, as promised). Sure enough, as I headed toward the front door, I heard him whimper over the baby monitor.
“Don’t worry,” Layla said, appearing in the foyer as I hesitated, torn between answering the door and turning my chair around to take the elevator upstairs instead. “If he cries, I’ll handle it. You go out and have a good time tonight.”
I nodded. I knew I could trust her to take care of my son, but it was still hard to leave him like that. I felt guilty, especially when I thought about what had happened on New Year’s Eve. Mason had watched his mother and I walk out the door, promising to be there when he woke up in the morning. But neither of us came back that night. Kristin would never come back. And when I finally did, I was in a wheelchair, forever changed from the father he had known. It was hard to tell how much my son remembered from that night and how much it still affected him, but I wouldn’t blame him for having separation anxiety or feeling insecure whenever I left. From his perspective, he probably thought his parents had abandoned him. Someday, I would have to explain everything to him, but at that point, he was too young to understand what had really happened.
Even as I opened the door, rolling back out of the way to let Nick and AJ in, my own anxiety nagged at the back of my mind. You’re taking an unnecessary risk in going out tonight, it warned me. What if something happens again?
I tried to talk it down, telling myself it was highly unlikely I would get into another accident that night. Dr. Austin, my psychologist at the rehab center, would have said that what I was feeling was normal for someone who had experienced a traumatic event. He would have encouraged me to face my fear and go out with my friends anyway.
“Happy birthday, Kevy Kev!” AJ called out as he came in.
“Shh… try to keep it down,” I said in a low voice. “Mason just went to bed a few minutes ago.”
“Oh shit, sorry.”
“No worries.” I repeated that line in my head. No worries.
Nick followed AJ inside. “Hey, how’s it goin’, dawg?” he said with a grin, leaning down to hug me. I hadn’t gotten a good look at him yet, but I could tell he had lost more weight just from hugging him. There was less meat on his bones, which felt a lot… well, bonier.
As he straightened up and stepped further into the light of the foyer, I forgot about my worries for a moment. “Nick!” I gasped, looking him up and down. I hardly recognized him; he was half the size he had been during our last tour together. “Damn, brother! You look fantastic! How much weight have you lost by now?”
Nick grinned. “About forty pounds. I’ve plateaued a bit during the break, but the weight was practically falling off while we were on tour.”
“Wow,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “I’m so proud of you.”
“You should be.” AJ elbowed Nick playfully in the ribs. “This guy went to the gym just about every day we were on the road, even show days. He had nothing but healthy shit on his tour bus. While the rest of us were chowing down on chicken wings, he’d be drinking kale smoothies. And I don’t think he went out for drinks even once after a show.”
Nick shook his head. “Only water. I did what you told me to,” he said, looking me in the eye. “I stayed on the wagon.”
I smiled. “I’m really happy to hear that. And look at what a difference it made!” I waved my hands toward him. “You’re like a whole new person! How do you feel?”
“Better,” Nick admitted, smiling back. “A lot better than I did before.”
We continued the conversation as we went out to the garage and got into my van, leaving AJ’s car parked in the driveway. “What do you think your doctor will say at your appointment next week?” I asked Nick as he buckled my chair into the back.
“I hope she’ll be happy with the progress I’ve made,” he answered uncertainly. “I dunno what kind of tests she’ll wanna do or if they’ll show any major differences with my heart, but I definitely feel healthier than I was back in June. I don’t have chest pains or palpitations anymore, and I wasn’t as short of breath during shows on this past leg of the tour.”
“Those are good signs,” I said, giving him an encouraging nod. But it worried me to hear how much he had kept from me, from all of us, before. Until he wound up sharing a hospital room with me, I had no idea he was experiencing any of those symptoms on tour or while he was living in my house. I don’t think AJ did either. I knew Nick might still be hiding things from us, but I had to give him the benefit of the doubt.
