When I was nineteen, I owned the world.

Today, I own a bike.

Well I stole that, actually, from a twelve year old kid who didn’t bother locking it up.

When I was twenty, I had a balance in my bank account with more zeros attached to it than I own articles of clothing today. When I turned twenty-one, I spent more on booze in one night than passes through my fingers in a year. Maybe even longer.

When I was thirty-one, I owned three houses and six cars.

At thirty-two, I lost it all. One stupid move and I lost everything I had. Everything.

This morning, I woke up under the pier, wrapped in a city-issued blanket. As it turns out, owning the world means nothing when you’re stupid enough to piss it all away...

"Oh my God."

"Gross."

"I told you guys."

"It's like he washed ashore from a shipwreck."

"Is he dead?"

"Oh my God."

Their hushed voices fell over him like a blanket, his skin warming with embarrassment as they whispered. He could feel their stares, feel them pointing and inching closer. He wanted to be alone.

"He's breathing."

"Well, at least he isn't dead."

"Maybe he's unconscious."

He wished they'd go away and leave him to his misery. He moved, so slightly they didn't even see, hugging the thin cotton blanket to his chin and taking a deep breath - the smell of home.

A stick poked him in the back.

Ignore it, he thought. He screwed his eyes tighter shut.

A rock hit him in the head, followed by a waterfall of tinkling laughter.

"Oh my God, Eric," a girl's voice rang out, "I can't believe you did that."

Tears fought their way out of his tightly squeezed eyelids, and he felt one - warm and salty - cling to the very tip of his nose.

Another rock hit him.

He couldn't take it.

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" he screamed, sitting up suddenly, with the velocity and surprise-attack of a wild cat. "GO HOME YOU MISCREANT RUG RATS!" His throat and voice were raw from smoking, his eyes blazing with passion.

The kids scattered, panicked, bolting in different directions to get out from under the pier. The girls screaming, the guys swearing and breathing hard, trying to catch their breath so their fright would be masked.

He watched them go.

Part of him regretted it as their retreating backs melted into the thick fog that covered the water's edge and snaked its way up from the beach to the space under the pier where he'd crammed himself the night before.

He sighed and laid back down on his stomach, his eyes watching the ocean as it licked and tugged, slowly nearing him, creeping up like a bad habit.

He grabbed his guitar and his city-issued blanket and crept down the rocks to the ground, landing in the swirling mess of foot prints that had belonged to the teenagers. High tide was coming.

He had to move on.

He was standing by the railing of the pier, watching closely, trying to figure out who was about to deliver him breakfast. The rows and rows of tables stretched along in front of him, the vendors opening their windows, people milling around, smelling freshly prepared food, wondering what time it was and pausing in front of the vendors.

He knew what he was planning to do wasn't right, but a guy needs to eat.

That's when I spotted her.

She was probably about his age, wearing a sharp business skirt and jacket, her hair in a bun. He pictured her as either a librarian or a teacher. He lowered himself onto a bench and waited.

She carried a steaming hot cup of coffee and a sliced bagel with smear across the boardwalk, her eyes scanning the tables. Selecting one, she dropped her things down on the table top, arranged them just so, and ran to get a napkin.

He made his move.

With lightening fast moves, he swooped in, feeling like a seagull, and grabbed the coffee, the bagel, and her wallet, and walked on by the table as casually as though he didn't do any of it.

He didn't slow when she started yelling.

He kept walking. He was already melting into the crowd, already well beyond the point of return.

But then her heels clicking the wood boardwalk below them came up behind him.

He resisted the urge to run and shoved the wallet into the folds of his city-issued blanket. He sipped the coffee quickly, taking the hugest mouthful he could to make it look emptier than hers could've been so quickly.

"You," she yelled.

He ducked down a small alley to the right that ran between a surf shop and a hot dog stand.

"Hey-- you," she yelled again, keeping up with him. Finally, she caught up and grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around.

They stared at each other awkwardly. She peered up through thin-framed glasses, he down through mats and tangles of wildly unkempt hair and beard.

Those eyes, she thought.

He felt a piercing sense of guilt. "I'm sorry." He pulled her wallet out of his blanket. He shoved that and the unbitten bagel into her hands. "I already drank the coffee," he admitted. "I'd pay you back but.. well, I stole it for a reason."

She held the wallet and bagel in her open palms.

His honesty had shocked... and impressed... her.

When she didn't respond, he swallowed, and turned away.

"Wait," she called.

He stopped and looked back.

She held up the wallet, "Let me buy you breakfast."

He hesitated.

"Please," she said.

He moved towards her and tugged an old baseball cap he was wearing off his head, bowing ever so slightly to say his thanks, and replaced the mangled old cap on his head.

"C'mon," she said, laying a hand on his back and guiding him back towards the boardwalk.

He savored the feeling of somebody touching him like that. It was the first time in a very long time that someone had touched him in a way that wasn't hostile. Most people moved as far away from him as possible. Most people thought he smelled. Most people were afraid of getting fleas or diseases if they neared him.

She led the way into a small diner and they took a seat. It smelled like pancakes and coffee and warmth. He closed his eyes and drank in the scent. After years of picking the trash and stealing food, the inside of a place like this smelled euphoric.

"Get whatever you want," she commanded, "The sky's the limit." She shoved the menu at him.

His blue eyes stared into her face, searching, trying to figure out why she was doing this. She didn't look up, studying her own menu. By the time she had looked up, he'd looked away.

A waitress appeared at their table. She looked at him in disgust and wrinkled her nose, the smell of him turning her stomach. "What can I get you?" she asked.

"Pancakes," she answered. "With syrup. And bacon on the side. Orange juice, also, please."

"And you?" the waitress turned to him, scribbling the first part of the order on her little notepad.

"I'll uh.." he stared at the menu. "Just.. the uh, the side of sausages.." he muttered, feeling sheepish.

"Bring him the pancakes and the sausage, orange juice. And bring us both coffee," she said to the waitress, knowing the sausage wasn't enough.

He stared down at the place setting in front of him.

The waitress wrote it down and nodded, "Alright." She spun and moved away quickly, trying to escape the smell of him.

They sat in silence a moment.

"My name is Mally," she said finally, "What's yours?"

"Nick."

"Nice meeting you, Nick," she said. He was staring at the fork, the tip of his dirty finger touching the bottom of it in a shy manner. His fingernails were wide and dirt was stuck in them so deep that she doubted it would ever come out.

Once their breakfasts had been delivered before them - for which Nick had said a heartfelt, "Thank you" for - Mally asked, "What's your story, Nick?"

He looked up at her. "You'd never believe me if I told you."

...Four Years Ago... When Nick was 31...

"How many ways do I have to say I'm sor-ry, before you un-der-stand... How many ways do I have to show my lo-ove, before you le-et me i-in?"

Nick sat at the soundboard, his feet up on the edge of the desk, leaning back in his chair and chewing on a pencil, watching AJ tape the new song. Bits of pencil were getting stuck to his tongue, it was kinda gross, but somehow he couldn't stop the habit. He'd had a terrible oral fixation all his life, and the lack of cigarettes was so not helping that. He sat forward and reached for a bowl of M&Ms, figuring even if they were apt to make his waist explode outwards until he looked like that old video game character, Kirby, he was fairly certain they were still better for him than the pencil bits were.

"Ahhh, ahh, Nicky-poo," sang out Brian, snatching the bowl out of Nick's reach just before he grasped it. "You said not to let you eat these, remember?"

"I was stupid," Nick answered. He snatched at them again.

"You said you'd say that," Brian laughed. "Lucky for you, I have a solution." He got up, taking the bowl of M&Ms with him, and disappeared out of the room.

Nick scowled and shoved the pencil back in his mouth. "I'll die of lead poisoning then, and it'll be your fault, and you'll feel bad and want to chew pencils so you can experience the agony I went through and die, too, but I'll tell Howie not to let you and Howie will take all the pencils in the world and not let you have any. Won't you, Howie?"

Howie, who was half asleep in a big leather easy chair in the corner by Nick's keyboards, snorted and blinked his eyes open. "Tuna fish, on rye!" he said.

"What?"

Howie paused, looking around, and realized nobody was taking lunch orders. "Uhh..."

"Won't you, Howie?" Nick asked again.

Howie hesitated, "Yes," he said finally, after thinking about it a moment. Then he leaned back and fell back to sleep.

"Damn, I should've said something cool. Taking all the pencils in the world away from Brian was such a waste of a free opportunity to take advantage of Howie."

Brian came back in the room, sans the M&M bowl, toting a paper cup, which he shoved into Nick's hand. Nick looked into it. It was full of blueberries. Fair enough. He took one and tossed it into his mouth, throwing it into the air and catching it like they did in the movies.

"How can I go o-on when the world is dark without you, how can you expect me to walk a-way? A-way?"

AJ was clutching the microphone and his face was crumpled up in an expression of absolute passion, his body contorted in a way that said he was feeling what he was singing. He'd been having some issues with Rochelle lately, not really bad ones - like they weren't really on the verge of breaking up like the song lyrics were suggesting, but just a test of the relationship. AJ had said himself that if they weren't married he probably would've run - not walked - away. But marriage changed everything for him. AJ was a totally different guy now.

The strange thing was that was exactly Rochelle's complaint.

Brian sat down in a wheely chair next to Nick and watched AJ, too. He held onto the seat and made it spin a little bit. "This is a really nice song actually," he said, picking up the lyrical sheet sitting on the desk and running his eyes across it.

Nick nodded, "That's why we picked it."

"I know," Brian said, "But hearing it makes it better."

"I'm a little worried it might come out whiney," Nick said, chewing on a blueberry.

Brian shrugged. "Maybe."

AJ, having completed the song, took the big headphones off and put them around his neck, and asked, "Is it lunch time yet? I'm really feeling like it could be in the old pouch here." He smacked his stomach with the palms of both hands.

Nick glanced at his watch, "Yeah we could do lunch."

"Howie," Brian said, starting to turn to him, "What do you want?"

"Tuna on rye," Nick answered.

Brian turned back to Nick, "What?"

"Trust me," Nick answered, "He wants tuna on rye."

AJ came out of the sound booth and ran a hand over his nearly bald head. "So," he said, "How'd that sound?"

"Excellent," Brian said.

Nick nodded, "Yeah, was great." He was focused on the blueberries. "Howie slept through it though."

"Howie sleeps through everything," AJ commented.

They all stared at Howie for a long moment, and apparently this was enough to break through Howie's sleep. He blinked awake once again and his head rose up from the back of the chair slowly. He hesitated, staring at them all staring at him. He paused. "I'll have tuna on rye," he tried.

"Told you," Nick answered the shocked expression Brian gave him.

"How did you..." Brian started.

Nick smiled. "I have ESPN," he said. He paused. He was fairly certain the N wasn't supposed to be there. "Oh and also, by the way, he's not letting you have pencils anymore."

Nick was tempted to lick the plate clean.

His stomach actually felt full. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt full. Well, he could, but it was a damn long time ago. He'd still had a house then. Food had been one of the first things he'd cut back on during the final descent. He'd sold his furniture to keep up the sparse pickings of food, one piece at a time, and then he'd been foreclosed because he'd skipped mortgage payments. Then he'd slept in his car until that got towed and he couldn't get it out of car jail.

He'd lived in a cardboard box for awhile until it rained.

Now he lived wherever he ended up at night.

But it'd been a long time since he'd felt full.

Mally stared at him as he stared at the plate, really wanting to lick it and get all the maple syrup off of it.

She wondered who he was, where he was from, what his story was like. She had a feeling that he looked a lot older than he was, though she wasn't certain. There were lines around his eyes that made her think he had a great many years behind him. It was hard to tell with that beard all crazy and unkempt as it was.

"Try me," she said finally.

Nick looked up from the plate. "What?" he said.

"You said a before that I'd never believe you if you told me your story," she recapped, then she repeated, "Try me."

Nick laughed, "You don't understand," he said, "You literally wouldn't believe me, and I don't have any way to prove it." He reached up and ran a hand under his beard, across his neck.

"How old are you?" she asked.

"Thirty-five," he said, "And a half," he added instinctively. Nick was one of those who'd never grown out of that habit of adding 'and a half' to his age.

