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."
