Date: Sat, 19 Aug 2000 03:02:34 -0500
From: Kimmer <justme@astound.net>
Subject: Playing For Keeps #3 {Kimmer} {MM Celebrity Boy-Band} [3!?]

Ok, first off: I know, I know...this took way too long to get out and I
want to apologize for that.  I could give you a long list of excuses but
that's not really important. Suffice it to say, I'll try my best not to let
this much time pass between future chapters!! Thanks for your patience
everybody!!

Now a couple of things I'd like to address:

Yes, there will be a love story.  But again I ask your patience, we're not
there yet! But it is coming (very soon), I promise.  But be warned, this is
truly more of a thriller/suspense story.

And No, I am not writing Nsync's biography. (Man, wouldn't that be sad...)
That means I am not trying to stick to the facts. I am bending the
characters, real or otherwise, to fit my story.  So please bare with the
inaccuracies you find regarding the personal lives of Nsync and their
families.  I assure you they are intentional.

Standard warning to get out of the way: Yep, it's still dark.  But
remember, it's important to the plot, but it is not the sole plot! (Which
by the way really hasn't even started yet.) Not even close!  So consider it
like a prologue, and bare with me, I promise it gets a lot more intriguing
as we go on.  Remember things aren't always what they seem! **WINK**

Disclaimer: This story is a complete work of fiction.  It implies nothing
about the sexual orientation, beliefs, thoughts or actions of the real
members of NSync.  While it is not a "pure sex" story, if you are under 18
or offended by male/male relationships, please go away.

A quick personal note to a GREAT friend of mine and a very talented writer:
Evan, thank you for being such a wonderful friend to me.  You are my one
and only Other Half...I treasure your company on those long writing nights,
you make me laugh, you keep me inspired, and you're the only God who can
keep me in line.  I don't know what I'd do without you!! I better never
find out either...Thems Orders, you hear !! Luv ya Twin!! You're the best!

By the way, if you haven't checked out the story Justin's Dark Angel, I
HIGHLY recommend it.  It's a very suspenseful story with a unique
plot. It's incredible. Check it out! You won't be disappointed!

Thanks for all the positive feedback!  I was overwhelmed and undeserving,
Thank You!

Anyway, any and all feedback is welcome! I'd love to hear what you think.
Send it to Justme@astound.net.  Now on with the story!



Playing For Keeps

Chapter 3

The sun found it's zenith at roughly twelve thirty in the afternoon, so
that now, almost two hours later, it fulfilled it's promise of another
blisteringly hot February day. Guiding his car smoothly to a stop in the
private parking space hidden behind his office, Gabe braced himself against
the heat waiting ominously on the other side of his car door.  Instantly
tiny beads of sweat formed across his forehead. Looking back on it, maybe
the gabardine suit and lined jacket were a bad choice. God, he loathed the
heat. Always had. Why he chose to live in Orlando, he'd never know.  Why
he'd stayed was what the kids referred to as a "no brainer." He'd struck
gold. Or at the very least; a golden child.

Leaning inside the vehicle, Gabe grabbed the briefcase that lay carefully
on the passenger's seat.  Another gift from his wife. It served more as a
prop than anything else.  He carried it diligently each day to and from
work, but if truth be told, it was usually empty.  Well, except for an
engraved gold pen, a legal writing pad, a half empty bottle of Tums, and
the occasional "hobby" item he'd purchase as a secret addition to that
locked cabinet drawer.  Today, it held only the office supplies.

Shutting the car door gently, he fumbled with the keys in his hand until he
finally heard the melodic "beep" of the automatic door lock.  Catching a
glimpse of himself in the tinted car window, he juggled the briefcase
awkwardly while simultaneously trying to button his suit, wrestle with the
bold violet tie hanging loosely about his neck, and meticulously brush off
a few stray pieces of lint from his jacket.  Completely adjusted, he turned
sideways. Sucking in his stomach ever so slightly, he took mental inventory
of his well orchestrated image. Appearance was everything. That, and a
killer smile. He flashed one of his highly rehearsed "Consider me your best
friend" smiles now and continued to give himself the once over in the
window.

**Not bad, Gabriel, not bad at all.**

With that, he took out a small linen handkerchief, patted the sweat from
his forehead and entered his office building using the back door.

Long ago he discovered the advantages to coming in the back way.  Not only
did he avoid running into any unwanted, untalented "make me a star"
wannabes hiding in the lobby, but it also allowed him to sneak in and out
of his own office undetected.  And that little trick served him well on
more than one occasion.  This time however, Gabe bypassed his office in
Suite 9, and although it wasn't really his planned destination, he couldn't
help but pause momentarily to dwell outside the basically empty Suite 8.
Musing over the events of two days ago, he fought to suppress a chuckle
causing his flushed face to contort strangely.  Lurid excitement rushed
over Gabe once again; his body physically anticipating it's next
liaison. He would have to wait of course. Lance was a good thing and if you
want a good thing to last, you can't rush it.  Especially if it's already
in a fragile state. Admittedly, things had gotten a bit out of control last
time...especially towards the end.  HE had gotten out of control. Something
snapped, he almost went too far and the kid got hurt.  More so than
usual. Not that he cared. Luckily screaming prepubescent girls could hardly
be considered a discriminating group. As long as Lance could still sing,
dance and look pretty when he needed to, the cash register would continue
to ring.  Besides if the kid suffered a little bruising from time to time
it was just part of the game. The whole point really. Degrading someone
until they were nothing more than a pleading, crying pile of flesh.  Ahhh,
to be the one in control, now THAT was the ultimate rush.

Looking back on it, up until the end, the entire encounter came off as a
well orchestrated thing of beauty.  Gabe let out a wicked sneer in honor of
the memory. What boy doesn't deserve something special on his eighteenth
birthday?  Being the great guy he was, it was virtually expected that he
give Justin a present he'd never forget.  No matter how hard he tried.  And
to think Justin wasn't even his true target. Not this time. Pulling it off
on his birthday was just a fluke really, icing on the cake. Because truth
be told, Lance was his real focus that day. They played the usual game:
Gabe being the ever domineering, demeaning and stern participant, Lance
simply doing as he was told.  But this time he added a new twist and it
proved to be very...well...arousing.  In fact, he'd enjoyed every minute of
it. And even if he looked the part, he was never actually angry. Not real
anger. Not even when the little bastard puked his guts out all over the
floor. Watching Lance's pale body convulse Gabe actually found himself
smiling; more than pleased by the reaction his newest torment invoked in
the boy.

