Author: Anna Martin
Category: LGBT
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/anna-martin/page,15,529683-the_lost_boy.html
“Okay. What else is going on?”
Ben didn’t want to dwell on things he couldn’t change—it was hard enough that Stan was gone in the first place. Listening to him talk about New York was nice, though. It was something totally outside of Ben’s normal routine, so he could be invested in it without worrying that he was suddenly going to get triggered by some awful memory. Nothing terrible had ever happened in New York. As far as he was aware.
Listening to Stan talk about all of the running around he was doing actually helped. Ben, on the other hand, was loping around like a lost soul, not wanting to go out in case he got recognised, and not wanting to stay in this house because it was driving him fucking crazy.
When Summer and Geordie got home from visiting Sherrie later that afternoon, they ordered pizza, then went straight to bed. Ben knew from experience that the jet lag could last for days. So he didn’t take it personally.
Ben stayed up with Tone, smoking weed and eating pizza and playing Mario Kart. He appreciated that Tone was doing his best to keep Ben’s mind busy while Stan was away.
“He met up with his ex-boyfriend,” Ben said, noticing that it was past midnight. Jez would be back tomorrow, then Stan the day after.
“Stan?”
“No, Jez.” Ben rolled his eyes. “Of course Stan.”
“Oh. I didn’t know he had an ex-boyfriend.”
Tone got stupid when he was high.
“He’s got a few, from what I can tell. Though he doesn’t tell me much about them.”
“Do you want to know anything about them?”
“Not really.”
“So what’s the problem?”
Tone blue-shelled Ben off the Rainbow Road, and Ben let loose a string of expletives.
“He went and got coffee with his ex. In New York. His ex who’s a fucking dancer.”
“Oh.”
Tone sat back as the next game loaded, and used the break to drink some water and light his spliff again.
“I looked him up on Instagram,” Ben admitted. He felt petty. “He’s fucking gorgeous.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Seriously. He’s a beautiful, tall black guy, with muscles everywhere, who wears tights for a living.”
“Are you jealous?”
“No.” Ben sulked. “Maybe.”
“That’s natural, I think,” Tone said with a shrug. “You’re still working out how you and Stan fit back together again, so another person who has history is automatically going to be a threat.”
“You’re very wise.”
“Thank you,” Tone said, though his voice came out tight because he was holding in a lungful of smoke. He exhaled heavily and passed Ben the joint.
“But,” he continued, “even though jealousy is a very human and natural emotion, you shouldn’t be. First of all, Stan is the most loyal person I’ve ever met. I tried to get him to give me a blow job dozens of times, and he never would.”
“Hey,” Ben complained.
“Second of all, he told you about it. Meeting the ex. He’s just trying to keep you in the loop so you don’t freak out.”
“I’m freaking out anyway.”
“Paranoia. Blame the weed.”
“I need to stop taking drugs,” Ben said with a sigh and passed the joint back to Tone.
“I can cut you off if you want. You know you’re not actually sober until you cut all that shit out. All of it.”
“Eh. One step at a time. You’re doing a good job at keeping me away from the worst of it.”
“Yep.” Tone sounded proud of himself. “No more of that shit.”
“No,” Ben said, and for the first time in a while didn’t feel like he missed it.
The next morning, Ben found himself in the kitchen with Summer while Geordie and Tone slept in.
“It’s fucking cold here,” she grumbled. Ben passed her a mug of coffee, and she wrapped her hands around it as she pulled it to her chest. She was wearing one of Geordie’s hoodies that was comically big on her.
“Not really.”
“It is when you’ve just come from the West Coast.”
Ben hummed. “Do you want breakfast?”
“Yeah. What do we have?”
“We got a delivery yesterday. So pretty much everything.”
“Any chance of a fry-up?”
“I can do that.”
Figuring that as soon as they smelled food, Tone and Geordie would appear, Ben decided to make enough for four. It didn’t take long to get bacon and sausages under the grill, tomatoes and beans on the stove, and hash browns in the oven. He wanted scrambled eggs, rather than fried, and didn’t give Summer the chance to complain.
“So how are you doing?” Summer asked, watching him work from her seat at the kitchen island.
“Good. Yeah. Better.”
“You look a lot better.”
“I know it hasn’t been that long, but it feels like forever.” Ben cracked eggs into a bowl, seasoned them, then got a pan heating on the stove.
“And Stan?”
“He’s good.”
She made a noise Ben didn’t know how to interpret. “What?”
“Do you know how he’s feeling about all of this?”
“I do talk to him,” Ben said with a laugh. He pushed his hair back out of his face, wishing he had something to clip it back with. Summer sighed at him and came over, pulling a grip out of her own hair to pin his back in a quiff.
“Of course you do.”
“He’s moving back to London,” Ben said. He turned to the grill to flip everything over.
“To be with you?”
“Yes and no. Partly for me, partly for his career, I think.”
She nodded, like that made sense. It didn’t to Ben.
“What aren’t you saying?” Ben asked her, knowing Summer wouldn’t be offended by his bluntness.
