In spite of the Boys’ unwavering support and constant reassurance, my imposter syndrome came and went throughout that first week of rehearsal, returning in full force on Saturday, April twentieth – the Backstreet Boys’ twentieth anniversary.
We were commemorating this milestone with a celebration at the Fonda Theater in Hollywood, which would be live-streamed for our fans around the world to watch. I had been looking forward to the event, but when the day finally came, I found myself dreading it. I didn’t want to face the crowds, the cameras, or the questions.
But, as I’d told Nick on Tuesday, it was too late to back out now. So, with Dawn’s help, I dressed up in the white button-down and black blazer our stylist had picked out for me and did it all with a drink in my hand. The alcohol helped to ease my anxiety, so that by the time we took the stage in front of a full house of fans, I felt better about being back in the spotlight.
As the curtain rose, a deafening chorus of high-pitched shrieks rang through my ears while cameras flashed in my eyes, the bright lights temporarily blinding me. Forcing a smile onto my face, I blew kisses to the adoring crowd and called out the countries whose flags I could see fans waving in the first few rows: Mexico, the UK, Spain, Australia, Japan, Brazil… They had truly come from all over the world.
“Twenty years!” AJ called out, holding his bottle of water high above his head. The rest of us followed suit, raising our glasses in a toast to twenty years. The fans responded by screaming even louder.
As my eyes adjusted to the lights, I looked out at the packed house and felt the first of many tears to follow prickling in their corners. The love that flowed through the theater was overwhelmingly gratifying. It filled my broken heart like helium inside a balloon, lifting it from the pit of my stomach to the top of my chest, where I could feel it fluttering away in the back of my throat. I swallowed hard, pushing it back down to its proper place so I could speak to the crowd. “Salud! Twenty years! Thank you, we love you so much! Thank you!”
When the cheers finally died down, AJ stepped forward to address our fans. “Lemme ask you guys a question,” he said, raising his hand to command their attention. “Are you guys ready for the brand new album? And a brand new tour?”
Judging by their enthusiastic response, the fans were way more ready than I was. A fresh wave of anxiety washed over me as I wondered how I could possibly be prepared to perform a full show in five weeks’ time. I – we – still had so much work to do.
“Well, now that all five of us are back together,” AJ went on with a grin as he motioned to me. “Collectively as a group, as Kevin said – and we’re probably gonna say it a lot tonight – thank each and every one of you, those of you that are here, that are online, and all the fans around the entire globe. We love you, we cherish you, and it’s because of you that we made it twenty freakin’ years. So thank you!”
I nodded and bowed my head, wanting to show my gratitude to the fans who had supported us for the past two decades. But, deep down inside, I felt I didn’t deserve the same accolades as my bandmates. The Backstreet Boys may have made it twenty years, but I had only been a part of the group for fourteen. And, even now that I was back, I felt like dead weight that was dragging them down. The other four guys had welcomed me back with open arms and committed themselves to working around my disability, but the challenges that came with trying to accommodate me had made everything more complicated and time-consuming than it had been in the past. We had only been rehearsing for a few days, but, so far, I felt like we had barely accomplished anything.
Don’t worry about that now, I told myself, taking a deep swig of my drink to settle my nerves. It’s not the time to stress about the future. Tonight’s all about celebrating the past twenty years.
With that, I turned my attention back to AJ, who was introducing our host for the evening: JoJo Wright, a radio personality and longtime friend of the group. Thankfully, he knew how to keep things light and fun, the way we wanted it. After laughing over a few crazy fan encounters and other funny stories that we took turns telling onstage, I felt more at ease. It helped to have such a supportive audience. Every time I spoke, the fans cheered extra loud, reminding me how happy they were to have me back, reassuring me that, despite my reservations, I had made the right decision in returning to the band.
When the time came to share some of our new music with the fans, I wheeled myself to the front of the stage, wanting to see their faces as they listened to clips of the songs we’d recorded for the first time. The other guys followed my lead, dragging the couches closer so they could sit down around me.
The first clip we played was “Soldier,” the song Nick and Brian had nearly come to blows over a month earlier. In the end, Nick had gotten his way; “Soldier” was to be one of the twelve tracks on the new album. Seeing Nick’s face glow with pride as he talked about the process of writing it with Howie, I knew we’d made the right decision. Judging by the sea of heads that were bobbing along to the beat, our fans seemed to agree.
Nick got to pick the next song. “Okay, this one actually is a song that we wrote when we went to London, called ‘Breathe,’” he began. As he went on introducing the clip we were about to play, my mind wandered back to Martin Terefe’s studio in London, where AJ, Howie, and Brian had written it. “It tends to be the entire group’s, one of their favorite songs,” Nick told the audience. This was true; compared to “Soldier,” putting “Breathe” on the album had been an easy decision. But I remembered what a hard time we’d had recording it. How Brian could hardly sing his part without his voice cracking. How I could hardly sing mine without crying.
