Chapter Eight

Tuesday Night- San Francisco

"Regan, darlin', hurry before we're late for Nanna's!"

"Daddy, Mikey ripped my dress!"

"Michael, what did I tell you about playing rough with your sister?"

"Sorry, sir."

"That's a good lad. Now, apologize to Regan."

"I'm sorry."

"Daddy, when's mommy coming home?"

Regan woke with a start, confused as to what had pulled her from her sleep and trying to remember what she'd been dreaming. She sighed heavily before rolling to her stomach at the foot of the bed where she'd dozed off watching Cheers re-runs. She squinted to make out the clock on the TV. 11:47 She hadn't been asleep for long. She settled back into her pillows dragging her 15-year-old teddy bear up to nestle under her chin and yawing softly.

I'm losing my mind, she thought, willing herself back to sleep, to no avail. She glanced at the Polaroid propped up against the lamp on her nightstand. She and Justin were still playing phone tag and it wasn't exactly doing wonders for her peace of mind.

Regan snuggled deeper under her covers, pulling the comforter up over her head and curling up into a ball on her side. She was confused and boys never confused her. She confused them, that's how it was supposed to work. Now she had two very new relationships and things were already too complicated for comfort. One was a friendship that could potentially be the most significant of her life (Not an impressive distinction) and the other was a… what? A boyfriend? Are we even at that point? We only went out once. The trouble was she caught herself more than once wondering what she'd be feeling if what she was sure hadn't been happening Friday night had actually happened. Was Justin about to kiss her? That was the question she needed an answer to more than anything.

That was the other problem right there. For the first time in her life, something entered her mind before ballet. She found herself more nervous about the conversation with Justin looming on the horizon than she did about going back on stage. Her performances that night and the night before had been near flawless. She brought the crowd to their feet and the applause were deafening. She reveled in the applause. It was that recognition that was always the best part for her. The audience was this collective being that had the power to either crush her or validate everything she'd ever done for the sake of her dream. To hear the applause again after being so sure she'd never be the focus of them again was the most incredible thing. But as soon as she was alone she felt the knot return to her stomach and it had nothing to do with ballet.

She didn't know quite what to do with that. Was she finally learning how to let other people into her life? Was she maybe maturing into someone who knew how let a member of the opposite sex linger in her life for more than a few days? Was she learning that there were possibly things in life more important than ballet? She didn't like the answers to any of those questions. She was just fine before the Fro came into her life. Perfectly happy and… Who the hell am I kidding? I was barely human. I may not be all that content right now but I certainly wasn't happy before.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

New York City

"Mae, if you aren't out here be the time I count to ten, we are going to leave you in there all by yourself!" Mike called through the hall closet door. "Remember what I told you about the ghost of old lady Sewell?"

"Mike!" Bridget rasped. "You can't say things like that to a little girl. It'll be in her little head all night. Plus I'm always the one who gets kicked in the ribs all night when she ends up having to sleep with us."

"You got a better idea on how to get her outta there?"

Bridget gave her husband a bored look before walking over to where he stood and pushing him aside. She unceremoniously opened the closet door, reached in and emerged with her giggling daughter in her arms.

"I'm it! Mommy found me!"

"No baby, it's past your bedtime. You'll be it when we play tomorrow," Bridget said, pecking Mae on the nose and looking up at Mike. "Stop trying to negotiate with a four-year-old. You'll lose every time."

Bridget turned and walked up the stairs as Mike grumbled, making sure Maeve saw him stick his tongue out at her mother.

Fifteen minutes later, Bridget descended the stairs and plopped herself down on the couch beside Mike to watch the news. Both lay in an exhausted stupor and enjoying their only time of the day to relax together— alone. Not ten minutes later, the phone began to ring eliciting exaggerated groans from each of them.

"You get it," they commanded in unison.

"C'mon, Mike. The phone's right next to you," Bridget whined.

Mike reached over, grabbed the cordless, and tossed it into her lap. "Now it's closer to you."

"Sometimes I really hate you," she groaned, picking up the phone. "Hello?"

"Chicks!"

