by Beth Bolden
“I’m sorry,” Diego said quietly. “You know how sorry I am. But I can’t be sorry that we had Ana, no matter how hard it is.”
Vicky smiled, sad and regretful. “It won’t be hard. Just . . . give me some time, that’s all I ask. I need to get used to it, again.”
“All the time you need,” Diego said. “You know I’m going to be swamped the next few weeks, with the recording sessions.”
“Yeah,” Vicky said uncertainly. “Come say goodbye to your daughter.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Benji should have known better than to assume he and Diego could keep their new relationship a secret from the people who knew them the best.
They hadn’t even planned on walking in to the studio together, but of course they’d pulled into the parking lot at nearly the exact same time. Diego smiled, friendly but with an edge of something sweeter and more private, as Benji had approached his Tesla.
It made him want to kidnap Diego and spirit him away, to a completely private bubble where real life couldn’t interfere.
But the other members of Star Shadow had been partially convinced by Benji to be here (Leo), and some of them had gone through hell and back to be part of the band again (Caleb), and they all deserved to make the most of this chance.
Benji, who’d latched on to this resurrected chance, and held on for dear fucking life, was surprised that suddenly it meant less than it had before.
Sophie had told him that he’d been needing to find a better work-life balance, but Benji was sure that while this was exactly what she’d meant, she wouldn’t be quite as calm as Vicky about it.
“You ready for this?” Diego asked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Benji understood the impulse; there wasn’t anything he wanted as much as he wanted to reach out and touch.
“If you’d asked me two weeks ago, I would have told you yes,” Benji said slowly. “But now? I kind of want to run away.”
Diego raised an eyebrow.
“With you,” Benji confessed, because although he’d never considered himself particularly sappy, Diego brought out the impulse in him like nothing else ever had.
Diego’s smile was as rare and beautiful as the man himself. “I’d go with you, but unfortunately I think we’re committed here.”
“Yeah, we are. Doesn’t change what I really want,” Benji admitted shyly.
“Me either,” Diego said conspiratorially. “But there’s nothing stopping us later. No matter how long it takes.”
So it happened that as they walked into the studio, they not only did it together, like they were together, but with an unspoken air of permanence floating around them, tying them together forever.
“Hey, look at this!” Max screeched from his perch on a tall stool in the corner of the producing booth outside the studio. “Look who finally got their shit together!”
Benji and Diego exchanged looks. Maybe if they admitted to it, they could move on with less fanfare.
Caleb glanced up from where he was having a hushed conversation with Leo. “Congrats, guys,” he said warmly, with a big smile on his face, like he was genuinely, truly happy for them. And Benji believed he was; Caleb was the sweetest, most generous soul, which had made everything that happened to him even more unfair.
“Shit,” Leo said. “Who won the bet?”
Benji groaned. “Do not tell me that you had a bet going? Not after you got so pissed when we bet on you two.”
“Oh, this bet long predated your little bet about Caleb and me. This bet is from . . . August 2009. That’s nearly ten years exactly.”
“Oh my God, I forgot about the bet!” Max exclaimed, nearly falling off his stool. “I think I have it somewhere, probably buried in a mound of paperwork.”
“You guys are the worst,” Diego said, but his amused tone made it very clear that he didn’t mean it. In fact, he probably meant the opposite.
“I don’t know how long it took you guys to realize you were meant for each other,” Leo started to say, and Caleb inserted an amused, “A long-ass time,” while Leo shot him a half-hearted glare.
“However,” Leo continued primly, “we’ve known for a fucking long time. Almost ten years, it turns out.”
“Why don’t we just say the bet is null and void,” Benji suggested.
“But where’s the fun in that?” Leo grumbled.
“I’m going to look for it tonight,” Max announced. “I’m sure I wouldn’t throw that paper away. Not after our rehearsals earlier this year.”
“Yeah,” Caleb said slowly, “do you mean when they looked like they wanted to eat each other alive or are you talking about a different time?”
