by Bolden, Beth
The last person he’d ever expected to be able to discuss his doomed love affair with was his ex-wife, but she’d seen the writing on the wall long before Diego had ever been able to face it. The best thing they’d both gotten out of their marriage was Ana and their friendship.
“You know he didn’t,” Diego grumbled.
“And so what, you’re going to hide in this house for the next two weeks?” He could hear the judgement in her voice. Diego had followed the common adage of marrying someone smarter than yourself, but it turned out that after the divorce, it wasn’t always good that Vicky knew him better than he knew himself.
“I’m relaxing,” Diego pointed out. “I was on tour for months. And we’re going right back into the studio. I deserve a break.”
Vicky shot him a look that said she knew exactly how much of a break he deserved.
None.
“Yes, your job is so hard,” Vicky said, but she was smiling. “Now, dealing with your head perpetually stuck up your ass, that’s a little tougher.”
Diego crossed the room and picked up Ana, who was giggling and swatting at the cloud and rainbow shapes hanging above her head. Pressing a kiss against her dark hair, he jiggled her a little harder, and she squealed with delight.
There was something beautifully simple about the love of his daughter. There were never any conditions, never any addendums, never a question. She loved him, and he loved her.
If only adult relationships could be that straightforward.
“I’m not the one with my head up my ass,” Diego hissed.
“Yeah, I know you think it’s Benji,” Vicky began, and Diego glared.
“It’s almost always Benji,” he interrupted.
But if it had been that simple, maybe they wouldn’t be stuck in this annoying perpetual loop.
“As far as I’m concerned, you’ve both fucked up,” Vicky said.
Diego shot her an annoyed look. “Language, Vick, she’s going to pick it up, and I’d rather not start washing her mouth out with soap at the age of two.”
But Vicky just rolled her eyes. “Like that’s the worst thing she’ll hear in this house.”
They both knew it probably would be though—Diego was insanely protective and didn’t invite anyone over while Ana was here that couldn’t elevate their conversation past obscenities.
“I know we’ve both made mistakes. But I’m not the one who kissed me and then did nothing about it for months. While we were on tour, no less. I’ve been waiting forever for him to figure out that he wants me, and even after he did, nothing. I’m done waiting. It’s over.”
“Yeah, okay.” Vicky tossed her dark hair, not exactly sounding convinced. “I’ll believe it when it actually happens.”
“I even told him to stay away from me,” Diego pointed out. “When we start recording, we’ll be together all the time, and I needed time away first. To get over him.”
Vicky actually looked surprised. “You told him to stay away? Really?”
“It’s over over, finally,” Diego said, which wasn’t exactly true because his heart still ached the same way it had ached for the last nine years. But maybe, someday, hopefully soon, it would begin to heal. “I need this time to get my head on straight.”
A glimmer of a smile was on Vicky’s face. “Except that’s impossible because you’re not straight.”
Diego shot her a look over their daughter’s head. “Thank you, Victoria.”
She laughed. “I know you’re all brokenhearted right now, but there’s no cause for that, thank you very much.”
“I was thinking of taking Ana to Disney next week. Do you think that’ll work?” Diego asked. They had an official custody agreement, because they’d needed one to obtain the divorce. Still, since it had been filed before Ana’s birth, there’d been no DNA testing. Diego could see little bits of himself in her, in the curve of her cheeks, in the mesmerizing darkness of her eyes, but she was basically a spitting image of Vicky.
He’d never asked Vicky point blank if Ana was his, even though he had a pretty good idea she wasn’t—because to Diego, it simply didn’t matter. Ana was his daughter, in every way that counted, even if she wasn’t his by blood. And Vicky returned that trust by making sure Diego saw her as often as his schedule allowed.
It wasn’t a perfect system, but it worked for them.
There was still that deeply buried fear inside of him that someday Ana’s real father would show up and demand the rights that Diego had been enjoying. Or that someday, something would interrupt the smooth, friendly and conflict-free arrangement that he and Vicky enjoyed.
