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

by Rhys Everly

  Dawson was acting as if we were still friends, or as if we’d left things on good terms when, in fact, we hadn’t left things on anything. There had been no goodbye, no explanation. Just a cold, stinking betrayal, and it’d taken me seventeen years to heal from it.

  Heck, had I even healed? If my rash behavior and the turmoil inside were any indications, then no, I hadn’t.

  I didn’t know what was worse. Him coming with me to my audition for moral support and then stealing the agent that was meant for me, or him running off without another word, leaving me to lick my wounds and pick myself up?

  “Oh, hey, stranger danger. What are you doing here again? Do I have to call the cops?” Luke said when he answered the door and saw me standing on the welcome mat, too lost in my own thoughts.

  “Luke, shut up,” I said.

  I wasn’t in the mood for more confrontation. Why couldn’t my family just accept I was an asshole and let it go? I could deal with apathy, but not direct loathing. Maybe it was my years living in London, or maybe it was my Greek wiring.

  “Don’t tell me to shut up, douche. You don’t have the right to tell me to—” he started.

  I raised my hand in front of me, and he stopped.

  “I’m sorry, okay? I’ve had a pretty shit day so far, and I took it out on you. I know I don’t have the right to tell you anything, and I hope one day you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me and accept me, and if there’s anything you want me to do to speed up the process to prove to you that I mean it, please tell me. But I don’t want to argue with you. I’ve got enough crap going on outside this house, and I don’t want to fight with my family.”

  Luke stared at me for a few moments and then put his hands up in surrender.

  “Fine,” he said. “If you’re looking for Yaya, she’s out, and Andy is at work.”

  “I was actually here for Summer,” I said, and as if she’s smelled me, Summer appeared next to Luke, dressed up and ready to go.

  “Are you ready for the butterfly tour?” I asked her, and she jumped down the step between the door and me and hugged my hips.

  We turned to descend the stairs when Luke spoke again.

  “Andy said don’t be late again. And as for us... I don’t know, dude. Maybe this time you stick around longer than the first? That would help me know you mean it and you’re not in search of some self-reprieve.”

  I nodded, and he closed the door. While I couldn’t stay past next Sunday, I could always come back after if the meeting went well and they didn’t need me in LA for longer. Or even if they did. Now that I’d come back to Cedarwood and reconnected with my family, I couldn’t imagine not coming back again. As much as I hadn’t known, I’d missed home. More than I could ever put into words.

  If it weren’t for Dawson being in town, this break would be perfection. As it stood, it was just great.

  “Where are we meeting Detective Strong?” Summer asked as we came out on the main road outside the house and took the trek down to the center.

  Fuck. I’d forgotten all about that. How could I tell Summer that Dawson wasn’t coming without breaking her little heart? Because of course he wasn’t coming. Why would he?

  After the way I’d shouted at him, there was no chance he was going to join us for the tour. I’d be surprised if he even remembered. He was a busy man. He’d never make time for a little girl and her uncle who hates him. Would he?

  No. If there was one thing Dawson was good at, that was letting people down. He’d perfected it during college, and I’m sure he was a master at it now.

  “I don’t think he’s coming, sweetie. I’m sorry,” I told her. Better get the heartbreak out now rather than later.

  Summer looked up at me confused.

  “But he said he’d be there.”

  “I know,” I said.

  Damn you, Dawson, and your stupid, empty promises.

  “Then I’m sure he will be,” Summer said and smiled.

  This confidence of hers had been an attribute I’d seen in Lucy before I left town. She and Andy had gotten married after high school when Lucy got pregnant, and they both put their professional aspirations on the backburner. Only Lucy lost her first child, and it wasn’t until four years later they were blessed with Nathan. But the damage had already been done. Lucy never went on to study psychology and Andy? Well, Andy never got up to whatever he wanted to do. We’d never been quite sure what his aspirations were, other than the fact he was good at basketball and had received a scholarship out of town which he never took up.

