Oreos for Breakfast: Nick BSB Fiction

Oreos for Breakfast - Chapter 20

By
The Paperbag Princess & The Pumpkin Coach

Why wasn't she answering? I know that was her! It was her ring. Her number was on my caller ID, that was Rachel! I'd been sound asleep, but I'd known it was her when I'd answered.

I clicked off as it went into voicemail again and looked at my display. Yes, that was her number, 10-second call. I hit redial, and waited for voicemail to pick up.

"Rachel, it's me. I know you just called me. Did we get disconnected? I'm here, baby, I'm awake, and I really want to talk to you. Call me. Please. Please, buttercup, call me back. I have so much to say to you. I'm so sorry."

I know we weren't disconnected. She just didn't want to talk to me. Fuck that, I would make her talk to me! I rolled out of bed and ripped through my stuff, looking for her schedule. I'd found it in my backpack when I first got on the bus, and I'd tossed it aside, not wanting to look at it and get depressed. But if I could find it, I could find her hotel…

The Peninsula. Right. What time was it? They were probably still there. I checked the clock. Nearly 11. Where were they going tonight? San Francisco? San Diego? One of the Sans. Or maybe they were on the bus already, and she was bored. That's why she called?

I paged back through the stored numbers on my phone. They'd called yesterday because the presents I'd sent ahead for her got fucked up. Did she just get them? Is that why she called?

"Hey, yeah. Rachel Connor, please."

"I'm sorry, sir, no one by that name is staying at the Peninsula this morning."

That was too quick. They were still there. Fake name… shit. Where the hell was that schedule?

"Bates! Nicole Bates!"

I could hear the smile in the woman's voice. "We do have a guest by that name, sir, but she has a 'do not disturb' on her phone."

What? Did she do that just so I couldn't get through? "I'm her boyfriend. I'm sure she'll want to talk to me."

"I'm very sorry, sir, but I can't connect you to that room. I could leave a message for her, and I'm sure she'll get back to you."

Or not. Couldn't this woman hear how desperate I was here? "Look, ma'am, your hotel fucked up my birthday presents to her yesterday, and I think she's mad at me. Could you please put me through to her room?"

That was a good lie, right? "Oh, Mr. Carter. I am so sorry about that. Let me put you through to the manager; perhaps there will be something she can do for you."

What? Did the entire staff know about the fuck up with the gifts? Probably. Because it would suck if I decided to never stay at the Peninsula again, wouldn't it? I had a fucking lot of money to spend there.

Okay, I didn't think I'd ever stayed there before. Whatever. I might never, now.

Definitely not when even the manager wouldn't put me through to Rachel! Fuck! The best I could get was a note delivered immediately. "Fine. Just tell her to call me. I'm here. She has the number."

I hung up and almost tossed the phone across the room, but then I remembered she might call me back.

Might. Who was I kidding? She'd had me on the phone and hung up. Shit. She didn't want to talk to me. I couldn't get her on her cell phone or her home phone, what was I going to do? If I couldn't talk to her, how was I ever going to tell her how sorry I was? Could I send her a letter? Where the hell was she going to be? Email was good, right? Then again, she missed a couple of emails from me last week…

I fell onto the bed, staring at the phone as I remembered the emails I'd sent her last week. How stupid was I? Whining about my life and complaining that she wouldn't return my calls. Bitching about that stupid date. "I know you thought it was all about the chase for me… but it wasn't. It isn't. I'm tired of chasing you."

I'd do anything to chase her right now. Anything to make her talk to me. I'd been sitting on this bus for a million hours, thinking about her and how much I'd fucked up. She was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I'd tossed it away. I treated her like I'd treated every other girl I'd dated, and she was so different.

Fuck it. Email. I rolled off the bed and went over to my laptop. It booted up, and I just stared at the desktop. Rachel. Damn, she was so pretty. Pretty didn't cover it. Sexy, funny, smart, talented… so much more than I fucking deserved.

Was it lame to have her picture on my desktop? Had I just degenerated into fan boy? But this was our picture. Em had sent it to me right after the video shoot, and it was the two of us laughing as we stood on top of the van so Em could get both us and Rachel's other favorite Nick in the shot.

I reached over and touched the screen, tracing the outline of her face, and felt my throat close as I bit back a sob. I was such a loser. I'd thought that not talking to her for a few hours was hell, but it'd been nothing compared to this. The first couple days had been easy. Vinnie had distracted me and the girls were kind of nice. But it was just sex. It didn't mean anything. Even that girl the other night who'd stayed… she hadn't cared that it was me the next morning. Not really.