“Roses you left me, slowly fading to gray…”
Nick and AJ pointed at me as the first verse began to play. “Kevy Kev on lead!” Brian called out, eliciting a few more high-pitched squeals from the crowd. I could have farted directly into my microphone, and people would have cheered for me. Under any other circumstances, their effusive praise might have felt patronizing, but, in this case, I knew it came from a place of love.
“Your coat on the chair and the scent of your hair, I miss…”
When we’d recorded this song, the lyrics had reminded me of returning home after losing Kristin. Now they also reminded me of losing Natalie.
“The clock on the wall, it reminds me of all the better times,
When we walked in the park, and we whispered in the dark,
And we laughed and cried…”
A familiar lump swelled in my throat as I listened to my own voice and thought of the special moments I’d shared with Natalie in London, where our relationship had begun. We’d gone on our first date there and shared our first kiss while strolling through Hyde Park. We’d exchanged our first “I love yous” over the phone while I was working in London and spent our first night in a hotel room together when she flew in to surprise me. London would have been the perfect place to propose, if only her parents had approved.
“Without your lips on mine,
Oh, the sun doesn’t shine,
And now I can’t breathe,
I can’t breathe…”
As I sat there in the spotlight, struggling to hold it together in front of twelve hundred fans (plus the thousands of people watching online), that chorus had never rung more true. My chest felt tight. My heart seemed to have lodged itself into my throat again, cutting off my air supply.
“Your words are a symphony,
Music that sings to me,
No, I can’t breathe,
I can’t breathe…”
As I swallowed hard, I could hear her voice echoing in the back of my head. “C’mon, breathe with me,” she murmured. “In… and out…” Closing my eyes to block out the crowd, I sucked in the deepest breath I could and held it for a few seconds before slowly letting it out. It helped. My broken heart slid back down into the hollow of my chest, allowing fresh air to fill my lungs.
As AJ started the second verse, the song faded and, with it, my sense of panic. Hearing the audience applaud, I opened my eyes again. If anyone had noticed I was on the verge of tears, they didn’t call attention to it. In fact, AJ had stolen the spotlight by continuing to sing his verse live after the clip cut off. “Oh, I walked by the store…”
Clearing my throat, I quickly joined in, forcing myself to snap out of my funk. “Where we sat on the floor, and we ate like kings,” I sang, my hoarse voice the only indication of how close I had come to crying. I may have lost my queen, but I was determined to keep my composure. So I straightened my crown and held my head high as I looked out upon the legions of loyal subjects who had come to celebrate with us.
For the next sneak peek, Brian selected “Trust Me,” another song that easily could have been written about Natalie and me. Thankfully, this one was upbeat and didn’t make me as emotional.
“All right, Kev, I think it’s your turn to pick a song,” AJ said afterward, putting his hand on my shoulder.
I leaned forward, looking down at the list on the floor in front of us. I loved every track on it, but one title stood out most to me. I hesitated, wondering if I could talk about it without getting choked up again. Finally, I thought, What the hell, and went for it.
“All right, this is a song that was inspired by children… by the Backstreet babies,” I said, smiling as the fans squealed. “Uh, my dad…” But that was as far as I got before the thought of my father – and what I imagined he might say to me at that moment – made my throat close up again.
Sitting next to me, Brian was the first to notice. He reached over and wrapped his arm around me, rubbing my back. This small gesture of acknowledgment was all it took to open the floorgates and unleash the torrent of emotions I had been trying to hold back.
“Aw, hell, here we go,” AJ joked when he saw the tears welling in my eyes. “He wouldn’t be Kevin if he didn’t. You know that.” He leaned over, gripping my shoulder again. “Do you want me to finish telling the story?”
I nodded, knowing I wouldn’t be able to get the words out.
“Okay. Kevin and I went to write with Morgan and Prophet, and we were inspired to write a song,” AJ said. “The whole premise of this album, just so you know: We wanted to write an album that was inspired by us, inspired by you, and was a personal album that people can relate to. So, yes, we have some love songs. Yes, we have some up-tempos. But there are certain songs that really have depth and meaning to us. Now, this song Kevin and I wrote was inspired by Ava, Mason, Baylee, Holden, James… and whenever this one has one.” He patted Nick on the shoulder, prompting the fans to start squealing again. “So, basically, the song’s subject matter is to just be true to yourself and – not to be a corny segue – show ‘em what you’re made of. This is ‘Show ‘Em (What You’re Made Of).’
As we waited for the song to play, I wiped my tears away with my thumb, wishing I wasn’t so sensitive. There was so much more I wanted to say about what it meant to me. Thankfully, it took the DJ a few minutes to find the track, which gave me time to pull myself together so that I could talk to the crowd.
