Prologue

I can't believe it's only been sixteen years since Brian died.

It always feels like it was just yesterday we were on the bus laughing and enjoying the company of each other, until I close my eyes and try to remember what his laugh sounded like, or the way his features moved when he made certain faces. Then, it's hard to believe it hasn't been decades since we were there.

I remember spending long nights, staring into the darkness, thinking and feeling guilty. I even remember feeling guilty for feeling guilty, since I knew that's not what he wanted. 'No matter what', he'd said, 'never believe you're guilty.' But I couldn't help but believe somehow that it was my fault. My fault for going on the trip with him, letting him stop his treatments. My fault for listening to him when he tried to say good-bye, I guess.

And God knows I've raised my fair share of ruckus in the past sixteen years. I guess that's the way it goes when you lose your best friend and push everyone else away from you in the aftermath...

Former Backstreet Boy Nick Carter Released on Probation
Pop Stuff Online - Staff Writer

Once again the former Backstreet Boy Nick Carter is making a splash in the Los Angeles police logs this weekend. Carter, 45, was arrested Friday night on undisclosed charges at a The Dimond in the Rough, a new club opening on Sunset Strip. The singer, whose crimminal record reads like a novel, has been released from the arrest on probation, with a court date set one month from today, which will determine Carter's legal fate. Should he serve time, it would not be Carter's first experience with incarceration - the once clean-cut singer served 42 days of a 90-day sentence just last year.

Chapter One

It was during an important meeting that Baylee's cell phone rang. He sighed, seeing the caller ID, and excused himself from the table. The hallway was still and smelled like popcorn. He held the phone to his ear, "Bree, what's going on?"

Bree's voice was tearful, "I miss you," she cried.

Baylee leaned against the wall and ran a hand through his bushel of blonde hair. "I miss ya'll too."

"When are you coming home?" Bree asked.

Baylee took a deep breath, "I dunno, Bree, okay? I'm really busy. I've got this huge client I'm pitching an ad to today and --"

"I want to live with you in the city," she pleaded.

Baylee shook his head, "You know that isn't an option, Bree, mom needs you."

"Mom doesn't need me," she snapped, "Mom doesn't understand me. She hates me."

"She doesn't hate you," Baylee argued.

"Yes she does, she barely can even look at me."

Baylee sighed. "It's his birthday this weekend," he explained. He'd been trying not to think about it himself. It was a thorn in his side, something that had been keeping him up at night, like a dull ache somewhere deep in the left side of his chest. "She's just upset because of that." Bree's tears were thick, he could hear it in her shuddering breaths. "It's not your fault," Baylee whispered, "It's just a really hard time for her." And for me, he added in his head, but he managed to repress it. "You look so much like him, you know? It's just that. It's not you."

"I just wish things were different," Bree gasped.

"So do I," Baylee admitted, "But they aren't, so you just gotta hang tough, kiddo."

Bree, who was sitting on her bedroom floor, leaning against the wall beside her window, hugged her knees to her chest. "Nick got arrested again."

Baylee glanced at the meeting room, saw his manager shaking hands with the client and everyone gathering their things, and said, "Yeah I read that." He sighed. He was going to get chewed out for stepping out of the meeting - he knew it. "Probably for the same reason. You know him. Every year."

"I feel like I'm the only person that doesn't get depressed around this time of year," Bree confessed.

"You barely knew him," Baylee pointed out.

Bree felt like she'd been doused with ice water with those words. What she knew of Brian was no more than what the average Backstreet Boy fan had known back in the day. She knew him as the smiling face in the videos on the Internet, the one whose laugh was so much like her own, and whose eyes were like looking in a mirror. But she didn't know the family stories, the things only his closest friends had known. Nobody wanted to talk about things like that. Nobody wanted to remember him long enough to tell her.

"Bree, I gotta go," Baylee said in a hushed tone, "I'm supposed to be wrapping up a meeting right now. I've got to get back in there."

"Okay," Bree mumbled.

Baylee knew he'd upset her, but he didn't know what to do to help her out, so he muttered, "I'll try to get home this weekend, okay? Tell mom I said hi and I'll call you guys later. Or tomorrow. When I get a chance."

"Right," Bree said, knowing he wouldn't call until she called him again. Baylee never called or came home. He always had a reason, an excuse, some pressing matter he had to attend to. "Bye."

"Bye Bree," Baylee said, hanging up, his focus turning to an irate boss and away from the painful, haunted feeling that had surged up inside him.

*****
The alarm clock was chirping somewhere in the room, like a loud, off-key cricket. Nick groaned and pulled the blankets over his head, rolling onto his back and stretching his legs out into the dark. "Shut upppp," he growled at it, as though it could understand vocal commands. His eyes blinked open, the early afternoon sunlight piercing through the blinds. "God," he groaned, reclosing them. He struggled to sit up, a woozy, morning-after haze clouding his senses. He heard the little plane-sized liquor bottles clicking, glass-on-glass, as his weight shifted the mattress.

He tripped over the vast array of magazines, newspapers and books that cluttered the floor of his bedroom on his quest in following the chirping alarm clock. Folded back to the article they'd been purchased for, the magazines all smiled up at him from the ever-aging author photographs, the never-changing byline Article by Amanda Golde typed neatly under each headline on the spreads. He'd read each and every article, always clutching a bottle of his liqour of choice as his eyes skimmed big words and concepts he barely understood through the oncoming stupor, and stared into the mesmerizing green eyes. Sometimes, he thought he could still smell her perfume, but more often than not he realized he was actually smelling a sample from an inserted article, and actually could not remember the way she smelled anymore.

The alarm clock's chirping finally ceased, and Nick let out a breath of releif, dropping it back onto the equally cluttered desk where he'd found it. He stumbled back across the room to the bed and lowered himself onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling, assuming the position he planned to stay in for the rest of the afternoon.

He was nearly back asleep when the phone rang. "What the hell?" his voice rang out from under the blankets he'd pulled up over his face, and he sat up quickly - too quickly, every ounce of hangover rushed to his head - and grabbed his cellphone from the nightstand. He stared at the caller ID for a solid minute before he got his bearings and clicked the answer button without actually speaking.

"Nick? Nick did you pick up?" Amanda's voice was gentle, but far-away. It was older, too, with inflections that he'd never heard before. He could hear people chattering in the background, accented by a dense hum. She was at her office. He glanced at his window, at the clouds going by, imagining what the office might look like, what her view might be like. "Nick, it's Amanda." She paused.

As much as he wanted to speak, he couldn't.

"I saw the news," she whispered quietly, "I know what happened. I just wanted to know if you're okay. I know this weekend is Brian's birthday, and... well, I know how hard that weekend is for you."

Nick was picking at a stray thread on the blanket that covered him. His heart was breaking slowly into pieces even smaller than it already was in. He licked his teeth behind his lips and felt his lower lip tremble.

Amanda sighed into the phone. He recognized the sound - it was the one she made when she leaned back into a more comfortable position, it was the sound of her settling in. "I have all day, you know," she said, "To wait, I mean."

He didn't answer.

"I'll wait all day for you to talk to me, Nickolas," she warned.

He leaned back into the pillows, still silent, and pulled the blanket up to his chin. Somehow, just knowing she was there helped more than all the millions of words that he could've said.

Chapter Two

Brian had always teased Leighanne for her cleaning habits - the way she obessively neatened, straightened, dusted, and whatnot when she was upset. She could almost hear him joking around, 'The vacuum cleaner's out, I must be in trouble!' This echoing reminder only made her work harder. The room reeked of Windex and Pinesol. She was on her hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor, when the front door slammed shut and she heard the sounds of Bree's arrival in the front hall.

Leighanne closed her eyes. It wasn't that she didn't love Bree, she did. Really. Bree had been the last thing that Brian had given her - both a blessing and a curse when, a month and a half after he died, she found herself at the doctor's being told she was pregnant. At first, when Bree had been born with Brian's eyes, his sharp jaw bone and nose, this was a blessing, too, something that Leighanne had craved to see again. But the more her features resembled his as she aged, the more her laughter echoed memories that she'd been struggling to let go of, the more resentment had built in Leighanne's heart. And she felt guilty for it, it's not that she felt justified in her emotions, but it wasn't something she knew how to control, either. And Leighanne liked control, she liked order. She liked neatness.

Especially since Brian had been gone.

Taking a deep breath, Leighanne coached herself - as she had every time she'd looked at Bree this week - to be a good mother, to not push away her child because she didn't want to be reminded of her long-dead husband. "Bree? How was school today?" she called out.

Bree's footsteps clamboured toward the kitchen and a part of Leighanne wondered why Bree couldn't just call out an answer, too, why she couldn't stay in the other room where she wouldn't have to see her, wouldn't have to smell her, feel her presence.

It was February 19th, and sixteen years ago on this day, Leighanne had been baking a strawberry cake. Sixteen years ago on this day, she'd been waiting for Nick and Howie and AJ to agree to come to the party, talking to other friends and family members. She'd been waiting for Brian to come home from the hospital, where he'd gone for a check-up between treatment cycles. But that was sixteen years ago. Today, and every year for the past sixteen, she'd been on her hands and knees, scouring the kitchen floor.

"It was crap," Bree answered flatly. Her strawberry-blonde hair darkened in the winter to a deep shade of red, almost ruby, and she wore peasant style clothes - pieces from the collections Leighanne had once designed, pieces left over from Leighanne's closet from long ago. Leighanne had never thrown those clothes out - they'd smelled of Brian, and Bree's excitement for them had led to a misjudged choice to give them to her daughter when she turned sixteen.

"Watch your mouth," Leighanne said, turning back to cleaning, unable to look at her.

"You asked how my day was and that's how it was," Bree responded.

"I didn't expect you to answer like a sailor," Leighanne answered. She licked her lips. This attitude she was throwing at Bree wasn't at all what she'd planned. She wanted to get along with her, she wanted them to be a family. But ever since Baylee had left for college - almost five years ago now - it'd been getting harder and harder to feel that way. Particularly now that Baylee never came home - even for the holidays. "Why was your day bad?" Leighanne asked, trying again to be friendly.

Bree sighed, "Just the same thing as always," she answered, "I'm uncool and everybody hates me. It's not news, really. Just my life as it is." She shrugged.

"I'm sure they don't hate you," Leighanne answered.

Bree couldn't help but think that those were the exact words that Baylee had said about Leighanne, but she held back the comment and answered, "I'm pretty sure they do." This answer, she realized, was as equally meant for Baylee as it was for Leighanne.

"You have lots of friends," Leighanne said.

Bree never ceased to be amazed that her mother thought this - yet Leighanne never ceased to seem to believe it. Bree hadn't had a friend over since she was six years old, and even then the girl had been duped into coming over because Bree had claimed to have a pony, which was a lie, of course. Bree had never had any friends. They kind of left her on the outskirts of everything - intially because she was the kid without a father, like being too close to her would make their father's disappear, too; and then because she didn't know how to talk to them. Slowly, she'd become immersed in herself, in her own world, in a place in her mind she escaped to so she didn't feel their cold stares anymore.

But Leighanne didn't notice that somehow.

"I have a lot of homework to do," Bree said, "I'll be in my room."

Relieved she didn't have to try to be the good mother anymore, Leighanne responded, "Have fun," in a half-hearted manner, and continued on with her scrubbing, even though her knees and knuckles were aching and her hands were cracking.

Bree thundered up the stairs, passing Baylee's old room that had remained untouched - a shrine to her older brother - and closed her bedroom door. She dropped her backpack by her desk - her homework having been completed already during lunch and on the school bus home - and lowered herself onto the floor. She reached under her bed, pulled out the large tupperware box of things that she'd collected that had once belonged to her father, including Brian's Bible, which Nick had given her on her fifth birthday.

She held the Bible on her lap and ran her fingers over the cover. The worn, creased leather felt soft and smooth under her touch, and she hugged it to her chest, her breath shaking. She wondered how it was that she could physically ache from mising someone that she'd never even met. She lowered the book to her lap again and stared down at it as she lifted the cover and started flipping through the pages, looking at the margins, where Brian's tight printed handwriting cramped to the actual text, notes about things he'd found important once upon a time.

Bree had spent lots of time looking at these notes over the years, but never failed to be surprised by some new piece she'd not yet encountered before. It was like little messages of wisdom to her from a father she'd never met, whose life so greatly altered her own. Everyday, her world revolved around this man, this mystical man whose identity was nothing short of a mystery to her.

Today, her eyes scanned pages in the mid-section of the book. It was here that she found the book of Isaiah, a name she'd always liked from the Bible, and she flipped until she saw notes that she'd never seen before.

Something beautiful: Piper's Eagle.


It was underlined three times in pen - something she'd learned through reading around that Brian only marked the most important notes in actual pen. Most of his notes were in either erasable pen or pencil. She ran her fingers over the words several times before she determined these words were most definitely written in honest to God pen. She tilted her head at the passage, and the only connection she could see between the passage and the note was the mention of an eagle. She furrowed her brow.

She called Baylee.

"Hello?" Baylee sounded distracted as he answered the call.

"Hey Baylee, it's Bree."

"Bree," Baylee's voice had laughter in it. "I can't talk right now, okay? I'm kinda busy."

"It's about Dad, though," she said.

Baylee's hand covered the mouthpiece. "Just give me a second okay? Just a second, it's my little sister." His voice was muffled. A moment later, she heard a door close, and his hand uncover the mouthpiece. "Hey," he said again.

"Who's Piper?"

"What?"

"I was looking at Dad's Bible - you know, the one Nick gave me? - and there's this note in the margin that says something about someone named Piper."

Baylee's voice literally sounded like he was shrugging. "I dunno," he answered. "Look, Bree, I'm sure it doesn't matter. He knew like a million people, like record execs and stuff, you know? Dad was a popular guy. I'm sure it doesn't matter."

Bree gnawed her lip. "I guess."

"It's nobody important, if it was someone important, I'd tell you."

"Would you?" Bree asked.

Baylee, still sounding distracted, asked, "Why wouldn't I?"

"I dunno," Bree answered, "Because nobody ever wants to talk about Dad. Ever."

"It's just hard to talk about it, Bree."

"I know. I just wish someone would tell me about him. I want to know about him. I have a right to know about him, don't I? He's just as much my father as yours, isn't he?"

"I guess," Baylee replied. "Look, I gotta go Bree."

"Bye, Baylee."

"I'll call sometime this week."

"Uh-huh," she agreed, "When you get the chance."

"Right."

"Bye Baylee."

"Bye Bree."

When the phone call disconnected, Bree turned her focus back to the Bible. Baylee's response hadn't really fulfilled her curiosity, though. She ran her fingers over the letters once again, staring down at them - wondering.

Chapter Three

On Brian's birthday, Nick woke up to the sound of the dial tone humming in his ear. Amanda had given up at some point, and he'd been left with nothing but the persistant drone. He reluctantly cut the line, and put the phone, silent and still, back down on the mattress beside his pillow. He folded his hands over his chest. The room felt strangely silent.

Sixteen years ago, little beknownst to everyone else, he and Brian had first mentioned the idea for the road trip on the phone when he'd called to wish him a happy birthday. It'd been a marvelous trip - all the stops, all the sights - Nick smiled as he recalled Brian's fear at the bungee jumping in Colorado, and his response when he hit the ground in Nebraska after skydiving.

He was relishing his little reminiscent moment when the phone rang and he looked at the caller ID and saw Littrell on the display. Irrationaly, he picked up the phone and said, "Dude I was just thinking about you," before he remembered.

"You were?" Bree's sweet voice carried through the phone lines across the miles, so much like a female version of Brian's - just slightly higher, like Brian when he did his impression of Leighanne, almost. "What about me?"

Nick felt his stomach twist. He'd meant he'd been thinking about Brian, not Bree. He paused, "Just - you know - thinking," he stammered the words out. He felt like he'd swallowed his tongue, and an awkward sort of silence fell between them.

"I have a question," Bree said.

Nick shook his head, trying to reinstate control over his mouth. "You do?" he asked.h "What's that?"

"You know my dad's Bible? The one you gave me?"

Know it? Nick knew it well. He'd spent those five years that it'd been in his posession reading and rereading the notes Brian had written in the margins, reading and rereading the various journal entries, reliving the past over and over again, until he'd realized that it wasn't helping him to let go of Brian - something Amanda had pointed out during one of their many arguments on the subject - and he'd given it to Bree. The only other person in the world he trusted to revere it the way he would.

"What about it?" he asked. A fear trickled through his senses - she didn't lose it did she? he worried.

"I was reading it last night and I found this note about someone named Piper. Baylee didn't know who it was, and I didn't wanna ask my mom and - well, you knew my dad the best of everyone, really."

"Piper's eagle," Nick mumbled quietly.

"Yeah, that's it," Bree agreed, excited. "What's that?"

He felt his heart clench in his chest. He rolled onto his side in the bed and hugged his pillow. "You probably don't remember Amanda?"

"Your girlfriend?"

"Fiance," Nick corrected her. He paused. "You were like six when she left."

"I think I do a little," Bree said, "Is she Piper?"

"No," Nick answered, shaking his head, "No, her brother was Piper. He brother had died from Leukemia, too. Before --" he couldn't bring himself to say Brian did, and he wavered a moment, then hastily finished, "-- before we met her."

"So how did my Dad know about Piper? And what's Piper's eagle got to do with it?"

Nick took a deep breath, "Well, Amanda told us about Piper and your Dad obviously really understood the situation because he was going through it back home and ---"

"Back home?"

"We were on a road trip."

"A road trip?" Bree's voice climbed in excitement. "To where?"

"I dunno, across the country. The eagle thing was this eagle we saw in the Grand Canyon..."

"The Grand Canyon," she gasped, "Wow. So why is it Piper's eagle?"

"Piper loved eagles, and Amanda saw this one eagle and, I dunno, it was mostly a her and Brian thing, but you know. I think it was like this sign that - yanno, like Piper was... in a better place or whatever." Nick bit his lip.

"That's really cool," Bree said reverently. "It totally makes sense why he'd write that in here with the verse now." She ran her fingers over the text. She was sitting on the floor of her room, leaning against the wall by the window again, the Bible on her lap. She stared down at his hand writing, a smile on her face. "Thank you for actually telling me about him," she added.

"Why wouldn't I?" Nick asked.

The question reminded her of Baylee the night before. "Because nobody else will tell me about him," Bree said.

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Your mom and Baylee don't talk about him?"

"Not really."

"You deserve to know," he murmured. "He's your dad."

"I know," Bree agreed.

"He was a good man, he deserves better than to be forgotten."

"I know."

Nick had sat up at some point during the conversation and was now cross-legged on his bed. He stared at the crap that was strewn about the room - all the things Amanda had written since she'd left ten years ago. He drew a deep breath, "Can I talk to your mom?"

"Yeah," Bree agreed, a bit let down. She'd been hoping that Nick's response would lead to him telling her about Brian - not commanding her mom to. "Hold on."

"Thanks."

Bree got to her feet and carried the phone down the stairs, following the smell of Pinesol. She found Leighanne on the couch in the living room, hugging the cushions. The bucket of cleaner on the floor by the coffee table, rubber gloves, a sponge, and a bottle of Pinesol on the table top. She inched into the room. This was a bad day to hassle her mom too much - it being Brian's birthday and all. Leighanne was on her back, staring up at the ceiling though, not asleep, so Bree said quietly, "Mom?" When she didn't respond, Bree tried again, "Mom?"

Leighanne looked up at her daughter. "What?" she asked, her voice stoney. She stared at her daughter's features and saw nothing but Brian standing there, her heart breaking because she couldn't really see Brian.

"Nick's on the phone, he wants to talk to you," Bree said, waving the phone in her mother's direction.

Leighanne's eyes saddened. Nick. He was the only thing worse than remembering Brian, the only thing worse than being her was being Nick. Nick, who'd relied on Brian far longer than Leighanne had, whose life had revolved for so many months around his best friend, whose world had fallen apart even worse than Leighanne's had in the wake of Brian's death. He'd lost his best friend, his bandmates, his girlfriend... Nick was alone. At the very least, she had Baylee and Bree. She held out her hand, and Bree placed the phone into it. "Thanks," Leighanne muttered.

Bree nodded and retreated from the room, but hovered just outside of it, around the corner, out of sight. She wondered if they'd talk about him, if she'd be able to overhear Leighanne say something interesting about him - something that she'd never known before. She pressed herself against the wall, her palm splayed out on it, and waited.

"Hello Nick," Leighanne said into the phone, her voice struggling to stay whole.

"Hey," Nick's voice was gentle. "How're you doin'?"

Leighanne sighed shakily, "I'm - well, you know. Okay." She paused. "How are you?"

"I'm --" Nick cast another glance around the room and decided it'd be better not to tell her wallowing in self pity like I have been for the past sixteen years, especially given what he was about to ask of her. "I want Bree to come spend a couple weeks with me."

"Excuse me?"

"Bree," Nick said, "I want her to come spend a couple weeks with me."

Leighanne sat up. "It's school time, are you crazy? She can't miss that much school."

"So transfer her, get her homeschooled, get her a tutor," Nick argued, "You know how to do this stuff, you did for Baylee all those years. Stuff like that is so much easier now. They have high school online for crying out loud."

Leighanne didn't know how to respond. She knew sending Bree to Nick's house was, parentally speaking, a terrible idea. But at the same time, she imagined being able to leave the house herself, to get out, away from the memories that haunted her around Bree, around the house. She could go and visit Baylee in Orlando. She could go to the beach. Her heart raced. She couldn't send Bree off to go be with Nick for two weeks, that was crazy. Nick - who was currently on probation! Nick - who probably was drunk or about to be! Leighanne shook her head, "Nick, I'm sorry, but -"

"Sober, right now," he stammered, "I swear to you. I won't drink a drop in front of her. Not a drop."

"You say that because you can't see the - the resemblence."

"Please, Leighanne," Nick begged, "Tell me what I gotta do to get you to agree to this and it's done."

"What did she tell you, that I'm some kind of ogre?" Leighanne asked.

"No," Nick replied, "But I just - I wanna talk to her. I wanna tell her about Brian."

Leighanne's heart stopped at the name. The name had become taboo. She shuddered and closed her eyes. "Why?" she demanded, "Talking about him doesn't bring him back."

"In a way it does," Nick answered, "His memory."

Bitterness welled up in her throat, bitter and sour. "I don't want a memory," she snapped.

"That's all that's left," Nick snapped back.

Leighanne felt tears searing the edges of her eyes. She looked around the room, thought about the silence she faced when Bree wasn't around - about the comfort that the idea of seeing Baylee again offered her. She hugged the cushion to her chest. "How soon?"

"I can call the airline now," he answered.

Leighanne took a deep breath. "Do it."

Chapter Four

Bree's experience with planes was very limited. Other than two trips to Orlando to visit Baylee the year, she hadn't ever flown - and never alone before. People always found that fact weird, given how jet-set the Littrell family had once been, but after Brian died, they'd never really had much reason to travel. Consequently, everything on the flight - from the tiny windows, to the smelly seats, to the half-frozen orange juice boxes - was exciting to her. She looked around, wide-eyed and mesmerized, taking everything in. Which was good because it meant that while she was focused on that, she wasn't focused on the destination - which she'd slowly but surely become more and more nervous about.

When Leighanne had hung up with Nick, Bree had all but tripped over her own two feet trying to beeline into the kitchen so as not to have been caught eavesdropping - and only just made it. Her mother walked into the kitchen, as Bree ducked out from behind the fridge door, which she'd yanked open in a haste. "Nick wants you to go to his house for a couple weeks," she announced, putting the phone up on the cradle. "How do you feel about that?"

"That sounds cool," Bree's voice had come out shaky, trying to contain her excitement.

She'd spent the rest of the afternoon, barely contained in her own skin she was so excited, until she'd realized how actually little she knew about Nick. Then she'd gotten a little nervous, started to freak out a bit, and by the time Leighanne had dropped her off at the airport - reminding her to call Baylee if Nick so much as sniffed alcohol while she was there - Bree was downright terrified. So it was definitely a good thing that the airplane had managed to distract her during the seven hours of airtime.

It did not, however, continue to distract her when the thing landed in Los Angeles and the attendants were herding people out into LAX with their rigid hand gestures and dentist's-office-white smiles.

She grabbed her bag from the overhead compartment and hung it on her shoulder, clutching the notebook she'd been writing in during the flight to her chest as she walked through the tunnel. Outside the door, the airport was a bustling, noisey place. She stood at the edge of the chaos, looking around for Nick. She didn't see him anywhere. Her heart started to beat louder and faster in her chest and her mind started the what-if game.

What if he forgot?
What if he changed his mind?
What if he was already drunk?

Bree was just about to call Baylee and freak out when she heard her name yelled from across the airport. She turned and there was Nick. His hair was disheveled, his face covered in a thick five o'clock shadow. He looked like he'd come in the clothes he'd slept in for the past week. He was aging, but not the way he should've - considering all the crap he'd been through and the fact that he was 45. Rather, he was just starting to catch up to himself, and was actually looking like he might be over 30.

"Sorry I'm late," he said by way of apology as he jogged up beside her and took her bag from her shoulder, "I was at the wrong gate." It was kind of a lie. He'd slept in and done 80 on the 50 zone of the LA freeway and somehow managed to not get stopped by the cops. Which was good, considering his license had been revoked long ago. But he figured that was a story better left unshared.

"It's okay," Bree nodded, feeling awkward. Her palms were sweaty.

Nick stared at his feet for a long moment. Leighanne was right. The older Bree had gotten, the more she'd come to look like Brian. It was almost painful, the resemblance, and as horrible as it sounded, Nick understood Leighanne's aversion to Bree. He could've sworn it was like 1993 and Brian had just stepped off the plane - a country bumpkin - and he was looking into Brian's eyes, not Bree. He took a deep breath before looking back up at her.

"You got more luggage?"

Bree nodded.

"C'mon." Nick led the way to the luggage carousel, Bree following close behind, still hugging her notebook to her chest "So what do you do?" Nick asked as they walked.

"Do?"

"Yeah."

Bree hesitated, she wasn't sure what he meant. Finally she answered, "School, I guess."

"For fun, I mean?"

"Write."

Nick paused, looking at her, and his eyes seemed to alight on the notebook for the first time. "Like journalism?"

"Like stories," Bree shrugged. "I like writing stories. They're like an escape."

Nick nodded. "Amanda was a writer." As soon as the words had left his mouth, he regretted it, and he looked back to the floor again as they walked.

"She was?" Bree asked, "What kind of writing did she do?"

"She's a journalist," Nick answered, "She works at this magazine out of Boston. She used to do like music news and stuff. That's how we met."

"That's cool. You like feel in love with the paparazzi? Kinda cliche, kinda romantic..."

"I didn't know she was paparazzi," Nick answered as they approached the carousel. "What's your bag look like?"

"It was my dad's," she answered, "It's a blue duffle bag. How did you not know she was paparazzi?"

Nick knew the bag well. Brian had used it on the road trip, even. "She didn't tell us," he replied to her question about Amanda.

"Is that why you guys broke up?"

"We broke up over it," Nick said, "But we got back together after, before -" Again, he couldn't bring himself to say before what and he left the sentence hanging.

Bree got it. She wrapped her arms around herself. "So... why'd you guys break up in the end?"

Nick gnawed on his lip. The blue duffle bag came out of the chute and he took the opportunity to prolong his answer, stepping up to the carousel to retreive the bag. Bree waited. Nick returned, holding the bag under his arm. He had the almost irresistable urge to plunge his face into it, to see if it still smelled like Brian's dirty t-shirts, but he didn't because he knew that would just look weird. "Any others?"

"I'm only here two weeks..." Bree answered.

"Well you didn't inherit your momma's packing skills is all I'm sayin'," Nick replied.

"I know, she packed her entire wardrobe when we went to go see Baylee last summer."

"How is Baylee?" Nick asked, relieved he now had a topic to distract her from Amanda. He didn't want to talk about Amanda. He didn't want to think about it - about the mistakes he'd made and the loss he'd suffered.

Bree shrugged, "Baylee's busy," she answered.

"He's in advertising isn't he?"

"Yeah," Bree nodded. "He just did this one for an orange juice company in Florida," she assumed her 'talking like Baylee' voice, "'Orange juice in Florida is orange juice indeed.'"

Nick laughed, "How the hell much money is he making doing this?"

"He's just a junior so like twenty bucks an hour, but when he finishes this year he might be promoted because all the interns will be juinors so he'll be a senior assistant and they make thirty-two."

"Jesus," Nick shook his head.

"He's okay, the orange juice one was a little lame, but he was behind the owl on the life insurance ads," Bree felt a little defensive. Baylee was the closest to a father figure she had in her life and he meant the world to her, even if he had become too busy really to be there for her. She couldn't ignore the fact that he'd always defended her to bullies... and their mother.

"I like that owl," Nick announced.

They'd reached the doors to the airport and Nick held them open for her and two little old ladies that were gossipping about which movie stars had slept with which other movie stars, clutching throw-away cameras, sun lotion, and a map of the Hollywood hills celebrity mansions. Bree watched them shuffle by and Nick pointed in the direction of the parking lot, "I'm over here."

They walked what felt like forever through a parking garage until Nick's car chimed and flashed its lights in greeting when he clicked his key. The trunk flipped open and Nick dropped Bree's bags into it while she climbed into the passanger seat and started buckling herself in. Nick took an extra minute, leaning into the trunk, to press his nose into the bag. The smell of some light floral perfume and fabric softener sheets was masking it on the initial sniff, but when he pressed really hard and breathed really gently - but deep - he could almost smell it.

It was a smell like boy hugs and sweat and basket ball. It was a little bit of Safari by Ralph Lauren and a lot of Axe body wash - in one of those sci-fi sounding names like Kilo or something, but which one Nick couldn't recall exactly. It was a little bit dirt, too, and a little bit musty hotel room, bus underbelly, and water. But mostly it was Brian.

His head was spinning from all the deep breathing by the time he got into the car. He reached for the driver's side safety belt and slid the key in the ignition. Bree pressed her hands against the cover of her notebook, which lay across her lap, and stared at the dashboard. "You were my dad's best friend," she said quietly.

Nick wondered if she'd heard him snorting her bag. He stared at the gauge panel.

Bree looked at him. "I never even met him and I miss him."

Nick took a deep breath. "When I was a kid, like thirteen to sixteen, you know, after the band was together but before I really got old enough to get involved in the bad stuff... Brian was my hero." He licked his lips, then chuckled ever so slightly, his eyes shifting from the gauges to some unknown spot out the windshield. "I looked up to him like crazy. I wanted to be just like him. I wanted to grow up to be Brian." He looked at Bree. "He never changed from that person that I loved and respected so much. I mean, I changed from the person who looked up to him. I went through hell and back, but he was there the whole time, being so good to me." Nick smiled, but his eyes looked haunted and far away, "Your dad was the only person in the entire world that never gave up on me. Never.."

The intensity in the air of the car was thick, and Bree felt the air pressing against her chest, crushing her heart for Nick. It was exactly the emotion she'd expected from Nick, exactly the memory of her father that she'd always prayed someone had because it was how she wanted to think she would have remembered him, had she ever met him.

Nick looked away from her and reached for the key, turning the ignition, and backed out of the parking space, headed home.

Chapter Five

Nick's house wasn't at all what Bree had imagined. It was a gray shack-style home, right on the water a little south of Los Angeles. It was the sort of house that most people probably considered a vacation cabin, not a full-time residence. Nick pulled into the tenth-of-a-mile long driveway and the car slid through a grove of trees that provided visual privacy from the road. It was funny, but Bree hadn't really imagined there being actual trees in California - only palm trees. The house had a slim patch of lawn, which was accented with a pair of hot pink plastic flamingos - one of which had tipped over onto its side. He parked the car and glanced her direction, seeing her looking around, her eyes obviously less than impressed, he said, "The front ain't much to look at but the back - you'll see."

Bree followed Nick into the house, where he led her through the house, down two steps and flipped on a light in a small room to the right of the living room space. "I don't really have a guest room," his voice was apologetic, "But the sofa in here folds out."

Bree looked around. The room was obviously an unused office or den of some sort - but almost everything had a thick layer of dust. It was obvious he'd come in with a Swiffer and hit the more commonly used objects - the lamps and such - and installed a telephone. He'd put a blanket onto the couch and an old, worn looking pillow at one end. A teddy bear sat on there, too, and she wondered if he'd forgotten before he saw her how old she was. In one corner of the room stood a folded easle with three back-to canvases leaning against the wall below it, all held into place by a big black guitar case.

Dropping onto the sofa, Bree pointed at the guitar case, "What kind of guitar?"

"Acoustic."

"Upgrade to a better model?"

"Quit playing it," he replied. The finality of his voice made Bree decide to drop the subject, but she made a mental note to revisit it. Nick dropped her bags onto the floor and took a deep breath, "Well you're probably tired so... I'll um, I'll let you settle in or... whatever it is girls do... and I'll go make you some dinner."

"What are we having?"

"I gotta consult the take out menu gods," he replied.

Bree laughed.

"What do you like?"

"All kinds of stuff," Bree answered.

"Pizza?"

"Sure."

With that, Nick ducked out of the room and left Bree to herself. She leaned back into the sofa cushions and continued her appraisal of the room. There was a fireplace on one wall, electric by the looks of it, and the mantle was covered with awards emblazoned with Nick's name. Around on the walls hung platinum album displays and certificates and photographs. From every corner of the room, a younger version of Nick and her father smiled down at her. Then her eyes landed on a photograph, hanging in a simple black frame on black matting board - it was a Polaroid. Bree got up and walked over and squinted at it.