Until that time, he was going to enjoy every moment with his daughter that he could.
“I don’t know,” Vicky said, tapping her fingernails against the headboard of Ana’s crib. “Are you taking security?”
“Security?” Diego scoffed. “For what?”
Vicky rolled her eyes again, which Diego remembered was one of the things he’d disliked the most about their relationship. How she’d almost never taken him seriously.
“You might be living here in a publicity-free bubble, in which you live exactly the way you have for the last few years, but on the outside, everything’s changed. Leo’s being followed by paparazzi on his morning jogs. If you didn’t live in a gated community, they’d be here too. And I don’t want them following my daughter around. Don’t you think she deserves better than to have her face plastered all over the tabloids before she even turns two?”
Diego grimaced. Vicky was almost always right, in the end, and it sucked now just as much as it always had. “I’ll find someone.”
“Good.” She gave a nod. “You can pick her up next Tuesday. Does that work for you?”
“I’ll make it work.”
“Good.” Vicky walked over and reached for Ana. As always, Diego was reluctant to let her go and she made a small noise of distress at being separated from her daddy.
Diego leaned over and pressed another, longer, kiss to her forehead. Arms flailing, her fingers caught on his long hair and Vicky laughed, disentangling them. “We’ll see you next week, right, pumpkin?” she asked Ana, who cooed happily.
Vicky gave him a look. “Don’t think you can skimp on the security either. I want someone with experience, not some random friend of yours.”
“I will,” Diego promised, and watched with sad eyes as Vicky and his daughter walked down the stairs. He’d only had her a day and a half after getting back to LA, and that was the one thing he and Vicky disagreed on most—how much time Diego got. Still, it was more than the custody agreement promised, and he was going to have to be okay with that.
———
“I agreed to let you go jogging with me, I did not agree to let you chatter my ear off while we were doing it,” Leo complained loudly.
Benji glanced behind them, to the small contingent of paparazzi photographers and hardcore fans trailing after them, most of them panting hard at even the relatively sedate pace he and Leo had set.
“If we went faster, I’d probably have trouble talking so much,” Benji said dryly. Despite Leo’s claim, he really hadn’t said much, only a few complaints on how unfair Diego was being by freezing him out.
“I was wondering the other day, is it involuntary manslaughter if one of those guys dies while they’re trying to follow me? Like is it my fault if I deliberately jog faster than their ability to follow?” Leo asked, clearly wanting to change the subject.
“So you’re not going to tell me what the problem is, then,” Benji said, frustration bubbling up inside of him. Diego had said if Benji thought about it, he’d know what his issue was, but he’d been thinking for four days now, and nothing had immediately come to mind.
Benji had finally made an effort, and instead of Diego being pleased and reciprocating his feelings, he’d run away and then, when confronted, stomped all over them. And somehow Benji was supposed to understand exactly why that had happened.
Leo stopped short, sand shiftin
g under his sneaker-clad feet. Benji swore the posse following behind did a dance of joy. “You know what the problem is,” Leo said with clear exasperation.
“I really don’t, or else I wouldn’t be here with all your admirers trying to figure it out,” Benji said between clenched teeth.
“Awwww, they are dedicated,” Leo said with a little wave toward his followers, “though I’m sure they’re disappointed that today I left Caleb at home.”
They started jogging again. “Do you really actually jog when Caleb goes with you or do you just end up making out the whole time, against every flat surface you can find?” Benji asked sourly.
Leo shot him a look. “You don’t have to sound so bitter. You could have done more, and you could have done it earlier, and then you wouldn’t feel like you’ve lost your chance at happiness.”
Benji rolled his eyes. “I don’t feel that I’ve lost my chance at happiness,” he claimed. But inside, he felt the echo of Leo’s words and hated how true they felt. “I just want to know why Diego is avoiding me.”
