Just to reiterate: this is REAL PERSON FICTION. Inspired by the video of Kevin playing "Turn Right" at the Surprise Concert at Irving Plaza, NYC on June 11, 2009 (found on youtube, posted by Shine On Media).
Hold On
The accident was a freak thing—totally unbelievable, even though Nick had been right at ground zero, had watched it all happen. A cable snapped, whipping through the overhead light display like a cobra, slicing cords and sending two halogens plummeting to the stage. One hit the edge, shattering into the pit with a sound like a bomb going off, while the other took out a crane cam and then careened stage left. Into Kevin.
Everyone said afterwards it was a miracle it wasn't worse; if the cable hadn't gotten tangled in the lights first, if the halogen had fallen straight down instead of glancing off the scaffolding, who knows what could have happened. But what did happen was bad enough. In a split second, Kevin was knocked off his feet and back into one of the big amps. By the time Nick realized he was yelling his brother's name, he was at Kevin's side, terrified, watching blood pour from a cut on his forehead, Kevin's arms and legs akimbo.
Someone pushed Nick out of the way—Blake, one of the staff EMTs—and a huge arm wrapped around his chest, tugging him farther back but not letting go. Big Rob, grounding him the way he always tried to when things got overwhelming. And this…this was overwhelming. Watching Blake and two other guys he didn't recognize opening a first aid kit, tearing open bandage packs, rolling Kevin slowly until he was flat on the floor so they could see his chest rise and fall, Nick had a hard time believing his brother wasn't dead.
"Oh, God." Somehow, Joe was next to him, swaddled under Big Rob's other arm, face a sickly white beneath his tan, mouth gaping.
The wail of sirens split the air and Nick felt lightheaded, wobbling.
"Don't you drop on me, too, boy." Big Rob shook him a little and Joe grabbed his hand. He grabbed back, still unsteady. They held onto each other as the ambulance backed in through the cargo doors, as Kevin was carefully lifted onto a backboard and then a gurney, as he was loaded in. Rob Brenner climbed up behind and the doors slammed shut, siren winding up as the ambulance sped away, leaving them with nothing but an empty space where Kevin was supposed to be and a bone-deep feeling of dread.
The ride to the hospital was a blur. Nick talked to his parents; he was pretty sure Joe had, too. Mom and Dad had both been crying, voices breaking over the thousand-plus miles between them. They must have said they'd be on a charter plane within the hour about a dozen times. Big Rob finally took the phone from Nick, giving them the specifics Nick hadn't been able to remember about which ER they were headed to. He couldn't have even said which city they were in.
And when they got there, no one would tell them anything. Kevin was being examined, no one could go back yet, the doctor would come out as soon as she could with an update. Until then, all they could do was wait.
They sat in shocked silence in the lobby. Nick noticed peripherally that everyone was there now—the whole band, the crew, even people from the arena he'd seen enough over the past few days of rehearsal to recognize. Rob was on the phone, probably already troubleshooting, telling the powers that be at Live Nation they would have to delay the tour indefinitely. Nick didn't want to think about it. None of it mattered. None of it ever would if Kevin…
"He's gonna be okay." Joe's voice was low, private. It held conviction, though his eyes were bleak and red-rimmed.
"Yeah." Nick whispered back. But he wouldn't be able to believe it until he saw Kevin himself. "We should pray."
They leaned toward each other, heads bowed. Please, God. You've been so good to us, more than we deserve, but please. Please don't take Kevin. Please let me keep my brother.
When the doctor came out, she collected Nick, Joe, and Big Rob, by their request, in a small room by the chapel. Thank God Joe was old enough to get the information…otherwise, Nick wouldn't have been able to find out anything until Mom and Dad arrived. But Joe was there, maybe the steadiest Nick had ever seen him, nodding grimly as the doctor talked about bone splinters and pins, granting permission for surgery and then finally being told they could see Kevin for a few minutes before he was prepped and taken upstairs.
The last time Nick had been in the hospital, unsure what the outcome would be and facing the specter of mortality, it had been about him. He'd had glimpses, through the many interviews they did after, of the toll his illness had taken on his family, his brothers. But he'd never really understood what they'd gone through until now. How hard it was to be the helpless spectator.
A nurse tugged the privacy curtain back, revealing the dark mop of Kevin's hair, the IV pump hooked into a port in the crook of his elbow, the bandage that covered his forehead.
The purpled mess of his left arm.