“Now that my emotional thundercloud has passed,” I began, flashing the fans a sheepish smile. “My dad, whenever I would go to football practice or just school or whatever, he would be like, ‘Show ‘em what you’re made of, bub.’ And, after my accident, my mom made me a wooden sign with those words on it and hung it on the wall in my house to motivate me when I got home from the hospital.” I swallowed hard, struggling to contain the flood of grief I could feel rising in my throat. “That was obviously one of the hardest times in my life,” I continued, “and there were days when I wasn’t sure if it was still worth living. But thinking about my dad and what he would say if he were around to see me like that gave me the strength to keep going – not just for him, but for my own son. So that kinda inspired this whole thing, and that’s why I get emotional. So, anyway, I hope we have it…”
As we looked toward the DJ booth, where our producer had gone to help the DJ find the audio file on his laptop, the fans began to shout, “Sing it!” from the audience.
“Sing it?” AJ repeated. That was all the encouragement he needed to start belting out the first verse a capella. “I’ve seen it all a thousand times, fallen down, I’m still alive. Am I? Am I?” But, halfway through it, he suddenly froze, forgetting the lyrics. “Oh, shit.”
As he looked to me for back-up, I sang the next line: “It’s hard to breathe when the water’s high…”
“No need to swim; I’ll learn to fly, so high, so high,” AJ sang along with me, seeming to regain enough confidence to continue on his own. “You find the truth in a child’s eyes, when the only meaning… shit!”
“When the only limit,” I corrected him, shaking my head as he tried to keep going. “Wait, wait, wait. Let’s start over. ‘Cause you’re killing it! You sound great; you’re just forgetting the words.”
“I know, ‘cause we have too many damn songs,” said AJ, clearly flustered and frustrated with himself.
“Right, so we’ll start from the beginning,” I said, giving him a nod of encouragement.
“I’m probably gonna mess up again,” he muttered.
“No, we got you.” I looked him right in the eye as I repeated my promise. “We got you.”
“AJ has stage fright right now,” Nick announced to the audience, not bothering to hide his tone of amusement. “This is weird!”
“You put me on the spot, damn it!” AJ retorted jokingly.
“Just so you know, we’ve never performed this yet, so this is cool,” I told the fans before turning back to AJ. “Just do it, dawg! It feels good; I like it.”
“Okay.” AJ sucked in a deep breath before starting again. “I’ve seen it all a thousand times, fallen down, I’m still alive. Am I? Am I?”
I mouthed the lyrics along with him, prompting him before each new line. As AJ went on, Brian added some high-pitched sound effects, imitating the reverb of the background music, while Nick started beatboxing to provide the percussion. “It’s hard to breathe when the water’s high. No need to swim; I’ll learn to fly, so high, so high…”
By the pre-chorus, AJ’s self-confidence seemed to have been restored. “You find the truth in a child’s eyes, where the only limit is the skies,” I belted along with him. But just when we had gotten into a groove, the actual audio track finally began to play. “Gloves are off, ready to fight,” I heard my own recorded voice singing the second verse. “Like a lion, I will survive. Will I? Will I?”
“Well, there ya go.” AJ shrugged and stopped singing. “Good job. Thank you, though,” he said, clapping me on the back. “I appreciate you.”
Right back at you, bro, I thought, smiling at him as we listened to the rest of the clip. Four more clips followed: “In Your Arms,” “Madeleine,” “Try, and “Permanent Stain,” which we had picked to release as a promotional single while we waited for Max Martin and his team to finish producing the final mix of “In a World Like This,” the song we expected to be the title track and official first single of the new album. It felt good to finally be able to share some of the music we’d made over the past eight months with the people whose opinions mattered most to us: our fans.
After the listening party portion of the event, we gave the fans a first look at the documentary we had been filming with a ten-minute trailer that showed footage from London and our hometown visits.
Following that, we finished the evening with a Q&A. The fans’ questions ranged from silly to serious, but no one asked me anything too heavy until the very end, when the last fan chosen from the audience said, “I’ve always wanted to ask Kevin, like, what happened when you left, and why’d you decide to come back?”
“What happened when I left?” I repeated, looking down at myself. I heard a few awkward laughs from the audience, but they were quickly stifled as the fans fell silent, waiting to hear my answer. I hesitated, thinking about how much my life had changed during my six-year hiatus from the group. I’d become a father, a widow, and a quadriplegic, all in the span of six months – but I didn’t want to drag down the celebratory mood by talking any more about that time period.
Seeming to sense my discomfort, Brian quickly came to my rescue with his usual brand of comic relief. Putting on a silly voice, he prompted, “See, what had happened was…”
“What had happened was,” I repeated in the same accent, still not knowing what I was going to say next. “No, um… you know, I’m the old man in the group, right? So, uh… it’s a little bit of almost what Brian said in the opening of that teaser that you just saw: What do you do when you’re a grown man in a boyband?”
“You make that money is what you do, right?” JoJo inserted playfully, following Brian’s lead. “Yee-ah!”