So what possessed him, just seconds later, to get so violent? What he did
to that boy went beyond the usual slap and it couldn't really be labeled
'paddling' either. Even if the flat wooden board was the weapon
involved. No, he'd viciously attacked Lance. His backside anyway. But what
frightened him most was he hadn't stopped until he saw blood. And even then
it took him a moment and a few deep cleansing breaths to regain his
senses. Staring hesitantly at the paddle in his hand, he'd immediately
dropped it to the floor afraid of what might happen if it remained in his
possession. It was almost as a second thought that his cold eyes fell to
the mangled figure lying at his feet. The young man held one arm
protectively around his body, awaiting the next blow; the other hand fought
to clear the mixture of tears, snot, and saliva from his face. On the brink
of hyperventilating, Gabe could tell Lance was struggling to say something,
but only odd sounding sobs escaped his lips.

Thoroughly repulsed by the display in front of him, Gabe moved to the
corner of the room, shaking slightly. But it wasn't concern for the boy
that made him shutter, quite frankly, what Lance was feeling was irrelevant
to him. It was his ultimate loss of control that alarmed him the most; a
flash to a part of his past he wanted forgotten. He closed his eyes and ran
his hands through his thick hair.

**Jesus, how far might he have gone. Would he have let it happen again? **

Unable to concentrate due to the quiet moans coming from behind him, he
calmly ordered the kid to "shut up." At this point there was no reason to
yell.  Pointing to the pile of crumpled clothes in the middle of the floor,
he watched as Lance labored slow and painfully to get dressed.  Once
completely clothed, minus the vomit soaked t-shirt he kept in his hand,
Lance stood obediently in the middle of the room, still at the mercy of the
man in front of him.  For a solid five minutes Gabe said nothing, allowing
the silence to amplify under his insensitive stare. Finally, fearing Lance
might actually collapse, Gabe moved forward. He stopped directly in front
of the blond and reached into his pocket.  Hearing Lance gasp nervously, he
pressed his finger against the boy's lips.

"Shhhh."

He pulled out a small tissue and gently dabbed the tears from Lance's
bloodshot green eyes. Feeling the fragile young body trembled beneath his
touch, Gabe wondered if it was fear or pain that caused him to shake like
that. He liked either explanation.  After returning the tissue to his own
pocket, Gabe reach his hand around to the back of Lance's head. Entangling
his fingers in the fine blond hair, he affectionately pulled the boy's face
close to his own, as if trying to end the encounter with a passionate
kiss. But instead, he moved past those tender young lips and maliciously
pressed his mouth against Lance's ear.

"You understand this is all your fault. You brought this on yourself."
Releasing his grip, he backed away and watched in utter disbelief as the
blond quietly shook his head in agreement.

Now two days later, positioned in the hall outside that very room, Gabe
reveled in the amount of power he possessed.  **I've committed the perfect
sin.** That's what made this whole sordid affair such a beautiful thing;
he'd made sure all the players shared the blame; felt equally
deserving. And they all wanted to keep it a secret. Humiliation was the
ultimate weapon and he unconsciously thanked God, the Devil or any other
Deity responsible for creating it...it kept those boys in check and him in
control. He had a long, stimulating future in front of him.  Basically he
was untouchable.

Composing himself, Gabe focused on the task at hand, his current priority.
Pausing only for a quick sip from the drinking fountain, he moved straight
to the front desk located in the reception area. There as expected sat
Sheila hard at work, her fingers moving at mach speed across the keyboard.
He wondered absently what she could possibly be working on.  She was HIS
personal secretary, she'd been gone for over a week and to his
recollection, he'd left no real work for her.  But he dismissed the thought
quickly. It was Sheila after all. She'd been with him from the beginning
and god knows she understood the mechanics of the office better than he
did.  Whatever held her attention must be necessary.  Besides, experience
taught him better than to question this feisty, lay-it-on- the-line
brunette.

They were both employed by Tambro Records back when he was just
establishing himself within the music industry. She worked for one of the
senior VP's as an executive secretary, he worked for another as a
Promotions Assistant. At the time, they were thrown together on more
projects than he cared to remember. And no matter what the issue, they
always seemed to lock heads. She stood up to him, bullied him, proved him
wrong at every turn and she did it with the respect and adoration of all
those around her.  He hated her. And the feeling was more than
mutual. That's why, when the time came to spread his wings, to branch out
on his own, she was the first and only person he asked to come with him.
She accepted the offer without hesitation, and they'd work as team ever
since.  Ten years and counting. Sure he was the boss, but most of the time
it felt like she was the ring master running the show. She kept it
organized.

Quietly moving up behind her, he gave the waiting area an obligatory
glance.  Thankfully they were alone.  The stiff blue chairs lining the
edges of the room sat desolate, apparently word of Nsync's return to
Orlando had not yet hit the news.  Reaching into his jacket pocket, Gabe
pulled out a small sliver box dressed simply with a yellow bow, and placed
it on the desk alongside her.  If her fingers paused on the keyboard even
momentarily, he never saw it.

"What did the temp girl botch this time?"  Her gaze remained unchanged,
locked on the computer screen, her voice tense.

"Excuse me?"

"You can't possibly think that your little trinket there will work as a
bribe, do you?"

"It's nice to see you again too, Sheila." He leaned in close behind her,
his hot breath just inches from her ear. "But I'm afraid you lost me...why
am I bribing you again?"  Picking up the gift, he leaned over her, a bit
too closely, and gently set it down on the keyboard this time, interrupting
her typing. She signed exasperated.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to hire from that budget rate
temp agency?"

The question was basically a redundant one, but Gabe felt compelled to
answer it anyway. "What do you mean, 'budget rate'?"

"Oh please! You always hire some pretty young gal with no experience and
big breasts to ogle over and then what happens? I return to a stack of
papers and some big mess to clean up!" She turned to confront him, her
hardened face just inches from his own. She never even blinked.  "This is
your mess Gabe, whatever it is, you can clean it up."

When they were alone, she always called him Gabe.

He held his ground, invading her space.  His own eyes danced with delight
as he lost himself in hers. "Do you know how radiant those fiery green eyes
of yours are when your being paranoid?" He lowered his voice and whispered
seductively, "Right now, they're simply exquisite, Sheila."

Weighted silence filled the room.

Then a burst of laughter erupted from deep within her, effectively
dismissing his rather corny come-on.  She crossed her arms over her chest,
as she leaned back into her chair, pulling away from him. Her smile
lingered.  "Nice try. What's in the box?"