It was one big, dark bruise, dotted with tiny cuts, swollen far past normal size and lumpy in a way that made Nick's stomach lurch. He swallowed thickly, not sure if he was going to be sick or pass out. And then Kevin opened his eyes.
Glassy and unfocused, he was obviously on some heavy-duty painkillers. He rolled his head limply toward them, mouth falling open. "Heeeey, guys."
Nick choked up, completely unable to speak, so Joe took the lead, one hand on Nick's shoulder, one cradling Kevin's. Comforting with both. "Hey, Kev. How you feeling?"
It was the tone Joe used when they brought the younger kids up on stage to sing with them, patient and kind. Nick had never heard him talk to Kevin that way, and it was the final straw, tears filling his eyes until Kevin was a blurred, impossibly small bundle on the gurney.
"G'n do surg'ry. Cut m'arm open." Kevin sounded vaguely confused, with a tinge of fear underneath.
"I know, bro. They'll patch you right up, though. Make you good as new, right?"
Joe gave Nick a squeeze and then dropped his hand to the crown of Kevin's head, petting gently. "We'll be here when you wake up, okay? We'll be waiting for you."
Kevin blinked heavily. "M'm n' D'd, too?"
"Mom and Dad and Frankie, too. They're on their way. Can't wait to see you."
Kevin blinked again, eyes taking longer to open this time. He turned a little, fingers flexing in Joe's hand. "Nick 'k?"
"He's fine. Just worried about you." Joe glanced back, head angled, somehow encouraging Nick forward and making it okay if he wasn't ready with the same gesture.
Which gave Nick the courage he needed to move. "I'm here, Kevin. Just rest, okay? When you wake up, you'll be all better."
"Better," Kevin murmured, eyes falling shut, more imitation than agreement.
The nurse bustled forward, apologetic. "Okay, boys. I'm sorry, but you'll have to go now. You can see him again as soon as he's out of recovery."
Joe planted a kiss at Kevin's hairline and then dipped to whisper something in his ear that made Kevin nod slightly, lips just barely quirking. When he backed away, Nick stepped up, bending to press his forehead to Kevin's. "Hold on, Kev, okay? No matter what, hold on."
There was no answer. Nick could only hope he was listening.
Before he knew it, they were back in the waiting room, Joe explaining in careful words to the rest of the tour family how Kevin's surgery would repair the three splintered breaks in his arm, the pins they'd use to hold his bones together, the possibility of nerve damage, his chances for full mobility. It was surreal at best, like Joe was talking about some other person, some stranger who was going to be cut open, rearranged, bolted back together. Someone else who might not ever be able to play guitar again, maybe never be able to feel his arm at all.
Time passed somehow. Mom and Dad came with Frankie in tow and were updated on everything. Nick and Joe both put up with random acts of hugging, face touching, hand holding, tears. Truth be told, they weren't even close to one-sided.
Eventually, the doctor came out again, telling them the surgery had gone about as well as expected—whatever that meant—and as soon as Kevin was completely out of the anesthesia, he'd be moved to a room and they could all see him.
Cautions were given about pain and rehab, but Nick didn't listen. He stared out the window, still picturing Kevin's damaged body, the way he'd been so still for far too long. Nick pressed a hand to his face trying to hold in tears, and felt an arm wrap around him. Lean and strong, curling over his head, tucking him against a solid chest, scent of Joe's aftershave just strong enough to notice.
Nick had a clear, sharp memory of Joe doing the same thing when that truck had hit them, years before: protecting him, becoming a shield between Nick and the world. It wasn't something Nick needed, most of the time. He was more than capable of handling himself—sometimes better than his brothers. But in this moment…here, now, it was the only thing that kept him from breaking down.
Seeing Kevin in the aftermath of his operation was almost worse than in the moments after the accident. He was confused, drifting, face unnaturally pale, eyes squinched in pain. He kept asking if he still had his arm and didn't seem to quite believe them when they tried to reassure. It was a relief when the head nurse came in to change out his IV and give him another shot of morphine. He fell asleep almost instantly, mouth open and hands loose in a way that made him look achingly young and vulnerable.
Never in his life had Nick felt so protective. Or so helpless.
Mom kept fiddling with the bedcovers, smoothing them over Kevin, adjusting them around his feet, while Dad tucked Kevin's good hand in only to gently tug it out again, folding it into his own. More tears were shed, more prayers whispered, and in the long gaps of silence that interspersed their sparse conversation, the feeling of family permeated. It was all that really mattered—not just in this moment, but always.
