Page 30 of Fresh Start
Fuck. His cheeks were red, and his eyes were screaming bloody murder. I didn’t want him to be so upset. Why was he getting so worked up over a meal?
But of course, it wasn’t about the meal. It was about that time years ago. My broken promise. Leaving him behind. Never stopping to explain. That’s what it was all about.
And it was as fresh for him now as it was back then. It was equal parts justified and sad. Yes, I had betrayed him. I’d abandoned him in more ways than one, but it was also so long ago. So fucking long. I was a different man now. I was a man. And so was he.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I really didn’t. I—” I started to say, but it all came out a jumble of words even I couldn’t comprehend.
“This is my town, Dawson. My town. Stop acting like you own everything. You’re not all that,” Leo said, stood up, and stormed out of the restaurant.
The waiter looked at me and then at the door. I had no idea how much of it he’d heard, but I could tell he also wanted to run after Leo.
“Add his check to mine,” I told him, and he nodded.
I sat back against the seat and looked at the pearl stew. It wasn’t appetizing anymore. But I had to eat. Get some strength for what I was about to do later.
My work was cut out for me, and I had far more apologizing to do than I originally thought. And I had no fucking clue where to start.
How did I make up for the fact that I’d stolen Leo’s moment and ran with it like a motherfucker? How did I start apologizing, especially when I hadn’t quite forgiven myself yet?
Eight
Leo
Icouldn’t believe that asshole and his behavior. Poisoning everything he touched, everywhere he went. Was it stupid I’d snapped over a freaking stew? Hell yes. Did I regret it? Hell no.
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 later 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.