“Just that this is a lot, really quickly,” she said. “And I get why you would want to live with him and, you know, all the stuff that comes with getting back together with him. But—and don’t take this the wrong way—what’s he getting out of it?”
“Ouch.”
But she was right.
“Stan’s been around since before all of this took off,” Ben said. He gave the eggs a final whisk, then slid them into the pan. “I don’t think he’s after our money.”
“Me either.” Summer hopped up to sit on the counter and watch him. Ben passed her the bag of bread, and she got to work making toast. They ate a lot of toast. “I don’t necessarily think he has nefarious intentions. If anything, Stan’s a fucking saint compared to the rest of us.”
“I still love him.”
Summer whacked him around the head, which Ben probably deserved.
“Of course you do,” she said. “I could have told you that. What I’m trying to get through your thick skull is how are you going to show him that? How are you going to make it all worth it for him?”
Tone stumbled into the kitchen still wearing his pyjamas, bleary eyed, and muttered something about breakfast as he went to the coffee pot and helped himself.
“You don’t have to have an answer right now,” Summer said, taking out the toast and replacing it with untoasted bread. “Just think about it, okay? Because I’m pretty sure Stan is the most loyal guy there is. But he deserves to have a nice person to come home to at the end of the day.”
Ben leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thanks. For kicking my arse.”
“Anytime.”
“Go get Geordie and tell him breakfast’s ready.”
She slid down off the counter and went to the doorway.
“Geordie!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. “Food!”
“Jesus Christ, woman,” Tone muttered.
“Tone, set the table,” she told him primly.
“Yes, sir.”
Ben started putting food on plates. Time had taught him not to get involved.
Chapter Seventeen
St
an knocked and waited. And knocked again. And waited. Then he tried the door handle, and it was open, so he let himself in.
The reason he’d been ignored became immediately clear; the noise from a massive argument was coming from the kitchen.
Stan dropped his bags in the entrance hall, locked the door behind himself, and made his way into the fray.
“What the fuck is going on?”
Five furious faces turned towards him. Not every expression changed when they realised it was Stan.
“When did you get back?” Summer asked. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup, and it looked like she’d been crying.
No one was wearing proper clothes, despite it being early afternoon. They’d likely not long been out of bed.
“Now,” Stan said. “What’s going on? Jesus Christ, I only left for a few days.”
“Not now, Stan,” Geordie said. He sounded tired. “It’s good to see you an’ all, but please….”
“Look, he’s a part of this as much as anyone else,” Tone said.
“He’s Ben’s ex. He’s not—”
“He helped when no one else would—”
“This is about us—”
“Holy shit, shut up!” Stan exclaimed, shouting over all of them. He scanned the big kitchen and pointed to the kitchen island. There were enough tall stools for them all to sit around it. “Sit. All of you.”
To his absolute surprise, they all did.
They grumbled about it, but they did.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he said, walking over to the island with five very upset people staring him down. “But we’re going to sort this out right now. Put your hands up if you want to talk.”
“Fuck’s sake, Stan, we’re not kids.”
Stan stared Jez down until he withered. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Ben, not yet. Not when he still ached to be wrapped up somewhere quiet with Ben again. That would have to wait.
“You’re acting like fucking kids. If there’s one thing I have experience in, it’s group therapy. So let’s figure this out.” He went to the fridge and found a bottle of water inside. Which was good, because he definitely needed a prop. “In three sentences or less, tell me what’s going on. One at a time.”
“Finishing the album,” Tone said.
“And what happens after,” Summer added.
Jez opened his mouth to speak, but Stan held his hand up to stop him. “That’s enough.”
It was true that he’d been through this experience plenty of times before, going around a circle to share his thoughts. Leading a group was a different kind of intimidating, though, especially with this particular group of people—who weren’t exactly known for hiding their feelings. He opened the bottle and took a sip.
“Just before we start,” Stan said. “I’m going to go over the rules. Only one person at a time can talk. Everyone else has to be quiet and listen. If you want to say something next, raise your hand. Oh, and the rules don’t apply to me. I’m the facilitator.”
“Can I go first?” Ben asked, raising his hand. Stan was surprised but silently nodded at him
“Everyone’s pissed off at me,” he said softly. He was wearing baggy sweatpants that Stan thought might belong to Tone, and one of his old band T-shirts. Stan guessed all the rest of their stuff had arrived from LA. “And I kind of get why. I’ve fucked up, I’ve hurt everyone in this room, and I’m sorry. I don’t get to say sorry because you guys start fucking yelling at me every time I try. I don’t know what we do next, but I can’t do another world tour. I can’t. And I’m sorry about that too.”
He slowly met Stan’s eyes. Stan’s heart ached for him.
Tone raised his hand, and Stan silently nodded. He picked up a tea spoon from the island, one that hadn’t been used yet, and slapped it against his palm.
“I think this album might be the best we’ve ever made. I really want to say that before we get into anything else. What I’ve heard already is so fucking beautiful, and I’m really proud of what we’ve done.”
He set the spoon down and shuffled his weight on the barstool.
The kitchen was eerily quiet, filled with just the sounds of six people breathing. Slowly, Summer raised her hand.