As soon as Kevin was cleared to leave, they booked another charter flight home to Texas. The tour was canceled, and they'd already dealt as much they planned to with the press. The fans were incredibly supportive, and the response to the brief news conference Kevin held to thank them and let everyone know he was on his way to okay had been overwhelmingly positive.
Kevin was taking things surprisingly in stride, more than Nick truthfully had expected. He was stoic in a way Nick had never seen him, joking about his injury and not giving in to the pain that lingered. But at the same time, there was something flat in Kevin's eyes, now, a darkness that didn't suit him at all. The brother who'd been known for chattering like a magpie, all boundless enthusiasm and inquisitiveness, became quiet. Watching much but generally only talking when he asked something, and retreating to his room, alone, when he had the opportunity. Focused inward, like he almost never had been before.
The whole family noticed, and everyone tried in their own way to bring Kevin out of what would have once been an impossible to imagine shell. Frankie was probably the most successful, since he'd never met a closed door he wouldn't open, considered no topic off-limits, and didn't seem to expect anything in return. He was pretty much the only one who could still make Kevin really laugh. But even for Frankie, those moments were rare. It was like Kevin had become a completely different person.
Or maybe it was that the accident had hurt beyond the physical, hitting something deeper and much harder to fix that broken bones and stressed nerves. Nick felt that way himself, still caught off guard at odd moments, reliving the horror of that morning and all that came after. No wonder Kevin was traumatized. But whenever anyone tried to bring it up, Kevin deflected, changing the subject. Or flat out withdrew.
It was painful to watch. Nick hurt for Kevin. And ached from the loss of the brother he was starting to think he'd never really get back again.
Kevin went straight to his room after therapy, pleading tiredness. When Mom asked how things had gone, he merely said, "Fine," and kept walking. It was an even more reticent reaction than normal; usually, Kevin was more than willing to talk about rehab, if only to pre-empt the questions he'd inevitably be asked.
The look Mom shot Nick was worried and sad. "Maybe you could go sit with him for a bit, see if there's anything…"
She didn't finish, but she didn't need to. Nick was already on his way, hoping there was actually something he could do, something to ease Kevin's pain, at least for a little while. Let him know that he wasn't alone in this.
When he reached Kevin's door, though, he heard the muffled sounds of what sounded like a phone call. And then, sickeningly, the stifled sound of Kevin…crying.
"It's just not healing like they thought it would, honey…No. No, it's not that it hurts. I mean, it does, but…" Kevin choked up, a little half-sob that hit Nick where he lived. "I don't think it's ever going to be right again."
Hearing his brother in tears was nothing shocking. Kevin was no crybaby, but he was an emotional guy who was never embarrassed to show it. At least, he had been. But this new Kevin hadn't cried once since the accident, acted like there was it was a guaranteed certainty his arm would be back to normal in no time, that all was easy and good. It killed Nick to realize the fears Kevin kept to himself, the emotional toll they were taking. He swallowed hard, his own tears rising to the surface.
"If I can't play…there's no use for me in the band anymore."
Wait. What?
Tears gone, Nick shook his head, certain he hadn't heard his brother right. Kevin was quiet, though, and Nick finally realized Danielle was talking. Hopefully kicking any thoughts of not being a full part of the band, no matter what, right out of Kevin's head.
She went on for what seemed like a long time, and then came Kevin again. "You don't understand." His voice dropped lower. "I can't hold them back, Dani."
Nick edged forward, feeling like a heel for spying. But this was a lot more serious than he'd thought. He had to know.
"They've worked so hard to get here. They've given up enough already." Kevin sounded resolved, now, rather than sad. Somehow, it was worse. "And we can't let the fans down. It wouldn't be right." He chuckled, a little watery. "Hey, they'd still be the Jonas Brothers, you know? Just…with one less."
Nick had heard enough. He backed away from Kevin's door, heading down the hallway to the studio. Joe was at the computer, headphones on, frowning as he scribbled down notes. Nick waved a hand to catch his attention and Joe straightened, turning everything off and watching Nick expectantly.
"Nick-o, hey. What's up?"
"Joe." Nick took a breath, gathering his thoughts. "We have a problem."
"Guys, we need to talk." Here was the new Kevin, all seriousness and calm.
Nick glanced at Joe. Joe nodded back. This was the moment they'd been waiting for ever since the overheard phone call.
