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Chapter 8
As Nick drove his Explorer home, he stared blankly at the roads that lay
ahead of him. Should he tell her? He pretended he didn’t remember anything
from last night, because she obviously didn’t. But he did. And it was
killing him not to tell her how he felt.
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When she left, he buried what he felt for her deep inside, never to emerge
again. And when they left to go on tour in Europe, his longing for her had
disappeared when girls began throwing themselves at him. He filled the empty
place in his heart with beautiful, mature, experienced girls who wanted him.
But he couldn’t help it. Once he saw Brooke again, he began falling
for her all over again. Even though he was a totally different person from
who he had been when he met her, and she was a totally different person,
he felt as though… he didn’t know. All he knew is he was falling
for her all over again.
He remembered talking to her one second in the bedroom. Then, suddenly, he
remembered pulling her into him, and passionately kissing her. He remembered
her ripping his shirt off, and he remembered how she’d shivered at his
touch. He remembered wanting to keep her warm, and how gently she’d
touched him. He remembered them falling on to the bed… After most of
that, he couldn’t remember much. But he did remember telling her he
cared. No matter how drunk he was, he had meant it.
On a sudden decision, he swerved the car around, nearly killing some
eighty-year-old man hobbling along on the sidewalk. He had to tell her how
he felt.
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I stared at the ceiling. My uncle had found me missing, and once my parents
found out, I was officially dead. And Scott was in trouble for bringing me
there. I don’t think my uncle knew about Nick’s role in all of
this. I heard a sort of scratching noise at the window, and I sat up.
“Nick?” I asked.
“No, it’s the bloody ghost of Christmas past. Of course it’s
me, you big idiot! Now open up!” I opened the window, and let him in.
“How’d you get up here? And why are you here,” I asked him.
“Well, I know it’s my fault you’re here, and I’m really
sorry. I know it’s my fault.”
“And how’d you get up here? Couldn’t you have just used the
door like a normal person?"
“Your uncle wouldn’t let me in.”
“So how’d you get up there?”
“I climbed the lattice thingies.”
“Oh.” That wasn’t the most intelligent remark I’ve ever
made, but whatever. “You shouldn’t have bothered.”
“Well, it’s not just that. I needed to tell you something else.”
He took a deep breath.
“What?” Oh my God. I hope he didn’t remember last night.
“I…” He grabbed me, and just kissed me. It wasn’t the
deepest or the hardest kiss I’d ever felt, but it was certainly the
most passionate and the most meaningful. I felt like I was soaring, like
I was swimming in air, and my head was spinning. He deepened the kiss, and
I let him. He started to lay me on the bed. I stopped him.
“Wait, Nick. This is so… fast.”
“Brooke… I love you. I always have.”
Nick Carter, BSB, skinny dork-turned-babe loves me? Wait, how do I feel about
him? Oh my God. I love him. I do. And I want to tell him. That was the scary
realization. I had just re-met him yesterday, and already, I love him. I
wasn’t the type to rush into things like that. Carrie did. I was the
mature one, the party girl who didn’t fall in love. I was like ice.
But he was like fire.
“I… I love you,” I whispered, so low I didn’t even know
if he could hear me. Wait! What was I doing? He kept kissing me, and we returned
to the bed. He removed my shirt, and for some reason I felt compelled to
let him. Usually I wasn’t so careful as to whom I slept with—but
this time was different. I was in love with the man I wanted to sleep with.
How can I be in love? I’m only seventeen. My mother would die if she
knew what was going on. And so would my uncle, for that matter. And I just
saw him again for the first time since I was eleven yesterday. How could
I have fallen in love so quickly?
I took his shirt off, and he kicked off his shoes. I unbuckled his pants
and discarded them to the side. He took of my jeans, and I removed his Calvin
Klein boxers, which had gotten extremely tight. He practically ripped my
bra off, and slipped my underwear off with his teeth. I giggled.
I finally let him enter my body, and tried to suppress my moans, realizing
that if my uncle caught us I would be in even more trouble than I was already.
He increased his thrusts, and kissed me passionately when he thought I might
scream. I kissed him all over, and he closed his eyes in delight. I kissed
him, and his touch was warm.
