Fresh Start: A Small Town Gay Romance (Cedarwood Beach Book 1)

by Rhys Everly

  After I’d peeled the potatoes and vegetables and put everything in the oven on low heat to slowly roast, I changed into my workout outfit and crossed the street to the yoga center that was my daily addiction nowadays.

  Beth was doing her stretches along with the rest of the girls that were in attendance, and I took my spot in the front as usual.

  “Better late than never, I guess.” Beth chuckled when I rolled my yoga mat out and started stretching.

  “I have a life,” I replied.

  She stuck her tongue out and then stood up straight, clapping her hands together. The class turned their attention to her, and she walked us through all the poses, mantras, and meditation for the day.

  I waited for her walk through even though I knew everything by heart, and with each inhalation, I took in all the positivity and calm I wanted to possess, and with every exhalation, I imagined the frustration, upset, and negativity come out of me and dissolve into nothing.

  It didn’t always work. Some days the world’s words and criticism etched too close to my heart to be able to let it all go with some simple breathing techniques, and other days my cravings for the strong stuff drove me nuts.

  But despite everything, I’d kept clean. Three years, seven months, and twenty-three days. And counting.

  Today, it proved easy to let go of the negativity. And I was grateful to whichever deity made that possible for me. It made me feel positive that someone was somewhat looking after me up there.

  When the class finished and everyone had namasted their way out of the building, Beth approached me and punched my shoulder playfully.

  “So, what’s new with you? You were completely tranced out earlier,” she said.

  “I just needed to forget,” I told her, and it sounded worse than it had in my head.

  “Oh, who is it this time? Grinder hookup, or anyone more substantial?” she laughed, but her gaze remained pinned on me.

  I shook my head and rolled my yoga mat.

  “Nothing like that,” I said and told her about the review.

  She immediately came in for a hug, which was a huge thing for her. Beth wasn’t a hugger. Most days, she wasn’t even a people person. But doing yoga together for the better part of a decade had brought those walls down.

  “Oh, mate. I’m sorry. They don’t know what they’re talking about. You were brilliant. And that voice! I’d love to see them hitting those notes,” she said.

  “It’s fine. I’m fine. This helped,” I said and pointed at the room around us. “It always helps. Well, mostly.”

  “Okay, so if you’ll allow me to play devil’s advocate. If push comes to shove and the show doesn’t extend its initial run, what’s next?”

  Beth squatted on the floor and patted the space next to her, inviting me down with her.

  “Wouldn’t I love to know that too,” I said. “This was meant to be my way in, Beth. It was going to lead me to bigger, greater things. Now, I’m not sure what’s going to happen. Probably back to square one.”

  The sadness grew inside me again, even after I’d tried to suppress it in the last hour. Maybe yoga hadn’t helped today. Or maybe this was inevitable.

  “I mean, mate, it still is Sherlock Holmes the Musical. I don’t know what you were expecting. A Sherlock Holmes musical?” She laughed and nudged my side, but it didn’t do anything to lighten the mood.

  “Maybe I just have to accept that I’ll always be a failure and get over myself,” I said. “I mean, it’s not like I have to work again, ever, in my life.”

  Despite our short run as One Shot, we’d broken enough charts to guarantee we had more than enough in the bank to never worry. But there was more to life than money. There was finding completion through your art. But how could I find completion when no one liked what I did?

  “Oh, shut up, you wanker. You’re not a failure. A moan? Certainly. But not a failure. You hear me?” Beth raised her voice. “Don’t make me go all psychoanalytic on your arse. I’m not your therapist. Although you should get one.”

  I rolled my eyes and got off the floor.

  “But you always sit there and hear me complain about my life. Why should I pay someone to do the same?” I grinned.

  “Arse,” she mumbled and also got up.

  “Want to pop over for roast dinner? I’ve got chicken in the oven and grape juice in the fridge.”

  “I thought you were vegan, and ew. I know you’re a recovering alcoholic, but grape juice shouldn’t exist. All right? It’s an insult to grapes,” Beth replied.