AJ drove us to the restaurant I had picked, a cozy little Mexican place on Ventura Boulevard. It was far enough from Hollywood that there weren’t likely to be paparazzi lurking outside. The inside was dimly lit, which made it easier for us to eat without being noticed by tourists or fans. With most people gathering in sports bars to watch the baseball playoff games – both the Dodgers and the Angels had made it to the postseason that year – it wasn’t too crowded either. We requested a corner booth in the back. Nick and AJ slid into the curved booth while I parked my chair on the outside of the table across from them, keeping my back to the rest of the dining room.
“May I take your drink orders?” asked our waiter in a soft, melodic accent.
I noticed Nick eyeing the alcohol menu longingly, but he answered, “Just sparkling water with lemon for me, thanks.”
In a show of solidarity, I said, “I’ll have the same.”
“Oh, get a damn margarita, Kev,” growled AJ. “I’m ordering a non-alcoholic beer. You don’t have to be sober just because we are.” To the waiter, he added, “It’s his birthday. We’re here to celebrate.”
The waiter smiled. “Ah, feliz cumpleaños, señor! Happy birthday!”
I smiled back and nodded. “Gracias.” Glancing again at the menu, I said, “In that case, I guess I’ll have the Cadillac margarita.”
“There you go.” AJ gave me an approving nod. “That sounds more like a birthday drink.”
“Can I have a straw with it, too, please?” I asked the waiter. “Thanks.” When he walked away, I looked across the table at Nick. “So, how long are you staying in L.A.?”
“For a few weeks, actually,” he replied. “I’m gonna look for a condo to rent. As much as I don’t wanna move back here permanently, I decided it makes sense to have somewhere to stay when I have to be here for work or appointments or whatever.”
“You know you’re always welcome to stay with me,” I offered.
“I know, and I appreciate it, but I need a place of my own where I can store a car and more of my own stuff. It’s just more convenient that way,” he said with a shrug.
“Where are you looking?”
“I want something by the beach. I’m thinking maybe Santa Monica or Malibu. I’ve got my realtor on the hunt, and Angel said she’d go look at some places with me next week.”
“Your sister?” I asked, surprised to hear that name. Nick rarely talked about his siblings anymore. As far as I knew, they hadn’t had much contact since they’d wrapped up filming for their reality show, which had only lasted one short season.
Nick nodded. “Yeah… you know, she’s been living out here for the last few years, trying to launch her modeling career. I reconnected with her and Aaron while we were on tour. Aaron even came out on the road with me for a few shows.”
“That’s great! I hope they’re both doing well.”
“Angel is. Aaron…” He hesitated. “Well, let’s just say I’m afraid he’s gonna follow in my footsteps – and not in a good way. I dunno if you heard, but he got arrested for drug possession earlier this year.”
“Really?” I frowned. With everything going on in my own upside-down world, I’d hardly paid attention to what was happening in other people’s. “Oh, Aaron…”
Nick shrugged. “It was just weed, but I’m worried he’s getting into harder stuff, too. That’s why I reached out to him. I’m hoping I can be a better influence for him now that I’m clean and sober, the way you guys have been for me.” He glanced from me to AJ, one corner of his mouth twitching into a crooked smile.
“Aww, Nicky Nick… that’s nice of you to say.” AJ scooted closer to Nick, slinging his arm around him. “I know I’ve been hard on you, but it’s only because I love you and don’t wanna see you make the same mistakes I did.”
Nick nodded. “I get that now. Watching Aaron, I totally get it. Must be a big brother thing, huh?”
“It is,” I said, smiling back at him. If I remembered correctly, he and Aaron were about eight years apart – the same age difference between me and him.
“He turns twenty-one in a couple months. Maybe I’ll give him a copy of that book you gave me… Why Some Positive Thinkers Get Powerful Results.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Does that mean you actually read it?” I remembered Nick thanking me for his present, but I’d never seen him pick up that book again after the day he unwrapped it. I figured he had rolled his eyes behind my back and pitched it, failing to appreciate the meaning behind my gift. Even in his early twenties, Nick had seemed a little lost in life, and I had always hoped it would help him find his way. Maybe it finally had.
