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

  Fresh Start

  Cedarwood Beach 1

  Rhys Everly

  Fresh Start, Cedarwood Beach Book 1

  Copyright © 2019 by Rhys Everly

  Cover Design by Ethereal Designs

  Editing by Alphabitz Editing

  Proofreading by Alphabitz Editing

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Dawson

  2. Leo

  3. Dawson

  4. Leo

  5. Dawson

  6. Leo

  7. Dawson

  8. Leo

  9. Dawson

  10. Leo

  11. Dawson

  12. Leo

  13. Dawson

  14. Leo

  15. Dawson

  16. Leo

  17. Dawson

  18. Leo

  19. Dawson

  20. Leo

  21. Dawson

  22. Leo

  23. Dawson

  Epilogue

  Join the Giveaway

  A Letter from Rhys

  Also by Rhys

  About the Author

  One

  Dawson

  "Playing Detective Strong is like… going back to a best friend. I know it's only been two years since the last film, but being on the same set with these—” I said as I pointed to the rest of the cast on the stage, “—brilliant people again was an incredible experience, and I can't wait for the next one."

  God! Lying used to be such a thrill when I was younger. Nowadays, it just left a bad taste in my mouth.

  The reporters all raised their hands ready to fire their questions at me. The moderator, the editorial manager for one of the biggest “nerd” magazines in the country, pointed at one of them, giving them permission to speak, and the rest put their hands back down.

  "What would you say is your biggest challenge when filming these huge blockbusters like Detective Strong or Agents of America?” the guy asked.

  I wish I could say the truth. That I hated playing Detective Strong. I’d spent half of my adult life playing this character, and while I was grateful for the experience and compensation it had offered me, I couldn't wait to move on with my life and do other projects.

  "My biggest personal challenge? I guess that would be getting back into the fitness regime that's needed to play Strong. I enjoy working, but I enjoy food so much more, and every time we start a new film, that has to change. I’d say that's my biggest pet peeve. But at the end of the day, I love playing him, so it’s all worth the trouble in the end."

  If they sounded like rehearsed lines, that’s because they were. Well, partly. After so many years and so many interviews, I knew just the right thing to say to appease the studio and satisfy the fans.

  The moderator handed the baton to another reporter who jumped out of his seat and looked right at me.

  "What would you say to the rumors that you have been negotiating for more money out of the studio?" a young reporter asked.

  I didn’t know which magazine he worked for or if he wrote for one of the blogs that criticized every new film that I starred in, and I didn't care.

  "No comment," Dawson replied.

  It was true. I’d tried to negotiate, but that was years ago. The studio couldn't stand to lose me, so they always paid more for every film. That didn't help make my decision any easier. The panel question moved on to another actor, Cassandra Jones, and the journalists asked her questions about her solo film that was about to come out right after our joint production.

  I zoned out. Occasionally, another question would come my way, or I would offer my take if the questions were relevant to me, but other than that, I kept quiet. I didn’t want to intrude on everyone else's personal time. I had done so many of these press conferences the last couple of months that I could do them with my eyes closed. All the questions were predictable. Every journalist tried to get a juicy exclusive, and every one of us tried to show what a big, happy family we were.

  I was getting sick to death of these panels. The film wasn't even out yet and the demands for all of us, especially me, were getting intimidating, and while I was used to it, or I should be after such a long time, I just couldn't stand it anymore. Thank goodness we had a little break before the next one. My body needed it. Hell, my mind needed it more. The longer I had to sit through these things, the more angsty I became. I didn’t know when I would explode and ruin my career by saying what I really felt. So, yeah. This break was very much needed indeed.

  The moderator stood up and announced that they were about to show the audience, which included some hardcore fans of the franchise, an exclusive scene of the upcoming movie, and the crowd went wild.

  As the lights went down and the screen lit up, I ducked out and went backstage. Karen, my PA, was waiting for me with a large coffee at hand. She passed it to me, and I took a few generous gulps of the magic juice that I so desperately needed to stay awake.

  "Thank fuck this is the last one," I said.

  "The last one until next week," my publicist, Tracy, replied, walking toward me.

  I knew that. Why did she have to ruin it for me? It might be a week before the next one, but that was a week I could do whatever the fuck I wanted for a change, with whoever I wanted, and not have to worry about my behavior in the public eye. Of course, I wasn't planning on going out in public during that week because that would be stupid. The paps were always after me wherever I went, so I preferred to be in the privacy of my own home whenever I could.

  "You don't have to remind me. I just can't wait to have some time off, see my parents, and celebrate with them. Do nothing… for as long as possible,” I said.

  “Oh God, nothing sounds so good right now," Tracy sighed.

