Page 22 of Let Me Love You (Excess All Areas 5)

Alex grinned. “If it’s bothering you that much, you can come over any time and work on it for us.”

“You missed the wordsfor freeat the end of that.”

His brother took a long draw of beer. “That goes without saying. Maybe Matt and Luke will come over and show me how good they are with a paint roller still.”

Ben laughed. Before the band had hit it big, they’d all had regular day jobs. Matt and Luke had worked for his Uncle Allan’s painting and decorating company. Jase had worked in a bar, and Alex had been a barista. Ben had been a mechanic, his guitar playing a hobby before becoming a professional musician. “Yeah. I feel like they’re all painted out after helping you with the centre.”

“It was amazing how that all came together. Do you know, there are over two hundred kids enrolled in programs right now? And even more drop in.”

“That’s amazing. I’m proud of you. You’ve got it all figured out. A house. Music. A woman who loves you. The centre. I sometimes wonder who the older brother is.” It had started out as a compliment to his brother but had turned into a hard but obvious conclusion. “My life is on fucking stand-by.”

Matt’s words had been harsh, but accurate.

“Well, you know the easiest way to fix that?”

“If this is going to be some perverted go-out-and-get-laid story, I’m out. Because you were right when you called me out after Zoe was attacked. Do you remember? I’d hooked up with that girl who reminded me of Chaya. I don’t want that for the rest of my life.”

Alex leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, then glanced into the kitchen where Zoe was stirring a pot on the stove. “Yeah, I get that.” His brother turned back to face him. “And that wasn’t what I was going to suggest. You need to shake up your routine. Get out of your comfort zone. Your job is the only thing that’s changed about you in the last few years. Find something you’re passionate about. Find something you want beyond music.”

“Matt said the same thing to me the other day. I told Chaya we need to stop being around each other. And tonight, when I got home, I packed up everything of Chaya’s and put it in bags at the bottom of the stairs for her to come and collect. That the kind of routine shake-up you were talking about?”

“Shit. That must have been hard.”

Ben shrugged.

“You know what? Be without her. See if it works. It won’t. I’ll bet you fifty grand you two end up back together. But it’s something. Commit to it.”

“Not helping when you say it will fail, Alex.”

Alex shrugged. “Fine. You’re right. It doesn’t help. But I seem to recall that you gave Zoe some advice before we got together. That she needed to let me see her moving on to shake me out of my groove. Have you considered you need to do the same?”

Ben stood. “But it’s not the damn same. Zoe was waiting for you to see her. Chaya has made a choice to put other things in her life first, her family and marrying someone Jewish. Plus, her father threatened me. Back then, and at her graduation. Told me that he’d ruin her before he’d see me marry her. He threatened to ask for all the money back that he’s invested in her education.”

“But you have that now, right? You could pay it off for her.”

“I could.Now.I couldn’t then. And now she’s with Asher. And her whole family is ecstatic. You only need to look at her social media and see all the incredibly happy faces on there to know they wouldn’t look the same if she was with me.”

4

Two days later, Ben had a melody on his mind. It was dark. Tortured. Probably didn’t fit the now-happy lyrics Matt, Jase, and Luke were writing. Love and heartbreak sounded as different as they felt. Effusive versus melancholy. Light versus dark. They hadn’t yet settled on the vibe for the next album, but as he strummed his guitar, notes expressing the ache in his soul fell from his fingers. He pressed record in the band’s group chat and sent them a sound bite.

“Good luck putting lyrics to that,” he muttered. Glancing at the time, he realised it was nearly his turn at the hospital, so he placed his Fender Telecaster on the rack and packed up his acoustic guitar. He planned to sing for Nan. Her old classic favourites.

When he arrived at the hospital, he was frustrated to find a reporter and photographer at the entrance. “How’s your grandmother, Ben?” the man asked while the shutter of the camera clicked obnoxiously.

He didn’t respond and kept walking, ignoring the obvious scramble for phones as he walked down the corridors until he reached his nan’s ward.

“Oh my god. Ben King. Can I get a photo taken with you?”

Ben stopped and looked at the patient leaning against the wall. He guessed she was about his age, wearing an ugly NHS blue robe. A patient, he had a bit more time for. “Sure.”

He didn’t put his arm around her, but stood close. Their PR firm had advised them against touching fans, even in a friendly way, to avoid any misunderstandings. “Would you take it? My arm still isn’t working so good.”

Ben took the shot and handed her phone back to her. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to you?”

The woman shrugged. “One minute, I was helping my boyfriend move boxes in the garage. The next, I dropped one, my right arm was useless and then the side of my face felt like it was drooping, and I couldn’t speak. Ischemic stroke. Got some clot-busting medication, and I’m going home today. But my boyfriend loves your music and heard you’d been seen in the hospital.”

Ben took out his phone. “Glad you’re doing better. What’s your email address? I’ll send the two of you some tickets to our next local gig.”

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