  We reached the town square that was once again heaving with the life the tourists brought with them in addition to their enthusiasm. I’d been so sick of the Butterfly Festival when I was growing up, but being back here during the event made the town all the more welcoming.

  We walked down Main Street until we reached the end where the butterfly reservation center was.

  As we approached it, I noticed someone waiting outside. The dirty blond of Dawson’s hair sparkled under the sunlight, and his whole face lit up when he turned around and saw us.

  “Detective Strong!” Summer exclaimed and ran to him for a hug.

  He’d made it. Even after my meltdown at the Oyster Club, he’d still taken the time out of his schedule to come to the center and spend some time with his little fan.

  Had something changed in him? Had the years and experience given him some much-needed perspective and a change of character?

  Whatever it was, I still couldn’t believe he was here. My chest flared and the heart underneath it fluttered. Damn you and your charms, Dawson Eldred. I couldn’t, wouldn’t fall for them again.

  “Hi,” I said when I caught up with them.

  “Detective Strong, reporting for duty.” Dawson stomped his foot to the ground and saluted me in his deep movie voice.

  I choked up a laugh, but Summer giggled.

  “Come on, sillies. We’re going to miss the start,” Summer said and ran inside.

  Dawson didn’t move. He kept the ridiculous pose looking straight ahead.

  “At ease, soldier,” I said, and only then did he relax his body, dropping his hand to his side.

  His blue eyes sparkled, and his lips pursed when he looked at me.

  What on earth was he looking all cute and shy for?

  “Come on, or she might run off without us,” I said.

  Us. Why did the word make my skin hotter and cause a lump in my throat? There was no us. There could never be an us. Not again.

  Dawson nodded and walked inside, leaving me to admire the tight ass he’d acquired as part of his fitness regime for all his movies.

  Damn. Even after everything, I still wanted him, didn’t I?

  The conservation center had definitely been given an upgrade since my last visit because it now boasted a digital surround system, informative tablets, and all sorts of interactive tech. According to the guy giving the tour, a kind resident had made a contribution a few years back to preserve the center and protect the local species.

  When I looked at the plaque dedicated to the resident, I recognized my father’s name. “Paul Karagiannis,” it read. “Patron of Cedarwood Beach Kaleidoscope.”

  “Is that a relative of yours?” Dawson asked standing next to me and looking at the plaque himself.

  He remembered my real last name? Flashes of the past suddenly took over of my teaching him how to say my name, how to spell it, and what it meant. It was teaching it to him that made my decision to assume a screen name final.

  “My dad, yes,” I told him without turning to him.

  “Papou loves the Butterfly Festival,” Summer said, papou being the Greek word for grandfather. “He says they remind him of Yaya Nicoletta. I can’t believe he’s not here for this year’s.”

  Mom. Mom had been such a hippie. Her entire life revolved around nature. And her kids. She loved all of us. Her love was so large and infinite that she’d convinced Dad to adopt another child, even though they already had four children a
nd a house full of horror. The Butterfly Festival had been her idea after being involved at the center. She had been integral during the first few, organizing everything and raising the money needed to protect the Mobjack Monarch.

  “She loved butterflies,” I said to Summer. “You know, years ago, they wanted to knock this place down and build a mall in its place.”

  “What? No way. Why would they do that?” Summer asked.

  “It was a different time back then. But your Yaya Nicoletta tied herself to the front doors along with two of her friends and refused to move unless the bulldozers drove off,” I said.

  The memory was fresh in my mind as if it’d happened yesterday. Watching my mom at only seven years old fighting for what she believed in had changed me. That day she became my very own superhero. She was everything I wanted to be when I grew up, and I’d been looking forward to the day that my mom would see me be my true self, fighting for what I believed in and be proud of me.

  “What happened then?” Dawson asked, and I turned to find his gaze boring into mine, hot and sweet and so soothing that it made remembering her a little easier.

