A Christmas Story

Chapter 2 -- Part 2

Brian was right. Stepping down the last three stairs into the game room was like stepping into a museum. Actually it was a museum. Jackie had covered the walls with professionally framed photographs documenting the entire history of The Backstreet Boys.

"This is amazing!" Hannah cried. "Oh my gosh! Look at how young you guys were!" she said, pointing to an early photo shoot. "AJ without tattoos or earrings—this must have been a nursery shoot."

Brian was setting up the billiard balls. "You’ve got that right! "Doesn’t he look like a baby? Check that one out over there," he said, pointing with a cue stick. "Look at Nick. I don’t think his voice had even changed yet. Quit playing games with my heart," he mimicked, forcing his voice to croak like a school boy’s.

"Stop!" she laughed. "You’re terrible! You don’t exactly look like an old man either, Brian. Is that peach fuzz
I see on your chin?"

"Oooh, good one. The lady scores a zing."

Hannah looked from picture to picture, enthralled with the captured history of the group she had once followed so faithfully. Photos of the five at a myriad of music award shows, snapshots of appearances on television and concert stages, and the photo shoots that adorned magazine covers for years. On many of those, the guys had signed them with notes of affection for Jackie. She was indeed the perfect fan. Throughout the entire gallery were sprinkled pictures the guys had obviously taken of each other—horsing around backstage, at recording sessions, on the bus as they traveled.

For Hannah, it was almost too much to take in. She took a deep breath, pinching herself to make sure this wasn’t still a dream. She leaned forward for a closer look at a picture of Brian holding hands with a long-legged blond beauty.

"Ah, Leighanne, isnt’ it?" she asked, looking back at the pool table. She was surprised to find Brian standing right behind her. She jumped. "How long have you been standing here?"

"Long enough. I love looking at all these old pictures. Mom is so good about keeping up with all our stuff. And to answer your question, it just didn’t work out."

"What didn’t work out?"

"With Leighanne. You’d have liked her. She’s really sweet. A lot of fun. I’m telling you, she’s crazy—you wouldn’t believe the pranks she used to pull on us . . ."

Hannah noticed a far off look on his face and decided to leave it alone.

He inhaled deeply. "But, y’know what? Sometimes these things just aren’t meant to be. She was ready to settle down and start a family and I just wasn’t. I mean, I’ve got to ride this train as long as I can. Or at least until I know it’s time to get off. We’re still friends and we occasionally keep in touch. She’s engaged to an attorney in Nashville. He’s a nice guy. They’ll make a great team."

"No regrets?" Hannah asked, turning back to the gallery.

"No regrets. It was a hard lesson to learn, but I knew in my heart it wasn’t meant to be. Believe it or not, I really try to keep tuned in to what God wants me to do with my life. And from the get-go, I knew it wasn’t Leighanne. I fought it, but in the end, God was right. And I think that’s why I have no hard feelings or regrets. So I said to her, I said, "Leighanne? If you’re gonna say good-bye, don’t take all day or night, let it rip, let it fly!"

"Dixie Chicks? You’re kiddin’ me!"

He was laughing again. "Yeah, I’m kidding. Hannah, basically I still feel like a little kid living a dream of a life. I’m having too much fun, y’know? One of these days, I’ll know it’s time to walk away from it and . . . grow up? Who knows. I’m in no hurry. Now c’mon, let’s play some pool here. What’s your wager?"

Hannah walked over to the opposite wall, picked a cue stick and chalked it. "I don’t know. What did you have in mind?"

"If I win, you take off next week and hang out with me."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Not exactly a loss for me there, Littrell. I was expecting something like having to do your laundry or give you a foot massage."

"Ooooh, that could be nice . . ."

"No! I like your wager better! But let’s see . . . how about if I win, you sing me a song. Right here. All by yourself. Let me see just how good a musician you are."

"Deal. With the addendum that if I lose, we play double or nothing for a second chance."

"You’re on. Now break ‘em, Brian."

"Stand back, girl. You’re about to witness poetry in motion." His tone changed. He became the announcer. "The master takes his stance . . . he carefully stretches across the edge of the table, positioning every muscle for optimum effort . . . he draws back . . . and in a single, fluid motion, he . . ."

"Misses the ball! Way to go, Littrell! Oh, this is gonna be too much fun. Move over, Beethoven."

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Part 3