Chapter 1 – Stranger That I Used To Know

March 6, 2014 – New York

It feels like ages since the house has been this quiet, Adeline thought as she carefully chopped pieces of fruit in the kitchen. The only sounds she could hear were the humming of the refrigerator, the rinse cycle running in the dishwasher, the TV in the living room playing toddler cartoons on low, and the sound of the knife as it connected with the wooden cutting board.

It won't stay this way for long, she thought with a smile.

It wasn't long before she heard tiny feet running down the hall, along with a bigger set of feet following quickly after. She sat down the knife in time for the tiny feet to turn the corner into the kitchen and run to her leg, wearing only a diaper with blonde hair dripping bath water.

She picked him up and cradled him on her hip, handing him a fresh sippy cup off the counter that he put in his mouth right away. Lance turned the corner into the kitchen barefoot, with wet spots on his gray t-shirt, holding a towel.

“He's too fast for me,” he said, handing off the towel to her. “He's like a rocket.”

“You hear that?” she asked the toddler, rubbing the towel over his wet hair. “You're making daddy an old man.”

“I barely got that diaper on, turned my back for a minute to grab the towel, and before I knew it, he shot off.”

“Yeah, yeah, old man,” she teased. “Excuses, excuses.”

“Keep talking,” he said. “But remember who turns 31 this year and still tells people she's 29.”

She turned to look at him, her expression tense, and pointed a warning finger at him. He simply smiled and walked over to her, grabbing the baby out of her arms and putting him in the highchair by the table.

She put a few pieces of the freshly cut fruit in a tiny plastic bowl and sat it in the tray of the highchair. She wiped the juices off her hands and went back to start chopping vegetables for lunch, but after a few minutes she looked over to see Lance sitting across from their son, picking up pieces and pretending to put them in his mouth. The baby reached out every time and flexed his hands in a 'gimme' motion, not wanting his snack stolen.

Every time she looked at the two of them together, she saw more of a resemblance. When he was born, Liam had a light dusting of dark hair that gradually turned a dark blonde over time. His dad's hair wasn't the only thing he had – he already had his dad's smile. But he had her cheeks, the chubby ones from her baby pictures that her dad always called her “chipmunk” cheeks because she had a tendency to hold her food in her cheeks as a toddler.

He grabbed another piece of fruit, but instead of reaching out for it, Liam started fussing.

“Don't tease him,” she said. “It's almost nap time and I don't want him too fussy.”

“Don't tease him,” Lance mocked. “You're not fussy, are you bubby? And if you are, well that's okay, because daddy is going to rehearsals in about...oh...” He held up his wrist to look at his watch. “...half an hour and mommy has to deal with nap time, doesn't she?”

Lance slid a piece of fruit into his son's mouth before he felt something hard hit the side of his face. He reached up to his cheek where it hit and looked down to see a cherry tomato on the floor next to him. He glanced over to Addy to see her hiding a smirk.

“You little...”

She squealed as he flew out of his seat towards her, wrapping an arm around her waist. She laughed and tried to duck out of his grasp as he dipped his fingers into the pot of sauce and reached to smear it on her cheek.

“Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with your food, Addy?” he asked with a smile as she fought against him.

She screamed and squealed with laughter as she tried to push him away, but her efforts proved useless when he brushed his hand over her cheek and down her chin, smearing her with the red pasta sauce.

He twirled her around as her laughter died down, leaning her back against the counter. She grimaced when he leaned down and licked the sauce off her cheek.

“Mmm, you taste pretty good now,” he said.

“Boys are so gross, get off me!” she said while smiling.

As she attempted to push him away, he only leaned in further to her, kissing the corner of her mouth.

“You're a bad influence on our son,” she said, grabbing for a dish towel to wipe sauce and saliva off her cheek.

“He runs around the house half-naked anyway, how much damage can I be doing?” he asked with a smile, lifting his fingertips to lick the extra sauce off.