  “The mayor came and tried to get the chains off them, but my dad stepped in and punched him. So the police came, and so did the media. Dad was arrested for assault, the media painted my mother and her friends as heroes of the First Amendment, and the mayor had to back down and send the bulldozers away.

  “Ever since, this center has remained standing in this place, stronger than ever, protecting the local butterflies and helping them pollinate, reproduce, and transform,” I said.

  “And that is why our very own local Monarch is called Nicoletta,” the tour guide said, and I turned to him to find the entire tour watching me.

  Crap. I hadn’t meant to take away from the tour. I’d only wanted to tell Summer her own personal history.

  “Sorry,” I said to the guide, but instead, he smiled at me.

  “It’s always fascinating to hear the personal histories that shaped this town,” he said. “Thank you for sharing. Now, if you’ll all follow me, we can go into the habitat where the butterflies are acclimatizing to nature before we release them into the wild next week.”

  Summer jumped on the spot and clapped her hands together.

  “Let’s go, let’s go,” she said and took both our hands to drag us behind her.

  All the while, I could feel Dawson’s gaze on me.

  I wanted to turn around and tell him to fuck off. To concentrate. To get the thought out of his mind. I didn’t want him, and he certainly didn’t want me anymore. We only had to put up with this tour and then not have to speak to each other ever again. There was no reason to open old wounds.

  Nine

  Dawson

  Spending time with Leo and his niece at the butterfly conservation center had been a mistake.

  If I hadn’t been certain before, I definitely was now. I was still in love with Leo. Being next to him and seeing what a beautiful man he still was. Despite everything that had happened between us, he was still the same sweet Leo who I fell in love with, one moment at a time.

  I wished he didn’t hate me like he still did. There was nothing I’d love more than to be able to hold him again like I used to. Feel his skin on mine. Those juicy lips on mine. His long, thick cock in me.

  It wouldn’t happen anyway. It was all just fantasy. Leo hated my guts, and not only that, but even if I did apologize, there was no way he would forgive me, let alone want to be with me.

  Who would? He was out and proud and lived his life unapologetically. Whereas I was still a closet-case. A relationship with me could drive anyone insane. Hell, it was driving me insane.

  After the tour, Leo took Summer back home, although not before she made me promise to go to the butterfly release together, which made Leo roll his eyes. It had been a full day, and I’d frankly had enough. I just wanted to be alone with my miserable thoughts.

  Leo was always going to hate me, and I had to learn to live with it. I had lived with it for seventeen years. As soon as I was gone from Cedarwood Beach, I wouldn’t have to see him again, and he wouldn’t have to look at me anymore, either. It was probably for the best.

  I locked myself in my room for the rest of the day, not even venturing out for dinner, and when my alarm woke me up the next morning, it was the proof I needed that I wasn’t feeling myself. I was always up before it. Not a good sign.

  While the bed had been more than comfortable so far, I woke up with pain all over my body, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out it was all a physical reaction to my mental state.

  My dreams had been all about my future and my past, the loneliness that always haunted me, and the sad life I was living. They certainly didn’t make for pleasant sleep.

  I decided to start my day with a nice, hot bubble bath. New day, new slate was all I could think. I submerged myself in the bathtub, lighting a couple of candles that I found around the room, and grabbed my book.

  The words were immersive, helping me find escape in the hands of a retired, grumpy detective hunting for the serial killer that had killed the love of his life. As absurd as it was, reading thrillers soothed me. They made me feel sane and alive.

  When I checked the time, half an hour had flown by, and the water had gone cold. My skin had gone all wrinkly and the bubbles had burst, so I pulled the plug and gave my body a quick, hot rinse and came out of the bathroom ready for some breakfast and coffee.

  I reached for the telephone in the room and tried to call reception before I remembered Melody was probably running around like a headless chicken trying to coordinate breakfast and ensure everyone was happy.

