Chapter Thirty-Five

“So that’s that, then?”

Dax tried not to notice the sadness in Cameron’s voice but it was impossible. He was throwing things into his case as Cameron stood in the doorway to his bedroom.

“It’s not like I want to go,” he said. “But you heard Grant. I’ve avoided it for long enough and I have to finally face up to reality.”

“I get it,” Cameron said. “Even though it might sound like I don’t, I really do. But I don’t know why you’re so keen to face up to this reality, and not the other.”

“Which is?”

“That you’re gay, and it’s killing you to have to hide it.”

Dax paused his packing and leaned on the bed, digging his fists in the duvet. “I would have thought that of all people, you wouldn’t be the one to throw that at me.”

Cameron walked over angrily. “Are you fucking joking?” he asked. “I’m not using anything against you. I’m telling you what you already know. And the only reason you’re leaving is because you’re being sucked into that world once more. You’ve come so far. You’ve survived a crash that nearly killed you, for God’s sake. And now you’re just giving up.”

“I’m not giving up,” Dax said. He looked at Cameron, and he shook his head. “Please don’t make this harder than it is. I’ve had an amazing time but I chose my life fifteen years ago, and I can’t just walk away from it. I can’t just drop everything I’ve worked for in my career because I’m having a nice time with you.”

“A nice time,” Cameron repeated, bitterly. “I’m so glad that’s how you see it.”

“No, wait, I didn’t mean that,” Dax said, but Cameron stood up and held out his hand.

“Take care. When you get settled, get your assistant to send for my notes. Your new therapist will need them.”

And he turned and left the room. Dax heard him walk down the stairs and out of the front door without another word to Grant. Then there was the roar of the car engine, as Cameron drove away from the house. Dax looked out of the window at the back of the car, watching it leave.

He threw the last of his things into the one case he’d brought with him, and then he carried the case to the top of the stairs. Grant was at the bottom, and he jogged up to carry the case down for Dax. “So, he’s not too happy about you leaving, right?” he asked. “I can’t imagine he’ll find another high-profile client in a hurry.”

Dax said nothing. He knew that Cameron’s reaction to his leaving was nothing to do with the money Dax had been paying him. In fact, since the first week when he’d called Kelly and set up the payment arrangement, he hadn’t thought about the financial side of the deal at all. Cameron had driven away in a car that Dax had paid for, but he didn’t care at all. Cameron could keep the car forever. It didn’t matter.

Grant had given him two weeks, but Dax had taken two months. He had to respect that his manager had given him the time he needed, and more besides, and he had to go back home. He had commitments. Contracts to uphold. Fans to keep happy. By leaving Scotland and heading back to the States, he was making the right decision.

Wasn’t he?

He felt utterly out of his depth. For the past two months, even though his exercise regime was carefully planned, he hadn’t felt forced to do anything he didn’t want to do. For the first time since he first signed with the record company, he’d felt free. Now, Grant was back, and he was slipping back into doing whatever his manager said, without question.

Grant heaved the case into the trunk. He stood outside the car. “Get in,” he said, looking at his watch. “I’ve got to get us to the airport in time for the flight.”

It was only now that Dax saw that there was a man sitting in the front seat with his hands on the steering wheel. Of course Grant had a driver. He never did a single thing himself. There was always someone there in the background, doing his bidding. Dax wondered if he too were such a person. A minion, a slave making him all the money he could and being told exactly what to do with his life.

He felt a surge of anger rising, and he stood his ground. “I don’t want to go back with you,” he said.

Grant sighed and put his hand on his forehead. “Get in the car,” he commanded.

“Things just can’t go back to the way they were, Grant,” Dax insisted. “It’s not what I want. I’ve had time out here to think about things.”

Slowly walking over the gravel, Grant stopped in front of Dax. “I get it,” he said, his voice soft for a moment. “You’ve had a nice vacation out here, although not in the best of circumstances, originally. It’s pretty country out here. Too fucking cold for me, but I guess you two were keeping each other warm. No, don’t look at me like that. I’m not an idiot. But you and I both know how this is going to end. You’re coming home because you’re Dax Monroe. You’re a global superstar. And the world’s been mourning your absence something terrible. It’s time to go home and get back to what you do best.”

“And what do I do best, Grant?” Dax asked, wearily.

Grant grinned, and Dax could see the flash of gold from his caps. “Sit on top of the world, my boy,” he said.