Nick’s face reddened. “Yeah… but, honestly, not until, like, last year,” he admitted. “I reread parts of it recently, though, and it really has helped change my whole mindset about my health and sobriety and… well, everything that’s happened this year.”
I wondered if that included my situation, too. Smiling, I said, “That makes me really happy to hear. I’m sure I told you this when I gave you that book, but I first read it right after my dad died. I was angry at God and wondering how I was gonna go on with my life when a good friend of mine lent me his copy and told me to read it. It helped me, too. Gave me a new sense of purpose and the confidence I needed to go back to Florida and pursue my dreams… and look what came of that. I met my future wife, became a Backstreet Boy, and launched a successful musical career.” My smile faded, tears filling my eyes as I realized every good thing I’d gained from moving to Florida was gone. I paused for a moment to collect myself, then added, “Come to think of it, I should probably reread that book, too. Lord knows I could use a reminder about staying positive.”
“You’re entitled to have negative thoughts every now and then, Kev,” said AJ. “This has been the hardest year of your life. Anyone who’s been through what you have would have a hard time looking on the bright side.”
“Yeah, but negativity doesn’t get you anywhere. I’m no Pollyanna, but where would I be now if I hadn’t stopped wallowing in bed?” I wondered aloud. My mind wandered back to the twelve weeks I’d spent in the hospital, from the long nights I’d lain awake in the ICU, floating in a drug-fueled haze, feeling nothing but fear, grief, and paranoia as I hallucinated death omens hovering over me, to the hard days in the rehab center, where I had been weaned off most of the drugs, finally allowing the full reality of my situation – and the physical and emotional pain that went along with it – to set in. I remembered repeatedly refusing to go on the community reintegration outings, preferring to stay in the comfort of my private room because I was so self-conscious about being seen out in public in my wheelchair. “Probably still there,” I added, answering my own question, “and definitely not here with y’all.”
I paused again as the waiter set our drinks down in front of us. “Gracias.” I was grateful to see that he had remembered the straw. I took a sip of my margarita, savoring the smooth taste of the top-shelf tequila. I rarely drank alcohol myself these days and still hadn’t restocked my liquor cabinet since forcing Nick to dump almost everything down the drain, so this was a real treat.
The waiter took our dinner orders next. I ordered an enchilada entree that came with rice and refried beans, figuring it would be the easiest to eat with the adaptive utensils I’d brought with me. I didn’t think I could pick up a taco without dropping most of the filling in my lap and making a huge mess, and I certainly wasn’t about to try while we were out at a nice restaurant. But enchiladas seemed manageable.
“So, what about you, AJ?” I asked as we waited for our food to arrive. “What’ve you been up to during your break?”
“Honestly, not much,” said AJ with a shrug. “I’ve just been trying to relax and enjoy my time at home, you know?”
I nodded. Between spending years on a tour bus and months in the hospital, I would never take my time at home for granted again. “You seeing anyone?” I asked, just to keep the conversation going.
He shook his head. “Single and ready to mingle, baby. Why, you know somebody?”
I scoffed. “I wish. Where would I have met somebody? The rehab center?”
“Hey, why not? Some of those nurses were pretty cute!”
“So was the girl at the front desk,” Nick added with a grin.
I rolled my eyes. “Well, I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you both next time I’m there.”
“Please don’t.” Nick groaned. “Angel’s already trying to set me up with someone. She’s got a friend she swears would be perfect for me.”
I chuckled. “You sound so enthusiastic about it…”
He shrugged. “Dude, I’ve been burned by women so many times, I’ve pretty much decided I’m done dating. I mean, what’s the point? It’s not like I’m ever gonna get married. It’s easy enough to find groupies when I wanna get laid.”
“Classy,” I said, shaking my head. Just when I thought he had grown up, he had to go and make a comment like that. “Have you ever stopped to consider that the reason you’ve had your heart broken so many times might be your terrible taste in women? You play with fire, you’re gonna get burned, Nick. Try broadening your horizons and going out with people who aren’t like Paris Hilton – women who care about more than money, fashion, and fame.”