“You know why he’s avoiding you,” Leo said, his sideways glance galling in its sympathy.
“Funny, that’s what he said, and yet, I’m still not any closer to enlightenment,” Benji ground out.
“Okay,” Leo said, picking up the pace a little—not a lot, not enough to give anyone behind them a coronary, but enough that there was more distance between the pair of them and everyone else. “Here’s the thing. You kept telling me you were going to talk to him. And you didn’t. Why?”
Why? Because he was a coward. Because he hadn’t been ready. Because he’d thought after waiting for nine years, the timeline between them wasn’t so finite.
But none of those things were excuses he wanted to give to Leo.
Leo, of course, continued not to spare Benji’s feelings. “You were scared, I know. It’s a big step. And well …” Leo paused awkwardly. “I know those guys from elementary school bug you still. They were just idiots, and guess what, they’re probably still idiots. But that doesn’t mean you should work constantly and never take a day off and reject things that might make you really happy, just because they were stupid. That makes you stupid.”
It probably did make Benji stupid. That much he could admit freely.
“I don’t even want to know why you think they bother me still,” Benji protested.
But they did. Undeniably. Sometimes he still heard their callously cruel jokes echoing in his head. Fifteen years and he still couldn’t tune them out.
Leo shot him a look. “I know you, remember?”
Benji chuckled uncomfortably.
“Anyway,” Leo continued, “you’ve been putting this off for, we’ll say various reasons, because it probably doesn’t do your ego any favors to think it was because of a group of bullies when you were ten years old. But here’s the thing, I wouldn’t put it past Diego to get tired of waiting. Maybe even tired enough that he didn’t want to do it anymore.”
Benji stopped short, and Leo glared at him. “Is that what happened?” Benji demanded. “Is that what he’s doing? Trying not to want me anymore?”
Leo held his hands up in mock surrender. “I haven’t talked to him, but avoiding you, one of his best friends? Running away when it seemed like something might finally be happening? That would be my best guess. And my best is, as you know, always excellent.”
It was worse than Benji had thought. Diego was trying to get over him? Right when Benji had finally—emphasis his own, because Leo was right, he needed to own that shit and somehow stop listening to bullies from fifteen years ago—gotten his head out of his ass?
Yeah, that was really bad.
“Thanks for the jog,” Benji said in a rush. “There’s someplace I gotta be.”
Leo’s glance in his direction was fond. “I figured as much.”
CHAPTER THREE
As Leo jogged away, leaving Benji staring after him and his unwanted entourage, panic welled inside him. What if Diego had been successful? What if he’d finally managed to do what they’d both been half-heartedly trying to do for years, and had actually moved on?
If Diego was done, Benji didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself for letting his cowardice win and not going after what he really wanted.
It had only been a couple of days since the end of the tour, though—it might not be too late. Benji might still be able to change his mind.
Benji had jogged over to Leo’s, but Diego’s house was too far to go on foot and he didn’t want to go back and get his car. Instead, he pulled his phone out and called an Uber.
The car pulled up next to Leo’s gate a few minutes later, but unfortunately, the driver knew exactly who Benji was. And not just because of Star Shadow, but because of the horribly ill-advised R&B album that everyone had tried to talk him out of.
“You’re Benji,” the driver pointed out when he slid into the back seat. “From that rap album.”
“Urban contemporary, actually,” Benji said stiffly. It was a fast drive to Diego’s—only ten minutes—but already this drive felt like an eternity, and just not because of the driver. Five minutes might not matter in the scheme of things, but Benji had every intention of having this conversation before his courage failed.
It was good practice to sit in the back seat, trying not to fidget as the driver pelted him with questions about the career move he wished everyone would just forget.
“Bet you wish everyone would just forget about that,” the driver—his phone told him his name was Paul—said. “Sorry.”
“Yeah,” Benji said shortly.