It was a picture of the view out a tour bus window from behind the front seats - the driver and the passanger back-to, the shapes of their heads clearly recognizable as Nick and Brian. Nick's mouth was open wide with a laugh and Brian's was pinched in amusement. Written beneath it in the half inch of caption space, in Brian's hand writing, was the words Something Beautiful.

Bree stared at the photo for what felt like forever. Emotions rising and choking her up from with in. She reached out to take a hold of it - to take it off the wall - when the door opened and Nick stepped back into the room. She jumped back from the wall, hand still extended towards it, like she'd been shot from a cannon.

"Pizza's gonna be about fifteen --" he stopped before the word minutes came out of his mouth and he moved closer, his eyes landing on the photograph. He froze for a moment, then looked at her. "That's one of my favorite pictures," he said. "In the entire world."

"What does the caption mean?"

Nick rubbed his chin. "When your dad was dying," he said slowly, "When we went on the road trip - it was kind of like this mission to, like, find the most beautiful thing." He paused. "So we went to all these places, and saw all these crazy-beautiful things, trying to find that one something beautiful for your dad... because he wanted to see true beauty before he died, you know...?" He paused. His voice had grown thicker, shakier while he spoke. His eyes were moist.

Bree stared at the photograph. The pieces falling into place as Nick spoke. "He chose you?"

"Not me," Nick said, "He chose us, me and him, our friendship."

Bree stared at the picture again. "So what did you beat out of the running?"

Nick smiled. "Piper's Eagle for one," he said, "And the Rocky Mountains, and the view of the earth from a plane when you jump out of it..."

"He must've been so brave."

"He was scared to fucking death," Nick laughed.

"It's not brave if you aren't scared," Bree quoted with a smirk.

Nick shook his head, "We took him to this outdoor adventures place in Colorado and they had bungee jumping off this gorge there and I did it with Amanda and your dad literally wouldn't even walk across the bridge to the point where you bungee from. It was like that one scene in Stand By Me with Verno on the train bridge."

Bree giggled. "He was scared of heights?"

"Oh hell yes. I am, too, but he was way worse."

Bree smiled, "I am, too. Scared of heights, I mean."

"You're so much like him," said Nick, "It's ridiculous how much you're like him."

"Really?"

Nick nodded.

Bree turned and sat down on the sofa with a sigh, hugging the pillow to her chest. Nick stared at the photograph for a moment longer before sitting on the arm of the sofa beside her. She looked up at him. "I think that's why my mom hates me."

"Your mom doesn't hate you."

"She really does," Bree said.

Nick sighed. "It's hard," he said slowly, "When you're so in love like that and you lose it so suddenly..." He stared at the toes of his sneakers.

Bree didn't know what to say.

The door bell chimed and Nick thumbed over his shoulder, "Dinner," he said, before turning and jogging out of the room.

Bree stood up and looked at the picture again for a moment. She glanced at the door, the way Nick had gone, and put her hand on the photograph, right by Brian, wishing she could fall into the picture the way the children in the Chronicles of Narnia fell through the wardrobe into other worlds.

Chapter Six

Nick had most definitely been right about the back of his house being worth the lackluster of the front. He lived right on the ocean, with a wide deck that faced the sunset. A rocky cliff set him off from the actual beach, but Bree noticed that there was a path that curled down to the sand below that was worn with footprints. Clumps of dry grass waved along either side, blown by the salty wind. A boat was moored to a dock that extended into the water, and in the distance was the hazy promise of the horizon line, obliterated by the glowing orange light of the fading day.

The pizza was waiting in it's box on an old formica table on the deck, two worn out plastic chairs pulled up to it. He'd tossed a blanket over the back of one, making it look warm and inviting. Bree curled into the blanket, tucking the corners over her shoulders excitedly hugging her knees to her chest to cocoon herself in. Nick smiled when he stepped out the sliding glass doors that connected to the kitchen, carrying a couple bottles of Dr. Pepper, napkins and two forks.

"I love Dr. Pepper," Bree commented as he handed her the bottle.

"Your father did, too."

"Really?" Bree lit up, "I didn't know that."

"Yep." Nick sat down in the other chair and cracked his bottle open. He sniffed the soda before taking a mouthful and waved a hand at the pizza. "Ladies first," he said.

Bree took a slice and put it on the paper plates that he'd laid out and licked the grease from her fingers. She watched as Nick selected one and scooped some renegade cheese from the cardboard it'd stuck to. He took a big chomp off it before he put it on the plate and stared into the sunset as he chewed.

"So that road trip you took," Bree said, "Where'd you go?"

Nick wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Forgot the napkins," he said, standing up and ducking into the kitchen.

Bree frowned. She was used to people avoiding her questions about Brian - it'd really become second nature for her to not get answers when it came to him - but she'd expected it to be different with Nick. She picked at the crust of her pizza in a disappointed manner.

Nick glanced out at her from the kitchen, where he was ripping paper towels from the roll. He sighed. He knew he had to get the balls up to actually talk about Brian now that he had her here, but it was proving harder than he'd expected, just as Leighanne had said it would. But Nick was determined. Brian would not have wanted his daughter to be so unaware of who he was. He would've been pissed if he knew she didn't know he liked Dr. Pepper. He wondered what other little idioms about him - things that made him who he was - she had no clue about. He swallowed down the nerves and, taking a deep, shaking breath, stepped back onto the deck.

"We started at the Grand Canyon," he announced as he handed her a paper towel. She looked up from the pizza, her eyes wide with surprise. "And then we went to New Mexico, where we rode a hot air balloon. Next, we went to Colorado, where we went white water rafting and bungee jumping and stayed in this beautiful mountain chateau. We went sky diving in Nebraska, and stopped by your grandparent's house in Kentucky. We went to this huge aquarium in Tennessee and then your father and I went to Atlanta, to your house. He wasn't feeling so great, so we took a break. We planned to go up the Atlantic coast line, with your mom and Baylee, and go to North Carolina, D.C., Pennsylvania, New York, Boston, Maine, maybe even Nova Scotia, but we didn't get the chance." He took a mouthful of Dr. Pepper, then added, "Well, Amanda and I went after, you know, kind of. We drove up and stopped a couple of those places, ended up in Maine." He shrugged. "It wasn't the same."

"It sounds amazing," Bree breathed.

Nick nodded, "It was."

"God I'd kill to do something like that," she commented, shaking her head. "I've only been to Orlando and that's only because mom can't handle being away from Baylee longer than like a minute before she starts complaining she's alone. Sometimes it's like I don't even exist." She frowned into the pizza.

Nick chewed his food, his mind operating. He looked at her as she ripped a bite of pizza away with her fingers and shoved it into her mouth. He couldn't help but feel a bit like that scene in How the Grinch Stole Christmas and could all but hear the Boris Karkaroff voice over saying 'And then the Grinch had an idea, a wonderful, awful idea!'

Bree looked up and caught the funny face Nick was making. "What?" she asked.

Nick's eyes met hers and he smiled.

*****
"You want to what?" Leighanne's voice was pitchy even across the phone. Nick held the phone away from his ear. Bree was sitting on the couch, biting her fingernails and nervously staring up at Nick as he paced in front of the fireplace.

"It's not that crazy of a thought," he argued, "I mean I'm supposed to have her for two weeks anyways..."

"Yeah, at your house," Leighanne said. "Not gallavanting across the country! Nick, you aren't in your twenties anymore and she's not Brian."

"I fucking know she's not Brian," he snapped. The word had popped out before he could edit himself and he looked wildly at Bree, his eyes full of apology, but she had covered her mouth to keep from laughing. "I think it'd be good for her," he said.

"Last time you took one of my family members across the country --" Leighanne started, but she stopped, realizing what she was about to say was an accusation she didn't mean or want to make. She reset and said, "I don't think it's a good idea."

Nick had stiffened at the beginning of her accusation, his jaw now set in determination. To hell with it, he was going to get his way no matter what good reasons she may or may not come up with. It was now his life goal to make it happen. "She's sixteen, she's never travelled, never seen anything. She deserves to see things, Leighanne, you can't bottle her up like a firefly or something and expect her to keep glowing." He was kind of impressed with his own metaphor.

"She's not going."

"Well kind of she's in my custody right now so I can do whatever the hell I want," Nick snapped.

Bree's eyes widened and a smirk crossed her face. She'd never heard anyone talk back to her mother before, and this was kind of enthalling for her.

"Nickolas Gene Carter," Leighanne's tone became low, "I am not amused by this at all." She paused. "I want Bree sent home in the morning."

"What?!" Nick's voice was incredulous, "Oh c'mon now," he said, "I'm being a pain in the ass, I know but you don't gotta be a bitch about it." Bree almost exploded from the couch, and she pressed her face into a cushion to keep from laughing outloud.

"Don't you dare call me a bitch," Leighanne snapped. Even as she said it, though, she realized how bitchy she sounded, so she took a deep breath, bringing her tone down a notch. "Nick, I don't approve of this. I don't trust you driving across the country with my daughter, bringing her on dangerous adventures, and risking her life - not to mention your own. It was ridiculous when you did it with Brian, and it's even more ridiculous now." Her voice was final.

Nick chewed the inside of his mouth. "You didn't think it was ridiculous then," he pointed out.

"Brian hadn't died yet," she said, "I didn't realize how precious little time I'd had left."

A thick silence fell between them, and finally Nick said, "You don't treat her fairly."

"What?"

"Bree. You don't treat her fairly. You keep her in a bubble, protected from everything, so damn close to you that she can't experience life, then you deny her your full love because you're so damn hurt about Brian," Nick's voice was rapid and sharp with anger. "Brian's dead, he has been for sixteen years, but Bree is alive and deserves to actually get a chance to live. Your husband wanted to die living, not live dying, and you can't even respect that for his daughter."

"Send. Her. Home." Leighanne's words were ice cold, dripping with venom. "Now." She slammed the phone down in his ear.

Nick clicked the phone off. He was facing the fireplace.

"What happened?" Bree was breathless.

Nick turned around.

"She said it's okay, you can go."

Chapter Seven

By seven o'clock the next morning, Nick and Bree were in the car on the freeway in Los Angeles. Nick had dug up the map that he, Brian and Amanda had used the first time they'd done this and re-Google-mapped the roadways.

A lot had changed, the routes were slightly different than they'd been before, but he was pleased to see that a lot of the destinations were still there - including Lost Paddle River Adventures in Colorado, which he'd made an alarm notification on his cell phone reminding him to call them at lunch time to confirm they were still in existence. He'd laughed to himself when he found, folded into the box of random pictures and momentos from the trip, some vouchers that Pat - their over zealous leader - had given them since Brian had fallen into the water. Nick wondered if the vouchers ever expired...

One major change was the fact that they were departing in Nick's car, rather than the tour bus as they'd done last time. The tour bus was long since retired, probably a piece of scrap metal in some bus graveyard by now, and because they were leaving so hastily - and on a Sunday no less - there was no chance of getting an RV to travel in. Thus, they were kicking it old school. Nick's car was obviously more than slightly less comfortable than the bus had been, but the excitement that radiated from Bree alone was going to make the trip completely worth the backaches that Nick's not-so-young-anymore body would have to endure from a couple nights in the driver's seat.

"This is so freaking cool," Bree's voice danced in excitement as Nick clicked on his directional and merged into traffic southbound toward Arizona. "Oh my God," she giggled, obviously the thrill of the moment going straight to her head, "I can't believe this, I can't believe it." She looked at Nick, her eyes wide and wild, "I've always wanted to do this. I can't believe we're doing this."

Nick smiled. Her enthusiasm reminded him of Brian's as they'd pulled out. 'I swear I'm not going to sleep the entire time we're driving! I'm that excited!' Brian had insisted. Nick had laughed when he'd found him sleeping in the back of the bus less than an hour out of Los Angeles, where they'd started off.

Bree tucked her feet into a cross-legged pretzel fold and fidgeted with her seatbelt. She grinned over at Nick, feeling a rush of gratitude well up in her chest. She wanted to lunge across the car and wrap her arms around his neck and kiss his cheeks for rescuing her from the hell she'd been going through. So much had changed in her life in a swift 72-hour period and she could barely keep up with it mentally. She'd pinched her arm like seventeen times before they'd left that morning, just to make sure she wasn't asleep and dreaming all of it. It was far too good to be true, she'd thought to herself.

"I can't believe my mom said this was okay," Bree laughed, "She never lets me do anything. Ever."

Nick nodded, staying silent.

"You sure told her," Bree said admirantly. "It was like giving her the ol' one-two!"

Nick laughed, though he felt a bit uncomfortable. He hadn't told Bree that Leighanne had wanted him to send her home. He wasn't planning to. He'd insisted they take off early that morning - just so that Leighanne wouldn't call and get pissed that he hadn't listened. He held onto the wheel a bit tighter. "It's gonna be worth it," he said outloud.

Bree didn't catch that the words were a bit disjointed of a reply - she didn't notice that Nick was answering the dilemma of Leighanne's anger in his head with his words. She just thought that yeah, it was worth anything - whatever "it" was.

*****
When they crossed the line going into Arizona, Nick turned into a gas station and told Bree he had to use the bathroom. He gave her a couple bucks to buy snacks and drinks in the store, and darted for a bay of porta-potties along the far edge of the parking lot. He pulled his cell out of his pocket and ducked behind the smelly green facilities, and quickly placed a call to his probation officer.

"I'm in Arizona," he said.

"Arizona?" the officer's voice had peaked with confusion and a little bit of nerves. "What in the blazes are ya doing there?"

"I have to drive my --" Nick hesitated ever so slightly, "I have to drive my niece home to Atlanta," he restarted.

"Can't she fly?"

Nick's mind raced. "Erm. No..."

"Why not?" The officer asked.

"She's uh pregnant." Nick kicked a rock. Bree was so far from pregnant it was ridiculous, she was skinny as a rail. He peeked around the porta-potties. He could see her through the window of the store looking at a rack of potato chips. He hoped she picked barbeque ones.

"How long this trip gonna take?" his officer asked, a twang to his voice that appeared when he became irritated.

Nick shrugged, "I dunno. Less than two weeks."

"Less than --" The officer grumbled the rest of the words, clearly not pleased. "You best be calling me every chance you get," he warned. "I want to know where you are every single step of the way. If I don't hear from you within a 24-hour period you will be in violation with your probation."

"Yes sir."

"You'll be facing automatic jail time if you stand in violation, just so you're aware. No court's going to buy into your cell phone reception being out or anything like that for an excuse, neither. So you best make sure I hear from you."

"Yes sir."

He couldn't help but feel a bit like a heel for not telling Bree he'd had to call his probation officer. He imagined that he knew a bit of what Amanda had felt like the first time they'd done all this, when she'd had to sneak around calling up Eric, her father slash editor at Pop Stuff Online, and lie to him about it - before he knew she was a reporter. He didn't like the feeling, not even a bit.

Nor did he like the fact that he was thinking about Amanda so damn much.

Bree ended up with a large bag of tropical Skittles, two bottles of Yoohoo, and salt and vinegar chips. Nick didn't mention that he'd wanted the barbeque ones.

*****
The Arizona sky was brilliant blue, with short shadows cast below the cactus that dotted the landscape. Bree had the window down and was leaning back in her seat, her feet up on the dashboard, the bag of Skittles cradled on her stomach. "Tell me about him," she asked.

Nick crunched on a chip thoughtfully, then he said finally, "Your dad was a funny guy. He loved doing impressions, he told jokes all the time."

Bree laughed, "I saw this video once on the Internet when he was doing an interview and he started talking like Ace Ventura."

Nick laughed, too, a wide smile crossing his face. "Yeah, I remember that. God that was like 1996 or something. I was your age."

"That's like a million years ago," Bree teased.

"It's gone fast," Nick said, shaking his head. He glanced at Bree for the splittest of moments before turning back to look out the windshield. "It's weird," he commented, "How you can see him on the net and know about things like that."

"It must be weirder for you," Bree answered, "I mean every memory you've ever had is all over the place for the world to see, isn't it?"

Nick nodded. "Kind of like a photo album or something. But the thing is that stuff can never tell a whole story. There's too much stuff that goes on that doesn't get picked up in interviews and videos, too many nuances and personal issues, you know?" He shrugged.

"Trust me, I know all too well. If it was a replacement for real life, then I wouldn't feel as empty as I do about not having my dad."

"Exactly."

Nick realized how funny it was that he'd never really thought to look Brian up on YouTube to relive the memories with him, to remind him what his friend had looked like. It just never occurred to him because the Brian that he knew and loved had been such a different person than the one that moved so hyperactively about on the screen for the fans. Brian was the true definition of a ham and he'd been so energetic and excited when it came to showing off for the fans, but behind the scenes, in the real world, Brian had been an intelligent, loving person with a careful vocabulary and a huge heart.

"You can't know him through Youtube," Nick commented.

Bree looked hopefully at Nick. "Tell me something I'd never know from the Internet."

"This one time," Nick said, "We were on tour and I don't really remember where we were but we'd been touring the major U.S. cities, you know, and we had a day off so we got this idea to go to this sports museum. So we kinda got the directions and I was the navigator and your dad was driving and we took off and I dunno, I'm a crappy navigator 'cos I barely know how to read a map --"

"That's comforting," Bree teased.

Nick laughed, "I was very careful with this one, I promise."

"Okay good. Continue."

Nick smirked. "Anyways... Your dad and I got lost and we were off in this weird city that was like really ghetto-ish looking and it was just really weird. And your dad was like 'lock the doors!' because he was chicken-shit..." Bree was laughing. Nick continued, "So we're like driving and stuff and then we see this crowd of homeless people kinda all huddled together on these steps - they were like all over the town hall steps or something, all kind of trying to stay warm, you know, with these city-issued blankets and they looked miserable..." Nick shook his head, "Anyways, your dad, he dragged me off to this grocery store and we went in and got like twelve pounds of turkey and ham and cheese and these bags of these hoagie rolls you know and mayo and yeah, the whole works, and we go back and Bri just opens up the back of the trunk and starts making'em all sandwiches and handing out these bottled waters we bought and the whole thing."

"Wow."

Nick laughed, "Yeah. So after they're all fed and stuff, your dad gets in the car and he goes 'Dude, I feel like Jesus.'"

Bree cracked up. "Oh no he didn't!"

"Yeah he did," Nick answered, his laughter culminating in a wheezy sound.

"That is priceless," Bree giggled. "He sounds like he was real religious. I mean I have his Bible and he knew like everything, it looks like."

"He was smart, yeah," Nick nodded, "He really loved the whole Christian thing, you know? But... I dunno." He paused to take a sip of Yoohoo while he thought of how to word what he was trying to say. Finally, he said, "You know how sometimes Christians are kind of douchebags?"

Bree nodded, "My mom's church friends are so annoying."

"Yeah. Well, your dad wasn't like that. He wasn't normal." Nick laughed, "Well I mean, he wasn't a normal Christian."

"By the sounds you were right on both counts," Bree pointed out.

Nick nodded, "Fair point. But I mean like he didn't act like regular Christians do. He wasn't judgemental, he didn't condemn people. He just loved'em. Even if they didn't love him back, even if they treated him like shit."

"Who would treat my dad like that?" Bree asked, "That's just crazy. He sounds so nice."

"Lots of people," Nick shrugged. "The truth is, I did for a long time." It was the first time Nick had really admitted that to anyone before. It was hard, hearing it in his own voice.

"Why?" Bree questioned.

Nick pursed his lips. "I made some bad choices," he answered, chosing his words carefully.

"Like getting arrested?" Bree asked, thinking of the article she'd seen in the paper the week before.

Nick nodded, "Like getting arrested. Twice. I drank a lot, did a lot of drugs..." he sighed, "I dated the wrong kinds of people. Things like that. Made bad career choices. And every step of the way, your dad was there for me, trying to help me fix it before it spun out of control... but I didn't listen to him, I just kept getting mad at him, but he didn't give up on me." Nick shook his head. "Christ, if I'd been him I'd have given up on me so fast. I was such an arrogant prick." He laughed.

Bree studied Nick for a long moment. "So if you're judging yourself now so much for the things you did then... why do you do them again now?"

Nick's eyes scanned the roadway, though he barely saw it through the flood of emotion that followed her question. He took a deep breath. "I don't know," he admitted. "After your dad died, I just... didn't know how to move on, I guess." He swallowed. "Your dad was the only person that I had ever really talked to before. And he'd tried to account for that by including Amanda on the road trip, you know, because he was supposed to be the person that I started confiding in. He wanted me to have what he had with your mom... He knew he was dying and he didn't want to leave me stranded, you know?"

"So what happened?"

Nick felt his eyes misting. "I couldn't open up to her. I shut down so hard when I lost your dad... I just pushed everyone away. I was too scared to lose it again, you know? I was afraid." He'd never admitted this. Not even to himself. He shuffled his hands on the steering wheel.

"So you started drinking again."

Nick nodded, "Yeah," he whispered.

"Is that why Amanda left?"

Nick nodded. "I told her to go. I told her I didn't love her." He forced a sad smile onto his face - more of a wince, a grimmace, a way to keep the tears from falling. "I lied," he said simply.

Chapter Eight

At the sound of the alarm clock on Monday morning, Amanda got out of bed and pulled on her favorite yoga pants. She tugged an old concert t-shirt from her favorite band over her head and threw her long, strawberry-colored hair into a pony tail that rode high on her scalp. She tugged socks onto her feet, her favorite sneakers, yanked on a heavy windbreaker coat with fleece lining, tucked her fingers into a pair of gloves and slid her headphones-slash-earmuffs onto her head and started up her iPod. Tucking her wallet into her pocket, Amanda prayed for a clear side walk in the February sunshine outside, and was rewarded with exactly what she'd hoped for. It seemed most everyone had opted to stay in late.

She trotted down a couple side streets before hitting Boylston and onward toward Fenway Park, her usual route for her morning run that led her along the Charles River on Storrow Drive. The sun was unusually warm for a Boston winter morning and she was relieved to see the signs of puddles forming across the cement, evidence that the snow was finally thinking about giving up its residency.

It'd been a long winter - what with a couple blizzards that had struck the northeastern seaboard. But then again, the Autumn before it had been long, as had the Summer, Spring, previous Winter and so forth back and back and back through time since she'd moved to Boston in the first place. Amanda wasn't really cut out for the way-more-than-four-seasons lifestyle of New England, but it was better than remaining in Los Angeles and bumping into Nick every five seconds.

The sunlight played off the Charles River like crystals were floating across its surface. Amanda watched a pigeon picking some kind of food out of a trash bin that had been tipped over by a bench under a tree, and as she jogged by the bird fluttered away. Amanda watched it go, wishing she could fly, too. She'd been running for fifteen minutes and she'd really been slacking on her routine.

For a while she'd been getting up at four and running for an hour before going home, showering, getting dressed and going to work at eight. But she'd been slacking lately. She told herself it was mostly just the impossiblity to predict if the sidewalks would be in running condition - she was more than just a little afraid of hitting a patch of ice and wrenching her knee off since she was supremely klutzy, not to mention not as young as she once was - but in all honesty it was a February thing.

At least she was running now.

She'd left early from work Friday - Brian's birthday - and spent the day going through the few photos and things she'd kept when she'd left Nick. She'd held the crystal eagle Brian had given her and thought about Brian and Piper and Nick and the life she'd lost. It'd been a long day, followed by a long two days of lethargy, caused by exhaustion from emotional havoc wrecked the day before. She'd spent the weekend in pajamas watching old Audrey Hepburn movies and crying when she got the guy because Nick was 4,000 miles away and all she could picture was the jackass wallowing in his own drunken stupor.

She'd decided around ten the night before that now that the birthday was passed she'd move on with her life - and she was going to start by running and exercising off the bag of Doritos she'd consumed by herself over the weekend. She was going to start by forgetting Nick because even when she did nice things for him - like call him the other day to see how he was doing - he did things like not talk and eventually start snoring into the phone in her ear.

But when her cell phone vibed from the pocket of her coat and she looked at the caller ID, she slowed to a stop without walking first. Her heart beat slammed in her chest like a drum against her ribs as she knocked her headphones to the back of her neck and flipped the phone open. "Hello?" she asked, breathless, her voice raspy.

"Amanda?" Nick's voice was quiet. He was talking in a tone only just above a whisper. "It's me, Nick. Nick Carter." He paused.

"I know who you are, dumbass," she answered. She staggered to the rail that ran alongside the river and leaned against it, her mittened hand wrapping around the cold metal. She took a deep breath, "What, do you need someone to snore at again?"

"I'm sorry," he said, but his voice was too heavy to mean just for the snoring.

Amanda licked her lips and wished absently she'd brought along a chapstick. She shot a cursory glance around herself, but she was absolutely and completely alone in the park. She didn't know how to answer him, so she simply played his game back on him and didn't say a word.

"I lied to you," he said.

Amanda looked down at the snow, "You must be dreaming, Carter, 'cos you didn't even talk to me."

"I mean ten years ago," he said, "When I said I didn't love you anymore? I lied."

Amanda felt like he'd socked her in the gut. She licked her teeth. Again, she didn't know how to respond. She studied the dirty snow. She glanced to one side - the pigeon was back at the trash barrel, pecking away at what she could now see was spilled lo mein.

"Why did you wait 'til now to tell me?" she asked.

"Well," he said quietly, "Like you said, I'm kind of a dumbass."

Amanda had to swallow back a laugh. It'd been a long time since she'd felt like laughing, and leave it to Nick Carter to bring that out of her. "Kind of?" she asked in as level a tone as she could muster.

"Okay, I'm the king of dumbasses, ruler on high."

"Sultan of the Dumbasses," Amanda agreed.

"The one most holy."

"Indeed." She paused. "So..."

"I just wanted you to know," he said quietly. "And I wanted you to know that I'm sorry." And just as suddenly as the call had come, he'd disconnected it, and he was gone.

Amanda sighed and slid the phone back into her pocket and watched the bird for a couple moments until she heard the snow crunching a way down the path, indicating someone was on their way through the park, so she tugged on her headphones, wanting only to be alone, and jogged away - once again sending the bird flying into the smoggy atmosphere of the cold, February Boston morning.

*****
Nick tucked his phone into his jeans pocket and stared out across the flat Arizona landscape. It was just before sunrise, the first rays were peeking over the distant horizon line. He leaned against the car, crossing his arms over his chest and sighed. Bree was asleep in the car, curled up under one of the blankets he'd packed into the trunk. The first night of travel had gone nicely but he'd been thankful to find the rest stop area that somehow felt more secure than just parking on the side of the road. He'd fallen asleep for about an hour before he'd woken up, his dreams haunted with Amanda and Brian and swimming images of times long since passed by.

He wasn't sure what had really led him to dialing Amanda's number, but as soon as he'd said the words, the rest of it had come easy. And that had frightened him. Which was why he'd hung up abruptly. Now he was standing there, staring at red rocks and miles of dust, wishing that he'd stayed on the line, that he'd told her about Bree and about the trip, about how he felt every time he thought her name, and how he dreamed about her face. He wanted to tell her how when he wasn't thinking he found himself sketching her features and humming their song.

The car door opened and he heard Bree climb out of the car and come around. She leaned against the car beside him, the blanket still wrapped around her arms. She stood there for a few minutes in silence, then she looked up at him, hesitated, and then wrapped one arm around him, snuggling her cheek into his chest. He moved his arm to wrap his arm around her shoulder. They stood there like that, watching the sun rise.

Chapter Nine

Nick and Bree stopped at a truck stop diner on the last stretch to the Grand Canyon where a waitress with frizzy purple-grey hair and Latino heritage had asked if they "habla espanol" before asking in broken English what they wanted to eat. Nick had ordered pancakes and Bree had gone with scrambled eggs and ham, then the waitress waddled away, leaving behind two steaming cups of coffee in front of them on the table. Nick watched Bree pour in precisely two and one half of the cream cups, and then add two regular sugar packets, and one supplement and stir counter clockwise. He laughed.

"What?"

"It just keeps throwing me off how much of the Littrell idio-sin-crazies were handed down to you. Genetics is a bitch."

Bree was pretty sure he meant idiosyncrises, but she didn't want to be rude in correcting him. Instead, she let her cheeks flush and asked, "What? Is this something my dad used to do, too?"

"Yeah, and I always teased the shit out of him because what the hell is the point of using a fake sugar when you use two reals?"

"It saves calories." Bree shrugged.

"Like you need to save calories," Nick replied with a slight eyeroll.

"Maybe I do," Bree responded.

"Did you know there's only like five - if that - calories in a packet of sugar?"

"Seriously?" Bree looked at a packet but it didn't contain any information. "I thought they were required to put nutrition info on the packages of stuff like this now?" she asked, rolling it in her palm.

Nick laughed, "Do you seriously see the size of it? Where would they put it?"

"They could do a fold out," she replied, holding it up and pretending to unfold a map. Nick laughed. "Baylee says I could go into advertising like he did because I'm creative," Bree said.

"Yeah? That'd be fun," Nick commented off handedly.

"Sure," Bree shrugged, "I guess." She started ripping the empty sugar packet.

Nick leaned back into the booth and studied her a moment, leaving little shards of paper. "You want to do your writing, huh?" he asked.

Bree looked up. "Yeah."

"Then that's what you should do."

"I guess."

"No seriously, life is way too short, you need to follow your heart and all that girly, pep-talk stuff."

Bree laughed, "Pep talks aren't girly."

"Sure they are."

"Nawh, what do you think it's called when the coach talks to a football team before they go out to play, huh?"

"The battle delcaration," he announced in a voice that sounded like a viking with a sore throat.

Bree had been about to take a mouthful of coffee when he answered and she very nearly spit it across the table at him, only just barely managing to keep her mouth closed. "Oh my God," she gasped as the giggles erupted.

Nick made a noise that sounded like a pirate with a sore throat. "Arrrrgh."

"Stop," Bree gasped through giggles, "You're crazy."

Nick smirked.

The waitress returned at that moment with two steaming plates of breakfast on a tray that balanced precariously on her upraised hand. She unloaded it, and dropped a salt shaker and a tiny cup of maple syrup onto the table in front of them, and waddled away with the promise of returning with more coffee.

Bree looked across the table at Nick. "Thank you," she said solemnly.

Nick was pouring syrup onto his food. "For...?"

"Talking to me like I'm a grown up," Bree replied, "And for respecting me enough to tell me about my Dad." She took a deep breath, "People always think I'm crazy when I say this but, I just feel such a deep connection to him somehow, even if I didn't meet him, and I just want to know who he was, you know?"

Nick nodded. He was studying his food, carefully avoiding her eyes. "You're welcome," he muttered, before chowing into his breakfast.

*****
The phone was ringing in Nick's house, the tone splitting the silence like a knife. It bounced off the walls and returned to the phone's cradle. It's Nick, leave me a message. Beeeep!

"Nick?" Leighanne's voice echoed from the answering machine. "Nick, you better be not-answering becaus you're driving my daughter to the airport, that's all I have to say." She paused, "Call me when you get back."

*****
Nick parked the car in an empty space by the gift shop of the Grand Canyon - the one where Brian had bought Amanda that crystal eagle. Nick stared out the window at the store front, which resembled a hacienda. To one side was an old fence that had once served as a pen for the burros that they'd rode into the depths of the canyon. The store had a fancy new neon sign hanging over the door and a weather worn flag that declared they were open. Bree was staring over his shoulder. "Gift shop?" she asked.

Nick nodded wordlessly.

"Did my dad go here?" she asked.

Nick nodded again.

Bree opened the passanger side door and climbed out, "Well what're you waitin' for?" she asked, grinning as she slammed the door behind her.

Nick sucked in a deep breath and swung his door open, sliding out into the dry Arizona heat. He shoved his hands into his pockets and followed her, trotting across the parking lot toward the small building. He glanced at the empty burro pen and wondered where the beasts were. He wondered how long burros lived - if the animals that had swayed and wobbled their way down the canyon walls carrying himself, Amanda and Brian were still in the present tense or if they'd gone the way of Elmer's Glue.

Then he got wondering if they made glue out of burros like they do horses.

"Nick, c'mon!" Bree's voice carried across the lot, excited.

Stepping through the door, a little bell chimed throughout the store and a woman behind the register, whose long dark hair made him think she must be of Blackfoot descent, called out, "Hello!" He smiled, waved, and followed after Bree, who was practically skipping into the shop. Inside was the same cheesy merchandise that Nick remembered from the first time he'd been in the store. Plastic animals, cedar boxes with lithographs of wolves and bears and stuff on them... Little glass cacti, plastic snow globes, shot glasses, baby spoons, and touristy t-shirts. Bree laughed and pointed at a postcard that showed a cartoon of a burro carrying a ginormous tourist down into the grand canyon.

When Bree found a shelf of books on the history of the canyon and local Native American folklore, Nick wandered by her and continued on looking at everything in the shop while she flipped through the books excitedly. He found the display of glass animals and inspected them. There were no eagles. He would've been tempted to buy it just because had there been one. But something else caught his eye at that moment and he migrated to the right of them, to a framed newspaper article by the door.

Squinting at it, he realized it was a print out of the Pop Stuff Online article that Amanda had written about their stop in Arizona sixteen years ago, accompanied by a photograph of Nick hugging the neck of a burro as they began their descent into the canyon.

Brian Littrell and Nick Carter, the duo quickly becoming known as "The Traveling Backstreet Boys" (yes that's a reference to the creepy Travelocity gnome), were photographed yesterday horsing around at the Grand Canyon in Arizona. Wait - those aren't horses!

Looks like Nick Carter overcame his fear of the equine breeds to impress his girlfriend, Amanda Golde, over the weekend!

