by Beth Bolden
Benji glanced over at Leo. That was exactly what he’d begun to think before everything had gone sideways.
“What,” Leo said, “I told you he was intelligent. I told you he could probably get a job at the CIA if we didn’t hire him.”
“I’m grateful we did,” Benji said, moving from the bathroom to the bedroom. He pulled a pair of briefs out of his dresser drawer and tried to ignore Felix’s quick intake of breath as he dropped his towel.
“Do you ever get used to . . . you know . . . all that?” Felix hissed at his older brother.
“Felix,” Leo ground out, “get it together.”
“Right, right,” Felix said. “Well, I did try to tell Diego that.”
“Through the front door, no less,” Leo pointed out. “We didn’t have a spare key to his house.”
Benji finished dressing and grabbed his keys and wallet. “Thanks, guys, but I have it under control.”
Raising an eyebrow, Felix asked him, “But do you?”
Benji rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to kill Jay. Severely maim, maybe. Is that allowed?”
Shrugging, Leo turned to Felix. “I could go with him.”
“You could, but you’ve done your work, and I think you’d just crimp his style.”
Benji smiled, slow and wide. “Exactly.”
———
The drive to Diego’s house felt like it was over in barely a minute. One moment, he was driving and trying to figure out how to grovel while also pointing out some of what Felix had said, and the next he was pulling into Diego’s driveway.
Taking a deep breath, he got out of the car, and approaching the front door, considered how much of a breach of privacy it would be if he used his spare key.
He’d try knocking first, Benji decided. Which he did, enthusiastically, for the next five minutes, with no luck.
It reminded him, rather unpleasantly, of the day that had started everything, when Diego had resolved to get over him, and Benji had decided not to let him.
“Diego,” Benji called out. “I’m going to open this door, so you’d better not mistake me for a burglar.”
When he unlocked the door and swung it open, Diego was standing in the foyer, grim expression on his face and his arms crossed across his bare chest. Much like that day a few weeks ago, he was only wearing a pair of loose athletic shorts, his rose tattoo glowing reddish-pink in the dim light.
Like Benji, he’d pulled all the blinds closed against the fierce LA sun.
“What do you want?” Diego asked flatly.
“First, I want to apologize,” Benji said, “I was really out of line when I said that about you hiding away for the next five years.”
“And?” Diego challenged. “Are you sorry for anything else?”
Benji decided there was no way out of this without being completely, painfully honest. “I’m really sorry that we seem to want two different things out of this life,” he said carefully. “I want you to be happy, and I also selfishly want you to be happy with me. I wish I could figure out a way to make that happen.”
Diego’s lips compressed together. “I wish that too. But I can’t risk this . . .” He waved around him. “And I especially can’t risk Ana.”
Benji took the risk of taking another step into the foyer, one step closer to Diego. “What if I swore to you that I would make one hundred percent sure that Ana was never involved?” he asked.
“You can’t promise that. You told me that I’d get to dictate the terms of how this would happen, and it all went sideways. You said that happens, sometimes. You really can’t swear on something you can’t control.”
“Actually,” Benji admitted. “You weren’t all that wrong. Felix and Leo came over, and I guess it looks like Jay might have organized all of this. So, yes, I can control it. I can take him out of the equation.”
“And when the next person wants some happy modern family photo shoot?” Diego demanded. “Are you going to tell them no? I’m not sure you will.”
It hurt, that lack of faith and the lack of trust, but Benji didn’t think he could blame Diego for feeling that way, since Jay had eroded it all away. In the end, it didn’t matter that it wasn’t Benji’s fault, he was going to pay the price anyway. Benji squeezed his fists together and imagined taking out all the pain blossoming through him on Jay’s face.
And it suddenly occurred to him that, yes, he could.
“I would,” Benji said calmly, surprised that none of the emotions swirling through him leaked into his voice. Anger, pain, frustration, betrayal. “You know I would, because you know me. We’ve been friends for ten years, and you’ve always known me better than anybody else. I might have gotten a little . . . distracted the last few years by Jay and what he wanted, but I know who I am now, and so do you. You know I would never, ever betray you.”
Diego didn’t look convinced though, which further solidified Benji’s belief that Diego did need to figure his own shit out before they could fix anything. He had to know that some public interest in his life was inevitable, with the band experiencing their new resurgence in popularity. Maybe not the extent that it was happening, but that was something Diego and Diego alone would have to come to terms with.
“I’m going to go wipe the floor with Jay’s ass,” Benji said. “When you’re ready to talk, and ready to believe what I’m promising, you know where to find me.”
———
Benji thought it was going to be harder—in fact, he wanted it to be harder. He wanted somewhere to direct all this anger and frustration, and taking it out on Jay’s assistant and gatekeeper would have helped him feel a little better.
But the woman just waved him into Jay’s office.
He strode in, feeling all that betrayal coalesce into one big angry ball in his stomach. The platinum records on the wall, Jay’s diamond rings glinting in the California sunshine, even his smug smile—it all meshed together until Benji couldn’t separate one from another anymore. All he felt was a blinding, righteous anger that Jay, whom he’d hired to guide him, had only used him.