“Are you done yet?” Benji asked. Diego was blushing, and while it was absolutely adorable on him, he was so private, he wouldn’t want his personal life dissected like this.
“Just wait until I tell Felix,” Max said.
“Do not tell me he was in on it,” Diego said.
Max shrugged, making it very clear that yes, Leo’s younger brother had definitely been in on the bet.
“Ten years ago, Felix was thirteen,” Benji ground out. “Did he even understand what you guys were betting about?”
Leo rolled his eyes. “He’s the one who suggested it.”
“Oh my God,” Diego said. “That’s even worse.”
“Okay, that’s enough about the bet,” Benji announced. “We have a lot to get done, things to talk about, and some music to record.”
“Yeah,” Max inserted slyly, “you write anymore poignant songs full of longing about Diego that you want to share with the class?”
“Actually, no,” Benji said. “I talked to my agent, and he wasn’t sure I can get anything I wrote over the last year. Anyone else?”
“I wrote something,” Max offered, and that was unusual because while Max was undeniably the most musical of the fivesome, he didn’t often write music.
“Over the break, I went to Ireland with Ed,” Max said, “and we wrote something I think would work for us if we rocked it up a bit.”
Only Max would casually refer to Ed Sheeran, as “Ed.”
“Let’s hear it,” Benji said, and Max whipped out his phone.
“Hook it up to the main speakers,” Leo whined. “Phone sound never does anything justice.”
“It’s . . . it’s rough,” Max said, and he sounded uncharacteristically hesitant. “I think we were both drunk when we recorded it. And,” he added, “it’s not exactly going to fit with our theme.”
Leo shot him a look. “Do you know how happy I’m going to be to drop that theme shit? Fucking ecstatic.”
"It’s you and Ed Sheeran,” Benji said. “How bad could it be?” He took the phone from Max and hooked it up to the main studio speakers.
It turned out that Benji was right, and it wasn’t bad at all. In fact, a hush fell across the room, as the lyrics echoed so much of what they’d all felt the last year.
Each of them had struggled over the last ten years, some of them more than others, but they’d made it through the hard times, past the failure and the depression and addiction and stagnant career paths. They’d made it to the other side, and that was what this song celebrated.
“It’s perfect,” Diego said, as the last note faded. “A perfect song for us. Thank you, Max. Send a text and tell Ed, too. He deserves to know.” Benji glanced over at Diego, who usually wasn’t ever the first one to speak in these situations. He was almost always the guy who stood back and let everyone else hash something out first.
The song must have really touched a chord in him; frankly, he’d heard more than one throat clearing, as the lyrics hit them all hard and true, right in the place that mattered.
“I . . .” Caleb hung his head and Leo rubbed his back, murmuring something in his ear as he leaned over his boyfriend. “It’s beautiful, Max.”
Benji was really not used to being the last one to speak, but he still wasn’t confident that he could get words out without bursting into some em
barrassing waterworks. He could pretend that his new thing with Diego was what had him so emotional, but it was also this day.
The last time they’d come together, for the tour rehearsals, they’d all been so unsure of each other, and of Caleb especially. They’d been hurt and still hurting. But the tour had healed so many wounds, and today felt like the first day of their future.
And Max, somehow, had managed to put all of that into words.
“Music’ll need to be changed up some,” Benji finally muttered, his voice still gravelly, “but it’s solid. A great song.”
“Thanks, guys,” Max said, grinning from ear to ear. “I’ll pass that on to Ed. He . . . he knew I was struggling with this one and stepped in and told me I was fucking crazy to doubt myself.”
“You are fucking crazy,” Leo muttered.
“I heard that,” Max said, but he was still smiling. “You’d better watch yourself, because I heard Felix was moving in with you.”
“Yeah, about that.” Leo shifted from one foot to the other and looked nervous. “I was thinking, maybe we should hire him?”