“No,” I said, shaking my head.
“Sorry, I had to jump in there,” the host apologized.
“No, it’s all good. That was good; I liked that,” I replied, reaching over to give him a fist bump. “That was good, man. That was legit. I like it.” Then, leaning back in my chair, I went on with my answer. “No, but, it’s almost like… I had a bit of an identity crisis, almost. Ultimately, the guys can attest to this: I jump in with everything that I have in whatever project I’m involved in. And, just, at the end of the Never Gone run, I was like, ‘You know what?’ We were already talking about another leg, another album, and I just felt drained. My heart and soul wasn’t into it. That wasn’t fair to you guys. It especially wasn’t fair to these guys,” I said, looking around at the rest of the group. “And I just needed to check out for a minute, gain some perspective, take a breather, recharge my batteries, get the desire and the passion back… because I love what I do. And, at that point, I was just disheartened, and I needed to be inspired. And I am inspired now. I feel like I have something to give. And, so, that’s kinda the short answer. It goes deep, but… anyway, that’s it. Thank you.”
Of course, there was a lot more I could have said about how my perspective had changed as a result of everything that had happened to me during the hiatus, but I left it there, not wanting to get emotional again. Thankfully, JoJo wrapped things up there without asking any follow-up questions.
When we finally left the stage, I felt both physically and emotionally drained, yet my heart was full for the first time since Natalie had left. The outpouring of love from our fans was like a dopamine drip flowing directly into my veins. I rode that high for the rest of the weekend as we kept the party going with the friends and family who had flown from other parts of the country to celebrate with us.
The festivities culminated on Monday morning with perhaps the biggest honor of our career up to that point: a ceremony to unveil the Backstreet Boys’ newly-installed star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. It felt surreal to be sitting on a platform on sunny Hollywood Boulevard, looking out at the sea of people who had come to see the star ceremony, and listening to the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce president list off all our accolades and accomplishments.
After a couple of brief speeches by one of our fans and our friend and producer, Max Martin, it was our turn to address the crowd. We had decided to go in alphabetical order by first name, knowing AJ would be the most comfortable speaking in front of so many people.
“First and foremost, I want to thank all of you, the fans,” he began, “for personally allowing me to fulfill a dream that I never thought was possible… and for twenty amazing years and twenty, thirty, forty more to come.”
As the crowd cheered, I did some quick mental math. In forty years, I would be eighty-one years old, while the rest of the guys would be in their seventies. What a blessing it would be if we were all still alive and able to perform together in some capacity at that age.
“I also want to thank Howie, Brian, Nick, and my big brother Kev,” AJ continued, turning to look at each of us. I couldn’t see his eyes behind his trademark sunglasses, but I could hear the emotion in his trembling voice. “I’m trying not to cry,” he admitted. “I love you guys… and, aside from my wedding day and the birth of my daughter, this is hands down the best day of my life.”
A lump rose in my own throat as I thought about everything we had been through together over the last twenty years. I had known AJ for over half of his life. I had watched him grow up, seeing him through the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. The bitter memory of breaking down his door on the day he’d hit rock bottom with his addiction made this moment all the more sweet. We had said a lot of ugly things to each other that day: I’d told him that he was dead to me, that I would never trust him again, and he had screamed that he hated me. But, of course, that confrontation had turned out to be the catalyst for his decision to go to rehab – and, when I’d hit my own rock bottom seven years later, AJ had earned back my trust by taking care of me after I returned home from the hospital. Seeing him standing before me now, happy and healthy, brought tears to my eyes. Hearing him call me his big brother and say that he loved me was like music to my ears. As he bent down to hug me, I wanted to tell him how much I loved him and how proud I was of him, but, at that moment, I couldn’t speak. Instead, I squeezed him back as tightly as I could, trying to convey my feelings without words.
In the meantime, Brian had taken over the microphone. He, too, fought back tears as he talked about his faith, family, and fans. “Dreams come true, bub,” he told Baylee, who was sitting in the front row with Leighanne and the rest of our families. “If you work hard and you persevere, you can do things like this.”
I nodded behind him, thinking about all that we’d had to overcome to get to this place in our careers: Long days sweating our asses off in an old warehouse in Orlando. Late nights recording in the studio in Stockholm. Many weeks away from home, missing our families and girlfriends as we traveled the world on tour. The lawsuit against Lou. Brian’s heart surgery. The death of Howie’s sister. AJ’s battle with addiction. Nick’s family drama. And, of course, the life-altering accident that had left me permanently disabled, thinking I would never perform as a Backstreet Boy again. Looking back on the tough times we’d gone through since the group began made me even more grateful to have gotten to where we were now, twenty years after I’d made that fateful call to my cousin.
As Brian finished his speech, Howie stepped up to the podium to start his. Unlike AJ and Brian, Howie held it together the whole way through as he thanked God, his family, our team, and, of course, the fans for keeping the Backstreet pride alive.
