Page 17 of Fresh Start
“Leo, what the hell happened up there? Why did you run off?” Melody said.
“I—it was nothing. I just wasn’t that hungry,” I said, and my stomach chose that moment to betray me and grumble in protest.
“Then why are you both flustered? Do you know Dawson Eldred?” she asked.
“No,” I answered before my body betrayed the real answer, too, and I tried to close the door, but Melody slapped her hand against it.
“This is a very expensive door, so I’d rather you didn’t slam it. Besides, it’s rude to close the door on someone when they’re not done talking to you. Mom taught you better,” she said.
I apologized and propped the door open again.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I answered her honestly.
A bell rang outside the room, and Melody turned to look at the end of the corridor.
“Someone’s at reception, so I’ve gotta go, but we’re not done here, little lion. You will tell me what’s going on between you two later.”
Melody raised her finger in my face, and only when I accepted did she turn around to leave.
I closed the door and took slow steps toward the bed and collapsed on it. When my face hit the mattress and my mouth was muffled by the comforter, I let out a growl.
Dawson knew how to get my worst self out in the open. I should have said something. That asshole had insulted me, and my response was to run off like a sulking child instead of standing my ground. This wasmyhometown. He didn’t get to win in Cedarwood Beach.
Dawson fucking Eldred. What were the chances of bumping into him here of all places?
The traitor that broke my heart.
Memories of my early adult life came rushing in. Attending masterclasses from big theatre veterans at drama school. The intense workouts at the dance studio. The singing coaches. The competition. It had been an amazing time in my life. An innocent time. A time that I was allowed to be myself and explore who I was. Remembering those years should make me smile. Those memories would be the best of my life if Dawson hadn't infected them with his poison.
I remembered it as if it were yesterday. Meeting him on the first day. His tall physique, blond hair, blue eyes. It made me drool. Even now as a thirty-eight-year-old man, the image of young Dawson made me feel like a pubescent schoolboy.
I’d never felt like this before. So completely infatuated with someone that every one of my waking moments was stolen by the thought of him.
After growing up in a small town where everyone kept to themselves trying not to upset the status quo or be the ridicule of the grapevine, Dawson had been like a breath of fresh air in my life.
Sharing classes and moments with a guy who was so unashamedly himself had given younger me the confidence I’d needed to be myself.
It was true, we'd never had a friendship, at least none that was reciprocated, but we'd been close. Until, of course, we'd started sleeping together. Then we grew closer.
Which is why his betrayal stung even more. I’d never forgotten what Dawson did back then. And I’d never forgiven him. It had been a blessing not seeing him since we left drama school at twenty-one. I couldn't stand the sight of the guy.
It still hurt as if it had just happened. His empty promises. Putting his career over me. Two decades later and the pain was still as raw as it was back then. But I guess I’d learned a very important life lesson, and I should be grateful to him for that.
Do not trust anyone.
Had that helped me in life? If my relationship with my band members was any indication, no. It hadn't helped.
I lifted my head off the bed and took another breath. I couldn’t let this happen to me again. Let the negative emotions take over me and put me through the wringer. I couldn’t risk it.
If I let the negativity in, there was a risk of the cravings returning, and anything I used to keep them at bay, be it yoga or meditation, it all went out the window and I was at war with myself anew.
I’d always been more of a spiritual guy than a religious person, unlike my family, but I hadn't fully appreciated the power of spirituality until I had taken the step to accepting my addiction problems, and it was my beliefs and practices that had helped me get back on my feet, stronger than ever.
Of course, that hadn't been easy, either. And my rocky relationship with the rest of One Shot had made it even harder. While they supported me getting better and fighting my demons, they had their own, and it had become quite obvious they'd had enough of me.
The fact that they’d been raging religious homophobes had never helped. It had always kept our friendship on a superficial level, and everyone put up with me because of the fame it brought them. I was the voice of One Shot, and no one could deny it.