  The woman needed a break. Or some help. Or both. She looked like a smart person, so I was clueless as to how she’d ended up so overwhelmed with a guesthouse where she had to spend day and night serving her guests.

  The phone disconnected on its own when no one answered, so I returned it to its cradle. If I couldn’t have breakfast in bed, I’d just have to bite the bullet and have it upstairs. And if Leo was there, I’d just have to ignore him instead of facing my fucked-up feelings for him.

  As I got up and put my pants on, starting to get dressed, my cell phone rang and interrupted the quiet inside the room. I grabbed my device and slid the answer button across the screen.

  "Hello.”

  "Hi, honey. How is the family?" Alice, my agent asked.

  "Hi, Alice. The family is good. This break is just what I needed,” I said. “There’s even a butterfly festival, if you would believe it. Isn’t that the cutest, small-town thing you’ve ever heard?”

  "Oh my God. Small towns? Festivals? Those things give me the creeps,” Alice said.

  “Small towns give you the creeps? Why?” I asked.

  I knew very well why. Alice was an LA girl through and through. There was no trekking into the unknown for her. Unless a destination had a Hilton or a Marriott, there was no chance it was her destination.

  “Haven’t you read any murder mysteries, hon. That’s where all the psychos live,” she said, and I shook my head, holding a laugh in. “Aren’t you bored there?"

  "As a matter of fact, I’m not. It's actually so nice and peaceful out here. And everyone’s so friendly.” Leo came to mind. "Save for a person or two," I added.

  "What does that mean?"

  "Nothing. Never mind."

  "Dawson? Are you there? I can't hear you." Alice's voice broke up.

  "Alice, can you hear me?" I raised my voice.

  "Dawson? Are you still there? The line’s gone bad," Alice repeated.

  "One sec. I'll move."

  I walked around the room, closer to the windows, but without much luck. Alice couldn't hear me. Oddly enough, I could hear her just fine.

  "Dawson? What's going on? Your reception is terrible," Alice said.

  “Hold on,” I shouted and walked around the room again. Only when I was near the bedroom door was she able to hear me better. So I opened the door and went to
the corridor. Wasn’t this supposed to work the other way round? Reception should be even worse here than near the window.

  "Yeah, that's good now. Where the hell are you?"

  I opened my mouth to reply, but she continued.

  "The studio is chasing me about your contract, hon. They are concerned that you are going to drop out. And I don't know what to tell them because you aren't talking to me, either."

  "Alice, I really don't want to talk about it right now. I told you, and I’ve told Tracy. We'll talk about it when I'm back."

  "I know, I know, but can you at least give me a clue as to what we're doing so I can plan accordingly?" she asked.

  How could I tell her the truth? How could I come out to Alice, who was making so much money from the work I got, and tell her I was no longer interested in filming any more Detective Strong films, or any of the other movies in the franchise. I knew she was a friend, but she was my agent, too, first and foremost. We’d been working together for ten years. But for some reason, I didn't think she’d appreciate losing out on millions.

  "I'm sorry, Alice. I'd rather we have this—" I started again, but before I could finish my sentence, my whole body crashed into someone else, and my breath hitched. My phone slipped out of my hands and fell on the floor.

  As I bent down to pick it up, my head smashed with Leo's, who had also dropped his phone due to the impact of our clashing bodies.

  "I mean, you can't stay away from me, can you?" Leo said. He wasn't exactly shouting, but for all I cared, he could have been. And I didn't appreciate the tone in the slightest.

  "You're the one that bumped into me," I said, my voice shakier than I’d have wanted.

  "No, I didn't. And you made me drop my phone." Leo pointed at the floor where our two phones were laid next to each other.

  Leo dropped to his knees and grabbed his device, erratically pressing all the buttons and furiously tapping on his screen. I bent down and picked mine up.

  I pressed a button to unlock it and noticed a little crack on the top right corner. Leo, on the other hand, wasn’t having any luck at all with his because his phone remained unresponsive.