|
Leaving My Heart In Your Hands It was one of the "Thank God It's.." kind of Fridays. So much so that I had to decide to ban myself from the kitchen. On the way home from work, I stopped to pick up Chinese take-out and rented Casablanca at Blockbuster. I was going to ease into the weekend. I had already convinced myself that Saturday was the night to hit the clubs in downtown Orlando. The minute I arrived home, I took a long hot shower and climbed into my comfy blue satin boxers and Kentucky basketball T-shirt, a present from my best friend Brian Littrell. Actually, I had borrowed it months ago and never bothered to return it. The shirt served as a reminder when he was away. Brian would be home soon from his latest concert tour with the Backstreet Boys. They had been promoting their latest album in Canada for the past month. As usual, I had missed him terribly despite our weekly telephone conversations. As I settled on the living room floor with a box of tissues, my remote control and my sesame chicken, the phone rang. I reached for the cordless on the coffee table and clicked the on button. "Hello?" "Hey, Q." "Brian?" It was his voice certainly but he sounded tired. That worried me. Ever since his heart surgery last May, I was always cautioning him about overexerting himself on tour and on the basketball court. "You okay?" "Listen, I'm on my way over." "What? I thought you were in Quebec until Wednesday." "Nope. We came home early." "Sure, come over. You know you're always welcome." He sighed. "I knew I could count on you. Thanks. See you in a few." I wondered what was wrong. We'd known each other for nearly three years - ever since the "Shopping Cart Incident of 1996," as Brian dubbed it. I knew him well enough to realize he didn't sound like himself. I hoped nothing serious had happened. Minutes later the doorbell rang. I opened the door and found a very exhausted best friend on the other side. "Quinn." Brian enveloped me in a hug. "B, it's so great to see you," I said trying to mask the concern in my voice. He looked like hell. His normally bright blue eyes were pale and bloodshot. His favorite faded blue Kentucky baseball cap covered his clearly mussed sandy brown hair. "Bri, are you okay?" "Yeah, just tired. We just got home, but I missed you so much. I had to see you." My heart skipped a beat at his last words. 'He had to see me.' "That's sweet. Come on in." I led him into the living room where he flopped on the couch. "Moo Shoo Pork?" I offered him one of the white cardboard cartons on the table. "I can always count on you to fill my bottomless stomach. But what no Mcy D's?" He asked with a grin. "Nice to learn I have a purpose in life," I said breathing an inward sigh of relief seeing his smile. "Well, I wasn't planning on company. And I wasn't taking requests. Still there is plenty here for both of us." I headed toward the kitchen to fetch drinks for both of us. "What's your poison?" "How about a Coke?" "You got it." "Casablanca?" I heard him wonder aloud. I peered into the living room and saw him eyeing the video on the coffee table. "I know Jim Carrey doesn't star in it, but it is considered one of the best films of all time. Besides, you know I love the classics," I answered and handed him his soda. "That's cuz you're a classy chick," Brian teased. I blushed. "Aww, Q is all embarrassed...Mind if I stay and watch?" I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "Hey, Bogey's cool and Ingrid Bergman is one hot babe," he reasoned. I just rolled my eyes, curled up on the opposite side of the couch, and pressed play on the remote. We watched the movie in silence for a few minutes. I glanced in his direction wondering if he'd fallen asleep instead he seemed to be deep in thought. "Bri..." No answer. I touched his hand. "B, are you sure you're okay?" He stared into my eyes and opened his mouth to say one thing but changed his mind. "Q, I...I'm just feeling the effects of the tour. That's all. You know how it is?" I knew only because he had told on numerous occasions how exhausting it was performing night after night, trying to deal with the fans at every turn. It could have been touring, but I wasn't convinced he was telling me everything. "Sure?" Brian looked back at the television and nodded. I wasn't about to push him. He would tell me when he was ready. He always did. "Come here," I commanded softly as I motioned to the spot on the floor in front of me. He obeyed without question. I gently lay my hands on his shoulders and began to coax the stress from his body. I didn't have the access I needed to give him the full effects of the massage. "B, raise your arms a second." Again he obeyed. I pulled his shirt over his head. I had forgotten how built he was. Ever since his surgery, he was shy - or embarrassed - about the scar left on his chest and kept the reminder hidden as much as possible. Seeing the scar, I shuddered remembering the trials of a year ago. Brian insisted that I not go to Kentucky for his surgery, but I wouldn't listen. Instead, I took a couple of days off