“It really wasn’t that bad,” Paul added, a little too kindly. But Benji didn’t believe him, because he knew the truth. The album had been embarrassingly bad, a major blow to both his ego and his detailed, five-year plan for success post-Star Shadow.
“Right,” Benji said, because the last thing he wanted was to discuss how awful his biggest failure had been. But Paul obviously didn’t get the hint because he kept going.
“My sister listened to Star Shadow nonstop when she was in high school,” Paul said, “and when she told me you were branching out, I had to check it out. It was . . . interesting. Creative.”
That was a word for it. Benji had heard lots of other, much less flattering terms thrown around.
He’d thought he’d developed a pretty thick skin, being in Star Shadow. After all, there was nothing like the entertainment industry to continually remind you that you could always do better—more albums sold, more singles on the radio, more fans, more followers on social media, more sold-out shows. But Benji had discovered just how ugly things could get when you backslid the other direction.
He hadn’t left his house for a month after they’d finally put his marketing team out of their misery and canceled his upcoming tour, effectively ending Benji’s attempt to be the new, much whiter Drake.
And, now that he thought about it, the person who’d finally managed to drag him out of his horrible funk? Diego. They’d burned a whole stack of promotional materials in a gigantic bonfire on the beach, and though the thing Benji grappled with the hardest was failure, he’d been mostly able to move on after that night.
All that memory did was convince Benji even further that he couldn’t let Diego go—not without a fight.
“Thanks,” Benji said dryly. “It’s been called worse.”
Paul cleared his throat, like he’d finally realized that Benji didn’t want to talk about it. “Do you think any of you guys are going to do solo stuff again?”
“We’re actually all back in LA to record the next Star Shadow album,” Benji offered, “so I doubt any of us will be breaking away to do solo stuff anytime soon.”
“Well, good,” Paul said. “You’re a great guitarist. Stick to what you do best, yeah?”
Benji rolled his eyes. “Thanks, I’ll give that a try.”
Finally, they pulled up to Diego’s gated community, up in the hills. Benji gave the code, Paul entered it, and
the gate rolled back.
A minute later, Paul stopped in front of Diego’s house. Benji could tell he was dying to ask whose house they were at, but while Benji might have tolerated a discussion on his solo album, he wasn’t going to talk about Diego.
“Thanks for the ride,” Benji said and shut the door before Paul could even try asking.
The one positive about Paul the Uber driver was at least he’d distracted Benji from the purpose of this visit. Now that he was driving away, there was nothing left to keep the nerves at bay, and even though his heart rate had long slowed, Benji started sweating again as he stood at Diego’s front door and rang the bell.
Benji’s palms grew damp as he waited, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. But the house remained dark and quiet, nothing moving, especially the door.
He rang the doorbell again, and then added a few exasperated thumps on the heavy wood for good measure. He knew Diego was home; when they were on break, Diego rarely left the house. He liked being at home—his house was his sanctuary.
Still, there was a slim possibility that he’d taken Ana out to the park, or maybe even the grocery store. Benji really hoped that wasn’t the case, because he might never feel this motivated to clear the air between them again. He also didn’t want to risk Diego getting any further in his “Get Over Benji” plan.
It had to be today. Benji’s resolve strengthened and he pounded on the door again. If Diego wasn’t home, he’d wait on the stoop until he came back. If it was rare for Diego to leave the house, it was even more unheard of for him to go further than a few minutes away.
Suddenly and unexpectedly the door wrenched open, and Diego, pushing his hair out of his eyes, glowered at him.
“What’s the fucking emergency?” he asked sulkily.
Benji stared. Diego was only wearing a pair of low-hanging athletic shorts, leaving his whole chest bare, the rose tattoo vibrant against his dusky skin. It wasn’t like it was the least clothing Benji had ever seen him in, but it was definitely the most skin he’d seen in awhile. He was still slender, but muscled. It was one thing to know it, and it was entirely another to see it.
