// The Hardest Choice // The lyrics from Lance’s latest artist floated through to JC’s headphones. His long fingers worked the control board expertly. The music filled his heart, touched his soul. Any note which dared to stray off-key jolted him and he paused to make the necessary adjustments. Lance trusted him to produce. It was the opportunity of a lifetime--one he took very seriously. Life was good. Everyone was anxious to lay down tracks for the new album, eager to climb from the shadows of No Strings Attached and it’s unexpected success. By letting him produce, Lance was handing JC a boost. Not only to his ever growing list of achievements, including the hits on No Strings Attached, but to soothe his soul--the soul of the inventor inside. "Okay, that's great. Now, let's just take the second verse again. A little more intense on those lead vocals okay?" His voice echoed into the sound booth and the singer nodded. JC grabbed a bottle of water and sipped it thoughtfully. The music began again and from the corner of his eye, he spotted the door swinging open. Justin snuck in with a wave and took a seat quietly beside him. JC nodded to acknowledge his presence before continuing to work. Another take and JC smiled with satisfaction. “Much better,” he buzzed in on the intercom. “Come on in and listen to the playback.” The artist made his way in and Justin grinned as the playback filled the room. “Very sweet sound,” he complimented. “Jazz and country. Very unique.” “Thanks,” the singer said breathlessly. “I’m lucky to have JC here pulling it all together.” JC kicked back and folded his arms behind his back. “Thank Lance. I didn’t do anything. He’s the one that’ll get you signed.” “He’s good at shit like that,” Justin piped in. He grabbed JC’s water and took a long sip. “Lance is good. Yeah.” JC stared at him for a slow beat before returning his attention to the artist before him. “So we’re gonna wrap it. Be back at like nine tomorrow morning. We’ll take it from there okay?” “Okay!” the singer exclaimed happily. “And thanks, man. So much.” “Rest that voice!” he called after him. “Take an easy night okay?” But the singer was gone, over excited and thrilled to have his first demo being recorded. JC laughed and switched the panels off. He stuffed some papers into his tattered blue knapsack--the one that had been with him from the start. The one he refused to get rid of no matter what because it meant something to him. It represented where he came from--where he’d been--and the war he’d been through. “So, Chris send you over?” he asked, standing up to stretch. Justin grinned and threw his arms over his head. “He did. Said we’re all celebrating his new LA digs before we scatter out of Orlando.” “Fucking Los Angeles!” JC flipped the lights off and trailed Justin to the parking lot. “I never thought one of us would make it out there. That boy is pussy whipped I think.” “You *think*?” Justin snorted. “He’s moving cross country away from us. Hell, Dani’s got him on a leash!” JC stopped cold when he saw Chris’ new truck sitting in the lot. “You are shitting me! He let you take it?” Justin frowned and disabled the alarm, fed up with defending his little accident two years earlier. “Jesus, JC. I wrecked your car. I said I was sorry. It’s not like I ordered the rain to come and the little old lady from Ft. Lauderdale to drive half blind down the road near your apartment.” He slid behind the wheel and snapped his seatbelt on. “You’re the only one who doesn’t trust me.” JC wrinkled his nose and tossed his backpack to the floor. “You crashed my car. My Mustang. I cherished that car, man.” “Well, at least *I* didn’t get hurt,” Justin bit back, maneuvering the vehicle onto the highway. “You never even asked how I was when you got the call.” JC stared out the window as his stomach rumbled with hunger. “You wrecked my baby,” he said again. The phone rang, interrupting the argument they’d had over and over again for the past two years and JC leaned over to click the speakers on. “Hello? Chris’ new truck here begging for mercy from a wild nineteen year old.” Justin rolled his eyes and sped up. Chris’ flat voice floated through the truck, smothering the playful tone with a somber blanket. “I need you back here ASAP. How far away are you?” “What’s up?” JC asked, his stomach already folding into huge knots. He turned in his seat and flashed a questioning look toward Justin. There was a painful pause on the other end-- then Chris cleared his throat. "Lance quit. He's out of the group." "What?" they cried at once. Justin jerked the truck onto the shoulder immediately and JC could see his body shake. He leaned over and touched his arm, hoping that somehow it would calm him. News like this was like a bullet ripping through them--an unanticipated sting that