"Josh, I'm dead tired so before we start this, I 'd note that as a clear warning lable, if I were you."

"You need a vacation, stat."

"You need to lay off the ER re-runs."

"I'm serious. Don't you get a Spring break or something?"

"Yeah. In Spring."

"Listen, snippy, I just wanted to give my best friend a call and brighten her day. No need to get all—"

"Joshua, I don't care how tiring or demanding you believe your life to be. Until you work as an English teacher in a district where most of the 16-year-olds you get a hold of never quite learned how to read causing you to constantly be battling with the school board to change the curriculum and meanwhile trying to figure out a way to get these kids through American Lit and then returning home to your spouse and child who both basically children forcing you to be the authority figure 24/7 and then have your best friend interrupt a perfectly good mindless stupor, your only time of the day to relax— until all that happens and you can get a vague conception of my life as it is right now, well you're just going to have to take my attitude with a grain of salt. You hearing me, Space Cowboy?"

"If I reiterate my vacation comment, will I get my head bitten off again?"

"Is there a point to this phone call?"

"You know, I'm going to remember this the next time you're bitching that you never hear from me."

"Josh!"

"Ok, ok. Jeeze. I'm calling on behalf of one curly-headed pain in the ass. He hasn't been able to get a hold of Regan and, while he'll never admit it, I think he's kinda freaking out about it."

"Oh really?" Bridget smiled, suddenly interested in the conversation.

"Yes, ma'am. We had a photo shoot this morning and we could hardly get him to sit still. To make matters worse, not to mention annoying the crap out of Rolling Stone's photographer, every time there was more than a ten second lull, he took off to check his messages."

"Very interesting." Bridget was now grinning evilly and Mike debated silently if he even wanted to know what was going on.

"Interesting, indeed," JC replied, the same smile spreading across his face three thousand miles away.

"So what do we think about this?"

"In my humble opinion? Justin's got it bad."

"I knew it!" Bridget grinned triumphantly.

"We have got to get these crazy kids together," JC concluded.

"Well there are some obstacles," Bridget warned.

"I love a challenge, you know that."

"Well, Regan's in full-blown denial plus she's been seeing someone else if you recall."

"Hmmm, that could be a problem. So what's the diagnosis Dr. Costelloe?"

"Well, I'm glad you asked," Bridget smiled smugly, rising from her seat to take the conversation to the kitchen. Her pointed glance was not lost on her husband who'd since decided he didn't want to know.

"Ok here's what I think. Regan has some serious abandonment issues due to her mother's sudden exit when she was little. She won't admit she may have feelings for Justin because she's taking it hard with him just as a friend who she's realized is never going to be around."

"Well, I didn't expect a literal diagnosis but, Ok."

"Plus there's this guy, Jack, who lives where she lives, is handsome, funny, sweet, smart, clearly crazy about her—"

"Alright, alright…"

"I'm serious, Josh. It's always been hard for me and you and we're just friends. I can't imagine what it must be for the girls you date. Its gotta be tough. I mean why do you think I fell for Mike when—" She stopped herself, and held her breath hoping he wouldn't ask what she was about to say.

"Speaking of the girls we date, if I may change the subject for a moment…"

"Joshie-boy, are you smitten?"

"Well, remember how I said that Jive was sending a new media consultant?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Los Angeles

"I'm losing my mind."

Justin Timberlake lay sprawled out on his bed, motionless and fully clothed— do' rag to Nikes. He'd fallen into that position twenty minutes before and showed no sign of moving anytime soon.

He'd been trying to get back to Regan since Joey gave him her message but all he kept getting was her voice mail. They had to talk and he was going to drive himself insane if they didn't soon. Something had almost happened that night. If Mike hadn't shown up something definitely would have happened and right now everything would be different.

But now things were uncertain and confused. He'd known what he was doing. He'd known all too well what he was doing. The moment they'd begun to dance, he was overwhelmed by a burning urge to kiss her. When she started to sing along with the music, it was all he could do not to bring his lips crashing down on hers. When she looked up at him, he could actually feel the staccato of his heart beating against his chest.

