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Chapter 77

The next few days passed in a blur for Nick. He slept, he ate, he drank (a lot). He talked to the guys on the phone when they called, concerned about him, and one day he drove to Orlando to hang out with Howie. But most of the time, he just sat around his house, bored, depressed, and alone.

That weekend, when he knew Claire would be in Gainesville, he went up to the hospital to see Casey. Though it made him feel guilty to admit it, he didn’t really want to – in fact, sitting around the oncology ward at the hospital was about the last thing he felt like doing. But he had an obligation to. Nick was not going to abandon Casey, the way Claire had walked out on Nick.

Ugh, why does everything have to remind me of her? he thought miserably as he navigated the familiar hallways that led to Casey’s room. But the fact was, this whole place reminded him of her. For a long time, her face was the only memory here that wasn’t painful; now thinking of her caused him just as much as pain as anything else.

Stopping outside Casey’s room, he took a deep breath and pushed all thoughts of Claire out of his head. It was about Casey now. The door to the room was partway open, so he knocked lightly and then peeked in. The lights were off, and the room was dim, illuminated only by the lights of the hallway and the faint rays of sunlight poking through the blinds on the single window. Casey was lying down, the head of his bed just barely propped up. Unable to tell if he was sleeping or not, Nick took a few hesitant steps into the room.

His stomach constricted when he got a good look at Casey. He hadn’t seen him in almost two months, and those couple months had certainly taken their toll on the kid. At first, Nick wasn’t even sure he had the right room… but the chart in the slot on the wall outside had said Brenner, Casey, and the name on the chart at the foot of the bed matched. But… that couldn’t be him, could it? The child in the bed was skin and bones, his complexion almost as white as the pillowcase on which his perfectly bald head rested. Casey had been thin and losing his hair when Nick had left, but… not like this.

Even more alarming was the addition of various pieces of medical equipment, almost all of which, sad to say, Nick recognized. Heart monitor, oxygen, more IV bags than he could count, and a thin tube that snaked out of one of Casey’s nostrils and was taped to his cheek. Nick couldn’t be sure, but he had a sinking feeling that that was a feeding tube.

Studying Casey’s still form, he swallowed with difficulty; his throat felt like it was closing up, making it harder to breathe. He had known all along that Casey was very sick, and Claire had warned him that he was getting worse. Still, he had come in expecting to find Casey sitting up and talking, playing the video games he’d bought for him. Weakened, no doubt, but still very much alive.

Nothing had prepared him for this.

Still in shock, Nick took a step backwards. Casey was sleeping, and perhaps that was a blessing – Nick wasn’t sure he could handle being in this room much longer. He could remember seeing Claire in the hospital, looking not much better than this when she was fighting an infection she’d gotten after her transplant. And hell, he was sure even he had looked about this grim at the times when he was the sickest.

But seeing Casey this way was much harder to accept. He was a kid, for God’s sake, still two years shy of being a teenager. And although Nick had been visiting sick children in hospitals for years, he had never seen any of them in such bad shape.

Despite his best efforts to keep it hidden away in the depths of his mind, a dark thought surfaced. He’s not going to get any better than this.

Nick took a shaky breath, hearing the air rattling in and out of his lungs, and stepped backwards again. All at once, Casey jerked, and as Nick froze in panic, he saw the child’s dark eyes flutter open. “Nick?” he called weakly. And Nick knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

He cleared his throat as he shuffled forward again, coming around to one side of Casey’s bed. “Hey, Case,” he said rather hoarsely, forcing a big smile. “It’s good to see ya, kid. Sorry I haven’t been by in so long.”

“It’s okay,” Casey replied, and he smiled back, causing Nick to relax just a little. “How was California? Is your CD done?”

“Not yet,” Nick told him, relieved to be talking about anything other than the hospital and cancer. “You’d be amazed how long it takes to make a CD. We record lots and lots of songs, see, and then we pick which ones we want to put on the album. It’s a big process. But it’s fun; it’s what I like to do. And California’s cool. I’m heading back out there after Christmas so we can finish up the CD.”

“Cool. I wish I could go to California. But I’ll probably be stuck in this place for Christmas,” sighed Casey, his eyes clouding.