  These press conferences and studio mandated interviews were taking their toll on her too. She didn’t really have to be here with me, but she preferred it this way. Her thinking was that if she was with me at all times, she’d have less cleaning up to do with rampant press and trolling bloggers.

  "What time does this thing finish?” I pointed at the stage behind me.

  "It's another half-hour’s worth of questions related to the preview," Karen said.

  I rolled my eyes and, after another swig of my coffee, went back onstage. Just as I took my seat, the lights came up again and the journalists eager to ask the next round of questions raised their hands. This time, however, it was the fans’ chance to talk to us and express their love for our films and our characters.

  The floor runner walked to the back, behind the journalists, and passed the microphone to a young guy in his twenties who stood up and turned right at me with a wide smile.

  That was as much as I could see from such a distance. I smiled back at him and waited for his question. It was usually either related to my character or one of those fanfiction things that everyone enjoyed painting and writing so much.

  "Dawson, I am one of your biggest fans, and I love your Detective Strong, but I have a question for you. Would you say playing the same character for more than a decade and doing all these tours has put your personal life on hold? Is that why you broke up with Natalie Rivers?" the guy asked.

  I froze.

  My mouth twitched, looking for the words to answer, but I couldn't find anything to say. Had my role as Detective Strong put my life on hold?
<
br />   Well, let’s see. I'd never had a partner, I'd never been in a relationship, I'd never been engaged, and almost never been broken-hearted. Instead, I'd spend twelve years chasing bad guys and developing superpowers as Strong, all while taking pictures with superfans as my entire life was made into a show for the amusement of the press and their cult following.

  "I…I don’t—" I mumbled.

  "I'm sorry, but the time for personal questions is over. Do you have any questions about the preview we’ve just watched?” the moderator asked and glanced at me.

  “Er, no. It was awesome. I can’t wait for the movie,” the guy said, and the audience cheered.

  He sat back down, and we all took more questions from fans. These ones were far more predictable, and as such, easier to answer, and the half hour flew by before I knew it.

  “Before we wrap up”—the moderator turned to me—“can we ask you to take one of your customary selfies?”

  While in real life I was a bit of a shut-in and rather shy, my online presence was vibrant. After my career had taken off, I’d decided to help good causes that I held near and dear to my heart, and one way of getting more people involved had been through my social media channels. I had a Facebook Fan Club where I often dropped exclusive stuff along with my latest humanitarian adventures, and my Instagram page with over 40 million followers was where I posted pictures and live videos of every event I attended.

  Taking group selfies with entire audiences was sort of my thing, and I was always asked to take them at the end.

  It was truly the only redeeming moment of this or any other event, so I gladly took my phone out, flipped the camera to selfie mode, and the guys on the stage squeeze behind me. The audience all did their own poses, and I snapped several shots of people coming together. With everything that was going on in the world, didn’t we need more community and less dissent?

  A round of cheers and applause roared across the hall after the photos were taken, and the cast hi-fived me.

  When I walked backstage, Tracy was chatting with Karen about something I wasn't privy to, because as soon as I approached, they stopped talking.

  "I cannot believe they let that fan talk to you like that," Tracy said. "We'll have to do some crisis control. I can ping some of my friends in the press and tell them this man was a rampant stalker. We can make him look like he is a deluded groupie."

  I sighed. "Tracy, calm down, please. It was nothing. And besides, when have I ever asked you to do that sort of thing?"

  "Dawson, he embarrassed you in front of everyone. In front of the whole press. People will start talking. They start talking, and the truth will come out. And I know you don't want the truth plastered on every gossip rag known to man."

  It was true. I didn't want the truth to become common knowledge. Being gay in Hollywood was not the most successfully prolific thing one could be. I had seen a gaggle of actors come out of the closet, only to have their chances and opportunities taken from them simply because producers didn't think they could continue to act in a role they were good enough to play before. As if they'd never been gay in the first place. As if already playing those same characters wasn't enough proof they could play them.

  "I guess you're right," I replied. "But please, don't make him sound like a deluded monster. Maybe just say—"

  "Don't worry, I'll take care of it," she said and shut me down. “Dinner?”

  “Nah, I'm beat. I think I'll get back to the hotel and head to my parents tonight instead of tomorrow. I need to clear my head,” I said.

  Karen opened her purse and tried to hand me a car key.

  "Before you go, though," she said, wrapping her palm around the key and pulling her hand back, "will you please sign the contract?"

  As if on cue, Tracy took a clipboard out of Karen’s other hand and clicked a pen open.

  "Karen, not now, please," I said.

  "Dawson, the studio keeps asking why you haven't signed yet. They keep asking Alice and Karen if you're going to drop out, and they don't know what to tell them. At least tell us what you're thinking," Tracy said.

  I pushed the contract back to Tracy and grabbed the key from Karen, who gave me a big sigh. "I'll sign it when I'm back. I promise."