What exactly she was starting to mean to him he either didn't know or didn't have the courage to face up to. He still tried to tell himself that it was a purely male reaction to a sweet and beautiful girl in his arms; something that hadn't happened in a long time with anyone he felt he could trust. When Mike's voice broke them apart, he didn't know whether to curse or thank God.

The real problem came from Regan's end. He had no idea what was going through her head. What had she thought when looked up at him and saw the look in his eyes that he knew was there? Did she even recognize it? Did she want to?

He had to talk to her— find out what she was thinking. And when that happened, he'd have an important decision to make. If she wouldn't admit to what was about to happen, would he assure her it was nothing or make her admit it, if only to herself? That was a decision he couldn't make until it was upon him. Their friendship was still new and he was in no rush to ruin it even if that was going to be his ultimate decision.

He also couldn't shake the nagging part of his brain that said he was trying to reinvent Cristin. That was the last thing he wanted to put upon Regan. But ever since he met her, he found himself aching for what he and Cristin once had. Before Regan, only anger and abandonment came with the thought of Cristin. Anger and abandonment that masked a deep seeded guilt; the kind of guilt that could eat away at you if you let it. And he couldn't let it. There were too many people depending on him to keep it together.

So he dealt with his own pain from her absence but pushed the guilt down. Eventually the panic attacks stopped coming so frequently until they'd disappeared completely. If the guilt managed to scrape its way to the surface, he'd beat it down by blaming her. It was the only way he could get by.

Then here came a girl who was so much like the person he once knew and years of effectively deluding himself were down the drain. He attempted to harden himself to her but he was a goner in less than 24 hours. Not only that, but he now felt a responsibility to her. He felt like he was given a second chance to make up for a wrong he could never right.

*~*~*~*~*~*FLASHBACK*~*~*~*~*~*

Fall 1993

Sometime after Justin fell asleep that night the clear sky had clouded over and the heavens opened up in a storm so raw, there wasn't a living thing outdoors that wasn't cowering. It was one particularly tumultuous thunderclap that ripped Justin from his formerly peaceful sleep. He pulled the covers from his body and swung his feet around to the side of the bed. He rubbed his hands over his face before standing up and treading across the hard wood floors to his bathroom.

He ran the water until it was sufficiently cold and filled one of the cups that resided by his sink before pouring it back down the drain. He wanted juice.

He made his way quickly, padding down the stairs and into the kitchen without so much as making a floor board squeak. The lightening lit up the kitchen in eerie displays of white flashes, but he wasn't scared. He was just going to get some juice and then going back to bed because storms didn't scare Justin Timberlake. Justin Timberlake feared nothing. He opened the refrigerator, the light casting a yellow glow over the room, grabbed the Tropicana from its spot on the top shelf and shuffled over to the counter. He retrieved a glass from the cabinet, opened the carton and began to pour when another earth shattering thunderclap made him jump, spilling the juice all over the counter.

"Oh that's just great," he mumbled, backing away to assess the damage. He went to grab a paper towel as the juice began to roll off the counter and drip onto the floor. Perfect, he thought, seeing the empty cardboard cylinder that no body had bothered to replace. He moved toward the back door to see if there were any in the pantry off the back porch. The moment he opened the door, the lightening illuminated the large screened-off sun deck and that's when he saw her.

Curled up in a ball, sopping wet and shivering in her sleep on one of the deck chairs was Cristin.

"Jesus Christ," Justin breathed, striding over to where she was. "Cris, wake up."

She started, shooting up in her seat at his gentle nudging. "Justin, you scared me."

"I scared you? What are you doing in here? What's going on?"

"I, uh, let the cat out before and she never came back and when it started to rain, I went out to look for her and got locked out. You know my dad sleeps like the dead. He couldn't hear me knocking."

She was lying. Was did she even bother? "So, why didn't you ring our bell?"

"I didn't want to bother anyone. All I needed to do was get out of the rain and your screen door was unlocked."

"Ok, so what really happened?"

"Justin, I told you."

"I think we should talk to my mom about this. Something is wrong in that house and I want to know why you can't tell me. I thought we were best friends."

"We are. Please don't say anything to your mom. If I tell you, will you promise not to say anything?"