Too bad the Backstreet Boys are still being as stubborn as burros and continue hide the reason behind the cancellation of their 38-stop New Beginnings World Tour!

Check out Pop Stuff Online's exclusive photo gallery to get a peek at Nick's awkward ride down the South Rim! And as always, keep checking back with Pop Stuff Online for the latest updates on the 10-40 of your favorite Traveling Backstreet Boys.

Bree was suddenly at Nick's side. "What's this?" she asked, leaning over his shoulder. He moved so she could see.

"Amanda wrote it," he said.

Bree looked at him. "Fear of equine breeds?"

"Kevin had a psycho horse." There was no way in hell he was re-explaining the tale of the evil horse that had laughed at him. No way in hell.

Bree laughed, "I didn't know horses could be evil."

"This one was."

"Burros aren't technically horses."

"They're cousins or some shit."

"Did you know that a girl donkey is called a Jennyass?"

Nick blinked at Bree for a long moment. "What?"

"You know how a boy donkey is a Jackass?"

"I thought that was a TV show."

"What?"

"Never mind, it was before you're time."

"Um, okay." Bree gave Nick a funny look, then switched back to the educational moment. "No, boy donkeys are called Jackasses and female donkies are Jennyasses."

"That's really weird."

Bree laughed, "Sorry - just a random fact I saw on Wikipedia once that kind of stuck in my brain."

"Why in the hell were you looking up donkies on Wikipedia?"

"Baylee and I used to look up the origin of swear words when my mom wasn't around," Bree confessed.

Nick laughed, "I used to write them on Kevin's forehead on the tour bus. In pernament marker." He grinned. "Once I drew a --" he'd been about to say penis but realize he was talking to Brian's daughter - his sixteen year old daughter - and stopped mid-sentence and ammended with "--a cupcake."

"What?"

"I drew a cupcake on Kevin's forehead."

"A cupcake?"

"Yeah." Nick's face was flushed.

"Is that code for penis?" Nick walked away to avoid answering and Bree laughed hysterically as she trotted after him. "Oh my God, what did he do? Kevin's kind of uptight, isn't he? Was he always?"

"Always," Nick nodded vigerously.

Bree laughed. "What'd he do?"

"I thought he was gonna kill me. He yelled like a ninja when he saw it in the mirror. Took days to get it off."

"You were kind of badass when you were younger, huh?"

Nick laughed, "I was a whole lot of bad ass."

Chapter Ten

They had looked over the side of the canyon for quite some time before they trooped back to the car. Bree had put quarters into one of the old-fashioned tourist binocular machines and peered all over the cayon's wide mouth at the river below. Nick spent the time staring out, too, with his mind somewhere entirely else, half expecting to hear the voice of God boom out from the atmosphere.

God, in Nick's head anyway, sounded a lot like Brian. It was probably because Nick had never really thought about God or Heaven or any of that stuff before Brian had come into his life. And when Brian died - that was the first time that Nick had ever really thought deeply about things like death and the afterlife, about what happens after a person dies. So God's voice just sounded a lot like Brian's. Not because he thought Brian was God, but just because it was the first voice he'd ever heard talk about God freely. God probably didn't have a Kentucky accent, Nick was aware of that much. Granted, that was about the extent of his religious knowledge, but he was pretty sure it was an accurate notion.

A lonely bird circled through the canyon and Nick watched it's wings on the thermals that streamed through the crack in the earth's crust, his heart seizing up for a moment as he stared at it. The bird's slightest movement sent him soaring or diving, and he grazed the wind the way a surfer's board does the ocean's waves. It probably wasn't even an eagle, he told himself, but he still felt his eyes watering up. He looked away as the bird disappeared into the clouds and glaring sun, swiping his face with the back of his fist and turning to find Bree beside him, also watching the bird.

"Was that an eagle?" she wondered.

Nick shrugged, trying not to sound choked up, "Nawh, I think it was a hawk..." If Bree noticed the emotion that thickened his voice, she was polite enough not to say so, and Nick hoped it was just that he'd done well enough masking the tone that she hadn't the faintest clue that he'd been on the verge of tears.

As they walked back to the car, the sun was sneaking down past the edge of the canyon and they sat in the car, watching it disappear and paint the winter sky a variety of violet and magenta shades. Bree sighed. Nick glanced at her, his composure completely regained by this point, and muttered, "What'sa matter?"

"I wish I could've been here," she said.

Nick knew without asking that she meant then, when he'd been here last. He rubbed his palms against his knees as the sun shot its last rays into the night sky overhead. "We camped that time," he said, "We took the burros down and camped at the bottom."

Bree smiled, "That must've been cool."

"Yeah, it's pretty awesome. There's like a ton of red-tape you gotta cross before you can do that or I'd suggest we do it, too, so you can give it a whirl..." he laughed, "Maybe some other time." But even as he said it he knew they'd probably never do it. First of all, it'd taken throwing around the fact that he was a Backstreet Boy and his friend was dying to get the okay the first time. Now, it'd been so long since being a Backstreet Boy had mattered and honestly the dying friend thing had held a lot of clout then so there was probably no chance in hell that he'd get the okay again.

Besides that, it'd been special between him, Amanda, and Brian, and he wasn't honestly sure if he was interested in sharing it with anyone else.

And even more besides that, he never had lived down the ridicule from his baby raccoon encounter...

When the sun had completely disappeared behind the horizon line, Nick turned the car on and they glided out of the parking lot. Bree had her feet up on the dashboard, staring out the window at the thousands of stars that had begun poking out all over the inky-black sky. Nick drove to the nearest gas station, got out of the car and started pumping gas. He knocked on the window, told Bree that he'd be right back, and disappeared into the store.

Bree used the opportunity to pull out her cell phone. She had three missed calls - all of them were her mother. She sighed and rolled her eyes. She had no patience for her mother at the moment. Her mom knew they were on a road trip, so she'd just tell her later that the reception was out. She closed the missed call notification page and clicked on a new text from Baylee.

Where r u?

Bree clicked reply and tapped out, With uncle Nick. Where r u?

The stars seemed almost blue, they were so bright. A couple of them she could see a chemical rainbow, like a bubble, in their light. They were beautiful -- cosmic. She hugged her knees to her chest. As she stared out, she realized that sixteen years ago her father might've laid on the ground at the bottom of the canyon, looking up at the very same stars that she was seeing now. She felt a tugging sensation somewhere beneath her heart, somewhere in her gut; she felt closer to Brian here, in a place where he'd been happy, where he'd been making memoies. She felt like at any moment he could just walk up and knock on the window, offer her a hot chocolate and a hug and their lives would stretch on into forver, a happily ever after.

The phone vibed again, making Bree jump. She felt ridiculous as soon as she'd realized it was her phone. Her heart was slamming pointlessly in her chest. For a brief moment she'd thought she'd seen him - Brian - leaning up to the window...

She clicked on Baylee's message. Mom's pissed.

Bree stared at the screen for a long moment. Her mother never got mad at Baylee. Her eyebrows creased together and she was about to ask what happened when the car door opened and Nick climbed back into the car. "Sorry," he muttered.

Deciding whatever was wrong with Leighanne now was less important than spending time with Nick, Bree slid her phone into her pocket, promising herself she'd text Baylee again later, when they stopped to sleep. She looked at Nick, "No problem. What were you doing?"

"I had to make a phone call," he answered.

"To who?"

Nick handed her a cup of hot chocolate he'd bought her in the store. "Here," he answered. Bree stared at the cup. It was as though he'd known what she'd been thinking. He raised an eyebrow as she stared, slack-jawed at the styrofoam cup. "Whatsa matter?" he asked, "Don't you like cocoa?"

"Yeah," she stammered, taking the cup, "Of course I do, I just - I was just thinking about hot chocolate, that's all."

Nick slipped a second styrofoam cup into the cupholder and turned the key in the ignition. When the light was on, he stared down at a map on his phone for a few moments, mumbling directions to himself. Bree sipped the cocoa and was just finishing the cup as Nick finally pulled out of the gas station and they started heading down the road again through the dark.

They rode in silence for what felt like quite a long time before Nick took a left and the car merged onto a freeway with signs saying they were headed north. Bree put the empty styrofoam cup into the empty side of the holder. She studied Nick's silhouette, backlit by the passing street lamps. She chewed the inside of her lip for a moment. "Is it hard?" she asked, "Coming back here without him? Seeing the places he was and stuff?"

Nick shrugged. "It's weird, I guess."

"Do you think I'd be here if it wasn't for him dying?" she asked.

Nick shrugged again.

It was something that had always bothered Bree, something she'd dreamed once in a nightmare that she'd never told anyone. She'd dreamt Brian had survived but she had never existed. She imagined now that it was probably because she didn't know how to envision herself with a father - she'd never had one - but sometimes it bothered her, somewhere deep in her gut, that she'd somehow been the reason that he'd died. Like he'd been offered some sort of barbaric heavenly exchange deal. For a time she'd even imagined it'd been some sort of strange form of reincarnation - obviously not that she was her father but that she'd somehow gained a portion of his spirit.

She'd never told anyone she felt like that though. They'd think she was crazy. Or else mistaken her for one of those Star Trek people that really believe they can speak that language and stuff.

It wasn't like that. It was on an emotional level. Really.

She supposed to was her way of dealing with the haunted, incompleted feeling that she'd carried around all her life.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" she asked Nick at last.

Nick shook his head firmly, "I used to."

"What made you change your mind?" Bree asked.

Nick's voice was low. "If people could come back, Brian would be here," he replied.

Bree couldn't help but feel that in a way maybe he was.

Chapter Eleven

Nick had stopped for a couple minutes and tried to sleep but that haunted feeling had just kept waking him and bothering him and he'd eventually given up an gone back to driving. The headlights pierced the darkness of the highway like knives. Bree slept on in the passanger side, her face gentle and deep in a state of rest, eyes wobbling with dreams.

The stereo played his iPod's shuffle quietly as the car sailed along; Journey was a comforting, familiar sound. His thoughts were spinning about, each one floating through his mind like someone had thrown confetti memories into the air. He thought about pulling over and getting out and going to smell Bree's bag again, like he had when she first arrived. He felt homesick for Brian, something he hadn't felt in a long time, but the overwhelming sense of his absence had taken a hold of Nick at the edge of the Canyon.

The Canyon, he realized, was very much the way his heart felt now that Brian was gone. A gaping hole, stretched widely apart and utterly impossible to refill. He imagined that the crack in his heart was visible from space.

Nick's mind fully preoccupied, he wasn't doing a very good job keeping his mind on the road.

Suddenly, an object Nick couldn't quite make out was in the dark road ahead of them, and he slammed the car's brakes on in an effort to avoid it, but the car thump-thumped over it. With a pop and a wheezing shuddering couple rolls, the car came to a stop a couple yards away from whatever it was. Nick's heart was racing, his breathing coming out in quick pants. Bree had sat up and was looking around wildly.

"What was that?!" she cried.

Nick looked in the rearview mirror. "I think I busted the tire." He swung the door open, "Shit," he cussed, frustrated with himself. He glanced back at her, "Stay in the car, aiight?" All he could picture was some other preoccupied driver coming along and flattening Bree like a pancake. And with that, he climbed out.

Bree felt panicked the way you do when you're woken from a sound sleep the way she had been. She clutched the blanket she'd pulled over herself at some point and looked around at the highway. She wondered how long Nick had been driving. She hadn't even felt him leave the rest area. She'd been dreaming about the canyon, about Brian, about eagles. She wasn't sure what the plot of the dream had been - only that it'd been lovely and she hadn't wanted to awaken from it. Not without remembering it. But the sudden jolt had yanked her from it, leaving behind her memories, safely cocooned in a world deep in her subconscious.

She looked around outside the car and could only just barely see Nick. She reached for the car door. Her nerves frayed, she didn't want to be alone. She pulled the blanket around herself like a cape and crawled out of the car, leaving the door wide open as she walked to the back bumper.

Bits of tire were all over the highway. The front driver's side tire was mangled, the car all but resting on the rim. Nick was a few yards back, inspecting something in the road. Bree stayed by the car. "What's that?" she called, pointing at the mass on the street.

Nick looked up, "Some car part that fell off another car," he muttered. He kicked it and the thing made a terrible scraping sound as he moved it toward the edge of the highway. "You were supposed to stay in the car," he reprimanded her.

"I didn't want to be alone," she argued.

Nick didn't reply - honestly, he didn't either. The tire explosion had given them both a scare, and NIck had been nervous about getting out to see what he'd hit, imagining something terrible laying in the road. He was spooked just enough in a spent-the-night-telling-ghost-stories way to imagine Jason coming out of the woods with his mask and machine gun whirring.

Once he'd gotten the piece of metal off the road, he turned back to the car, bending to pick up pieces of his shredded tire as he walked. He sighed, staring at the rim. Bree walked around the car to his side and stared at it, too. Nick glanced around the empty highway. "Well then," he muttered.

Bree raised an eyebrow. "Now what?" she asked.

Nick leaned against the car and pulled out his cellphone. "Now we change the tire."

"What're you doing?" she asked.

"Googling Walmart."

"What?"

"I don't have a spare tire."

Bree leaned against the car, too, hugging the blanket to her chest. She stared at the woods opposite the street. "Do you think there's wild animals in there?" she asked.

Nick glanced at the trees, then down at Bree. "Nawh," he answered.

Bree looked up at him. "What good is googling Walmart going to do?" she asked, "We can't drive there on the rim, can we?"

Nick shrugged.

"We're not walking, are we?"

Nick shrugged again.

Bree thought she heard something move in the trees and looked back at them, a new wave of panic settling over her. She inched closer to Nick and grabbed onto his arm. Nick wrapped it around her, tucking her against his side, as he continued working on the phone. After a couple moments, he turned and looked off beyond the car at the trees behind them. "According to this," he said, "There's a Walmart like five miles from here."

"Five miles?" Bree asked. She wasn't much of an athletic person and she couldn't really imagine walking five miles all at once. She glanced at Nick. She could tell by his stance what he was thinking. "I'm going with you," she argued before he could even start to say otherwise.

Nick sighed, resigned to the finality in her voice that he wasn't going to be able to stop her - after all, she seemed very headstrong, he couldn't even get her to stay in the car for five minutes. If he left her here and started walking there was nothing stopping her from waiting for a couple minutes then tailing after him and he'd never know it until she caught up and he imagined worse things happening if he had no clue she was there than at least being aware and being able to protect her as best he could. "Might wanna leave the blanket here at least," he suggested. He reached into the car and got his wallet.

Bree stuffed her blanket into the car.

They set off, their sneakers slap-slapping the cement as they walked. It sort of amazed Nick that they hadn't seen any other vehicles travelling the road since the tire had exploded, but then again it was some time after two in the morning. He made sure Bree walked on the inside and he on the out - the first of the two that would be struck by a careening vehicle should that occur, and he had to restrain himself from the desire to hold her hand to keep her right there like he had when his sisters were growing up.

Bree kept one eye on the trees lining the street, half expecting to see a fox or a bear come running out, fangs bared, ready to eat them. She felt a bit like Dorothy walking through the forrest just before the Cowardly Lion comes out. Lions and Tigers and Bears, oh my!

It was a long walk, but it was flat land other than the exit ramp, and Walmart itself was right off the highway. It didn't really feel like five miles, even though it did, indeed, take them well over an hour to round a corner and find the glowing neon blue and yellow sign. "I've never frickin' been happy to see this place before in my life," Nick muttered.

Bree laughed. "You don't like Walmart?" she asked as they wallked across the wide span of the parking lot. The lot alone was probably a mile, Bree thought.

Nick shook his head, "I hate it."

"Why?"

"There's always noise. And not like normal noise either. I mean it's not even the fact that there's always a kid screaming and people arguing and moms yelling and TVs blaring and music playing and employees throwing shit. It's not even that stuff. But there's like this humming sound that just drones under it all and it's that squeaky ree-ra-reeet-ra-reeet sound the cart wheels make because all their carts make that sound."

Bree's laughter continued, "Wow, you paint a lovely image of Walmart's audio track."

"And that's without getting me started on their alarm system."

"The alarm system?"

"Yeah. It flashes these horrible blue lights and makes this sound that you feel in your head more than you actually hear it. It's like an instant migraine."

They were about halfway across the lot when the rain started. Bree let out a shriek and bolted for the front doors. Nick laughed as she ran, her arms flailing about, trying to wave the rain away from her head. He trotted, shoving his hands into his pockets, not worried about the rain so much as about keeping up with Bree. The drops came down progressively faster and by the time Nick had ducked through the front doors, it was a downpour and he shook his hair out the way a dog would, shuddering off the rain.

"I'm soaked," Bree complained loudly, her voice echoing in the cavernous entryway.

Nick laughed, "It's just water."

"Why is it raining anyways, we're in the freaking desert!"

Nick smiled, "Haven't you figured out that's how my luck goes? At least you don't have to figure out how to put a damn car tire on in it."

Bree stared at Nick for a long moment. "You don't know how to change a tire?"

Nick shrugged, "I've never really had to before," he admitted.

"Oh lawwwd," Bree cried out, her tone sounding distinctly southern - in a Georgia way, not a Kentucky way; it still reminded Nick of Brian's accent, though, and he couldn't help but allow a wide smile to cross his face, as Bree threw her hands up in the air and danced into the Walmart. "It's gonna be a long night, Carter!"

Chapter Twelve

Walmart in the middle of the night is like an entirely different world. It always reminded Nick of how he imagined Neil Armstrong feeling when they landed on the moon. The droning hum was the only real noise besides the occasional sound of a forklift moving a display or two employees shouting to each other. Bree and Nick made their way past them toward the automotive section in the farthest corner of the store, passing only a couple other late-night shoppers with their reet-ra-reeing carts.

When they reached the automotive section, Nick went to look at the tires while Bree wandered along the long aisle that stretched up the entire length of the store's wall. She passed the hunting and sports gear and found herself standing in toys. She glanced back at Nick, who was still studying the tires, and, satisfied that he wasn't going anywhere any time soon, she ducked down one of the aisles.

She'd happened to pick the novelty toy aisle and she picked up a Magic 8 ball, shaking it as she walked, looking at the bins of plastic lizards, bubbles, jump ropes, connect-the-dot game pads, and keychain-sized Etch-a-Sketches. She looked at the answer the 8 ball gave - though she hadn't even asked it a question. Most Likely, it claimed. She wondered what was most likely. She wished she'd asked it if Nick was going to be able to change the tire without hassle, or if the rain would stop before they had to walk back to the car, but she didn't dare to ask it now. It was her experience that Magic 8 balls never gave positive answers twice in a row and she'd rather not get a negative response to either of those questions. She put the 8 ball down on a random shelf and spotted a dog with a Try Me sticker on his paw and pressed it, making it start barking at her. With a laugh, she turned the end of the aisle and started up the next one - the Barbie Dolls aisle.

She laughed when she found a new style Ken doll with an explosion of blonde hair that they'd named Nicholas. She picked it up and snorted. It was dressed in boxers with tiny hearts on them. Or maybe they were supposed to be swim trunks. She wasn't sure. His chest was bare, at any rate, and they'd drawn on these ridiculously perfect muscluar features. As she stared at the doll, she realized that somewhere between ridiculing the Matel/Barbie corporation, she'd fallen into the dangerous territory of wondering if Nick's chest was shaped like that. She quickly dropped the doll back onto the shelf and bolted for the aisle that ran along the backwall, glancing back toward the tires at the far end.

Nick was rubbing his chin, still inspecting the tires, deep in thought, and probably hadn't even noticed she'd walked away, so she wandered off down the next couple aisles.

Once when she was little, she'd wandered away from her mother in Toys R Us while her mom had been arguing with Baylee about whether he was big enough for a particular bicycle or not. She'd made her way to the Littlest Pet Shop aisle and become so enamoured with the display that she didn't notice her mom's voice floating through the aisles calling her name until it had risen to degrees of panic that Leighanne didn't normally reach. "Don't you ever walk away from me again," Leighanne had reprimanded her, clutching Bree to her chest, practically in tears, "Don't you ever go away."

Thinking of Leighanne and Baylee, Bree pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and opened Baylee's text again. Mom's pissed, he'd written.

What'd u do now? Bree tapped out as a response, followed by a smiley face with it's tongue sticking out.

As she pocketed her phone, she heard Nick's voice. "Bree?"

"I'm right here," she called out. She returned to the side aisle and found Nick carrying a temporary spare tire towards her.

"This will get us to a hotel at anyrate and we can find someplace to mount a new tire in the morning," he said. He had a flashlight tucked under his arm and a couple ponchos he'd probably gotten out of the camping supply aisle. Bree couldn't help but look at his chest where his gray t-shirt clung to his skin, still damp from the rain outside, and wonder if it was as well defined as the doll's chest was. He raised a eyebrow as she stared at him. "What?" he asked.

Bree snapped out of her reverie. "Nothing," she answered.

"Ooo-kay," he laughed, "You ready to go?"

"Yes." She turned too quickly and knocked a handful of bug spray bottles off a display on the endcap, sending the bottles to the floor. One burst open and the liquid sprayed across the floor. "Oh God," she moaned. She bent down and started picking up the bottles quickly.

Nick dropped the ponchos and the flashlight and bent to help her. No employees were around, so Nick just picked up the now half empty bottle of spray and put it on the bottom shelf. "What they don't know won't hurt us," he muttered as he picked up his stuff and started wheeling the tire away quickly. Bree's face flushed, but they scampered away from the scene of the crime quickly, leaving behind the overwhelming citronella scent that had begun to gas the entire sporting goods area.

"I was thinking," Nick said, once they'd cleared the toys and were rounding the corner by housewares and were well out of the danger zone of the bug spray, "I know you don't wanna walk through the rain - did you want to stay here while I go back and change the tire and I'll drive back to pick you up? Then we can go to a hotel."

Bree shook her head. "I'd rather stay with you," she answered. "Walmart's kind of creepy at night." She smirked. "Besides, I apparently have to show you how to change the tire."

"I can figure it out," Nick argued, feeling stupid.

"I'd just rather go with you anyways," Bree answered.

They trudged to the register and Nick paid for the spare, ponchos and flashlight. They stopped in the vestibule headed outside to pull the ponchos on over their heads before stepping into the rain. Bree clutched her poncho hood onto her head and followed Nick as they sloshed back across the parking lot, Bree carrying the flashlight in a bag and Nick rolling the spare tire at his side.

"So what happened to the spare that came with your car anyways?" Bree asked as they walked. She had to shout over the rain.

"It's in my garage."

"Lot of good that does you," Bree joked.

Nick laughed, "Yeah... well."

The walk back through the rain took a lot longer than it'd taken getting to Walmart in the first place, and by the time Nick's car loomed in the distance Bree felt a bit like a drowned rat. Her hair was hanging in long strings down her face, clinging to her skin. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. The moment they got there, Nick unlocked the door and moved to turn on the car, planning on blasting the heat. "I'll warm it up before I change the tire," he said, "That way you'll be more comfortable while I battle the beast."

"I can't sit in the car while you do it," Bree said, "You gotta put the car up on the jack."

"The jack?"

Bree stared at Nick for a long moment. "Please God, tell me you have a jack."

Nick bit his lip.

"You're kidding me."

"My hair isn't blonde for anything."

"Do you have tools?"

Nick hesitated.

"When you took the spare out of the trunk did you take the tool kit out too?"

"It came with a tool kit?"

Bree let out a sigh of relief. "Pop your trunk, let me show you."

Nick followed Bree around to the trunk and she opened the trap door on the bottom of the trunk bed after pushing aside the variety of crap that Nick had collected over the years he'd had the car. She found the tool kit and- mercifully -the jack inside and held them up. "Behold - tools and a jack."

"Damn," Nick said, now feeling extra stupid. He imagined himself standing next to Jeff Foxworthy, a neon sign flashing saying he was, indeed, not smarter than a fifth grader.

Bree closed the door of the trunk, "Here, flash the light on the tire, I'll show you how it's done."

Baylee had gotten a junk car when Bree was ten and fixed it up himself. The car had run okay, but it was a bit of a clunker and had a tendency of getting blow outs on a regular basis. Despite Leighanne's persistance that Baylee just get a new car, he'd insisted on keeping his junk wagon - at least until he'd moved to Orlando. The junk car was now stowed away in the garage where Leighanne threatened to have it towed from at least once a month. The result of this, however, was that Bree had learned from her older brother how to change a tire on a car.

Bree knelt down on the cement, Nick's emergency flashers sending gold reflections across the puddles under the car. She pried the plastic hubcap off the rim. Nick turned the flashlight on and laid it on the ground beside her, watching as she loosened the lugnuts, then lined up the jack and twisted the handle. The car slowly rose off the ground, tilting slightly. She turned back to the tire, removing the lugs completely. She looked up at Nick. "Ever seen that movie A Christmas Story?" she asked.

"I watch the 24-hour marathon on TBS every year," Nick answered.

"Don't have a fuuuudge moment," Bree said, handing the lugnuts to him. Nick laughed, but stuck them in his pockets because it was just like him to do something like that.

Bree pulled the flat off the threaded bolts and leaned it against the car, rolled the spare over and mounted it onto the bolts and held out a hand for the lugnuts. She tightened them as much as she could, then looked at Nick. "These gotta be really tight," she explained. He nodded and reached for the tool, tightening them further than she had.

Bree stood up and wiped her knees while Nick finished up tightening each nut. When he stood up, they stepped back and Nick shone the flashlight on the freshly replaced tire. He looked at her. "Impressive," he admitted. "You should work for Nascar."

Chapter Thirteen

Bree was studying herself in the bathroom mirror, her eyes squinting to stare into her own. They'd stopped at a hotel well after 4 in the morning, where Nick had paid for a room and carried their bags up inside. He'd promptly fallen asleep, face-down on the mattress, encouraging Bree to do the same, but she felt like her hair was becoming a giant matted mess of a dreadlock and wanted to take a shower before she settled down. Now, after her shower, warm and dry, she was staring into the bathroom mirror, a photograph of her father leaning against the glass. She glanced at him, then leaned closer to the mirror, trying to see the similarities that everyone saw between them. She poked at her jaw bone, pinched her nose and wiggled her eyebrows a bit. She couldn't see it.

With a sigh, Bree pulled her tooth brush out of her bag and started scrubbing her teeth, watching the popping of her cheeks in the mirror as the brush pushed them out. She made faces at herself and giggled, letting the foamy paste dribble down her chin like she was a mad dog or something.

Suddenly, a shout came from the other room, making Bree jump and spit the foam. She threw the toothbrush onto the counter and pulled her pajama shirt over her head, her hair hanging damp against her neck, and raced around the corner into the main room.

Nick was up, pacing, his hands shaking, eyes unfocused. He was muttering, mumbling, wringing his hands.

"Nick?" she asked, "You okay?"

"Yeah, yes, yeah-huh," he muttered, nodding vigorously, though obviously completely distracted.

"Nick?"

"Yup, yeah, I'm fine," he continued pacing.

Bree wasn't sure what to do. She hovered there, uncomfortable. Nick's hands traveled to the back of his head and he cupped the curve of his scalp with his palms, eyes twisted heaven-ward. "Oh God," he muttered.

"Nick?"

He looked at Bree. "I fucking miss him," he gasped.

Bree thought of the photograph sitting on the counter in the bathroom. She thought of the features her father had, of what little she knew of him. She tried her best to imagine what Brian might've done in this same situation. She inched closer to Nick. Her dad would hug him, wouldn't he? Her dad would tell him it's okay, right? She wrapped her arms around Nick's frame, stopping the pacing and the wringing of the hands. Nick stood stock-still, like he'd been shocked by electricity. He stared down at her. "It's all right, Nick," she said.

"I'm sorry," Nick answered. He sounded defeated.

Bree nodded, "No it's okay, Nick," she answered, "Really."

Nick had tears in his eyes.

*****
Leighanne was sitting in the kitchen, a cup of tea on the table in front of her, untouched. She stared into the amber liquid, the steam rising from the cup, her hands clasping it. Tears were in her eyes, unshed, just barely holding onto stability on the lids. Her jaw shook. She hadn't heard from Nick or Bree, she had no idea where they were, or what they were doing - if they were safe, if they were alive, if they were together, even. She'd been playing a terrible scenario over and over in her head where Nick put Bree onto a plane and was mad enough at Leighanne not to call her to tell her and Bree's plane had been hijacked by West African Pirates or something. It was ridiculous, but few women are rational when their youngest child is missing.

When the phone rang at eight AM, she was, for the first time, disappointed to see Baylee's name on the caller ID. "Have you heard from your sister?" was the first words out of her mouth - not even a greeting preceeded it.

Baylee hesitated. "Yeah," he replied, "Well, kind of."

"Kind of?"

Baylee again hesitated. "Well I kind of texted her and she sort of answered."

"Is she okay? Where the hell is she?" Leighanne's voice climbed in expectation and relief.

"I don't know," Baylee admitted. "I didn't ask that yet. But I did tell her you were kinda pissed."

"I'm just scared, that's all."

"I know mom," Baylee replied. He paused, "Is it really so terrible if Uncle Nick took her on a road trip, though? Really?" he asked.

"Nick has no business --" Leighanne started, but Baylee interrupted her.

"--Telling Bree about Dad? 'Cos you know, she's been asking a ton of questions about him recently..." Baylee paused, "I dunno mum, I think it's time she get some of those questions answered and honestly we both know Nick knew Dad better than anyone else."

"I don't trust him," she replied.

"You always let him watch me," Baylee argued.

"Nick was a different person back then," Leighanne answered.

"Not really," Baylee said, "He just has been through more now, that's all."

Leighanne's silence was ominous. Baylee sighed, "I'm not trying to challenge you, I'm not even on his side. I'm just saying that I think maybe it's a good thing if they get a chance to talk about dad, that's all. At least she can get her answers without having to put you or I through an emotional obstacle course, you know?"

"If you talk to her, please tell her that I want her home - now, not later, okay?"

"Yeah," Baylee replied, "Sure mom."

*****
Hours later, Nick woke up and found he'd fallen asleep sitting on the edge of the bed. Bree was in a chair beside it, her head resting on th mattress, still breathing heavy from deep sleep. He felt sheepish suddenly for his outburst the night before, but all the thinking about Brian's death earlier had led to a horrific nightmare. He couldn't even put words around what he'd seen in his dream, but it had shaken him to his core and he'd awoken, traumatized and afraid, a deep gut-wrenching ache for Brian's presence residing in him. Bree had come out of no where, she'd been just like her father, from the tone to the amount of pressure in her arms when she hugged. It was the weirdest sensation Nick had ever had.

He stood up slowly, and, careful not to wake her, scooped her up from the chair and slid her into the blankets on the other bed, tucking her in gently. He made sure the blankets were around her just right, and softly pushed a piece of hair away from her face. She sighed and shifted, never rousing.

Nick drew a deep breath and turned to look at the digital face of the alarm clock. It was nearly nine in the morning now. He yawned and stretched his shoulders, cracking his back, and grabbed his cell and wallet from the night stand. He jotted out a note on the company Post-it pad and stuck his note to the pillow beside Bree, then slipped out the door of the hotel room.

Sixteen Years Later, Backstreet Boy Nick Carter Returns to the Grand Canyon
Pop Stuff Online - Tobias Winterson

It's been sixteen years since Pop Stuff Online reported a series of stories on the travels of the renegade Backstreet Boys, Nick Carter and Brian Littrell. Today, though, Nick Carter was spotted at the Grand Canyon, one of the many destinations on their original road trip. It seems Carter, now 45, is experiencing a bit of nostalgia concerning the trip. And he's not alone. Recreating the experience has included finding himself a companion to go along for the ride. Who is this mystery woman? Too young to be our original co-pilot, Pop Stuff's former columnist Amanda Golde - her identity remains unknown.

Chapter Fourteen

Amanda was writing an article on a craft fair being held in Harvard Square over the weekend that she'd been assigned to attend. It'd been freezing, and she'd worn three layers of sweaters under her coat and two pairs of mittens. She'd been given cocoa by a woman zealous to have her cocoa powder company mentioned in the paper and a bag of nuts by a man who roasted them in southern New Hampshire. She'd taken photos and interviewed dozens of artisans, and then put off writing the piece until the last possible moment. It was due for paste up in less than two hours and she was only two paragraphs deep. Her fingers were flying over the keyboard.

A junior writer who worked under her approached the desk. "I'm sorry to interrupt you," she stammered, a look of fear residing on her face.

Amanda wondered if she'd ever given the fresh-from-internship associate a reason to fear her over the past six months they'd been around each other, but she couldn't even remember the girl's name, much less if she'd mistreated her. "What?" she asked, trying not to sound angry - though she admittedly was. She had a deadline and she'd been in the groove. Writing, for Amanda, took a groove. "What is it?"

The writer's voice shook. "I - I was reading this article," she said, tossing a piece of printed copy onto the desk, "And I was wondering if that's you."

Amanda looked at the paper. She looked up at the writer. "Get back to work," she said, purposely putting an edge to her words. The writer scurried away. Amanda looked back down at the byline. "Fucking A, Tobias..." she muttered. Her eyes scanned the words, landing on the final sentence. Mystery woman? She turned in her chair, her heart racing.

Nick was recreating the road trip - reliving the experience - with another woman?

It wasn't that she hadn't known he'd been seeing other women - she was well aware of that. Too aware, as a matter of a fact, but what he did with his ding-dong was up to him. This was an entirely different violation and it cut Amanda to the quick. This wasn't just dinner plans and a martini. This wasn't a quickie in the local pay-by-the-hour. This was the trip, the time with Brian, with eachother, this was the one thing that he should not be sharing with anyone else.

