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.”
***