He scowled. “And you think my twenty-year-old aspiring model sister knows someone like that here in L.A.? Doubtful. All anyone in this town cares about is money, fashion, and fame. That’s one of the reasons I hate it here.”
“Give her a chance,” I urged him. “At least go on one date and find out for yourself.”
“We’ll see.” He took a swig of water. “So, what about you?” he asked suddenly as he set his glass down. “When do you think you’ll start dating again?”
I blinked in surprise as the conversation boomeranged back to me. “Nick, I just lost my wife nine months ago.”
“I know. But…” He shifted his weight in the booth. “Well, Kristin wouldn’t want you to be a widow for the rest of your life, would she?”
“Widower,” I corrected him in a low voice.
“What?”
“Widower,” I repeated loudly. “A widow is a wife whose husband has died. When the wife dies, the husband’s called a widower.”
“Oh. Whatever. Way to avoid answering the question.”
“I did answer,” I said, growing impatient. “Kristin died nine months ago. It hasn’t even been a year yet. Why would I be thinking about dating again?”
To my annoyance, AJ chimed in: “Because, Kev, you’re a red-blooded man with basic needs to be met. Nick may be clueless when it comes to women, but I think he has a point here. I mean, there’s no rush, but… well, you don’t wanna be alone forever, do you?”
“Trust me, I have plenty of people around to help meet my basic needs,” I muttered. “I’m never alone.”
“Wait, are you paying Sam to give you blow jobs now, too?” AJ joked.
At the same time, Nick snickered. “There you go quoting Professor Quirrell again.”
“Who?” I asked him, pretending I hadn’t heard AJ.
Nick gave me an exasperated look. “Dude, I’m gonna get you a copy of the first Harry Potter book for your birthday, and I want you to read it, just like I read the book you gave me. That’s your assignment.”
“Oh, it’s a Harry Potter thing? No wonder I didn’t get it. I haven’t read Harry Potter.”
He snorted. “No shit. You need to, though. It’s really freaking good.”
“I’m sure it is,” I replied, relieved to get off the subject of dating. The truth was that even if and when I was ever ready to try dating again, I would have a tough time doing it in a wheelchair. What woman would want to go out with a man who couldn’t even eat a meal without help, let alone take her dancing or satisfy her in bed? Who would commit to a relationship where she would be as much a caregiver as a girlfriend? A gold digger, I thought, glaring down into the pale yellow depths of my drink. I didn’t want to be a pity date, a wealthy but disabled middle-aged man who ended up married to a much younger woman who was only in it for the money. Logically, I knew there were guys with worse injuries than mine who had healthy relationships with lovely women, but I still couldn’t imagine myself being with anyone but Kristin.
When our waiter brought our food to the table, AJ helped me strap on the wrist cuffs that held my knife and fork while Nick put on my plate guard, reinforcing the reason why I didn’t think I would ever take another woman on a dinner date. My fifteen-month-old son was already more independent than me at mealtimes. Thankfully, the enchiladas were soft enough that I could cut them on my own, and the rice and beans were fairly easy to scoop against the plate guard with my modified fork. The conversation died down as I concentrated on bringing the food to my mouth.
Toward the end of dinner, our waiter brought out a giant ice cream sundae. “On the house, señor,” he said as he set it down in front of me. “For your birthday!”
“Wow… muchas gracias!” I exclaimed, my eyes widening at the giant mound of vanilla ice cream topped with churros, chocolate and caramel sauce, and whipped cream.
AJ grinned at Nick. “Should we sing to him?”
“Please don’t,” I begged them. “I don’t wanna attract any attention.”
Before my accident, Nick and AJ would have ignored this request and sung anyway, embarrassing me as much as they could. But, to my relief, they did as I asked. Being disabled has its perks, I guess.