He relaxed, leaned against the desk, and returned her smile.  The game was
over.  She was softening, her frustration and anger vented. Flirting with
her meant nothing and they both knew it. Although truth be told, at five
years her junior, Sheila found him more than a little attractive.

 "Well, my dear, consider it a 'welcome home' trinket. Not a bribe. At this
point, I'm unaware of any messes that need cleaning up."

She frowned slightly and glared at the large pile of papers lying on the
desk in front of her.

He caught the look.  "I mean, MY messes." Then, picking the briefcase up
off the floor, he looked down the hall. "Is Lynn Timberlake back from lunch
yet?"

"She arrived about twenty minutes ago I'd say.  Would you like me to ring
her?"  Sheila was holding the gift to her ear and shaking it.

"No, I'll stop by her office on the way to my own.." With that, Gabe turned
his back to Sheila and started down the short hallway.

"Hey Gabe, tell your wife I appreciate the gift...whatever it is." She
turned back to the computer, and once again the rhythmic tapping of the
keyboard filled the office.  For now the small package remained unopened,
tucked safely away in her top desk drawer.

He simply smirked, he had no idea what was in the box either.

"Is the coffee fresh?" he called over his shoulder.

"Of course."

"When your bring it; forget the cream."

"Not even on your death bed."

It was their ritual, he always asked and she never brought it.  Not once.
A genuine smile slid across his face. Things were looking good: Sheila was
back, the routine restored. So no surprises in that area.  The boys were in
town, he had a few surprises planned for them; well some of them. And as
for one Ms.  Timberlake...well she was about to get the surprise of her
life.

                          *********************************

"I swear JC if you make us eat at one more Hard Rock Café, I'm
personally going to take that menu collection of yours and shove it down
your skinny little throat!" Chris groaned following Joey into the backseat
of Justin's car.  Then in unison four car doors slammed shut; punctuating
the comment.

"Hey, you had your chance! I asked you guys where you wanted to eat and as
usual, all I got was a collective dumb ass stare."  JC placed his hand over
his heart taking mock offense to the complaint. "Being the great guy I am,
I stepped up to the plate, cuz god knows SOMEBODY had to take control! And
THIS is the thanks I get?"

The car grew quiet. He was right. Without him, the three of them would
still be sitting around the kitchen table staring at each other: Bored and
starving.

"Fine...you fed us. You get all the credit for this gas bubble working it's
way through my system. Happy now?" Chris moaned as he fought uncomfortably
to get the seat buckle across his hips.  He was loosing the battle.

"Your undying gratitude is all I ask." JC joked smugly, until he felt the
palm of Chris' hand come from behind to smack him upside the head.

"Ow!!"  He rubbed his temple feigning real injury.  "Rough crowd.  Now I
remember why we usually let Lance organize these 'friendly' outings of
ours.  Hey, that reminds me, has anyone heard from him today?  I tried to
call him earlier, but all I got was his machine."

Again the car grew silent.  Each boy shaking his head.

"Man, I guess this stomach bug really hit him hard, huh? Hey Justin..."
Chris leaned forward, resting his chin on the seat in front of him, "you
were the last one to see him... how'd he look when you brought him home on
Saturday?  Pretty bad off?"

**You have no idea.**

Instantly the memory of Lance's swollen eye and tear stained face flashed
before Justin.  But he pushed it aside and managed to force a fairly
sincere smile.  "You mean albino boy? He always looks bad...who can tell?"
Laughter flooded the car. It was an inside joke between the four of them; a
reference to the early days when the guys first met Lance. If ever anyone
needed a make over, a real wardrobe and to "turn it up a notch"... it was
Lance.  Wholesome, shy, naïve, small town Lance.

"Man that is sooo true. Isn't there some sort of saying...you can take the
boy out of Mississippi, but you need to beat the shit out of him before
he'd kick that 'country hick.'" The statement was supposed to be funny.
And maybe it was.  Everyone else sure seemed to think so.  Everybody except
Justin. His face went stone cold, his stomach suddenly doing aerobics
without the benefit of the rest of his body.  Breathing in deeply through
his nose, he concentrated all his energy on swallowing the bile and half
digested remnants from lunch that rose hot and burning against the back of
his throat. Joey was only playing around, building on the joke Justin
himself started. He knew that. But Justin found nothing in that comment
even remotely amusing.  This time he couldn't even fake a smile, instead he
busied himself by starting the engine and pulling out of the parking lot;
pointing the car in the direction of home.

Suppressing his laughter, JC glanced at the boy sitting next to him.  The
look on Justin's face was serious and somber; his mind obviously focused
somewhere else. That was happening a lot lately. He reached out, touching
Justin on the shoulder. Allowing his hand to lingering only momentarily, JC
felt each muscle in Justin's arm tighten under his touch; the reflexive
move of someone guarding five small bruises from further harm.

Not that JC could have known that. "Hey J, you okay?"

Weaving in and out of traffic, Justin glanced in the review mirror, as if
preoccupied with the activities of the white Jeep Cherokee following
closely behind him. In doing so, he caught a quick glimpse of his backseat
passengers: Chris' beady eyes were burning a hole in the back of his head,
Joey on the other hand, diverted his stare uneasily out the side
window. Justin felt a surge of anger well up inside him. So JC wasn't the
only busy body in the car.

They were all waiting for an answer he was never going to give.

With every essence of his being he wanted to stop the car, right then and
there, get out in the middle of the four lane highway, raise his head to
the sky and scream in the deepest, most guttural, demonic voice imaginable,
"Would everybody just leave me the fuck alone!!"

But he didn't.

Instead, he concealed his anger and decided to try a more effective
approach.  He'd act surprised and cocky. Hell, nobody would question
that. "Who me?!  Of course I'm fine! Please...I AM the one and only Justin
Timberlake. Need I say more?" Keeping one eye on the road Justin turned to
face his fellow bandmates and flashed them what he'd long ago termed his
"boxed set": A wide, boyish grin combined with that devilish gleam in eyes
he could manifest at the drop of a hat. It was practiced, polished and
drove the fans wild.  Even these guys: his closest friends, his brothers,
the people who knew his best; never questioned it's sincerity.  Probably
because it used to be for real. But that was a long time ago.

"Ohhhh Man..." Chris collapsed against his seat. Over exaggerating his
every move, he tossed his head back and rolled his eyes. "Would somebody
please find a leash for pretty boy's ego! I think it's time we got it under
control..."

This time Justin laughed. Partly for real, partly because it was what they
expected, and partly because if he didn't JC would never get off his back.