work and was there that day long with his family, then-girlfriend and his bandmates. My stomach was in knots and I couldn't breathe until I knew the surgery had been successful and Brian was "safely" in the ICU. When I visited his room with Kevin Richardson and Howie Dorough later that night, I realized why he hadn't wanted me to come. The sight and sounds of the machines disturbed me so much that I broke down in Howie's arms and sobbed uncontrollably for an hour. I hadn't wanted to leave but the others told me to go. I did return to Lexington a couple of weeks later as I had promised Bri I would to see him through his recuperation while the rest of the Backstreet Boys did some promotional travelling. I didn't want him to be alone. Brian had returned to his parents' home and enjoyed the familiar surroundings and the company of his family. Though his activities were restricted, I did my best to keep him occupied. I rented the entire Jim Carrey catalog of films and endured the torture of watching them for the week. I bought him a little Nerf basketball set that he had me suctioncup to his door, and we played numerous games of one-on-one from his bed. We played Nintendo. I cooked at least half a dozen boxes of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. He entertained me by playing his guitar. I had felt insecure leaving him again and gave him a medallion representing St. Cecelia, the patron saint of musicians. Knowing that he wore it made me feel more at ease. I noticed he wore the chain now as I returned back to the task I had started. The tension was slowly disappearing from Brian's body, and I was enjoying the sensation of his warm skin beneath my fingertips and breathing in the faint scent of his Safari cologne. 'He is your best friend.' My mind warned my heart. 'Nothing more.' I tried to shake my previous thoughts from my head without success. It wasn't unnatural. Half the western world thought they loved Brian Littrell. Truth was I had loved him for nearly three years, but that was a platonic love. This emotion, this feeling was new and different. It scared me. I had missed him so much more than usual the past month. 'God, what is wrong with me? How could I lose control of my feelings?' "Quinn?" It was Brian awakening me from self-torture. His eyes, having regained their usual bright blue color, searched my hazel ones while he brushed an errant red curl from my forehead. 'Why can't he be an insensitive jackass like the other guys I had dated or fallen for? Why did he have to be so damn caring? Brian being Brian wouldn't allow me to forget how easily I had fallen in love with him.' I sensed the tears burning my eyes. "Darlin', what's wrong?" he asked in that Southern drawl I had learned to love. I shook my head. "I think you should leave." I pushed him away, rose from the couch and ran to my bedroom, where I buried my face in my satin comforter. When I heard the front door open and then close a minute later, the tears began to flow. "Why Brian? Why now?" I asked myself out loud. But I wasn't alone. Someone else was with me. With my vision blurred by my tears, I gazed toward the doorway. "Damn it. I thought I told you to go." "No." Brian shook his head. "No, I am not going. I refuse to go." He walked over to me and sat on the bed. "When did life get so complicated?" He asked, more to himself than to me. "I...there was a reason I came to see you tonight. I had to see you tonight." I sat up and leaned against the headboard hugging my favorite Pooh Bear to my chest. I watched his profile as he continued to talk. "It has been so hard for me to be away from home lately. I've been so homesick. And the loneliness has been unbearable. But it wasn't that I missed my family or whatever. Well, I missed them, but that wasn't the reason I was so miserable. "I finally realized last week what was going on. It was just after I'd hung up the phone after talking with you. There was this emptiness I couldn't explain. It was the same feeling I have had for the past year when I left to go on tour.” Brian looked at me for the first time. "What I realized is that every time I leave, I leave my life, my heart here in your hands." He flinched then chuckled in recognition. "We've got to stop singing that song." He scooted closer to me and looked deep into my eyes. "What I came to tell you tonight....Quinn, I love you. No, that's not right. I've always loved you," he assured me. "What I am trying to say is that I am in love with you, Quinn Marie." "Bri...I have waited so long to hear you say that." Crawling over to him, I knelt behind him and wrapped my arms around his torso. I rested my chin on his shoulder then whispered in his ear, "I'm in love with you, too, Brian Thomas." He turned his head toward mine slowly and smiled. Our lips met for the first time in a tender kiss. When we broke free, his forehead touched mine and he again gazed into my eyes. "Do you still want me to leave?" Brian asked in a whisper. "No. No, you're not going. I refuse to let you go." Brian only smiled and kissed me again. |