Nick shifted his weight awkwardly and reached to pull a chair up for himself, hoping the movement would break up the uncomfortable situation. But even once he was sitting at Casey’s bedside, he knew he still had to say something. “That’s no fun,” he replied sympathetically, making a face. “I think Santa still hits the hospitals though… in fact, I heard they’re his favorite places to go, cause he can just drop his sleigh right down on those helicopter landing pad things on the roof – no trying to squeeze his fat butt down a chimney.”

Casey cracked a smile, but it was accompanied by a begrudging look. “I don’t believe in Santa anymore,” he said flatly.

Nick flashed him a look of mock offense. “Why not??” he demanded, as if he considered doubting Santa Claus’s existence absurd. “You gotta believe in stuff like that – otherwise, where’s the fun in it?”

Casey just gave him a skeptical look and did not reply.

“Okay, fine, don’t believe in Santa. See if he leaves you anything, you good for nothing kid,” Nick teased him gently, hoping to get another smile out of him. But Casey’s expression had turned very solemn.

“Nick?” he asked, after a long pause. “Can I ask you something?”

“’Course,” said Nick, sobering as he looked at Casey. “What is it?”

Casey’s dark, serious eyes bored into his. “When you were sick… did you ever think you were gonna die?”

The question caught Nick off-guard, and his stomach gave an uncomfortable jerk. He didn’t want to answer that question, but he knew he couldn’t avoid it. Licking his lips nervously, he thought for a moment, his mind taking him back a year, when he’d lain in this very hospital, waiting to find out what was wrong with him after he’d collapsed backstage at the charity concert…


No news was good news, as far as he was concerned. Because eventually, he knew, there would be news, and most likely, it would be bad. Something was wrong. Twenty-four-year-old men didn’t cough up blood, hyperventilate, and pass out for no reason.

Twenty-five, he thought. I’m almost a twenty-five-year-old man.

Yeah, in like two months. What if he didn’t make it that long? What if he didn’t live to see his twenty-fifth birthday?

Stop it, he scolded himself. It’s not like you’re dying. You may be sick again, but you’re not dying.

But what if he was? He’d coughed up blood. He couldn’t breathe. That was serious. That was more than a few pains in his leg, some unexplained weight loss, and all the other minor symptoms he’d overlooked before his initial diagnosis.

What if it was back again? What if, this time, there was nothing that could be done?

What if he really was dying?


He’d made it to twenty-five alright… but for as long as he lived, Nick would never forget the terror of thinking – no, knowing – that there was a very real chance he wouldn’t.

His eyes had drifted downward as the flashback had taken over his mind, but now he looked back up to find Casey still staring at him, waiting for his answer. He took a deep breath and looked Casey in the eye. “Yeah… I did,” he told the eleven-year-old. After hesitating a moment, he added, “The last time I relapsed, the cancer came back in my lung… I had a tumor growing there.” He placed his hand on the left side of his chest, picturing the scar that remained there, an ugly remnant of the surgery he’d had to cut the tumor out. “The doctors basically told me I needed surgery to take it out, because chemo and radiation probably wouldn’t work. If I didn’t have the operation, I would probably die… but the operation could kill me too. It didn’t, obviously… but it could have.”

“Were you scared?” Casey’s voice was but a whisper.

Nick nodded slowly. “I was really scared.”

Casey was silent for a moment. Then he asked, “Do you think an operation would make me better too?”

Nick felt his face heat up as he struggled to think. Casey had leukemia, like Claire… he knew leukemia was a cancer of the blood… it wasn’t like the kind of cancer he’d had, which had formed tumors in his bones and in his lung, tumors that could be gotten rid of. “I… I dunno, Case,” he faltered, twisting his hands around in his lap. “I’m not a doctor, so I really can’t say. You could ask your doctor though.”

Casey turned his head on the pillow, looking away from Nick. After a few seconds, Nick heard him mumble, “I don’t really want to have an operation. But I don’t want anymore chemo either.”

Nick swallowed hard. “I hated chemo too,” he said, “but you have to think, even though it makes you feel crummy, it’s really helping you.”

Turning his head back the other way, Casey surveyed Nick for a few seconds before saying, “That’s what they say too. My mom and my doctor. But… I don’t think it’s helping anymore.”

Nick’s stomach lurched, as Casey’s voice fell to a grave whisper.

“I don’t think I’m gonna get better.”