She looked at the article as she'd written it so far. The words bled together like alphabet soup and she felt borderline dizzy. There was no way in hell she was going to be able to concentrate. She looked over at the junior writer, who was bent over her desk, avoiding Amanda's gaze.

"Hey you," she called.

The writer looked up, "Yes?"

"How would you like to write a feature piece on that craft fair in Harvard Square we went to this week?"

The junior writer's eyes widened, "A feature piece?"

"Yeah." Her editor was going to kill her, but why not?

Gushing with excitement, the writer thanked her profusely, but Amanda shrugged off the praises. Her mind was elsewhere - wondering what else Nick would do with this mystery woman of his. She made a quick decision and, after securing the junior writer with the series of interview transcripts she'd collected, Amanda dialed the still too familiar number to the Pop Stuff Online editor's office.

Somethings had changed, of course, over the sixteen years. For starters, Amanda's father, Eric Golde, no longer worked with Pop Stuff Online. When the print edition of the magazine was cancelled by the publisher, he'd sold the online portion to none other than Amanda's co-worker and assistant on the Something Beautiful piece, Tobias Winterson. Toby - who Nick probably would remember more by his alias, Ben - had tracked them through the length of the trip, taking photographs discreetly so that Nick wouldn't suspect Amanda. Toby had written several pieces in the series of articles, as well, especially once Amanda's moral standing had caused her to waiver in her journalistic activity. Now, Toby's byline appeared at the top of the page that the junior writer had given her, and she felt it only appropriate to speak directly to him about his sources and pry for more information on the mystery woman.

"Tobias Winterson's office," the gummy-sweet voice that chimed into the phone seemed to giggle mid-word and Amanda rolled her eyes at the implications of this sort of voice in a position such a secretary under an admittedly handsome young-ish editor.

"Hello," she said, "My name is Amanda Golde, and I would like to speak to Mr. Winterson, please."

"Oh sure, just a sec hun," the voice seemed to giggle again, "He's expecting a call from you."

Amanda was about to ask what that was supposed to mean, but the phone clicked on hold and the sound of the current Pop Top 20 radio countdown filled her ears. She sighed and waited, clicking her fingernails against her desk, her eyes still on the junior writer who was now hard at work. Her jaw tightened.

"Why hello Miss. Golde," came Toby's smooth, arrogant voice, "What seems to be the problem?" he cooed.

"Cut the crap, Winterson," Amanda responded sharply. She saw the junior writer jump an glance over her shoulder. Amanda turned in her chair, giving the girl her back. "Who are your sources and who the hell is the woman?"

"Hold your horses there, Golde," Toby chuckled, "Aren't we going to at least exchange pleasantries? How's Boston treating you?"

"Cold, like you," Amanda retorted. "And I assume California is just brilliant like you seem to think you are. Now cough up the information, ass."

"Clearly you were raised by wolves," Toby commented.

"You've met Eric, do I need to say more?"

"He was always quite pleasant to me," Toby replied.

"C'mon Winterson, I don't have all day."

"Well I do," he answered.

Amanda sighed. She pressed her hand to her forehead, feeling a migraine coming on. "Toby, c'mon. You know how important this is to me."

"Yes, you're right, I do," he agreed, "Which is why I don't think I should be sharing it so freely. I need to be frugal, you know. I mean it is a cut-throat business. What's to keep you from stealing the story right out from under me? As of right now, it's a Pop Stuff Online exclusive."

"Yes because New England Magazine is really concerned with the Backstreet Boys," Amanda rolled her eyes.

"What do you all write about? Lobsters and foliage?"

"Will you please - please - just tell me what you know about the woman already?"

Tobias let out a sigh, "Since you asked nicely... I don't know any more than what I printed, actually. She seems young, but I haven't seen a really solid photograph of her yet."

"Who's covering the story?"

"An intern."

"You sent an intern to follow them? Jesus Toby. No wonder you haven't seen a good photograph."

"He's a Backstreet Boy for Christ's sake, Amanda," Toby argued, "It's not like they're the big thing like they were sixteen years ago."

"So you've got nothing about the girl?"

"Nothing. Other than the intern thinks she's too young for him. He said he's old enough he could be her father."

"Nice." Amanda pursed her lips. She could distinctly remember Nick complaining about his father having that same tendency - of going for girls a quarter of his age. She shook her head - like father, like son, she thought. "Thanks. Look, I'd appreciate it if you hear anything more about her if you let me know, okay?"

"Why do you care?" Toby asked, "I clearly remember reporting your break up with him several years ago."

"Ten years," Amanda replied, "And I just care, okay? Now please keep me in the loop."

"Yes ma'm," Toby replied.

"Thank you," Amanda said sincerely.

"Yeah, yeah..."

Amanda hung up with Tobias and put the phone into the cradle where it belonged. She spun in her chair, biting her lips, her mind completely elsewhere, the article still clutched in her fist. She pulled open her desk drawer and, with a quick glance to make sure the intern wasn't looking, pulled out a framed photo of herself, Nick, and Brian from the trip during the night they'd spent in Kentucky, at Brian's parent's house. She stared down at the smiling faces, a lump rising in her throat.

How in the world could Nick possibly violate such a precious memory by bringing along some girl he'd picked up at a bar?

Amanda shoved the frame back into her desk drawer and stood up, a wave of nausea washing over her. She clopped out from her desk, her shoes clicking on the tile floor, carrying her purse and pulling her badge off her neck.

"Have a good day, Miss. Golde!" called the junior writer.

She didn't respond. If she had the reputation of being a bitch, she might as well live up to it.

Chapter Fifteen

Bree rolled over and felt paper crinkle under her cheek. She opened her eyes and lifted her head. The hotel post-it note lay on her pillow. She squinted at the chicken-scratch handwriting that splashed across it, her eyes unfocused from sleep. Gone to get the tire fixed, I'll be back with breakfast around 11:30. - Nick Bree dropped the note onto the night stand and reached for the alarm clock, turning it to see what time it was. It was 11:15. She groaned and rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling.

By the time Nick walked into the hotel room, carrying a large take-out bag from a diner, Bree was in the bathroom, brushing her teeth. He turned on the lamp and cleared the stationary from the table and set the breakfast food up. He'd gotten them each pancakes and hashbrowns and bacon - lots and lots of bacon. Bree came out and breathed in the delicious smell, a small bit of toothpaste still stuck to her chin. Nick wiped it off. "Breakfast is served," he announced with a smile.

They ate in relative silence. Nick wondered if Bree thought less of him for his breakdown the night before and Bree wondered if Nick was okay. Neither really knew how to vocalize their thoughts aloud, so neither spoke, but both wondered and snuck glances at the other. After a long silence during which they chewed through a good portion of the bacon, Bree asked, "So the tire got fixed?"

Nick swallowed a mouthful of bacon and nodded. "Yep," he said, washing it down with a mouthful of water. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Good as new."

"Cool," Bree nodded awkwardly. "So we're on our way, huh?"

"That we are."

Bree cut her pancakes with her fork. "So... Where to next?"

Nick was staring down at his breakfast. He looked up at Bree. "When I did this trip with your dad, I tried making pancakes on a grill."

Bree's mind tried to process the information. "On a grill?"

He nodded, "Uh-huh." Although it seemed to Bree as though he wasn't answering the question, Nick actually was. The pancakes had been a product of a kitchen-less cabin they'd stayed at during the road trip.

"How does that work?"

"Exactly," Nick answered. "It doesn't."

Bree raised an eyebrow.

"I lined it with tinfoil and put the stuff on there and it kinda pseudo-cooked and then Amanda tried it and it was bad. Really bad. Your dad was going to eat it, though. He had some real dedication to not hurting my feelings." Nick shovelled a mouthful of the pancake into his mouth. "Anyways, I did that in Colorado. That's where we're going next."

Bree grinned. "Like John Denver."

"Yeah. Rocky Mountain High." Nick paused. "When I went with your dad and Amanda, we went hot air ballooning in New Mexico, too, but you and me left too quick to repeat that experience." He pushed the maple syrup around on his plate with a forkful of hashbrown. He stared at the pooling gooey mess. His eyes slid up to meet Bree's. "But I did get us some reservations for Colorado to make the experience interesting."

"Like what?"

Nick smirked, "You'll see."

Bree's phone vibed on the nightstand behind them, making her jump. Bree laughed, "Crap, my hands are covered in maple syrup. Can you grab that for me?"

Nick jumped up and grabbed the phone. The preview thing read that it was from Leighanne. You were supposed to be home right now. Where the hell are you? He looked up at Bree. His mind kind of raced around for a moment before he stammered out, "I think its a wrong number."

"What?" Bree laughed, "Nick, lemme see."

"Nawh its just spam. Want me to delete it?"

"What is it?" Bree stood up, licking her fingers so she could check the message.

"One of those enlarge your penis with our miracle drug things," Nick lied.

Bree giggled, "Your cupcake you mean?"

"Yeah, yes," Nick nodded, "Your cupcake." He quickly clicked the delete button on the message. "There ya go, spam free." He said, as she held out her hand for the phone and he dropped the device into her palm.

Bree laughed, "You're crazy." She tucked the phone into her pocket and sat back down to pancakes. Nick felt his throat tighten, his stomach churn just a tad bit. He wondered what Bree would think if she knew he'd lied to Leighanne.

Not that he'd ever said he'd have her home by now. That was entirely Leighanne's presumption.

*****
When Amanda arrived home, she threw her keys into a bowl by the door and stood in the breeze way of her apartment. She stared around the living room the breezeway opened up into and took a deep breath. She felt crazy, being so worked up over what Nick Carter was doing way out there on the other side of the country. She felt crazy because she'd been the one to walk away after all, hadn't she? She'd made her choice; made her bed, now she should lie in it. And yet, hearing about Nick with another woman... It had ignited something in her. Something deep, something hidden. Something she thought she'd let go of.

Nick's heart had been broken sixteen years before when he lost his best friend. She'd tried to be there for him, the way Brian had planned it, but try as though she had to pick up the pieces that Nick's heart had shattered into, it seemed that it was an impossible task - like emptying the ocean with a teaspoon. It'd been too much for her and he'd sunk her ship. They'd gone down slowly but surely, but even with a capsized heart, Amanda had never been able to remain angry with Nick.

She opened her fridge and pulled out a bottle of blackberry wine, which she poured into a stemmed glass before replacing the cap and putting the bottle away. She moved into the living room and dropped onto the sofa, raising the glass to her mouth. She glanced around the room, her breath thick with the exhale of the alcohol in the wine.

It had been ten years, too, she thought to herself as she took another sip, since she'd left him. Originally, it had been because he could never get over Brian. A terrible reason, she admitted, but she'd stayed with him for six years, dealing with an inability to move on. He'd refused to travel, or even to leave the house half the time. He'd become snappy and reclusive and secretive and he wouldn't open up to her. They'd had countless screaming matches in which she begged him to just tell her what was wrong and he'd scream back that it was 'none of her damn business' or 'why so you can write a fucking story on it?'

One day she'd realized that she couldn't take it anymore, and when her editor told her about a job in Boston where she would be a head of a department at a magazine, Amanda had gone for it. She'd told him that she was leaving, half hoping he'd come to his senses and beg her not to go - but instead, the response he'd given had been 'good - go then, I don't need you anyway', and so she'd gone.

Just like that.

She'd married and tried to convince herself she was happy and had been until he'd called her five years ago because he was in town. He'd taken her out to dinner, insisted he was doing better and had realized how badly he had been missing her all this time, and they'd gotten a hotel room and... Well, she'd ended her marriage for it the next morning because Nick had asked her for a second chance. She'd assumed that Nick would be there for longer than the week. Needless to say, he'd disappeared. But she'd realized she hadn't really been happy before anyway. She'd been too quick to walk away, to go back to Nick when he came for her. And she'd spent the rest of the time since waiting... hoping that he'd come back again. Even if it was only for one night, it would be enough to sustain her.

It wasn't anyway to live, but it wasn't something she could let go of. He'd been ingrained far too deeply into her blood stream, like oxygen.

She looked at the article print out that the intern had given her, her eyes glued to the words about the woman he was travelling with, and she felt her heart break just a little bit more. Why couldn't it have been her that he chose?

Amanda took the last sip from her glass and stared at the tiny droplets of burgandy in the very bottom. She breathed deeply. "Well," she murmured, "I'm definitely gonna need more of that."

Chapter Sixteen

"I'm in Colorado," Nick said, kicking a rock. It hit the side of the building he was standing next to. He glanced toward the car. Bree was just getting back to the vehicle after grabbing drinks from inside the store. She looked around for Nick, confused because she'd left him by the gas pump. Nick sighed, "I just wanted to update you. Look, can I call ya back later and let you know more the details? I'm kind of at a sketchy gas station." Bree spotted Nick and started walking towards him just as Nick hung up his cell phone. He sauntered over. "Sorry, I got a phone call."

Bree laughed, "So you hid?" She elbowed him as they turned together to the car. "Was it from a woman perhaps?" she teased.

Nick snorted, "No. No women."

Bree raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Nick asked.

"You just said that rather... ferociously." She laughed, "Are we harboring a secret?"

"I'm not gay." Bree choked on a laugh and rushed ahead to climb into the car. Nick sprinted after her and got in, too. "I'm not," he insisted. She was still laughing. "Seriously. I like the ladies through and through."

"Okay now you're just getting defensive," she teased.

"Dude!"

"Nick it's okay if you like cupcakes."

"Seriously?" Nick's voice lowered, "I don't."

"Too sugary?"

"Too dry, you need lots of milk to --" he paused, "You know what? Forget this conversation because it's just really making me confused if we're talking about sex or dessert."

Bree smiled. "You're funny, Nick."

He sighed. "As long as you're entertained, I guess." He turned the car on and guided them back into traffic. "We're almost there," he promised.

Bree turned in her seat to study him a moment. "So how come there's no women?" she asked.

Nick bit his lower lip and shrugged, but the way his face contorted, the subject was clearly somewhat painfu. He shook his head, "No reason, really," he answered, "Just... the right one's not here is all."

Bree nodded, "Fair."

"How about you?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, "Anyone in your love life."

"Ew no, the boys at my school are gross," Bree replied.

Nick laughed, "Oh c'mon. There's not even one guy you're interested in?" he asked.

Bree hesitated. "Well, maybe there's one," she answered.

Nick crowed with triumph, "I knew it. I knewwww it..." he laughed. "And are you sneaking behind porta-potties to call him when I ain't lookin'?" he teased.

Bree's face flushed, "No," she answered.

Nick smirked, "Why not, Breesy?"

"Because I don't need to," Bree replied. When Nick looked at her, a semi-almost-concerned look slipping onto his features, she added, "We aren't as needy as you and your woman."

"Needy! Pshaw!" Nick waved a hand, "Please."

"All I know is you're calling somebody every single day," Bree replied, "And you hide when you do it."

Nick hadn't realized Bree had noticed his habit. He'd been calling his probation officer, of course, but he didn't really want Bree worrying about that. Though he wasn't entirely sure why it bothered him if she knew who he was calling. It just did. It seemed like maybe she wouldn't respect him or wouldn't trust him as much, and Bree had been the first person in a long while that had trusted and seemed to respect Nick in quite some time. Years and years, in fact. He rather liked the feeling. He didn't want to give it up over something as stupid as the probation officer's calls.

Luckily for him, the perfect opportunity to change the subject arose as he pulled the car around a corner and a wide-mouthed bridge appeared before them. Nick put on the blinker and pulled the car to the side of the road just before the bridge, in a small pull-off, his emergency flashers on. Bree looked around curiously. "Where are we?" she asked.

"C'mon, I wanna show you something."

"What?"

"C'mon."

Nick got out of the car and Bree watched as he ran around the front of the nose of it, towards the bridge. He waved his arm for her to follow, a wide smile on his face. She shrugged and climbed out after him, and he led her onto the bridge.

It was a relatively narrow bridge, and long. It spanned a deep gorge - though compared to the Grand Canyon the gorge was teeny-tiny. It was still impressive, though. A white-capped river ran below, and bit down the river was a great big falls. The water rushed over the edge of it, hugging rocks. Bree stared, wide-eyed, at it's majesty. "Wow," she murmired, "That's beautiful." She clutched the handrail.

Nick pointed. "Look above it. See that foot bridge?" Bree's eyes carried up a rocky face that climbed higher into a mountainside on either side of the carved out mouth of the waterfall. A few hundred feet above the fall was the bridge Nick was pointing to. It seemed to sway with the mists of the waterfall below it.

"God," she gasped, "That's insane. You'd have to be freaking mental to get on that thing."

Nick grinned, "You're gonna be there in two days."

"What?" Bree whipped around and looked at Nick.

He looked like a cheshire cat.

"Yeahhhh no," Bree shook her head, "You have fun with that."

Nick laughed, "You've got to," he said, "Your dad did it." Of course this was a bit of a lie, but Nick figured he could tell her the whole story later.

Bree looked at the bridge. "I thought my dad was scared of heights?"

"Terrified of them," Nick said.

"You're so full of crap," Bree accused, "No way did he get on that thing."

"I'm scared of heights, too, and I got on it."

"Yeah, well you're clinically insane."

"I bungee jumped off it, actually."

Bree pointed to the car. "I'm going over there. Where it's safe. Because you're clearly not in your right mind."

Nick laughed and followed her back to the car. When they got in, he looked over at her and said, "You're gonna enjoy this. I promise."

*****
The first thing Bree noticed about Lost Paddle River Adventures was the burely woman behind the counter as the walked in the door. A windchime shaped like a school of trout jingled as Nick pushed open the door and the woman looked up from paperwork she was leaned over. Nick's eyes widened at the sight of her. "Well holy shit," he laughed.

She squinted at him a moment. "You're back," she commented. "They always come back."

Bree glanced between the woman and Nick, confused.

Nick sauntered up to the desk. "Sooooo, Pat," he said, leaning against the counter. He pulled out his wallet and dropped a couple crumpled pieces of yellow paper in front of her. "I didn't see an expiration date on these anywhere."

Pat stared at the papers, then looked back up at Nick. "You held onto these for almost seventeen years? Well sweet Jesus, I guess we can honor them on principle alone." She glanced at the door, then at Bree. "Where's the other one?"

Nick stared at her for a long moment. She meant Brian. He felt his throat tighten. "He had Leukemia," he said, pronouncing the word slowly. Bree looked at Nick. A heavy feeling settled over the room. "He died about six months after we were here," he said.

Pat looked shocked. "I'm sorry," she said slowly. She looked at Bree, then back to Nick. "Is this your daughter?"

"It's his daughter," Nick replied.

"His?" Pat looked at Bree again. "Now that you say it... I can see the resemblance." She paused. "And is this your female friend's daughter, then? Were they a couple?"

"No," Nick said slowly, "No. Me and Amanda were the couple." He shook his head, "No this is Brian's daughter. She was born eight months after he died."

Pat frowned. "I'm sorry. Again." She turned around, clearly wanting to break up the conversation and started hitting buttons on a computer screen. "The next river trip leaves in a couple days," she said. She looked back at Bree. "You ever been water rafting before?"

Bree shook her head. "I've never been on a boat before."

Nick's eyes widened.

"Well then. There's a life vest training session fifteen minutes before we leave on the adventure." She pulled a piece of paper from a legal pad and scribbled down a date and time. "I'll honor your ancheint vouchers for this trip," she said, pushing the page to Nick, along with his vouchers. She turned back to her paper work.

"Thanks." Nick shoved the papers into his pocket. "See ya then, Pat."

"Yep."

Nick led the way out to the car. The moment the car doors slammed shut, Bree announced, "She looked like a freakin' gym teacher."

"Wait 'til you see her in action," Nick said, nodding. "She's got a whistle."

"A whistle?"

"You'll see."

Chapter Seventeen

Amanda all but crawled into work the next day, almost three hours late, and slouched behind her desk, clutching a venti coffee black from the Starbucks across the street. She sighed as her computer booted, closing her eyes to battle the harsh flourescent lights. Suddenly, the intern was at her side. Amanda jumped like she was in a horror movie - attack of the killer interns - and blinked up at the girl. She still couldn't remember her name. "What?" she asked. Well groaned more than asked.

"Mr. Sheldon wants to speak with you," the intern's voice was jittery.

Amanda groaned for real this time. Hamilton Sheldon was the editor of the magazine, and though they were relatively good friends the last thing she wanted was to stumble into his office on a blackberry wine hangover. She waved the intern off and pulled her desk drawer open, withdrawing a can of breath spray and squirting it into her mouth. She held up a mirror to make sure her hair looked right and dabbed some concealer under her eyes. She stood up, straightened her skirt, and walked across the wide room to Sheldon's office.

"Come in," he barked when she knocked tenatively. He gave her a once-over and nodded at the door, "Close that. Have a seat."

Amanda let the door close behind her and slid into the chair opposite him at the desk. He looked ominous and official, two words that Amanda hated seeing in his eyes. Usually he reserved these looks for people he was about to 'let go'. She noticed the craft fair article printed and sitting on the desk in front of him. She licked her teeth, hoping her breath spray was enough to suppress the alcohol smell she was fairly certain had survived her Crest attack that morning.

"I suppose you know why you're here?" Hamilton Sheldon asked.

Amanda felt a muscle near her mouth twitch - a nervous tick she'd developed with age. She took a deep breath, "Ummm..."

"I think you need a vacation."

Amanda's eyes met Hamilton's. "A vacation?"

"Yes." He leaned back. "Amanda, you've been here for over ten years, you're a senior writer, you have juniors and a plethora of interns under you. You haven't taken a vacation in over five years, and even then it was only a week before you were back in the office, even though you requested two weeks." Hamilton studied her for a moment. "You need a vacation."

"I'm - I'm fine though," Amanda stammered.

Hamilton shook his head. "Amanda," he said, "I know you way too well to believe that." He pointed at his own eyes, "I can see that you're tired."

Tired was better than drunk, so she didn't argue with him.

"I just think some time off is what you need," he added. "Paid of course."

Amanda took a deep breath, "I don't even know what I'd do on a vacation," she argued. She imagined herself sitting around the house with a dozen empty bottles of wine on the floor and empty pizza boxes on the coffee table. It wasn't pretty.

"I don't know. Go to Cancun. Visit the tropical rain forrest. Fly to Japan. Take a road trip," Hamilton suggested. He shrugged, "Go white water rafting, for all I care. Just do something."

White water rafting.

Amanda's heart raced in her chest. Suddenly a plan began taking shape in her head, and she felt that twitch at her mouth again. She swallowed. She couldn't possibly have the cahonies, though, could she?

Really?

"You're right," Amanda said slowly, her voice shaking with the prospect of what she was about to set into motion. "I do need a vacation." She stood up, "Thank you." She paused. "May I start now?"

Hamilton Sheldon looked surprised. "Now?"

Amanda nodded.

"Well, I was hoping you'd fix up this monstrocity that your intern handed in to me first," he said, holding up the article on the craft fair. "But perhaps after that?"

Amanda took the page. "Of course."

Besides, she had a couple things she needed to look up anyway. And phone calls to make.

*****
The lodge Nick had rented this time was, thankfully, equipped with kitchen and an indoor toilet - things they hadn't had the first time on this trip but had supplemented with the use of the Boys' tour bus. The lodge had actual bedrooms, too, instead of lofts, which Nick had kind of missed the use of bedroom doors last time when Brian had accidentally "climbed in" on himself and Amanda in bed. He laughed to himself at the image of Brian's wide eyes and shout as he'd climbed back down the ladder leading into Nick and Amanda's loft. Not that this would be a problem this time. After all, Amanda was in Boston.

"Look at that view!" Bree was standing by a huge bay window on the back wall of the lodge, which overlooked the city below and the mountains beyond. She leaned against the sill and stared out. "They're beautiful."

"What? The mountains?" Nick was rummaging through the cupboards in the kitchen, they were all empty but he was hoping to find some stray box of cereal or a granola bar. He glanced over his shoulder, "Yeah. They're very... purple." He turned back to the quest.

Bree turned around. "What was my dad's favorite place?" she asked. "In the whole world, what was his favorite place?"

Nick had found a jar of peanut butter and had it open, staring into the jar. He lowered it and looked at Bree for a long moment, thinking. "He always liked going home," Nick admitted. "We stopped in Kentucky on the trip, at your grandparent's place. He liked seeing his family." He whipped his finger around in the jar, and stuck a fingerfull of peanut butter into his mouth. Bree gave Nick a funny look. He lowered his peanut buttery finger from his mouth. "What?"

"Do you even know where that came from?"

Nick looked at the peanut butter, "Yeah, sure. The cupboard."

Bree stared at him, disgusted.

"What?"

"Seriously?"

"What's wrong with that?"

"You don't know who put it there..."

"Some nice food fairy that knew I'd be hungry, I'm sure," Nick answered. He returned the finger to his mouth and continued sucking peanut butter off his digit. He sat himself on the counter top.

Deciding to let the 'food fairy' comment go, Bree sat down at the table. "Are we stopping in Kentucky?" she asked, staring at her fingers.

"I dunno," Nick said, voice thick with peanut butter.

Bree looked up, "Can we?"

Nick shrugged, "Yeah sure why not." Bree looked back down at the table. Nick studied her a moment. She looked a lot like Brian used to when he was sitting on a whopper of a revelation. Nick jumped down from the counter and slid into a seat next to Bree. He put the peanut butter jar down and wiped his spit and left over peanut butter off onto his pant leg. He stared at Bree for a long moment. "You've been to Kentucky, haven't you?" he asked.

Bree shook her head.

Nick bit his lip to keep from outbursting. How in the hell was it that Brian's daughter had never been to the place that Brian loved more than anywhere else on the earth? It was his home - it was Ken-freaking-tucky. Then something occurred to Nick. He took a slow, steadying, deep breath. "Bree, when was the last time you saw your grandparents?"

Bree looked up at Nick, her eyes wide and nervous.

"Oh sweet Jesus," he muttered. He stood up and walked in a circle in the kitchen in a way that reflected the spinning of his mind. He ran his hands through his hair and shook his head. "You ain't never met them, have you?" he demanded.

Bree's voice was but a whisper, "I guess they came once when I was a baby but I don't remember them."

Nick closed his eyes and leaned against a counter. "Why the hell would --" he stopped. He'd been about to ask why the hell would Leighanne do that but Leighanne did a lot of things in Brian's absence that made Nick wonder why the hell so he bit his tongue to keep from starting that river flowing. He sank back into the chair, "We are definitely stopping in Kentucky, then." Bree looked nervous still and had started inspecting the peanut butter jar, turning it over in her hands, looking at the label. "Jackie is going to be a crying ball of mush when she sees you," Nick muttered.

Bree held up the peanut butter jar, "It expired," she said, "Two years ago. You're gonna die from like rancid oil or something."

"Did not, did it really?" Nick snapped the jar from her hand and she pointed out the expiration date. "Well damn that food fairy," Nick said, screwing the cap back on. He put the jar down. "Guess we better go get some food that isn't going to kill us from rancidity."

Chapter Eighteen

Amanda was seated on the 747, staring out the window at the clouds below, her hands clutching a rolled piece of paper full of scribbled notes and times that she'd taken while on the phone before leaving the office earlier that day. She'd thrown a way-too-expensive flight onto her credit card and left town within hours of talking to Hamilton Sheldon, and now - now that she was past the point of no return - the nerves were starting to eat at her. She rolled and unrolled the paper, her hands shaking.

"Nothing to be nervous about, dearie," muttered the older woman sitting next to her. The woman reached over and patted Amanda's hands. "The pilot's very skilled, I'm sure we are just as safe as could be." She smiled, her teeth too straight to be anything but dentures, and her hair that soft purpley-blue-grey color that old women tend to have.

Amanda smiled nervously, "I'm not really scared of the flight," she replied.

"What's the matter then, dear?" asked the woman, concerned. She shifted her frail weight to face Amanda better. Her husband snored loudly from the aisle seat.

"It's more the destination, really," Amanda replied.

"Colorado? It's a lovely place," the woman answered.

Amanda nodded, "Yeah I know. I've been there before. It's just been a really long time... and..." Amanda hesitated. "There's this guy..."

"Ohhh," the woman's eyes lit up. "Do tell."

And so Amanda started from the beginning.

*****
"CHEERIOS!" Nick batted the box into the shopping cart like he was a cat. The box hit the bottom of the cart with a crack and the corner bent in. He grinned. "A must."

Bree laughed and led the way further down the cereal aisle. She grabbed a box of Frosted Mini Wheats. Nick raised an eyebrow. "What? They're good for you," she defended herself. "And they're strawberry flavored."

"You are so your father right now." Nick pushed the cart on around the end of the aisle and up the next one.

"Shush." Bree looked around, "What do you want for food anyways?"

"I dunno what can you cook?" Nick asked, biting his thumb nail.

It was Bree's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"What?" Nick looked up cluelessly.

"You think I'm the only one that's gonna cook?" she laughed.

Nick laughed back, "Trust me, toots, you don't want me cookin'."

"So you don't change tires and you don't cook," Bree ticked the items off on her fingers, "What good are you?"

"I have humor, brute strength, and dashing good looks," Nick replied, his voice level.

Bree cracked up.

"What?"

"If you have to ask," Bree replied, "You will never know."

"What's that supposed'ta mean?" Nick demanded. But Bree just smirked and continued on down the aisle. "Hey... What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're helping me cook," she replied. She picked up a box of pasta and a jar of Ragu. "We'll start you off easy," she said, putting them in the cart.

"I know how to make pasta," Nick argued.

"So you aren't culinarily incompetent, you just like making the ladies cook for you?"

Nick paused. "Well Amanda always cooked for me," he admitted.

"And what have you done since?" Bree asked.

Nick hesitated, "Mostly take-out."

Bree rolled her eyes. "C'mon, we'll jack up the bids a bit on the spaghetti and even make meatballs."

Nick snickered, "Meatballs?"

"You're such a pervert."

"At least I'm not suggesting we get cupcakes."

Bree rolled her eyes and tugged the cart onward down the aisle.

*****
"My suggestion is simple, if you want to sell something like bottled water, you need to be different than the other guys out there on the market," Baylee was pacing along the length of the conference room, "I mean every bottled water company and their cousins have gone the crisp water, fresh from the glades of happiness route, you know what I'm saying?" He reached for the presentation board he'd left by his seat and put it up on the end of the table, waving his arm at the mock up bottles and ads he'd created the day before. "You need to give bottled water a manly feel."

Suddenly, his phone vibrated on the mahogany table by his chair. The vibe sent it spinning in place. "Sorry," he muttered, feeling his cheeks flush as everyone's attention averted to the phone.

The girl who'd been sitting next to him picked it up to hand it to him. "Looks like it's mommy," she said, reading his caller ID for Leighanne. Baylee's cheeks darkened in pinkness. He cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry," he muttered again, then took a deep breath, silenced the phone and slid it into his pocket. "Okay. Manly water." He turned back to his board and finished the presentation, although the girl was now smiling smugly - and he was pretty sure she had a perfectly good reason to. She'd probably just secured the account for herself.

Thirty minutes later, with promises to call them both with their choice within the week, the executives left the room and Baylee quickly gathered his stuff and unearthed his phone. He groaned to see that Leighanne hadn't given up after calling once but had left three voicemails, two texts and had called no less than 15 times. He rolled his eyes and called her back. "I'm sorry," he started, the moment her phone picked up, "I was with some clients. What's the matter?"

"Your sister still isn't home," Leighanne complained.

Baylee leaned against the wall in the hallway outside the conference room. "Mom, I'm sure she's fine. She's with Nick."

"Exactly," Leighanne snapped.

The girl winked at Baylee as she left the conference room, muttering, "I hope mommy's okay," as she shashayed down the hall. Baylee glared at her back, wishing looks could throw darts into people's backsides. He turned away from her and kicked his presentation board in frustration.

"You act like Nick's an ogre and he's not," he grunted.

Leighanne's voice was edgy, "I told him to send her home and she isn't home. He won't answer my phone calls, he won't answer texts, she won't answer calls. I don't know where she is. I'm going out of my mind, Baylee!" Her voice broke on the last sentence and Baylee heard her choke back a sob. "I can't handle this."

Baylee sighed, "She's fine, mum, okay? She just needs a break."

"I need her home," Leighanne responded. "I need to know where she is and what is going on and I'm not okay with this sneaky, not-telling-me shit that they're pulling. I can't take this, not so close to Brian's birthday. I just can't handle it. I need her home."

Baylee rubbed his neck, "I don't know what to tell you mum," he said. He felt his patience wearing thin. He felt like just telling her off sometimes; or like reminding her that he wasn't Brian. Sometimes it felt like she forgot that he wasn't his father, that she wasn't his responsibility.

"I'm reporting him," Leighanne said in a tone of finality.

"What?"

"Nick, I'm reporting him. If he doesn't call me back by tomorrow night, I'm calling the police and I'm reporting him."

Baylee stared at the now bent presentation board on the floor, aghast. "Mom, do you have any clue how pissed dad would be if he knew you were threatening to report Nick for taking Bree on a road trip? I mean seriously..." Baylee felt his tongue moving before he could stop the words from coming out, "Stop being such a bitch."

Silence filled the phone line.

"I'm sorry," Baylee stammered, "I'm having a really rotter day and I just --"

"It's fine." Leighanne said, her voice quavering. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for wanting my daughter home or at least to know that she's okay."

Baylee sighed, "Mum, you know I agree that it sucks they haven't called, but it's not like he's kidnapping her or something."