“Your brother? That Felix?” Diego asked.
“Of course that Felix,” Leo said in disbelief. “He wants to come down to LA, and I don’t know, I thought we could use the help. Things have changed, the label and the new management company have a lot less power, but that also means we need to make more decisions ourselves, and it might be nice to have someone looking out for our interests and helping to make some of those. But it would need to really be someone we trusted, and someone we knew really well. Felix seemed like a natural choice.”
It wasn’t a bad idea; in fact, Benji was sort of annoyed he hadn’t thought of it first.
“Yeah,” Leo said to Benji, “I would’ve asked you first, but you were sort of deep in it. I was afraid I’d catch you balls deep.”
Diego blushed again, and Benji was afraid his own face was a lot hotter than normal.
“Yeah, that seems about accurate,” Caleb added.
“We’re . . .” Benji didn’t know how to phrase what they were doing. Finally getting to enjoy the benefits of falling madly in love? Taking it slow? Learning how to be partners? All of the above?
“You’re good,” Max said, reaching over and patting him on the arm. “We get it.”
“Yeah, you’re really good at this, but so are we,” Leo said. “Let us take point on some stuff. You don’t have to do it all, always, Benji.”
“You mean, let Felix handle some of it,” Benji said.
“That, and some of us too. I know we talked about co-producing, but I think we should all be producing this album. We have the chops. And it takes the pressure off, somewhat.”
Benji nodded slowly. It was another really good idea. Leo, head clear for the first time in five years, the love of his life returned to him whole and sober, was finding his footing again, and it was fucking fantastic to see. Benji remembered a time when he’d struggled to get Leo to even leave the house to go to the grocery store.
“So, Felix is in. I’ll let him know.”
“I’ll handle the contract,” Benji inserted, then shot Leo an apologetic look. “He’s your brother, you’re going to negotiate the worst contract in the world with him.”
“Yeah, this is Felix, we’re talking about,” Max added. “He’s terrifyingly smart.”
“Fine, we’ll let Benji handle Felix’s contract,” Leo muttered.
“Any objections to a five-way producing credit?” Benji asked and got four headshakes in response. “Great. Another item off the list I didn’t even know anything about.”
“Sorry!” Leo yelped. “You were just . . .”
“Apparently balls deep the last two weeks,” Benji retorted dryly. “I got that.” He paused. “Anyone ready to play, because I definitely feel like it’s long past time to get to work.”
———
“I think Caleb should take the lead on the chorus,” Leo said, because 1) he adored Caleb and 2) Max had basically written the song for him.
The problem was that Diego didn’t necessarily agree that Caleb’s voice fit the sound they were developing, layer by layer, and instrument by instrument, for this new song. And, Diego thought, the new sound for Star Shadow. The poppy punk they’d always relied on wasn’t as fresh, and felt too young for them now; it was time for their sound to grow up, just as they had as people.
But, should he say something? Diego always struggled with confrontation, and Leo, flush with love, wasn’t necessarily any less argumentative than a Leo who was missing the fuck out of his ex.
He glanced up and met Benji’s gaze. From the look on his face, he agreed, but just like Diego, he wasn’t sure he wanted to tackle Leo on this one.
What decided him was that he’d hated how he felt after he and Benji had talked about “Violet.” He’d wished, the last few days, that he’d stuck to his belief that the song had another life in it.
Diego took a deep breath. “I get why you’re suggesting it,” he said quietly, “but I’m not sure I agree.”
“Really?” Leo said archly.
“It needs a smoother voice with a little more drive behind it. Something more mainstream pop.”
“Is that what we’re doing now?” Max wondered out loud.
“We’ve been headed that way for a long time,” Benji added. “It’s time our sound matured a little, don’t you think? We can’t always be railing against the proletariat.”
Leo rolled his eyes. “When did we ever rail against the proletariat?”