“You put your fingers in my food,” she said. “Gross. Get out of my kitchen before you spread more cooties.”

“You like my cooties,” he said.

He tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her toward him, resting his nose on hers before leaning down to give her a kiss.

“Mmm, I guess maybe I do,” she said after he pulled away.

She wouldn't deny that the last fifteen months had been hard. After they had both almost died at the hands of her ex-husband and immediately had to jump into being parents without any recovery time from their horrific ordeal, there were moments that they had both wanted to give up. She took her husband's death more roughly than either of them had expected. She thought she had grieved after she had convinced herself that he had committed suicide; but after Mackenzie had shot him right in front of both of them, it hit her.

He really was dead.

She didn't know how to come to grips with it. There were other things that played into it – mental anguish from the stalking and the nine months she spent constantly anxious about her pregnancy; postpartum depression; and simply coming to terms with how drastically her life had changed in less than three years. It all built up – and eventually, they found themselves struggling with marriage problems of their own.

There was more than a few times that separation – and even divorce – was brought up. And it scared her.

But they had spent the last fifteen months fighting it. They had a long way to go – but she could smile and say that things were good now.

Maybe better than ever.

“I have to go to rehearsal,” he said. “I've got a long afternoon ahead of me.”

“Johnny's working you guys hard,” she stated.

“This is only a preview,” he said with a smile, saying goodbye to his son by brushing his hand across his cheek and ruffling his hair. “The real work is a week away. And you'd better prepare – he's going to work you just as hard.”

After the boys had decided to reunite and gone to their old manager, Johnny Wright, to get the ball rolling, Addy was surprised when one day, he called her into his office. The last thing she was expecting was to get offered a job.

The tour was so massive and going to be so highly-anticipated, he knew he couldn't do everything alone. After all, he had other acts to manage and other places to be. But he knew that the five men couldn't do it all on their own either – they needed someone to assist them, take care of their needs, and recognize when they could be pushed further or whether they had reached their emotional and physical limits. No one was better for that job than Addy – she knew Lance better than anyone, and was well on her way to knowing the other boys better than they knew themselves. Not to mention she was already loved as a member of their “crew” – and no one knew that better than Johnny.

And thus started her journey, no longer being Lance's personal assistant – instead being assistant to Johnny Wright and one of the biggest acts of the 90's...NSYNC.

“I know,” she said.

“You sure you don't want to back out?” he asked. “You sure you can handle all this?”

“You don't think I can?” she asked. “Three and a half years with you and you still don't have faith in my ability to handle the toughest jobs?”

“Three years ago, you thought I was a tough customer. You'll be dealing with me plus four more that are cut from the same cloth – on a cramped tour bus. Touring the entire United States. Sleeping on hotel beds and bunks on the road. Eating fast food nearly every night. Not to mention, you have to be a mom on top of it.”

“I can handle it,” she said with a smile. “I think you don't know me quite as well as you think you do.”

He smiled. “I guess we'll see.”

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“It's perhaps the most highly-anticipated reunion tour since Led Zeppelin – at least for the world of pop music. Joining the ranks of fellow 90's acts Backstreet Boys and Spice Girls, it's finally happening...NSYNC's comeback “Take Back The Night” tour starts next week, kicking off in Brooklyn, New York, the home state of band members Chris Kirkpatrick, Joey Fatone, and Lance Bass. Folks, this will be a massive tour, covering 75 total cities over a seven-month span of time...let me stress that again. Seventy-five cities.”

“Because they're crazy,” Melissa said to herself, listening to the radio personality.

“I guess they didn't want to leave anyone out,” the female radio host said. “It's been ten years since the band has made a public appearance together. Maybe they figured they owe their fans?”

“Or maybe they're crazy.”

Melissa chuckled and shook her head.

“Seventy-five cities, can you imagine? I can't remember any reunion tour being so massive.”

“I guess you can say that when NSYNC reunites, it's go big or go home.”