Kevin looked down, flexing his left hand a little. It still couldn't close all the way, fingers shaking when he tried to force it. He seemed to draw resolve from the lack of function. "So, you know my arm isn't improving as fast as we hoped it would. And I think it's time for you two to get back on the road."
"Nope." Joe said it first, shaking his head.
Kevin kept going like he hadn't heard. "The tour's been put off long enough already, and we won't even need a replacement guitar because John—"
"No way." Nick's turn; firm and final.
Kevin was starting to look a little desperate, eyes bright, pink spots on his cheeks. "This isn't about me, okay? It's about what's best for the band and for the fans, so—"
"And that's what we're doing. What's best for the band and the fans." Nick wasn't going to be swayed. Joe either. Kevin had no idea what he was up against.
"Look." That maddening calm was back again. "I appreciate this, I really do. But there are people depending on us. The guys and the label and—"
"You're not hearing us."
"Jonas Brothers, Kev. Brothers."Joe was on his feet now, arms flailing. "Not the Nick and Joe Show."
"But it's still the Jonas Brothers. There's just one less member. And heck, if Frankie—"
It was something Mom would do, and maybe Joe, never Nick…but in this moment, it was the only thing he could think of. Before Kevin could finish his sentence, Nick wrapped him up, planting Kevin's face into his shoulder, both arms looped around his back, holding tight. He dropped his chin to the top of Kevin's head and didn't let go, even when Kevin tried to pull away. "There is no band without you. There never will be. We wait until you're ready. And if you're done, we're done. That's it."
He felt Joe's arms come around them both. "That's it, Kevin. Okay?"
For a long while, there was no response. Then, finally, a hand came up, clutching at Nick's shirt. Kevin still didn't say anything, but nodded. It was enough.
When Joe and Nick let go and sat down again, everyone's eyes were wet. No one was talking, and Kevin seemed to be shaking. Nick understood…he wasn't exactly steady himself.
Kevin cleared his throat, looking a little embarrassed but with a spark back in his eyes that had been missing far too long. "So, uh…seems like you guys have been planning that for a while."
Joe clapped him on the knee. "That's just the way we roll, man."
There was a moment of silence, and then Kevin was laughing. Full out, shoulder shaking, Joe-what-have-you-said-now laughter.
It was awesome. And completely contagious. Nick joined in, weak with the blessed humor of the moment as well as something far more intense.
When it all died down, Kevin shook his head, still grinning. "That's possibly that lamest thing you've ever said."
"Totally."
"Hey, I resemble that remark!"
"Well, maybe not ever, but definitely top ten."
"Definitely top ten."
And just like that, things were right where they were supposed to be.
Epilogue
Press surrounding the comeback tour was insane: weeks of almost nonstop interviews, a half-dozen dedicated magazine issues, a prime-time special…and that was before they'd started rehearsals.
As much as they'd been exposed to the feeding frenzy in the past, it was nothing compared to this. And the heavy focus on Kevin had shaken his usual aplomb. Where Nick and Joe used to rely on Kevin's diplomacy to carry them through the awkward bits and tedious backstage tours, Kevin now looked to them, sometimes a little panicked, to ease the pressure of endless questions about the accident and his recovery. They took to flanking him now, when they sat for interviews, when they walked into a venue: something they'd started doing unconsciously so Kevin was never left exposed.
There was no doubt Kevin was nervous…and not the good, jitters-before-a-show kind, but the not-sleeping, not-eating kind, the-practice-'til-his-fingers-were-raw-and-worry-over-every-little-detail kind. Nick's fingers were pretty raw, too, from the extra run-throughs Kevin had asked for, and John had spent a few sleepless nights with him, patiently going over the arrangements and key changes Kevin seemed to cling to like a musical security blanket.
Not for the first time, Nick wondered if they'd done this too soon, pushed Kevin too hard. But really, it was Kevin doing all the pushing. As soon as he'd said he was ready, there'd been no stopping him.
They were backstage, now, close to lockdown time, and Nick could hear the chants of the fans reverberating through the Whiskey. They'd chosen a handful of clubs to lead off with, just to get their feet under them again. The capacity crowd was still awesome despite the size of the venue; it was as big a rush as ever to know people still wanted to hear the music, that they still cared.