  "I guess I should know by now what you're like, Mr. Last Minute," Tracy said.

  I tapped my hand on her cheek playfully. "It's been ten years, sweetie. I would hope so. See you both in a week, girls."

  And with that, I left for the parking lot and drove the rental with tinted windows back to my hotel.

  I’d only been in Virginia Beach a handful of times, and always with the studio entourage to promote the newest film and attend the smaller Comic Book convention that happened in town every November, so it was nice to find out that it was still light out and still warm.

  Rolling down the windows in a big city was usually a big no-no. The paparazzi were everywhere and ready to snap me at my worst. I’d learned the hard way. But since the sun was still up and I was officially on vacation, I decided to take the risk and put the windows down. The evening summer breeze fluffed my hair, and the fresh seawater scent made my skin tingle. Red, purple, and coral shaded the blue as the sun was starting its descent, and the beach took on an idyllic scene as if it was straight out of a painting.

  This felt so good. Too good to last. But I would do my best to enjoy it while it did.

  Freedom.

  Even if just for a week, the taste of it was satisfying on my tongue. It tasted of accomplishment and calm. A flavor I wasn’t familiar with anymore.

  The lady on my GPS told me to take the next left, and once I did, the parking sign for my hotel appeared straight ahead.

  I parked in the VIP section that Karen had booked for me, one that required a separate security code to enter and was located under the building, and then took the elevator to my suite on the eighth floor. On its way up, the elevator slowed at the lobby, and the doors slid open.

  Without thinking too much about it, I stood to the side so I wasn't seen from outside. The last thing I needed was a tabloid journalist catching whiff of me before I could make my escape to my parents’.

  A blonde woman in a tank top and skinny jeans entered the car and jumped as soon as she saw me.

  "Helen!" I said.

  "Dawson? What are you doing back here already?" she asked me. "The guys were looking for you after the press conference."

  I shrugged and rubbed the back of my neck as the doors of the elevator closed again.

  "Yeah, I wasn't in the mood. That flight wiped me out completely. Plus, I'm going home tonight, so I thought I'd come and pack."

  Helen nodded and bit her lip. "Yeah, I thought as much. I told the guys you probably had plans. If I knew you were coming back, I'd have asked for a ride."

  Which was exactly why I hadn't said anything.

  Helen was a great woman and an even better castmate, but I didn't really like being around her when the cameras were off—as was the case with most of my co-stars. While I enjoyed the banter and camaraderie on set, I couldn't help feeling like an imposter when we hung out outside of work. Everyone always shared their family stories or their latest conquest, and I either had to resort to lies, which I didn't like, or keep quiet, which was awkward, and both only made the rift in our relationships bigger.

  With Helen, there was an added reason, because she'd always had a thing for me and had even gone as far as to tell me as much.

  Detective Strong and Miss Chameleon had had their fair share of on-screen intimacy, despite the fact that in the comic books, the two were arch enemies. The problem was, I could never, had never, and would never feel anything other than friendship for her. The beards I’d hired over the years had not been enough to keep her off me.

  I’d even gone as far as to contemplate telling her my secret in the hopes she would get the message. Hell, I’d considered telling all my co-stars, but a secret held by many was not a secret.

  "I hope you're not still thinking about that
fan's question," she said and stepped closer to me.

  I turned my body away from hers and shook my head.

  "Nah, I'm good. It just came out of nowhere, that's all."

  The elevator pinged, and it announced we were on the fifth floor. Helen leaned into me and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “If you need anyone to talk to, I'm only a phone call away. You know that."

  She exited the elevator, and before the doors closed, she turned her head and smiled.

  Once I was on my own again, I let out a sigh. This break was desperately needed. I could feel myself getting angsty and impatient. Helen usually didn't bother me that much. We’d known each other for so long, and she was a friend. Although how much of a friend anyone could ever be when they didn’t know everything about me, that was a different question. But even so, I knew I was in need of R & R when even she got under my skin.

  Once back in my room, I jumped in the shower and washed the whole trip off my body. The hot water calmed my nerves and energized me. It was the perfect wake-up before the drive out to Cedarwood Beach.

  A fresh change of clothes later, I did a quick scan of the room, picked up my suitcase that hadn’t even been unpacked, and headed back to the underground parking garage. Karen would check me out at an appropriate time, which meant more than enough hours to put a safe distance between me and the press.

  I got in the car and left the city behind me. I merged onto I-64 in Norfolk toward Hampton, and then took the exit in Newport News for US 17N to continue my way up to Matthews. Once on the smaller highway and leaving the built-up Hampton Roads area behind, I allowed myself to relax. I cranked up the music in the car and enjoyed the night chill that pervaded the countryside.