Mally blinked in surprise. "You are thirty-five?" she repeated. She raised her eyebrow, and studied his eyes. "No way in hell are you thirty-five. You've got to be at least in your forties." Even at her 'young' guesstimate she'd never dreamt he was younger than his late-forties.

Nick shook his head, "I was born January 28, 1980," he replied.

Mally whistled low.

Nick looked away and started picking at a napkin nervously, ripping it into pieces, leaving little shreds on the table in front of him. She watched this process. It made her feel sad.

"I'm sorry," she said.

He looked up, "Why?"

"Because I basically just called you an old guy," she answered, frowning.

"You called it like it is," he answered, shrugging.

Mally hesitated, "You'd look younger if you shaved."

He snorted, "In what mirror? With what razor?" he shook his head. "You forget that having a bathroom and grooming are luxuries that most people take for granted. Like bubbles and sunshine here," he gestured to where a waitress would stand if she were there, referring to their waitress, "She didn't even really want to take my order because she doesn't like the way I smell. Well showers are luxuries now. I stole one once from a gym downtown, but they figured out I didn't have a membership and they kicked me out."

"I'm sorry," Mally said again, unsure how to respond to that.

Nick shrugged. He slipped out of the seat and stood up next to the booth. He fished into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a silver lighter that Mally could see was engraved with something, but she couldn't see what because he quickly slid his thumb over it the moment he saw her looking at it.

"Thank you very much for breakfast, miss," he said, again lifting his tattered baseball cap and half-bowing, "But I'm afraid I must be on my way." He lifted up his stuff - which consisted of the city-issued blanket, an empty milk carton, a length of rope and a plastic shopping bag that appeared to carry a bunch of little trinkets that Mally couldn't make out through the white plastic, only the shapes of them pressing outward.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

He shrugged, "Wherever."

Nick turned and walked away through the restaurant, his stuff hanging off him. She watched as he went, patrons turning around to see him go, then whispering between each other and pointing. The door jingled as it shut behind him. She sighed.

Nick sat on the end of the pier, his feet hanging off the edge, leaning on the lowest rung of the railing. Beside him sat his stuff in a mish-mash pile. He held his cigarette in his mouth and blew the smoke out into the fog that clouded the ocean. He kicked his feet and stared down at the old sneakers he'd been wearing for four years. They were so beat up, the toes ripping out, the soles pulling away from the sides. Soon, he'd be forced to figure out a way to find new ones or he'd be barefoot as well as homeless.

He heard the footsteps coming up behind him long before she spoke, her heels clicking on the wood again. He thought she'd forgotten about him by now - everyone else in the world had - so why not her, too? He took a long drag off his smoke and flicked the butt into the water below. There was a time he never would've dreamt of doing that, but the world had screwed him, so screw the world.

Mally sat down next to him.

He glanced at her, then looked away, back to the water.

She dropped a paper bag on his lap.

"What's that?" he asked, looking at it as though it could contain a bomb.

"Open it."

He stared at her uncertainly, then leaned back from the edge of the pier, using his hands to drag his body back a few feet, so only the ends of his legs stuck out over the edge now. She watched as he unrolled the folded over top of the bag and peered inside. He looked up at her.

"Uh..."

"You can use my shower," she said, "And my bathroom mirror."

He looked back into the bag at the package of razors, deodorant stick, bar of soap and a bottle of Axe body spray.

He looked up at her again. "Why are you being nice to me?" he asked.

Mally shrugged, "Not everyone in the world is mean you know."

He felt like he'd literally forgotten that fact. It seemed like everyone had been mean to him for the past four years. Ever since...

He rubbed his neck.

"Are you sure you want a dirty old shitbag like me at your house?" he asked. He laughed, but it wasn't a joke. Nor was it really funny. He was serious.

Mally nodded. "I'm sure."

Nick stared down at the stuff in the bag again. "Thanks," he said.



He held a pair of orange handled scissors in his hand and looked down at the beard. He ran his hands over it, like it was a pet he was about to kill. Thoughts of the last scene of Old Yeller went through his head. He locked his fingers in the end of it, tugged it out at full length away from his chin and held up the scissors. He closed his eyes.

Snip.

Almost a foot of frizzy, matted, dirty hair hung from his hand, and quite a bit still remained hanging from his face. He hadn't realized it'd been that long since he'd shaved. Now he felt even more out of touch with reality, as though every inch of hair he had hanging off his face was representative of another failure.

He trimmed as much as he could with the scissors, getting the blades of the scissors as close to his face as he dared, until the cold metal scraped his cheeks and all that remained was a thick layer of stubble and mess.

Nick stared into the mirror in disbelief. The hair off his head, too, was long and matted and dirty and hung in limp clumps, like it had made itself into weather-beaten dreadlocks. He scowled and quickly lifted up a lump of that, too, shearing it off. Hair fell around his ankles like crazy. It looked like a littler of yellow labrador retrievers had collected at his feet on the towel he'd laid down to collect the mess.

It took a long time, a lot of work and wincing and pulling, but eventually he was staring at himself, stubbled and a horribly uneven hair cut, but it was him - Nick; no longer the blonde Hagrid that he'd been staring at.

"How's it coming in there?" called Mally through the door.

Nick stared at himself in the mirror. "Yeah," he said, because he didn't know what else to say. He couldn't really say 'good'. It just was.

"Are you hungry?"

Always. "Yeah," he said again.

"Okay. Well I'm going to make macaroni and cheese. Do you like macaroni and cheese?"

It reminded him of Brian. It made his heart ache. Made him want to throw up with incredible desire to cry. He took a deep breath. "Yeah," he answered.

"Okay. I'll do that, it'll be ready by the time you take a shower."

He didn't reply to that, but he heard her walk away from the door anyways so he didn't have to.

He ran a hand across his cheeks and down over his jaw bone to his neck.

His fucking neck.

He looked down at the mess and then back up at himself. His head felt lighter, and that was because he'd cut off all that heavy, crappy looking hair. He rolled the towel up and slid it into a trash bag he'd found under the sink.

The shower water felt amazing, he'd turned it on to super hot and let it soak over him. The white tile of the tub below turned a strange shade of brownish grey as the dirt rolled off his back and he watched his skin turn pink, a transformation that was shocking to him because he'd never noticed how dirty he was getting as it was happening. But now that the layers were washing away, and he saw what was underneath, he realized how bad it'd been. The soap sudded up on his skin and he rubbed it in, trying to erase the horrendous smell that had gagged people and made them choke and make fun of him and whisper behind his back. He rubbed it so hard under his arm pits that they ached by the time he was done, and he strained to reach his back, to scrub along the length of his KAOS tattoo.

When he was satisfied that he no longer smelled like crap, he ran a small drop of shampoo over the hair on his head and face.

He'd kept some of the hair on his face, not wanting to be completely clean shaven in fear that he'd be recognized.

When the water started to run cold, he frowned, not wanting the shower to end, and turned off the tap with a sigh. The water dripped away. He climbed out of the cubical and wrapped a towel around him. It was soft.

He dried himself off and looked at his dirty clothes in a crumpled pile by the door. He sighed and pulled them on, fairly certain that if he had successfully washed away the smell in the shower, the clothes were going to bring it right back. He looked in the mirror.

Mally knocked on the door, "The food's ready whenever you're done."

He grabbed the knob and pulled it opened.

The moment her eyes landed on him, Mally dropped the ladle she was holding and it clattered on the floor at her feet.

They faced each other for a long moment.

"Oh my God," whispered Mally.

...Four Years Ago... When Nick was 31...

Nick was poking at his salad with the end of his fork, rolling a cherry tomato around the plate. It had a weird brown spot on the side and though AJ insisted that was nothing, he was certain it was rotted, so he refused to eat it. The tomato scurried around the ridge of an oversized lettuce leaf, sending ripples through a pool of oily salad dressing, which he was also refusing to eat.

"I was thinking maybe we should hit Australia first," Howie was saying as he chowed down on his tuna on rye. "We haven't been Down Under in awhile," he pointed out. He picked up a chip and shoved it into his mouth.

"Yeah, the New Kids tour wasn't very Aussie-friendly," Brian commented around a mouthful of yogurt.

AJ grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl that sat in the center of the table, kernels falling onto the table as he rummaged his fingers among them. "I'm down with the Down Undah," he said, employing his crappy Aussie accent.

Nick shuffled his feet under the table and dropped his fork, making a clanging sound. "I was thinking we should stick to the US and Canada, while the momentum's still there," he commented, "I mean think about it, they're excited for it right now, there's a lot of fans that didn't get to come out to see the show because both fanbases were crowding the queues..." Nick shrugged, "I'm just thinking maybe we should capitalize on that while we've got the chance."

AJ chomped on the popcorn thoughtfully. "Yeah, but it's gonna be fucking winter," he said, "It's cold. Australia's hot."

Brian pointed at AJ, "A plus."

Howie nodded, "And the fans down there are chomping at the bit on all the social networking sites."

Nick sighed. "I'm just saying, from a business point of view, it's gonna be better to give the people here what they want while we've got their interest."

"We're giving them an album," Brian said, "Won't that appease them?"

"But a tour is... it's a tour," Nick said, "It's more exciting." AJ dragged the popcorn bowl to his seat, since nobody else was eating it. Nick grabbed a small bowl of hummus and picked up the remaining carrot stick next to it and shoved it into the hummus. "I'm just thinking they deserve it, since they all came back to us. We haven't had that here in a long time. Let's not take it for granted."

Howie paused. "Do we really want the momentum we had in '99 here, though? I mean I like being able to go out with Leigh and James without getting mowed down by crazies."

"I like it when the fans are crazy," Nick muttered.

"You're single," Brian pointed out, "You've got no kids to worry about."

AJ nodded, "Yeah. The fans freak Rochelle out sometimes, I think."

"Rochelle loves the fans," Nick said, rolling his eyes.

AJ shrugged, "I guess."

Howie stretched, "It's no use really, arguing about it. Especially now, when we don't even have the album taped yet." He looked at his watch, "Why don't we head back to the studio, then we can wrap up for the day. Maybe finish off this song."

"Alright," Brian said. He balled up the paper that his sandwich had come in and tossed it onto the table.

Nick pushed his plastic salad container away, abandoning the tomato.

They got up and piled out the door of the little cafe onto the streets of Los Angeles. The sunlight was pouring down over the rooftops of the tall buildings around them, turning the street a strange golden color. It was late afternoon. Nick pulled out the keys to the van they used when they were all in the city taping or working, and clicked the doors unlocked. Brian and Howie got in the backseat, AJ got in the front passenger side and Nick the driver's seat.

"How many more songs do we have to tape?" Howie asked, leaning forward, looking at Nick. "Like twenty?"

"Last count, I think it was fourteen," he answered.

Howie sat back as Brian fought with his seatbelt. "Dude, we need to get these things fixed," he complained, yanking it and fighting with the click. "They don't stay attached."

Howie looked down at it, "Push the red thingy."

Nick had the van started and was moving out of the parking space already as Howie and Brian worked on the buckle, their heads bent low as they argued about how to get it clicked shut.

"We're only like two fucking blocks from the damn studio," AJ muttered, "I still don't understand why we didn't walk it."

Nick reached for the stereo and turned the music up. The iPod randomly landed on a Good Charlotte song he hadn't heard since it came out - I Just Wanna Live. Him and AJ had spent weeks bopping to this song, head banging and singing in high-pitched falsettos. They'd even sang it at soundchecks a few times, much to the amusement of the fans. "Oh dude," AJ said, laughing, "This is bad. We were so stupid."

"I love it," Nick laughed, and broke into singing along in falsetto and shaking his head like they used to.

AJ snorted, but couldn't resist. Within minutes, he'd joined in and started doing the same thing as Nick.

Howie looked up front. "You two are ridiculous," he laughed.

Brian crowed in triumph. "Take that, you bitch seatbelt," he pointed at it. "I clicked you." He smiled and turned to look up at the front seat as his brothers goofed off.

Nick was beating the wheel with his palms.

They were approaching a red light and Nick was slowing down. The light turned green and he sped up. The velocity of the van speeding up sent Nick's iPod flying out of the cupholder he'd put it into, and into the backseat, cutting the music as the iPod's jack fell out.

"I got it," Brian looked down and reached for the iPod, where it'd landed by his foot, and the seatbelt came unclicked.

Nick glanced back at Brian's head between the two seats. "It went back further than that," he said, "I think it's under your seat."