“Dig in, fellas,” I said as AJ helped me attach a spoon to my left wrist cuff. “There’s no way I can finish this thing on my own.”
We shared the sundae, managing to polish off most of the ice cream before it melted. “God, this tastes so good,” Nick groaned with pleasure, slumping in his seat. “I haven’t had ice cream in forever.”
“Everything was good,” I agreed, too stuffed to take another bite. “Thanks for taking me out tonight and making my birthday special.”
“Anytime, bro!” AJ smiled. “You should always celebrate taking another trip around the sun, even if it’s been a shitty one. At least you lived to tell the tale, you know? Let’s hope thirty-seven is better than thirty-six was.”
I nodded, but inside, I felt a wave of dread wash over me. Turning another year older made me feel even farther from Kristin. At least I had good memories of the two of us together from when I was thirty-six. I would have none for thirty-seven, nor any age after that. In another year, I would turn thirty-eight and become older than Kristin, whose life on earth had ended at the same age I was now. I knew I should feel lucky to be alive, but I had never wanted to outlive my wife. There was a part of me that still wished I had died in the car with her on New Year’s Day.
Don’t think that way, I scolded myself as Nick and AJ split the bill between themselves. Your son needs you. Kristin would have wanted you to stay alive for Mason. But it was impossible to keep the dark thoughts from penetrating my mind from time to time.
Later that night, after Nick and AJ had brought me back home, I let myself into Mason’s room. He was sleeping soundly, his thumb halfway to his mouth. I sat beside his crib for a few minutes, just watching him through the slats and reminding myself of my main reason for living. He had a whole lifetime of birthdays still ahead of him, and I wanted to be there for as many of them as I could.
***
One afternoon, a couple of weeks later, I got another call from Nick. “Hey, man, what’s goin’ on?” he asked.
I was parked in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom, looking at my reflection as Sam moved around me, measuring and tracing different parts of my power chair. “Not too much. Sam and I are working on my Halloween costume.”
“Halloween costume?” Nick laughed. “Are you really gonna dress up for Halloween this year? ‘Cause I think that’s awesome, dude! The guys and I have a show that night in… New Jersey, I think, and we’re gonna dress up, too! I’m gonna be the Geico gecko!”
I smiled at his childlike enthusiasm. Nick always got so excited about Halloween; it was his favorite holiday. “That sounds fun. The fans will love it,” I replied. “I’m just dressing up to take Mason trick-or-treating. He was too little to go last year, but Kristin and I still dressed up with him and took some family photos. I thought I’d try to keep the tradition alive – or turn it into a tradition, anyway. I dunno if it counts after only doing it one year.”
“That’s sweet,” Nick said. “What are you guys going as?”
I chuckled. “Well, Mason’s obsessed with Thomas the Tank Engine right now, so I ordered him a cute little train conductor costume, and I’m gonna be the train.”
Nick burst out laughing. “Train’s gonna be a train, huh? I love it!”
“Yeah, perfect, right? It was Sam’s idea. She said her family used to have fun helping her brother come up with creative Halloween costumes for college parties. I guess there are certain costumes that actually work better with a wheelchair.” I smiled down at Sam, who was kneeling on the floor next to me, making notes on a pad of paper. She had come back after her afternoon lab class to take the measurements for my costume, promising that she could build something out of painted foam board to fit over my chair.
“Fuck yeah!” Nick exclaimed. “I mean, just think of all the possibilities in the future. Mason could be Batman, and you could be the Batmobile. Or Han Solo and the Millennium Falcon. Or, not to be too obvious, but Wolverine and Professor X.”
I smiled. “Those are all great ideas. You may have to help me next year when Sam’s busy with her rotations.”
Sam had broken the news to me that she was starting her clinical rotations for medical school in a few months, which meant she would be working full-time at one of the local hospitals. “I’ve heard the hours can be crazy, so I may not be able to continue as your caregiver,” she’d told me apologetically. “I wanted to give you a heads up so you have time to find someone else.”