"You might not see it that way," she replied.

"Nick's got enough of a crappy life going on right now without you bringing charges on him," Baylee argued, "Don't do that."

Leighanne's voice was thick, "I know I treat your sister badly, I know I'm not the best mother, but Baylee... am I bad enough that she'd never come home?"

Baylee hesitated. "Just don't report Nick, okay? It's not his fault."

"I didn't mean to be a bad mother," Leighanne's voice shattered as she started to cry, "Especially not to Bree... She's the last thing he gave me."

"I know mum."

"The last thing."

"I know."

After consoling Leighanne for some time, Baylee finally hung up, collected his somewhat mangled presentation board, and made his way out onto the streets of Orlando. He paused on the street corner, where he waited for the bus that he'd ride home, and tapped out a text to Bree.

You really, really need to call me. ASAP.

Chapter Nineteen

Amanda got off the plane in Colorado, the woman that had seated next to her bidding her farewell and good luck as she disappeared into the congested crowd. She looked around the airport and let out a heavy sigh. Now that she was here, she felt both crazy and clueless as to where to start. She pulled her suitcase away from the carousel and made her way to the mile-long line for rental cars.

When she'd gotten behind the wheel of a tiny grey vehicle, she pulled out her sheet of research and a map and started searching for street names. She figured the best route of execution would be to find a hotel, get a room, get some sleep, and decide how to find Nick in the morning. The sun was already set beyond the Rockies and Amanda could feel tension building in the muscles between her shoulders in her back.

"I must be insane," she muttered to herself as she drove away from the airport, "Completely insane. Coming here with no plan... I don't even know that he'll come here... and that cabin we stayed at probably doesn't even exist anymore not to mention what are the odds he got the same place to stay in? Where do I even start? I should've at least had a plan before doing this..."

She guided the car into the city and started trying to find a hotel that looked both cheap and comfortable. She'd just spotted a Holiday Inn sign up the road when another vehicle cut her off in traffic, nearly clipping her front end. "Jackass!" she shouted, laying on the horn.

The car slammed on it's brakes.

Amanda slammed hers on, too, nearly rearending it. Again, she pressed down on the horn - hard. "What the hell!"

A hand stuck out of the passanger side, waved an apology, then the car, shuddering, moved forward at a snail's pace. Amanda cussed under her breath, "You've got to be kidding me." The driver was a nervous braker. Annoyed, she clicked her directional, pulled into the center lane, passed the car, and slid back into the right lane. The driver was a teenager. "Of course," she groaned, "Let's teach our kids how to drive at ten o'clock at night, that makes sense." She turned into the Holiday Inn parking lot, and when she'd turned the car off, she let out a breath of relief. She was way to tired to do anything except sleep tonight, that was for sure.

*****
"Oh my God."

"You're fine, just keep the wheel straight."

"Oh. My. God."

"Relax, it's okay."

"Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Nick, I dunno what I'm doing."

"You're driving, you're fine, relax."

Nick's hand hovered over Bree's at the clutch and the car lurched as she tried to switch into fourth. Nick's hand moved to the dashboard to steady himself.

"It's not supposed to feel like a storm-tossed boat," Bree said, her voice panicky.

"It's your first time, smoothness is a learned trait," he said, "Especially in a standard."

Bree's knuckles were pale white from clutching the wheel. Her eyes were wide. She looked like she was about to throw up. "Oh my God," she murmured again.

Upon leaving the grocery store, Nick had made a comment about driving, Bree had said she never had before, and the next thing she'd known he had her behind the wheel, stating that he finally had something he could teach her. They'd struggled along through traffic, nearly causing an accident - several times actually - but he'd kept her right where she was. All she could picture was causing massive damage to the car. She pictured something out of Fast and the Furious. But Nick's voice stayed level and he just kept insisting that she was doing "great". She wasn't positive she believed him.

"There ya go," he said, his voice gentle, like the situation was extremely fragile and his words might cause it to break. He slowly lowered his steadying hand from the dashboard, "Look at you, you're even between the lines."

"Am I?" Bree's voice was excited and, trying to look at the lines she was between, she veered almost into the other lane and Nick recovered the wheel quickly. "Sorry," Bree apologized, her cheeks flushing.

"It's all good," Nick laughed, but it was a nerovus laughter. He pointed, "Okay you're gonna turn here."

Bree slowed down - if that was possible, considering the car was already crawling anyways - and turned down the road Nick had indicated that led to the cabin they were staying at, leaving the town behind. Bree breathed a sigh of relief to see they were the only vehicle on the road now, which led between thick, dark trees. She felt much safer knowing there were no other cars around to smash into. The imagery of Vin Diesel slipped away.

"You're doing really good for your first time," Nick commented as they inched along between the trees. "You could probably speed up a little."

"Speed up?" Bree stammered.

Nick laughed, "You're only doing 20. It's a 45."

Bree clutched the wheel harder. "You want me to go twice as fast?"

"Just speed up a little."

Bree pressed the gas pedal and the car jumped forward. She panicked, slammed the brake, and the car promptly stalled.

Nick laughed, "Well at least I don't have to worry about you speeding."

Bree turned the key and restarted the car, her cheeks hot with nerves.

By the time they reached the cabin, almost 45 minutes had passed since they'd left the store. Nick had driven to it in about fifteen minutes. So the learning curve had tripled their drive time. But Nick didn't seem to care. When Bree stalled the car trying to come to a smooth stop - which had been more of a lurching halt - Nick clapped and grinned. "You did it."

"Yeah I did it already," Bree said warily.

Nick laughed, "Don't be so hard on yourself. The first time I learned stick, your dad taught me in his beloved Jeep and I rolled backwards down a hill and slammed into somebody's mailbox."

"Seriously?"

Nick nodded, "Yup. He screamed like a banshee the whole way down that hill."

Bree giggled, "At least I didn't do that."

"I'm telling ya," Nick said, "For the first time behind the wheel, you did flippin' awesome, actually."

Bree smiled.

"Your dad would be proud of you."

*****
Amanda groaned as she laid down on the bed and tucked the blankets around herself. She hugged the sheets to her chest and stared up at the ceiling. She still couldn't believe she was here in Colorado. Memories were flooding her; thick and heavy like some kind of sappy goop, she felt suffocated by them. She could almost hear the boys laughter echoing throughout the room, like ghosts haunting her. She closed her eyes.

And what would happen, she wondered, even if she did figure out where Nick and his mystery woman were? What would she say? It's not as though she just happened to be in Colorado at the same time he was. Suddenly, she felt a bit like a creepy stalker type. But this was different, wasn't it?

Amanda pushed away the thoughts of Nick's reaction when he spotted her the first time and tried to focus her mental energy elsewhere.

Slowly, Nick's image melted out of her mind and was replaced by the sharp jaw bone and easily recognizable nose... Brian. She felt her heart stop for just a moment in her chest. It had been so long since she'd so clearly pictured his face. She felt tears stream down her cheeks.

He wouldn't have thought she was crazy. Not Brian. Brian was possibly the only person in the world who might have understood. He would've had some wise Yoda-like remark to make on the whole subject, he would've known where to start to look for Nick. Brian would've told her how to approach him, what to say, how he would react. Because Brian knew Nick that well, and had such keen insight. Brian would have known how to make Amanda feel brave again.

She opened her eyes. And just like that, it came to her: she'd start her search by calling Lost Paddle River Adventures.

"Thanks Brian," she whispered into the darkness.

Brianna Littrell, daughter of late Backstreet Boy Brian, reported missing in Atlanta
Pop Stuff Online - Tobias Winterson

Brianna Littrell, the sixteen year old daughter of the late Backstreet Boy Brian Littrell, was reported missing yesterday evening. Atlanta police department received a tearful phone call from mother, Leighanne, who claims her daughter went missing after visiting a close friend, whose name was not disclosed, in California.

Rumors are flying about the connection this might have with Nick Carter's mystery woman in his recent road trip photographs as he retraces steps taken sixteen years ago with Littrell prior to his death. Some speculation leads to the conclusion that perhaps Carter is somehow responsible for the girl's disappearance.

Carter was last spotted northbound toward Colorado.

Chapter Twenty

FWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!!!!!!!!!!

It had not taken Bree long to figure out what Nick had been talking about with Pat and her whistle. It was only 8:15 in the morning on Day One of their river adventure and Pat hadn't even finished the thirty minute life preserver training routine and she'd already blown the shiny silver whistle no less than twelve times. Bree was certain she was a demon sent straight from whistle hell.

Bree, who was not a morning sort of person at all, had on knee-high, green rubber boots and tightening the straps on her life vest the way Pat was shouting to do. Bree was strongly reminded of Miss. Soap, her gym teacher back home in Atlanta, whose shouts often had to carry over the din of several loudly chattering teenage girls. The louder Pat yelled, the more Bree was wishing she could strangle Nick with the straps on his life vest. He was entirely too happy. Bree hated it when people were happy in the morning.

FWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!!!!!!!!!!

"Don't think just because we got history I'm gonna be easy on you, Carter!" yelled Pat, pointing Nick out across the collection of ten people that were gathered in front of her along the river banking.

"I wouldn't dream of thinking such horse shit," Nick muttered.

Bree had to admit the miserable tone to his voice made her a little bit happy. Revenge.

By the time Pat had decided they were all satisfactory on life vest application - and this took quite some time longer than it needed to in Bree's estimation - the whistle had gotten a full work out and Bree was certain she'd need migraine medication by midmorning. Pat waved her arm in the direction of a fleet of yellow boats behind her. "Man up in the boats, four to a boat..." Pat was shouting. She pointed at Nick. "You. You're riding in my boat. If I recall correctly, I need to keep my eye on you."

"Me?" Nick demanded, incredulous.

"Yes you. Over here."

Bree raised an eyebrow at Nick, whose mouth was struggling not to form a smile, "I have no freaking clue what she's referring to," he said, his voice warbling with effort to suppress amusement.

"Uh-huh," Bree nodded. "I'm sure you don't."

"No really," Nick said - but his eyes were twinkling with mischief, even as he denied the claim.

*****
When Amanda called and confirmed that Lost Paddle River Adventures was still in existence, she'd found herself on the line with none other than Pat. "I was wondering where you were the other day," Pat said, "When the other one was in."

Amanda's breath had caught in her throat, "Nick was there?" she asked.

"Yeah," Pat confirmed, "Signed up for an excursion leaving tomorrow, actually."

Amanda paused, tried to keep her voice level, and had asked Pat to add her to the same roster. After being harassed into attending one of Pat's semi-infamous lifevest training sessions prior to push-off, she'd hung up the phone with shaking hands. She'd covered her mouth, whispered the words "oh my God" and realized she was less than 24-hours away from seeing Nick again, face-to-face, for the first time since that week-long stint in Boston. And meeting the so-called mystery woman.

That dream, however, quickly came flaming and crashing down as Amanda battled with her faux GPS system -- also known as Google Earth on her iPhone web browser -- and had taken three wrong turns before she'd gotten on the correct route to lead her to Lost Paddle River Adventure's start point. She'd only realized she was going the right direction when she'd driven over the wide bridge that afforded a view of the gorge where she'd bungee jumped with Nick.

She was running late. It was a couple minutes after nine when the grey car pulled into the lot. The years had been fair to the Lost Paddle property, and she found herself flooded with nostalgia as she looked at the yellow-painted shack that served as their main office-slash-gift shop. She threw the car into park and ran across the lot to the office, her heart pounding in her chest. "I was signed up for the 9-am rafting adventure," she gasped to the person behind the desk. "Are they still here?"

"Unfortunately, they just pushed off." The receptionist pouted.

Amanda cursed and pounded her fist on the counter, "Damn it," she groaned.

"It's okay miss, we can apply your deposit toward another adventure," the woman assured Amanda, looking perplexed. "We have one leaving at noon?"

"It had to be that one," Amanda argued, frustrated.

"I'm sorry," the woman apologized, "But you were late arriving."

After assuring the woman she wasn't interested in another trip and receiving a partial return on the deposit she'd given Pat the day before via credit card, Amanda crossed the parking lot in a frustrated huff. She leaned against the back of her car and pulled a pack of cigarettes from her purse, taking one out of the pack and lighting it. She drew a long breathful of nicotine and looked around at the looming trees that encrouched upon the parking lot's clear space. She exhaled the cloud of smoke.

She'd really given up smoking years ago but had been just stressed enough to buy a pack at the gas station when she'd filled up the little grey car that morning. She ran a hand through her hair. She was about to get into her car when she noticed something in the vehicle next to her own that caught her attention, though at first she couldn't fathom why it would.

Sitting on the passanger seat was a large orange duffle bag.

Amanda glanced around the lot to confirm that she was indeed alone and leaned closer, pressing her face against the window to look in at the duffle bag. It didn't take much staring at it for her to realize what it was about the bag. "Brian's," she whispered, staring at it. There was no doubt about it - the bag had been the same one Brian had brought with him on the road trip. She could still see him lugging it onto his shoulder and carrying it downward into the Grand Canyon on his burro. And if that mental image didn't give away the owner's identity, the Sharpie-markered LITTRELL along the zipper line did.

Amanda took a step back and stared at the car. She moved to the back end of it, her eyes sliding over the California license plate number, memorizing it quickly, and landing on a bumper sticker that boasted a picture of the Journey Frontiers album artwork. She ran her fingers over the sticker. There was no question - this car was Nick's.

She glanced at the office.

The door jingled when she opened it, and the recepitionist looked up. "Change your mind?" she asked in a too-perky voice.

Amanda shook her head, "When does the rafting adventure end?" she asked, "I'm meeting one of my friends that's on it here when it's over."

The receptionist smiled, "Let me look that up for you, ma'm," she suggested.

"Thank you," Amanda replied. "I really appreciate it."

Chapter Twenty-One

Bree's arms were locked around Nick as though her life depended on it; and she was pretty sure that it did. The water was rough - even Nick would have admitted it was rougher than it had been the first time he'd gone white water rafting. The longer they were on the river, the more respect Bree and Nick both gained for Pat's loud, manly personality. She was shouting commands over the heads of the other rafters, whose paddles looked like one of those giant beetles that tip over and wave their legs about. Nick was distinctly reminded of a particularly overweight dog that he had once that he'd teased by flipping on it's back and watching it try to flip itself back over by waving it's legs around in the air.

The water roared loudly - so loudly that Bree couldn't even talk to Nick. She'd tried at first but had quickly realized the only thing to be heard over the rushing water was Pat's whistle and the occassional command that she would bark out like she was Hitler or something. All other noise was lost beneath the water.

That wasn't to say that it wasn't an enjoyable experience. Bree noticed a lot of beautiful plant life and the occassional sighting of animals along the river bank. As long as she was clutching to Nick, she felt safe and looked around at everything they were passing, feeling secured into the boat by Nick's presence.

By the time lunch rolled around and Pat had the boats pull ashore, Nick was relieved for the break from rowing. His shoulders were sore. He helped secure the boats with thick roaps that tied them to nearby trees to keep the water from pulling them away, and sat on a rock where he massaged his arm sockets with a groan. Bree sat next to him. "This is intense," she said, settling down. She stared out at the river passing by.

"It's a lot crazier than last time," Nick admitted with a laugh. "God, Amanda would've hated this trip. She was freaked out enough by the last one." He smiled, staring out at the river's water as it passed by, too.

Bree glanced at Nick. "What about my dad?"

"He'd have been scared at first," Nick admitted, "But once he got the hang of it, that crazy-ass side of him would've come out and he'd have started yelling and getting all hyperactive..." Nick snickered, "Your dad was a nutter like that. Sometimes it just took getting him going." Nick could tell Bree wasn't ready to stop hearing about Brian yet, so he continued, "This one time we went out on Black Friday to get this toy for Baylee... I don't even remember what it was, but it was like the big thing that year, you know? And everyone had to get that one kind of toy and the distributors like purposely only made a few so that there would be this huge shortage and shit. Well me and your dad like camped out in front of a Toys R Us waiting for morning to get the stupid thing and when they opened the doors in the morning, there was this huge crowd waiting to get in, and they started pushing and shoving and trying to go in all at once. So at first your dad like was getting trampled 'cos ya'know he was really short -- almost as short as you, small fry -- and then he just got really pissed off because this one lady pushed him and face-smashed him into the glass doors and he just went fucking insane." Bree started laughing, and Nick struggled to get the words out among his own laughter, his eyes tearing up with amusement, "So he's like screaming and hollering 'get out of the waaaay! get out of the waaaay!' in this ridiculous voice and starts clawing his way forward and I swear it he was like a people lawnmower, he like forces his way to the front, grabs the toy, holds it up over his head, and started singing Weeee are the chaaaaampions in this obnoxious voice..."

Bree's face was red from laughing, "Oh my."

"Yeah... So he's like parading around yelling the Chariots of Fire theme," Nick snorted, "Like dada dadadaaaaa as he's got this fricking toy held aloft like a trophy..." He shook his head. "That's the sort of crap your dad would be doing right now." Nick let out a sigh, and his eyes returned to the river. "He always found a way to make everything - even the worst shit - absolutely hilarious." He smiled sadly, "That was one of the best things about your dad, you know."

"I wish I had gotten to meet him," Bree said, her voice sad.

"Me, too," Nick agreed.

*****
Amanda had two days to wait before Nick and Mystery Woman would arrive at the end point of the Lost Paddle River Adventures property, so she returned to the city, planning to spend the next two days at her hotel room. On her way back, she stopped in a bookstore and the grocery so that she wouldn't have to order take-out every time she got hungry. She'd collected an assortment of foods and snacks and drinks and was in line for the check-out when she saw a magazine that caught her attention.

Putting down her things on the conveyer belt, Amanda snapped up the paper and stared down at a photograph of Brian, juxtaposed next to one of his daughter, Brianna, who Amanda had only met a couple of times in the past. She looked so grown up in the picture, one that was obviously a school photograph. Her hair was dark and clean cut, and she had the same chiseled jaw and wide nose as her father, and his eyes, too, with Leighanne's cheekbones and eyebrows. Amanda couldn't believe that, despite the cheekbones and eyebrows, how much Brianna looked like Brian. It was incredible.

And then her eyes fell onto the headline.

16-year old Brianna Littrell, Gone Missing.

Amanda flipped open the magazine quickly and turned to the page on the story, her heart racing. Her eyes skimmed the page, her breath shortening.

"Would you like paper or plastic?"

Amanda's brain struggled to snap to reality, "Whatever's fine," she stammered.

The clerk looked annoyed, but the beep, beep, beep of things being scanned filled the air and Amanda looked back down at the article. Leighanne had reported Brianna missing after she'd gone to visit Nick in California. Now, she was missing.

"Do you want that?" the clerk pointed at the tabloid, and Amanda realized that the clerk was done scanning her items. She handed over the magazine numbly, and the cleark scanned it quickly. "Fifty-four thirteen," she said.

Amanda fumbled and shoved the money at the girl, snatching back the magazine. "Thanks," she said, grabbing her change, the bag, and rushing out of the store to the rental car. She tossed the bag into the passanger side and whipped her cell phone out of her purse.

"Pop Stuff Online," came the noxious voice of Tobias' secretary moments later, "How can I help you?"

"Mr. Winterson, please," Amanda requested.

"One moment."

She sat listening to the Top 20 on hold. Her eyes returned to the page of the tabloid. She stared at Brianna's face, at her features, and felt an ache permeate her heart. That girl looked exactly like her father.

"Hello?"

"Tobias? It's Amanda."

"Well fancy hearing from you."

"Do you know about this Brianna Littrell thing?"

Tobias laughed, "I had a feeling I'd hear from you about that today."

"What do you know?"

Tobias' laughter continued, "Oh Amanda, you're so predictable."

"Seriously shut the fuck up and tell me what you know."

He drew a sigh, "What I know isn't much more than what you've probably already read. Brianna Littrell was visiting Nick in California, she was supposed to head home, and never quite made it there. Her mother waited three days, then reported her missing - which is fishy to me, personally, but to each his own..." He paused, "When attempts have been made to contact Nick, he hasn't been answering, so there's speculation going on, obviously, especially with sightings of him off in Colorado or whatever. I'm trying to get in touch with the local PD since he's on probation he should be being kept track of, so..."

Amanda took a deep breath, "Look, I'm in Colorado."

"What?"

"Me. I'm in Colorado. I'm trying to catch up with Nick." Amanda paused, half expecting Tobias to laugh at her.

"So wait, you just randomly flew across the country to go -- what? To warn him this was printed?" Tobias paused, "Wait, no - you couldn't have flown after seeing it, you wouldn't have had time..."

"I just came to see him," Amanda admitted.

Tobias didn't laugh.

"I just need to see him," she added.

"Have you spotted him yet?"

"I saw his car."

"Where is he?"

"Like it's your business."

"Like that ever kept you from answering me the first go we had with this."

"That was a long time ago," Amanda snapped.

"Old habits die hard," Tobias argued, "Obviously, or you'd still be in Boston, wouldn't you?"

Amanda felt her face flush. "I'm not your reporter."

"I didn't say you were."

"Do you have better pictures of this so-called mystery woman of Nick's yet?" Amanda asked.

"No," Tobias answered, "Granted, though, that's partially because we don't know where he's at exactly, so it's hard to get photographs."

"I'm just thinking that maybe she's Brianna."

"So he kidnapped her to - to what? To go to the Grand Canyon and --" Tobias paused. "Of course. Damn, that makes sense." Amanda heard a desk drawer slam open then closed. "Damn."

"What? What're you doing?"

"For someone who isn't my reporter, you sure just handed me a massive scoop," he commented.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The hike up through the woods to the campsite was even longer this time than it had been sixteen years ago. Nick was certain that his calves were going to liquidate. He could feel every muscle in his legs, like they were turning to iron or something. He groaned and dropped onto a log near the campsite, pulling off his sneakers and glancing around. He'd done well denying his aging over the years, but today he was acutely aware that he was not in his twenties anymore.

Bree looked up from the ground where she'd sat, too. "Your shoes smell," she complained.

"Manly men stink," Nick explained flatly. "Only chick-men don't."

Bree rolled her eyes.

"Carter!" yelled Pat from across the clearing, "We need your height."

Nick groaned.

"Go on, manly man," she teased as Nick shoved his foot back into his sneaker and stuggled to his feet. His back cracked as he stood and he groaned again. Bree giggled. "Gettin' old?"

"Bite your tongue," Nick responded before loping off toward where Pat was waiting impatiently with a half-erected tent.

Bree leaned back against the log that Nick had been sitting at, staring up between the branches at the sky that peeked through the pine's reaching arms. The patches of blue were like glimpses of a world far beyond her own, where the earthy smell filled her nose and discarded orange pine needles poked her palms and the small of her back. She breathed deeply the scent and allowed her mind to wander.

She pictured her father there, where she was, doing the same thing.

Bree wandered back to the edge of the water and sat on a rock there. From where she sat, she could see the edge of the waterfall that she'd seen from the road with Nick days before when they'd first visited Lost Paddle, and that nutter bridge that stretched across the gorge.

Suddenly, the funniest feeling came over Bree, and she knew - just knew - that she was sitting directly where her father had once sat. She wasn't sure how she knew or what it was about the rock that made the connection in her mind, but she could just feel his presence there. She closed her eyes.

"It's not fair," she found herself whispering under her breath.

Life is never fair.

The words echoed in her head, but they felt so real - like they'd been spoken aloud. She opened her eyes and looked around at the woods. A few paces away, across the clearing, Nick was helping to assemble tents, and Pat was about to blow her whistle at him. The trees were filtering greenish light from the sky, and the water was rushing along beside her. There was no way anyone had been close enough to say it that she would hear.

She looked at the water.

Bree pictured her father there, looking at that same water, sitting on that same rock, and she wondered why. Why, if he knew that he was dying, would he choose to go out on a trip instead of trying to fight for life?

Because I wanted to die living, that echoing mind-voice whispered in her head, not live dying.

Bree felt like her throat might explode. She rubbed the skin there and watched the white caps of the water rushing by her as she let the words mull into her mind, sink into her brain, permeate her heart.

And I want you to die living, too. That's why you're here... Isn't it?

*****
It was later that evening, and Nick had gotten the tents assembled under Pat's regime. Bree had been strangely quiet throughout the rest of the afternoon before she crawled away into her tent. Nick glanced at his watch and snuck away from the crowd around the fire that Pat had built up over the evening, and pulled out his cell phone. He needed to call his probation officer and update him about where he was at.

Holding the phone aloft, Nick wandered through the clearing and the immediately surrounding woods, trying to obtain a couple bars of service, but the reception stayed elusive. He started gnawing on his lower lip. He had to make this phone call. He didn't really have a choice or he'd end up in deep crap.

Nick tried dialing, but the call was lost instantly.

"Damn it," he muttered.

Nick came up behind Pat and nudged her shoulder gently. "Do you know where the best spot to get reception out here is?" he asked.

Pat shook her head, "No reception out here at all, actually," she responded.

Nick's face paled. "You're shittin' me right?"

"No," Pat said slowly, in a very deliberate tone of voice, "I am most certainly not shitting you."

Nick crawled away, his stomach churning. He looked at his cellphone. "Aw hell," he groaned, staring at the brilliantly lit screen once he'd gotten several paces away from Pat and the other adventurers. "What's with this damn beach and cell phone trouble?" Last time, he'd chucked his phone across the river because Kevin had called over and over and over again. "Figures Kev could get through, but I can't call my damn probation officer."

He wondered what happened when you didn't call a probation officer. Do you go to jail? He didn't want to be like that Disney channel chick back in the day. He wasn't not calling on purpose. He wondered if there was a forgiveness policy or if it was automatically to the slammer you went if you missed a call.

He had a very, very bad feeling that the tolerance level on this was somewhat low.

It wouldn't be completely not-in-the-tradition of this trip for Nick to get arrested, after all.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Amanda was pacing on the bridge that overlooked the gorge, smoking a cigarette, and hugging her jacket closed. She knew she was crazy, but she could remember seeing this bridge when they bungee jumped and she was determined to keep at least an eagle's eye on him and Brianna as best she could. She walked and rubbed her arms, glancing at the wobbly suspension bridge that they would be jumping from, the clouds of nicotine floating away from her like a smokestack.

Now that she knew it was Brianna, she wasn't jealous anymore. The nerves had calmed. This was a legitimate reason to be reliving the trip. He was sharing Brian with his daughter. Amanda felt stupid for thinking he'd have done anything else and wondered why Brianna's presence on the trip hadn't been glaringly obvious from the beginning. Because you still love him, her mind reminded her, And that clouds your judgment.

She leaned against the bridge's railing, staring out at the waterfall, and the water crashed and billowed at the foot of it. She could remember that sound permeating the trees to the campsite that they had stayed at in those woods. She could remember that beach, where she stood when Brian told her about the Leukemia that he was suffering from. She felt her throat go tight. Everything had changed that day. She'd gone into Lost Paddle River Adventures an undercover reporter, and she'd come out the other end a friend.

Glancing at her watch, Amanda decided she had time to go to the car and get her note pad. She walked swiftly to the vehicle on the edge of the bridge and rooted around the glove box until she came up with a half-empty writing tablet. She folded back the used pages and grabbed a pen before returning to the spot on the bridge. She sat on the ground, able still to see through diamond-shaped embellishments on the bridge's stonework, and rested the pad on her knee.

A lot has changed in the sixteen years since the road trip I took with Nick Carter and Brian Littrell, she wrote. Her pen flew of its own accord across the page, and when she was done, she stared down at it in satisfaction. She took a deep breath.

Looking up at the gorge, she realized the foot bridge was no longer empty, and she stood up, her heart racing, and watched, clutching her notepad to her chest.

*****
Bree woke up sore and disoriented. She'd gone to bed so early - she never slept that long - and the sound of birds and leaves rustling filled her ears. She lay still as her consciousness came to her, and became slowly aware that she could hear deep breathing somewhere beside her in the tent. She opened her eyes and shifted her head, discovering Nick curled up in his own sleeping bag, pressed against the far wall of the tent, his mouth wide open and drooling on the pillow below his head.

Bree didn't want to wake him up, so she moved slowly and carefully, slipping out of her sleeping bag and moving the zipper of the tent as slow as physically possible. She glanced down at him as she crawled out of the impossibly small hole she'd made in the door, and zipped it closed again, fairly certain she hadn't disturbed him.

Pulling a sweatshirt out of the bag Nick had carried on the trip, she wrapped it around herself. It was Nick's and entirely too big on her. She could've worn it as a dress. But it smelled like boy and was warm, so she wandered to the edge of the river, back to that rock, and sat back down, staring once again at the water. She hugged her knees to her chest and watched the sunlight's reflection on the water grow as the sun rose in the sky.

She was glad that she was here, that Nick had brought her on this trip. For the first time in her entire life she felt at peace in this place - she felt as though her father were there with her, watching over her. She'd never been able to feel such a thing before, and she prayed that it wouldn't go away.

A rustling in the woods behind her made her turn around, expecting to see Nick or one of the other campers. But when she turned she was nearly face-to-face with a deer. She managed to strangle a gasp and stared at it's big, round eyes. It had long eyelashes and a long, rounded face. Its ears twitched and a muscle in it's neck throbbed. Bree's throat felt constricted. The deer was beautiful. They sat, staring at each other for a long moment. Bree wished she had an apple or sugar cubes or something to offer it but she didn't have anything.

Nervously, she raised one hand, palm-forward, toward the deer. It shifted its legs, backing up ever so slightly. Bree breathed, "It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you." She held her hand out, flat as could be, and watched the deer, whose eyes were surveying Bree's hand. The tension that had clouded its eyes when she initially moved seemed to melt away slowly, and the deer relaxed its legs and stretched out its neck, its nose nearly touching Bree's palm. She could feel its breath on her skin and the deer seemed to be sniffing her. She held very, very still.

A sudden noise at the campsite, though, made the deer jump, its ears wildly on end, eyes filled with tension once more, and heart racing so quickly that Bree could nearly see it pounding through the skin of its chest. The deer turned and bounded away into the woods, its legs pushing it off from the ground powerfully, white tail whipping, and disappeared among the trees.

Bree withdrew her hand back to herself and stood up, her heart racing nearly as madly as the deer's.

*****
Bree was sitting on the rock by the river, staring off into the woods, her hand clutched to her chest, and a faraway, dreamy look on her face when Nick approached her. "You ready to learn how to fly?" he asked her.

She turned and looked at him. Her eyes were wide.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." She stood up and dusted off her bottom. She was wearing Nick's sweatshirt - which he'd just spent several moments looking for.

"You sure?" Nick asked.

Bree nodded, "Positive," she replied.

"You look like you just seen a ghost," Nick said.

Bree shook her head, "No ghost." She walked past him, back toward the campsite, still holding her hand. "And what about flying?"

Nick glanced into the woods where she'd been staring, saw nothing, and turned hastily to follow after her. "Are you ready to fly?" he repeated, "Today's the day."

"For what?"

"Flying."

Bree stopped walking and stared at him, "What in the world are you talking abo--"

FWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!

"UP AND AT'EM EVERYBODY! LET'S GO!! WE GOT A BIG DAY AHEAD OF US!!" Pat's voice boomed through the forrest.

Nick smirked.

*****
"Sorry about your sister," called a girl in Baylee's office as she passed his cubicle.

Baylee groaned and rubbed his forehead with his hand in frustration. He was so mad at Leighanne for reporting Bree missing that it literally had been giving him migraines. He'd tried caling his sister at least four or five times since he'd seen the article on the paper but she hadn't answered yet. He was worried, obviously, by her lack of response, but after what Leighanne had done, he wouldn't have blamed Bree for never coming home at all.

Adam, a friend of Baylee's, leaned against the edge of Baylee's cube. "So," he said slowly, "I heard about Bree."

Baylee turned to look at Adam. "Bree is fine, she's with my uncle, Nick."

"The guy that keeps getting arrested?" Adam asked, eyebrows raised.

"Nick's a good guy," Baylee replied.

"If he's so good why'd your mom report him?"

Baylee sighed. "I don't know. Because she's a bitch lately. Besides, she didn't report Bree kidnapped, just missing. Which she is missing, I guess, in a way. She's in good hands though."

"You do know he's gonna be in deep shit though if they catch up with him."

"Once it's all explained I'm sure it'll be fine. My mum wouldn't press charges on him."

"Isn't he on, like, probation?"

Baylee shrugged, "I dunno."

"I'm just saying, if he's violating probation and found with a missing person... That's not a good combination."

"He can call his probation officer and let them know where he is and continue to travel," Baylee replied. Even as the words came out of his mouth, his brain clicked on the proverbial lightbulb. He looked up at Adam and a smile spread across his face, "Hey that's right. His probation officer would know where they are... Adam, you're a genius."

Chapter Twenty-Four

Bree clutched the little red helmet that Nick had just handed her. She stared at the foot bridge, stretching between the two sides of the gorge. Pat was already in the middle, setting up equipment on a small platform. Nick was strapping a dark green helmet onto his head. He raised his eyebrows. "What'sa matter?" he asked.

"Nothing, I'm just not over the top about plunging to my death," Bree answered, her eyes travelling down the far rockface of the gorge to the rushing white-capped water, where the waterfall tumbled hundreds of feet to the rocky bottom of the river below. "I mean, call me crazy but..."

"You aren't plunging to your death," Nick laughed, "I promise. I did this. And look, I'm still here."

"There's stories of people that've jumped out of planes without parachutes and landed and survived okay, too," Bree answered.

"Well you'll have a parachute for that," Nick said.

"What?" Bree's eyes lit up.