Melissa scoffed. “Go big or go home” was exactly what had come out of Justin's mouth.

Six months ago, when the discussion of the band reuniting had been brought up, they all thought it would either be a one-off comment out of Justin's mouth after a night of drunken debauchery, or it would be a small twenty-something city tour to officially say goodbye, and the world would never hear from NSYNC again.

But when discussion had actually started between the guys, Addy and Melissa were surprised to find out that not only were they all serious about the reunion being a real reunion...they had no intentions of fooling around.

Of course, there had been loose ends to wrap up – Justin had a tour to finish out after the VMA reunion, Lance had a contract with the radio station until February that he had to finish out, and the rest of them all had lives and business commitments that prevented them from hopping onto a tour bus or getting in the studio the next night. But they had all been so excited to get back and finish their “unfinished” business with the band that they jumped right into the planning stages.

They were back in the studio together by that November. Addy and Melissa were there, and as shocked as anyone else was. Even more shocking was that Justin had encouraged the others to express their creativity on this new album – Chris had a couple of songs he had written, Lance helped with a few, and even Joey and JC had a few things to add. After a month of teaming up, hard work, and lots of spare time spent in the studio – a brand new NSYNC album was born.

They took a break for Christmas, but in January they were all back to rehearsing and planning for the tour, and now that they were a week away from the first tour date – March 14, 2014 in Brooklyn – everybody was still wondering how they had managed through the whirlwind past six months.

Her phone buzzed from the counter with a new text message.

Liam just tried to flush a remote down the toilet, the text read. Can't wait to be on a tour bus next week. Gee, what new adventures can a 15-month-old get into there? The next seven months should be interesting.

Melissa couldn't help but chuckle.

Has Lance pulled out the vodka yet? she typed. If not, he should. I'll warn JC to keep scissors off the buses. Don't want Justin to have to shave his head again. I'm excited!

She smiled and sat the phone down on the counter as she went back to peeling the apples she had in front of her. Chris would be home in a few hours from rehearsals and she knew the way to his heart – through his stomach. Homemade apple pie would do the trick.

She could hardly hold her excitement back. She knew for Addy it wasn't as big of a deal – after all, to her, it was work. She was going on the tour not because she was Lance's wife, but because she was Johnny's right-hand-man. She knew the guys the best out of anyone and could handle all their demands and needs on a lengthy and draining reunion tour. She was excited that it was something new, and it was such a huge event that so many people were looking forward to – but it was work, too.

For Mel, it was different. A couple of years ago, when she had moved to New York, she was only an NSYNC fan. Back then, it was only a dream that they'd ever get back together. Two years and some months later, all of a sudden she was going on tour with them. She'd gotten to witness the moment the “let's get back together” conversation had happened, back in August on the night of their big reunion. She had gotten to be in the studio when they recorded their new album; she even had a song written for her on it. Even though Lance had helped, she would always know that song as the one Chris had written for her.

She had gotten to experience so much that she had never even dreamed of. All of it was because of them – Chris, Lance, Addy, and the other boys. She was still a fan – maybe even more so now – but they were so much more than NSYNC now. They were friends; and she was so grateful to have such wonderful ones.

Her phone buzzed from the counter again, and she put down the half-peeled apple to pick it up.

Be excited for both of us. I'm more nervous – I can retrieve remotes from house toilets, but not bus toilets. Forget the vodka – pack the hard stuff.

She chuckled and pushed the button to reply when she heard the door in the living room open and shut quickly.

“Hey there,” she said out loud with a smile. “You're home early, babe. I was hoping to surprise you. I'm making your favorite, apple--”

She was cut off by a heavy, gloved hand wrapping around her head, clamping against her mouth. She shrieked when she felt the knife against her neck.

“Scream and it will be over before you can even blink.”

Tears immediately came to her eyes when she heard his voice.

Derek.