“You’re fired,” Benji said. It came out a lot calmer than he felt. Maybe that was the righteousness part. It might have felt a lot angrier if he’d delivered the punch to the face that Jay deserved along with it. But that was the annoying part about righteousness. It frowned upon physical violence.
“You can’t fire me,” Jay said, not surprised and not even the tiniest bit upset. A galling fact that made Benji want to reconsider his promise to Leo that he wouldn’t kill anyone today.
“Yes, I can,” Benji said. “Right of refusal. And I called my lawyer on my way here, and I have a feeling you’ll be getting a call from him shortly. He’s not very happy about the shit you’ve pulled. And neither am I.”
Jay just smiled smugly. “I got you exactly what you wanted. You might be a little grateful for it.”
“That’s the thing,” Benji said, “you never knew me at all, because if you had, you’d realize that you destroyed everything I ever wanted.”
It shouldn’t have felt so satisfying, turning and walking away after having the final word, but it did. It didn’t fix everything—didn’t come close to fixing everything with Diego—and his heart ached because he wanted to find some magic words to make it all better, but sometimes that wasn’t how life worked.
You couldn’t wave a magic wand, so you did the next best thing. You pulled together the power and the influence that you’d spent a decade building through blood, sweat, and tears, and used it to go after the soul-sucking guy who’d just tried to ruin your life.
Benji smiled at himself in the rearview mirror of his Maserati, trying desperately to trust that everything would be okay, but he couldn’t quite make himself believe it.
He’d always known that Diego Gonzalez would wreck him, but he’d never have anticipated just how painful the inevitable catastrophe would be.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The next day, Benji dragged himself off the couch when his alar
m went off.
Diego had only spent a few nights in his bed, but the sheets smelled like him, and feeling him so close when he’d never felt further away simply hurt too much. Tomorrow, Benji told himself as he showered, I’ll change the sheets and try to get back on track.
Speaking of back on track, he wasn’t happy about it, but Leo had insisted that they’d gotten two days off to fix their shit, in his own words, and it was time to stop moping and go back to work.
The thought of spending twelve-plus hours cooped up with the other guys and Diego sounded like hell, but Benji knew that Leo was right. He wasn’t accomplishing anything this way, and at least going back to the recording studio would give him a distraction.
He just hadn’t anticipated that the distraction would be Diego.
He’d thought he could keep it friendly, and at the very least professional, but instead just being in the same room with him and his sad gaze, almost certainly mirroring Benji’s own, was painful, like he kept getting punched in the same, tender places.
“This song isn’t working,” Benji said, setting his guitar down gently, even though with the frustration simmering through his veins, he’d wanted to slam it down.
Breaking one of his favorite Fenders wasn’t going to make him feel any better.
“No shit,” Leo said. “We need to find a new angle. A new way in.”
This was one of Leo and Benji’s old songwriting attempts from five years ago, and the problem was it felt every one of those five years. The melody was stale, the lyrics mindless, and it no longer held any special meaning for any of them.
“What we need is something completely different,” Diego said quietly, speaking for almost the first time during the session. Even though he’d been nearly silent, just his presence in the room alone was enough to put Benji on edge.
Yeah, he’d definitely fucked up, but it wasn’t like Diego hadn’t fucked up too. It had only been a few days since their fight, but for Benji, it felt like an eternity. Were they really going to give up ten years of friendship and deeply held feelings over some stupid words and a difference of opinion? Benji had been the one to think that their dilemma was unsolvable, but Diego hadn’t even made an effort. How could he truly be okay existing like this?
On top of that, Benji knew the band wouldn’t make it another year with all this tension. Even when Caleb had returned, had legally forced them to reunite for a tour, and everyone—Leo more than anyone—had been pissed as hell at him, Benji had still believed they’d make it through. This? He wasn’t sure Star Shadow could survive his and Diego’s friendship melting down.
“Did you have something in mind?” Caleb asked, because there was no fucking way Benji was going to. He ground his teeth together resentfully.
“Yeah, I actually do,” Diego said, and Benji was too absorbed in trying to ignore him entirely to realize at first what he was playing on the keyboard in front of him.
“Hey, wait,” Max inserted, “isn’t that . . .”
It was. Of all the songs in their repertoire, Diego had decided to resurrect this flaming trash can of a song, the one song that reminded Benji most of all the failure in his life, consolidated and concentrated into three and a half minutes.
“It’s different,” Caleb said softly, “it’s good.”
Benji grimaced. He could hear what Caleb was saying. It’s better.
Maybe he shouldn’t have bothered paying that obscene amount of money for Drake’s producer and should have just hired Diego instead. But then, Diego probably wouldn’t have done it. He just wanted to come around when everything had fallen apart and stick it to Benji, one last time.
Hey, I know your song was a giant flaming disaster, but here’s how it could’ve been better. Here’s how you could’ve been better.
“I’ve been working on this for awhile,” Diego said. “I know it would be hard to get the rights, but it’s too good of a song not to fight for.”
Benji’s fingernails dug into his palms. Too good of a song. He might not have been good enough to fight for, but apparently this goddamned song was.
