No one suspected any wrong when Brian returned that afternoon. He had given the excuse of a check up at the doctor. His friends asked about the prognosis but he just replied that all was status quo.
Brian didn't want to take the chance of telling anyone quite yet. He wanted to rationalize the situation in his own mind first. There were many angles to consider - not the least of which was the end of his singing career. He wondered whether his bandmates would replace him or if the Backstreet Boys would just cease to exist. Maybe he should just resign. God, he hoped he might be able to depend on them as friends when all this was done.
What about his family? Could he really put his mother and father through yet another medical problem? They loved him unconditionally sure, but how many times could they lose their youngest son.
And Leighanne? He didn't doubt that she would stay by his side for better or for worse, but did he honestly want to put her through such stress. One thing he did know was that he loved her enough to let go.
All these decisions had to be made. Who to tell? How much to tell? When to tell? Brian's mind was drowning in what if's and plausible scenarios. Still he was able to perform without too much difficulty.
There was an incident at a show in Las Vegas that his bandmates afforded some suspicion. The Boys were performing "The Perfect Fan" - a song Brian had co-written with their keyboardist Tommy Smith. Brian missed his cue to sing not once but twice. The first at the beginning of the first verse; the second time, he missed his entire harmony with Kevin.
"Are you okay, Rok?" his cousin asked during the next costume change.
"Why?" Brian wondered slipping on his white pants for the "Everybody (Backstreet's Back)" number.
"You, um, missed your cue back there."
Surprise and frustration flashed in his blue eyes before he could hide it. "Oh, yeah, sure. Sorry about that. My earpiece went out on me and you know how loud the fans are out there."
His earpiece went out? Kevin didn't quite believe the excuse. One might go out but you could still hit the cue because they were close enough to the band. And the fans weren't that loud that night. "It just seemed so strange. I mean, you wrote the song."
"I was a little distracted. I promise to pay more attention next time," he said, effectively dismissing his cousin before going to his spot for the performance.
Nick had seen the exchange and he questioned Kevin wth a glance of his blue eyes. The older man only shrugged.
Brian felt Nick and Kevin's eyes on him during the rest of the night. He concentrated to keep his performance up to par. After the show, he returned to his room pleading a headache rather than partying at Studio 54 with the others.
Brian was the source of speculation that night. His bandmates - once Kevin had filled them in - weren't able to believe his excuse either, echoed their hopes that he was okay and agreed readily to help whenever Brian might need an ear.
Meanwhile, Brian stood on the balcony of his suite at the MGM Grand. He leaned on the railing watching the lights of Sin City flicker, but mostly he tried to key into the sounds. Car horns. Vocal arguments. Laughter. He had begun to appreciate everyday noises and engrained them into his memory. The doctor hadn't been certain how much his hearing might deteriorate or how long the process might take. Brian could only pray that the situation would improve before it worsened.
He looked up toward the sky as a lone tear inched it's way down his left cheek. "No matter what has happened in my life, I have always had faith that you would see me through. If you think I can handle this, I will find the strength to handle it." He closed his eyes tightly as though he were a child trying to make a birthday wish. "Please give me the strength."
As the air began to cool, he pulled a chair to the sliding glass door and cocooned himself in a comforter from the bed. From there, the music of Las Vegas lulled Brian to sleep.
