The news broke the next day:
Backstreet Boys Postpone Twentieth Anniversary Tour
Of course, people had to read past the sensationalist headlines to understand that we weren’t rescheduling the entire tour, just the first six shows. Our two-week stint in China was always intended to be more of a promotional mini-tour in the first place, a sort of trial run before the real tour started in August. But, still, its abrupt cancellation led to a widespread panic within the Backstreet Boys’ fanbase, fueled by rampant speculation that the rest of the tour would be postponed as well.
“I worried something like this would happen,” one fan wrote on Twitter. “Kevin’s just not ready to go back out on the road. It was naive of them to think he could handle a whole tour with the way he is now.”
“Poor Kevin!” others replied. “Shame on the boys and their team for pushing him too hard!”
Worse than the ones who pitied and infantilized me were the conspiracy theorists who painted me as a scapegoat. Most of them blamed the cancellation on Brian, claiming that his rumored vocal condition was the real reason we had been forced to reschedule concert dates.
“Brian can’t sing anymore!” I saw one person post. “The boys have been trying to hide it for a few years now, but his voice has gotten so bad that they can’t keep ignoring it. That’s why they brought Kevin back, to replace Brian! But apparently that’s not working out too well for them either…”
A smaller minority seemed to think the other boys – or their significant others – were to blame.
“I heard AJ fell off the wagon again and went back to rehab! Rochelle threatened to divorce him if he didn’t get sober!”
“Didn’t Howie’s wife just have another baby a few months ago? Maybe he wants to spend more time at home with his family. He has so many real estate investments, it’s not like he really needs the money. And now that Kevin’s back, Howie would basically just be a back-up singer again anyway…”
“This is all that evil bitch Lauren Kitt’s doing! She’s had her claws dug into Nick for years, trying to control him. She finally convinced him to buy her a ring, and now she’s forcing him to settle down and start a family with her. Nick needs to stand up to her and stop letting her interfere with the group!”
I tried to stay off the internet, not wanting to read the wild rumors, harsh criticism, and false accusations. But, with nothing else to do but lie in bed, boredom got the better of me.
That night, I put my newfound free time to good use and made a video to post on my various social media platforms. The official press release written by our publicity team had kept the reason for the tour’s postponement deliberately vague, attributing it to an undisclosed “minor health complication” that would prevent me from traveling for the next few weeks. Clearly, more details were needed to put a damper on the speculation, so I decided to give the fans what they wanted.
But the moment I opened the camera app on my phone, I recoiled in disgust at the sight of my own reflection. My unwashed hair hung down over my forehead, limp and greasy. The bad angle made me look like I had a double chin. Below that, my farmer’s tan was on full display. I hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt that morning, knowing I was just going to be lying in bed all day, but now I felt the need to cover up my bare chest and shoulders, not wanting to appear pale and sickly. The goal was to reassure my fans that I was all right, not alarm them even more.
“Hey, Dawn?” I called. “C’mere a minute!”
“Coming!” Dawn appeared in my bedroom door a few moments later, wiping her hands on her shorts. “What’s up?”
“Will you find me a shirt and then fix my hair, please?” I asked her imploringly. “I wanna film a quick video for the fans, but I don’t want them to see me looking like… this.”
“What, like you just woke up? They seem to like the sexy bedhead look on Nick,” she said with an impish smile. “Every time he posts a selfie of himself shirtless in bed, he about breaks the internet.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not Nick, and this isn’t ‘sexy bedhead,’” I said, running my hand over the top of my hair. “This is greasy and gross.”
“I’ll wash it for you tomorrow morning,” Dawn promised. “In the meantime, I’m pretty sure Natalie left a bottle of dry shampoo in your bathroom. That’ll have to do for now; I’m too tired to try washing and drying your hair in bed tonight.”
“That’s fine,” I replied quickly. “I wasn’t asking you to wash and dry it; I just want you to style it or something.”
“That I can do,” said Dawn, tossing me a t-shirt. I pulled it over my arms and head while she went into the bathroom to look for the dry shampoo. When she came back out, she was carrying a white bottle and a comb. Spraying some dry shampoo into my hair, she used her hands to work it down to the roots.
I closed my eyes, savoring the sensation of her fingers running through my hair. The familiar scent of the shampoo reminded me of Natalie, and, with my eyes shut, I could almost pretend my ex-girlfriend was the one giving me a scalp massage.