“You have no idea what I went through to find you, Melissa,” he said. “You've moved up in the world. Attending the Video Music Awards on the arm of a man like Chris Kirkpatrick. Imagine my surprise.”

She was holding back sobs when her phone buzzed from the counter again, and he reached over to pick it up.

“It's from Addy,” he said. “It says 'On second thought, pack the vodka too. A little in the sippy cup can't hurt. And maybe a little for mommy, too.' How are mommy and little Liam doing? Should we pay them a visit?”

She shut her eyes tightly and shook her head.

“That's what I thought,” he said. “Now, you're going to write a letter for poor Chris. And then you and I are going for a little ride...”

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Chris adjusted the heavy duffel bag over his shoulder as he stepped off the elevator on the floor of his and Mel's apartment building. He fought his eyes closing on their own, every part of his body screaming in pain.

If he didn't feel it before, at 42, it only took a round of rigorous rehearsals and getting back into the groove of choreographed dance moves to remind him – he was getting too old. He wasn't ready to cash in his senior citizen card yet, but he was no spring chicken. There were points during rehearsals that he questioned his sanity for agreeing to go back to touring with the guys. They had aged as well, like he had, but they were all still in their 30s. Justin kept active touring sporadically over the past ten years; Lance worked out and now he chased a toddler around the house, keeping him active. Joey traveled more than any of the rest of him, and JC...well no one knew what JC did besides be reclusive, but he was in better shape than Chris was, that was for sure.

But it had only taken him five minutes in the studio recording the new album to remind him why he was doing this.

It helped having a woman he loved in his life to keep him grounded during this time. Melissa – every time he thought of her and how happy she was that the guys were making new music and going back on tour, he smiled. Even though he was getting old and his body protested against him reliving his youth in this way, it was worth it – every night that he would come home and Mel would crack an old man joke while filling an ice pack and watching him collapse on the couch in pain...he realized this was why he was doing it.

He loved every minute of it – and he loved her.

He reached into his pocket as he closed in on his door, grabbing his keys and groaning in pain as he put it into the lock. It was past ten and he had no idea if Melissa would be awake or already in bed, but he intended to walk no further than the kitchen to find that ice pack, and then make his way to bed himself – and maybe not wake up until the tour was over.

“Melissa,” he called out as the door opened. He threw his bag down on the floor next to the door, not caring that it landed with a loud thud, and shut the door behind him. “The old man is home, and he's exhausted and sore. I need a medic.”

As he tossed his keys to the coffee table, he was met with only silence and the sound of the TV running – playing a late-night talk show.

“Nurse Ratched,” he said, teasing the name he called her when she was particularly rough in his post-rehearsal care. “Your favorite patient is calling for you.”

He was surprised when he didn't hear a single sound, except for Jimmy Fallon on the TV, interviewing some child actress.

“Where are you at?” he said softly to himself.

Wandering down the hallway to their bedroom, he walked into darkness and flipped on the light, expecting to see her laying passed out in the bed – but was shocked to see nothing. In fact, the bed was still made, completely untouched, not even a wrinkle in the bedspread.

He went through the entire house, first turning the corner to peek in the bathroom, then his music room, finally landing back in the living room with not a single sight of her. He walked into the only other room he knew she might be, the kitchen.

Silence met him at the threshold. The kitchen light was still on, the counter covered in dishes and food as if she had been cooking, and the oven turned on, light and all. But there was no Melissa.

He narrowed his eyebrows and took a few steps forward. It wasn't like Melissa to run out of the house and leave food on the counter, much less leave the oven on. It was when he reached the table that he caught sight of the small, pink slip of paper.

He immediately picked it up to read Melissa's handwritten message.

Chris,

I can't do this. I can't live in New York. I can't go on tour.

I can't be with you.

I've packed a few of my things. Get rid of the rest. I'm not coming back. I'm going home. Please, leave me alone; please don't try to find me.

I'm sorry.

Mel