It worked. The tension in the car faded, quickly replaced by lighthearted
jabs at each others expense.  Justin slipped into the banter easily.  It
was familiar, comfortable and allowed him to be himself. But most
importantly, it wasn't intrusive.  His thoughts and feelings, as screwed up
as they may be, were all he had left to call his own.  He'd be damned if he
was going to be forced to give them away too.

                          ***************************

Less than 25 minutes later, Justin found himself once again standing by the
picture window in the living room, peering out at the backyard.  This time
there were no streamers or balloons, no crowds of people and God willing,
no phone calls.  And that suited Justin just fine. Watching Chris, Joey, a
Nerf football and some sort of one-on-one football game involving drowning
the opponent were all the entertainment he could handle. They'd begged him
to join them, and under normal circumstances, in this heat he'd have raced
them to the pool. And at first he'd actually agreed. But somewhere between
the top of the stairs and the door to his bedroom, he remembered the
bruises.  Disappointed, he briefly contemplated whether or not wearing a
shirt into the pool was an option, but in the end, he decided it was just
too risky.  So he made up some excuse about suddenly feeling too tired,
which was kind of true too, and backed out.  Now standing by himself, he
suddenly felt very heavy, like he'd been handed a lead weight.  To an
outsider, Justin's demeanor would probably be interpreted as a longing to
join his friends outside, but that really wasn't the problem.  Moving away
from the window, Justin returned to the exact spot he'd occupied for well
over three hours earlier this morning. The sofa.  Picking up the remote
from the coffee table in front of him, he clicked on the television.
Seeing the image appear on the screen, he couldn't help but let out a small
laugh.  Unbelievably, the cartoons were still on. So much for being just a
Saturday morning thing. Then abruptly his smile faded, remembering more
than just the cartoons from earlier today.  Replaying the scene in his
head, a fresh wave of guilt washed over him.

His mom was only trying to say good bye...

Sounds of early morning preparation filled the upstairs. Justin followed
her in his mind as she went from room to room, attending to minor details
before leaving for work and, he assumed, searching for him. Her soft voice
called out to him from the top of the stairs, then again from somewhere
down the hall. But Justin simply ignored her. Moments later he listened to
the dainty clip clop of her heels as she stepped from the kitchen out onto
the patio; her unsuccessful hunt for him continuing into the backyard. As
he heard the faint echo of "Jellybean" bounce across the pool, Justin
envisioned her systematically going from the basketball court, passed the
tin shed they liked to call a game room, around back to her herb
garden...even though he ever spent any time there...and finally entering
the garage.  At this point she would be checking for his car.  And she
would find it.  It was her familiar search route and living with three boys
made it a well traveled one.

Momentarily, things grew quiet. No sounds in the yard, no foot steps in the
house, not even the shutting of the door.  Nothing.  Then ten minutes into
the silence, the sliding of the patio door and a very softly spoken "Justin
Randall" signaled her return to the house.  She was no longer calling to
him. At this point the name was synonymous with worry and
frustration. Sitting in the family room separated from her by only a wall,
Justin bit his bottom lip as her overwhelming concern ricocheted through
his head. Still he ignored her. It's not like the house was that big,
eventually she would find him, but he was going to make her do all the
work.

It didn't make sense, not even to him.  Just moments before, when she spoke
of leaving for Europe, all he wanted was to spend time with her.  Now, as
lonely as he felt, he was pushing her away.

Trying to escape the heaviness in his chest, he faced the television once
more and willed himself into a trace-like state. It wasn't hard really, he
loved cartoons, always had.  That's the thing about cartoons: You can lose
yourself in their world for hours without so much as a single thought
entering your mind.  And it was a world where no one gets hurt. No matter
what happens to them, a cartoon character bounces right back. **Neat
trick.** With his eyes locked on the television in front of him, his
attention bounced between his mom and the LooneyToons. She was shuffling
through papers somewhere in the kitchen, Wyle E.Coyote was falling off a
cliff.

Then without warning she entered the living room and stopped suddenly,
stunned that he could have been that close to her this whole time.  Justin
was laying on his side, spread across the couch.  He refused to look away
from the screen, but felt her stare gauging him. She stood motionless
waiting for him to say something.  He didn't.  Finally, with a small sigh,
she simply walked in front of him and crouched down; purposely blocking his
view. Great. Now he had no choice but to acknowledge her.  She played this
game better than him...she always did.

"I called everywhere for you. Didn't you hear me?"

He shrugged but remained silent.  Still avoiding her gaze, he turned his
attention to the small golden pendant swinging hypnotically from around her
neck.

Her eyes narrowed dramatically.  Even out of the corner of his eye, he
could see it.  "I thought we settled this?"

**Please just leave it alone. Leave ME alone...Your going to anyway.**

He pushed out a loud breath, annoyed. He wasn't particularly talkative at
the moment. "Mom...I didn't say anything."

"My point exactly." She moved in; struggling to make eye contact.

He groaned inwardly. "What do you WANT from me?" The tone was harsh and
accusing...more so than he intended.  Rolling onto his back, Justin closed
his eyes, dreading her response.

"I WANT you to be okay with this.  Honestly?  I really don't understand
what's going on here, Justin. The moodiness...the early hours...forgetting
entire conversations...And frankly I don't have the time to sit here and
hound you about it."  She glanced at the watch he'd given her just weeks
earlier for Christmas. "Ugh. I've got to go..." She stood up carefully,
using the arm of the sofa to stay balanced on her high heels. "I really
need to prepare for a meeting scheduled this afternoon."

Ah...saved by the bell! Eager to move away from the conversation at hand,
he clung to the new subject, smiling. "Oh yeah?  Is that Mayflower hottie
going to be there? What's her name again? Sasha? Sandra?"

She leaned down to kiss him, "Nope...It's with Gabe."

Justin's world went black. The name hitting him like a blow to the stomach.
Suddenly it was two days ago and he was back in that office, reliving it
all: The suffocating pressure of Gabe's body crushing his own, the painful,
probing touch of his fingers, the frigid breeze of the air conditioning
against his bare skin, even the scent of his cologne mixed with the lemon
oil polish on the desk.  The entire flashback took only a second, but it
was horribly vivid, and once again Justin lost control of his own
body...victimized for the second time by a man who wasn't even in the
room. When it was happening for real, he wasn't allowed to react; he
couldn't flinch or push away...one of Gabe's rules. But this time his
reaction was unmistakable.  His face twisted in disgust as his body
shuttered, repelling violently against the memories. Even the couch visibly
shook.