"Nick!" AJ's voice was loud, panicked.

Nick turned to face forward, but he didn't even have time to focus before they were struck.

Mally stared up at him. She wanted to touch his face, to lay her palms against his cheeks, to feel the stubble on her skin. Her arms were instinctively rising, halfway to his face before she caught herself and withdrew them, her heart pounding in her chest. His eyes wouldn't focus on her, they were turned to the side, staring at the color of the wall. The light of the bathroom, pouring out the door, illuminated him like one of those pictures of holy people in museums.

"You..." she whispered. She shook her head, trying to remember words and how to use them, "You clean up well."

He didn't answer. He wasn't used to this attention anymore. Before this would've been normal. It would've been expected. Now, he hadn't been looked at like this in years.

She recognized his discomfort and quickly bent down for the ladle, picking it up off the floor. "The um, the food -" she thumbed over her shoulder toward the kitchen. "Yeah. The food's ready. If you're ready." She paused. "Ready. For it."

Words, Mally, she thought, Speak words.

"Yeah," he said.

"I'll be in the kitchen." She turned and bolted.

Nick stood there for a moment, staring after her as she disappeared around the door of her kitchen, then turned back to look at her bathroom. He frowned at the mess he'd made. He quickly set to straightening up. He found a can of scrubbing bubbles on the floor beside her toilet and sprayed the crap out of the inside of the shower stall, figuring it would give the soap time to soak up some of the scum that had fallen off his body. Amazing what happens when a guy only has one shower for four years.

He scooped up the bag with the towel and hair in it and carried it out to the pile of his stuff by her door, sitting on a plastic mat so her floor didn't get all crappy from it, and laid the bag with it. He felt bad.

Mally was standing in the kitchen, spooning macaroni and cheese into funky painted bowls. She'd washed the ladle and set the table with napkins and forks and cups. He stood by the door and stared into the room awkwardly.

"I have milk, soda, cranberry juice..." she said, putting the first bowl down at the setting closest to him. She tried not to stare at him.

"Water's fine," he croaked, his voice breaking mid-word, like a boy going through puberty. He closed his eyes and a hand moved to his neck. He rubbed.

Mally opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Fiji water and put it on the table.

"Tap's fine," he said stepping forward and holding the bottle back out to her. "This shit's expensive, you don't need to waste it on me."

"My tap is gross," she said, pushing his hand back toward him.

Nick shook the bottle insistently towards her. "I've drank toilet bowl water before," he said, "I think your tap will be fine."

Mally took the bottle, her limbs feeling cold as the blood rushed through them. She bit her lips and turned quickly, shoving it back in the fridge. He has quite a potent way of articulating, she thought.

He stared down at the macaroni and cheese - it was homemade. Shells dripping with cheese and breadcrumbs sprinkled over the top. He felt like his stomach was being ripped out through his throat. It smelled amazing and he was starving, even though they'd just eaten at the diner less than five hours before. He was always starving.

Mally finished ladling out her own portion and put her bowl on the table and pulled a bottle of cranberry juice out of the fridge. She grabbed Nick's glass from the table and turned to the tap, letting the water run to get it cold. "Warm's fine, I'm not picky," Nick said.

She waited anyways.

He didn't sit until she'd sat, then he lowered himself into the chair opposite her, and folded his hands on his lap and waited.

Mally lifted her fork and started eating. Nick was staring down at the table, his lips moving slightly.

Shit, she realized, He's praying.

She dropped her fork beside her bowl.

He peeked up.

"Sorry," she said.

He smiled and looked back down, starting over. His voice was scratchy and low. "Thanks God for everything today. Thanks for Mally and her heart. I'm not real great at these prayers, you know that, but I feel thankful for the food and the opportunity to be clean - heart and body." He paused. "Take care of everyone we love." He stopped, and looked up at Mally. He hesitated. "Anything you wanna add, while we got his attention?" he asked.

How unconventional, she thought.

"No I'm good," she whispered.

"Okay. So that's it, God," he said, "We're gonna eat now." He paused. "Peace." He tapped his chest with his fist twice, then pointed up in the air and smiled awkwardly.

Mally blinked.

Nick picked up his fork and took a bite of the macaroni and cheese. "This is good," he complimented her.

So he was done. She hadn't been sure. She took her fork back up and started eating, too. "Thanks," she said. "It was my mother's recipe."

"Cool."

They ate in silence and Nick drank his tap water dutifully. Every bite of macaroni, though, burned in his stomach. He couldn't stop thinking of Brian. Damn it, he thought.

Mally hesitated. "So... Nick..." she said slowly.

He looked up at her.

"You look really familiar to me," she admitted.

"Yeah," he muttered.

"So you should look familiar," she said. It was a statement, not a question. "You're Nick Carter."

He stared down at the table.

"Yeah," he said.

This admission was followed by the longest, weirdest, most awkward pause yet.

"What happened, Nick?" Mally asked finally.

Nick's eyes wouldn't move from the table.

...Four Years Ago... When Nick was 31...

It all happened so damn fast, none of them had time to react or to adjust, to comprehend. Within minutes, they'd gone from talking about recording their next album, arguing about where to tour, focusing on rotted tomatoes and tuna on rye sandwiches... to this.

Brian was the first to move. Brian, actually, was the only one to move. He'd been thrown forward. His nose was bleeding, having hit his face on the stick shift. AJ had been thrown over him, into Nick, who'd hit the driver's side window with the side of his head - hard.

Howie was shoved into the window in the backseat, too.

The two seats in the front had closed in around Brian, but they hadn't crushed him. In fact, other than the bloody nose, Brian wasn't hurt at all.

He struggled backwards, slipping out from between the two chairs.

Blood coated both windows on the driver's side, and poured down his face, staining the center consoles.

Nick's iPod was sitting at his foot, lit up, paused on the screen for I Just Wanna Live. The irony didn't have time to sink into Brian's mind.

"Fellas," he whispered, picking up the iPod and sitting up, his head slamming. "Fellas?"

Nobody else moved.

"Guys..." Brian turned to Howie, "Howie."

Suddenly there were bright red lights, and the commotion outside stole Brian's mind away from the other three guys around him. People were gathering around the intersection, horrified expressions on their faces. A FedEx truck was blocking his view out the window on the passenger side.

"Shit," he said.

He looked at the guys again. "Guys, we got hit by FedEx," he said.

Once, they'd snuck into a radio interview in Toronto by riding in a FedEx truck, he remembered.

Intending to point this out to him, Brian reached for Howie's shoulder and shook him. Howie slumped forward.

His heart nearly stopped.

"Oh Jesus," he whispered, realizing what was happening.

An EMT was forcing his way between the front end of the FedEx truck and the side door of the van and opened the sliding door as far as he could. Brian looked at him, "They can't be dead, they can't be dead," he said, repeating the words over and over again, his voice panicked, "They can't be dead."

"We're here to help you," the EMT said in a calm voice.

"They can't be dead," he said again.

"We're gonna do what we can to help," the EMT crawled down into the van.

Brian shook his head, "They can't be dead."

"It's gonna be okay," the EMT said.

Brian looked at AJ, Nick and Howie.

"Make them wake up."

"We're going to try."

"Trying isn't good enough..." Brian whispered.

...Three Years Ago... Just Before Nick Turned 32...

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a Christmas tree. It was a little one, it was on a table, lit up with multicolored lights. Baylee was kneeling on a chair next to it, stringing a construction paper garland around it. Brian was standing to one side.

I watched them as they moved, Baylee more frantically, Brian carefully fixing the rings to hook onto branches to stay where Baylee was laying them. Brian's hand was shaking, his arm looked... funny. Baylee turned and looked up at his father, "Will this wake Uncle Nick up?" he asked.

"Maybe," Brian said.

"Can we sing Christmas songs when he does?" Baylee asked.

"Yes," Brian answered.

Baylee smiled, "It would be a Christmas miracle, huh?"

"Yeah," Brian's voice dropped lower than it had been. "It really would be..." He turned and glanced at me. His face paled. His eyes widened. "Nick," he gasped.

Baylee turned around.

"UNCLE NICK!" he screamed, his arms flying wide open, the construction paper chain forgotten, dropped to hang from the side of the tree. Baylee leaped off the chair and towards me.

I suddenly realized I had no fucking idea where I was.

Baylee pulled himself up beside me on the bed. A bed that wasn't mine. Wait, Christmas? I tried to remember what I'd last seen. The van. The song. AJ's voice.

Baylee threw his body across my chest and hugged me, his little arms wrapping around me.

I opened my mouth to ask "What Happened?", but nothing came out. My hand rose to my throat.

Brian crossed the room and grabbed my hand and pulled it away from my neck. He stared at me, his eyes scared, sad.

Baylee squeezed my chest and stomach, his little head heavy on my chest.

I stared up at Brian, pleadingly.

"It's going to be okay, Nick," Brian whispered, "But there's some stuff you need to know."

...Three Years Ago... Just Before Nick Turned 32...

Nick was sitting in a chair when AJ inched into the door.

"Hey, man," he said quietly.

Nick didn't move. He didn't dare to. He didn't dare to see AJ's face. Brian's arm had been hard enough, seeing the way his left arm had been all torn up and sewn back together, oddly thin on the outside, the skin paler than the rest of his normally tannish skin... He couldn't prepare himself to see the changes in AJ's face.

AJ rubbed his palms across his shirt. He stared at Nick's head, wondering what happened in there. Wondering why. He stepped a little closer. "Brian, uh - Brian said you were up... that you knew... about..." he paused, "Everything."

Nick turned to look at AJ.

AJ's face was a mess, the left side oddly disfigured by a scar that ran forehead to chin, half an inch wide. The right side of his face was a smile, the left expressionless, like the drama masks.

His stomach turned and he looked away quickly.

"Dude, talk to me."

Nick's voice was hoarse... cracked. "I'm sorry," he rasped.

AJ neared him and sat down in another chair that faced Nick's. Sunlight was coming in the window, and on the ceiling of the hospital building adjacent to them a pigeon was waddling about, bobbling its head. Nick had been watching it. AJ glanced at it. He hated pigeons, they were dirty.

Nick's eyes followed the bird as it moved about.

"It's good to see you awake," AJ commented. "It's been awhile."

Nick glanced at him, careful to only look at the right side of AJ's face, to concentrate on that part of him, on the smiling side of the mask. He couldn't. He turned back to the pigeon.

AJ leaned forward, "How're you handling... everything?" he asked.

Nick closed his eyes.

"I should've been the one who died," he whispered, "Not Howie."

AJ clasped his hands on his lap.

"I'm the single one," Nick said, "I'm the one without a kid. I should've been the one to die. Nobody relies on me, nobody gives a fuck about me." He waved his hand at the bed, "I just spent six fucking months sleeping, and nobody missed me, nobody's life stopped because of me, nobody's world ended." He spat the words.

AJ couldn't get over how hoarse and breathy he sounded, how un-Nick-like his voice was.

"I should be fucking dead," Nick broke into tears.

"Don't cry," AJ muttered, getting up, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked." He crossed the space between them and knelt in front of Nick, whose face was crumpled. "Seriously, you can't cry," he pleaded, "You're gonna hurt yourself."

"Maybe I'll die," Nick gasped.

AJ shook his head, "Don't say that."

"What do I have to live for?" he asked, bitter. "I'll never sing again. My fucking voice is paralyzed or some shit..."

AJ felt sick.

"I killed Howie, I ruined your face and Brian's arm," Nick's voice shattered in the middle of the sentence. He covered his face, his hands cupping it. I don't deserve to be alive, he thought, finishing the words he'd meant to say aloud.

AJ closed his eyes. As much as he wanted to argue with Nick, he could think of no words to say. It was a very bad idea that he'd come here. He wasn't ready to see Nick yet. He wasn't ready to pretend that he'd forgiven him. Finally, he squeaked out, "It's not your fault."

"You barely could say that," Nick whispered, looking up, unable to get his voice any louder than that. He reached up and ran his hand along his throat.

"You didn't do it on purpose," he said. "It was an accident, that's why they call it an accident."

"I'm sure Rochelle didn't think that when she saw you looking like that."

AJ looked away.

"She left you."

He shook his head, "I left her."

"Why?"

AJ crawled backward into the chair he'd started out in and swallowed. He didn't want to answer that. Because we were Beauty and the Beast, he thought, She deserves better than me. He sighed, "It just wasn't working out," he lied.