  “I am vegan. On most days. But I had a craving, and Milo doesn’t touch anything green.”

  Beth crossed her arms in front of her chest and gave me a sneaky smile.

  “Okay. I’ll come. But only if you promise to never, ever serve grape juice to me or anyone else in the world.”

  We shook hands even though I was a big fan of the drink, and I returned home, leaving Beth to wrap things up at the center before she joined me.

  I took a shower, turned the oven off, and set the table. Half an hour later, both Beth and Milo were sitting around it, and Beth had decided to go on another rant as to why grape juice should become an extinct species while Milo nodded in agreement and waved his hand in the air with his “Preach it, sista.”

  When I cleared the table, Milo decided to drop a bomb.

  “So, I’ve got some news,” he said, not letting his face betray the nature of said news.

  I dropped the plates in the sink a little too aggressively and turned around, supporting myself on the kitchen counter.

  “Should I be sitting for this? I should be sitting for this,” I said.

  Milo pushed his chair and came up to me, grabbed both my shoulders, and leaned in. I thought he was going to kiss me, which made me flinch. It’s not like we never went there, but let’s just say we weren’t compatible.

  Instead of a kiss, he whispered close to my ear. “Guess who wants to see you?”

  I was confused. I didn’t even know what he was talking about. And I made sure to show him by the look on my face.

  Milo pushed back and screeched in incomprehensible English.

  “Thedeathknighproducerswanttospeaktoyou.”

  “What?” I asked. “Say it again, slower please.”

  I didn’t even need to wait for him to repeat to comprehend. The Death Knight producers wanted to see me. Me. Leo Karras. The big fail.

  Milo had been talking with the production team since the casting call circulated the industry experts, but I’d lost any hope of ever getting the part, or even attempting to, as my reputation preceded me. And I doubted a film production would want an ex-alcoholic, tabloid sensation, and boy-band member for the biggest superhero movie of the year. The decade even.

  “You’re a mean man, Milo. Why would you joke about that?” I said and pushed him off me completely to return to the table where Beth was watching our interaction.

  “Babe, I’m not joking. It’s true. The casting director and the producers want to sit down with you and talk about the part. And you know what that means in Hollywood. The part is almost yours,” he said.

  “Almost, yeah,” I said.

  Beth’s punch landed on my arm again, and I rubbed where it had made contact.

  “That’s what you’re focusing on, you idiot. They want to see you,” she shouted.

  And that was when it hit me.

  They want to see me. Talk to me and discuss the possibility of taking on the iconic role.

  Fuck. Me.

  “They want to see me,” I shouted too.

  “They want to see you,” Milo shouted back, and we all cheered and jumped on the spot like school children, celebrating the best news that I could have got today, or ever.

  Once we’d all settled down and clinked our water glasses—there was a lot of hooting involved too—we sat down at the dinner table and discussed the rest of the details.

  “So, you have to be there the Monday after the next, and I already took the libe
rty to book your hotel,” he said.

  “Oh, that’s soon. That’s really soon,” I said, and my breathing quickened.

  Beth clicked her fingers in front of me.

  “Don’t shut down on us, Leo. This is your big opportunity. Don’t let the nerves get to you,” she said.

  “Fine,” I said and tried to relax by taking deep breaths. “Where?”

  “LA, duh!” Milo replied.

  “This is real isn’t it,” I said again, not believing my life was about to change in such a big way.

  “Damn right it is,” Milo said.

  The more we talked about it, the calmer I became, so when they both left a few hours later, I was more than ready to seize the day.

  I went to my laptop straight away and looked up flights. I wasn’t a big fan of planes on the best of days, so I looked for those with a stop and was just about to book the one to LA via New York when a new email popped up on the corner of my screen.

  “The Butterfly Festival returns to Cedarwood Beach,” read the subject line.