The positive thing to say formed automatically on Nick’s tongue – Don’t say that; of course you will! But would he? Hadn’t Nick just thought the very same thing, not half an hour ago? That Casey wasn’t going to get better. It was a horrific thought… but Nick wasn’t naïve, or stupid. And neither was Casey. It wasn’t right to feed him a bunch of sugar-coated bullshit. He may have been a kid in years, but his illness had forced him to grow up way before his time. He was searching Nick’s eyes for the truth, and he deserved to have it.

“Listen…” he said quietly, forcing the words to come out. “I think you should talk to your mom about this. Or your doctor. Either one. Tell them what you just told me and see what they say. I can’t give you medical advice; I had a different kind of cancer, and it was… just… different.” He faltered; was he saying the right things?? He had no idea how to handle this situation, how to talk to this poor kid, who thought he was, and very well could be, dying.

Casey gave him a miserable look. “I tried to tell my mom I hated chemo, but she always says, ‘Always try to look on the bright side.’ I don’t wanna make her sad. She’s sad enough already.” Nick raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Casey added, “She cries a lot, when she thinks I’m asleep.”

A lump rose in Nick’s already-tight throat; he swallowed thickly, trying to get rid of it, trying to stay strong in front of Casey. “That isn’t your fault, Casey,” he managed to say. “You can’t help what’s happening any more than your mom can, and you’re not going to disappoint her if you tell her what you just told me. And if it helps, Case,” he added, remembering something, “I quit my chemo.”

Casey’s eyes widened.

“Yeah,” Nick said, swallowing, “The second time I was on it, it was making me miserable and sick, and I hated it. So I went off it. I’m not sure if it was the right decision to make or not… but at least I felt better.”

“That’s what I want,” replied Casey. “I don’t wanna feel sick anymore.”

Nick nodded. “Try talking to your mom again. And if she won’t listen, just talk to your doctor. Okay?”

“Okay,” Casey whispered, looking appeased and, yet, terrified. Nick reached out and gave his bony shoulder a gentle squeeze, forcing himself to smile in what he hoped was a reassuring way. He felt his face tighten as his lips curved upwards… but on the inside, he wanted to cry.

When he left Casey’s room awhile later, he noticed a vaguely familiar-looking, dark-haired woman coming towards him from the opposite direction. As she grew closer, he realized who she was.

It was Casey’s mother.

He hesitated just a second, and then reached his hand out. “Excuse me,” he said, “Mrs. Brenner?”

She stopped, startled, and blinked up at him. She could see the recognition slowly dawn on her face. “Oh… Nick!”

Nick smiled grimly. “Yeah. Hi. Um, I was just in there hanging out with Casey… I hope you don’t mind.”

She smiled a tight smile. “No, not at all. He talks a lot about you, you know, about how you’re in California, working on a CD… He admires you a lot.” Nick blushed, but before he could reply, she continued quickly, “And I hope you know how much I appreciate you and Claire taking the time to visit. I’ve cut my hours at work significantly so I can spend more time with him, but with his father out of the picture, I have to do everything on my own, and it’s just next to impossible to be with him as much as I want to… which is every second of the day,” she added, as if he wouldn’t believe her.

“I understand,” Nick replied softly. “Listen, I won’t keep you from getting in there to see him, but I wanted to tell you something. I… I know you don’t know me very well, so maybe it’s not my place to say this at all, but…” He hesitated on the brink of saying what he wanted to say, wondering if he was right to do so. Then, throwing all caution to the wind, he forged ahead anyway. “Casey and I were talking, and he told me that he doesn’t think the chemo is helping him. He wants to stop it, but he doesn’t want to let you down.”

He watched Mrs. Brenner’s face as her eyes widened, her brows creasing together. She raised a hand to her lips, slowly, and blinked; a sheen of moisture had appeared in her eyes. “Oh my… h-how could he think that? That he would… let me down? He could never let me down.” She shook her head, the tears beginning to fall. “Never.”

Nick swallowed, very uncomfortable by now. “I know. I just thought you should know that… so you can talk to him.”

She nodded tearfully. “I will… I will. Th-thank you.”

He gave a short nod, anxious to leave. The hallway felt as if it were getting narrower, closing in around him. He needed to get of there; he didn’t think he could handle it another minute. “Good luck,” he whispered, touching her briefly on the arm as he slowly moved past her.

He started down the hall, glancing back over his shoulder once to find her still standing there, wiping her eyes as she tried to compose herself. Feeling as if he had interfered enough, he kept walking, quickening his pace until he reached the refuge of the elevators.

***