Who was I kidding? It hadn't mattered that it was her, either. I'd woken up in the middle of the night and for a moment it'd felt like I had Rachel with me. Then I opened my eyes and looked at her. Not Rachel.

Would anyone be good enough after her?

God damnit, Nick. Get a fuckin' grip!

I wiped my tears away roughly and bit my bottom lip until it hurt. Maybe physical pain would make the emotional go away? Nope.

I dialed her number again, but the voicemail came on immediately. Great. I bet she'd turned it off completely. I was so screwed. But she'd called me earlier, I reminded myself. She hadn't just hit a wrong number, right? No. She'd wanted to talk to me and then lost her nerve, I bet. She had to love me. No way I'd imagined all of that.

I pulled up my email program. Maybe she'd ignore my calls, but she'd read her email eventually. She had a few hours on the bus to kill; she might check email. Could she do that on her bus? She'd said that Lola was upgrading something for them, and she'd always been jealous of my satellite connection. Did Sudden Silence rate that treatment yet?

I stared at the blank message and started it about 3 times, deleting everything. "Rache, I'm so sorry…" "Baby, if you'd just listen…" "I did not have sexual relations with that woman…"

Okay, the last one was particularly lame. But maybe it would be better, if I hadn't actually had sex with her…

And maybe hell was freezing over as I sat here.

Date: Tuesday, September 25, 2001
To: Rachel
From: Nick
RE: Happy Birthday

What's that Duran Duran quote about birthdays, Rache? Whatever it is, imagine I'm singing it to you now.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

I know I fucked up, Rache. I don't know if you ever got my presents or not. They were supposed to go to you yesterday but the hotel called and said they'd messed up. I suppose I should have cancelled them, huh? You probably really hate me right now. But you can't hate me forever, can you? You just called me… so you must want to talk.

I don't know, buttercup. I know I fucked up. I fucked up our time together and your birthday and… it feels like my whole life. And I'm sorry.

I just left you a message last night. Did you get it? I'm sure you were out with the boys celebrating and having a great time. Probably picking up some hot guy or letting Jeremy entertain you for the evening. Is that it? On your board, someone said they'd seen you together at Roscoe's - holding hands and whispering in your booth.

Maybe you're trying to make me jealous? Well, it's working.

Ever since the door to the elevator closed, Rachel, I've felt like part of me is missing. I can't tell you how sorry I am. I lied to you. I stood on that beautiful deck of yours at the Point at sunset and told you I wouldn't be like him. I wouldn't be like any of them. That I'd adore you and love you, if only you'd let me. Well you did, and I betrayed that trust.

I know I fucked up, Rache. But I think I've proven that I can be taught. Right? I know I can be taught, Rachel. Just give me another chance, and I'll adore you like you deserve.

I just… I miss you, and I know I can make this up to you. Tour's almost over, and we can be together. That will be good, right? Being together more?

You once called me a 'little boy emotional roller coaster,' and I guess that's probably right. My emotions get all mixed up, and I think how the hell can she love me? She can't possibly love me with all these other, cooler, guys around her 24/7… that's what I did last week, Rache. You didn't show up for the stupid phone date, and I figured that meant that I didn't rate. I know that was dumb. And let me tell you, it's the last time I'm ever listening to Vinnie.

So… this is my lame attempt at an apology.

Please call me. Write me. Send me a fuckin' carrier pigeon. I don't care. I just need to talk to you. We can make this okay. I know we can.

I LOVE YOU!

-Nick

I re-read the message quickly. Okay, that was sort of lame. But chicks liked that sort of thing, right? Rachel would know that I meant it… because I did. I was sorry. I did miss her. Our relationship wasn't just about sex, right? No. I missed HER. Talking to her and sharing all these things that she was going through for the first time.

Hell, I got to be there when she was number one on TRL for the first time… when she got her first big chat show… when their single went top 10. Those were all things that just seemed like old hat to us now, but it hadn't been to Rachel. She'd loved me enough to share all of that with her. That can't just go away overnight, could it?

I was so lost in my thoughts I didn't even realize we'd stopped until Frank stuck his head into my room. "Oh. You're awake."

I wiped away my tears quickly, not looking up from my laptop screen. "Yeah. What? Where are we? Why are you here?"

"Calgary. There's a crowd outside. I'm here to make sure you get inside."

"Whatever. Give me a second." I gathered up my stuff, careful not to look at him. Frank knew. He knew everything, about that girl I slept with in Detroit, about how Rachel left, about what a shit I was. He always told me I was an asshole, and he was right. He hated me, but he still took one of my bags and played the bad cop on the walk inside. I signed a couple of autographs, but told them I was tired and couldn't stop.