increased with each second that ticked by. Chris’ silence was ominous and JC forced a laugh. “Jesus, Chris, is this one of your jokes because if it is...” “I’m deadly serious,” Chris hissed back. “He just called. He said he wanted to talk to all of us, so get back here now. We’re going to conference. I just don’t ... I don’t know.” The line went dead and JC felt woozy. “Justin, we have to ...” “I can’t drive,” Justin whispered and when JC looked at him, he witnessed the alarm in those blue eyes. A fright that impaled him. “I can’t drive. I can’t. I feel sick. I..” “Okay, okay. Slide over. I’ll drive.” JC climbed out and his legs buckled. None of this made sense. Lance would never quit. It wasn’t something any of them would do--especially after the lawsuit. After the past year of firsts--selling over two million records in the first day--the sold out concerts--the future concerts. They were all battles and triumphs they had faced as a team. He moved around the back of the truck, past the puff of smoke emitting from the tail pipe, through the bright red lights that blazed into the night sky, around to the other side. Before him the road stretched endlessly and he coerced his lungs to inhale. There wasn’t enough oxygen in the world to get enough air and he clutched the back of the truck for stability. Inside, his body was crumbling. He thought the worst was behind him. The hell of court. The media poking. The pain flashing over Lance’s face when called on to testify about that May day--that Summer Jam--when he had been rushed from them. The anxiety over NSA. Writing and defending what was theirs. Now this. From nowhere. A stab that put him into some fucked up alternate universe he wasn’t sure he wanted to be in. The pavement scuffed below his feet and he snapped himself out of it, calling upon powers he didn’t know he had to get back in that truck and drive the short way to Chris’ home. “You okay?” he asked Justin. “It’s gonna be okay.” The words came out in a most unconvincing way. Justin’s head was pressed against he window and JC sighed. He knew Justin was sensitive, didn’t deal with unexpected surprises well. Hell, none of them did. But he held his chin up because Justin wasn’t dealing--at all. The world seemed to be falling apart as the truck zipped down the road. JC’s ears were filled with a dull hum, a drone of gloom. He prayed, something he rarely did, for it to be a malicious joke. Maybe Lance was simply not feeling well. Or maybe Chris was fucking around. Because the alternatives were just too nauseating to think about. “It’s gonna be okay,” he vocalized again, blinking repeatedly to control his emotions. “Okay? It’s gonna be okay.” **************** Chris’ home wasn’t far but the ride seemed to take an eternity. Ultimately the driveway materialized, and he drove down it. “Justin, we’re here.” Justin said nothing, lost in a world JC could only guess was a deep pit of fear. He cut the engine and got out, circling the truck to support Justin. From the doorway he could see Chris’s face peering out. “Not good,” he muttered, yanking Justin's door open. “Come on, man. Time to go. Chris is waiting.” Justin stumbled out with a wounded expression and slumped against JC. “Oh come on, J. You’re stronger than this.” JC grunted under his weight but accepted it all the same. A team. That’s what Lance always called them. An unbeatable team. Fuck that anymore, JC thought bitterly, struggling to make it into the house. Chris pulled the door and stepped aside, his eyes heated, his body tensed. “Jesus, Justin, you look like shit!” JC shook his head and dumped Justin on the couch. “He’s freaking the fuck out. So someone please tell me what’s going on!” He shrugged his coat off and wandered to the bar. Drinking was defiantly in order. Chris tracked him and reached for a bottle of Vodka. JC snatched it from his hands and returned to the living room. The phone rang, causing Justin to jump a little, and Chris rushed over to put them on speaker phone. “Lance?” he asked. “Yeah, it’s me. JC and Justin there?” he questioned and JC noticed how Lance’s voice wavered. His stomach knotted and he took a long sip of Vodka, letting the alcohol burn a trail down to his gut. There was no joke to be told, no game to be played. He heard the soft rumble of Lance’s voice. It was grave. Anger washed over JC when he looked at Justin curled into some shapeless ball on the couch, staring vacantly at the sound of Lance’s voice. “We’re here,” he snapped. “Now what the *fuck* is going on?” He paced because it burned off some of his anxiety. But the gnawing continued at his gut--at his heart. The silence from the other end was deafening, floating through the room tensely. They waited and waited for Lance to speak. To say something that would pull the nightmare