I was taking the news harder than I had expected. Of course, I had always known that my arrangement with Sam was only temporary, that she wouldn’t want to work for me once she finished med school. But I hadn’t realized how short-lived it would be. I wasn’t looking forward to finding another caregiver, remembering how hard it had been the first time. The aides from the home health agency were all nice enough, but I didn’t have the same relationship with them that I had developed with Sam. I wanted one person I could rely on to come over every day the way Sam did, but I knew it would be difficult to replace her.
“Dude, I’d love to,” Nick replied eagerly, snapping me back to the present conversation.
Clearing my throat, I said, “So, anyway, what are you up to?”
“Sitting at the airport, waiting for my flight to start boarding.” He sounded bored. “We got asked to sing the national anthem at the first World Series game tomorrow night, so I’m on my way to Tampa.”
“Wow, that’s great! What an honor to represent your hometown. I’m rooting for the Rays.” With little else to do, I had been watching a lot of baseball lately. Most West coast fans were in mourning now that both L.A. teams had been eliminated from the postseason, but I wasn’t diehard about either the Angels or the Dodgers like Greg was. I preferred football, but since Kristin’s beloved Chiefs were off to a terrible start, losing five of their first six games of the season, it had been fun to watch some winning teams in a different sport.
“Thanks,” said Nick. “I was excited, but… well, now I don’t wanna leave.”
Something in his tone piqued my curiosity. “Really? Why not?”
“So… remember that girl Angel wanted to set me up with?”
“Yeah?” I said, smiling. “Did you finally agree to go out with her?”
“Kinda. We didn’t really ‘go out,’ but I invited Angel and Aaron over to hang out at my new place last night, and I told her she could bring this friend of hers – her name’s Lauren. Anyway, she did, and we actually hit it off.”
“Really? That’s great, Nick!”
“Yeah… turns out, we have a lot in common. She likes video games and rock music and horror movies, and… well, she just seems really cool and down-to-earth. She grew up in Southern California, but she’s not like a stereotypical L.A. girl.”
My smile grew as I listened to him talk about the woman he’d met. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard him sound so interested in someone. “So your sister was right, huh?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “Me and Lauren went out on my balcony last night and talked for hours, just the two of us. I’ve never had such a deep conversation on a first date, if you can even call it that. It was weird, but I felt comfortable around her right away. It usually takes me a lot longer for me to get to know someone. Then, as we were talking, we both looked up and saw all these shooting stars in the sky, which was also weird. It made me wonder, like, what if this is meant to be?”
“Wow,” I said, my eyes widening. “That’s crazy, but cool that you already felt that kind of connection with her.”
“Is… is that how it was with you and Kristin?” he asked.
I swallowed hard as my throat tightened. “Well, there were no shooting stars, but I did feel a spark of something on our first date. Actually, I felt it the first time I met her. She walked into the cafeteria at work, and it was like someone turned a light on.” Closing my eyes, I could still picture Kristin the way she had looked that day, so young and radiant and full of life. I would have given anything to go back to that moment.
“That’s kinda how I felt after Lauren left last night,” Nick said earnestly. “It was like the light had gone out.”
Wiping away the tears that had welled up in my eyes, I took a deep breath. “It definitely sounds like something you should pursue then,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Yeah…” He sighed. “The timing sucks, though, ‘cause I’m gonna be out of town for the next couple days, and then we go back on tour in a week. But I’m gonna try to keep in touch with her and get her to come to the L.A. show with Angel, so hopefully you can meet her then. You are coming, right?”
I hesitated. He had asked me months ago about going to the guys’ last show in L.A. at the end of November, and I still hadn’t given him a definitive answer. But how could I say no? “Yeah… I think so,” I finally replied.
“Great!” I could tell from Nick’s tone that he was grinning. “I’ll grab a couple of tickets for you. Maybe you could bring Sam; I’d love to see her, too.”
Of course, I would need someone to go with me or at least give me a ride. “I’ll ask her,” I said, smiling at Sam.