“I agree with Tone. And, Ben… I’m sorry we didn’t listen to you. We owe you an apology too.”
Jez had his arms folded across his chest, silently fuming, and Stan tilted his head at him, raising his eyebrows in a silent question. Almost imperceptibly, Jez shook his head.
Stan decided not to push it and shrugged out of his leather jacket. It was butter-soft tan leather and one of his most favourite things. Carefully he set it on the counter behind them and shook out his hair.
“Anyone else?”
Geordie held up his hand, and Summer nodded to him to go next.
“I agree with Tone and Summer. This album is really fucking good. It deserves to be heard. We’ve got a following now. People put us where we are, and if we release this music, then they deserve to hear it live. We owe them that much.”
Tone opened his mouth to speak, and Stan quickly held up a hand to silence him. Then he gestured for Geordie to keep going.
Geordie pushed his fingers through his curly hair. “I don’t want anything we do to hurt anyone, least of all Ben. I don’t want him to leave the band, but if he doesn’t feel like he can keep going, then that’s his decision.”
“I didn’t—” Ben started.
“Ben,” Stan said sharply. Then he shook his head.
Ben huffed and slumped over, resting his chin in his hand.
Stan took a moment to gather his thoughts. “Can someone please tell me how close to being finished the album is?”
“We need to lay down the vocals and finish some of Ben’s guitars,” Summer said. “Then it’ll go to our producer to put it all together.”
“Thank you.” He took a deep breath, thinking. “Okay. We’re going to go around again. One sentence or less answers, please. What’s your favourite gig you’ve ever played?”
He purposefully nodded to Jez first, aware that he hadn’t spoken yet. Jez was still coiled to pounce, tension rolling off him in waves. Still, he seemed to be prepared to go along with the game Stan was playing.
“Glastonbury,” he said tersely, then looked to Geordie.
“The Roundhouse.”
“Buck Shot,” Tone said without hesitation.
Ben hesitated for a moment. “Glastonbury,” he said.
“Anywhere in London,” Summer said. “It’ll always be a home-town crowd here.”
Stan had had a feeling what their answers might be. It was nice to be proven right.
“I’m going to make a suggestion,” he said slowly. “And you might all completely disagree with me, which is fine.”
He took another moment to sip his water and think, hyperaware of the focus that was directed at him.
“Close your eyes for me. Just go with it. What if… what if you released the album at Christmas, like planned, and wait for it to gain some traction. Then after a few months, you play a surprise gig in Newcastle. Get them to announce it on the breakfast show on Radio One. Tickets as first come, first served or something.”
They all still had their eyes closed, and Geordie was smiling a little.
“A couple of weeks later, you do it again, this time in Bristol. Then in Oxford.” Though they couldn’t see him, Stan nodded at Tone, then Ben. “By this time people are starting to realise what’s going on. You’re playing home-town gigs to the people from those places, right? It’s fan service, but the good kind. It’s going back to your homes, your roots. Then Brighton”—where Summer grew up—“and Cambridge.” For Jez. “No set schedule or anything. You just turn up, play the album, then pack up and go. No press, no interviews, just the music.”
Stan rubbed his hand across his stomach, wishing he could read the minds of the people in front of him. Jez looked slightly less murderous. Summer was crying
, tears silently slipping down her cheeks.
“Then go back to the Brixton Academy, where you broke out. That’s how you tour this next album. Not by dragging yourselves around the world, but by going home and saying thank you.”
Jez opened his eyes and raised his hand. The others still had their eyes closed, so Stan held up a finger—one moment—and Jez nodded, his expression softening.
“You’re one of the biggest bands to come out of the UK for years, but, guys… I don’t know where you go from here. And I don’t think you do either. Neither does anyone else. What if you’re not the band who keeps doing what they’ve always done, what all bands always do, but you change it up? Over the summer you can play some of the biggest festivals in the world without ever leaving the UK. And if you want to occasionally go to Coachella or Lollapalooza, then go for it. On your terms, though.
“Do you know what would really shake the status quo? If you turned up at Buck Shot one night and asked to open for whatever local band are playing. Can you imagine? Back when you were starting out? If someone like Ares now came and asked to open for Ares then. Go and play open mic nights. Go and play tiny venues all over the country with no notice. Open at Reading and Leeds, headline Glastonbury. Play the little festivals too, the ones with a few thousand people who just want to listen to live music.
“You can be the band that changed everything, not because you’re determined to keep getting bigger, but because you turned around and insisted that you know who you are. You know where you’re from. And that’s good enough.”
Summer sniffed and pushed her hands against her eyes. Geordie got up and went to her, pulling her into a hug and letting her cry against his shoulder.
Jez stuck his hand up again.
“The record label would never let us,” he said bluntly.
“I don’t see why not,” Tone said.
“Tone.” Stan shook his head.
“We’re too big to go back,” Jez said. “It sounds good, what you’re saying, but you’re forgetting that we’re pretty much owned by the record label these days.”
Stan nodded. “You’re in a five-album contract?”
“Yeah. This is number four.”