Nick shook his head, "Nothing. I mean. You'll be on a bungee line. It's like the parachute. Yeah." He tugged the strap on his helmet tight and turned away, grabbing a harness from a large pile of them. He tossed it to Bree, then grabbed a second one and started stepping into it.

Bree wasn't sure Nick's cover for his slip was convincing enough to trust. She stood dumbfounded, holding the harness, watching as he slid the thick material around his limbs. It felt like a dog's leash to Bree. She turned the material over in her hand. "My dad did this?" she asked, studying it.

"He stood right where you are standing right now," Nick replied truthfully.

Bree sighed and started yanking the harness on, imitating what Nick had done. He came over and helped her, tightening the harness for her. It fit snug and she imagined that it had to be similar to the feeling a straight jacket gave someone who wore it. Might as well be one at this rate, she thought to herself as Nick motioned for her to follow him onto the foot bridge.

Others were already on the bridge as the two neared it and Bree watched as it swayed back and forth. "Oh my God," she muttered, stopping right at the mouth of it. She grabbed onto the two posts keeping it moored. Nick pressed into her back, pushing her to move forward. She could hear people behind him, too, having lined up. "Are you sure this thing is safe?" she demanded.

"Bree, of course it is, I walked across it, and --"

"You're still here, yeah yeah. But that was sixteen years ago."

"So?"

"So it could be worse for wear by now," she pointed out.

Pat was waving for them to come forward. "Bree, just do it, I promise it's safe," Nick replied. He pointed, "Dude, if it held up Pat it can hold up anything."

Bree held her breath as she took the first step onto the first rung of the bridge. She felt the cables tighten beneath her weight, and was certain the cross beam creaked. Her stomach plummeted out from her; she imagined it ricocheting off the rocky wall of the gorge before disappearing into the misty falls. Her knuckles were white from how tightly her fingers clutched the top cable that formed a loose netting on either side of the bridge. She took another step forward. The bridge tightened again and actually did creak as Nick followed suit and stepped on immediately behind her.

"Oh my God," she muttered.

"It's okay," Nick said.

Bree's hands were shaking. She took another step forward and her foot hit the edge of the step instead of squarely on it and her heel dipped into the empty space between the steps and her heart nearly stopped as she started to plunge forward. Nick grabbed the back of her harness as she tripped, keeping her upright. Bree's breath was ragged now. "Shit," she whispered, not even caring if Nick heard her. "Shit. Shit. Shit..."

Nick nudged her forward to the next step...and the next... the people behind them were getting antsy, angry it was taking her so long to make her way across the bridge. Personally, Nick was just pleased she was doing it at all. He smiled as he recalled the way Brian had looked, hunkered down, kissing the earth, once he'd broken away from Nick and Amanda and returned to the side of the gorge.

"What are you smiling about?" Bree demanded, "What'dya got a death wish or something?"

Nick laughed, "Keep it moving," he said.

"You're amused by peril," she commented, "Brilliant."

"Just go," he laughed.

Bree felt like she could've strangled him at that moment. Pat was staring at them with irritated eyes. Bree inched onward, step-by-step, across the stretch of the bridge. At long last, she reached the midsection platform where Pat stood with the others who had already arrived there, and she scrambled onto the platform with a noise of relief and clutched the rail that surrounded. Nick stepped up beside her. "See?" he asked, "You made it."

"Barely," she replied, though she knew even as she said it that she was being dramatic.

Nick shook his head, "You're so much like your father," he laughed.

"You mean sane?" Bree asked pointedly.

Nick's laugh was drowned out by Pat's whistle. FWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET. He covered his ears, "Jesus Pat," he yelped when she'd lowered the thing, "We're all right here."

Pat held up the bungee cable, "Well then, Mr. Carter, since you want to be smart, you get to help me out with my demonstration." She beckoned him forward.

Nick stared at the bungee cords. "You want me to go first?" he asked, tentatively. Pat continued to beckon him. Nick sighed and stepped forward. Bree shuffling to keep her eye on him, nerves building in her stomach. He was seriously going to do this? she wondered.

"As you can see," Pat announced, "Nick's got his harness correctly administered..." she moved his shoulders, forcing him to turn around for everyone to inspect his harness. "Now we take these rings here..." And Pat proceeded to connect the bungee cords to Nick's harness with loud, metallic clicks and clangs. She knocked on his helmet, "Got this thing tight enough, Carter?" she demanded.

"Yes m'am," Nick replied.

"In that case," Pat announced, "All that's left to do is jump." She turned, unhitched a gate in the rail, pulling it in and securing it. She motioned at the newly formed gap in the rail. Nick shuffled forward to the edge of it.

Bree's palms were pools of sweat, just watching him.

Nick looked down at the falls below. His heart rate tripled or quadrupled or something. He held his breath a moment. He couldn't back down now - he'd gotten Bree here hadn't he? But it had to be granted that he was just barely shy of screaming bloody murder and running for the cool, damp grass on the side of the gorge. Last time, after all, in all his bravery, he'd been harnessed as a duo with Amanda. She'd amped his nerve up. If he'd died last time, he at least would not have died alone.

He peered at the mists coming up off the waterfall, fading away into nothing.

This time, he supposed, he had no reason to fear death.

And just like that, he took two quick steps forward off the platform and into the misty air.

*****
Amanda watched through the diamond-shaped cut away in the cement bridge as the first bungee jumper dropped from the platform. The cables tightened when the jumper had reached the end of their length and his long form swayed in the waterfall's air, the cables bouncing and dropping, his body curling and rolling with their motion. She could still feel it - what it felt like to take that plunge. Her skin raised goosebumps all along it, recalling that airless, flightful feeling. She clutched her paper and pen, and stared, watching as each person took their turns, wondering which of the many flights she witnessed was Nick and Briana's.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The phone rang at Nick's parole officer's desk. It was a little after ten in the morning and the officer had been filling out paperwork about his missing parolee. He lowered his legs from the filing cabinet, where he'd had them propped, and stared at the phone. A thrill of hope that the caller might just be Nick ran through him - after all, he'd come to be quite fond of Nick. He didn't reallywant to be the officer that hauled him in and finally locked him behind bars. He reached for the phone, fingers tingling.

"Officer Mead speaking."

"Hello... er..." An uncertain, young male voice filtered through the phone. "Officer Mead. Are you - are you Nick Carter's - er - parole - um - officer?"

Officer Mead felt a rush of frustration. The press had been bugging him about Nick Carter since the story had released that he'd been arrested and put on probation. "I have no comments," he said pointedly and was just about to hang up when the voice rushed on -

"I'm Baylee Littrell, Nick's friend's son."

The officer hesitated. "Yes? Is everything all right?"

Baylee got quiet a moment.

"Do you know where he is?" Officer Mead pressed.

"Don't you?" Baylee asked, his voice obviously incredulous.

Officer Mead hesitated. "Confidentiality laws," the officer muttered.

"I'm not really looking for Nick anyway," Baylee replied, "Mostly just my sister."

"Big fan is she?" Officer Mead asked dryly.

Baylee chuckled, "No... Well, see..." he paused, and Officer Mead got the feeling that he was trying to work out how to word his response. Finally Baylee said, "Have you seen the news?"

"The news?" In all honesty, Officer Mead had spent the day before with his children and had been just too tuckered to look at any news programs. This morning, he'd leafed through a three-day old newspaper while drinking his coffee, and he'd come into work hurried after hitting a traffic jam on the interstate. "Why?" he asked without directly admitting he hadn't been keeping up with current events. Somehow a clueless cop didn't seem... right.

"My mother's leveling claims that my sister, Bree, was kidnapped," Baylee responded, "She was last seen with Nick... But I know he didn't kidnap her, Nick's not like that. But -- I do need to find them."

Officer Mead was staring at the wall, shock plainly written all over his face. "Kidnapping?" he mustered after a long moment.

"He didn't do it," Baylee persisted.

The office seemed to spin around Mead. "The last I knew," he said, "They were northbound to Colorado."

"Colorado?!" Baylee exclaimed.

"Boulder City, to be exact."

Baylee's voice crossed the line in a relieved tone - "Ohhhhh --"

"He didn't call last night," Mead confessed.

"Thank you!" Baylee's tone was practically euphoric now.

"You're welc--" but Officer Mead stopped there, because Baylee had already hung up the phone. Mead stared at the humming receiver for a moment, returned it to the cradle, then lifted his paperwork on Nick. He stared down at it, the fullness of what Baylee had just told him sinking in. Nick had kidnapped a girl?

Mead's fingers flew over his computer keyboard a moment later, opening the brightly colored website for Pop Stuff Online.

*****
Bree stood on the edge, peering down into the watery misty air below. The white, swirling mass met the base rock and shattered the glassy prism of surface violently. She clutched the harness in her fingertips and felt a light sheen of sweat moisten the palms of her hands. She drew a deep breath, and stepped forward.

The world flashed before her - images, pictures, sounds. It was like a blazing swirl of color, a vortex she was being swallowed alive by. Everything real seemed so out of focus while every dream she'd ever had seemed to come sharpy into focus. The rope tightened and she bobbed like a cork at its end point, her body swinging loosely through the air.

Her heartbeat rang loudly through her veins, like it was singing... and the image of the deer filled her mind. She smiled, a warm sensation coming over her as she watched the deer coming closer through the woods, only to become her father, who wrapped his arms around her and...

"Bree, wake up."

Her eyes snapped open.

She was laying on the ground, leaning against her pack, under a pine tree. Nick was hovering over her, a bemused smile on his face. Bree realized she'd been asleep, that she'd been dreaming. She'd taken the plunge in reality just a few moments after Nick had - encouraged to go second by Pat and Nick himself, and had gone and she'd fallen asleep under the tree, waiting for the others to go.

It had long been a defensive mechanism for Bree to fall asleep when she was nervous.

"Sorry," she muttered, wiping her eyes. She realized as the backs of her hands swiped them that she had tears pooling. She looked away, focusing on her hands as she pushed herself up from the ground so Nick wouldn't notice. Bree's heart rate was still high, she could still see the deer, still see her father. It had felt so real.

"It's okay, Pat just wanted to head out is all..." Nick replied. He smiled, "So...how do you feel? You did it." He motioned to the footbridge.

Bree smiled, "I got to admit, it was pretty cool. I still can't picture my dad doing that, though."

Nick hesitated. "Well..." he said quietly - guiltily.

"Well what?" Bree eyed him. With his continued hesitation, her jaw dropped. "Nick," she said in an accusatory tone, "My father didn't do it, did he?"

Nick's cheeks reddened. "Well, he didn't exactly, no," he admitted.

Bree raised an eyebrow.

"He actually sat in this very spot while me and Amanda did it. He - he got about a quarter of the way across the bridge then bolted back to land like a rocket was atttached to his behind," Nick laughed in spite of himself, then bit his lip.

Bree shook her head.

A smirk spread across Nick's face. "But you did it."

Bree laughed, "You're sneaky."

FWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!

Pat's whistle sliced the air from right behind Nick and he jumped, startled. Bree laughed more heartily. Pat's voice followed the shrill ring of her whistle. "Okay group," she shouted, "Let's saddle up and move out!" She shouldered her own huge bag and stood waiting for everyone else to do the same.

Nick let out a sigh, then offered his hand to Bree to help her stand up. "She's a slave driver," he hissed under his breath to Bree, who giggled.

Once their packs were shouldered, the group herded on through the woods until they came to a steep wooden staircase that had been built running down the height of the gorge wall. With Pat in the lead, the group moved down the stairs. Nick followed along behind Bree, looking around at the trees and various other plants that lived in the forest around them.

When they reached the bottom, Pat led the way along a trail that led to the river and the group unshouldered the packs to help inflate the rafts for the final leg of the journey. Nick found himself thinking absently thinking about this portion of the adventure last time he'd done this. Brian had fallen out of the raft and Nick, overcome with worry, had leaped into the water after him...

The water had been icy cold, the kind of icy cold that stung and made every muscle ache and recoil. Nick had been forcibly reminded of the time that they'd played BSB on Ice backstage and had dared each other to stuff their faces into an ice cooler with cans of Pepsi and Mountain Dew floating around in it. The water had enveloped him though, not just his face. He'd swam to Brian, fighting against the strong current, and caught hold of him. They'd waited for Pat to pull them back aboard and Brian had been shaking, breathing in short bursts. "It's okay, Frick," Nick had said in his best friend's ear as Pat made their way toward the Boys. "I got'cha. It's all good..."

Brian had smiled, a weak smile but a smile nonetheless, and replied, "You always do, Frack."

Now, Nick looked at Bree, who was staring out at the river and he felt his heart tighten. In a way, he thought, I still do.

*****
Amanda parked in the lot next to the waiting shuttle bus. She leaned against the trunk of her car and waited. She wondered what he'd say, what he'd do. She wondered what she'd say, how she'd explain what had happened, why she was here. She wondered if he'd heard about the accusations flying through the news about him and Bree, if he'd be mad. She kicked at the ground with the toe of her sneaker, nervous excitement building up inside of her. A part of her couldn't wait for them to arrive back to Lost Paddle, the other part dreaded the instant when he first laid eyes on her.

*****
Despite history's track record, the ride back to Lost Paddle had gone quite smoothly, though Nick had insisted on keeping Bree very close to him the entire way. She'd looked around and appreciated the smells and sights and sounds of the river excursion. When they'd reached the Lost Paddle landing site, Bree felt a pang of sadness jolt her. It had been the most amazing experience she'd ever had, and a part of her almost didn't want it to end. She wondered if this was it, if now Nick was going to bring her home and their adventure was going to end.

At the landing point, Pat and Nick and a couple other guys jumped out of the rafts and pulled them ashore. Bree and the others in the group climbed out and they stood collectively on the beach. Pat stood importantly to one side, her voice carrying over the group, "Thank you for visiting us today and we hope you enjoyed your excursion... Please visit us again sometime."

They all carried the equipment into the Lost Paddle building, shedding packs and tents and things until all the company's stuff had been returned to them. Pat thumped Nick on the back enthusiastically. "Hope you had a good experience, Carter," she said in her booming voice. A flash travelled through Nick's mind - a moment sixteen years ago when he and Brian had laughed talking about balls and whether Pat had them.

"Thanks," he said. "Great; even better when nobody falls out of the raft," he joked.

"Sorry about your friend," Pat replied. "He was a good egg." She nodded firmly. "Too bad the other one couldn't make it," she added.

"Yeah, well... she works in Boston now."

Pat gave Nick a funny look and opened her mouth to say something, when a girl called out, "Patricia, you have an urgent call on hold."

Pat nodded and turned back to Nick, "Have a safe trip; nice meeting you," she added nodding at Bree. She turned away.

"You're right," Bree admitted as Pat shoved her way to the desk, "She was a lot scarier than she seemed at first."

Nick pantomimed blowing a whistle, and Bree let out a stream of laughter.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Amanda's heart was in her throat as the passengers from the trip climbed the hill from the river. She was wearing a loose-fitting sweater, the sleeves hanging past her hands, and she was wringing the material. In her mind, words bounced around outside of their sentence context, like magnetic poetry pieces. And then Amanda spotted Bree. Her breath was taken away. Even from a distance, Bree's similarities to her father were unmistakable. Nick wasn't beside her as she crested the hill, but Amanda had no question in her mind whatsoever that this was Brian's daughter.

Amanda watched as Bree pulled out her cell phone, staring down at the screen as she walked toward her. As Bree was about to pass, Amanda sucked up the courage and said, "Excuse me."

Bree looked up from the phone and her eyes met Amanda's.

There was a long pause, an awkward moment where Amanda realized she had no clue what next to say, and Bree felt the vaguest sense of recognition. They stared each other down, neither sure what to say to the other for fear of sounding stupid. Finally, Amanda stammered, "Do you have the -um- the time?" she closed her eyes, annoyed with her own stupid fear.

"It's eleven thirty," Bree answered, then turned back to the shuttle bus.

Amanda breathed out the words thank you, quiet enough that Bree probably didn't even hear them, as she climbed onto the bus. She turned back to the crest of the hill, but Nick wasn't there. She furrowed her brow in confusion. Where was he?

*****
"Officer Mead, it's Nick Carter. I'm sorry I didn't call yesterday, I didn't have reception. But I'm in Boulder, Colorado."

The officer's voice was heavy, "Nick, you need to bring that girl home."

There was a long pause. "I am," Nick answered.

"Look, Nick, you're getting in over your head," the PO said. "Her mother's reported her missing. You can't ignore that. You need to call her, explain where you are, and get that girl home immediately."

"Leighanne reported me?" Nick asked, a horrified tone to his voice, "Are you shitting me?" He was surrounded by flowers and bushes to one side of the landing area, alone after telling Bree to meet him at the shuttle bus. He kicked a rock into the river, and clutched the phone, the world seeming to spin ever so slightly at the news. "Why would she do that?"

"Nick I'm telling you to get that girl home, there's not much else I can say. You're technically not even my case anymore --"

"What?" Nick asked, "I have a new parole officer?" he was confused.

"They took my case off my hands Nick," Officer Mead explained, "When they got wind that there was a possible connection between you and the missing Littrell girl, they asked for my records so they could locate you, and I didn't have a 20 on you last night and they took the case."

Nick sat in the sand. "Fuck," he said. "Fuckfuckfuck--"

"I read the articles on Pop Stuff," Officer Mead continued, "I know what you're trying to do, Nick, and I think it's great, but I think you need to call it quits and get that girl home to her parents before you end up behind bars."

Nick flinched at the plural of parents. "I can't bring her home to her parents," he snapped, emphasizing the s. "She's only got one parent, an Leighanne's barely that." He struggled to his feet. "Look I'll keep you updated on where we are, but I'm not going to Atlanta yet. We have three more stops, then we'll be to Atlanta. Just three more stops."

"Nick, you don't have three stops before they catch up with you --" Officer Mead argued.

"They aren't going to catch up with me," Nick responded.

"Nick, you need to nip this thing in the bud before you end up with some serious trouble on your lap," the officer pleaded.

"No," Nick replied, "What I need is to help Brianna," Nick answered, "And Bree needs this. She needs her father." With that, he hung up the phone, hands shaking. He looked up at the sky. He took a deep breath, and prayed he was doing the right thing.

Even as confident as he felt that he was doing the right thing, Nick couldn't help but feel at least a little bit of apprehension as he climbed the hill to the parking lot. He could hear the shuttle bus humming ahead of him, and he wondered how he would keep this from Bree. If he should continue to keep it from her.

"Mr. Saget?"

Nick looked up because of the voice, not the name. But in combination with the voice, even the name meant something. He stared at her, dumbfounded. Her reddish hair... bright green eyes... She wore jeans and an oversized sweater that hung just right. Her eyes glistened with tears that threatened to fall. He felt frozen in place, mute, and unable to so much as blink.

"Amanda," he stammered.

She swallowed back the magnetic poetry set of words, and stared at him, her heart thumping in her chest. He was dirty, as he should be having just returned from a weekend of white water rafting. She felt tingly from head to toe.

"You're here," he added after a long pause.

Amanda nodded, "Yeah, I'm here."

Nick felt like his breath had been vacuumed from his body. "How?" he stammered.

"I read you went to the Canyon with Bree," she answered.

Nick nodded.

"I want to come with you," Amanda said.

It was amazing how much Nick's heart pounded against the backside of his rib cage at the words. Amazing how even ten years apart hadn't made the emotions he felt just looking at her any less intense.

Before he could formulate an answer, the shuttle hissed, the door closed, and it started rumbling up the dirt road.

"Fuck." Nick bolted after the bus, arms flailing, "WAIT!" he yelled, but the bus rumbled away. Just as it rounded the corner of the trees, he saw Bree's panicked face peering out the window. Nick stumbled to a stop as the bus pulled ahead on the road, literally leaving him in its dust, his chest heaving from running across the lot. "Sh- sh- shiii- iit," he gasped out, bending forward and grabbing his knees.

Amanda was suddenly beside him. He looked up. She held up her rental car keys. "Need a lift?" she asked.

Nick nodded weakly.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Bree sat numbly in her seat, her eyes wide. In the last five minutes two very, very big things had massively shifted in her life. She stared at her cell phone, then glanced at the empty seat next to her, where Nick should've been sitting. She took a deep breath, feeling overwhelmed, helpless, and just a little lost. Granted, she knew that at worst the shuttle would make a return trip and she'd just meet Nick again back at the other end, but it was still unnerving. Especially given the latest from Baylee on the phone.

You need to come home now before Uncle Nick gets arrested. Mom reported you missing.

Bree gnawed her lower lip.

*****
Amanda drove carefully down the dirt road behind the shuttle bus. Nick was silent beside her, staring at the dash board, his eyes unfocused. She wasn't sure what to say, how to break the ice. Finally, she said, "Nice day, isn't it?"

Nick looked over at her. "I can't believe you're here."

"And yet, here I am," Amanda answered, a chipper tone to her voice.

"Why did you come?" he asked.

Amanda had asked herself that very same question about fifteen times over the last few days. She'd had a list of reasons when she'd been the one asking it, but suddenly all the answers sounded stupid and forced when he asked. Only one sounded right. She bit her lip. "Because," she said, "You said you lied."

Nick stared at her, her answer echoing in his head like she'd shouted it off a cliff. "You came because I still love you," he reworded her response.

She drew a deep breath. "Yes," she answered.

Nick hesitated. "Does that mean..." he paused. C'mon Carter. Ask. "Does that mean you still love me, too?" he asked.

"Yes," Amanda replied.

Nick's throat constricted and he felt his eyes burn at the edges with the threat of tears. He stared out the window until he'd regained his composure, then turned back to Amanda. "I read everything," he said, "Every article you write, everything." He gushed the words. Because of the nerves of not being able to call Officer Mead the night before...and finding out about Leighanne to Amanda being there to the shuttle bus pulling away, and the emotion of the trip... he felt punch drunk. "I've missed you," he added.

"I've missed you," Amanda responded.

Nick's voice was thick with sincerity, "If you give me another chance, I'll be different this time. I'll sober up, I'll work hard. I'll be a better man, a better person." When she opened her mouth to respond to this, Nick interrupted her, panic in his voice. "Amanda, please, I'll be everything you ask of me."

"You already are," Amanda answered.

*****
Bree stepped down off the shuttle bus. Nick's car sat quietly and she pulled herself up onto the trunk to sit and wait for Nick to catch up to her. Her cell phone vibed in her lap - it was Nick. Stay there, I'm on my way. She crossed her legs and waited. She stared around her at the trees and sky and her mind started to wander.

The past couple of days, since she and Nick had left his house in Los Angeles, she'd felt the closest she'd ever felt to her father in her entire life. She'd learned more about him than she'd learned from anyone before. She could still vividly remember the first time it had really occurred to her that she didn't have a father - the day in Kindergarten that they were supposed to bring their dads in to talk about what they do for a living and Brianna didn't have one to bring along. That was the first time she'd asked about her father, about where he was and why he wasn't there to go to school with her.

It was the first time her mother had refused to talk about him.

When she was little, she hardly even had seen a picture of him. All she knew of him was the sad look in Baylee's eyes and the ghost of Leighanne that haunted the house every February. Then Nick had given her that Bible. She found a couple pictures tucked inside - pictures from their times on the road trip, after he was sick, when his face had started to change and his eyes were more defeated than they had once been. She thought this was her father for the longest time, this man with slightly sunken cheeks, a sad smile, and eyes that held depth beyond their years. She read the notes in the margin of the text, clinging to what they revealed about him, always wondering different things about him.

Then she discovered the music.

The music was something that she'd heard about here and there - obviously, it was impossible not to know about it, but it had never really occurred to her that there were recordings and albums and things she could hear and listen to. She found the box of music in the attic one day when she was eleven and had taken over the attic to make a playroom. She'd been clearing a spot out and a box tipped over and out spilled a couple CDs. At first, she hadn't recognized him he'd looked so entirely different on the CD covers. Rather, she spotted his name. Bree had sat on the floor of the attic, the boom box quietly playing the CDs, listening to the songs. Some she'd heard before - like I Want It That Way, of course - but most she never knew had existed.

That night, she'd looked up the web address on the back of the CDs to see if there was anything online to learn of her father. She'd ended up on YouTube, watching videos fans had made. She watched him dance across stages, with brilliant smiles and shining, beautiful eyes. She watched him do impressions of celebrities, and do somersaults in his chair on MTV. She watched as the tour bus broke down, and they stuck their heads into icy coolers. She watched him do hand stands and cartwheels, talk like Donald Duck, and sing. Lots and lots of singing. She admired the way he scrunched up his nose when he sang, and lifted his knee (and yes, she saw the video of Nick making fun of him for lifting his knee, too).

But that was all she'd known of him... until now.

She was bitterly angry at her mother for reporting Nick... angry at Nick for telling her that Leighanne had agreed to let her go on the road trip... but no amount of anger or trouble could make her wish she hadn't gone. And no amount of either could make her want to go home just yet, either. She pictured Nick hearing that Leighanne was worried and instantly wanting to hop a plane to Georgia. She didn't want the trip to be over.

She decided not to tell him about the text from Baylee.

*****
Bree was sitting on the back of Nick's car when Amanda pulled into the lot. She parked next to the car and Bree twisted to watch as they got out of the car. Amanda smiled, "Hi," she said tentatively.

"I can't believe they just pulled away like that," Nick announced as he climbed out, too.

Bree shoved her phone into her pocket. "Yeah, that was crazy. I'm glad you got a ride." She jumped down off the back of the car. Her stomach felt a little funny knowing what she was planning on keeping from Nick.

"Bree," Nick's voice shifted tones, he sounded careful now. He cleared his throat, "This is Amanda Golde," he introduced her. "Amanda, Brianna Littrell."

Bree started to hold out a hand to shake Amanda's, but Amanda leaped toward her and wrapped her arms around her instead. "You look so much like your father," Amanda gasped into Bree's hair.

Bree laughed, "Yeah, everyone says that." Amanda pulled back, her eyes full of tears, and swiped them away with the back of her hand.

"If it's okay with you," Nick said, "Amanda wants to join us on the rest of the trip."

Bree smiled. She pointed at Nick. "I knew you were calling Amanda," she accused. "At all the gas stations and stuff."

Amands glanced at him, an eyebrow raised, as he nodded, "Yeah well," he said, neither confirming nor denying Bree's accusation. Amanda gave him a quizzical look, but Nick shook his head microscopically. Bree didn't notice.

*****
They drove back into the city - Amanda in her rental, Nick and Bree in Nick's car. They dropped off Amanda's rental car and cancelled her hotel room and Nick drove back to the cabin for their last night in Boulder City. They ordered in pizza that night and sat at the table catching up as the sun set over the mountains in the distance. After eating, they settled down to watch some TV and laughed the night away at the sitcoms until late, when Nick announced he was going to bed because they had a long day of driving ahead of them the next day.

"Night," both girls chorused.

After Nick had left, Amanda turned to Bree. "You're so grown up since last time I saw you," she said, smiling. "You're gorgeous."

Bree flushed. "So are you. I love your hair."

Amanda laughed. "Really? I hate it. It's so unruly."

"It looks great," Bree argued. She looked at her fingers. "Nick said you're a writer."

Amanda nodded, "I am. I write for a magazine in Boston."

"He said that, too. He's got like every issue ever at his house," Bree said.

It was Amanda's turn to flush. She took a deep breath, trying to hold back her desire to dance around excitedly at the news that Nick had kept up with her. She had to change the subject to suppress that. "So what do you want to be when you grow up?" Amanda asked Bree.

"A writer, too," Bree answered.

Amanda smiled, "Really?"

"Yeah, I love writing," Bree replied, "I take this class at school about writing. It's my favorite class. I write all the time. Just stupid stories, you know?"

"That's how I started," Amanda said. "Anytime you want help out with a story or you want someone to proofread, just let me know, I'll be happy to help you out. Maybe I could even talk to my editor... we have a short stories and poems section that's filled with work submitted by readers. I bet I could get you in there."

Bree's eyes lit up with excitement, "Really?"

"Yeah, it'd be great."

"Yeah it would!" Bree grinned, "That would be so cool." She imagined seeing her name in print - her work in a magazine. She felt tingly all over at the very idea of such a thing. Then she paused. She studied Amanda for a moment as her mind switched gears. "You knew my dad," she said.

Amanda nodded, "I did. I loved him very much -- as a friend, of course. He was an amazing man."

Bree took a deep breath, "You came on this road trip the first time?"

"Sixteen years ago," Amanda confirmed.

"Was he in pain?" Bree asked, "When he died?"

Amanda shook her head. "He did a concert at the Braves stadium in Atlanta that night. He sang like an angel."

Bree had watched the video of the concert. It had been released on DVD and she'd ordered a used copy on eBay. She'd never realized that was the night he had died. She felt tears spring to her eyes at the thought of how alive he'd been at that show, how his eyes had glistened and his voice had quavered over the words of that last song... Her throat swelled up and she felt the wind escape out of her. "I wish so much..." she started, but she couldn't even get the words out before the constriction in her throat strangled her voice.

Amanda reached over and wrapped her arms around Bree's shoulders. "I know," she whispered.

"Just once..." Bree sobbed.

Amanda stroked Bree's back gently. "I know."

Chapter Twenty-Eight

"Come in."

Amanda pushed open Nick's bedroom door slowly. He was laying on his back on top of the blankets in just his jeans. His shirt lay abandoned on the seat by the window. It was dark and cool in the room. Amanda leaned against the door jamb. "Hey," she said.

Nick rolled and turned on the bedside lamp, then flopped back to his original position. "Is she okay?" he asked.

"She went to bed," Amanda nodded.

Nick sighed and stared at his hands, which he'd stitched together against his stomach. Concern weathered his forehead. Amanda couldn't help but notice the barely-noticable hair on his chest, leading a trail across his abdomen and disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans. She swallowed and looked away, her mouth drying out. Sixteen years might've passed since the last time they'd been in Boulder - the night of their first encounter had, after all, been in Boulder - but Nick's body had scarcely aged, and other than the fact that he wasn't as well formed as he'd once been, he still was absolutely breathtaking. Especially to Amanda, who had longed for him for ten years.

"Can you believe Leighanne?" Nick asked, breaking through Amanda's reverie, "Not telling Bree about her father?" He frowned.

Amanda wanted desperately to agree about how awful Leighanne was, but at the same time she couldn't help but recognize how incredibly hypocritical that would make her. She and Nick hadn't talked about Brian, either, not even to each other. And how much harder it was talking to someone who had never met him before - trying to capture the essence of Brian, to describe his personality to them. She couldn't imagine trying to do that with a child - a child whose eyes looked so much like his, whose jawline was cut exactly the same way as his had been. Amanda knew that if she was in Leighanne's position, Bree probably wouldn't know much more than she did already. Not that Amanda wouldn't have felt guilty about not telling Brianna about her father, but who was to say that Leighanne didn't, either? And she couldn't honestly picture Nick being anymore capable - especially sixteen years ago. After all, not talking about Brian had been exactly what split the two of them up to begin with... wasn't it?

"You might as well come lie down," Nick said, nodding to the space beside him on the bed.

Amanda hesitated.

"I'm not trying to make a pass at you, if that's what you're concerned about," Nick said.

Amanda flushed. She crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed beside him, crossing her legs and pulling her strawberry blonde braid around her neck to rest on her shoulder. She ran her fingers over the knots of hair and stared at her fingernails as Nick rolled to his side and studied her for a moment, his head supported by one arm. He picked at the stitching on the quilt beneath them.

After a long moment, he looked up at her. "I've thought about you a lot in the last ten years," he said, his voice solemn.

Her eyes met his. "You did?" she asked. She'd always wondered if he did. She would sit - especially on days that held weight in their history, anniversaries of various aspects of their relationship - and wonder if he was thinking of her the way she was thinking of him. At times, especially during her brief marriage, she found herself wondering if he had forgotten about her and moved on.

"I regretted everything that I did," he said quietly, "Right after the door closed behind you." His eyes shifted to the blanket.

Amanda couldn't look at him, either. The painful memories he was digging up burned in her throat like acid. She licked her lips and struggled to maintain a steady breathing pattern. Imags from that night - that final fight - flashed through her mind like a crappy projector slide presentation. Nick's contorted, angry, yelling face... the glowing mixture of hatred and booze in his eyes... the words he'd shouted echoing in her mind, like tiny sledgehammers on her brain...

"You should've told me sooner," she finally stammered.

"I couldn't," he said. Nick swallowed the lump in his throat. Amanda looked at him - the question in her eyes, and he answered it, "Because I knew you deserved better, and I was too broken to get better."

A tear traced the contour of Amanda's face. "I didn't want better, I wanted - needed - you, Nick."

Nick's nostrils flared with emotion. Amanda's hands fretted over her hair and Nick reached out, took hold of them, and, sitting up, faced her, crossing his legs as well. He stared at her hands, running his fingers over her knuckles, over her nails and the lines in her skin. His yes burned dark blue with fear and anticipation. "Past tense?" he whispered.

"No," Amanda answered, her voice catching ever so slightly in her throat. "Present tense."

His jaw jutted out, his lips fighting emotion, his eyes pooling slightly. He drew a deep breath. "I need you present tense, too," he said.

Amanda pulled one hand away, pressed her palm to his cheek and guided his face up so that their eyes met. She leaned forward, and kissed him softly, shifting her weight so she was kneeling on the bed. He imitated her, and they were kneeling together, facing each other, mouths locked, bodies pressed against each other. He released her other hand and slid his hands around her, pulling her closer, his wide arms enveloping her, one hand centered between her shoulders and the other on the small of her back. She stretched her second hand around his shoulders and slipped her fingers into his hair, her heart beating wildly in her chest. She'd waited for this moment for so long, it felt nearly surreal.