Nick stared out the window at the pigeon again.

"And people did care," AJ said quietly, "During those six months. It wouldn't have made anyone less hurt if it'd been you instead of --" AJ couldn't say the name. He was my fucking best friend, he thought, bitterly, Why did it have to be Howie?

Nick shook his head, "I didn't leave anyone without a father," he said, thinking of little James, contrasting him in his mind with the joy that Baylee had on his face when he looked at Brian.

AJ looked at his hands. As much as he wanted to argue with Nick, as much as he knew he needed to argue with Nick... Nick wasn't saying anything that AJ hadn't thought himself over the past six months.

Nick stole a box of Cap'n Crunch from a grocery store.

He was sitting on a bench in a park several miles from the store, eating the cereal, studying each piece and savoring the flavor, letting them melt rather than chewing them. It would make them last longer, give him the illusion of being full quicker.

A woman walked by and glanced at him, then did a double take, and slowed for an infinitesimal moment to once-over his clothing... then she moved on quickly. A couple with a baby walked by. The husband saw the woman glance Nick's way, saw her eyes once-over him, and wrapped his arm protectively around her shoulders.

These reactions were different than those he'd received before the shower, before he'd unearthed his face from all that damn hair.

How pathetic, he thought. I'm the same as I was yesterday. But today, they aren't judging me.

Mally had tried to make him stay overnight, but he'd refused. She'd begged him. He'd laid down on the couch, she'd gotten a pillow and blankets and left a cup of water out for him, and gone to bed herself. He got up and left.

He didn't want to become a burden to anyone.

Especially not to the pretty, generous stranger.

He'd ended up sleeping between two dumpsters on an alley behind the grocery store he stole the cereal from, tucked under his blanket.

This park was a favorite place of his to go. He haunted it because it gave him a chance to see AJ. Every morning at 9:15, AJ went for a jog on a path that took him right through this park, right past the bench that Nick had selected to eat his Cap'n Crunch cereal on.

When he first discovered this fact, it'd been completely an accident. Obviously, being in Los Angeles, he knew there would be a possibility of AJ seeing him, of seeing AJ, of bumping into one another. But he'd masterfully avoided most of AJ's haunts, kept away from the places that were most likely to make their paths cross.

He'd been in the park for the pond. Watching ducks swim had always been a soothing activity for him. He'd gone many times to watch the ducks when he was a child, and somehow never grew out of throwing bits of bread crusts to over excited water fowl. He was sitting on that bench, watching the ducks in the pond across the way, when a flash of red and grey fabric and tattooed arms passed in front of him. He'd looked up and seen what he thought was an illusion - AJ, jogging, his iPod headphones lodged carefully in his ears.

The next day, when he returned to see if he could spot AJ again, he'd been rewarded for his patience in staring down the path because AJ spotted him. By this time, Nick's Hagrid look had already settled into place, his beard and long hair obscuring his face. AJ hadn't even recognized him. He'd glanced at him, then looked away, a freaked out expression on his face.

The fifth time Nick and AJ crossed paths this way, Nick grunted a 'hey' as AJ went by, and AJ sped up.

That was the closest to conversation they'd ever come.

Nick rarely sat on the bench in fear that AJ would notice he was always there and decide to strike up a conversation. Usually he sat on the grass or behind a bush to watch as AJ jogged by the spot so that AJ wouldn't catch on that he was watching him.

Nick liked the days when AJ was humming or even singing quietly along with the music on his iPod. Those were the days when AJ was happy, and Nick felt happier the rest of the day afterwards. There were more days, though, that AJ only half heartedly ran by, his eyes stony and unfocused. Sometimes, he ran without an iPod, muttering to himself, snatches of which Nick never quite caught.

It was just good to know that his brother was still alive, still breathing.

Tossing a handful of cereal into his mouth, Nick glanced at the time piece that stood a few feet away from the bench, a fixture of the park. It was 9:15. Any second now and AJ would go by.

Nick was scared. Part of him wanted AJ to recognize him. Part of him did not. The part that did knew that the part that didn't would be just as hurt as the part that did would be if he didn't, though. Nick rolled the bag closed inside his Cap'n Crunch box and put the box down at his feet, next to his bag and rolled up blanket.

AJ came running around the corner, his iPod absent, his eyes unfocused. He was puffing, mouth moving as he talked to himself. Nick watched as he approached and saw - clearly saw - AJ's eyes wander to Nick's.

For the briefest of seconds, AJ slowed. Nick's heart slammed in his chest. But then AJ's eyes turned away... and he kept running.

Nick turned on the bench to watch as AJ's back grew smaller, fading away down the path and finally turning to the left.

He let out a shaky breath and leaped to his feet, vowing to never come back to the park... ever again.



AJ got around the corner and stopped, his heart racing - from both the run and what he'd just seen. He doubled over, his hands open-palmed on his knees, gasping for air. A ghost, AJ convinced himself, It was a fucking ghost.

He had to know it was a ghost, though.

And if it was him, he had to change things.

AJ stood up right and turned around, moving back the way he'd come at a walk. When he got to the path he'd just left, he looked back at the bench.

Nobody was there.

Just a ghost.

...Three Years Ago... When Nick was 32...

When you're in a coma for six months, the bills add up fast.

My health insurance hit it's maximum, somewhere around the fourth month. I didn't think that was physically fucking possible, but apparently all things are. The bills were thick wads of things, describing operations and treatments and medications and lab works and x-rays that I had no idea I'd ever had.

My bank account was slipping through my fingers.

No new checks came in, I wasn't singing anymore. I wasn't able to make a record or pop a tour date to get extra cash.

The fact was, I wasn't the best off financially of the four of us to begin with because I'd spent a lot of money over the years drinking and snorting and smoking.

But now...

I'd sold my couch and two mahogany hutches. I'd sold my TV and dining room table set. I'd sold out the home studio pieces.

I still wasn't gonna make the mortgage on February 10th.

On my birthday, Brian handed me an envelope. "Here," he said, tucking it into my jacket pocket as I was leaving the restaurant he and AJ had taken me to. "Leighanne and I wanted to help," he said.

I took the envelope out. He cringed. He'd obviously wanted me to leave before I looked. Inside was a check made out for one hundred thousand dollars.

I shoved it back into his hand.

"No," I said firmly, "I am not your charity case."

"Nick," he whispered, leaning close. "We both know you need help, let us help you. You can pay us back in the future when you can."

I shook my head. "No, Brian," I said.

Brian sighed and tucked the envelope back into his own pocket. "Promise me, then," he said, "That you'll come to me if you can't make the ends meet, okay? Promise."

I thought of my 74 listings on Craigs List. My stereo was on there now, and the La-Z-Boy lounge chair, among other assorted things. One of the cars, a desk, my fish tank, my drum kit...

"I'll tell you," I lied.

"Before you do stupid things?" Brian asked.

I nodded.

"Okay." Brian had sighed, "Nick, I'm sorry. I don't want you to think I think you're a 'charity case' - it's not like that. I just want to know you're okay. I worry about you all of the time so much." He smiled sadly, "You're my best friend and I love ya man."

I ruined everything for us both, I thought bitterly, How can you love me?

It was from that point forward that I began circling the drain before my final descent into the mire.

...Three Years Ago... When Nick Was 32...

Brian walked into the living room, tapping the palm of his hand with the antennae of the Littrell's home phone. Leighanne was on the couch, watching Food Network, copying a recipe into a notebook, Baylee asleep on the couch beside her, using her knees as a pillow.

"Nick's phone's been disconnected," Brian said, stepping up behind the couch.

Leighanne looked up.

Brian was now chewing on the antennae nervously.

"Why?" Leighanne asked.

Brian shrugged.

"Did you try reaching him on his cell phone?"

"That's gone, too," Brian whispered. His heart was pounding anxiously.

Leighanne frowned. "Why hasn't he asked for help?" she wondered.

"You know Nick," Brian said, frustrated. "Him and his stupid pride, he'd rather live in a freaking box than ask for 'charity'." He turned, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, his muscles all tense. "And damn it, I can't even like just go over and check on him because he's gotta be in freaking Los Angeles..."

"Maybe it's a coincidence," Leighanne said, "Maybe he had to change the number for some reason?"

"Without telling me?"

"Maybe he just hasn't called yet?"

Brian sighed, "He's in trouble, Leigh."

Leighanne thought for a moment, then took a deep breath, "Call the airport."

"Really?"

"Yeah, book a flight. You know you won't rest until you check on him. So go check on him. In the mean time, you could call and have AJ go over there and see what's up," she suggested.

Brian nodded. He leaned down and kissed her forehead and rushed out of the room without another word.

Leighanne turned back to the TV and rewound -- thank God for TiVo, Brian was going to love this recipe when she made it...



AJ parked in Nick's driveway and glared at the house. He hadn't seen Nick since his birthday, and before that, not since the day in the hospital. It was now well into March.

He got out of the car, and the first thing he noticed was how dark the house was. The outside trip light didn't go on when he walked by it. He stared up at it and frowned. He knocked on the door and waited, then knocked again.

When he still didn't get a response, he turned around and walked to the fifth bush on the left of the stoop, bent down, crawled under and found a plastic deer that was shoved up against the foundation of the house. He picked the deer up, turned it over, opened the secret door on the bottom and pulled out Nick's keys.

Breaking into Nick's house, he reached for the light switch and flipped it. Nothing happened. He flipped it several times, flickering it up and down with his fingers, and still nothing happened. "What the fuck..." he muttered.

"Nick," he called, "Nick? Are you home?"

AJ wandered a little further into the house, holding out his hands so he wouldn't bump into anything. He knew Nick had a weird fetish for putting furniture in the middle of freaking nothing, and therefore was liable to trip at any moment over like a table or a chair that had no reason to be in the dead center of the room other than that was how Nick decorated. Like his mind, his house had always been a little bit off center, a little disorganized, and a whole freaking lot of random.

But AJ's hands found nothing, made no contact with anything.

"What the crap," he muttered. He found a second light switch and tried flickering that one, in hopes that the first one had been a bad lightbulb. When that one didn't work either, he concluded the power must've been out. "That's weird," he said to himself, "There wasn't any storms. Must be a line down somewhere..."

AJ reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter that Howie had given him for his birthday the year before. He'd had it engraved To the best best friend a guy could ask for ... I'm proud of you, Skulleeroz! - Howie D. On the front side, he'd had the logo AJ had worked so hard on creating engraved on it. It was the best gift he'd ever gotten, and he treasured it five times more now that Howie was...

AJ's thought process ended short of the last word.

He flicked the lighter and the warm glow of the flame filled the room. He looked around. It was empty.

"What the..."

Moving into it, he continued looking but there was nothing there.

AJ made his way through the entire house, finding nothing anywhere, until he got to Nick's actual bedroom, and there... laying on the floor under an old comforter, a stack of books and a small assortment of trinkets by his side, was Nick, asleep on the carpet.

AJ stood there a long moment, staring at him. Nick was unshaven, his hair disheveled. A lump rose in his throat as he watched him sleeping.

Last time AJ had sat and watched Nick sleep, it had been while Nick was in a coma. He'd sat in a plastic chair beside the bed and just waited, hoping Nick would wake up. Brian and AJ had taken turns for the first week after the accident this way, waiting... AJ had been the first to give up. Brian had gone on waiting for a month before a nurse finally told him he couldn't sleep there anymore and Leighanne had begged him to spend more time at the condo they were renting because Baylee was missing him.

The last time AJ had been there, though, was the hardest because he'd been sitting there reading a book when Nick had stirred.

He'd told no one.

But Nick had stirred just a little bit and his eyes had fluttered ever so slightly and he'd rolled his head to the side and whispered, "F-fellas...?"

AJ had looked up.

"AJ?" Nick had whispered, his voice a breath because the traumatic blow to his head had damaged it - the doctor had called it a paralyzed vocal chord. He'd said Nick would only speak again after his throat had been given time to heal, and that his voice would never be the same again. "Howie?"

AJ froze.

"Where's Howie?" Nick whispered again.

"Howie's dead."

It was the only time AJ had said the words so bluntly.

Nick's eyes had fluttered again, his nostrils flaring and flexing harder than normal, the way they did when he cried, but nothing else was happening.