As if on cue, he felt the liberating warmth of his mom's lips bash clumsily
against his forehead; pulling him back to the safety of his own home AND
the reality that he wasn't alone. She'd witnessed his little tirade!  Sheer
panic ran through him like a live wire, awakening every nerve in his
body. It was as though he was on fire.  Frantically he struggled to sit
up. How was he going to explain that?! **Damnit! Damnit! Damnit!**
Embarrassed and scared, he immediately searched her face for...for...what?
Understanding? Recognition? An explanation?  Right...as if she could
actually provide any of those for him.

And that's when Justin saw it.  Taken aback by his obvious rejection of
her, she stood frozen in place, stunned.  Her eyes filled with despair; a
sadness unlike any he had seen before.

**Oh god, she thinks I pulled away from her touch...from her.**

This time he really hurt her. "Mom, I didn't..."

"No, Justin." Her voice was firm, but her touch extremely gentle as she
wiped away the smudged lipstick left on his forehead.  "Clearly you don't
understand how much I want this.  How much I really NEED this. You know
full well that my leaving has nothing to do with my love for you."
Justin's eyes instantly fell to the floor, he never could face her when she
scolded him.  Unfazed by his reaction she continued on, "Pouting stopped
working when you were five. So as I see it, it's time for you to grow up
and find a way to deal with the situation." She paused, contemplating her
next words.  "Your being incredibly selfish...You have no idea how
disappointed I am in you right now."  She acted tough, but those were tears
she was blinking back.  Justin swore he saw one fall as she turned to
leave.

Before stepping outside, she look back at the almost lifeless figure lying
on the sofa.  Her only son.  She didn't know what to do.  Something was
wrong and it wasn't an illness and it wasn't excitement about vacation
time, of that she was certain. He looked small lying there. She wanted
nothing more than to scoop him into her arms like a child, hold him tight,
kiss him where it hurt and tell him everything would be alright.  But she
fought the instinct, Justin was a man now, and he needed to act like
one. Still...maybe she was being too hard on him.

"I'll see you at rehearsal tonight...if you still want me there."

He should have apologized.  He should have reassured her.  He should have
at least looked in her direction.  But a quiet "Yeah, whatever" was all he
could manage.

Then he heard the door shut...He should have said good-bye.

**Don't worry mom...I'm disappointed in me too...**

Clutching the small sofa pillow that lay along side him, he covered his
face to muffle the impending scream. "Ugh! Get a grip Timberlake! Your
losing it..."

Why was he having so much trouble moving past it this time? By now it
should be buried conveniently next to all the other vicious memories he
kept lost inside his mind.  Really for him, this time wasn't any worse than
before. Sure it was horrible. It was always horrible; every time. But he'd
learned to put it behind him. Not that he had a choice really. Refusing to
let the images to the surface was the only way he found to survive.

It was a game of make believe really. Just like he pretended to be a
fireman when he was six. Now it was the same idea. Pretending it never
happened; pretending he was normal; pretending to be the Justin Timberlake
everyone expected. That was the game plan. But this time, someone changed
the rules, the game plan wasn't working. Thinking back on it, maybe time
was the culprit.  With Nsync touring for much of the last eight weeks, it
was nearly impossible for Gabe to get to them. There was one terrifying day
back in December when he made a surprise appearance in New York. They were
scheduled to tape a segment for the Morning Show, when the green room door
burst open and out of nowhere, Gabe walked in. He claimed he was simply "in
the area" and wanted to say hello. Of course, both he and Lance exchanged
worried glances; suspicious of Gabe's true motivations. And they broke out
in a cold sweat when Joey happily insisted that Gabe spend the next two
days with them.  But strangely enough, he held true to his word and behaved
like the old Gabe. The father figure Justin once admired and respected,
even loved.  Lance agreed. There were no snide comments, no trying to get
them alone, not so much as a misplaced glance in either boy's direction.
At one point Justin actually found himself genuinely laughing at a joke
Gabe told.

Was that it? Had he fooled himself that it was over...it would never happen
again?

Was he really that stupid?

Blinking slow and hard, Justin forced himself back to the present. His
attention drifting to the clock on the VCR. Was that right? By now his mom
usually called.  At least once.

Mulling it over once more, maybe he was punishing his mother for leaving
him.  He didn't know. But he knew it wasn't fair and it really wasn't her
fault either.  She had responsibilities; a job to do. And that meant she
had to leave.  Nobody understood that better than him; his whole career
centered around him leaving. Why had he acted like such a baby this
morning?

With the remote still in his hand, he quickly clicked off the
television. Elmer Fud would just have to capture Bugs Bunny without him. He
stood up, taking the still untouched glass of orange juice he'd left behind
earlier this morning with him.  Moving into the kitchen, he dumped the
entire glass down the drain and set it next to his cereal bowl in the sink.
He could hear his mom scolding him now, "Justin, how many times do you have
to be told? You don't leave your dirty dishes in the sink. We have a
dishwasher. Use it." But she wasn't here and he'd get around to it
later. Then in the quiet of mid-afternoon, he sat on the stairs feeling
very much alone.  Of course he wasn't really alone.  The heat prevented him
from sitting outside with Chris and Joey, but JC was in the downstairs
'music room' working on something. Probably a new song. Maybe he'd join him
for a little while.  Kill some time before they needed to meet with the
choreographer, Darren, who decided it was time to change a few things
around.  As he put it, something "just wasn't working on stage." Which
interpreted as, "your looking like bumbling idiots in public."

Justin walked carefully down the steep set of stairs into the basement.
Converting a room of the house into a place to create and play music was
really JC's idea. And early on, he christened the space as "the music
room," although in reality it was nothing more spectacular than a fourth
bedroom.  And a small bedroom at that.  But JC loved this place, and spent
as much time as possible in front of the keyboard that was really the only
musical instrument in the room.  He called it his haven, his sanctuary.
The rest of the group called it, "The Joshua Cave."  With the door left
partly open, Justin could see JC sitting in his usual spot, but he was
talking on the phone, not playing music.  The door creaked softly as Justin
pushed it open a little farther, and leaned against the frame, listening
in.  JC turned around at the sound and waved his best friend
inside. Smiling, Justin ignored the invitation and stayed where he was.

