It was the identity that he'd fought against all his life.
He thought about Brian and AJ... and about Howie... and even Kevin, whose role may have been diminished, but never fully extinguished. He thought about the music, the fans, and the memories they'd all shared - both good and bad.
It was agonizing work, thinking about all the things he'd had and lost, but it was something that he'd never done. He'd never processed that pain, and he'd carried it with him, allowing it to feed upon him and force him into believing the lie that because he'd lost what he'd had, he could never have anything else.
On an overpass in Arizona a week after leaving, Nick stood, looking down at the cars on the freeway rushing past, like a river under a bridge. He stared down at them, dizzied by their speed. Nick put his hand on the rail and leaned over a little so he could watch as they came out from under the concrete pass. He felt like they were rushing out from under his feet, like he was flying over them somehow.
There was a time he'd thought about jumping from an overpass. What an unpoetic way to die, he reprimanded himself now, imagining it.
He'd walked away from the pay phone from which he'd called Brian that last time, and he'd found himself paused, overlooking the traffic of a Los Angeles rush hour.
He'd climbed the rail, balancing on the second rung, his knees braced against the top rung, his arms spread out, like Christ on an invisible cross, looking down at the rushing cars, telling himself there would be a splash because it wasn't concrete and metal he was leaping into - it was a river, a cool, rushing river.
He'd waited for the courage to let go of the grip his legs had on the rail, for his trunk to lean forward, for his mind to rush with the air that whipped around him as he dropped, skydiving without a parachute...
Nick stepped off the railing, shaking, tears streaking his face, and laid down on the sidewalk, flat so that his belly pressed against the cement. "Oh my God," he whispered, brutally aware of what he'd almost done. "Oh my God."
He blinked down at the traffic, and let go of the memory, let go of the anguish he'd felt.
Nick walked on, leaving the overpass behind, leaving that part of him that had wanted to die on the sidewalk with his footsteps.
Life, Nick realized, Isn't about the stuff we lose, but about the things that we hold onto, about the things that no matter what we do we can never lose, the things that we never let go of... and, most importantly in his situation, the things that would never let go of him.
Brian made a habit of checking his email from his fans at least once a day. He opened it on November 3rd, expecting nothing more than the usual plethora of fan mail. He scrolled along, looking at subject lines, trying to choose by those which of the letters would be most intriguing to go first. He tried to reply to them all, but sometimes there just wasn't time.
About halfway down, a subject line caught his eyes, making his breath catch in his throat.
Nick is on his way.
He stared at it, squinted at it; it didn't go away.
What could this be? he wondered, not daring to let his hopes rise even a tiny bit. He moved his mouse over it, clicked it, and waited as the email loaded, taking entirely too long.
Brian, or whoever reads these letters, if anyone,
My name is Mally Poulin and I met Nick. Okay this is crazy. I don't know why I'm writing, other than I wanted to prepare you. Nick left from LA last week and he's on his way to see you.
You'll probably never see this, but in case you do... he's on his way.
Brian stared at the words.
Joke! JOKE! his head screamed as his heart started fluttering in excitement. He jumped up so fast the desk chair fell over on the carpet. He ran to the door. "LEIGHANNE!" he screamed down the stairs, "LEIGHANNE!!!"
The panic in his voice made her run to the stairs. She was breathless by the time she got there, and she clung to the rail, gasping for air, staring up the steps at him. His eyes were wide, his face flushed. "What?" she panted, "What is it?"
Brian's lips moved, but he couldn't seem to get words to come to his mouth. "Nick," he gasped at last, "Nick, he's coming. He's coming. Nick's coming. Oh Jesus." He dropped to his knees, giddy.
Leighanne shot up the stairs, "Brian!" she yelled, "Honey... Honey, calm down, what happened?" He stared up at Leighanne, a grin in his eyes. "Brian..."
"Nick is coming."
Leighanne blinked at him in confusion, "Details, sweetie," she pleaded.
"I got an email," he hissed, "I don't know. I shouldn't be this excited. It's not real. How can it be real?"
"You're scaring me here, husband," she whispered.
Brian pointed at the computer screen, glowing in their bedroom behind him. "Go look, go look," he pleaded, "Go look at it, go see. He's coming."
"Let's get you up first," she said, "You show me."
She got up and helped Brian to his feet, pulling him up by his arm. Leighanne was relieved to see he had no problem doing so. The way he'd yelled, the breathlessness... She'd been afraid he was having a heart attack or something. He led the way into the bedroom, practically running, pulling her along behind him, and ushered her into the uprighted chair, gesturing at the screen.
Leighanne's eyes scanned the email.
"What?" she whispered. She looked up at Brian then back at the email.
"I know, right?" Brian leaned in.
"What a cruel joke," Leighanne breathed in disbelief.
Brian had been just about to carry on in excitement, but Leighanne's words made him stop. Again, his mouth flopped like a fish out of water. She closed her eyes. He'd believed it.
"Brian... honey..." she turned to him.
Brian shook his head, "No. No, you're right."
"It's just... not very... realistic, Brian," she said slowly.
"You're right." He nodded, "Yeah." Brian sank down, back against the bed. His breath was shaking. "Not realistic." He rubbed a hand through his hair to the back of his neck.