“You know how they say when you lose one sense, the others become heightened somehow? Like a guy who goes blind and then develops a super sense of hearing? It’s true, in a way, with quadriplegics,” I remembered telling Natalie the first time we’d tried fooling around together. “I can’t feel anything from the chest down, but everything above that is a lot more sensitive than it used to be. Like, your fingers running through my hair feels incredible…”
But Natalie’s hands were smaller than Dawn’s, her nails longer and sharper. Dawn’s large hands and stubby fingernails didn’t feel quite the same.
Once she finished brushing the hair back off my forehead and shaping it into something that resembled Nick’s “sexy bedhead” style, Dawn left the room so I could record my video.
“Hey, y’all,” I began as I held the phone up in front of my face. “First off, I wanna thank you for your thoughts, your prayers, your well-wishes, and your good vibes. I’ve been reading your messages online, and I appreciate those of you who have been spreading positivity. I’ve also seen the rumors that are floating around, so I wanna take a moment to address what’s actually going on with me and the Boys.”
I paused and looked directly into the camera lens, hoping my stern expression would make the rumormongers squirm.
“As you’ve probably heard, we had to postpone our promotional tour in China that was supposed to start this Saturday. This was a hard decision to make, and we’re all pretty disappointed about it. We’ve been busting our asses, trying to get ready for this tour. But I guess I must’ve taken that phrase a little too literally this time around because I legit busted my ass.”
I flashed a sheepish grin at the phone as I went on to explain:
“Right after our last rehearsal this past Saturday, I found a pressure sore on my rear end. This is a pretty common complication among quadriplegics like me, who spend all day sitting down and can’t feel when we need to shift our weight. It’s not too big of a deal right now, but if I don’t take care of it, it’ll become a much bigger deal that could take me out of commission for months down the road. I’ve been told to keep the pressure completely off that part of my body until it’s fully healed, which is why I’m filming this from my bed.”
I held the phone up higher and adjusted the camera angle to show more of my body, which was covered with a blanket from the waist down.
“Unfortunately, this means I won’t be able to sit in my wheelchair – or an airplane seat – for at least another week or so, which is why I’m not able to travel to China at this time. I did give the other guys my blessing to go on without me, but they decided it would be better to wait to debut our twentieth anniversary tour with all five of us onstage, the way we’d always planned to. I can’t wait for y’all to see the show we’ve put together, and I’m sorry that you’re gonna have to wait a little longer. Thanks again for your support and understanding, and I’ll see y’all soon. Peace and love.”
I put on a smile as I reached out to press the stop button, but the moment the camera quit recording, I saw my smile fade.
With the push of a few more buttons, I uploaded the video to my rarely-used YouTube channel and shared the link on my social media accounts. Then I settled back onto my pillows to watch as more comments began to pour in.
***
By the next morning, my video had amassed thousands of views and hundreds of comments from fans around the world, who were wishing me well and praying for my fast recovery. I read every single one, hoping they would raise my spirits, but the kind words weren’t enough to cure me of the blues.
“You’ll feel better after a bath,” Dawn promised as she placed absorbent pads and towels over the top of my mattress, tucking them under my body to prevent my sheets from getting wet. She even fashioned a makeshift basin out of garbage bags and rolled towels, so that she could wash my hair. But bed baths always triggered bad memories of being hospitalized after my accident, which did not improve my mood.
I tried the old visualization technique I had used in the hospital, closing my eyes and imagining I was somewhere else. This time, I pictured myself lying on a beach with my head in a woman’s lap. But which woman? I couldn’t seem to decide whether it was Kristin or Natalie. At first, I thought of my late wife. In my mind’s eye, she looked the way she had when we’d met: youthful, glowing, gorgeous. For a few sweet seconds, I was able to relive a memory of the two of us relaxing on the shore of the lake in Orlando where we had enjoyed a leisurely picnic on one of our first dates. But then, Kristin’s face morphed into Natalie’s, as the lakefront became the beach in Jamaica where we had rung in the new year together. I wished I could go back to that beach and bask in the warm, soft, white sand at the water’s edge, letting the waves lap gently over my body while I watched Natalie sunbathe in her hot pink bikini. But when I opened my eyes again, I was still stuck in bed, staring up at the plain white ceiling as Dawn hovered over me, slowly pouring a pitcher of warm water over my hair to rinse out the shampoo.
“Keep your eyes closed,” she warned me. “I’m trying not to get soap in ‘em, but I can’t make any promises. It’s been a long time since I’ve done this.”