"No, Darren changed the rehearsal to six....You sure?...Okay, cuz you know
if your still sick, we can do it without you. Or even reschedule it. It's
no problem, you know?"  Well that answered that; he was talking to
Lance. "Nope, that's fine. I'll just pick you up on my way over there...No
really, I was gonna leave early anyway.  Sheila called. She's got a box of
memorabilia crap we all need to get autographed before the end of the week,
so I thought I'd run by the office and pick it up." JC broke off, allowing
Lance back into the conversation.  Looking at Justin, he rolled his eyes
and shook his hand violently, faking the all-to-familiar hand cramp that
always accompanied the never-ending autograph sessions.  Justin laughed out
loud.

Again JC returned his attention to the phone, "Hey why don't I pick you up
first? You can come with me to the office and... " Justin watched JC's face
twist in confusion as Lance stopped that idea in it's tracks.  "Uh...okay.
Whatever you want...I guess I'll just pick you up afterward then...well
Justin's here, so I'm gonna go.  How about I see you in..."  JC looked at
his watch, "let's say one hour.  Does that work for you?...Sounds
good. Alright...bye."

JC closed his cell phone, that perplexed look still plaguing his face.
"That was strange.  It's like he went ballistic at the thought of me
picking him up first.  I don't get it..."

It made perfect sense to Justin. But he played along, "Well he's been sick
and all. He probably just doesn't want to do anymore running around than
necessary, you know?"

"Yeah...I guess."  JC was still hesitant, "Say you want to go over to the
office with me?"

**Not a chance in hell.** "Naw. I think I'll just hang out here.  Maybe
take a nap or somethin', then meet you guys over there.  Chris and Joey
were still in the pool when I came down here, so they'll probably just want
to ride over with me. You said six o'clock, right?"

"Yeah, six."  JC sounded disappointed, but Justin got up and left the room
quickly, before he could press the issue any further. There was absolutely
no way he was going to chance a run in with Gabe, even if it just meant
passing him in the hall.


Lying on his side in bed, Lance clicked off the receiver, his hand crashing
down alongside him as if the weight of the phone was too much for him to
bear. Then slowly forcing himself up into a standing position, he walked
toward the bathroom.  The phone laying forgotten somewhere under the bed
sheets.  He'd lost another 24 hours of his life. Unfortunately it wasn't
the day of Justin's party.  That quite possibly stood as the worst day of
his young life, but he remembered every sickening minute of it. No,
yesterday was the missing day.  Most of it was a hazy blur of sleep.
Interrupted only briefly by a single trip to the bathroom, a failed attempt
at eating lunch and a few phone calls.  Most of which he ignored.  His
mother called sometime in the middle of the afternoon.  At least he assumed
it was his mom, the caller ID actually read JIM BASS, but that was very
unlikely.  He'd never really know; he didn't answer it and whoever it was
left no message. He almost hit the 'talk' button when he saw the name, but
decided against it.  This time he might not be able to put on a happy face
and be the son she expected to hear. This time she might hear his pain.  So
instead he made a mental note to call her later and quickly forced himself
to return to the black security of sleep.

Thankfully, it was an intense, almost comatose slumber.  Probably induced
by the mixture of exhaustion and pain pills.  He never took pain
medication, prescribed or otherwise.  Even when he'd hurt himself during
that stupid bull-fighting mishap in Cancun.  But Justin found the pills
hidden way in the back of the medicine cabinet and practically forced them
on him.  He'd held strong and refused. Lying to Justin, who quite honestly
wasn't buying it, that he was feeling "okay."  But then Justin left.  And
with no one to busy his thoughts or be strong for, with only himself to
focus on, the night became long and painful.  His back throbbed so severely
he could only sleep for minutes at a time.  And even those minutes were
spent dozing on and off on the bathroom floor due to half a dozen episodes
of dry heaves that threatened to kept him there permanently.  So with all
this working against him, somewhere in the middle of the night his resolve
wavered and he took the pills. In the end he was glad he did.

Even now, seven hours since his last dose, he was still feeling a bit fuzzy
and lightheaded, but the effects were wearing off fast. Entering the
bathroom, Lance yawned trying in vain to suppress the coinciding stretch
that always seemed to follow. Ultimately permitting his arms to rise above
his head, he whimpered as each muscle in his back cried out in protest.
Yep, the pain medication was definitely wearing off.  He studied the clock
next to the sink.  If he could just make it through the next four
hours...maybe less...he'd be able to take another one of those small pink
capsules and sink once again into a deep, black, painless sleep. It was
that thought; that hope of returning to unconsciousness, that kept him
moving forward now.  That and the idea of JC standing at his doorway
sometime in the next forty-five minutes.

Leaning in very close to the mirror, Lance carefully examined the
sensitive, inflamed area under his left eye.  He'd avoided looking at it
ever since that night. Optimistically hoping that by the time he did, it
would be gone.  It wasn't.  Hiding the marks on his body had become almost
routine, but his face?  That had never happened before.

But this last time, Gabe told him to do the impossible; he told him to
watch.  Or more accurately, to lie on his back, his legs forced apart and
stare into the icy cold eyes of a man he used to trust, while feeling his
body being ravaged.  He didn't have the ability to escape inside his mind
like Justin did.  So it was the only piece of security he had left; to be
able to close his eyes and block out the reality of what was happening to
him. And now Gabe managed to rape him of that too. Lance wanted to do it;
to keep his eyes open, telling himself: **Just do whatever it takes not to
get Gabe mad.** But it was SO HARD.  Instinctively he would look to the
side or stare at the ceiling, until finally his eyes slipped closed on
their own accord. Then abruptly, he'd feel the sting of a reprimanding slap
across his face. His eyes would pop open and the agonizing cycle would
begin again. Before it was over, he suffered five or six blows to his left
eye. He lost count after four.

It was the most horrendous thing Gabe ever forced him to do. And as
difficult as staring into Gabe's eyes was, the truly sickening part, the
part that still invoked waves of nausea inside him, was knowing Gabe was
staring back into his, mocking him, laughing at his torment.  He stole a
window into his thoughts, his fears, his very soul.  It was surrendering to
this monster, allowing him to conquer his body, peer into his soul and
count the tears sliding down his face that haunted Lance's waking hours.
Another reason he struggled to stay in the murky emptiness of sleep; Gabe
couldn't see his eyes.

Standing in his bathroom, thinking back on it now, Lance felt his body
break out in a cold sweat. **Stop it Lance, it's over...just move on.**
Well there was no mistaken that it was injured, but at least the eye wasn't
actually black and blue. When the time came, he'd have to come up with some
sort of cover story, but for now he'd brave the shower, praying the hot
water would feel good against his skin.  If not, without the aid of those
little pills, it would be the shortest shower in history.