It wasn’t like last night. He was gentle with my body. I had given it
to him, along with my heart, and he treated it like a dried rose—if
he touched it too hard it would turn to dust.
About an hour and a half later, he was lying next to me in the bed. I traced
his lips with my finger. That wasn’t the hardest sex I’d ever had,
but it was certainly the best. I realized why. I hadn’t just had sex.
I’d made love.
“Nick,” I whispered to him. “You have to go. What if my uncle
finds you?” He sat up, groaning.
“But I don’t want to,” he whined.
“But you have to. I’m only seventeen, and trust me, if my uncle
finds me, I won’t live to be eighteen.”
“What will you give me if I do?” he asked mischievously.
“You will handsomely rewarded. But right now, you have to go.”
I kissed him, and then said, “Now.”
He grabbed his boxers and got dressed, and climbed back out the window. I
gave him one last kiss, short yet so sweet.
I put on my bathrobe, and stared at the ceiling. Okay, what just happened?
Did I just sleep with Nick? For the second time in less than twenty-four
hours? I smiled to myself. Yes, I did. And I fell in love.
At that moment, there was a knock on my door. I tightened my bathrobe, and
opened it ajar. It was Scott.
“Did I just see Nick leave? Skipping? What did I miss?” Scott asked.
He took in the state of my hair, and the hastily discarded clothing. “Oh.
Okay, now that I’ve figured out what just happened, what did I miss?”
“Well—I slept with one of your best friends.”
“Oh.”
“And I’m in love with him.”
“Okay, now I think I’m confused.”
“That wouldn’t be a first.
“Well, it’s just that realized how much I care for him. I missed
him all these years,” I said, realizing some things for the first time.
Scott looked nearly scared.
“Well, now that we’ve cleared that up, I think I’ll be leaving
now.” And with that, he exited the room, and I headed towards the shower.
The next month and a half, I was practically floating on air. Nick treated
me like no other boyfriend of mine ever had—like a queen. He never forced
anything on me. When I wanted to sleep with him, when I needed to feel desired,
he slept with me. He was always gentle with me, as though he thought I might
break. That never changed. But that was the way I needed to be treated. After
years of waking up next to a new guy, feeling dirty and used, Nick had finally
made me feel—clean, almost. Like I was—one of a kind.
When I just needed to be held, Nick was always there, whispering into my
ear and just lying there with me. One night I’ll never forget, we just
lay on a blanket under the stars in his backyard, and he pointed to a star.
“That will be our star. Whenever you can’t see me, you can look
up at that star and know I’m there with you. Because I always will
be,” he said, crossed my chest with his fingers. I had just kissed him,
letting him know how much he was appreciated.
One thing that I think bothered him was that I kept this secret from everyone.
I hadn’t wanted anyone to know that I was “with” him. He
didn’t want to call the tabloids and announce it, of course; but he
wanted his friends to know. But I wouldn’t let him. I don’t know
why—maybe it was just some fear inside of me that it would have to end
sometime. Maybe I just wanted to keep him to myself. I don’t know. The
only person who knew was Scott. Carrie knew I had “met some guy I really
liked” this summer, but that was it. And she didn’t push—she
seemed to understand my want of not telling anyone.
One morning, the day before I left, I woke up with a headache. I hadn’t
been feeling well lately, and I had actually gained weight. I stood in the
bathroom later that day, staring at my reflection, nervous. I saw how much
my reflection had changed in these past months, and how scared I looked now.
What I held in my hand could be critical to my future. With shaking hands,
I opened the package. “Two lines = positive,” I read.
Oh God, please. I closed my eyes, afraid to see the answer. Two lines. Dear
God, no. I dropped the stupid peace of plastic and buried my head in my hands.
I just cried. The plastic shattered on the ground.
Can be it be wrong? Please let be wrong. Please.
I didn’t speak to Nick again. Scott knew—he knew everything. He
knew about the pregnancy, everything. He had asked if it was possible the
baby wasn’t Nick’s. I told him it wasn’t—I hadn’t
slept with anyone else in the past five months. He promised not to tell anyone.
And I knew he wouldn’t. He was one of my best friends.
I just left one day—I never said anything to him. He never knew he was
a father. And I was going to keep it that way.