Nick laid her gently back onto the bed, it was with one hand cupped beneath her head, protecting her. She felt safe with him, as she always had, and she remembered the feeling that no harm could come of her so long as he was there beside her that she'd had the last time they'd been here in Boulder, when they'd been seated in that horrible boat in the middle of the white capped waters. The emotions that flooded her rushed just as quickly as that river had, and she found her breathing coming harder as Nick's mouth traveled away from hers, across her neck, into the dip along her collar bone. He slid her sweater over her head, and she undid her braid, and his fingers played along her skin like she was a musical instrument and he the master. She responded to every touch he administered.

When they had finished, they lay there in the dark, holding each other quietly. She had her ear pressed to his bare chest and listened to his heart beat and the rhythmic pattern of his breathing. She pressed her palm against his chest, as though to remember that he was real, actual, and there. She turned her head by tilting her chin up towards his, and whispered, "You're my best friend."

Nick wrapped his arm tighter around her. "You pick really shitty friends," a breath of a laugh followed the words.

"I don't," she argued.

"You really do," Nick answered, "I've been a horrible person to you. I've hurt you, I've abandoned you. I've turned my back on you." He ran his thumb across her cheek and looked into her eyes, searching them, writing a promise into them with his own eyes. "And for some crazy reason, you've picked me to be --" he paused, choking up. "To be yours..."

"Brian picked us for each other," Amanda pointed out.

Nick laughed, "What'd you do to him to deserve that?" he asked, smiling.

Amanda laughed. "I'm not quite sure. But it must've been horrible." She leaned up and placed a kiss on Nick's mouth. He kissed her back. She pulled back and looked deep into his eyes. "Just promise me something?"

"Yes?"

"You won't ever lie about loving me again."

*****
Bree's stomach hurt the next morning from crying and her pillow had that damp morning-after-crying-yourself-to-sleep feeling. She curled to one side, hugging her stomach and staring at the wall, her knees to her chest. That was the first time she'd really let herself feel her loss, she realized. She'd completely felt it, from the tips of her toes through every fiber of her being. Amanda had been so gentle and so understanding about the break down... Bree was just thankful that it had been Amanda - practically a complete stranger! - that had been there instead of her mother. Amanda had held her and listened, where as Leighanne... well, her mother's ability to comfort her had never been all that great. Leighanne was an action comforter. She was the person who held their cool long enough to call for help in an emergency, who did things like go to fetch the first aid kit. She was the person who made the plans and mapped out responses and analyzed situations. But Bree was a needs-a-silent-hug sort of person when it came to comfort, and she'd never received that from her mother. Particularly when it was something to do with her father that she was upset about. After all, there really wasn't any action to take to heal that ache. There was nothing Leighanne could do to bring Brian back. If there was, Bree was certain Leighanne would've done it already.

It was well after eight in the morning when a knock came on the bedroom door. "Bree?" It was Amanda. "Are you hungry? Nick wants to go get breakfast before we head out to Omaha..."

"Yeah," Bree answered, struggling out of the cocoon of blankets she'd created. "I'll be right out."

An hour later, the three of them were sitting in a diner on the main street of Boulder. "Are your pancakes grilled?" Nick asked, smirking at Amanda, who laughed.

"They're prepared on a griddle, if that's what you mean?" the waitress had said, a bit of confusion in her voice.

"That'll do," Nick replied, winking.

Amanda stared at him as though she were observing a rare wild animal that might bolt at any given moment. He was too beautiful of a blessing to tear her eyes away. And besides that, she was afraid that if she didn't keep watch he would simply disappear.

*****
"They've already left." The Boulder City police officer assigned to pick Nick up from the address he'd given Pat at Lost Paddle River Adventures said into his cell phone as he started up his car. "There's no indication here of where they're headed next. All they left was a half-finished box of cheerios in the cupboard and a jar of peanut butter that smells a little funky."

"We'll put a search out for the plates," replied the head officer on the case. "Wherever they're headed next, there's not a chance in Hell they'll get there before we pick him up."

WANTED: NICK CARTER
Pop Stuff Online - Tobias Winterson

Once upon a time Nick Carter was wanted by every teenage girl in the world. Today, he's wanted by every cop in the continental United States.

Speculations that Nick Carter was reliving his trip of long ago with late Backstreet Boy Brian Littrell's daughter have been confirmed ... by the officers that are desperately hunting down the aging Boy with the warrent for his arrest. After Littrell's widow, Leighanne, reported her sixteen-year-old daughter missing, the rumors began flying around Carter and his so-called mystery woman, whose identity has now been confirmed as being Brianna Littrell. Also accompanying him is another familiar face, writer and former Pop Stuff staff Amanda Golde.

The warrent for Nick's arrest has posted on the AP wire and a nationwide search has been enacted on the license plates on his vehicle. Any information about the renegade pop star can be reported to local police departments.

As always, Pop Stuff will keep you updated with the latest.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

"I'm just outside of Omaha," Nick told Officer Mead later that afternoon. He was standing by a payphone in the parking lot of the gas station where they'd stopped to fill up. Amanda and Bree were getting travel supplies. Nick wrapped the phone cord around himself and leaned against the wall of the booth.

"You do realize I'm required by law to tell the officers looking for you where you're located, correct?" Officer Mead asked, sighing.

"I know," Nick replied. "I apologize for being vague, but I hope you understand I just can't risk my neck giving you an exact location..." he noticed Bree and Amanda at the register inside. "She'll be home in five days," he added, and before Officer Mead could say much more, he hung up the phone. And only just in time, too. Amanda and Bree came out less than 10 seconds after the phone hit the receiver. He turned, smiling to them. "Good stuff?"

"Cookie Dough Pop Tarts," Bree replied.

Amanda put a cup of coffee into Nick's hand. "Now you're talking," Nick said, taking a large mouthful of the coffee.

"I tried to tell her," Amanda laughed, "Caffeine trumps cookie dough, but she wouldn't listen."

"I wouldn't say trumps," Nick answered, holding out a hand for the foil wrapped toaster pasteries Bree was unwrapping. She plopped one into his hand. He grinned. "They kinda go hand-in-hand."

"Double fisting sugar rushes," Amanda said, rolling her eyes, "Oh the joy the rest of this road trip is gonna be." She poked Nick's pudgy stomach and made her way to the car's drivers seat.

"Sugar is a food group," Nick argued as he folded himself into the backseat of the car.

*****
"WannaPlayISpyWeShouldPlayISpyIGottaGoodOneYourNeverGonnaGuessItGOOO!"

"Nick we're not playing I Spy."

"ISpySomethingYellow."

"Nick, we're not playing I Spy."

"ISpyTheDeadCornStalksCosTheresSoFuckingMuchOfIt!"

Amanda sighed as Bree laughed from the passanger seat. "No more coffee or pop tarts for you," Amanda said, glancing at Nick in the rearview mirror. He was leaning forward from the back seat, his long arms flopped over the head rests of their seats, bouncing with hyperactivity. Even though she was acting annoyed, Amanda couldn't help but harbor the secret opinion that it was kind of a little adorable that he was acting like this. And he was right, she had to admit, there was a lot of yellowed stalks lining the roads.

Bree looked over at Amanda, who was trying to suppress a smile and failing miserably. "Was he like this the first time?" she asked.

"Not all the time," Amanda said. "Sometimes though him and Brian would get going and it was like travelling with a couple five year olds. I felt more like a mother than anything else."

"ThatWasSoBriansFaultNotMine," came Nick's voice from the back. He'd leaned back from their seats and was laying sprawled across his back seat, his legs bent in weird positions to make it so his torso could lie flat.

Bree smiled. "Baylee used to get like that sometimes. He'd get so hyper and show off at school and get in trouble and I remember Mom would be like you're just like your father at him. Once he tried to go down the slide at the playground on a skateboard and he broke his elbow and all he had to say for it was how cool it was that he almost made it."

"Brian wouldda so done that..." came Nick's weigh in from the back. His eyes were closed. He yawned.

Amanda raised an eyebrow and mouthed falling asleep? to Bree, who nodded. Thank God, Amanda added. Bree giggled.

"I hope you don't mind my joining you, by the way," Amanda said, glancing at Bree. "I don't want to intrude on your time with Nick, I just..." she sighed, unsure how to word what she was feeling.

"I'm glad you came," Bree said. "And I think my dad would've been glad, too."

Amanda smiled, her heart warmed by Bree's words. "Why's that?" she asked.

"Because you make Nick happy," Bree replied. "He was talking about you, you know, before you came. Not a lot, I could tell it bothered him to say too much, but he did talk about you. He'd get this look in his eyes, like he was really sad."

Amanda shifted her hands on the steering wheel and stared forward. Hearing Nick say he missed her and had thought of her was one thing, but hearing someone else confirm it made it all the more true. She watched the road, blinking to keep from crying. She felt like she'd already done enough crying on this trip to last her a couple lifetimes and she knew she was no where near done with the tears. It was the nature of the beast, she supposed.

"Sometimes," Bree said, "I wish that Nick was secretly my dad and that I'd find that out and it would make everything better." She stared at her hands. "Sometimes I wish I was adopted and I could go find my dad somewhere..." She looked up at Amanda, "Isn't that awful?"

"It's normal," Amanda replied. "I used to wish that, too. That I was adopted or that John Goodman was my dad."

"John Goodman?"

"Yeah. Like from Roseanne."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Bree considered this for a moment. "Why John Goodman?"

"He just seemed like a good dad," Amanda laughed, "I don't know why. He always plays dads, and he has that comforting kind of voice. I would love for my father to hug me and say that it's gonna be okay in a voice like John Goodman's got."

"Is your dad... gone, too?" Bree asked, careful about her wording.

Amanda sighed. "He's ---" she couldn't think of a way to word it. She shook her head, "He's alive, but he doesn't really care about me. My brother died a long time ago and he kind of stopped caring for me after that. I worked at the magazine he owned - Pop Stuff - and that's how I met Nick. Trying to impress my father and get the scoop, I lied to Nick and to Brian and was submitting news stories behind their backs to my dad."

"He mentioned that a little," Bree admitted.

"You know the stupid thing?" Amanda asked, glancing at Bree again. "He was never more proud of me than when I was being my most deceptive. But your dad, he was proud when I walked away."

Bree mulled over the words for a long time. "You're brave."

"Not really. My father drove me away in the end, I left out of neccessity. I just realized that I couldn't betray people who really did care about me to jockey for my father's affection."

"I'm sorry you have such a crappy dad," Bree said.

"I'm sorry you never got to meet yours," Amanda replied.

They rode along in silence for a few moments, both staring ahead into the stretch of road before them that wound through the weathered stalks and into the distance. Bree was thinking about her mother and mentally comparing her to what Amanda had said about her father. She suddenly realized that the desire for affection had been a massive part of her disconnect with Leighanne. Maybe, she realized, after losing Brian, Leighanne just lost the capacity to show affection. She did with Baylee, though, Bree thought bitterly. Except even that wasn't entirely true. Bree suddenly recalled Baylee telling her once that Leighanne had been a much better person before Brian died, that the loss had broken her spirit, that she was a hollowed out version of the person she'd once been.

Bree wondered whether it was possible that when somebody dies, they take a part of you with them, and maybe that part that Brian took of her family had been a lot bigger than any of them realized.

"Has Nick told you about the entire trip?" Amanda asked, breaking into Bree's thoughts.

"He's being kind of secretive about it," Bree said.

"He was when we went, too," Amanda laughed.

"The only thing I know for sure is that we're going to see my grandparents in Kentucky."

Amanda smiled, "You must be excited about that."

"I'm scared to death," Bree answered. "I've never met them before."

Amanda's jaw fell slack, "What?"

"Not since I remember anyways," Bree said.

"They live on this crazy big farm," Amanda said, "And your grandmother cooks these amazing meals. There's a gorgeous field of sunflowers outback. And horses. They have ducks, too." She grinned remembering all the beauty and fun they'd had during their stop at the Littrell house on their first trip, and the thunder storm that she and Nick had gotten caught in the barn during. Brian had seemed so at home, so in his element... "You're gonna feel so close to your dad there," Amanda added, musing outloud.

Bree smiled, "Yeah?"

"They still had his bedroom when I was there, from when he was a kid. They had it exactly like it was. All these baseball and basket ball trophies from high school and his graduation cap and all kinds of pictures and stuff that he had back then. He said it was like it never changed, he could've walked in the door after a day at school and it would've looked the same as it did so many years later."

Bree tried to imagine the room. She couldn't. "My dad played sports?" Bree asked.

"He was very athletic."

"I'm not at all," Bree admitted.

"I guess your dad had a baseball scholarship he could've taken to go to college with if he hadn't joined the Backstreet Boys," Amanda said. She laughed, "He made the right choice."

"It's weird," Bree said, "That he was famous, you know?"

"I bet."

"Like people still recognize my mom and Baylee on the street, it's really strange when like a forty year old woman comes running over to give Baylee a hug and tell him she was a big fan of my dad and ask who I am. It's so awkward. They always give me these looks and then start telling me about how my dad signed their t-shirts or how his music changed their life. One girl spent like an hour recalling stories from some cruise she went on with them and the whole time all I could think about was that this random stranger knew my dad better than I do."

Amanda had never really thought about Bree's interaction with fans before, or how strange that must be. Looking as much like Brian as Brianna did, though, she could easily understand how she would be recognized as his daughter. Anyone that knew the Littrell jaw structure or nose even slightly knew that it was a very distinctive couple of features to be paired together, and lucky Bree got them both.

"Baylee's better at answering them," Bree added.

"Baylee was always a ham like your father," Amanda nodded.

Bree thought about Baylee and the text messages they'd been exchanging. She wondered if she should tell Amanda about Leighanne having reported her missing - maybe Amanda would know what to do so that Nick wouldn't bring her right home immediately, so they could finish out the trip. She really didn't want Nick to freak out.

Amanda leaned forward in her seat as they passed a street sign. "Welcome to Omaha," she read aloud. She grinned, "We should probably wake sleeping beauty up. He's gonna want to be awake when we get there."

Bree turned in her seat, allowing the thoughts about Leighanne fly out of her head, and looked at the backseat. "Nick," she called, "Wake up, we're in Omaha." When he didn't react, she poked his stomach, "Nii-iiick," she called again.

"I could really go for a blueberry muffin right now," Nick mused, still mostly asleep, his words running together like a blur as he stirred.

"Even after that colossal sugar rush and crash," Amanda said, shaking his head, "And the boy wakes up talking about more sugar."

Chapter Thirty

"You're insane," Bree said.

The three of them were standing in the dusty parking lot outside of a building with a sign on the side that read Sky Jump! A few dozen yards away was a wide-mouthed landing strip, with a small blood-orange plane waiting. Nick grinned. "Not at all." He pushed ahead through the door.

Bree looked at Amanda. "He's insane."

"Yes he is," Amanda agreed with a laugh, "But c'mon. You'll be glad you did it." She pulled Bree through the entrance and they followed Nick up to the reception desk, where a lanky guy sat, playing solitaire on the computer.

"Hey," Nick said, "I wanna jump out of a plane, please. I believe you have reservations? The name's Carter."

*****
It was a mild evening in Lexington. Jackie and Harold Sr. were sitting on their porch after dinner in their rocking chairs. Jackie was knitting a sweater for Harold Jr. and a quiet country song played from the radio that sat between them on a stout table. The phone rang inside the house and Jackie slipped her knitting needles into the ball of yarn beside her and moved into the house. "Where are you going?" Harold asked, tilting his head to watch her go, unable to hear the phone.

"The phone's ringin'," Jackie answered.

"Say what?" Harold cupped his ear.

"THE PHONE IS RINGING," Jackie shouted. She'd reached the kitchen and picked up the phone from the receiver. "Littrell residence," she greeted the caller.

"Gram? It's Baylee."

Jackie's hand clutched the counter and her breath shook.

"Hello?"

"WHO'S ON THE PHONE?" Harold Sr. yelled into the house from his rocking chair.

"Baylee?" Jackie asked quietly, her voice barely escaping her, "Baylee honey how are you?" Her hands came to the phone, holding it like it was a precious metal. It had been almost fifteen years since she'd heard from any of Brian's remaining family.

"JACKIE! WHO'S ON THE PHONE?!" Harold shouted again.

"IT'S BAYLEE," Jackie yelled to him.

"WHO???" Harold yelled.

"BAYLEE," Jackie answered him. She turned away from the kitchen door and pressed the phone tighter to her ear. "Baylee, honey, is everything okay?"

Baylee was sitting on the floor in his apartment, notes spread around him of things he'd thought of throughout the day. He'd spent a good time thinking and trying to figure out exactly how to get Brianna home and it had occurred to him that the best thing he could do was catch up to her and forcibly -if it came to that- drag her back. The only place he knew for certain that he could track down that they would absolutely not skip on the trip was Brian's parents' house.

"I guess so," he said slowly. He licked his lips. "Gram... I know it's been a long time, I just --"

"A long time?" Jackie laughed sadly. "Dear, a long time is a week or two. This has been a decade and a half."

"I can't hear for a whallaloo anymore, Jackie," came his grandfather's voice over the line, "I thought when I was out there that you said Baylee was on the phone."

"Baylee is on the phone," Jackie replied.

"Is everything alright?" Harold Sr. asked.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Jackie answered. She turned back to Baylee. "Is everything alright?"

Baylee wondered absently how it was that neither of them had heard about Nick and Bree in the news. It was literally on every TV channel and magazine cover he'd seen in the last week. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Has Nick or Bree been there?" he asked.

"Nick?" Jackie asked, "Nick Carter?" she laughed, "Oh sweetie, Nick Carter hasn't been here in sixteen years." She paused. "Baylee, what is going on?"

"Nick Carter?" Harold's voice echoed through the phone, "What's Nick Carter doing calling us?"

"He isn't calling us," Jackie said, "Baylee is on the phone."

"Baylee's calling?"

"Yes, Harold," Jackie replied, "Baylee is calling us."

"Why's he calling us? He hasn't called in fifteen years."

"I don't know, that's what I'm trying to figure out."

"FIFTEEN YEARS," Harold Sr. yelped.

"I know dear," Jackie replied.

"Is everything alright?" Harold asked.

"I'm trying to figure that out honey," Jackie answered. "Baylee, is everything alright?" she asked again.

Baylee felt like he was going in circles. "Can I come up and visit you, gram?" he asked.

"Visit us?" Jackie asked, incredulous. She covered the phone. "Harold! He wants to visit us."

Baylee sighed. "I was thinking maybe I could leave tomorrow and drive up there..."

"Of course you can visit us," Jackie announced, breathless. "Please."

*****
The little yellow plane was vastly different than the Boeing she'd rode across the country to Nick's house the week before and Bree clung to the arm rest between her and Amanda. It didn't help any that all she could think as the plane rose from the ground and she looked out that she wasn't going to ride the plane back to the ground. No, instead, she was going to jump out of it.

"Aren't we going too high?" she gasped, her heart crawling up into her throat. Nick patted her knee. He looked nervous, too, though, and didn't offer any condolences.

They'd spent the morning and early afternoon in a "class" at the Sky Jump building and had been fitted into jump suits, harnesses, and helmets by mid-afternoon. The professional jumpers had come in and they'd been introduced to the three guys they would be tandem jumping with, and Nick had paid extra for a DVD to be made of the jump so there was a fourth guy with a video camera. A video camera! thought Bree, He's gonna jump to earth with a video camera!

"Any final words?" the video camera guy asked, shoving the cam into Bree's face.

"Final words?" she demanded. She looked at Nick, "I thought you said this was safe?"

"He means like before you jump," Nick said, shaking his head and laughing. He turned to the camera guy, "This is for my friend Brian! We made a jump like this sixteen years ago and today we're taking his daughter out of the plane to learn how to fly!" Camera guy was satisfied with that and leaned back, fiddling with the strap that held his camera to his chest.

Amanda leaned over to Bree. "When we made the jump with your dad, Nick went first, then me and Brian were left on the plane... and we started fighting." She'd been thinking about it as they'd risen in the air, that old feeling of worry that Brian was on the verge of revealing her secret to Nick had worked a knot into her stomach. She realized she could still feel the nervousness of him leaning down over her in the seat, his face right in her face, his eyes angry with zealous protection against any one who would hurt Nick Carter. He means nothing to you like he means something to me! Brian had shouted. She could almost smell his breath and cologne.

"What did you fight about?" Bree asked.

"Brian loved you so much Nick," Amanda yelled over Bree's head, not answering the question directly.

Nick looked up. "What?"

"Brian," Amanda said. "He loved you so fucking much."

Nick smiled a shaky sort of smile and looked away, out the window.

Amanda turned to Bree and said more quietly, "He'd found out that I was a reporter and he was so angry with me... By that time, though, I'd changed. They weren't just celebrities anymore." She stared at the door of the airplane as the pro jumpers were prepping to open the door. "Brian and I fought in the air," she said, "But by the time we hit the ground we were friends."

Bree bit her lip. "So the jump means a lot to you then," she said.

"The jump changes things," Amanda replied.

Bree nodded.

"Let's get you guys harnessed up," shouted one of the pro jumpers, and the three of them stood and they were getting latched to the jumpers and the guy with the camera gave the thumbs up that he was ready to go and they gathered at the door. "Ready?" shouted the jumper Nick was attached to.

Nick looked over and saw Bree's eyes were closed. "Keep'em open," Nick commanded. She opened her eyes and looked at him, wild eyed. "Okay we're ready," he yelled.

Bree felt her pro jumper lean backwards towards the nothing outside of the plane and she thought about Amanda's words, about how the jump can change things and she thought in that last split second of a moment, between the leaning of her jump instructor and the actual feeling of gravity sucking her downwards through the air, of her mother. Of everything in the world that Brianna knew, of everything that could be changed, she wanted the relationship between her and Leighanne to be changed.

And then they were falling.

Bree felt the instructor twist in midair until they were facing the ground and far below, the earth stretched out like a blanket. It looked so similar to what it had looked like from the plane window, but somehow different, like another world. The air felt thick, like floating on top of a body of water. This is what my father sees of the earth, she thought to herself, picturing Brian looking down across the world from Heaven itself.

She thought of Leighanne. Leighanne, who would have a fit if she knew that Brianna was falling through the sky from a plane, who would never have let her do this. She wondered if she'd known before he did it that Brian was doing it. What would I do without you? Leighanne always demanded of Bree whenever she did something that had worried her mother. And Brianna realized maybe Leighanne just couldn't take losing Brian again. Maybe that's why she'd given her his name. You're the last thing your father ever gave me, Leighanne always reminded her.

Bree felt tears on her cheeks as she fell, the air pushing them off her skin. She pictured the tears falling through the air and landing, like rain drops, below.

When their instructor pulled the cord that released their parachute, she felt the balloon catch the air and their speed slowed considerably, until she was danging beneath it. She felt like one of the floating seeds from a dandilion, once it had turned white and the wind had carried it away from its stem. They drifted, floating a couple dozen feet over the tops of the colorful bells of Nick and Amanda's chutes. Goosebumps rose along Bree's arms. And then they were landing, the earth was beneath her feet, and she collapsed to the grass as the parachute fell, landing around them on the ground, until she was enveloped in the colorful fabric, pressed safely against the earth she'd fallen to.

And she realized, as she lay under the colorful tent, almost unwilling to move to escape from it, wishing to feel the way she felt in that instant for all of her life, that Amanda was right. The fall had been changing, and she was glad that she'd done it.

Chapter Thirty-One

"I have never been this tired and hungry at the same time in my entire life," Nick announced as he shoved the key card into the hotel room door later that night. He opened the door and stumbled in, followed by Amanda and Bree. As he turned the corner from the hall into the microscopic bedroom, he dropped the duffle bag and ran forward. Nick threw himself across the room onto the hotel bed and snuggled against it. "Oh my God a mattress," he groaned, closing his eyes.

Amanda almost tripped over the dropped duffle bag he'd left in the middle of the walking space. She kicked it aside and dropped her own next to it. "Don't be a bed hog," she commanded, laughing at his sprawled out frame.

"Can't move. Muscles non functioning." Nick just laid there.

Amanda crossed over to the bed and pushed Nick's leg over. "Moooove, jackass." She crawled onto the mattress beside him and shoved his arm away. He let it land, floppy, against his chest.

Bree followed suit, crawling onto the other bed. She curled the pillow under her head, "This feels really good," she agreed, closing her eyes, too.

The room fell into silence as all three of them dozed. The alarm clock on the nightstand between the beds glowed red, announcing the time to be 6:45. None of them moved. When the clock was glowing 6:57 and they'd been silent that entire time, a loud grumbling erupted from Nick's stomach, breaking the silence.

"Jesus, Carter," Amanda groaned.

"It was my stomach," Nick defended himself, "I did not flattulate." Bree cracked up into the pillow at the word, her eyes still closed. Only Nick would use that word.

"You're so gross," Amanda said, but even her voice broke from trying to repress laughter. She shoved his shoulder. "Get away from me, you gross boy."

Nick laughed and rolled away, jumping to his feet. "I'm starving," he said.

"Good, go get food then," Amanda waved her hand at him dismissively.

"Okay," Nick agreed, grinning wickedly down at her, "I'll get Taco Bell. With extra, extra beans and --"

"No," Amanda laughed, "No, no beans."

"Whyyyyyy?" Nick demanded, laughing, too.

"Because we have to live with you and your lethal ass," Amanda answered.

Bree giggle-snorted into the pillow.

"Then you better come with me to get food," Nick said, "Cos if I go alone I am so coming back with Mexican."

*****
They'd gone and gotten food - pizza from a shop across the street from the hotel and Nick had jokingly asked the waiter if they had a bean pizza, which the waiter had spent fifteen minutes asking about out back before apologizing that they didn't. "What would you have done if he'd figured out a way to do that for you?" Amanda demanded of Nick.

"Ordered it I guess," Nick answered, shrugging, just thankful that the chef hadn't been feeling particularly creative that night.

When they'd returned to the hotel room, it was nearly nine o'clock, and they melted into their beds, the lights off and TV on, a rerun of some TV show flashing across the screen. Nick propped his head up with his arm and Amanda lay next to him, a good three inches between them, like a gap that time had created and neither of them was really sure how to bridge. But the gap was only three inches now, Amanda reminded herself, not 3,000 miles as it had been.

Bree rolled out of bed, "I'm gonna take a shower," she announced, and she disappeared into the bathroom, carrying her duffle bag with her.

"I sniffed the duffle bag," Nick confessed. "When she came to Los Angeles and I recognized it. I put it in my trunk and while she was getting in the car, I bent down and I pressed my face in it and I sniffed her duffle bag."

Amanda looked up at him. "Did it still smell like Brian?" she asked.

Nick nodded.

They fell silent again and Amanda licked her lips, sucking up courage, and then rolled and wrapped her arm around his chest, tucking her legs against the concave of his waist and pressing her cheek into his shoulder and her nose against his neck. He didn't move. She kissed his skin lightly and settled in against him.

After a long pause of getting used to the sensation of her being close to him again, Nick reached down and ran his hand along her arm. That's when he noticed it. They'd had sex in the bedroom in Colorado in the dark and, other than that, she'd been wearing sweatshirts and sweaters all along. Tonight was the first time he'd seen her with short sleeves with the room even partially illuminated. He reached over and turned on the bedside lamp, and turned her arm to study the tattoo that ran along the inside of her right forearm.

It was a floral vine that started just above the veins in her wrist and trailed toward her elbow and in a delicate script that mimicked the vines, was the name Steve. Nick licked his lips, staring at the name. It was her ex-husband's name. He knew this because he'd called the house they lived in a few times and Steve himself had answered and Nick had pretended each time to be a telemarketer from a medical billing company and been abruptly hung up on. A couple times, Amanda had answered and, too scared to say anything else, Nick had stammered through the medical biller spiel. He didn't know if Amanda knew it was him or not.

"Do you miss him?" Nick asked, running his thumb over the name on her skin.

"No," Amanda answered.

Nick studied the tattoo. "Why do you still have his name on you?" he asked.

Amanda shifted to show Nick his own tattoo on his left forearm, where Paris Hilton's name had once been. "Old habits die hard," she either said it or read it, he wasn't sure which. He leaned his cheek ahead her forehead. "I let him tell me I wasn't good enough," she said quietly.

"What do you mean?" Nick asked. They both stared at each other's tattoos.

"He slept around a lot," Amanda said, "And I pretended not to know."

"You deserve better than that," Nick argued.

Amanda sighed, "I spent all my life trying to gain my father's approval, then sixteen years trying to regain yours..."

Nick's voice was low, "I'm sorry," he said.

"I know you are," Amanda answered.

"I just didn't know how to handle it then, you know?" he asked, "Brian was the closest thing to family that I ever had. You know how jacked up my actual family is..."

"I know."

Nick stared up at the ceiling. "You're the only person I feel like really understands that when I say that," he said, smiling sadly. "You have like the exact same family practically."

"Minus all the sibling drama," she answered.

Nick thought about the similarities between him and Amanda, trying to get their parents love, struggling with losing a sibling, and the aftermath of the loss. They'd both lost Brian together; there was now, and always would be, a colossal void where Brian had been. Maybe, he thought, the reason they'd fought so much in those months and years following Brian's death because they were so similar. Neither knew how to deal with the other because they both needed the same thing and neither of them had it to give.

"You get me," Nick declared.

Amanda snuggled into him again. The shower turned off in the bathroom. He put his arm around her and held her close. "I really wanna sniff the bag, too," Amanda whispered.

Nick smiled. "Do it," he said, "You gotta breathe really deep though, or else it just smells like Brian put on fruity perfume."

Amanda laughed.

*****
It was seven in the morning and the instructor working at the office at Sky Jump! pulled into the lot and parked the car. He got out and was unlocking the door when two police cruisers came up the dusty driveway. The instructor stood at the door, confusion registering on his face. The cops parked their cars and wallked across the lot to him. "Excuse me, my name is Officer O'Ryan and I'm with the Nebraska State Police Department... Do you work at this establishment?" asked one of the cops, holding out his badge.

"Yes..." answered the instructor, confused.

"We have a couple questions for you," said Officer O'Ryan.

*****
Nick had parked the car on the side of the highway, despite the laws saying not to do so, and they'd stood on the grass beneath the sign that read Welcome to Kentucky as they crossed the stateline. Bree was now sitting on the grass beside him, Amanda on the other side of him. They each held a sandwich and a bag of chips rested on Amanda's lap that they'd been passing around between them.

"Did you call my grandparents?" Bree asked. "Do they know we're coming?"

"Not exactly," Nick replied.

"What if they don't want me there?" Bree asked.

"They'll want you there," Nick answered.

Bree stared at her sandwich, picking at it ever so slightly only because Nick was insisting that she eat. She was sick to her stomach picturing their arrival in Lexington, which was mere minutes away, and imagining what it would be like to see her grandparents for the first time. It'd been so long, she wondered if they even remembered that she existed. She would understand, of course, she told herself, if they had no idea who she was. After all, why should they? They'd never met her, and to be honest, for all she knew, they didn't even know that she existed. Maybe it wasn't so much a case of needing to remember she existed so much as knowing she did in the first place.

She could remember Baylee talking about gram and gramps Littrell and she'd asked him once, when he was a teenager and she was very little, why it was that he had a gram and gramps Littrell and she didn't, and he'd said it was because their mom had a fight with gram when she was born. She'd never dared to ask any more questions of anyone, instead she'd harbored the secret fear that her grandmother hadn't wanted her to exist, that maybe they'd fought because of her, maybe the chasm between her father's family and Leighanne had grown because she was the wedge that separated them.

There were times in her life when Bree felt like the wedge between a lot of things - the very biggest being the wedge between the past and the future for her family. Before Bree there was Brian, and after there was only Bree. When she was really small, she could remember looks of resentment and snide remarks even from Baylee, who had eventually grown to be her fiercest protector, but still... she could understand why, when he was younger, Baylee had resented her. As a child, you don't see that dad was sick and dying of cancer. As a child you see one day he was there and the next he wasn't and very shortly thereafter there's a replacement, with looks so strikingly similar to his father's. Bree respected Baylee very much for his ability to overcome that resentment. She was afraid that her mother still struggled with it.

Bree sniffled, the thoughts rolling through her mind causing tears to well in her eyes. She hadn't realized she was crying. Nick wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him, resting his chin on her head. She listened to his heart beating and wrapped her arms around him.

"It's okay," he said, "They'll be happy to see you."

*****
Jackie had prepared the guest bedroom in preparation for Baylee. She'd been humming all morning and into the afternoon. Harold Sr. had walked shakily out to the porch and stationed himself out front, staring out to the end of the driveway. "He's driving," he'd told Jackie earlier, "You're crazy for getting ready too soon, he won't be here today." And yet he found himself watching like a hawk for motion at the end of the drive, like an old yellow dog, waiting for its master.

Jackie had started the pot roast early enough it would be ready that night if she needed it to be, or could continue cooking to become beef stew instead the next day. Just in case by some miracle Baylee drove from Orlando to Lexington soon enough that she would need it.

It was dusk, the sun slowly expiring behind the trees at the far western edge of the Littrell property, and Harold Sr. had just given up and gone inside the house and begun bolting the locks on the door one at a time, when the headlights pierced the dark at the end of the driveway. He stopped shifting the locks, staring out at the vehicle. "JACKIE!" he shouted, "JACKIE HE'S HERE!"