                           ************************

Thirty-five minutes later, fully dressed and standing next to the kitchen
table, Lance waited out JC's arrival with a frozen waffle in hand.  Jumping
around on the dance floor was going to be tough enough, doing it on a empty
stomach would be unbearable.  Edgar, the doorman, rang up just moments ago
to inform him that JC was on his way up. Finally. The clock on the
microwave put JC about fifteen minutes late already, and Lance didn't want
this night to last any longer than necessary.

Waiting until he could hear JC humming to himself somewhere down the hall,
Lance cracked opened the door, leaving it ajar. Returning to the bathroom,
he hurriedly brushed his teeth, spitting out the toothpaste just as JC
entered the apartment. Yelling.

"Yo, Lance!  You ready to go?  We're late."

Lance glanced one last time at his eye in the mirror.  Show time. "What do
you mean, 'we're' late?  YOUR late, buddy." He yelled still facing the
mirror.  Then turning to leave he opened the bathroom door, but paused as
if held in place by some sort of inertia.  Letting out a small sigh, he
quickly shut the door again and went back to the medicine cabinet. Grabbing
the pain pills, he shoved them deep in his pocket. Just in case.

Without trying to hide his eye, he walked casually passed JC attempting to
get his shoes from the other side of the kitchen. "Hey.  Just let me get my
shoes and were outta here."

He saw JC's eyes widen, but simply ignored him as pushed passed him.

"Jesus!"  JC reached out and spun Lance back around to face him. "What in
the hell happened to you?"

"You mean my eye?"

"No Sherlock, I mean the electric mishap that caused your hair to stand up
like that.  YES, of course your eye!"  He let go of Lance's arm feeling him
pull away slightly.  Still JC stayed close, leaning in to get a better look
at his friend's face.

"Trust me, the explanation is not as glamorous or exciting as you'd think."

"Let me be the judge, okay?"

"Really Josh, it's so stupid." He felt his face blush, hoping JC would fall
for whatever lie was about to pop out of his mouth. "When I got out of the
shower yesterday, I slipped on the wet floor and 'BAM'...my face hit the
corner of the sink." He watched JC cringe at the thought. "Yeah, it hurt
like hell, but I'm lucky it's only a little swollen; I could've just as
easily taken the whole eye out."

JC shook his head at him, eyes still wide. "God Lance, you really are..."

Lance cut him off, mumbling somberly, "I know, I know...a klutz." He walked
away from the older boy and sat down...slowly.  Cussing under his breath as
he bent over to put on his shoes.

JC watched him closely, wondering if he should be reading more in to those
words, but he didn't know what.  "Actually, I was going to say, 'You really
are having a bad couple of days, aren't you?'"  He stood motionless in the
kitchen doorway, waiting for Lance to respond.  But he only glanced up long
enough from tying his shoes to toss JC an affirming roll of the eyes.

Trying to be positive, JC continued on. "On the bright side, at least we're
off for the next 3 weeks, right?  It'll probably be well healed by then, so
we won't have to worry about making any sort of 'official statement' or
anything." He paused watching the younger boy bite his lip as he rose out
of the chair.  "So that'll make Gabe happy."

Lance snatched his apartment keys and sunglasses off the counter and moved
quickly passed JC. Almost knocking him over. "Yeah, well...whatever makes
Gabe happy..."

Sarcasm blasted through the apartment as the front door slammed shut.

JC stood there, dumbfounded.

                           ***************************

Lance was standing by the locked car when JC caught up with him.  Not
wanting to draw any unwanted attention, especially from the three teenage
girls unloading groceries just a few cars away, JC remained silent as he
preceded to open the car.  But once locked safely inside and away from
earshot he turned to Lance, who sat somewhat sideways against the seat,
staring down at his hands folded in his lap. "Hey Scoop, I didn't mean to
put business before you, you know that right? I really am sorry about your
eye."

"Huh?"

"That whole Gabe comment...I didn't mean that him being happy was more
important than you. Or your eye.  I was just trying to be upbeat, lift your
spirits and all.  But I'm sorry, I guess I kind of blew it."

"Forget it." Lance tried to dismiss the whole incident quickly, but JC
still looked hesitant.

"Really JC, it's okay.  Like you said, it's been an rough few days. I'm
just moody." He sighed, then let out a small chuckle.  "Besides, what's
with the optimism? I thought you were the serious one, isn't Joey supposed
to be the cheerful Nsyncer."

JC burst out laughing, "Oh yeah...that's right! Man, I always get us
confused...I'll try and work on that."

Lance was finally laughing too. "Please do."

                          ***************************

They parked the car next to Justin's and walked up to the Rehearsal Studio
twenty minutes late.  Grabbing hold of the long shiny handle directly in
front of him, JC turned to look at Lance. "Ready?"  Without waiting for a
reply, he slid open the oversized metal door. The loud grinding screech of
metal on metal penetrated each boy to the core, and although the
temperature was well over ninety degrees, a shiver ran down their
spine. Constructed mainly of steel over 60 years ago, the outside of the
building was weathered, rusted and appeared in desperate need of a face
lift. Originally built as a small aircraft hanger, it held a colorful and
varied pedigree: Serving Orlando honorably as a National Guard Armory, a
community shelter, a fairly successful auto body shop, functioned briefly
as a roller skating rink in the early-80's and finally as a warehouse whose
doors were permanently closed by the Department of Alcohol, Tobacco and
Firearms in 1990.  "Illegal weapons possession" or something of the sort
was the only information available on that topic.  Purchased by an unknown
businessman, it sat as an empty shell of its former self for more than 5
years when Gabe Huxley stumbled across it.

Most likely it was painted white. Maybe pale yellow.  The dangerous
combination of weather and time left more rust colored paint chips
scattered along the concrete than on the building itself.

Lance always considered the warehouse an eye sore.  Years ago, without
discussing it, he actually volunteered the whole group to repaint it. He
saw it as a bonding experience, and chance to give something back to
Gabe. The man who poured his heart, soul and money into making their dream
come true.  Boy, was that a mistake, Joey just about killed him. But as it
worked out, Gabe turned his offer down anyway.  He wanted Nsync's
affiliation with the studio to be kept a secret from the fans.  He claimed
to have a theory; the more dilapidated the place looked on the outside, the
less likely anyone would ever discover what was going on inside. So far it
worked.