She must have been referring to her previous work experience because I couldn’t recall her ever shampooing my hair in bed before. The last time she had given me a bed bath was back in January, when I had the flu – but I hadn’t bothered asking her to wash my hair then, for I had been too sick to care if it got greasy. This time, I felt fine – physically, anyway – which made being confined to my bed much more frustrating.
“You’re doing fine,” I muttered, trying not to take my frustration out on her. “I just wish you didn’t have to do it at all.”
“Pretend you’re in a spa, and this is part of the treatment,” she told me in a cheerful tone.
“I’d rather be on a plane right now,” I replied flatly.
Dawn made an impatient noise. “Oh, come on, Kevin. Most people like being pampered. Can’t you at least try to enjoy it, just a little?”
I did try, I thought petulantly. It didn’t work. It just made me remember what I’m missing out on.
“Or, hey, keep being miserable. That’s cool, too,” she added sarcastically in response to my silence.
I wanted to roll my eyes, but I kept them closed instead, as requested.
When Dawn finished rinsing my hair, she drained the soapy water from the garbage bag basin into the plastic wastebasket she had placed beside my bed. “That actually worked out pretty well!” she declared triumphantly as she wrapped a towel around my head like a turban. “I didn’t get your bedroom too wet. Just let me clean this up, and then I’ll dry your hair and help you get dressed if you want me to.”
“What’s the point?” I replied apathetically. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
“Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug as she bustled around my bed, taking off the towels and tossing them into a pile on the floor. “I’d probably better start a load of laundry before I forget, so we have plenty of fresh towels for tomorrow. I used all the clean ones from the linen closet.”
“Okay. Thanks,” I added, feeling a surge of guilt as I watched her bend down to scoop up a huge armload of wet towels.
“Welcome,” she grunted back as she carried them away.
While Dawn was in the laundry room, my phone rang. I reached over to my bedside table, only to realize my phone was all the way on the other side of my room – Dawn had moved it to my dresser, so it wouldn’t get wet while she was washing my hair. Without my wheelchair, I could only lie helplessly on the bed and listen to it ring… and ring… and ring… until the call finally went to voicemail. A minute later, I heard the phone chime, which probably meant that the caller had left me a message. I had to wait until Dawn came back to check it.
The moment she returned to my room, I said, “Hey, can you grab my phone for me? It rang while you were gone.”
“Sure.” She fetched the phone from my dresser, along with a large bottle of body lotion. “It’s fine if you don’t wanna get dressed, but at least let me put some of this on you,” she said, holding up the bottle. “Your skin is looking pretty dry.”
“Go for it,” I conceded as she placed the phone in my hand. “Guess I must’ve forgotten to moisturize when it was just me and the guys.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m here, then, huh?” Dawn replied with a wry smile. “Clearly, you’ve been missing a woman’s touch.”
I let out a humorless laugh as a picture of Natalie in her hot pink bikini popped back into my head. “You have no idea how true that is.”
“Oh, I can imagine,” said Dawn, folding back the bottom half of the fleece blanket she had thrown over my unclothed body to keep me warm while she washed my hair. She pumped a liberal amount of lotion into her palm and picked up my left foot, sending spasms through my leg.
“You know, I think I would have made a good massage therapist,” I remembered Natalie telling me once as she rubbed lotion into my back. “I love doing this kind of thing.”
“Well, if you ever decide to change careers, I’ll be your first client,” I had promised her, closing my eyes with contentment. “That feels incredible.”
I got no such pleasure from watching Dawn apply lotion to my paralyzed legs, so I looked down at my phone instead. “Well, speak of the devil,” I muttered in disbelief when I saw Natalie’s name next to the most recent missed call.
“What?” said Dawn curiously.
“Nothing… just, Natalie called.”
“Oh. Are you gonna call her back?”
“Maybe. She left me a voicemail.” With the push of a few buttons, I pulled up Natalie’s message, then brought the phone to my ear to listen as it played.
“Hey, Kevin.” Her voice sounded hesitant and higher pitched than usual. “It’s me, Natalie… which you probably already knew, unless you deleted my number and didn’t recognize my voice.” She let out a nervous laugh before continuing, “Anyway, I was just calling to check on you. I just heard the news that y’all had to cancel the first part of your tour. I hope you’re okay. Give me a call back if you feel like talking.”
I called her back immediately, wanting, at the very least, to reassure her that I was all right.
She answered on the first ring. “Hi, Kevin!”
“Hey, sorry I missed your call,” I said. “My phone was out of reach.”