  Gosh, they still did that? It had always been the highlight of the town when I was growing up, even though I had never really cared for it. But it attracted all the tourists and that was needed a lot, especially in a coastal town that didn’t have much of a life in the winter. So of course the festival was still running.

  And it was starting in a few days.

  It had been so long since I’d been home. I hadn’t returned since I turned eighteen, much to the disappointment of my father and the rest of my family.

  Maybe this was a sign that I needed to go back. Mend those bridges. After all, if I returned to live in the States, I wouldn’t have any excuse for not visiting, so might as well do it now and get it over with.

  I booked a flight to Dulles International and another flight to LAX separately. It was only once I’d booked it all and then even informed my sister I was coming that I realized I couldn’t just up and leave for two weeks. I had a show to do. No matter how bad the reviews were, I had an obligation and a contract.

  But I also had an understudy. And we were still in previews.

  Fuck it. I’d just have to deal with the pushback. I messaged the director, Nichols, even though I was going to see him in less than a couple of hours at the theatre.

  Rip off that band-aid and all. Besides, if I was that bad in the lead role, why even bother? The understudy was a great guy, and perhaps he could bring better reviews so the show could have a bigger life than its original booked run.

  It turned out I didn’t even need to perform that day. Because Nichols let me go. The critical response was too much, and he wanted to save whatever he could of the show. I couldn’t believe the man that had put so much of his faith in me was so quick to dismiss and discard me, but that was the story of my life. I should be used to it by now.

  Losing my job left the next day few days free to sort things out before my flight. On Friday, I took a cab to Heathrow and boarded the plane home. My feet couldn’t stop tapping the entire trip. I couldn’t even close my eyes and fall asleep.

  It had been so long. Too long. Would anyone even remember I existed? My brothers definitely didn’t. Only Melody and my yaya were ever there when we video chatted.

  By the time we landed in Dulles, VA, I had already decided I wasn’t going back to Cedarwood Beach, and by the time I got my suitcase, I’d already booked a flight to LA.

  But then I saw Melody waiting for me, beaming, a bright smile on her face, fists resting lightly on her breasts, and standing on her toes, and all my resolution went out the window.

  I realized then that it had been too long since I’d seen her as well. As I approached her in the slowest pace I could have picked, I tried to remember the last time we spoke online. It must have been five months ago. Her curly hair had definitely grown. And there were wrinkles around her eyes. Had it been longer than five months?

  She didn’t say anything when I stood opposite her. Instead, we crashed into each other’s arms and held on tight. Her perfume smelled of citrus and roses, and it brought tears to my eyes. It had been Mom’s perfume. She had always made it herself and had taught Melody how to make it too.

  I’d missed her so much, and I didn’t even know it. How terrible was I?

  When we pulled apart from the embrace, she clasped my cheeks and stared into my eyes with a tearful gaze.

  “You’re old, little brother,” she said and tried to laugh, but instead, blew snot out of her nose which she wiped with the sleeve of her jacket.

  “Says you,” I said and elbowed her hand. “I’m not even forty yet.”

  Melody lifted a finger at my face. “But soon, youngling,” she said. “Come on. Yaya is so excited to see you that she might have a heart attack. We want to be quick. There’s going to be some serious traffic.”

  I nodded. “The Butterfly Festival. Yup. Maybe I should have flown sooner,” I said.

  “Well, you’re here now, little lion,” she said.

  I almost burst into tears again hearing my nickname from our childhood, one she hadn’t use on me since. Fuck, I wasn’t even home yet and I was already not ready to leave.

  Melody had been right. The roads were busy, and even on the final stretch to Cedarwood, there was a traffic jam from all the incoming Butterfly tourists. Once we got into town, it was a quick ride to the family home.

  Pulling into the long driveway to our house made my life flash before my eyes and remember all the things that still tied me to this place, but mostly all the reasons that had pushed me out of this town.

  Nothing much had changed at the house, other than the fact there was a lot more cars now than before.