AJ had stood up and turned around. "You fucking killed him," he muttered, rubbing his forehead, and leaning against the cold window, "Fucking around with me, you fucking killed my best friend..." he put his palm against the window. "We fucking killed my best friend," he amended.

When he turned around, Nick had slipped away again and his face was expressionless once more.

What AJ didn't notice was the track on Nick's face, left behind by a single tear that had slid down his cheek and off the edge of his jawbone.

Now, AJ was looming over Nick's sleeping body again, once more unnoticed. He stared down at him, his stomach rolling as he thought of that day in the hospital room, and of his anger with Nick when they'd talked just after Nick had first woken up, before Christmas. He thought of the anger that had boiled in his gut during Nick's entire birthday dinner. Why are we celebrating him, AJ had wondered bitterly, If it wasn't for him, Howie would still be here.

AJ knew his emotions were wrong. Deep down, he knew it wasn't Nick's fault. But he was feeling too much not to blame somebody. And he didn't dare to blame God. Nick was the next best thing.

AJ turned and bolted down Nick's stairs through the dark, almost falling off the last one. He ran out the front door, slamming it behind him, and got into his car and drove away. He called Brian.

"Is he okay?" Brian asked, his voice panicked.

"He's fucking fine," AJ had muttered, "He's fine."

"Thank you for checking on him," Brian said, his voice carrying relief, "I'm on my way to the airport now, I figured I'd fly out and see if I can help him out. I mean obviously he needs help with the phone bills..."

"Yeah well at least your best fucking friend is alive for you to help," AJ snarled, bile rising in his throat. He hung up the phone and pulled over and got out and puked his guts out into some bush on the side of the road.

It wasn't until he got home that night and went to light a cigarette that he realized he'd lost his lighter. He curled up on the bed that night, agonized sobs wracking through him. He'd lost every part of Howie that he'd had left.

…Three Years Ago… When Nick Was 32…

The house was empty.

Brian wandered through the halls of Nick’s house, feeling like he should’ve been led by a realtor, had it not been for the fragments of posters and tack holes left on the walls. A few crumbs left by a toaster on the counter in the kitchen showed signs of life, but nothing else seemed to. He stood in the doorframe of Nick’s bedroom and stared into the emptiness. Wandering down the hall, he opened the door to the studio Nick had been so proud of, and found nothing but the glass window separating the sound booth and the lobby, and a broken stool.

He sat down at the foot of the stairs and covered his face with his hands.

“Oh Nick,” he whispered, “What’d you do?”

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket, and Brian reached for it, expecting Leighanne. It was a number he didn’t recognize. He was going to ignore it, and started to shove it back in his pocket, but something made him answer it anyway, at the last second.

“Hello?” he asked tentatively.

“Brian?”

“Nick? What’s going on? Where are you?” Brian could hear his voice rising to a level of panic.

“Brian, I’m sorry,” Nick’s hoarse voice was sad.

“Where are you, Nick? I’ll come get you.”

“I’m sorry, Brian. I don’t want to be a burden to you guys anymore.”

“Nick, I—“

“Good bye Brian.”

“Nick!”

But the line went dead.

Brian stared at the phone. He quickly called the number back, but it rang and rang and rang without any answer. He hung up and tried again, and again. After an hour, Brian gave up.

He called AJ.

“Yo?” AJ’s voice was cracked, he sounded sick.

“You said he was fine,” Brian said in an accusatory tone, “You lied to me.”

AJ paused. “He is fine, he’s breathing isn’t he?”

“I ACTUALLY DON’T KNOW THAT ANYMORE!” Brian shouted, anger rising up out of the frustration and fear. “He doesn’t want to be a burden to us? What the hell is that about? A burden? He isn’t a burden! He’s my best friend!”

AJ was silent.

“We’ve got to find him. I don’t want to lose my best friend, AJ,” Brian said desperately.

“Join the fucking club,” AJ snapped and hung up.

Brian’s stomach turned. He hadn’t meant to upset AJ. He hadn't even thought.

He stood up, staggered through the house one last time, half hoping to find Nick hiding somewhere with all his stuff, laughing at the practical joke that Brian had fallen for… but there was nothing left anywhere… except one thing.

Sitting on the mantle in the living room, face down, was a picture frame. Brian reached for it, hesitated, the picked it up and turned it over. The glass was shattered, sending spiderwebs across the photograph it contained. Smiling out from behind it was a picture of the four of them from the tour they’d done two years ago for This Is Us. They’d been at a premiere of some sort, their arms around each other. Nick’s long arms had bridged around all three of the other guys. They were all grinning into the camera, leaning close to one another. Four brothers, four best friends, four happy guys who had no idea that the world as they knew it would be shattered, like the glass of the frame, before a year had passed.

Brian opened the back of the frame and pulled the photograph out. On the back of the picture, in Nick’s messy scrawling hand writing, were the words, Backstreet Forever, 1994-Eternity.



“Come home, Brian,” Leighanne said. “Please, come home. He’ll call you when he’s ready to be found. You know he will.”

It was two weeks later. Brian had been staying in a hotel and spending days searching for Nick all over Los Angeles. He’d called all of Nick’s friends, all his ex-girlfriends, everyone he could think of that Nick might be staying with. He’d driven in circles, looking for Nick’s car, for that unmistakable face, but he was no where to be found.

“He could be dead,” Brian said quietly, picking at a thread on the hem of his t-shirt. “What if he’s dead?”

Leighanne took a deep breath. “Then there’s nothing you can do anyway, Brian. If he’s out there, the LAPD will find him, you know they will, Brian…”

Yes, Brian had even filed a missing persons report.

“What if he’s waiting for me to find him?” Brian worried, “What if he thinks I’m not looking for him?”

Leighanne’s voice was gentle. “Brian… sometimes you have to let people go, and wait for them to come back.”

Brian closed his eyes, his breathing taking every effort his body could make.

“I know this is hard, it’s hard for me, too. Nick’s like a second son to us both, I know that. But that’s exactly it, Brian. He’s not our son. He’s a grown man. Nick will come back when he’s ready. He always has.”

Nick had run off once with a girl he’d sworn he loved. They’d disappeared for over a month after Brian had told him the girl was no good for him. The entire time Nick had been missing, Brian had diligently called his cell phone, emailed his inbox, and sat on Instant Messenger. He waited and he prayed and he waited some more. When Nick had finally returned, Brian had nearly collapsed with joy. “Don’t ever do that to me again,” Brian had admonished him.

But Nick had done it again.

“Brian, Baylee and I need you here,” Leighanne said, breaking into Brian’s thoughts. “Please come home.”

“Okay,” Brian whispered, defeated. His shoulders sank. “I’ll be home by morning.”

Mally had woken up at the sound of the door slamming shut and that’s when she’d found out that Nick had left.

The next day, she went to the pier, expecting to see him there, but he wasn’t. She realized that it might’ve just been a coincidence that he’d been at the pier the day before, that maybe he didn’t frequent the place, that maybe it wasn’t a guarantee to find him there. She sat at the table where she’d been planning to sit when he’d tried to steal her bagel and wallet. She was there almost two hours, but Nick never showed.

Mally wasn't entirely certain what she'd expected. She'd only just met the guy, it wasn't like she'd known him forever. She'd helped him the best she could, offered to help further, and if he didn't want to accept that help... well, she couldn't change that. She couldn't understand why she felt so empty in the heart as she made her way home. She hadn't lost him - he wasn't hers to lose.

When she got home, though, he was sitting on her stoop.

“There you are,” she said, getting out of her car and slamming the door shut. “I went to the pier… Why did you leave last night?”

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” he explained. “I dunno why I’m here…” he paused, “I’m just as much a burden now as I was last night, I just…” He stopped talking and shrugged.

“You aren’t a burden,” she said, shaking her head. “Jesus, why would you be a burden?”

“Because I was taking up space and making messes and eating all your stuff,” he said.

“I wanted to help you,” Mally said slowly, “Because I cared. I got was really worried when you left last night…”

“Yeah.”

“No Nick, I really did,” she said. When he shook his head in disbelief, she said, “I can’t imagine what your friends must be going through. I went through a few hours of wondering where you were and I only just met you yesterday. Three years… I’d go crazy if I was your friends.”

“My friends?”

“Brian and AJ,” she said.

Nick thought of AJ, jogging by him, seeing him, but not recognizing him. “I don’t think they care.”

Mally shook her head, “I’m sure they care.”

“They really don’t.”

“Why wouldn’t they care?”

Nick stared at the ground.

“Nick, why wouldn’t they care?” she asked again, “Did you have a fight?”

Tears leaked from his eyes, tears he was desperately trying to hold back.

“Nick, why?” Mally persisted.

“Because I killed Howie,” he bellowed out, the sob that had been encaged in his lungs bursting from him like a hurricane force gale.

Mally stared at him in disbelief.

“I thought Howie died in the accident?” she asked.

“He did,” Nick said, trying to regain his composure, taking deep, thick, throaty breaths. He could feel his vocal chord straining, the air passages locking up in his throat. He’d struggled with taking deep breaths or breathing when he was emotional ever since... “Howie died in an accident that I was at fault for, I was to blame, I killed Howie.”

Mally moved swiftly to him, unsure what was happening to his voice, but the wheezing/hoarse sound coming out of the back of his throat couldn’t be good. She squatted before him and rubbed his knees and thighs. “Hey, shhh,” she whispered, looking up into his face. “Shhh. You didn’t kill Howie.”

“AJ believes I did,” he answered, rubbing his throat.

Mally shook her head, “Then AJ doesn’t understand the meaning of the word accident,” she said, “Don’t listen to him.”

“He couldn’t even look at me,” Nick sobbed, thinking of the way AJ had slowed... had almost stopped... then kept going. He did recognize me, Nick thought, He just didn't stop. His cries broke into coughs as the air constricted inside his throat.

“What about Brian? I’m sure Brian doesn’t blame you.”

Brian, Nick thought, his heart shattering. He wanted so badly to see Brian, to hear Brian’s reassurance, to know everything would be okay because Brian, in his magical Brian way, would make it so.

“I miss Brian so fuckin’ bad,” Nick said.

Mally's hands clasped Nick's knees, "So why don't you go see him?" she asked in a pleading voice.

Nick closed his eyes, the tears were hot and wet on his cheeks. "Because," he said, "I'm afraid."

"Afraid?" Mally asked.

"When I left, I didn't really say good bye well, I didn't tell him. I wasn't planning on saying anything at all. I just left. I called him, and he probably thinks I'm dead..." Nick's voice couldn't rise any higher than a broken whisper as his vocal chords struggled to operate at all. He looked at her and ran his hand across his throat, trying to calm down to allow the chords to work right. "I'm afraid he'll hate me for what I've done, for what I've put him through. Or worse..."

Mally frowned, "Nick..."

He looked up, eyes blood shot. "I'm afraid he forgot me."

"You need to go to him, Nick," she said.

Brian couldn't believe Baylee was going to be thirteen in just a couple weeks.

He was watching Baylee get ready for his first boy-girl Halloween party at his friend Stephen's house. Baylee was dressing up as a pro soccer player for the Manchester United. He was in the process of trying to get his hair to sit the way he wanted it to, smothering it with gel. Brian wasn't supposed to be watching, but it was somewhat easy to lean back in the La-Z-Boy and have a clear shot into the open bathroom door. Baylee was frowning.

Brian wondered when it had happened. When had Baylee become a little grown up? It seemed like just yesterday that he'd been playing Curious George tapes and dancing to The Wiggles. It seemed like that morning when Brian had been frantically dealing with Baylee's pronouncement of undying love for Miley Cyrus - just as Miley decided to start showing more skin in all her music videos. And now... Now Baylee was crushing on some girl from school whose name was Sasha, who was in the grade above him, and he was excited to be on the soccer team at school because next year the coach said he could probably play on his high school team.

Leighanne lowered herself onto Brian's lap and snuggled against him, looking at their son. "He's grown up so fast," she murmured.

"Yeah he has," Brian answered.

"Do you ever regret that we didn't have another?" she asked.

Brian stared at his grown up boy, and imagined what it would be like in a couple years, when they'd sent Baylee off to college and the house was empty, and they were alone all the time.

"Yeah," he said. He paused, "Sometimes."

Leighanne rubbed his arms.