Like she'd been waiting for him to speak the words, Jackie was almost instantly at Harold Sr.'s elbow. "He's here," she breathed, her heart shimmering in her chest like crazy. She scrabbled with the lower locks as Harold Sr. undid the uppers, and the door flew open and Jackie hurried out before Harold Sr. could manuever around the door. She dashed down the steps to the walkway and was headed for the car that was just turning off in the middle of the gravel driveway.

Nick got out of the car first and Jackie slowed to a stop.

He ran around the nose of the car. "Jackie," he said and she stared at him with wide, confused eyes. "It's me, Nick Carter..."

But Jackie wasn't looking at him, she was looking past him, at the car. Nick turned. Bree and Amanda had climbed out; Bree was standing beside her open back door, staring across the driveway, her hair hanging loosely around her face, framing her jaw and her nose. In the dying light, her features were highlighted, her eyes burning brilliantly as she stared wide-eyed as she had been since they'd crossed the Kentucky state line.

"Brianna," gasped Jackie, stepping around Nick. She went straight to Bree and stood before her. Bree stared up at Jackie and Jackie stared down at Bree and her hand slowly rose up and touched the side of Bree's face, her jaw dropped. "Ohhh," she whisper-gasped. She pulled Bree into a bone-crushing hug.

Harold Sr. stood at the edge of the porch, a look of wonder on his face. He looked at Nick. "Well. You aren't Baylee," he observed.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Jackie couldn't stop staring. She knew she needed to stop but she couldn't tear her eyes away from Brianna. Her grand-daughter's presence in her dining room was the equivilent of having a unicorn prance in. She was a mythical creature, something she'd heard about for so long, someone she'd seen photographs of and nothing more. Jackie's hands shook as she spooned gravy over the pot roast on Bree's plate. "You need to eat," she said, her classic Jackie-line, "You look like they've been starving you to death in Atlanta," she added.

It was easy to eat. The pot roast was the most amazing thing Bree had ever put in her mouth. Her mother wasn't the queen of culinary arts and Baylee's idea of cooking had always been grilled cheese pressed together with the iron. Yes, the iron. Like Johnny Depp in Benny & Joon. Jackie's home cooking was incredible, Bree decided, and pot roast was her new favorite meal in the entire world.

"What have you been doing with yourself since we last saw you?" Harold Sr. asked Amanda, shaking salt over his green beans.

"Writing for a magazine in Boston," she replied.

"Not about celebrities anymore?" Harold eye-balled her.

Amanda shook her head, "About tourist attractions and things like that," she said, "In New England."

"Good." Harold Sr. put the salt down. He looked at Nick. "You haven't released music."

"Not in awhile," Nick replied.

Harold Sr. frowned. "You were supposed to release Brian's song."

Nick flushed.

Jackie looked up. "Don't yell at the boy, he's tired," she said. "We'll talk about that tomorrow." She pointed a mashed potato-covered spoon in Nick's direction. "Because he's right, you know, you were supposed to record Brian's song."

Nick stared down at his plate. He'd recorded it, several times, but without Brian there to play the guitar just right in that plinky-plonky way he had during the show at the Braves' stadium, he had never quite gotten the sound of it right. It always seemed too contrived, too over-done... He'd eventually given up. Right around the same time that Amanda had left.

"Are you in school?" Harold Sr. turned his attention next to Brianna.

"Yes sir," Bree replied politely.

"Sir. Pish-posh," Harold Sr. grumbled. He shoved a mouthful of carrots into his mouth.

"You can call us Jackie and Harold dear," Jackie said to Bree. She paused awkwardly, "Or - or Gram and Gramps, if you like."

Bree stared at her food and stabbed some of the meat with her fork. It was weird. She wanted so badly to instantly bond with Jackie and Harold Sr., but it was strange, sitting there and thinking about the fact that these were her grandparents, that she was sixteen years old and this was the first time she'd ever met them in her entire life.

"What's your grades like?" Harold demanded, breaking the awkwardness, "Are you intelligent?"

"I'm honor society," Bree replied.

"Atta girl," commented Harold. "Get that from your father, right there. He was a smart boy. You good at science and math?"

"I'm better at writing and art," Bree replied.

Harold Sr. sighed.

"Do you play music?" Jackie asked.

"A little," Bree answered, "A little guitar. Not a lot. I can't sing. I don't think. I've never really tried, I guess. I sing a lot with the radio. I like the Beatles, and the Backstreet Boys of course."

Nick laughed, "Remind me and I'll autograph your CDs sometime," he joked.

Jackie put more green beans on Bree's plate. "Eat, dear."

Bree felt like she might explode, but she started shoving the green beans into her mouth anyways. She pictured herself being like a gold fish. She'd read somewhere that gold fish have no ability to tell when their stomachs are full because they lack some gland or chemical or something that sends that message to their brains and they literally eat until the food backs up into the rest of their body and eventually die from over-eating.

It would be a delicious way to go.

"Was my father good at math and science?" Bree asked.

Harold Sr. gnawed on a roll. "Yes," he said around the bread in his mouth, "He built a robot once for a competition at the school. It worked and everything. I helped him but he did it mostly himself from a pattern he found in a book."

"That's so cool," Bree said. "I could never build a robot."

"He used to make potato lights, too," Harold Sr. offered. "Turned on a lightbulb with a 'tater."

"Such a waste of food," muttered Jackie.

Nick spoke up, "He made a potato light once to impress a kid at a children's hospital we visited."

"He was damn good at 'tater lamps," Harold Sr. confirmed.

"Should've seen the nurse's face," Nick laughed, "When he was asking for all the supplies to do it. It took them longest to find a light bulb that would work for it."

Jackie shook her head. "Only Brian."

"The kid loved it," Nick said.

"Did you go to children's hospitals a lot?" Bree asked.

"All the time," Nick said, "We were going once a week for awhile. But --" and he stopped suddenly.

"But?"

Nick put down his fork. "We stopped because he felt guilty going after he got sick. Because he was afraid, and he felt cheated out of life because he was dying and seeing the little kids be brave made him feel guilty for feeling cheated. Because he'd lived." He stared at the colorful assortment of food.

Jackie pressed a hand against her mouth. "Excuse me," she whispered, and she left the room in a hurry.

Harold Sr. started to get up, "I'll go check on her," he said.

"I'll go," Bree offered. She stood up faster than Harold could and waved for him to sit down, "I wanna talk to her anyways," she said, and she backed out of the room.

Harold looked around the table. Amanda was concentrating on her vegetables, as was Nick. Harold sighed. "It's been a long sixteen years, hasn't it?" he asked.

Nick nodded.

"He was a good man, my son," Harold commented, "A good man."

"He certainly was," Amanda agreed.

Silence fell over the room as they each studied their plates.

*****
Upstairs, Jackie was sitting on the bed in Brian's old bedroom, hugging a stuffed duck that Brian had dragged around as a small boy. The room was like a shrine dedicated to the memory of the son she'd birthed, raised, and buried. She breathed in the scent of him, which was ever fading, and stared around the room, telling herself that she would come in and dust it later.

There was a knock at the door and Bree hovered in the open jamb awkwardly. Jackie swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat. "Come in," she answered, and Bree stepped through the door and looked around.

Bree's heart thundered. This room was her father's, she thought to herself, and tried to envision him sitting at the various points. The director's chair in the corner, the desk chair, the floor. She saw trophies from baseball and soccer and basketball lining the dresser, and an autographed football mounted in a glass case on a high shelf. A pennent from the University of Kentucky hung over the bed, the desk was cluttered with pens and pencils and even an old textbook with yellowed pages. Sheet music was tacked to the wall in one place. It smelled heavily of a scent that Brianna had only smelled in passing throughout their home, one that Leighanne Lysoled within an inch of itself. She recognized it for the first time as her father.

"Wow," she whispered.

Jackie moved to make room on the bed beside her and Brianna sat down. "I never had the heart to tear it down," Jackie explained. "It seemed sacreligious to remove it." She stared around at everything. "At first, I guess it's because I wanted him to know if he ever needed to he could come home. I mean he left before he'd even finished high school, really, and I didn't want him to feel like there was no home to come to if the music thing didn't work out." Jackie loosened her grip on the duck. "Then when it was evident the Backstreet Boys were going to be successful, I left it so he always had it to visit." She stared at the duck. "And now I guess I keep it so that he isn't completely gone. Now it's here so I have it to visit."

Bree picked up a gold cross on a chain that sat on the bed stand and studied it.

"He got that for his fifteenth birthday," Jackie said, "Never took it off again." She reached over and took it from Bree. "Your mother mailed it to me. After." She undid the clasp and put it around Bree's neck.

Bree touched it, the gold cool and heavy against her skin. She looked at Jackie. "What happened between you and my mother?" she asked.

"I offered to take care of you," Jackie said quietly, "Because I didn't think she could handle the pressure of motherhood so soon after losing her husband." She hung her head. "I didn't mean to offend her." A tear trickled across Jackie's cheek. Her breath shuddered, "I just wanted to take care of you."

Bree's fingers were still on the cross around her neck. A question was burning deep within her, one she wasn't sure she dared to ask but that she'd always wondered. "Did my father know..." she whispered, "About... me?"

Jackie stared at her grand daughter. After a long pause, she put the duck aside and stood up. "Wait here," she said, and she got up and left the room.

Bree sat on the bed and stared around at the things that belonged to her father and breathed his smell. She closed her eyes and for the briefest of moments she could see him in her mind.

The floor creaked as Jackie returned, clutching a jewelry box. She put the jewelry box onto the desk and opened the lid. She pulled out the tray that lay on top and reached into the bottom of the box, pulling out an old, faded envelope. She held the paper in her hands, shaking, and turned around. She stared at Bree intently for a long moment, and took a deep breath. "I was saving this," she said, "Until you were eighteen, I was going to mail it to you, despite your mother's objections." Jackie stepped across the room and held out the envelope.

"What is it?" Bree asked.

And Jackie took a deep breath.

"A letter," she answered, "From your father."

Dear Ma,

I'm writing to you because I had the strangest dream last night. It was so real I swear I could feel it happening. You're going to think I'm crazy and maybe I am, I feel it now that I'm awake, but just incase the dream was true, I can't ignore it.

I dreamt of the creek. You know that creek that runs out back of our property? You know that spot, where the root of that one tree makes the perfect seat to watch the sunset, where the water turns to liquid gold before your very eyes when you sit there? I dreamt of that spot. And it was the weirdest thing, ma, because I could hear the cicaidas and the water and feel the breeze on my face but I knew I wasn't there. It wasn't me I was dreaming about being there and I realized it was a girl that was there.

She was so pretty, ma, this girl. She had hair the same color as mine, and eyes like mine, and a nose and jawline like mine. She was so sweet, so perfect. And I stared at her and I loved her with all of my heart, and I just wanted to tell her so, but I couldn't because I wasn't there.

I know you don't like it when I talk like this, about the Leukemia and about the possibility of tomorrow never actually coming for me. I know that it bothers you, and I understand why. If I were in your shoes, I cannot imagine how I would feel. I cannot imagine how terrifying it would be to hear my son talk about things like death. But it is coming ma, whether it is a comforting thought or not. And I worry about the family I will leave behind - I worry about Leighanne and Baylee, and you and Dad, and Harold and Kevin. I worry about Nick and Amanda. I worry about everyone that I know and love.

But right now I'm worrying about someone else. Someone who may not even exist. I'm worrying about that girl.

If the doctors are wrong - if the treatments have not made it impossible - if it turns out that Leighanne is pregnant and that girl I dreamed of does exist... I need for you to make sure that she gets the enclosed letter to her from me that I've included in the envelope I've sent you... Don't lose it. Please. I need her to know how I felt looking at her as she sat there by the creek in my dream. I need her to know the things that I can't tell her.

I pray that I will live long enough to tell her myself, but just incase, please see that she knows I love her.

Sincerely,
Brian

Chapter Thirty-Three

Bree couldn't breathe. The air had caught in her throat and she looked up at Jackie from the page of her father's handwriting, the second envelope clutched in her hand. "He - he wrote a letter to me?" she whispered, her mouth dry.

"Yes," Jackie answered.

Bree put the letter to Jackie onto the bed beside her, turning her focus to the second envelope. Tears poured down her cheeks silently, and she turned it over, hands shaking. It was still sealed. She looked up at Jackie.

"I have no idea what it says," Jackie said, "It was meant only for your eyes."

Bree looked back down at the envelope, her heart rising into her throat, and she felt a sensation like she'd never felt before cover her from head to toe. She brought her fingers to the seal slowly, scarcely able to breathe, and was just about to open it...

"YOU CAN'T DO THIS, HE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG!" Amanda's voice broke through the silence of the house.

Bree looked to the door and Jackie moved into the hallway. She looked down the stairs and started down quickly. "What in the world is going on here!" she demanded as she went.

Bree grabbed the letter to Jackie from the bed, folded it and her second envelope into the first one, and, clutching them, rushed after Jackie to the downstairs foyer, where an officer in a crisp blue uniform was ushering Nick out the front door, his arms tight behind him in hand cuffs. Brilliantly blue lights sliced through the night, reflecting off a mirror in the entry way and splintering through the windows.

"What do you think you're doing?" Jackie demanded in a voice like the high queen. Amanda was clutching Harold Sr., her face aghast.

"Good evening ma'am," a second officer said, pulling out a badge and showing it to Jackie as the first officer guided Nick across the front porch and down the steps. "My name is officer Covvie and that was officer Winston. We're from the Lexington City Police Department." He removed his hat in good manners.

Jackie pointed after Nick and Officer Winston on the front walkway, "What are you doing with him?" she demanded, "What's he done?"

"Nick Carter is wanted for the kidnap of minor Brianna Littrell," Officer Covvie replied.

"I'm not kidnapped!" Bree yelled from the stairs, "I chose to go with him."

"Miss. Littrell?" Officer Covvie asked, looking up at her.

Bree came down the stairs the rest of the way, "Yes. I wasn't kidnapped, this is a misunderstanding... I wanted to go on this road trip," she said. "Now let him go." Officer Winston was pushing Nick's head down into the cruiser. Amanda's hand covered her mouth in shock and Harold Sr. pet her back gently, his own eyes wide with surprise. Jackie stood at the foot of the stairwell, sputtering angrily.

"You see, it was a mistake," Jackie snapped.

"Mistake or no," Officer Covvie replied, "Mrs. Littrell reported her daughter missing, and seeing as Miss. Brianna is a minor, there's no choice but to bring Mr. Carter in to the station until Mrs. Littrell herself clears the charges." He tilted his cap to Jackie, Bree, and Amanda. "I'm sorry for interrupting your evening," he added, and just like that he backed out of the door.

Bree rushed onto the porch, followed by Harold, Amanda, and Jackie, whose nostrils flared angrily. Bree's fingers still held tight to the envelopes as she watched the cops climb into the cruiser, and drive away, Nick peering out the back window at them, the blue lights flashing clear out the end of the driveway.

"This is all my fault," Bree whispered.

*****
It had ten mere moments for all hell to break loose on the Littrell's family property. Local news and media had arrived there with their vans and video cameras and lined the far edge of the property. Neighbors and friends that had seen the house on the 6 o'clock were calling and checking in on Jackie and Harold, and Jackie's nerves were frayed. Amanda sat on the bottom two steps of the stairs, hugging her knees to her chest and staring at the front door. She felt like she was staring down her past. There'd been a time, only slightly more than sixteen years ago, that she would've been one of those slugs out on the front lawn, reporting back to the publication. She wondered if Tobias Winterson had anyone out there for Pop Stuff Online, and the thought made her nauseated.

Bree had taken up pacing in the kitchen, her cell phone pressed to her ear, trying desperately to get Leighanne to answer the home phone number to beg her to come free Nick of the charges. She wound herself into and out of the phone cord as she walked, talking aimlessly into voice message after voice message, imploring her mother to call her as soon as humanly possible.

"Yes, yes, we're all fine," Jackie was saying into her landline phone. "Yes, I'm sure. Thank you for checking in," she added. "Buh-bye."

"Why do all the hens gotta call you?" Harold complained, referring to Jackie's gossiping group of friends, "Don't they all tell each other thirty seconds after hanging up?"

"They just want to be nice," Jackie replied, "And to confirm, of course."

"Bah -- gossip hen politics," grumbled Harold.

Amanda pressed her face into her palms. "He must be scared to death."

"He's had plenty of jailtime experience from what I've heard," answered Harold.

Jackie sighed, "None the less."

"This is the first time sober, I'll give him that," Harold continued, "The slammer's a totally different world when you're shitfaced."

"Harold, really," Jackie admonished him.

Harold rolled his eyes. "I'm going to watch Letterman," he announced and waddled into the living room.

"Letterman's not on until --" started Bree, but Jackie and Amanda both gave her looks of shhhh and she stopped mid-sentence. Luckily, Harold Sr. hadn't heard a peep. He would be asleep within minutes of sitting on his favorite chair.

Jackie sighed and stared out the window of the kitchen. Outside, the satellite spun on the roof of the local news van. She pictured the broadcast being forwarded all over the country and replayed on various entertainment channels. She sighed once more.

"Why won't she answer?" Bree demanded, angrily closing her phone and throwing it onto the table in frustration. "She has to answer," she added.

Amanda joined Jackie and Bree in the kitchen and sat down at the table at the same time as Bree. Jackie turned away from the window and clucked, looking around for something to do. "Hot chocolate or coffee?" she offered.

"Coffee," both Bree and Amanda chorused at the same time.

"Coming up," Jackie said, obviously grateful for the activity.

Bree was still clutching the envelope containing Jackie's letter and her own, unopened letter in her hand. She now refocused on them, staring down at the old paper in her hands. Amanda nodded towards them, "What's that?" she asked.

Bree continued staring at the papers. "A letter," she said, her voice low, "From my father."

Amanda's eyes widened and she, too, stared at the paper. "What's it say?" she asked.

"I don't know yet," Bree answered, "I haven't read mine yet."

"Yours?" Amanda looked up at Jackie, then back to Bree. "He - he wrote to you? But -"

"He dreamed of me," Bree said quietly. "And he wrote me a letter."

Amanda stared at her, dumbfounded. The eerie-excited feeling of communication from beyond filled the room and Amanda felt her mouth go dry. "You should read it," Amanda breathed.

"I'm going to," Bree answered.

Amanda nodded. It should be special, she thought, and of course on Bree's own time. She only got to do this once, after all. One shot at communication from her father. The thought of Brian sitting down and writing a letter to a child he knew he would never met was beautiful and immensely sad all at once. It was exactly the sort of thing Amanda would expect out of Brian. He had been exceptionally good at seeing the beauty in situations and extracting it. This may just be the icing on the cake, she thought.

Jackie handed off the cups of coffee and sat down, too, at the table. She stared at the envelope clutched in Bree's hands. "I got that letter two days after he passed away," she said quietly, "It was in my mailbox when I got home from the -" her voice caught in her throat, "- the - the funeral." She looked into her coffee for a long moment, then drew her breath deep and said, "I never thought he would be right until your mother called and told me she was pregnant with you." Jackie took a sip of the coffee.

"Leighanne may be a lot of things," injected Amanda, "But one of them is definitely brave. You're living proof of that, Bree."

"I just wish she'd answer her phone," Bree said sadly, "I feel so bad for Nick." She sighed. "I should've warned him."

"Warned him?" Amanda asked.

Bree looked up. "Baylee told me a couple days ago in a text that Mom reported him." She frowned, "I should've told him and he would've brought me home and this mess wouldn't be happening... I was so selfish, I just wanted to keep going on the road trip... I wanted to keep hearing about my Dad."

"Oh sweetie," Amanda's face folded into one of concern, "He already knew, sweetie, he was keeping it from you, too. He didn't want to end the trip either."

"Why couldn't they just leave him alone?" she whispered.

Jackie reached over and rubbed Bree's back. "Your mama was just worried about you is all," she said, "You mean the world to hear, don't you know."

"If I mean so much to her, why doesn't she love me?"

The words hung in the air. Bree wasn't entirely sure she'd meant to say them outloud. They were a sentiment she'd felt for some time but that she'd never quite voiced and now that they were there, hanging in the atmosphere, she wished she could take them back, shove them down her throat, and unsay them. But it's impossible to unsay something that has already been said.

"She does love you," Amanda said, and she thought of her father and the way he'd once treated her, before he'd lost Piper, before their lives had completely altered and he'd become the publishing tycoon and monster that he'd died being. "She just doesn't know how to show love anymore quite like she did before she lost love." Amanda sighed, "Your mom's got it really hard," she added.

Bree nodded, "I know, but so don't I. So does Baylee."

"Your mom experienced a side of Brian so much more powerful and important than any of us ever did," Jackie said.

Amanda's throat ached. "I can't imagine it," she said.

"But you kinda lost Nick in a way," Bree argued, "And you moved on, you had a life, you're not a mean evil dictator."

Amanda shook her head, "I wasn't very nice to other people over the last ten years. And even so, I always knew Nick was here. I always knew he was alive, breathing, that his heart was beating. I was absent from him because I had chosen to, he was away from me, but he was alive. It's entirely different when someone is taken away than when they go away." She paused, "There was no anger between them when Brian left, there was only love, and the love was suddenly robbed from her. He was so bright, too, so beautiful and alive that night. It was so sudden."

Bree could feel her throat aching. She looked to the window. Outside, the sun was just about to set, far across the property, the rays were stretching out over the tops of the trees. "I'm going to go for a walk," she said. "I need to be alone." She got up and went out the back door of the kitchen.

Amanda looked at Jackie, who was staring into her cup of coffee with tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Jackie swiped at her eyes and sniffed. "Good Lord," she gasped, "That poor girl." She shook her head, "I should've been there for her, whatever Leighanne had to say."

Amanda reached over and clasped a hand around Jackie's.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Nick sat in the corner of the holding cell at the Lexington Police Department, his back pressed into the V of the wall. He hugged his knees and stared at the floor. It wasn't the first time he was in a jail cell, of course, but he had promised himself before, when he'd gotten the DWI, that it was the last so this time felt like the first time all over again. He hated the smell and the sounds. It reminded him of the long nights and days he'd spent there with his sentence and the thought terrified him that he'd been facing 2-years if he'd violated probation. He pressed his forehead against his knee.

Brian, he thought, If there's anything you can do ... I dunno how heaven works, I don't know if you get to control stuff or whatever... maybe pull some strings with God or something, I dunno... You know I never listened to you when you talked about this stuff... but if there's anything you can do, if you can even hear me... Please help me. I'm so scared. I did this for you, for your daughter. She needed you. And maybe she knows you a little better now than she did before. Maybe I helped her find you a little more. I dunno. Maybe I didn't. I feel like I did.

He shifted his weight. He felt crazy. Absolutely crazy.

"Nick Carter?" an officer was suddenly outside of the holding cell. He looked up. "You have a visitor."

And around the corner of the cell came Baylee.

"Baylee?" Nick's face registered surprise. Brian's son looked more like Leighanne now that he'd aged than he did like Brian. Bree had truly gotten every feature of Brian's face, where as Baylee was a definitely a blend of the two parents. Nick climbed to his feet, "Baylee, how'd you - how - how?"

Baylee stood by the door, the officer took a couple steps away and leaned against the far wall, giving the two of them some space. Baylee sighed, "I was on my way to the house. I knew you guys would be stopping here and..." he shook his head, "I was hoping I'd get there and get her home before they caught up to you." He frowned. "I heard on the radio that they picked you up and I came here first to see if you're okay."

"I didn't kidnap her," Nick said.

"I know that," Baylee answered. "Uncle Nick, you know I know that."

Nick shrugged, "I don't know who knows what anymore," he replied. "Everything's gone crazy," he said, "It's been crazy for awhile though."

"About sixteen years," Baylee agreed.

Nick looked into Baylee's eyes and for the first time he really saw an adult there, not the kid that he'd grown to know on tour way back when. To him, Baylee had always remained a 3-year old toddling around on the stage during sound check on the Never Gone tour, with bright eyes and a bushy head full of hair. Granted the eyes and hair were still exactly how they'd been back then, but this was a man with a career and Nick could actually see that for the first time. Hell, Baylee even had tiny lines around his eyes. Barely perceptible, sure, but present nonetheless.

"I'm scared," Nick confessed to this newly discovered adult.

Baylee nodded. "I know," he answered.

"I don't want to go to jail," he whispered, "Not for this. I just wanted your sister to know your father, you know?" he felt a tear cross his cheek. He couldn't believe he was crying.

"I'm glad you did this, Nick," Baylee said, "I'm glad. She deserved more than my mom and I could give her and you're the person who knew him better than anyone I know." Baylee paused. "Nick, do you know I'm almost jealous of her for having gotten to get to know him through you?" Baylee smiled, "You knew him different than me."

"And so did you," Nick answered.

"I was always jealous of you," Baylee laughed, "Because you got to be his friend and I was just a kid and he really liked doing the things you wanted to do with him."

Nick stared at Baylee for a long moment. "I fuckin' hated you when you were a kid," he burst the words out. Baylee looked surprised, and Nick laughed, "Because you stole my damn Brian."

Baylee laughed back, "What?"

"When you were born, Brian got sooo caught up in you, and I thought I lost him because all he wanted to talk about was you and how you burped or spit up or farted or whatever babies do and when we went places he had to go in all the baby stores and buy shit for you and he was constantly talking about you. All the damn time." Nick shook his head, "I was so jealous because suddenly he didn't wanna talk basket ball stats, he didn't even watch the games I was talking about, and he didn't have time to go shoot hoops and didn't wanna go drinkin' or anything. I was jealous of you because he loved you so much and before you came along he was the closests thing I ever had to a dad and I realized after he had you that he wasn't my dad. He was just my friend. He loved you a totally different way than he loved me, and I was jealous of that."

Baylee considered Nick's words for a long moment. "Brothers?" he offered his hand to shake Nick's.

"Brothers." Nick shook Baylee's hand.

Baylee laughed. "He must've had you really young."

"Five years old, yo," Nick answered.

Baylee smiled.

"Time's up," the cop interrupted suddenly.

Nick looked over at him, sad eyes, and turned back to Baylee. "Thanks for coming to see me," he offered. "I really appreciated it, Bay."

"I'm gonna get you out of here," Baylee promised. "We're gonna work this all out, all right? Just be brave."

"I'm tryin'," Nick answered.

*****
It was sunset as Baylee pulled up to the Littrell house. The edge of the property was lined with news crews and journalists and people weilding cameras, and they barraged Baylee's car as he drove through their cluster and into the driveway. They followed him as he climbed out and rushed to the door. "Are you here to collect your sister?!" "How do you feel knowing that Nick Carter betrayed your family's trust like this?" "What was the motivation?" "Any chance of getting an interview with you and Brianna?"

Baylee's fist slammed the door, his heart racing, and after a long pause in which the crews continued peppering him with more questions, the door opened and Harold Sr. pulled Baylee in and barked at the journalists, "GET OFF MY PORCH OR I'LL CALL THE GOD DAMNED POLICE!" and they scattered. Harold slammed the door behind him and turned to Baylee.

"Well you certainly missed all the excitement around here," Harold commented.

"HAROLD? WHO IS IT?" Jackie shouted from the kitchen.

"IT'S BAYLEE," Harold shouted back.

"WHO?"

"BAYLEE!" He answered. Baylee felt like this was a bit of a flashback to the phone conversation the day before. Harold waved a finger at his ear. "She's losing her hearing, I swear it to God."

Jackie suddenly appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. "Baylee!" she cried and she rushed over to him, her arms spread wide, "Oh my Lord, you've grown up so much," her eyes filled with tears and she wrapped him into a bone-crushing hug.

"Hey gram," Baylee squeezed the words out.

"You're going to give him a hernia, for the love of Pete woman," Harold Sr. said.

Jackie backed off, holdin Baylee steady at arm's length. "They haven't been feeding you in Orlando. Come, I'll heat you up a plate." She took him by the hand and dragged him into the kitchen and waved him into the seat that Bree had occupied before she left for her walk just a moment before.

Baylee looked in surprise at Amanda, sitting opposite him. "Amanda," he stammered, "Wow, hi. It's been awhile."

"I know," Amanda said, "Wow you're all grown up now," she added.

"Yeah, college grad and everything," he said.

Amanda shook her head, "Wow. What'd you go for?"

"Advertising."

"That's fun."

"Do you like green beans?" Jackie asked.

"I do," Baylee said.

Harold Sr. was hovering in the doorway. "Everyone likes green beans," he commented.

"Not everybody," Jackie answered, "Some people don't like green beans."

"Name one person you know who doesn't like green beans," Harold argued.

Baylee raised an eyebrow at Amanda and Amanda laughed, rolling her eyes.

*****
Outside, Brianna was walking quietly across the property. She could hear the dull murmur beyond the house of the press but not really. She ran her hand along a smooth fence that had once penned a horse, and followed a worn trail through the grass towards the edge of the property. It led through a cluster of trees and down a short hill to a banking and she saw below her the creek. She thought of the letter from her father, which was tucked into the pocket on her cardigan, and she slowly made her way towards it.

It took her a moment to pick and choose her footing as she climbed down the banking without slipping. The water rushed by, singing quietly below her, and she found the root he'd mentioned in the letter, where it dipped just right and she pulled out the letter from her pocket and stared at the handwriting on Jackie's letter before unfolding the extra envelope and staring at the seal. The sun's rays were brilliant, painting the sky gold and pink and a slight breeze rustled the tree over her head.

Drawing a deep breath, Bree opened the envelope and unfolded the letter from within, pressing it against her knees. Before she read it, she closed her eyes and breathed its smell. It was a heavy, thick smell, one that she'd only caught in whiffs and in Brian's bedroom earlier that evening, before all the drama. Despite everything that was happening with Nick, though, she suddenly felt like everything would be okay, that the problems would work themselves out in due time, just as her longing to know her father had happened so perfectly.

She was almost afraid to open her eyes and read the letter. This was it, this was the only communication she'd ever have with him in which he would answer her. There was no second chances. The words he said in this one letter would be all the words that he would ever get to speak to her, that she would ever get to hear from him. He'd dreamed, she realized, of this moment, and she opened her eyes and glanced side-to-side, wondering where he'd been standing in his dream... if he was there now.

The sun was turning the creek to gold, and she drew a breath of courage and purpose, and looked down at the unfolded page on her lap.

In my life, I've had a lot of dreams. Some of them even have come true. Amazing things, things I never would've believed possible. But of them all, I have never had a dream that I have prayed harder for than this dream I had last night. I dreamt of you. And I know if you're there, if you're reading this, that it was you I dreamt of; I saw you. You're beautiful, and I wanted you to know that.

I don't know what your life has been like up to this point or what you're going through or the things you've seen or will see in your life... And that's hard because more than anything else I want to be there to hold you and dance with you and experience life with you. I want to be the one who teaches you how to become the woman I saw in my dream. But even without me, you're still beautiful.

Now remember a few things, as you live this life, and go about dreaming your dreams.

Remember first of all that you are the answer to a prayer. You are not a mistake of any kind, but perfectly hand crafted by a loving God and given as a gift to the world.

Remember that you are precious and perfect, that no matter what you may see in yourself as a flaw, somebody somewhere sees it as one of your most beautiful qualities.

Remember that the world is full of people who are scared to live their lives to the fullest and try hard not to become one of them. There are no limits in this world, so long as you believe and do your best and throw your heart and soul into everything you do. Nothing is impossible; there is only varying degrees of imagination and dedication and the degree with which you apply yourself will make all the difference.

Remember that it's in the little things that you'll find the most joy and the most beauty. You don't need fancy cars and designer clothes and private jets with golden forks to fill your heart. Those things really mean nothing when you boil it all down because they cannot save you, and they cannot comfort you when your heart is broken nor give you the world when you need it most. They cannot love you. It's not in money nor fame that you'll be fulfilled but in finding that one special person - a friend, a lover, a family member, someone - who can break the mold that you were made in and help you become free.

Remember that love is the most powerful thing in the entire world. Treat it as such. Do not give it away frivolously, do not let it fade or pronounce it dead. Give it to the world, and it will give it back. Respect it and do it justice.

Remember that you are loved, no matter how alone you feel. If in the empty moments you cannot think of a single person whose love can give you strength, know that mine existed for you before you were even existing.

Sweet girl, know that I will forever love you, even though you cannot see me I am always there, always. And when you close your eyes and you feel the breeze, that's me giving you a warm hug, and a kiss on the cheek. It's me, reminding you that I love you.

When I dreamed of you, I awoke and I had a song in my heart - the words that I wanted to say to you when I saw you in my sleep. It's a silly song, a simple song. But if I were here, I would sing it to you every chance I got, to comfort you. I hope that you will hear it, that you'll like it. I hope that you will sing it often, and that the words will resonate inside of you and give you strength and give you confidence and bring you hope when you're in the darkest hours.



What is a life at the end of the song
What is hope when you're just holding on
To that last note... that hangs in the air
Tell me, what is life... cos all I know is it ain't fair

You're gonna see hard times, baby
You're gonna see hard times, my love
But even when you can't see me
I'm smiling down from above

Where is God when you feel this alone?
When you're helpless... and you have no home
No place to go... where they understand
What is life... when it doesn't go like you planned?

You're gonna see hard times, baby
You're gonna see hard times, my love
But even when you can't see me
I'm smiling down from above

Even when you can't see me...
I'm smiling down from above...

Oh... you're gonna see hard times
Cos that's just the way life goes
But just when you think you can't take it
When you've lost all your hope
I'll always be there

You're gonna see hard times, baby
You're gonna see hard times, my love
But even when you can't see me
Yeah, I'll always be there



I love you forever...
Daddy.