“That’s okay. I wasn’t sure if I’d hear from you or not. I felt like things were kinda awkward at the airport the other night…”
“Isn’t it always a little awkward when you run into your ex for the first time after a break-up?” I replied, recalling our encounter with her ex-fiance at the airport in Atlanta. Natalie and I had been in a good place when we’d gotten off the plane that day. She was looking forward to celebrating Easter with her family, while I was planning to ask her parents for permission to propose to her. But that was before Derek had rolled in like a dark cloud to rain on our parade, putting a damper on her happiness, filling my head with doubts, and casting a shadow over the rest of that weekend. Our tense exchange with him had set the tone for the whole trip, triggering a sort of chain reaction of events that had not only ruined our weekend but ultimately led to the end of our relationship.
I was still reeling from this sudden realization when Natalie spoke again. “I suppose. But I don’t want it to be that way with you.”
“Me neither,” I admitted. “It doesn’t have to be that way. We can still be friends.” I glanced over at Dawn, who gave me a nod of encouragement as she kneaded my left calf, clearly listening to my side of the conversation. I was thinking of what she’d said Saturday night after talking to Natalie on their flight from L.A.
“She knows we’re just friends. But, honestly, I think that’s what she’s jealous of… because you and Natalie never were ‘just friends.’ Y’all skipped right over that phase and jumped straight into a romantic relationship. And, now that it’s ended, there’s a part of her that regrets not getting to know you as a friend first – because if she’s not your girlfriend anymore and can’t consider herself your friend either, then she’s nothing to you.”
“I’d like that,” Natalie said earnestly. “So, anyway, how are you? I just landed in L.A. after working a flight back from Seoul and finally got a chance to check my social media, and that’s when I saw the video you posted. You have a pressure sore?”
“Yeah. It must have happened at rehearsal on Saturday. If I seemed short with you at the airport that night, it’s because I didn’t feel well. My AD kept flaring up, and I couldn’t figure out why until Dawn found this damn blister on my butt. By that point, my blood pressure was through the roof.”
Natalie gasped. “You poor baby!” she cried, then quickly apologized. “Sorry, sorry, I know you hate to be called that. I just feel horrible that this happened to you! I’m sure you were looking forward to finally going back on tour.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “The timing couldn’t have been worse. But I’ll be fine, assuming I don’t die of boredom first. I have to stay out of my chair until it heals, so I’m starting my third straight day of total bed rest – which fucking sucks.”
“I’ll bet,” she said sympathetically. “Do you want some company? I could come over and keep you entertained for a while…”
I hesitated, considering her offer. I didn’t want to be her charity case, but I did want to be her friend. Welcoming her back into my home to hang out with me would be a way for us to get past the awkward, post-breakup phase and move forward with the friendship we both claimed to want.
“You don’t have to do that,” I finally said, “but if you want to come over, you’re always welcome. You know where I live.”
Dawn looked up, raising her eyebrows.
“I do,” said Natalie. “It might take me a little while to get there, depending on traffic, but I’ll head your way soon. Hope you didn’t change your front door code.”
I laughed. “Don’t worry; Dawn will be here to let you in.”
Dawn’s eyebrows rose even higher on her forehead. “You invited her over?” she asked when I hung up with Natalie.
I shrugged. “Technically, she invited herself over. I just didn’t tell her no. You don’t mind, do you?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. It’s your house, not mine,” Dawn reminded me as she rubbed lotion into my right foot. “But, for the record, no, I don’t mind. Maybe she’ll be able to make you less miserable.”
Just as her touch triggered a muscle spasm in my leg, her words sent a fresh wave of guilt rippling through my body. Dawn had been waiting on me hand and foot for the past three days, doing everything she could to keep me comfortable and content while I was confined to my bed, but I had been so busy feeling sorry for myself that I’d barely acknowledged her efforts.
“Sorry I’ve been in such a bad mood lately,” I said, offering her a sheepish smile. “I hope you know how much I appreciate having you here to help me through this. What would I do without you, Dawn?”
“I dunno… have really dry skin, apparently,” she replied, grinning back as she rubbed more lotion up my shin.
“Touché,” I said, chuckling. “I guess I should probably get dressed after all, huh?”
“I mean, it’s not like Natalie hasn’t seen you naked before… but, since you’ve decided to just be ‘friends’ with her now, yeah, you should definitely get dressed. I’ll help you put some clothes on when I’m done with this.”
I gave her a grateful nod. “Thanks, Dawn.”
***