together. “Look,” Lance finally said. “I got a job offer. It’s a...um..sitcom. I wouldn’t have to travel anymore. I could settle down.” His voice cracked and JC wanted to fall to the carpet. “You know we don’t have much more time on this. We all have other things we want to do after this next album.” “Bullshit!” Chris snapped. “Let’s hear him out.” Joey’s voice rang through on the speaker. “Joe? You with Lance?” JC asked, blinking hard. His hands curled into fists by his side and he wondered if Joey had something to do with this. Lance wanted to leave--for television. It was fucked if it was anything. “Come on. Chris you have FuMan. And JC, you’re producing now. Joey is working on screenplays and Justin has his collaborations, and Britney.” JC cringed and twisted his gaze to Justin because he knew that punch landed low. Watery, unblinking eyes looked back at him. The transformation was insane to watch--Justin’s face went from little boy to monster quickly. He assumed they were all glad to know Lance was alright physically. No medical reason why he couldn’t continue. So he sat back as Justin drew breath, and realized quickly that deadly words were coming. “Lance,” Justin said coolly. “I don’t know what this shit is, but if you quit, if this isn’t a joke. If you...fucking...if you do this. Don’t ever speak to me again. Ever.” Chris and JC stared in wide eyed wonder and there was that pit again, burning in JC’s gut. He rubbed at it absently, unsure he heard Justin at all. “You’re not serious!” Lance cried in desperation. “Come on, we’ll always be friends. I don’t want...” “I fucking mean it. If you do this, you’re dead to me. For now, forever!” Justin bit back a sob, his blue eyes never leaving JC’s. A plead for help, JC thought sadly. Friendships that were breaking away for a fucking sit com. “Fuck!” Lance wailed. “I’m sorry. I am. I have to try this. I need you to understand. If you think about it, we should go out while we’re on top! I mean it! We can’t get much higher. It may be a good move...” “You don’t decide for us!” JC screamed. “You’re screwing us over! You’re making a call you have no right to make!” JC  was yelling and he didn't care. His anger was boiling over. His anguish. It was too much and he collapsed to his knees breathlessly. Chris piped in. “You can’t do this,” he said simply. “You just can’t. You can‘t up and leave N Sync. We‘re in contract. We have obligations.” Joey cleared his throat on the other end. “Lance is pretty shaken, guys. Let’s take some time and think about it. Maybe we can talk again tomorrow and see how it goes.” “Didn’t you hear me?” Justin bellowed, jumping from the couch. “If he quits, I’m done! I’m not talking about it again. I won’t!” JC bit his lip as the insanity swirled. His mind was too muddled to think straight. Reality wasn’t sinking in at all. Chris was right--he tried to convince himself. No one of them could just quit. Not really. “Please don’t be like this,” Lance sniffled. “J, man, come on. You’re my best friend!” “Fuck you,” Justin replied quietly. “Just fuck you!” “We have an album to cut next week, Lance. What about that? What about the money we have invested in the follow up to NSA? Hmm?” Chris again, trying to be the voice of reason. If there was such a thing. “I can’t. I start on set next week. I just can’t. Please understand. This is something I have to do.” “Well, I guess that’s all there is to say,” Chris snapped before ending the call. JC’s chin dropped to his chest. He was numb--at a loss--not ready to give it up yet. A loud sob pierced the room and he turned his head to see tears falling down Justin’s face. “Shit,” he growled, crawling over to comfort. “Shit, shit, shit!” he said as Justin sobbed in his arms. ***************************** In his home, Lance sat staring at the dead phone. He watched Joey pick up his keys and adjust his baseball cap. “I’m going to get shit faced now,” he said tightly. “See ya around.” He slammed the front door on the way out, leaving Lance alone. “I had to do it,” he whispered. “I don’t have a choice. It’s for your own good. To protect you.” He curled up on the couch and let the tears fill his eyes. They fell, one after the other onto his shirt--endless tears that he didn’t even try to stop. His chest hurt from the pain his friends felt. Helplessness was settling deep inside of him, turning him black. No one gave him a choice--the threats were clear. He was to quit N Sync. Lying in a fetal position, he squeezed his eyes shut and sobbed. The tears continued to plummet, taking with them all the torture he held inside. All the disillusionment and grief that no one could see. She had raped him of everything. This was the final joy in his life--his music and his friends. Now they were a faded memory. And she was his future. // continue // // menu //