As good as it was to be in Kentucky, Kevin felt horrible. Too much happened too quickly. Just thinking about it made his head throb mercilessly.

A major portion of that year was intense. Too much irritation, too much sensitivity. No one could blame them, Kevin knew it. Time had taken its toll, and everyone was more than ready.

But the moment word hit the media, they exploded with gossip, as it did often. Everything was loud and exaggerated. But, at the same time, a silence was heard around the world. The Backstreet Boys had broken up.

Later, after waiting impatiently for a cab, Kevin lugged his luggage up the front porch's steps. He knocked on the door. All he heard was muffled bustling behind the door. The pitter of someone's shoes. And the whinning creak of the old front door as it opened.

"Hi, Kevin," his mother greeted him, wiping her hands on a towel. "The door was open, you know."

"Oh," was all Kevin could manage. She backed away as he carried his bags in. He walked down the hall to his old room.

After a quick mimicry of an inspection, he concluded that everything was like it was before. His bed was decorated with his favorite blue comforter. His shelves had his proud trophies to show off. Kevin's dresser was still the same. It was white and was chipping on its stubby legs.

He placed his bags down and fell back on his bed. It was good to be home.

Brian smiled as the tall buildings of LA showed up from beneath the misty clouds. He was nervous. His newborn daughter, Natalie, hardly had seen him. He'd only stayed with his wife, Chelsea, as long as he could after her delivery. A pathetic total of four hours. Brian was so anxious to see if she had taken it well. He wanted to stay, but, as always, management thought differently.

The flight attendant's voice came through the tinny speakers and said the plane was landing in minutes. Brian looked to his right and saw a mother trying to maintain her wild little daughter.

The girl ran up to him. "Hi. What's your name?"

Brian smiled at the candid child. "Brian. What's yours?"

"Kim," the redhead answered, promptly, as if she was expecting it.

"How old are you?"

"Five," Kim said, proudly. She put up her small, porcelain hand and counted five fingers.

"Do you like to sing, Kim?" Brian asked, plopping her next to him with her mom's permission. Brian was startled by his own question. Why was he talking about something he was attempting to forget?

"Yeah, I like the Backstreet Boys. But they gave up."

They gave up. How come the tiny girl's words were so painfully sincere?

He found another smile. "What's your favorite song?"

"'Quit Playin' Games (With My Heart),'" she said.

Brian cleared his throat:

"Even in my heart, I see,
You're not bein' true to me,
Deep within my soul, I feel,
Nothin's like it used to be

"Sometimes I wish I could,
Turn back time,
Impossible as it may seem,
But I wish I could, so bad,
Baby --"

Brian looked at her. "That one?"

"Yeah."

"We used to sing that one a lot," Brian reminisced, fondly.

"Why did you break up?" Kim inquired.

She took it better than most people, Brian thought, humored by her reaction.

"We have now landed in LA. Thank you for flying CapAir," the attendant said, routinely in a monotone voice.

"I really don't know," Brian replied, bleakly.

The mother called for Kim. The mom had thousands of bad overwhelming her.

"Need help?" Brian offered her.

"Oh, no. That's okay, dear."

Brian followed the mother out of the plane. Kim took his hand and walked beside him.

"Do you both live in LA?" Brian asked the mother.

"Yeah, we just got back from Nevada. Divorce," she told him. "My name's Willi, by the way."

"Brian Littrell," he paused and added, hastily, "from the Backstreet Boys."

As the emerged from the connecting tunnel, she stopped and shook his hand. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Brian. C'mon, sweetie."

Brian bent down to Kim's height, which was definitely a feat in itself. "I'm gonna go, Kimmy. See ya later." He kissed her chubby cheek and waved as they left.

"I'm jealous," a familiar voice behind him teased.

Brian stood up and faced his wife. She was beautiful, no doubt. She was about his height and had shoulder-length, reddish-brown hair. She had big brown eyes that always seemed to twinkle.

"You mad at me with the whole delivery-hospital thing?" he questioned her and gave her a bear hug.

"No, I was glad you even made it. And besides, would I be here if I was mad?"

He shrugged and turned to his daughter, who was positioned on Chelsea's left hip. "Hi, Natalie. What has the most beautiful baby in the world been doing?"

He took Natalie from Chelsea and kissed her. Chelsea smiled. "Oh, the usual. Wake Mommy up at four in the morning. She throws tantrums a lot. Like her father."

Brian pouted playfully. "Why don't we get going?"