“He made it through!” AJ exclaimed as Howie turned around to hug everyone. “You made it through. You know he ain’t making it through,” I heard him add as I took the brakes off my chair. It was my turn to talk next. As if I wasn’t already nervous enough, I knew AJ was probably right. There was no way I was going to get through my speech without getting choked up.
As I pushed myself closer to the podium, I could hear the crowd chanting, “Kev-in! Kev-in! Kev-in!” Their support boosted my confidence, reminding me that I was surrounded by hundreds of people who cared about me – and that it was okay to break down and cry.
Nick hurried over to help me adjust the microphone, lowering it to my level. “Thanks, brother,” I muttered, purposely leaning away from the mic so it wouldn’t pick up my voice. “There’s also a piece of paper in the left inside pocket of my jacket. Can you please pull it out for me?”
Nick raised his eyebrows. “You actually wrote a speech?” he said, smirking as he reached into my navy blue blazer. All the other guys had spoken off the cuff, although I suspected that Howie had secretly rehearsed his remarks ahead of time.
“Not a speech, per se,” I replied with a shrug. “Just a list of people I don’t wanna forget to thank.” Dawn had helped me write down their names on a piece of paper, which she’d tucked into the lining of my blazer before we left the house.
“Dude… I can literally feel your heart about to beat right out of your chest,” Nick chuckled, his hand still inside my jacket. He pressed his palm against my left pec and gave it a reassuring pat. “Relax. You’ve got this, bro.” Then he fished the piece of paper out of my pocket and unfolded it for me, placing it on the podium in front of me.
I gave him a grateful nod, clearing my throat as I moved closer to the microphone. I could still hear a cluster of fans chanting, “Kev-in! Kev-in! Kev-in!”
“Thank you,” I said, smiling at them. Glancing down at my list, I began by thanking the groups that had made this event possible: the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce, who had organized the ceremony, and the LAPD, who had blocked off part of Hollywood Boulevard to accommodate the large crowd of people that had come to watch it. “Thank you for honoring us today. What an honor it is.”
As I looked out into the sea of smiling faces and saw my family sitting in the front row of seats, a fresh wave of emotion washed over me. It meant the world to me that my mom and Mason had flown all the way from Kentucky for the ceremony, but at that moment, I missed my wife worse than ever. She should have been there with them.
“What a beautiful way…” That was when the tears started welling in my eyes, and the words got caught in my throat. I quickly cleared it again, blinking up into the bright California sunlight as I tried to keep my composure. I could imagine Kristin beaming down on me from somewhere beyond the cloudless blue sky, silently encouraging me to keep going. “What a beautiful day,” I continued, my voice trembling. “What another beautiful way to celebrate twenty years together.”
The fans went wild, supporting me with cheers and “awws,” as I turned to face my four Backstreet brothers. Howie, Brian, AJ, and Nick nodded back at me, grinning with a blend of encouragement and amusement. I knew they had probably made bets behind my back about how far I could get through my speech without crying and how many times I would break down into tears while trying to give it. I hadn’t even made it half a minute.
Swallowing hard, I took a deep breath as I swiveled back to the microphone. “There’s been so many people that have supported us, guided us, nurtured us, inspired us, helped us along the way. Howie’s mentioned a few.” I looked down at my list, penned in Dawn’s neat, round handwriting. “So many to name. I don’t know if I should start naming names or just be general, but there’s one person I wanna start out with…”
As I told the crowd about David McPherson, the record exec from Jive who had helped us land our first record deal, I felt the tension leave my throat. The longer I talked, the easier it became to keep going. My voice grew steadier as I thanked the people who had made this moment possible, from the fans who had gathered in front of us to the support staff who stood behind us.
“And I wanna thank each of these guys,” I went on, motioning to my bandmates, who had been by my side through the good times and bad. They may have been grown men now, looking polished and put-together in their blazers and button-downs, but, in my mind’s eye, I still saw the four teenage boys in baggy clothes who had dreamed of nothing more than making music together. “Who would have thought that, twenty years ago, when we began this journey together, that this would be a stop along the way?”
As I glanced down at the world’s most famous sidewalk, the brass name on the nearest star blurred before my tear-filled eyes. But I didn’t need to be able to see it clearly to know what it said, for Howie had already called our attention to it earlier.
“Like Howie was saying, right down there next to Boys II Men. The first time the five of us sang together, it was a Boys II Men song.” I glanced back to see the guys nodding; they all remembered that magical moment just as well as I did. “We picked out those harmonies, and that was it; we were on.”
As I paused to collect my thoughts, I heard a fan call out from the crowd, “We’ve always believed in you!”