“Hey, listen, my flight’s about to start boarding, but before I go, have you checked your mailbox yet today?” Nick wanted to know.
“No, not yet. Why?”
“Just go check it. I gotta go now, but I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, mystified. “Have a safe flight.”
After I hung up with Nick, I turned to Sam. “Hey, what are you doing the night of November twenty-third? I think it’s a Sunday.”
“Uh… studying?” she replied, raising her eyebrows. “Why?”
“Think you could take a break to come to a Backstreet Boys concert with me?”
Her brown eyes widened behind her red-framed glasses. “Really? Here in L.A.?”
“Yeah, it’s at the Hollywood Palladium. Nick said he’d set aside two tickets for me.”
“Oh my god, yes! I would love to go!” Her round face beamed.
“Great,” I said, relaxing in my chair. At least I would have a concert buddy. I felt better about it already. But how would I feel on November twenty-third?
Before I could start worrying about that, I remembered what else Nick had asked me. “Hey, can we take a break so I can go check my mailbox? Nick must have sent me something.”
“Sure! Want me to go get the mail for you?”
“Nah… I got it.”
I took the elevator downstairs and passed through the kitchen, where Layla was preparing dinner while Mason played with a set of plastic stacking cups on the floor. “I’m gonna get the mail,” I said as I opened the back door, which led to the garage. “Be right back.” I reached up to press the button that put up the garage door, then rolled down the ramp and out to the driveway. I coasted down the long, winding drive and opened the gate so I could get to the very bottom, where my mailbox was embedded in the brick wall at the edge of my property. I fumbled with the lid for a moment, finally managing to wedge one of my paralyzed fingers under the latch to pry it open.
Inside, amid the usual pile of medical bills, bank statements, and junk mail, I found a small cardboard box. I pulled it out curiously and looked at the front. There was no return address, but my name and address were printed in what I recognized as Nick’s handwriting. Smiling, I set the box on top of the stack of envelopes in my lap, closed the mailbox, and rested my right hand over my joystick.
My power chair strained with the effort of propelling me up the steep driveway, but before long, I had made it back into the kitchen. I tossed most of the mail onto the table, leaving just the box in my lap. For a few minutes, I fiddled with it, trying to find a way to peel off the packing tape. I finally gave up and asked Layla for help.
Grabbing a paring knife from the silverware drawer, she slit the tape easily and handed the box back to me. I pushed back the flaps to reveal a hardback book. It was lying facedown in the box, but I could tell before I turned it over what it was.
Sam came into the kitchen just as I was taking the book out of the box. “Harry Potter?” she said, peeking over my shoulder. “Ooh, I love Harry Potter!”
“It’s from Nick,” I said, smiling as I read the cover. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. “He keeps telling me I need to read it.”
“Oh, you definitely do,” Layla chimed in, turning away from the stove to see what was in the package. “It’s so good!”
Had everyone but me read this book? “So I’ve heard. I guess I’ve just been living under a rock lately, huh?” I remarked, opening the front cover. Inside, I found a handwritten note from Nick.
Kevin,
Thank you for being the best friend and big brother I could ever ask for. I still look up to you, even though your head’s usually lower than mine these days.
I laughed, my smile lingering as I read the rest.
I hope this book will help you as much as the one you gave me helped me. You know I’m not too good with words, so here are some from fictional wizards who are wiser than me. Remember, “the ones that love us never really leave us.” But also, “it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.” And finally, you are never alone.
Always,
Nick
The words scrawled across the page began to blur as my eyes swam with tears. I may not have understood the context of the quotes he had included, but their meaning was clear.
“Are you okay, Kevin?” Sam asked softly, resting her hand on my shoulder.
I nodded, wiping away my tears. I wasn’t really sure if I was okay or not, but I knew I would be one day.
“What did he write? Can I see?”
Wordlessly, I handed her the book.
A crooked smile stretched across her face as she read the inscription. “That Nick Carter,” she said, shaking her head as she gave it back to me. “You were right. He really does have a good heart.”
I nodded again. “I know.”
***