I was such a liar. I could stop. I just didn't want to.

But why did I want to be in my room? What was I going to do here? Was soundcheck soon? I was bored out of my mind, and staring at my fucking phone. I called the Peninsula. Maybe she hadn't gotten the message. Maybe we really were disconnected, and she couldn't get through.

"I'm sorry, sir, Ms. Bates checked out just a few minutes ago. We did deliver your message, however."

I thanked her and hung up, staring at the phone again. Who did I know that could get through to her? I paced the room, scrolling through my stored numbers.

"James?"

Silence for a second. Was this his number? Yeah, he gave it to me at some point… sometime when we were out and Rachel didn't have her phone, and we were trying to find a time to meet up. Maybe in Vegas? Yeah… Vegas. My heart ached when I remembered that, just hanging out with Rachel and her band. She'd told me all sorts of stuff about Jeremy then, and it hadn't mattered. Nothing had mattered from before we were together. Just that she loved me...at least she had.

"You are not on my phone. How stupid are you?" His voice was controlled and cold on the other end, and it made my heart stop.

Shit. I attempted to talk to him. "Look, James, I'm sorry, but I can't tell her that, so-"

"You'd better be fucking sorry. Not that it's enough, but you'd better be. You couldn't call her before yesterday to say so?"

"I was…" What? What were you doing, Nick? I was doing anything I could to avoid thinking about her, because that hurt too fucking much.

"Give up. Lose my number. Lose hers. It's over."

He hung up on me, and I just blinked at the phone, leaning against the wall. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I should just give up. If James was against me, she'd never take me back. I knew what had happened when she picked Damon over James and the band, and she'd told me she'd never be that stupid again. So if James hated me, I was lost.

I tried to take a deep breath, willing back the tears that had been lurking since last night, and it didn't work. I'd cried a little bit on the bus, but I knew Geoff was there, so I sorta held it together. Now I was alone, and I couldn't hold anything back. I sobbed, sliding down the wall and covering my face with my hands.

She'd loved me. She'd loved me… Nick, not the Backstreet Boy. I knew that, every time she'd looked at me, she'd seen just stupid, goofy Nick. She'd rejected me once because I was a Backstreet Boy and fallen in love with me when she'd found out I was normal. And I'd fucking thrown that away. I'd fucked a groupie to hurt her before she could hurt me again.

And she hadn't even really hurt me. My stupid little boy jealousy had gotten out of control, and I'd seen things that weren't there. Who cared if she flirted with other guys? Who cared if she was busy and couldn't always return my calls? That was one of the reasons I loved her. I loved her band, and I especially loved how much she loved it. She was so fucking talented, and they deserved every bit of success they were getting now. I loved watching her enjoy that.

My chest ached with trying to be quiet. Could anyone hear me? There were probably fans next door, listening through the wall. God damnit, I was sick of hotel rooms and being watched every time I turned around.

I wanted to go to her house on Long Island. I wanted to sit on the deck and stare at the sea and scream where no one could hear me. That was the most free I'd felt since I was a little kid, being in that house with her alone. We'd made love in every room, and I promised I'd never hurt her.

How could I break that promise? If I had kept it, she'd be here with me right now and my heart wouldn't be breaking.

God, I couldn't even breathe. I wanted her to come in and wipe away my tears and tell me everything was going to be ok. How could I want that? I'd never done that for her. She'd cried over her dad, and all I could do was look at her like a stupid moron.

She needed someone better than me. She needed someone older, smarter, more interesting. I'd never given her anything she needed; she was the one who'd come into my life and made it better. Oh, God, Rachel. How had I done this? How had I spent all summer obsessing over her to throw it away when she finally said yes?

Because she fucking terrified me. I couldn't imagine going on without her. I loved her so much it scared me.

Like this is better, Nick? You love her so much you hurt her? Idiot. Jesus.

I slammed my hand into the wall, furious with myself.

Fuck me. I think I broke every bone in my hand.

The pain made me stop crying, and I stared down at my hand, flexing my fingers. No. Not broken. I'd already done that once this summer over her.

I remembered sitting in her bathtub, talking about how I broke my hand. Her hands had been in my hair, so strong and sure. The water had been warm around us, the air filled with her candles and the smell of the sea… fuck. This had been the best summer of my life, just because of her. Every tiny thing we'd done together was fucking amazing and I'd thrown it away.

She couldn't do this. She couldn't just walk away. She loved me as much as I loved her. I had to call her again and remind her of that. We'd figure this out.

I'd call her just as soon as I could stop crying.

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