For the moment, though, Nick just watched as Joe gave Kevin what seemed to be a pep talk: heads bowed close together, Joe's hands swooping in to tap against Kevin's chest. Joe yanked him in at the end, landing a kiss on Kevin's head in what was becoming a characteristic gesture. It was good, seeing Kevin being taken care of the way he usually tried to take care of everyone else. Until the accident, Nick had never thought he needed it.
Until the accident, maybe Kevin hadn't.
They gathered into the main dressing room, doors shut, lockdown officially started. Joe and Rob Brenner were doing pushups, Ryan and Garbo had a pair of Nerf guns they randomly fired into the crowd, and Kevin stood to the side, guitar in hand, fingers sliding silently over the strings. He looked a little tense but calm, and seemed to relax a bit when Big Rob hooked an arm around his neck, easy and confident.
"Alright, everybody, let's bring it in." Dad led the prayer tonight, a heartfelt one, for all of them. "Thank you, Heavenly Father, for giving us this opportunity to be together, to be here for each other, to do what we love with the people we love. Thank you for bringing about healing in all of our lives and for giving us the strength to make it through the challenges we've faced. We're never stronger than when we are humbled before you, Lord. Let us lift our hearts in gratitude and our voices in praise and may our works and our sufferings be an offering before your Holy Table. Bless us as we gather here tonight. In Jesus' name we pray. Amen."
"Amen." They drew in close together, raised their hands, and counted off. "One, two, three, Family."
Show time.
The cheers were deafening; only a few hundred people, but they were crammed into a pretty tight space and the stage was tiny. They were loudest for Kevin by far, and with a look to the guys, Nick paused the song they'd opened with, looping the opening riff a few times while Kevin took a moment.
He pressed a hand to his chest and then out toward the crowd, eyes bright, clearly touched. They jumped up and down, eating it up, and it was only the beginning. When he moved to the piano for "Turn Right," cheers turned to shrieks of happiness, girls screaming, "I love you, Kevin!" and a general cacophonous enthusiasm that made it hard to even hear the music.
And then, for the finale, Nick introduced their new song. Kevin had written the lyrics and music himself but refused solo credit. Even so, Nick didn't feel the least bit guilty for telling the audience how it had come into being. "You all know we've had a pretty rough year. Some of us have faced some big challenges and had to fight to be back here with you tonight."
He looked to Joe, who was wiping his eyes already, nodding along with Nick's words, and then on to Kevin, who was still and composed in the glow of the spotlight, eyes closed, hands again poised over the keyboard. He'd stripped to his t-shirt over the course of the evening and the long, raised scars on his arm were front and center, unignorable.
"But no one makes it through hard times alone. We have our family and our faith, and we have you. This last song is a tribute to that, to show you all how important you are to us and how we'll never take any of this, never take anything, for granted."
With that came the first delicate chords of "Granted" The crowd whooped in appreciation at first but when Kevin started to sing—alone, for the first time ever onstage, his voice clear and resonant and soulful—they fell silent. Looking out, Nick saw rows of people openly crying, some holding each other, some with their hands over their mouths.
He swallowed, a little overwhelmed by the emotion of it all. Their fans got it. Not just the scene unfolding in front of them or the song lyrics, but everything. That silence was maybe the most beautiful thing Nick had ever heard.
The song built up tempo after the bridge, guitars, bass and drums all blending with the band's collective voices. The crowd finally joined in as well, singing the chorus, swaying together with glo sticks in hand. But when the song circled back to its beginnings, just Kevin and the piano, the room was quiet again. He let the final note drift out and it faded into the silence.
It was like everyone was holding their breath. Nick caught Kevin looking up, confused and maybe edging toward a mostly-concealed hurt. He needn't have worried. By the time he'd reached center stage and grabbed his brothers' hands for their final bow, the room had erupted into what had to be the biggest ovation they'd ever received. It was a wall of sound, powerful enough to rock Nick on his heels.
Nick loosened his hold, thinking they could usher Kevin to the foreground to accept some individual praise, but Kevin clung tighter. He was smiling and crying just a little at the same time, face lit up with joy. A glance Joe's way garnered an almost identical expression. So instead of letting one person go, Nick gestured for the band to come forward. It took a couple of minutes, but then they were all there: John and Ryan and Jack and Garbo, Big Rob, Mom and Dad and Frankie. Family. And the applause just kept coming.
One by one, the others broke off until it was just the brothers again, and when the guys hit the opening for "Hold On," there really couldn't have been a better encore.
Don't give up... Have faith. Restart.
Together, that was exactly what they'd done.