“What do you think, Benji?” Leo asked.
What did he think? He thought it was all an enormous fucking load of shit, that’s what he thought.
“There’s no way they’ll give up the rights,” he said tightly. “It’s not even worth talking about.”
“Yeah, it is,” Caleb objected. “I have the best fucking lawyer in the business. Why not try?”
To his eternal shame and horror, Benji felt himself begin to lose it. He remembered when they’d all pushed Leo to keep performing the songs he’d written for Caleb, when he was neck-deep in pain and anger and loss, and Benji had never regretted the side he’d taken there. The songs were too good to let go of, no matter how much they hurt. But now, he wished he’d sympathized a little more with Leo. Music was such an intensely personal thing, and this song, this song he’d written for Diego, when he was still full of hope and longing and wonder? It hurt like fucking hell.
He swallowed hard, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth, his eyes burning with unshed tears.
“No,” he said, and it was the crowning humiliation that instead of sounding firm and resolute, he sounded weak and pathetic. Heartbroken.
He turned abruptly and marched out the door. He needed some fucking air, and if anyone had a problem with that, they could take it up with his fists.
———
“I think . . .” Leo hesitated. “I think that could’ve gone better.”
Diego didn’t say anything. What was there to say? Benji either had completely misinterpreted the point he’d been trying to make or maybe it was just too damn late to make the point. Maybe he shouldn’t have sent Benji away yesterday, when he’d clearly wanted to try to fix things.
But Diego knew his temper simmered a little cooler and lasted a little longer, unlike Benji who flashed hot and strong, and then immediately wanted to apologize.
When Benji had come over, certain he’d finally discovered a problem he could fix, Diego hadn’t been ready to hear it. He’d still been stuck in a rut of anger, hurt, and ultimately, fear—all culminating in the worst question of all.
What would Vicky do when she found out about this?
That question had paralyzed him for two days, and it wasn’t until he’d come face-to-face with Benji this morning, so clearly as miserable as him, that Diego had begun to shake it off. Was he really going to ruin this incredible thing they had over fear—when that was all it was? Vicky hadn’t said a word about taking Ana away, and maybe the thing he’d always worried about, buried in the back of his head, was only an unfounded worry.
Since they were working, and Benji had always stressed how important it was that their relationship had to take a back seat, Diego had patiently waited for an opening. When they’d all acknowledged that the song they were currently working on was a disaster, Diego had seen his opportunity.
He would make Benji see that “Violet” was worth revisiting. After all, how could he let it go when he didn’t want to let Diego go?
Except that wasn’t how it had worked out, after all. Diego stared moodily at his keyboard.
“You should go talk to him,” Caleb said.
“He doesn’t want to talk to me.” That much had been very apparent to Diego, and it should have been very apparent to the rest of the band, too.
“Yeah, he really does. He . . .” Max shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned back on the stool behind his drum set. “That song is a really loaded one for him. I worked with him when he was writing, and he was obsessed with it, and completely determined to make it a huge hit. When it flopped, he was inconsolable. That song means a lot to him, and it’s all tied up in you.”
“I know,” Diego said miserably. “Which is why I thought he’d understand why it’s important to me, too.”
“I think that’s what you need to tell him,” Leo offered. “Seriously. We’re happy to wait.”
“But leave us th
at arrangement,” Max called out from behind his drum set. “I wanna give it a go with Caleb and Leo.”
When Diego stepped outside, he saw Benji sitting against the back of the building, his back against the brick, his knees tucked up underneath his chin.
When Diego approached, he hastily wiped his eyes. So, it wasn’t too late, Diego felt as a wave of relief washed over him.
He settled down right next to Benji, before he could protest. Or even worse, leave.
“Hey,” Diego said softly, and Benji glanced over at him, confusion blooming on his face. “I thought maybe we should talk. I realize . . . I wasn’t very understanding when you came over yesterday. I wasn’t ready to listen, and I’m sorry.”
“You aren’t ever obligated to listen,” Benji said in a hard voice, and started to move, obviously trying to stand up, but Diego reached out and grabbed his arm.
“Yeah, I am. We were friends first, and friends listen. I . . . I can’t lose that. I never realized how much Star Shadow meant to me too, because I can’t lose that either. And if we go off the rails, the band will never last.”
“So what, you want to talk so we can be friends again?” Benji tensed. “I know we were friends for a long time, and I don’t want to diminish that friendship, because it meant everything to me, but now that I know what it’s like to have more, I can’t settle for just friendship. Not with you.”
Diego smiled, and curled his fingers around Benji’s arm, stroking his skin. “Good. Neither can I.”
“But you said . . .” Benji hesitated, then smiled wryly. “But I guess I did too.”
“That was what me playing that song meant . . . I wasn’t going to give up on it, and I wasn’t going to give up on you, either. No matter what it looked like yesterday.”
Benji sighed. “It’s hard for me to remember what that song meant, originally. It’s all gotten tangled up in the failure of my album. I can’t really separate it out anymore, even if I want to. I hear it and all I hear is a big, fat flop.”
