Once again, I don't know the Backstreet Boys, and they don't know me. I don't know a thing about their sexual preferences, but Nick looks so cute in pink lipstick.
Special thanks to the Tampa Bay Buccaneers for inspiring this, and for netting me a hundred dollars the other night.
Okay, so you asked for it, you got it. Send all complaints to whippedcream@audiohighway.net
JJ
Slow Down My Beating Heart Chapter Two
"Aw, shit, Keyshawn, you're supposed to catch the damn ball! Jesus! Damn, you'd think with the amount they paid him, he'd fucking know how to play the game!" That last part was addressed to Brian, who only nodded his head and decided it would be in his best interests to agree and just keep his mouth shut. If Nick noticed his friend's lack of response, he didn't get a chance to respond as the Bucs lined up for third down.
"C'mon, c'mon," Nick muttered, his hands clenching the sheets, his eyes closed in half-prayer. In some part of his mind, he knew it was rather ridiculous to get so worked up about a football game, but dammit, they had a chance at the Super Bowl this year. The Super Bowl, the Holy Grail of football. And to play it at home... Nick let out a cheer as Shaun King completed a 23-yard pass to Warrick Dunn, who rushed another 20 yards for a touchdown that all but guaranteed the game.
"Yeah!" he crowed, bouncing and almost falling off the bed in excitement. This time, Brian couldn't help himself, as a bubble of laughter escaped. Nick turned his head to look at his friend.
"What!" he protested, before grinning goofily. "So I get a little worked up about football. It's not like you're not the same way with Kentucky."
"Hey," Brian replied, spreading his hands. "It's all good." Nick studied him carefully, and Brian gave him his most disarming smile. "I think it's safe to say you're feeling better."
"Yeah," Nick laughed. "Maybe I can go home soon." Brian nodded, his smile turning up a notch. Technically, they should have been watching the game from the comfort of their own homes, but a spike in the reading on the CAT, or the EKG, or the ABCXYZ, or whatever the hell it was called, had worried the doctors enough that they'd insisted Nick stay a few more days. A precautionary measure, they'd called it. Of course it had amounted to nothing except Nick becoming increasingly restless, and the staff becoming increasingly short-tempered, but prevention was the best medicine, right?
In any case, what Brian had hoped was a one-time visit to the hospital had spawned a second and he had returned unwillingly, only the pleading in Nick's voice that someone had to watch the game with him (and what was Aaron doing? Brian wondered) convincing him to overcome his inherent dislike of the place. But the radiant look on Nick's face as he'd walked through the door, not to mention the rare pleasure of hearing such foul language from his usually clean-mouthed friend, was enough to assure him that he'd made the right choice, even if the sound of medical professionals hurrying past the door sent chills down his spine.
"Hey, Nick," Brian started, as he stood up. "I'm gonna go get a Coke. You want one?"
"Yeah, sure," Nick replied, his attention drawn back to the game. There really wasn't much else to watch, unless the Rams pulled an 82-yard touchdown from out of thin air in twenty seconds. Stranger things had happened, Brian reminded himself. After all, he was here again. He walked to the door, closing it partway behind him. Glancing down the hall both ways, he headed in the direction of the nurses' station.
"Hi," he said, as he approached the desk. It was the same pretty young nurse, he realized. She looked up at him, a slight smile on her face and he couldn't help but notice how much more faded she seemed, as though every day spent in this place sucked a little bit more life out of her. But that's what it was all about, he thought, the sick stealing the life from the healthy.
"You should be wearing your mask," she scolded, her brow creasing as she frowned. He reached up to feel the crisp paper of the mask around his neck; he'd completely forgotten about it.
"It was kind of bothering my friend," he evaded, "so I took it off for a while." She shrugged.
"I can't force you," she replied, "but it is in your best interest." He nodded. It was always in his best interest.
"Sorry," he said, but didn't replace the mask. She noticed, but didn't say anything. "Um, can I get a Coke around here?"
"Sure, around the corner, there's a vending machine." He smiled and thanked her.
He turned the corner, scouring his wallet for singles, his head down as he concentrated on his task, so he didn't the man standing in front of the Coke machine. It was a good thing, too, as it gave him almost no time to react once he finally registered who it was.
Matt (he was fairly certain that was the one) stood, his hands gripping the sides of the machine as he leaned his forehead against the lighted sign, his eyes half-closed, as if, by some little-known method of osmosis, he could somehow ingest its contents. Brian came to a halt, his breath coming out in a rush as the panic rose in his throat. Before he could do or anything, the other man turned to look at him.
"It's broken," he said, then frowned. "Do I know you?" Brian didn't respond as he took one, then a second, shallow breath. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Brian finally responded, successfully stomping the panic back down, and locking it back into its hiding place.
"You look like you're about to either pass out or hurl," he replied. "The first I can handle, the second I can't." He flashed a brief grin, revealing too-perfect teeth. Caps, Brian thought idly.
"I'm fine," he repeated. He shook his head slight as though to emphasize his point.
"I do know you!" Matt suddenly said. Brian waited for the inevitable. "You stopped outside our room the other day." Brian blinked in surprise. They had seen him?
"Uh, yeah, I was wondering what you were watching," he answered lamely.
"The news. Nothing interesting."
"Yeah."
"I'm Matt, by the way," he said. Brian almost replied 'I know,' but caught himself at the last minute.
"Brian," he replied instead. Matt held out his hand and after a slight hesitation, he took it and shook it firmly.
"I'm not going to bite you, or cough on you, or whatever it is you're freaking out about." He smiled again, showing off those perfect teeth once more. Brian flushed.
"It's not... I mean," he stammered, not really sure how to explain something he didn't understand himself, or for that matter, wasn't really all that important. A silly childhood fear.
"It's okay, hospitals freak you out," Matt said, shrugging. "They freak me out too. If it weren't for the fact that Julian is better off here, we'd be at home."
"Julian is..."Brian started to ask, then paused, unsure of how to phrase a question he shouldn't have been asking anyway.
"A friend," was the short reply.
"I'm visiting a friend, too," Brian replied, feeling the need to repair his social gaffe.
"Yeah? I hope he's okay."
"He's better now. He was heckling the Ram's offensive line when I left him," Brian replied with a smile. Matt returned it.
"Let me guess, the blond in 167?" Brian nodded, surprised.
"How'd you know?"
"He's, uh, very vehement about his favorite teams," Matt said. Brian laughed.
"Yeah, Nick can be a little too loyal."
"Yeah, Julian's a big hockey fan. I prefer basketball myself."
"Really? I love basketball too."
"You play?"
"Some. Not as much as I used to though."
"That's too bad."
"You?"
"Every chance I get," Matt replied with a smile. "Even if it's just shooting a few hoops in the driveway."
"Yeah," Brian replied.
"Not terribly exciting, but it works." It could be worse, Brian thought silently, but outwardly, just smiled.
"If you don't mind me being incredibly rude," Matt continued, "but what position did you play? You're not, um, exactly built like a basketball player." Brian bristled slightly, like he always did at the implied comment on his height.
"Point guard," he replied tersely. Matt stepped away from the machine, noticing the change in Brian's demeanor.
"I'm sorry," he apologized, taking a brief step toward him and wincing slightly at the familiar stiffness searing his hamstring. Brian couldn't help the slight widening of his eyes.
"What..." he said, before he could stop himself, then flushed. "Wait, that wasn't..." Matt looked at him, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
"I don't play much basketball anymore," he said, softly. Suddenly, Brian felt incredibly trivial.