The phone rang and she pecked Brian's cheek and got up, heading for the phone to answer it. Leighanne had her back to Brian, removing her earring as she picked up the receiver. "Hello?" After a pause as the caller answered, she turned around, her eyes wide. "Oh my goodness, AJ, it's good to hear from you again," she said, staring at Brian, her face paling.

Brian leaped out of the chair. AJ hadn't called since a couple months after Nick had disappeared. It'd been at least two and a half years. Brian was hovering, inches from Leighanne. She turned her head and tilted the phone so they could both listen at the ear piece.

"I was calling to tell Brian something," AJ said. He sounded older. Brian's heart was pounding so hard. He'd been praying for the day that AJ would call, begging God to let him have at least one of his brothers. Leighanne looked up at Brian's eyes. "It's kind of important," AJ said.

"Okay," Leighanne said, "Here he is, AJ."

"Thanks," he said.

Leighanne relinquished the phone to Brian, covering the mouthpiece with her hand for a moment. "I'll bring Baylee to the party," she said quietly, "You talk to AJ."

"But you don't have a costume," Brian whispered. He'd been supposed to be chaperoning.

"I'll wear yours," she answered.

"Soccer coach?" Brian asked.

Leighanne shrugged. "How hard is it to blow a whistle?" She kissed his cheek. "Good luck." She ducked out of the living room, closing the door behind her.

Brian took a deep, shaking breath, then put the phone to his ear. "Hallo?" he said, as naturally as he could.

"Brian," AJ said. It was strange hearing AJ say Brian instead of B-Rok or B, but it was AJ's deep voice.

"AJ," Brian said, "Oh sweet Lord, it's wonderful to hear your voice. I've missed you, man, so much."

AJ was quiet a second. "I'm sorry I haven't called," he said finally, "I've been trying to make it work with Kara," he said, referencing his fiance, "We've been hitting a rough patch..." AJ paused, "That's not why I called though."

Brian lowered into a chair beside the phone table. "What's up, my friend?" he asked.

AJ took a deep breath. "Brian, I had a freaky thing happen today, and I'm not sure what to make of it, and I figured that of anyone in the world, you're the only one that's going to hear this and not judge me."

"Of course not," Brian said. "I'd never judge you, 'Jay, you know that."

"I was jogging this morning," he said, "And I... I saw..." AJ's voice was hesitant.

"What?" Brian asked, "What'd you see?"

"Who," AJ corrected. He paused. "I saw Nick."

Brian shifted in his seat, certain he'd heard AJ wrong. "You saw... what?"

"I saw Nick."

Brian closed his eyes. "AJ, I thought we agreed Nick was..." he paused, "Gone."

"I know," AJ said, "I know, that's why I think I'm fucking insane. But I swear to God, I saw him. I was running through this park, and he was sitting on a park bench, and he was staring at me, and our eyes met. He had facial hair, like more than I've ever seen on him before, and his hair - it looked like shit, like a kid cut it or something. He was dressed in these crappy, raggy clothes, but... Brian, I swear to God, it was fucking Nick."

Brian swallowed. Goose pimples were coating his arms like chicken skin. "What'd you do?" he asked.

"I... I kept running, because... well, at first I didn't believe it. Then I got around the corner and I almost collapsed, I couldn't breathe, and my head was like what the fuck, you know? So then I'm trying to catch my breath, and I realize I need to go back because I need to know it was him, and if it is him I needed to tell him I'm sorry for everything and fix it all, you know? So I go back and --"

"Oh Jesus," Brian murmured.

"-- and there wasn't anybody on the bench," AJ concluded. He paused. "At first, I convinced myself it was a ghost, I'll be honest... But Brian... I don't know."

Brian's palms were soaking and he wiped them on the knees of his jeans. "Wow," he whispered.

"Right?" AJ said.

Brian bent forward and rubbed the back of his head with his hand, rubbing the place where his neck and skull met, trying to stroke the stress away. "After all this time... I wonder where he's been... What he's been doing..."

AJ's voice was quiet, hesitant, "So you think it... it was him?" AJ asked, "Not... a ghost.. or a vision or whatever?"

"You know I never wanted to believe he was dead," Brian answered.

"I know," AJ said. "But if it's him... why hasn't he - he -"

"Come back?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know," Brian said. "I don't know."

Nick looked up at Mally. "Go to him?"

"Yes," she said.

His eyes wandered away from her, to the lawn, to the road beyond it. A car went by slowly. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked loudly. They were normal sounds, normal everyday things, but they seemed other worldly in contrast to the proportion of the things going through Nick's head.

"You need them, Nick," Mally said.

"But they don't need me," he whispered, "I've done enough."

Mally's hands were still resting on his thighs. It wasn't sexual, it was just comforting, the way she was touching him, being there, looking up at him. She reached one up and rested it on his cheek. "I don't know everything, I only know what you told me last night," she said, "But from what I know, and what I feel about the people I love, I can tell you that they do need you."

Nick's eyes still refused to connect with hers.

"Nick," Mally whispered. "Look at me."

He looked. His eyes were heartbreakingly sad, crisp blue and desperate, not like the glowing excitement those same eyes had always carried back in the day. Mally ran her fingers along his stubble.

"You need each other," she whispered, "If you're ever going to move on."

Nick's heart felt like it was... stirring. The feeling reminded him of the cartoon How the Grinch Stole Christmas when the Grinch's two-sizes-too-small grows three sizes. He stared into Mally's eyes, biting his lower lip.

"There's never been a better time to do it ," she said, "You look good..."

Nick's eyes still didn't move from hers.

"And I can see in your eyes that you want to see them..."

Nick's voice was raspy and soft, "Mally... why did you help me?"

She was surprised by the question, it seemed out of left-field. "Why wouldn't I help you?" she asked.

He took a deep breath. "When did you figure out who I was?"

"When you admitted it in the kitchen last night."

"When did you suspect?"

"When you came out of the bathroom."

Nick took a deep breath, "So you helped me because I needed help."

"Yes."

He leaned closer, "You helped me when no one else would... when most people were abusing me... throwing rocks at my head, not able to look at me..."

Mally whispered, "I couldn't leave someone hurting like that."

Nick's hand was shaking. He raised his hand up and slipped it in her hair on the back of her head, tilting his head slightly to one side, leaning closer to her. She leaned forward, too, allowing him to pull her to him, her palm still pressed against the stubble of his cheek. The air passed between them and she closed her eyes as their mouths met, his lips soft and moist against hers. The flavor of his breath moving into her mouth and their lips moving against each other...

It felt so... right.

Nick's other hand came around her onto her back, and she shuffled on her knees closer to him until she was kneeling between his legs, looking straight up and him looking straight down, still locked in their kiss.

How has he only been in my life for 28 hours? Mally wondered, How is this new, how is this something that I've lived without?

How did she care about me when I was nothing to care about? Nick wondered, When I couldn't even take the time to care about myself?

When Nick drew back, after long moments of the kiss, their faces hovering just centimeters from each other, his voice was husky - whether from his condition or from the passion of the moment - "Thank you."

She whispered, "Nick, this world is really painful. It's going to tear at you and try to push you down. Bad things are going to happen to you, and you're going to feel the weight of it on your shoulders. But there are still people out there who will love you, who will care about you, who will take you in when you need to be rescued. Those people are your friends... You need each other."

Nick nodded. "Yeah."

"Go to them, Nick. Go to them and make it right," she whispered. "And then, come back to me."

I could have called Brian to tell him what I wanted to say, but I wanted to see him. And I needed time to clear my head and to shed the past, to leave the fall and the past three years behind me. So, at 4:00 in the afternoon, I started walking.

Every step I took felt as though I were leaving a little piece of it behind me. Each footprint that I left in the dirt on the road felt like it was keeping some of the guilt and shame, some of the pain and humiliation, like I was being stripped of the identity that I'd forged for myself.

Just as shearing the hair had unlocked a part of me, every mile I covered unearthed another layer of my heart that I'd stowed away somewhere deep within. I was rediscovering a man inside me that believed in hope, that believed in love, that believed in life... that believed life was worth living.

Nick moved with a determination in each step. He tired, but he couldn't slow because he was moving towards the place he belonged, not away from it. He didn't belong alone, on the streets, in cardboard boxes and alley ways. He didn't belong in the life of a hopeless man. Nick had never belonged there.

It was the identity that he'd fought against all his life.

He thought about Brian and AJ... and about Howie... and even Kevin, whose role may have been diminished, but never fully extinguished. He thought about the music, the fans, and the memories they'd all shared - both good and bad.

It was agonizing work, thinking about all the things he'd had and lost, but it was something that he'd never done. He'd never processed that pain, and he'd carried it with him, allowing it to feed upon him and force him into believing the lie that because he'd lost what he'd had, he could never have anything else.

On an overpass in Arizona a week after leaving, Nick stood, looking down at the cars on the freeway rushing past, like a river under a bridge. He stared down at them, dizzied by their speed. Nick put his hand on the rail and leaned over a little so he could watch as they came out from under the concrete pass. He felt like they were rushing out from under his feet, like he was flying over them somehow.

There was a time he'd thought about jumping from an overpass. What an unpoetic way to die, he reprimanded himself now, imagining it.

He'd walked away from the pay phone from which he'd called Brian that last time, and he'd found himself paused, overlooking the traffic of a Los Angeles rush hour.

He'd climbed the rail, balancing on the second rung, his knees braced against the top rung, his arms spread out, like Christ on an invisible cross, looking down at the rushing cars, telling himself there would be a splash because it wasn't concrete and metal he was leaping into - it was a river, a cool, rushing river.

He'd waited for the courage to let go of the grip his legs had on the rail, for his trunk to lean forward, for his mind to rush with the air that whipped around him as he dropped, skydiving without a parachute...

Nick stepped off the railing, shaking, tears streaking his face, and laid down on the sidewalk, flat so that his belly pressed against the cement. "Oh my God," he whispered, brutally aware of what he'd almost done. "Oh my God."

He blinked down at the traffic, and let go of the memory, let go of the anguish he'd felt.

Nick walked on, leaving the overpass behind, leaving that part of him that had wanted to die on the sidewalk with his footsteps.

Life, Nick realized, Isn't about the stuff we lose, but about the things that we hold onto, about the things that no matter what we do we can never lose, the things that we never let go of... and, most importantly in his situation, the things that would never let go of him.



Brian made a habit of checking his email from his fans at least once a day. He opened it on November 3rd, expecting nothing more than the usual plethora of fan mail. He scrolled along, looking at subject lines, trying to choose by those which of the letters would be most intriguing to go first. He tried to reply to them all, but sometimes there just wasn't time.

About halfway down, a subject line caught his eyes, making his breath catch in his throat.

Nick is on his way.

He stared at it, squinted at it; it didn't go away.

What could this be? he wondered, not daring to let his hopes rise even a tiny bit. He moved his mouse over it, clicked it, and waited as the email loaded, taking entirely too long.

Brian, or whoever reads these letters, if anyone,

My name is Mally Poulin and I met Nick. Okay this is crazy. I don't know why I'm writing, other than I wanted to prepare you. Nick left from LA last week and he's on his way to see you.

You'll probably never see this, but in case you do... he's on his way.

Brian stared at the words.

Joke! JOKE! his head screamed as his heart started fluttering in excitement. He jumped up so fast the desk chair fell over on the carpet. He ran to the door. "LEIGHANNE!" he screamed down the stairs, "LEIGHANNE!!!"

The panic in his voice made her run to the stairs. She was breathless by the time she got there, and she clung to the rail, gasping for air, staring up the steps at him. His eyes were wide, his face flushed. "What?" she panted, "What is it?"

Brian's lips moved, but he couldn't seem to get words to come to his mouth. "Nick," he gasped at last, "Nick, he's coming. He's coming. Nick's coming. Oh Jesus." He dropped to his knees, giddy.

Leighanne shot up the stairs, "Brian!" she yelled, "Honey... Honey, calm down, what happened?" He stared up at Leighanne, a grin in his eyes. "Brian..."

"Nick is coming."

Leighanne blinked at him in confusion, "Details, sweetie," she pleaded.

"I got an email," he hissed, "I don't know. I shouldn't be this excited. It's not real. How can it be real?"

"You're scaring me here, husband," she whispered.

Brian pointed at the computer screen, glowing in their bedroom behind him. "Go look, go look," he pleaded, "Go look at it, go see. He's coming."

