Chapter 11
Nick couldn’t
have been happier to see the tour end.
After that night, he had sent Leah packing; she had left on a flight
home to Tampa that afternoon. He had gone
on with the rest of the tour, bruised from his fight with Justin, but not to
the point that it was really noticeable.
He found out later that he had indeed broken Justin’s nose; Justin said
in an MTV News interview that he had been hit in the face with a baseball. Nick had chuckled, pleased with himself and
already plotting the many ways he could blackmail Justin about what really
happened. But despite that, he was
miserable.
When the tour was
over, Nick went home to Tampa, ready to just hang out, relax, and enjoy the
days he had off before he would have to start working on the new album with the
other Backstreet Boys. But, unbeknownst
to him, fate had other plans.
On the afternoon
of his homecoming, his doorbell rang.
Wondering who could be calling, Nick looked through the tiny peephole on
his front door to see Leah standing on the front porch.
“That bitch,” he
spat under his breath and backed away from the door. He hesitated behind it a moment, debating
whether or not to answer it. Things had
been left unsaid between them, and he had a feeling she wouldn’t leave him
alone until he talked to her. Of course,
he could always hire some security guards or get a nice big Rottweiler to keep
her away, but it would probably be easier just to open up and tell her off.
And so, angrily,
he swung the door open.
“Nick!” Leah
exclaimed with false cheeriness, pasting a smile on her face. “I’m glad you’re here. I just wanted to talk to you.”
“What’s left to
talk about?” Nick asked, clenching his jaw.
“Nicky…”
“Don’t call me
that.”
“Sorry… Nick… I
just… I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
Leah gave him a
pained look. “I didn’t mean for it to
happen,” she said. “I just… I was drunk,
and he… he took advantage of me.”
“Where did you
even meet him?!”
“At a club. I was just… sort of… starstruck, you
know? I went up to him to get an
autograph, cause I thought it would be cool, you know? And he started talking to me. And he told me I was beautiful, and he
offered to buy me a drink. And I was
flattered, you know, so I sat down with him, and we had drinks and talked, and
then… well… things just got way out of hand!”
“Yeah,” Nick said
flatly. “Guess they did.”
“So do you
forgive me?”
Nick saw
red. “Forgive you?!” he exploded. “You slept with another man behind my
back! And not just any man – Justin
fucking Timberlake! You cheated on
me! And now I’m just supposed to up and
forgive you? Where’s the fucking logic
in that?!”
Tears filled
Leah’s eyes. “Nicky, please! I’m so sorry!
I am! I would never hurt you!”
“Well, you
did. Twice. I gave you a second chance, and you blew it,
Leah.” He could feel a prickling
sensation in the corners of his eyes and knew he was about to lose it. Fighting to keep his emotion in check, he
said in a low voice, “Go. Just go. Get off my property and don’t come back.”
“Nick-“
“I mean it. I never want to see you again, Leah. Now leave.”
“But-“
“Now!”
Her shoulders
slumped in defeat, tears spilling down her red cheeks, Leah nodded meekly, turned,
and walked slowly down the steps. Nick
stood, glaring at her back, watching her leave.
Only when she had gotten into her car and driven away did he go back
inside, slamming the front door closed as hard as he could.
There was a loud
crash behind him, and he turned to see that a painting had fallen off the wall
adjacent to the door. Sighing, he sank
down to pick it up. A sharp pain shot
through his leg, and he grimaced, tears rising in his eyes.
“When did
everything get so damn fucked up?” he muttered aloud, his voice cracking. He turned over the fallen painting. It was his favorite piece of art, a beautiful
landscape of the ocean at sunset.
Luckily, the frame was not broken.
There was just a crack running down the glass. It was not very noticeable, so he shrugged
and re-hung the painting. Standing back
to inspect it, his vision blurred with tears.
Angrily, he rubbed the tears from his eyes with his thumbs.
“Stop it,” he
told himself fiercely. “Stop crying like
some kind of fucking pussy. It’s not the
end of the world. I didn’t even like her
that much.”
He knew that was
not true; he was only kidding himself.
He had liked her. A lot. But he didn’t anymore. No, he was done wasting his time on Leah
Gaylers.
“Screw her,” he
spat bitterly, walking away. “Screw the
damn bitch.”
***