Now Lance simply pitied the structure. Pitied the ugly façade it was
forced show the world each day. The lie it lived. On the outside, it was
ugly and harsh.  Scarred and battered by the onslaught of others; people
over which it had no control.  But inside... inside was where you
discovered it's true potential. The reception area was lush with greenery
and fine artwork.  Even a small fountain bubbled gracefully in the
reception area.  Beyond this, the front section held only a few small
communal offices and a make-shift recording studio.  The remaining bulk of
the building contained the dance rehearsal hall. Sure under close
examination, the battle scars from years of wear and abuse were still
there. But with care...and a fresh coat of paint...it looked almost new. If
nothing else, at least it was restored to it's former self.  Luckily for
this building, someone took the time to venture inside, to pry open the
cold rusty door, to look beyond the oil stained concrete, cobwebs and
blacked out windows, to see the potential that still lay inside. Otherwise
it's beauty, warmth and charm may have remained lost forever.

To Lance it stood as a symbol; a large, bulky icon of himself.

Strolling through the entrance, JC and Lance were instantly accosted by a
burst of cold air and five pairs of cold eyes.  Justin, Joey, Chris, Lynn
and Darren were all waiting, obviously quite impatiently, on their arrival.

JC held out his hands, taking control. "I know, we're late."

 Lance raised his eye brow and tossed him a "you want to try that again"
glare.

"Fine! I mean, I was late."  Then under his breath, just loud enough for
Lance to hear, "Happy now?"

Approaching the group in front of them, Lance smirked, "You know it."

Then out of nowhere, Lynn was in front Lance, gently holding his face in
her small hands. "Oh my... Lance, you poor thing! What have you done to
yourself.  Are you okay?"  Her motherly tone and gentle caring touch caused
his voice to catch in his throat and threatened to bring tears to his
eyes. The rest of the group quickly closed ranks around him, and once again
he was forced to allow someone else to peer into his eyes.  Damnit, he
wasn't prepared for this; or for her.

Fortunately, JC jumped to his rescue, even if he didn't know it.  Shaking
his head, he smirked, "It's a whole messy
'slipping-in-the-shower-hitting-head-on- the-sink' story that will bore the
hell out of you."

Still holding his face, Lynn's attention fell back on Lance. She narrowed
her eyes and turned his head slowly from side to side as if scrutinizing
his every facial flaw. "Is that what happened?"

Purposely avoiding Justin, he simply nodded while watching the rest of the
groups reaction; trying to judge their gullibility.  At this point, Darren
stepped in, "Well if it's just the eye, then we should be fine.  Your not
hurt anywhere else right? No sprained ankles or hands?"

Lance grabbed Lynn's wrists and carefully removed them from his face,
smiling at the love he saw in her eyes.  "No the rest of me is just fine."

"Well isn't that a relief to hear." A deep, lively voice rang out from the
back of the building. The entire group turned, shocked by the sudden
appearance of someone behind them.  There stood Gabe, leaning against
doorway to the dance hall, dressed casually in shorts and polo shirt,
smiling. As was everyone else, except for two boys who were staring at each
other as their blood ran cold.

Chris instantly flew out of his seat and ran up to the man, throwing a
single arm around him. "Gabe, my man! Long time no see.  What are you doing
here?"

"Well now, how am I supposed to just go home, knowing full well that my
boys are back in town? Except for Justin and Lance here, I haven't had a
chance to see any of you. So when Lynn mentioned the rehearsal earlier
today, I thought 'What the hell?'"

"Your kidding?! This is so great...I can't remember the last time you
showed for one of our rehearsals!"

He grinned at Chris' bounding enthusiasm, "Yeah, I missed you too Chris."
Then walking closer to be part of the group, Gabe looked directly at
Lance. "So you hurt your eye, huh? Ow, looks pretty painful."

Lance forced a fake smile, trying desperately to act happy like everybody
else.  "No it's alright. I'll manage."

Gabe took another step forward, reaching out to grab the pale blond's
broken face. "Are you sure, because it looks..."

"He said he's fine."  Justin's harsh voice broke in, moving slightly in
front of Lance, careful not to touch him.

As Gabe took a step backward, the room grew absolutely silent.

"Justin!" Lynn scolded, completely flabbergasted by her son's unusual
behavior.  "What has gotten into you?!  Gabe is only showing his concern,
there is no need to be so rude!"  She turned to face her boss, "I am so
embarrassed Gabe.  I don't know what to say?...Wait, yes I do" Reaching
out, she pulled Justin away from Lance, and positioned him in front of
Gabe, "I think you owe him an apology, don't you?"

The tension between the two men confused everybody in the room.  Stunned by
his own boldness, Justin felt a surge of strength well up inside him, he
wanted to hold his ground. But the disappointment in his mother's face, and
the evil glare the rest of the guys were giving him made him back off. He
was the one looking like a jerk, Gabe got to be the 'good guy' once again.

"Sorry."  He kept it sweet and simple.  No explanations. No excuses.

Gabe smiled from ear to ear looking down at the boy.  It was a very
friendly, warm smile, but Justin read the meaning behind it as clear as a
bell: Gabe won again.  Darren decided to end this right now. He needed
their full concentration and by no means did he want them preoccupied by
Justin's little outburst.  "Okay everyone, the clock is ticking...30
minutes late I might add...and we have A LOT to do.  So get your dancing
feet into the studio."

Nobody moved, still confused by the little scene that played out in front
of them.

"NOW!!" Darren yelled, clapping his hands together for effect.  Suddenly
the group snapped to life and followed their long time choreographer into
the dance hall.

Remaining behind, Gabe held out his arm to Lynn, offering himself as her
escort.  She smiled at his generosity.  "I'm so sorry Gabe,
really. Justin's acting so strange lately. I can't even begin to explain
his behavior. I'm really worried."

"Lynn."  He was charismatic and charming, "He's young. He's got a high
pressure career and just returned home from a very demanding tour. Justin
is stressed.  And now your leaving, so naturally he's feeling a little
strained and uptight."  He gently patted her hand and flashed her an
understanding grin. "Give the kid a break."

She still looked uncertain and sighed deeply, "I know, but I've been
thinking...maybe now isn't such a good time for me to leave."

"No Lynn, I think now is the perfect time for you to go. It's the
opportunity of a lifetime; it's your career. And we both know Justin
wouldn't want you to give that up.  Besides I'll still be here, and the
guys, so it's not like he's going to be alone. Trust me by the time you get
back, three weeks from now, Justin will be a completely different boy. "

"Yeah, I suppose your right."

She was watching her son perform some sort type of sit and spin dance move,
and never saw the evil smirk that twisted across Gabe's face. "I know I
am."


Remember, any and all feedback is welcome! I'd love to hear what you think.
Send it to Justme@astound.net.  Thanks for reading everyone!!