“Thank you,” I said, smiling through my tears. “And, uh, I’m gonna wrap this thing up. Last but certainly not least, my family. My family and friends.” The emotion swelled up in my throat again as I focused my gaze on the familiar faces beaming back at me from the front row: my mom… Mason… Dawn… Keith. “My best friend’s here today. We wrote our first song together when we were thirteen years old.” My voice quavered as I made eye contact with Keith, who had kept me involved in music, even when I thought my days as a performing artist were over. “He’s been with me through this whole ride and kept me grounded when my head swelled up too big.”
I heard a few chuckles from the crowd as Keith grinned and gave me a thumbs up.
“My personal assistant, Dawn, who does it all,” I continued, tipping my head toward her. “I call her Superwoman ‘cause of how incredibly strong she is. She has lifted me up, both figuratively and literally, and supported me for the past four years – and put up with me.”
“Amen, Dawn!” I heard AJ call out behind me, earning a few chuckles.
“They know,” I said, giving him and Nick a good-natured nod. “These guys know. She’s put up with me and helped me put my life back together, too. I couldn’t have done it without her.”
Yes, you could, Dawn mouthed back at me, waving my compliments aside. Even in the bright sunlight, I could see her face glowing pink.
I kept talking, thanking my two older brothers, who were back home in Kentucky, for keeping me in check. And then, tears prickling in my eyes, I turned to my mom. “My mother, Ann… for always singing to me,” I said, my voice breaking again, “and giving me the love of music, right from an early age, singing in the car on the way to church.”
But, of course, my mom had done so much more than that. She had always believed in me, even when I hadn’t believed in myself. As I looked at her lined face, so full of love and admiration, I saw her sitting at my hospital bedside, patiently spoon-feeding me applesauce while we spoke about my uncertain future.
“You just focus on getting back on your feet,” she had tried to encourage me, telling me not to worry about my finances or anything else but my physical recovery.
Yet, at the depths of my despair, I didn’t think it was possible for me to pull myself up out of the dark abyss I had been pushed down into. Confronted by the worst parts of being paralyzed, I couldn’t see a way forward either. From the terror of waking to find myself tethered to a breathing tube, totally dependent on a ventilator to do the work of my weakened diaphragm, to the embarrassment of my first bowel program, performed by a perky, young nursing assistant who’d made me feel like a disgusting old man, every obstacle I had faced in those early days after my injury felt like a fifty-foot wall looming in front of me, solid and impenetrable.
“You heard what Dr. Bone said,” I’d replied to my mother. “I’m never getting back on my feet. I’m probably never gonna perform again either.”
“Now don’t be so negative,” she’d scolded me. “You don’t know that.”
“I’m not being negative, Ma. I’m just being realistic. There’s a reason they didn’t make any more Superman movies with Christopher Reeve after his accident. No one wants to watch a superhero in a wheelchair, and they won’t wanna see a popstar in one either. It’s too damn depressing.”
“Oh, hush. Now you’re just feeling sorry for yourself. You have fans all around the world who love you no matter what and would pay good money to see you perform again, even if it is from a chair. You may not be able to dance anymore, but you can still make music.”
“With what?” I had scoffed. “I can’t play the piano or write lyrics. I’m not even sure I can still sing. Face it, Ma – my music career’s over.”
Without her encouragement, I probably would have spent the past five years withering away at the bottom of that abyss. Instead, I found myself on its precipice, having clawed my way back to the top. There was a time when I would have been embarrassed to be seen in my wheelchair in such a public setting. But as I sat on that platform, facing a crowd full of my closest family, friends, and fans, I felt nothing but pride and gratitude for all the people who had helped get me there.
“And my son, who inspires me and teaches me every day,” I said, smiling down at Mason, my main reason for refusing to give up on the rest of my life. “I love you so much.”
Then I thought about the people I loved whose lives had been cut short, the people who couldn’t come to see the ceremony, and my heart squeezed painfully into my throat.
“My late wife,” I went on, my voice wavering as I tilted my head skyward. “I fell in love with my wife twenty-one years ago, before I met these fellas. She loved me when I was a Ninja Turtle at Walt Disney World… and I know she would still love me now that I’ve traded my ninja weapons for a sweet set of wheels.”
My last line helped to lighten the mood – at least, I heard a few people laugh. But, as I lowered my gaze to the crowd, I saw plenty more wiping away tears.
Swallowing hard, I said, “As much as I wish she was still here with me, I’m sure she’s watching from Heaven. I love you, baby, and I miss you more than words can describe.” Fighting back tears, I kissed the side of my fist and flung it toward the sky. “And to my father, who’s also looking down, very proud, right now, who taught me that it is masculine to ‘move smooth’ and sing from your heart.”
Knowing I wouldn’t be able to hold myself together much longer, I hurried to wrap up my speech.
“And thank you to all of you who came here today.” I looked out at the long rows of fans who had gathered behind our friends and families. Their faces blurred before my tear-filled eyes, but I could feel their love and support reflecting back at me. “We love you. This is for you. We wouldn’t be here without you. So thank you.”