"Let's get you up first," she said, "You show me."

She got up and helped Brian to his feet, pulling him up by his arm. Leighanne was relieved to see he had no problem doing so. The way he'd yelled, the breathlessness... She'd been afraid he was having a heart attack or something. He led the way into the bedroom, practically running, pulling her along behind him, and ushered her into the uprighted chair, gesturing at the screen.

Leighanne's eyes scanned the email.

"What?" she whispered. She looked up at Brian then back at the email.

"I know, right?" Brian leaned in.

"What a cruel joke," Leighanne breathed in disbelief.

Brian had been just about to carry on in excitement, but Leighanne's words made him stop. Again, his mouth flopped like a fish out of water. She closed her eyes. He'd believed it.

"Brian... honey..." she turned to him.

Brian shook his head, "No. No, you're right."

"It's just... not very... realistic, Brian," she said slowly.

"You're right." He nodded, "Yeah." Brian sank down, back against the bed. His breath was shaking. "Not realistic." He rubbed a hand through his hair to the back of his neck.

"What are you and your mom doing for Thanksgiving, AJ?" Brian asked two days later, the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. He was peeling carrots while Leighanne checked on a roast beef in the oven.

AJ's pause was like a shrug. "I'll have to check with my mum but I don't got plans," he answered.

"Do you wanna come here?" Brian asked, "Leighanne got this huge turkey expecting everyone in the US Army and Navy to swing by and my ma.. Well, you know my ma's mashed potato mountains..." he laughed.

"That'd be good," AJ answered, his voice thick, glad to have some place to go for Thanksgiving. He'd missed having huge family Thanksgiving dinners that had included the faces of the Backstreet cast - usually, an addition of his mom and one or two of Nick's siblings, and Howie's entire family, that seemed to include the entire island of Puerto Rico from sheer size alone. "Sort of will be like old times, huh?" AJ said softly.

Brian hesitated, remembering the email he'd received... He'd Googled the distance between Los Angeles and Atlanta and done the math. It would take approximately 31 days to walk that distance. That meant, if Nick had left in the week before November 3rd, he could be here in time for Thanksgiving.

"Do you, by any chance, know, uh, Mally Poulin?" Brian asked.

"No... why? Is she comin' to Thanksgiving, too?" AJ asked stupidly.

Brian blinked at the phone. "No," he said, momentarily thrown off guard, "No, she's not."

"Okay, who is she again?" AJ asked.

"She's this woman who emailed me the other day and, uh.... Well, she claims she's met Nick."

AJ was dead silent.

"She said he's--" Brian hesitated. "She just said he's walking... here."

"Walking there? To your house?"

"That's what the email said. But she didn't put any contact information and I tried replying to her, but I haven't heard anything back yet, and --" Brian sighed, "I don't know, Leighanne says it's a joke. She got mad."

"At you?"

"No, about the joke. She thinks its a fan fooling around..."

AJ mused. "Well, well then." He thought for a moment. "Mary Poulin, huh?"

"Mally Poulin," Brian said, "Like Ally with an M."

"Fuckin' weird name," AJ muttered. "Did you try looking her up to see if there's a phone number?"

Brian sighed, "Yeah, she's either unlisted or nonexistant."

"Nice."

"Yeah, that's what made Leighanne start getting mad about it... She's all set to post a notice on my website about it."

"Leighanne is such a lioness, seriously dude, she'd rip out someone's throat for hurting you, I swear it," AJ smiled sadly. "That's sweet though."

Brian sighed. He knew AJ was thinking of Rochelle. He'd never gotten over Rochelle. Brian pushed the pile of carrots that he'd finished peeling and slicing into little pennies aside and started cutting up potatoes that Leighanne was washing and peeling over the sink.

"So, anyways..." Brian said after an awkward pause where they'd both thought about how much AJ missed Rochelle, "Thanksgiving. You can stay over if you want, night before and night after, that's up to you."

"That'd be awesome," AJ said. The house around him suddenly felt too huge, too empty. He got up and started walking around at random. "Hey, how's Baylee?"

"Excited to turn thirteen."

"Hey that's right. You doing a party for him?"

"Well his birthday actually falls on Thanksgiving this day, and plus he says doesn't want one," Brian said and AJ could almost hear the raised eyebrow in his voice. "Instead, he requested that we spend all the money on his present because he wants us to buy him his own mini recording studio thing for his room so he can tape 'his beats'," Brian laughed.

AJ laughed, too. "Are you?"

"Of course," Brian laughed, "He's asking to grow up to be like Daddy, of course I am."

AJ ran his hand across the top of his mahogany desk in his office, which he never used. He looked around. The walls were covered with BSB stuff. Pictures, awards, all kinds of stuff. The key to the city of Orlando hung over a window. "Is Baylee still into soccer?" he asked.

"Yeah, he might be playing for his high school team next year, the coach says he's great at it and he's the star player this year." Brian smiled, "I'm really proud of him."

"Maybe I could take him to a game sometime," AJ suggested.

"I'm sure he'd love some face time with uncle AJ," Brian answered, "You're probably way cooler than I am anyways," he laughed.

AJ smirked, "I don't know about that."

Brian sighed and picked up the cutting board with all the veggies and dropped them into a giant pot, which Leighanne was pouring the water into. She turned the stove on and Brian sat down at the kitchen table while Leighanne set to work throwing the potato skins into a bag to put into the fridge to cook later.

"So I gotta get going," Brian said finally, "I'm helping Leighanne with dinner... But I'll see you the day before Thanksgiving... Give us a call and let us know when your flight will be in and we'll pick you up at the airport."

"Okay," AJ said.

"Miss ya man, can't wait to see you," Brian smiled.

"Miss ya too, B-Rok," AJ said.

Brian closed his eyes, his heart feeling happy, finally. "Aw Aje," he said, feeling his throat start to swell up. "See you Thanksgiving."

"See ya."

Nick was sitting on a curb, eating some food he'd snatched out of a McDonald's garbage bins. Between all the bins in the lot he'd found what probably amounted to two sandwhiches and a large fry. He'd gone inside and filled his milk jug with water, and now was sitting on the corner of the street, watching cars go by while he ate his food.

His hair was growing out again, but not as badly as last time. He'd washed it with handsoap in the Wal-Mart bathroom the day before, so it didn't get as dirty as it was before. He imagined being able to shave and shower again at Brian's. As brilliant as that opportunity sounded, he was looking forward to seeing Brian himself way more than he was Brian's shower.

He only wished he could see AJ, too. He'd go to see AJ when he got back to LA, he vowed.

Nick had been having good luck so far during the walk. He'd only hit heavy rain once, and he'd managed to find a garbage bag that wasn't too dirty yet in an outdoor trash bin that he converted into a make-shift rain coat. His blanket had gotten wrecked in the downpour, though, and he ended up chucking it into the receptacle before moving on. There was one night where the temperature dipped kind of low, but he found a little camp ground and lit a fire in a barbeque pit with AJ's lighter, and laid close enough to it that it had warmed him. And one day he'd spotted a Salvation Army store and stepped inside to get out of a small rain shower that was falling, and the guy running the store had seen him and given him three shirts and two pairs of pants, plus a new pair of shoes, and fifty dollars. "The point of the store is to help others, son," he'd said, when Nick had thanked him.

He'd saved one of the shirts and one of the pants for the day when he arrived at Brian's so that he could look as good as he possibly could the first time they saw each other again.

He prayed Brian still lived at the same address. But he was more afraid that Brian wouldn't forgive him, assuming he even remembered him. He imagined horrible scenarios, scenarios where he rang Brian's door bell and Brian slammed the door in his face or started screaming at him to get off the property. He imagined a blank stare and his mouth forming the words "who are you again?"

The collected pieces of McDonald's food was filling, but not satisfying. He crumpled up the papers and threw them all away and stepped inside to refill his bottle again. He grabbed a couple handfuls of the packets of ketchup on the way out, stuffing them in his pockets, figuring later he'd try mixing it with water and making makeshift tomato soup.

The bottom of his feet were calloused by this point, he was certain. He'd gotten blisters early on and they'd broken as he had ignored them and continued walking on them. By now, he had a feeling he could've walked over a bed of tacks without feeling them at all. He took very few breaks, and those that he took were short, sitting on a median strip with a sign asking for help to get some money for a cup of coffee, or leaning against the guard rails along the side of the road. He'd only stopped for a long period of time once, and that was at a Panera Bread restaurant after the Salvation Army guy had given him the fifty dollars. He'd gotten a bowl of chicken soup and a roast beef sandwich and he'd eaten every bite slowly, practically in heaven, sitting in a big comfy leather chair by a fake fireplace, reading a news paper and feeling content. He'd stayed there probably three hours, just getting warm.

He'd been walking for twenty-eight days now. It was November 23rd. The air was starting to cool and the days were short, but he was determined to cross the Georgia state line before night fall, so he kept up a brisk pace, thinking of nothing but making it to Brian's house soon.

The entire time he'd been walking, as he neared the Georgia state line, he was thinking about the words he'd say when he first saw Brian. What words could he say? He'd ruined their lives, he'd disappeared, disappointed Brian, hurt him, scarred him, abandoned him... He'd been the worst best friend there ever was, and now he was showing up unannounced. He was going to be a burden, he was going to be another mouth to feed, another problem. He wasn't even sure Brian would want to see him.

I know I'm not worthy to be your friend anymore, he recited in his mind, I know its never going to be the same between us, and I don't even have to come inside the house. I understand if you don't remember me or don't want to look at me... but I just had to see you, had to hear your voice, had to try to ask you to please, please forgive me for the past...

AJ called Rochelle the day before he was supposed to go to Brian's house. He wasn't sure what made him do it, or what gave him the balls to do it, for that matter.

He was sitting in his office, the one that he never sat in, and he found a picture of them on the desk that he'd missed when he de-Rochelle-ized the house after the break up three and a half years before. The picture was a classic one, it was from 2010, and it was of Rochelle sitting on his lap, her arms backward, wrapped around his neck, smiling, her with her trademark bright-red lips, and big doe eyes. He'd been smiling, too. It was before they'd gotten married, and he just stared at it forever.

Then he'd put it down, picked up the phone, and, from memory, dialed her cell phone number.

"Hello?"

Her voice alone was enough. He contemplated hanging up.

"Hello?"

He paused. Then whispered, "Rochelle?"

"Monkee?" she asked, excitement creeping into her voice.

AJ took a deep breath, "Hey..."

"It is you," she gasped.

"I'm sorry," he said, "For everything."

"I've missed you so much, oh my God, like incredible, I thought you'd never call me!" Rochelle gushed. "I've waited three years for you, Alexander James."

"You- you missed me?"

Rochelle's voice was pained, "Of course I missed you! AJ, I never wanted you to leave to begin with. You've never understood, I love you," she said, "Just like you are."

"But I was immature, and stupid," AJ said, talking about the first few months of their marriage, when he'd found himself trying to act more like a husband, when they'd started fighting because he was changing. "And I'm scarred," he said, referring to when he'd finally left, saying that she deserved better... when he'd felt like they were Beauty and the Beast, and at any moment their clocks and candle sticks would break into song.

"I don't care," Rochelle said. "I don't care what your face looks like! I don't even care if you have a face." She paused, "Well if you didn't have a face at all that would suck because I couldn't kiss you, but I'd still love you even if you didn't have a face."

AJ's heart was constricted in his chest. Her words, quirky though they were, were everything he wanted and needed to hear. "I'm sorry I left you," he said, "I'm sorry I didn't believe you, didn't trust you. I felt so guilty because I couldn't be... I couldn't be like Brian is to Leighanne, I couldn't be a stronghold, a manly man, I couldn't be grown up or whatever..."

"If I wanted to marry Brian I would have been going out with Brian," Rochelle said, "Well, no, because he's got Leighanne but--"

"Can I take you to dinner tonight?" AJ interrupted her.

Rochelle smiled, "Yes. But only if you promise me one thing?"

"Yeah?"

"You're going to take advantage of me at the end of the night."

AJ laughed, "I promise."

"Then yeah, I could totally eat tonight," Rochelle said with a giggle in her voice.

"I missed you bad, Monkee," AJ sighed contentedly into the phone, "I missed you bad."

"My plane's gonna be landing around ten-thirty," AJ said, "But you don't have to pick me up."