"I don't know, Cris…"

"Please Justin. I can't tell you unless you promise."

"Ok."

"Say it. Say 'I swear on our friendship.'"

"Cris—"

"Say it."

"I swear on our friendship I won't tell."

"Ok. My dad locked me out."

"What? Why?"

"I got that D in my math test so he was already upset and then I broke a dish at dinner."

"So? He just locked you out of the house?"

"Yes, but he'll have cooled off in the morning. It'll be ok. He didn't know it was going to storm like this."

"Cristin. Listen to yourself."

"Justin, not everyone lives in a house like yours. Some families just operate differently. My dad's not perfect but he's all I have. He's just sad since my mom died and I think I remind him too much of her."

"But Cristin, you're his daughter. You're 11 years old. Normal fathers don't lock their 11-year-old daughters out of the house overnight. We have to tell someone."

"No! Justin you swore! You swore on our friendship!"

"Cristin, don't make me keep this secret."

"I should have never told you."

"Cris, you can tell me anything, you know that. But I don't want you to get hurt."

"As long as you keep your mouth shut, I won't."

*~*~*~*~*~* END FLASHBACK*~*~*~*~*~*

He kept his promise that night. He always kept his promises to her. But that was one promise he never should have made let alone kept. He hadn't known the way her father was treating her was as bad as it was but he did know something was wrong and he didn't need her to confirm it to see it.

He should have never made that promise and now more than ever he wanted to set right the wrong he'd done her. He'd told her what she wanted to hear but didn't do what she needed him to do. He was selfish. He was so scared to lose her that he couldn't bring himself to break his word once he gave it. He thought that it was more important she trust him. Looking back, he could see plainly what would have been right. All he could do now was try and somehow make up for his mistake. He couldn't make it up to her but he could help someone else- be the friend to someone else that he should have been to Cristin.

Moments later, JC strode through the door and flipped on the lights.

"Hey Curly, you alive over there?"

"It depends on your definition of 'alive'."

"Well, you better be cus' you owe me and you'd kinda have to not be a corpse for me to collect."

"What are you babbling about?"

"I just talked to Bridget and got the story on Regan plus her entire itinerary while she's in LA."

"And why would I owe you for that?"

"Don't bullshit a bullshitter, boy. I have eyes and you are completely stressing about not having talked to Regan yet."

"I am not."

"So I suppose you won't be interested in knowing that her company is staying in this very hotel when they arrive tomorrow morning or that I happen to have a few tickets to her performance tomorrow night."

"She's staying here?"

"Yeah, but like I said, you probably don't care—"

"Alright, alright. I get the point."

"Does that mean, you're fessin' up Curly?"

"There's nothing to fess up to. We're friends. Sure I want to see her while she's in LA."

Bull. "Ok, well they're supposed to get in around 11, so she should definitely be here when we get back from the radio station."

"That's nice."

"You are hopeless."

"Whatever. Why don't we talk about you for a second?"

"What about me?"

"I saw the way you and the new media chick were checkin' each other out the other day. You've been hanging out a lot since then too. What's up with that, C, huh? Not so cool to be intruding on other people lives now, is it?"

"I have nothing to hide. In fact, Miss Grace Roberts will be accompanying me to the ballet tomorrow. See? I keep no secrets from my so-called brothers."

"Big whoop! Nothing newsworthy ever happens in your relationships anyway."

"Oh, so sorry, Mr. President. I forget who I was talking to."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Wednesday, Los Angeles

"So how was the show last night?"

Regan lay upside down on the couch of the suite she'd just checked into with her legs dangling over the back and her cell attached to her ear. "It went great. Better than great, actually. I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"What do you mean?"

"It kinda feels too good to be true, ya know?"

"I think you worry too much, Miss Costelloe."

"I know but it's just that something feels off. I just can't bring myself to trust Boland enough to believe that this is all going to turn out well."

"Regan, believe me. I know Aaron Boland by reputation alone and I'd trust him with my first-born. He's a brilliant doctor. I can only hope to become half the doctor he is."

"How is it you always know what to say to calm my nerves?"

