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.
