The shrill electronic ring of his cell phone woke A.J. from a restless sleep. With a groan he managed to retrieve it from the tangled sheets and put it to his ear.
"Mr McLean?" It was management. No-one in the whole Backstreet Boys organisation called him Mr. McLean - with the exception of management's PR people. He'd always had the sneaky feeling that it was their way of trying to get him to "behave". Well, he wasn't in the mood to play nice today. He glanced at the clock and groaned again. Twenty minutes.
"What now?" he snapped.
"Uh..." the flunky on the other end of the phone was taken aback. The Backstreet Boys were very professional in their dealings with their management company, and were not known for ungracious behaviour. A.J. figured he was allowed a few slips today. "Mr. Littrell called earlier," she began.
"Brian? What'd he say?" He sat up, deciding this might actually be important.
"He put some conditions on media access to the hospital," the slightly uncomfortable, diplomatic tone to her voice made A.J. chuckle. B-rok had put his foot down. When laid-back Brian exercised his authority, everyone got nervous.
"And?"
"He promised them a press conference." A.J. swore. "Our office would appreciate it if the conference was sooner rather than later - we only have so many lines, Mr. McLean, and we do have other clients."
"Limp Bizkit needs as much PR help as they can get," he agreed, responding to her attempt at humour. "It's all on me, then? Whoopee."
"What time would you prefer to..."
"Next year sometime," he sighed. "Uh... look where am I gonna do this?"
"Your tour manager is discussing that with your hotel right now."
"Solomon knows about this? Why isn't he the one telling me?"
"He...thought it would be wise if we called you."
"I'll just bet he did." Can't kill the messenger if the messenger is miles away. "All right... uh... how about an hour from whenever he can grab a room? I'll have him call you back."
"Thank-you. I know this isn't the best time."
"You can say that again. Look, can you do me a favour?" It was unprofessional as all hell, but what with his other new 'duties', A.J. wasn't ready to deal with all the management stuff as well.
"Yes?" she sounded a little afraid.
"Try and keep everyone at your end off our backs until... at least a day or so after Nick wakes up?" he had a brainwave. "Tell them I'll do daily reports around noon every day - that should keep them off your backs and away from the hospital." It wouldn't be fun, but he could deal with repeating himself to the press better than debating tour issues with management.
"I'll see what I can do."
"Thank-you. Goodbye," he hung up. After staring at the phone for a few seconds, he dialed. "Denise McLean, please. It's Alex."
Howie stared at Nick's immobile form for what felt like hours. It had taken a fair amount of pleading with Roger, his supervisor and the ICU nurses before he'd been allowed down, and Howie almost regretted it. A million things were going through his mind. One of the more recurring themes was the thought; "Was this what Caroline looked like?"
He had missed saying goodbye to his sister when she died, a deep regret that still haunted him. Seeing Nick so helpless brought back scenes of old nightmares. He knew Brian was pretty sure that Nick was going to be okay, but it was very hard to believe. Even in his quietest moments, Nick always seemed to be full of pent-up energy, of life. Now, he was truly at rest for the first time in memory. It was truly frightening.
Howie tasted salt and realised he was crying. Without wiping away his tears, he rolled a little closer to Nick's bed. Slowly, stifling a groan of pain as his ribs protested the movement, he stood up.
"Hey Nick?" Nick didn't respond. Howie reached out a hand and stroked the younger man's cheek. To his great relief, Nick's skin was still warm to the touch. "Nicky, don't worry, okay? I don't really know what happened but don't worry about it. Just concentrate on getting better. I hate hospitals..." he had to stop for a moment, fighting to breathe through the lump in his throat that was spreading to his chest. "And I hate that you're in one like this. You need to get out and get on with life, all right?"
He had made it back to the wheelchair when he thought to add. "Kevin might not get down to see you, but I know he's pulling for you, even if he can't show it."