“I thought punk was technically anti-establishment,” Caleb added in, his voice apologetic. Diego would have to be a lot blinder to miss the look he shot his boyfriend, but Leo wasn’t the type to drop anything, and not especially something important to him like this.
“I mean, if we’re getting technical, we weren’t ever anti-proletariat and we definitely weren’t ever anti-establishment,” Max said wryly. “One hundred and ten percent not the latter. We were basically the fucking definition of establishment.”
“Yeah,” Leo muttered, “heteronormativity and all.”
“To get back to the actual subject,” Diego said, adopting a firmer tone; adopting Benji’s firm tone, actually, though he’d not enjoy admitting it, “I think Benji should lead the song. Benji and Leo.”
“I write songs, I don’t lead songs,” Leo said instantly, like this was the only roadblock to Diego’s suggestion.
“Maybe you should,” Diego said. “I’ve said forever that your voice is the most unusual in the band, and that is a compliment, before anyone gets their panties in a twist, and we should take advantage of that. Combine you with Benji, who has the smoothest, most even, most pop delivery, and it’ll be dynamite.”
“I don’t like it,” Leo muttered.
The problem with suggesting they all co-produce the album was that this was exactly the sort of thing that Leo or Benji would have passed authority on before but now couldn’t, because it had to be a unanimous decision. And Diego had made it as clear as he could that he wasn’t just going to roll over and let Leo steamroll him on this.
“You don’t have to like it,” Benji said, “but Diego is right.”
Leo shot him a withering look. “Yeah, we all know why you think so.”
“Right, like we all know why you wanted Caleb to lead the song. Same reason, right?” Diego challenged Leo, who finally had to nod his agreement. “I think we need to agree to always do the right thing for the band, not just because of who we’re sleeping with. It wasn’t always a problem, but it’s becoming more of one, now.”
Leo looked like he was about to protest—but Caleb put a hand on his arm. “You know he’s right, babe.”
“Yeah, okay, about the decisions thing, but about this song? I don’t think so. I don’t lead choruses, even with Benji.”
“But Diego’s right there too. You should be. They convinced you that your voice wasn’t good enough, but they were so fucking wrong.” Caleb didn’t nee
d to explain who “they” were—because they all knew. The nameless, faceless label executives who had “suggested” more than once that Leo should always be moved to the back of the mix. They’d wanted a smooth, homogenous sound, the same way they wanted a bunch of heterosexual boys who’d appeal to the teenage girl demographic.
Leo had been too different, and they hadn’t liked that.
But now, differences were something they should be embracing, not hiding.
“Why don’t we just try it once or twice?” Diego suggested. “See how it goes.”
“Just the keyboard to start, on the first chorus, then Max comes in,” Benji added.
Midway through the first chorus, as Leo and Benji sang together, Diego felt rightness swell sweetly inside him, and from the expression on Leo’s face as they finished, he was feeling it too.
“We’ll have Caleb alone take the bridge,” Benji said in the sudden quiet after the sound of the song faded from the speakers. “It’ll sit really well with his voice. You good with that, Diego?”
Diego was too busy doing a happy little dance of joy inside to catch what he said.
“Diego?” Benji repeated with a patient smile. “You with us?”
“He’s too busy gloating that he was right,” Leo muttered, but didn’t exactly sound all that disappointed either.
“Yes, yes, I was,” Diego retorted, “because gloating is something you wouldn’t know anything about at all.” They all laughed.
By the fourth or fifth run-through, the song was shaping up beautifully, Max adding little flourishes on the drums. Diego had the melody down well enough that he could steal a glance or two over in Benji’s direction. He’d bitten his lip in concentration, adding in a second guitar part during the bridge, as Caleb sang. And it was all so different, so completely opposite of how it had been the last time they’d come together again that his throat closed up—for the second time today.
Sometimes you were hit by a very abrupt realization that you were in exactly the right place, with the right people, doing the perfect thing, and Diego felt it in that moment.
