Chapter One
Stan stepped out of the car and immediately pushed his sunglasses back down on his nose, protecting his eyes from LA’s harsh sunshine. The driver scrambled around to collect Stan’s small rolling suitcase from the trunk, and Stan murmured his thanks as he tapped his phone, adding a tip to the driver’s fare.
While he waited, he twisted his long, thick blond hair into a knot at the back of his neck and secured it with a band that he usually kept around his wrist. Los Angeles was definitely hotter than New York. Stan had anticipated this, and dressed casually for the flight in loose pants, a thin tank top, and flip-flops. But even his light clothes felt like too much here.
The house had imposing iron gates over the drive, and Stan walked up to them, wondering if he’d have to figure out how to get inside or if someone would come to collect him. His thoughts were answered as he spotted a familiar figure loping toward him.
Stan shook his arms to release the tension in them and took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. The gates opened automatically when Tone got closer, and Stan grabbed the handle of his case and dragged it over the threshold.
“Am I fucking glad you’re here,” Tone said, pulling Stan into a rough hug. Stan went with it, allowing himself to be held and wrapped in the familiar. Tone was just like Stan remembered him—big and gentle, scruffy hair, scruffy beard, and the kindest eyes Stan had ever met.
“How’s he doing?” Stan asked as he stepped away.
Tone shrugged. “The same, mostly.”
Stan didn’t say anything else, just followed Tone up to the beautiful big white house.
Inside, the air was blessedly cool, and Stan felt the AC like a kiss on his skin. He’d seen this house in a magazine article about the band. The entrance hall was decorated in black-and-white tiles, and a huge sweeping staircase dominated the room. It had made a fun juxtaposition on the cover of Rolling Stone—the grotty, grungy band in the elegant, opulent surroundings of Beverly Hills.
“How about the others?” Stan asked.
“They’re all out in the recording studio. They’re pissed at him,” Tone added.
Well, that wasn’t anything new. “Okay. Where is he?”
“In his room. Go to the top of the stairs and turn right, then go all the way along the corridor. It’s the last door at the end. You can’t miss it.”
“You’re not coming with me?”
Tone shook his head gently. “I think it’s probably better if you go on your own.”
It hit Stan then, the betrayal. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”
Tone rubbed the back of his neck. “Shit, Stan. He never would have agreed to it.”
“Neither would I,” Stan muttered.
“Go on. You’re here now, you might as well.”
“This is entrapment,” Stan said, but put down his suitcase, kicked off his flip-flops, and left it all in the hallway before heading up the stairs.
The house was big and shiny new, built in the style of older Hollywood mansions but with little tells that spoke of modern construction. It was beautiful, and Stan hated it.
The carpet under his feet was thick and muffled his footfalls as he made his way along the long corridor. Artwork on the walls caught his eye, but he didn’t stop to admire it.
He didn’t bother knocking when he got to Ben’s room, just pushed the door open and let himself in. Inside, the room was dim and musty, smelling of cigarettes and weed and unwashed man. Ben was huddled in the middle of a huge bed, the white sheets beneath him stained. Shivering and sweating at the same time, he wore just a pair of loose black boxer-briefs that had probably fit him well, once. He was skinny, but that word didn’t really work because he had always been slim.
Emaciated.
That worked better.
Stan sighed and went over to the bed. He sat down next to Ben, who barely registered his presence, and smoothed his hand over Ben’s dirty hair.
“Oh, darling. What have they done to you?”
Ben turned his face away and sobbed.
An hour or so later, Stan went back downstairs and found his way to the kitchen, following the sound of voices. Conversation stopped when he walked in, and he felt like a bug under a microscope until Summer rushed over and hugged him close.
“Oh fucking hell, I’ve missed you,” she said.
Stan hugged her back.
“We just ordered food.” Geordie gave Stan an apologetic look. “I forgot about the time difference. You’re probably starving.” Then he winced at his choice of words.
“I ate on the plane,” Stan said. “But dinner would be good.”
The group looked much the same as they always had… almost. Tone had changed the least, which didn’t surprise Stan at all. He was the sort of man who would probably never change. Fame and fortune hadn’t affected him much either.
Summer was slimmer than she’d ever been, her ribs hard lines under Stan’s hands, her hair a washed-out version of her formerly vibrant pink, the dark roots starting to show underneath. He wondered if she was doing okay. Geordie and Jez looked… they looked tired. Worn out. Dealing with Ben had probably left them that way.
They were under a huge amount of pressure, after all.
“Come on, sit down,” Summer said, taking Stan’s hand and leading him to the big island in the middle of the kitchen, where several tall barstools were pushed close to the counter.
“Drink?” Jez offered. Several empty beer bottles were already lined up next to the sink.
“Water would be good.”
“We’ve got the fancy fizzy stuff,” he said, walking over to the fridge. Stan took a moment to look at him. Jez had ditched his preppy style since the band had made it, and these days he was wearing his dark hair longer so it curled around his ears. It suited him, though Stan was still a little surprised to see him wandering around in cut-off sweatpants and a tank. He looked more like a California surfer than a British schoolboy.
The thought made Stan smile. Jez came back and held out the bottle.
“Thanks,” Stan said, accepting the water and twisting off the cap. It hissed at him angrily.
He couldn’t escape the hard look Tone was sending his way. Stan nodded at him.
“What are we going to do?” Tone asked.
Stan thought for a long moment. In reality, there were a lot of answers to that question—Stan had spoken to Tone at some length before agreeing to come to LA. Ben had been in and out of rehab twice already, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t go back. That would have an impact on the band, though, and Stan couldn’t help but consider them too. They could make an announcement that he was leaving and could attempt to release the next album as a four-piece. Rumours had been swirling for long enough that there was trouble within Ares, stoked by the recent row that had erupted at an awards show. Ares had performed, and then Ben and Summer had been caught going their separate ways after a screaming argument that was caught by several phone cameras backstage. TMZ had reworked that article and kept the story hot for weeks.
“We’re going back to London,” Stan said. As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew it was the right thing. For Ben. For himself. And for anyone else who wanted to come with them. “To Camden.”