"Why not?" Brian asked, confused.

It was November 25th and AJ was calling from the flight. It was eight in the morning, and Leighanne was in the kitchen trying to find their best plates to keep aside for dinner the next day. She'd sent Brian into the basement to find the extra leaf for their table to extend it. Brian was poking through an assortment of crap that they'd stored away - skis they used once, old boxes of stuff they probably didn't even need anymore, a cot, several old dog crates, Baylee's crib...

"Because... well, I hope it's okay, I didn't even think. I probably should've called first..." AJ was talking quickly, speaking over the ends of his own sentences.

"About what?" Brian asked. He moved an old bedframe and a ton of dust flew up his nose. He coughed.

"You okay, Rok?"

"Yeah, sorry. Dust. Looking for the table leaf thingy," Brian explained. "You were saying?"

"Rochelle and I are back together."

Brian dropped the grip he had on the bedframe and it crashed back down on top of the other piece. He jumped back just before they fell and landed on his feet, kicking dust up everywhere. He covered his mouth and ducked back to the stairs to escape the dust storm he'd created. Mentally, he jotted down a note to clean the crap out of the basement at some point. Then, the words AJ said fully sank in.

"You're back together?!" he cried, excitement in his voice, "How did.. how.. when??"

"Yesterday, last night, now..." AJ answered, his voice climbing.

"How!" Brian asked again.

AJ laughed, "I found this picture of us... the one of her on my lap..."

"Your favorite," Brian said, nodding although AJ couldn't see him.

"Yeah," AJ said. "So I called her, and I apologized, and we went out to dinner last night and..." Brian could hear the smirk in AJ's voice, "She spent the night, and we're getting back together. We're going to renew our vows... veto the divorce..."

"That's awesome, Aje," Brian said, "I'm so happy for you."

Behind him, the basement door opened, "Dad, mom wants to know if you found the table thing yet?" Baylee called.

"No, not yet Bay," Brian called up the stairs.

"NOT YET MOM!!!!" Baylee yelled, still standing in the door. He looked down at Brian at the bottom of the steps, "You're probably not going to find it if you just sit on the steps on the phone, though, dad, just so you know..." Baylee floated away from the door.

"There was dust!" Brian called after him, rolling his eyes. He turned back to the task at hand, groaning as he stood up. "Sorry," he said to AJ. "I'm trying to find the table leaf thing and the basement's a freaking disaster, I have no idea where it is, and apparently its absolutely imperative we have it..." He moved to pick up the bed frames and stand them upright.

"No prob Bob," AJ said, cheerfully. Brian smiled, he hadn't heard AJ's voice cheerful since he'd broken up with Rochelle. That was a long time to be sad in AJ world. In any world, actually, but especially in AJ world.

Once upon a time in AJ world, sad usually didn't last more than twenty minutes.

Shifting the bedframes, Brian spotted the leaf and stretched, reaching for it. "I'm glad - to hear ... you sounding so happy," he said as he stretched. He pulled it out and dragged it to the stairs, looking up them.

"I really am." AJ's voice was warm and sincere. Brian could tell he must've been looking into Rochelle's eyes as he spoke the words. They were so gonna make out the second AJ got off the phone, Brian just knew it. He pitied whoever was sharing a row with them on the plane.

Brian's basement stares looked like a daunting mountain. "Well, AJ," he said, "Have a safe rest of your flight... and we'll see you here, when, about noon probably?"

"Yup," AJ agreed shortly.

"See ya then, then," Brian said, smirking.

"See ya 'Rok..." AJ hung up.

Brian smiled to himself thinking of AJ being happy again. Rochelle was a gift of God's to AJ, Brian knew. She alone would be able to complete him, and fill the void that had been left in his heart by Howie's death... just as Leighanne had been the only one to fill the void left by Nick's absence.

But there was still a void.

There always would be.

Just as there always would be in AJ for Howie.

Brian looked at the table leaf. "BAYLEE!" he yelled.

It took a few seconds, but Baylee finally came to the door. "What?" he asked.

"Help me get this thing up the stairs, will you?" Brian asked, gesturing to the leaf.

Baylee groaned, "Daa-aaad," he whined, "I was in the middle of something."

"Oh, okay. Well, we'll just return those presents we got, because we don't need to be interrupting you while you're in the middle of something to do something as stupid as opening presents..." Brian said.

Baylee thundered down the stairs.

"That's more like it," Brian said, smirking.

Atlanta was buzzing with activity.

Nick walked through the streets of Atlanta, refreshed after having spent the night just a few miles outside of the city. His eyes had opened the second the sun rose, though, realizing that today, today would be the day. He'd been walking for over a month, and he was finally, finally here.

He stopped at a gas station that he knew Brian used frequently to change in their bathroom. He used the last of his money to buy a small bouquet of flowers for Leighanne, and then, carrying the flowers and his bag of belongings, he started off on the final stretch towards Brian's house in the suburbia of Atlanta.

Brian lived in a little house that nobody would've expected to be his. It was a steel blue place, with black shutters and a long driveway.

Nick stood on the sidewalk by the mouth of the driveway, his view of the house obscured by trees and bushes that had been planted years and years ago for privacy. He took a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare himself, going over his speech again in his mind.

I know I'm not worthy to be your friend anymore, he recited, I know its never going to be the same between us, and I don't even have to come inside the house. I understand if you don't remember me or don't want to look at me... but I just had to see you, had to hear your voice, had to try to ask you to please, please forgive me for the past...



Brian was standing on the porch with Leighanne. AJ and Rochelle were due any second. Leighanne was fixing the collar of Brian's polo shirt. Brian was staring at the door of their house. "We really should paint this Spring," Brian commented. The door was starting to peel.

"I like our house," Leighanne said, "Peeling paint and all. It's home."

"Yeah it is, but I'm just thinking before it starts getting really bad that maybe we should --" Brian cut himself off when Leighanne's mouth dropped open and her hands lowered from his collar slowly. "What?" he asked, "What's the matter? I'm sorry, honey, I was just thinking maybe we could neaten-"

"Brian," Leighanne whispered, and she lifted a shaking hand, pointing down the driveway.

Brian turned around.

The man walking up the driveway was broken. He was a mess. He was hairy and dirty and hunched over. His face was aiming to the ground, his mouth forming words, mumbling to himself. He looked nothing at all like Brian remembered. But there was no mistaking the sloping walk, the way his hips moved, the bend of his knees, the slump of the shoulders. There was no mistaking the curve of the neck, the long arms, the lengthy upper body.

Brian's heart was pounding so hard, his breath caught in his throat.

He took a tiny step toward the edge of the porch, all his muscles tense.

"Nick," he whispered.

As though he'd heard Brian, Nick looked up and stopped, only a quarter of the way up the driveway. The span of grass loomed between them, like an ocean of green, separating them.

Brian moved down a step.

"Brian," Nick said.

The air seemed to stand still; time did, too. Brian stared across the grass at his best friend - a sight he'd been waiting three years to see. Nick swallowed, afraid.

And suddenly, Brian broke into a run.

Brian ran as fast as his feet would carry him, his arms outstretched, his heart ready to burst, mind reeling with disbelief that this moment had come - that Nick had finally, after all this time, returned. The past didn't matter, none of it mattered, nothing mattered at all except that Nick was here, that Nick was alive.

Brian ran into Nick at full velocity, flinging his arms around him and squeezing him tight to his chest, tears falling down his face as he pulled Nick as close to him as possible, afraid that if he let go he'd disappear and never be seen again, like a bubble popping. Brian shook, rocking them slightly, his arms clutching his friend.

Nick's voice shook as he tried to get the words out that he'd been practicing for days. "I'm not worthy of being your friend," he said, struggling to speak. He found he couldn't get them all out, and finally he squeaked, "Please forgive me..."

"There's nothing to forgive," Brian whispered back, "I'm just so happy you're here..."

Brian didn't let up even a little from hugging Nick. Even when the yellow cab pulled into the driveway, the engine humming.

AJ opened the back passenger door of the cab and climbed out. The first thing he saw was Leighanne standing on the porch, her hands cupping her mouth and nose, her eyes glistening with tears. He followed her gaze as Rochelle, too, got out of the car.

Rochelle saw them immediately. "Oh my God," she whispered, "Is that..."

AJ ran around the back of the cab. "NICK!" he screamed, "NICK!!" Brian and Nick both looked up, their embrace still not broken. AJ rushed into it. They both extended an arm around him and he flung his around each of their backs. The three of them stood in a huddled cluster, clutching one another.

"Oh Jesus, Nick," AJ sobbed, "Oh Jesus."

"I'm sorry, AJ," Nick said, crying, "I'm sorry for everything..." his voice broke in the middle of the sentence, his vocal chords catching in his throat.

"No man, no, don't be sorry," AJ pleaded, "Nick I should be sorry, you didn't do anything wrong and all this time I've blamed you and you did nothing wrong."

"Oh you guys," Brian muttered, blurry eyed, "You guys, I'm so glad you guys are here."

AJ sniffled, "I guess it really is a Thanksgiving like old times, huh?"

Rochelle looked at Leighanne, tears in her eyes, too, and Leighanne slowly made her way to Rochelle and hugged her... they watched while the three boys stood together on the lawn, reunited, and refusing to let go of one another.

Brian's dining room table felt as comfortable that day as it had five years ago, when we'd done this same thing. Brian was standing up, a champagne glass filled with sparkling cider in his hand, the turkey in front of him, Leighanne to one side and Baylee on the other. Baylee was turned, staring up at him, a birthday party hat sat crooked on his head. Leighanne was holding up her flute of cider, too, her eyes sparkling. Rochelle and AJ were clutching each other's hands. Leighanne's sister and parents were clustered together, and I was sitting beside Baylee.

The table was covered with food. Cranberry sauce, stuffing, potatoes, carrots, green bean casserole. I hadn't seen so much food in four years. My mouth was watering, my stomach growling.

"Okay this sounds cheesy, but I want to do a toast before we start. Well, a toast and a prayer, I guess, kind of a remix version..." Brian smiled. He looked around the table, ending with his eyes on me. "Thanksgiving is about telling God thank you for the things you have, the things he's given you..." Brian tugged on the tie that Leighanne had affixed to his neck, loosening it up.

Leighanne made a face that he was undoing it. They'd worked for a while trying to get it on to begin with.

"This year," he said, "I have a lot to be thankful for."

Brian turned to Leighanne, "I have my beautiful wife, who's been by my side now for so many unbelievable years, who's stood by through thick and thin, and never given up on me... who's kept my heart in one piece, who's made me a better man." He looked to her parents, "And I've got the wonderful mother and father -inlaws, who are my family and the ones who gave my wife to me, whose hearts are gold and who I love."

Brian turned to look at Baylee. "I've got a wonderful thirteen year old, whose life I am so proud of, and who I love more than anything." He bent down and kissed Baylee on the forehead.

"Daa-aad, seriously," Baylee wiped Brian's kiss off his face, and Brian smirked.

"Happy Birthday, Baylee," he said.

"Thanks, Dad," Baylee said grudgingly, still put off by the kiss.

Brian looked between me and AJ, "And I've got my two best friends," he said, "Finally. Finally, my two best friends. After so many years apart, so many years of... wondering, of waiting... we're finally together again." He smiled.

"Never to be apart," AJ added, winking at me.

I smiled.

"We've got love," Brian continued, looking at Rochelle and AJ, as Rochelle snaked her arm around his waist. "And we've got joy," he looked at Baylee, who had snuck a peek over his shoulder at the row of gifts on a table behind him. "And we have faith and friendship," he looked at Leighanne and her parents. Then, Brian's eyes met mine, "And we have redemption and forgiveness."

A wave of warmth washed through me.

"So... with all that in mind..." Brian bowed his head, holding his flute aloft. We all imitated him. "Thank you God," Brian prayed, "For everything. In your name, amen."

"Ayyy-men," AJ said, downing the cider.

Brian smiled and picked up the carving knife to dig into the turkey.

It felt good to be home, even though I didn't know how it would all work out, how things would look in the morning. All I really knew was that I was happy to be there, and that I was finally on my way to getting my life back... whatever that took.

Funny enough, at that moment, I thought of Mally. I thought of her words, about how the fellas needed me and I needed the fellas.

As it turns out... she was absolutely right.