"Must be fate," Jack laughed. "I know doctors make you uncomfortable but I'm sure his only agenda is to get you, and others like you, better."

"I hear what you're saying but I just can't shake that feeling in my stomach."

"So, I guess once I graduate med school, we're not going to be able to hang out anymore, huh?" Jack joked.

"Oh, that's a given," she kidded. This was what she needed. His voice just soothed her and he always knew the right thing to say to make her feel better.

"What's going through that head of yours, kiddo?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You sound weird," Jack explained.

"Weird? How so?"

"I'm not sure. I don't want to say sad, but that's the only thing I can come up with."

"I'm fine, Jack, really. You know, I'm just wary about this whole situation and then there's…" she drifted off, figuring Justin probably wasn't the best subject to bring up with Jack.

"And then there's what?"

"I dunno, I just lost my train of thought," she lied.

"Ok…"

"Jack, it's really nothing. I'm just kinda overwhelmed here. I wish you were here to cheer me up," she laughed, only half-serious. A split second later, her call waiting beeped. "Dammit. Jack, my other line's beeping. I'll be right back."

"I'll be here."

"Ok," she said before clicking over to the other line. "Pronto?"

"I'm sorry. I must have dialed wrong."

"Wait! Timberlake? It's Regan.

"Hi! Sorry, I just thought—"

"No, no. It's my fault. I have to stop answering the phone in Italian. Nasty habit really," she laughed.

"You have lots of those nasty habits," he smiled. It was good… almost a relief… to hear her voice.

"Listen, Timberlake, Jack's waiting on the other line. Can you hold on for a sec while I say goodbye?"

"Sure." The disappointed inflection in his voice wasn't as well hidden as he thought it was.

"Ok, hold on." Regan click back over the Jack, thinking of a political way of telling him she was blowing him off for Justin. "Jack? Still there?"

"I'll be on the next flight out."

"Wha?"

"You said you wished I was there. I'm prepared to make that wish come true, Miss Costelloe."

"Really? That's great," she smiled, though not exactly sure how she felt about this. "Are you sure you can, though? Don't you have classes?"

"Baby, I'm a second semester senior. I can afford to miss a few classes."

"Oh well, I'm terribly sorry for questioning you, Dr. Salinger."

"You're forgiven."

"Oh! Jack, I'm sorry. That was my friend on the other line and he's still holding. So let me go and call me when you know the details and all."

"Ok, sweetie. I'll talk to you soon. Bye."

"Bye." She took a deep breath after she heard him hang up and switched back over the Justin. "Hey, sorry about that."

"No problem. The orderly talkin' your ear off?"

"I'm pretty sure we've moved out of 'the orderly' territory. He has a name. It's Jack Salinger. So learn it, curly-boy," Regan teased.

"You know, I have a name, too, that you never seem to want to use," he pointed out.

"What's your point?" she laughed.

"Well, I can tell right now this conversation will get me no where. How about this? Where have you been and why don't you return your messages?"

"Funny, I could ask you the same thing," she huffed. "But now that we've finally snagged one another, I think we have to talk. What hotel are you staying in?"

"I'm currently about ten paces from your door."

"Huh?"

"Six, five, four, three, two, one. We've reached zero barrier."

Not a second later, she heard o knock on her door and smiled ruefully. "How did you know where I was staying?" she asked as she tumbled out of her awkwardly comfortable position and made her way to the door.

"Well, Jace talked to Bridget last night, plus, we're staying four floors up so it was inevitable we'd bump into each other anyway," he said, patiently waiting at the door. "You gonna in me in or what?"

"Jesus Christ, hold your horses," she said stumbling over to the door.

"Jesus Christ? Now there's a new nickname. I'm not sure it's terribly appropriate, though."

With that, the door flung open. "Yeah well, it's been fun talking but I'll have to call you back," she smirked playfully into her cell. "There's something of a pain in my ass at the door and I have to take care of it before it starts multiplying. I mean, you start out with a Timberlake and you end up with a Kirkpatrick and then a Bass and its all pandemonium from then on."

"Real cute," he smiled turning off his cell and she did the same.

"I try."

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