  Melody parked hers in front of a white 4x4 Toyota, and we climbed up the steps to the house. At the top of them, Yaya Marina, my grandmother and the matriarch of the family, was waiting with her arms stretched wide open and a smile wider than humanly possible.

  “Come here, my little lion,” she said, and I found myself in the warmth of her embrace and a victim of her sloppy kisses that I used to hate as a child, but which felt like a much deserved revenge for finally being back home.

  “I missed you so much, Yaya.”

  It was amazing how small I felt in her presence. I might be pushing thirty-nine, but one of grandma’s kisses and I was ten again.

  “So have we, sweetie. So have we. Come on inside. I’ve made your favorite,” she said. “I even made it vegetarian for you.”

  “Don’t tell me? You made moussaka?”

  “Of course. What a silly question. Why? Do you have another favorite dish? I’ll make it. You’re staying for a week, right? I have all the time to spoil you so you don’t leave again,” she said.

  My empty stomach would have to wait, however, when I came into the house and saw my younger brother was sitting on the stairs looking at his phone and leaning a shoulder against the wall.

  “Lucas,” I said and made for him.

  “Oh, hi,” he said lazily and lifted his gaze from his phone.

  I hugged him, but his hands never reached around me, and he pushed himself off me after a few seconds.

  “Welcome back, I guess,” he said and climbed the stairs without another word.

  “Young man, come down this moment. We’re going to have a family dinner,” Yaya shouted at him.

  “Family? I thought you were entertaining guests tonight,” Lucas replied and glanced at me.

  Subtle shot, but a shot indeed. I couldn’t help it when my head dipped, and I decided to focus on the ground instead.

  “Shut up, Luke,” Melody said. “Show some respect to your older brother.”

  “Why should I? He hasn’t even acknowledged my existence in the past twenty years. Am I supposed to pretend he never left or that he won’t leave again and forget about us again?” Lucas said and climbed the rest of the steps and disappeared on the second floor.

  “He’s an ass. Don’t mind him,” Melody said. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

/>   I shook my head.

  “He’s right, Mel,” I mumbled.

  “Nonsense,” Yaya said and put her hand through my arm and guided me to the big kitchen that also hadn’t changed. “You’re a busy man. Traveling the world. Family is family no matter how long they’ve been gone.”

  “Is that the kind of crap you’ve been telling him, Yaya? So that he doesn’t feel guilty for forgetting us?” someone said from the corner, and we all turned to find Andrew, my oldest brother, walking from the garden into the house.

  Boy, had he changed since I’d last seen him. He was a grown-ass man now.

  “Language, Andy. And what’s wrong with the Karagiannis family today? It’s a celebration. Our family is almost back together. And instead, you’re all being stupid,” Yaya said.

  “I’m sorry, Yaya, but family to me is there when you need them,” Andy said and walked past us. “Anyway, I’ve got to go. They’re short at the bar, and they need me.”

  “But we’re having—” Yaya tried to reason with him, but he practically ran out front. “Family dinner,” she mumbled to herself after he’d closed the door behind him.

  “I guess it’s just us then,” Melody said and hugged me, but I couldn’t shake the confrontations with both my brothers.

  “Everyone hates me, don’t they?” I asked when we sat down.

  “No one hates you, Leo. You should see how they treat Charlie when he visits,” Yaya said and opened the oven to take a baking tray out.

  My nostrils filled with the aromas of cheese, aubergines, and potatoes.

  “But he visits. I don’t. They hate me,” I said.

  “Andy hasn’t been the same since Lucy passed away. And Lucas is trying to find his birth parents without much luck. They’re just being assholes because life isn’t being fair to them, which isn’t fair to you,” Melody said, but it didn’t do anything to appease me.

  It just added to the reasons why I felt like crap for not being there for my brothers when they needed me the most. Lucy had passed away five years ago, and I hadn’t managed to make it to the funeral due to a tour in China and Japan and going into rehab straight after. Thinking about it now, it was fucking stupid of me to leave my brother deal with his loss alone. Even if he had the rest of the family there for him.