The vacation, as Grant had put it, was over. He was well. His back had healed well enough for him to go home and continue his recuperation back at his house in California. Cameron had driven away, and was gone. Dax was sure the therapist would never want to see him again. He had nothing else to stay for. So, as Grant watched him, he stepped into the back of the huge black car. In case he changed his mind again, Grant leaped inside quickly, slamming the door shut after him.

“Let’s get out of here, Carl,” he ordered. Carl slammed the car into reverse and they squealed away from the farmhouse. Dax looked back, torn between wanting to jump out but knowing that the same time that there was nothing else for it. He had to go back. He hated to admit that Grant was right, but he’d been kidding himself to think that life could always be like this.

Grant reached into a bag and took out a bottle of vodka. He unscrewed the cap and handed it to Dax. Dax took a deep breath and shook his head. Grant was surprised, but shrugged and took a swig from the bottle himself. “In a couple of hours we’ll be in the air and you can sleep it all off,” he said.

“All what?”

Grant waved his hand at the window. “All of this. This grayness. This country with no climate. Jeez.” And he shivered.

But Dax knew that the country wasn’t gray at all. It was full of color, in its landscape and its people. And if he could, he would have stayed. He wondered where Cameron had gone. Sullenly, he lowered his head and pressed his thumb and index finger against his eyeballs. Just like it had when he’d been in the car that Andy was driving in the very beginning, his life had changed in the blink of an eye. Just a few minutes ago, he was happy. He was with a gorgeous guy who made him laugh.

And now he was back under the control of Grant Beaumont. And he’d gone willingly, too. Cameron was wrong about him. He wasn’t brave, or strong. He was weak and pathetic and couldn’t stand up for himself, or for what he wanted. And what he wanted was to demand that Grant stop the car and take him back. He was a grown man. He wasn’t a prisoner.

He stayed silent in the back of the car while Grant swigged from the bottle until they were at the airport. “Stay here,” Grant instructed. “I don’t need any shit from girls right now. We need to be clever about this.”

He left and came back in around twenty minutes, and instructed Carl to drive around the back of the airport. “Pulled a few strings to get us in the back way,” he said. They drove round to where a security guard checked through their things and waved them through to a small airfield. Dax saw the plane sitting there waiting for them. It was the same plane that had brought him to the UK. His own private jet.

Wearily, he got out of the car while Carl took care of the case. Grant shoved a baseball cap in Dax’s hands. “Put this on,” he said. “I don’t think we were followed but everyone’s a fucking photographer these days.”

Dax pulled the cap low over his eyes and slowly climbed the steps to the plane. Every movement of his legs was such that he felt someone else was doing it. He no longer had Cameron behind him, a voice telling him he was right there. That he’d catch him if he fell. He held onto the railing as he walked up to the door. Every fiber in his being screamed at him to stop and go back, but he knew he was powerless. Grant had him in the palm of his hand again. He could only keep walking.

“Welcome back, sir,” smiled the pilot, whose name Dax couldn’t even remember. He held his hand out and the pilot shook it in surprise. Dax understood the shock. He’d barely grunted at his staff before the accident. Now he felt guilty for the way he’d treated them in the past.

A flight attendant named Betsy smiled with full, red lips and Dax gave her a watery grin. “No champagne, thanks,” he said, as she proffered the tray with a slim glass of fizzing golden liquid carefully balanced on top. “I don’t want anything right now.”

“Of course, sir.”

“If you wouldn’t mind taking your seat, Mister Monroe, then we can leave in just a few minutes,” the captain said. “We’ve got an available slot.”

“Right.” Dax slid into his seat and fastened his belt. Grant came over and squeezed his shoulder.

“You look like you’re in pain. Do you want some pills? I’ve got whatever you want back here. Saw the doctor before I came and he fixed me up with a whole bunch of things he said you’re probably taking.”

But Dax shook his head. “I’m not taking any pills,” he said.

Grant looked worried, and lowered his head closer. “Don’t tell me you started shooting up at that house of squalor,” he said, and Dax was so disgusted he wanted to shove Grant back with both hands and make as fast a run as he could manage toward the exit.

“No!” he cried. “Jesus, nothing like that. I didn’t need the meds, that’s all. I was looked after.”

He felt tears pricking his eyes and he wiped them away hastily. Grant got into his own seat and fastened his belt. Within a few minutes, they’d taxied onto the runway and then Dax felt the aircraft move into its familiar burst of speed before the sinking of his stomach told him they were in the air. Although he didn’t want to, he turned his head to the right and looked out of the window, down on Edinburgh.

Then, just like that, Dax left the UK, and Cameron, and began the long flight back to the US.