Bowing my head, I pushed back from the podium, letting Nick step forward to take my place. “I don’t know if I’m gonna cry,” he began, grinning at the crowd. “I don’t wanna disappoint you. I think this is more excitement than anything for me. Excited. Optimistic about our future.” Yet, even Nick got choked up at one point, after telling an anecdote about his first trip to Hollywood. “I never, ever imagined, in a million years, that I would be a part of this. At that moment, I didn’t imagine it; I didn’t know it was even possible at such a young age. But now we’re here. You know, we’re still here. And I wanna thank everybody in general for sticking with us throughout the years, through the ups and the downs on the rollercoaster ride that we’ve put you on.” He paused. “I’m sorry about some of it.”
I smiled. Nick had certainly gone through his share of growing pains over the past twenty years. But the thirteen-year-old boy I’d met when I joined the group had since matured into a thirty-three-year-old man that I was proud to call my brother.
“But I guess I wanna cap it off by saying, I encourage everyone here to let the world know that Backstreet is back… and we aren’t going anywhere!” Nick finished triumphantly as the fans went wild. “I love you guys! Thank you very much!”
Finally, it was time to unveil the star. I rolled down the red-carpeted ramp that had been assembled to give me access to the platform and, weaving my way past people and palm trees, wheeled myself around to the other side of the small stage, where our star was waiting beneath a removable cover. We congregated behind it with me in the middle, Howie and Brian kneeling next to me, and AJ and Nick standing behind us.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the Chamber of Commerce president. “We proudly welcome to the Walk of Fame… the Backstreet Boys!”
My breath caught in my throat as he pulled off the cover to reveal our star. Even though it was upside down from my perspective, it felt surreal to see my band’s name embedded in one of the iconic pink stars on the world’s most famous sidewalk, where it would be preserved for generations to come. The Backstreet Boys had been cemented into pop culture history – literally – and I couldn’t have been prouder to be a part of the group again.
As the crowd clapped and cheered, the Chamber of Commerce people passed out commemorative plaques, one for each of us, with a replica of our star. I propped mine up in my lap as we posed for press photos.
Finally, our fan club photographer, Justin, took photos of the five of us with each of our families. Brian, Howie, and AJ each had large entourages of extended family in attendance – Howie’s wife had surprised him by flying in for the ceremony that very morning – while Nick’s youngest sister, Angel, was the only member of the Carter clan who had come. Thankfully, he also had his fiancee, his future father-in-law, and a few friends there to support him.
“All right, Richardsons,” said our manager, Jenn, ushering my mom and Mason onto the red carpet as the Littrells were leaving it.
“C’mere, buddy,” I said, motioning for Mason to climb up onto my lap. “Look at that! What’s that say?”
“Backstreet Boys,” he mumbled bashfully, clearly uncomfortable with the cameras flashing in his face.
“Congratulations, sweetheart,” said my mom, bending down to kiss my cheek as she came up alongside me. “I couldn’t be more proud of you.”
“Thanks, Ma.” A wistful lump rose in my throat as I watched Brian’s parents walk away, hand in hand. I wished my dad could have come with my mom, almost as much as I wished Kristin were there with me. That was when I realized there was one other person missing. “Wait, where’s Dawn?” Looking around, I spotted her hanging back with Keith and quickly beckoned to her. “Hey, Big Mac!” I hollered. “Get your butt over here!”
Dawn blushed and sidled over. “I thought this was just for family,” she said, looking sheepish.
“How many times do I have to tell you? You are family,” I replied firmly, reaching out to her. Wrapping my arm around her waist, I reeled her in tight to my other side. I felt her body tense up as Justin and the paparazzi started taking photos.
“Sure… Harry and the Hendersons,” she remarked through gritted teeth as she towered over both me and Brian, who stood on her other side.
Snorting with laughter, I just shook my head. I knew Dawn didn’t like being in the limelight, but it was important to me to have her in my family photos. Yet, even as I hugged her close and smiled for the cameras, there was a part of me that wished Kristin was standing in her place instead.
I imagined an alternate reality, one in which the accident had never happened. In that parallel universe, Kristin was still alive and expecting our second child. I was standing beside her, tall and proud, my outstretched hand placed protectively over her pregnant belly. It pained my heart to picture the two of us together, untouched by death or disability, and consider what could have been, had the planned course of our lives not been cruelly diverted by the drunk driver who had crashed into our car.
I had come such a long way since then, working hard to get my own life and career back on track. It was the most arduous journey I had ever been on, recovering from my physical injury and raising my son without my wife by my side, all while trying to navigate the minefields of grief, which could be triggered without warning. Most days, I felt good about the progress I’d made, having reached a place of acceptance and relative happiness. But then there were days when the smallest bumps in the road were big enough to derail me, when the flashbacks dragged me right back to that hospital room, reopening old wounds that had been festering for the past five years and bringing my barely-suppressed pain back to the surface so that it felt almost as raw as it had in the beginning. It was moments like these – the big moments, the special moments – that made me miss Kristin the most. It had been the same way since my dad died. That was just how grief went, I supposed. Two steps forward. One step back.
I tried not to dwell on it, telling myself to stay in the moment and focus on the people who were still present in my life. Pasting a smile onto my face, I pulled my mom and Dawn closer and gave them each a grateful squeeze. Then I leaned in to peck Mason on the cheek. (The photographers and fans alike loved that, of course.) “I love you, son,” I whispered in his ear. “Thanks for coming out to celebrate your old man.”
After we finished with the family photos, Jenn insisted that Justin take a few more of just the five of us in front of the star for our website. “Let’s get one of you guys kneeling on the ground and touching the star,” she suggested. “You can stay in your chair, of course, Kevin.”
Of course. Resisting the temptation to roll my eyes in front of a crowd full of cameras, I closed them briefly instead and took a deep breath.
The rest of the guys arranged themselves around the star and each placed a hand on one of its points. I hooked one arm around my push handle and leaned forward onto my lap, folding myself in half so that I could reach down far enough to rest my hand on the remaining point at the top of the star.
“No, Kevin, we can’t see your face when you bend all the way over like that,” Jenn interjected bossily. “Maybe we could put one of your feet on the point instead?”
“Sure… whatever you think would look best,” I replied, trying to be patient with her as I fumbled to unfasten one of my footstraps. I knew Jenn and the rest of our team had been working tirelessly to make our twentieth anniversary special, and they had certainly succeeded. It wasn’t her fault that I was starting to feel overstimulated and exhausted, but the emotional morning had taken a toll on me. It was barely noon, and I was already looking forward to lying down in a dark, quiet room for a long nap after lunch.
Pulling myself back into a semi-upright position, I hooked both hands underneath my left knee, lifted my left leg off my footplate, and lowered it to the ground. Predictably, it began to spasm, which sent a buzz of curiosity through the crowd. I could hear the cameras clicking away, capturing my every move. They made me feel like a sideshow freak.
“Just a muscle spasm!” I called out, smiling self-consciously as I waited for the twitching to subside. “Nothing to see here.”
Kneeling next to me, Nick smirked. “They’re watching to see if you’re gonna stand up out of your wheelchair,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth. “God, I wish you could, just to see the reaction. It would blow their fucking minds.”
I snorted. “A full-on biblical miracle on the same day we get a star on the Walk of Fame? It would blow my fucking mind, too.”
Nick snickered as he slid my foot into the proper position, placing the toe of my shiny black shoe right on top of the star. Feeling slightly awkward, I turned my frozen smile back toward Justin as he snapped another series of photos. As usual, I would stick out like a sore thumb, sitting in my chair while the others squatted around me. At least, this time, I would be taller than them.
That gave me an idea for a different pose. “Hey, fellas, what if we get one of the five of us lying on the red carpet with our heads around the star? Then we could all be on the same level.”
Brian was the first to get on board with my plan. “Like in Bombay Beach! But without the risk of Roadkill Kevin,” he added with an impish grin.
Howie seemed more reluctant. “You don’t mind transferring out of your chair in front of all these people?” he asked in an undertone, raising his eyebrows at me.
I shrugged. “Not if y’all don’t mind helping me do it. I mean, they’re gonna stand there and stare either way. Might as well give ‘em something to stare at.”
Brian’s mention of Bombay Beach had reminded me of something Natalie had said right after our album shoot there: “It was so inspiring to watch the way y’all worked together out there today. Your brotherhood was on full display.”
Painful as it was to think of Natalie, she had made a powerful observation about the Backstreet Boys. We were a band of brothers. Our relationship – one of genuine love and mutual respect for each other – was the secret to our success. It was the reason I had returned to the group, the reason we were celebrating twenty years together, the reason we had outlasted all of the other boybands who had tried to follow in our footsteps. We may have been manufactured in the beginning, but the unbreakable bond we had forged was real.
Just like they had on that day in Bombay Beach, my Backstreet brothers rose to the occasion. After a brief huddle to discuss tactics, Nick and AJ took hold of my top half, leaving Howie and Brian to handle the bottom half. On the count of three, they lifted me out of my chair and lowered me to the ground with as much dignity and grace as they could. After laying me flat on my back and straightening out my legs, they lay down with me so that our five heads formed a circle with the star in its center.
As expected, this sent our fans into a frenzy, while the paparazzi pushed forward to snap photos with fresh enthusiasm. Folding my hands over my chest, I smiled to myself as I squinted up at the endless blue sky above. The sun was warm on my face. It felt like a kiss from Kristin. I closed my eyes, savoring the sensation, enjoying the moment.
Despite the dizzying whirlwind of emotions I had experienced over the last few days and weeks, the feeling that filled my heart in that instant was not grief, but gratitude.
***