“Actually, yes,” Beau admitted. He did miss the six boys he’d shared a large part of his life with. It still boggled his mind when he remembered the huge rock band paying him to come to their mansion in Tennessee to give his lecture to them and their team. Despite their huge popularity, they were actually very chill and they’d all become close.
“Same. When are you coming back?” Henley, not one to talk about his feelings, asked.
“That’s actually why I called. I’m not.” The thumping of Beau’s heart sounded louder than the band. He was nervous waiting on his friend’s response.
“You’re not coming back to Tennessee? You’re kidding!”
“What do you mean he’s not coming back to Tennessee? Give me the damn phone,” Cobain barked. Beau waited while the two fought over the phone. He put them on speaker and set the phone down on the small table in his room. After several minutes of scuffling, Cobain spoke. “What the hell do you mean you’re not coming home?”
Beau shouldn’t be surprised Cobain, of all people, was skeptical. He was untrusting and endlessly questioned the life choices of anyone he considered a friend.
“I accepted a full-time job at the Ranch.”
“That’s great!” Henley said.
“What’s great?”
Beau pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling frustrated. It looked like his closest friends had been in a full rehearsal when he called. He’d been hoping to avoid all of them being together.
“What’s great?” Fender asked again, more impatiently that time.
“Beau accepted a job at the Ranch,” Cobain filled in.
“Did you meet a Little? I knew you would! Tell us about her!” Bowie demanded.
This time, Beau smiled. Bowie had a way of making people smile even in the middle of frustration. He wasn’t a Little, but he just had that innocence about him that reminded Beau of one.
“Bowie, if Beau met a Little, he will tell us about her on his own time, okay?” Cobain said, gently. Bowie also had a way of making the stompy giant surprisingly calm.
Not for the first time Beau wondered if the grumpy bassist had a thing for the band’s sweet drummer.
“How do we know they didn’t kidnap you and now you’re trapped in some cult?” Cobain asked.
“Oh no! A cult?” Bowie repeated.
“He’s not in a cult. Cobain, seriously?” Lyric, the band's keyboardist, scolded. “That’s amazing news, Beau!”
“We’re really happy for you, Beau,” Hendrix, the leader and one of the vocalists of the rock band, Daddies of Mayhem, said.
Suddenly the line was much quieter and Beau assumed Hendrix stepped outside.
“I took Henley’s phone. I could tell they were getting too rowdy.”
Laughing, Beau thanked him. “I was calling because I was hoping to cash in on the favor Henley owes me.” After bailing him out of jail last month, the rockstar still owed him.
“I’ll see he fulfills his commitment. What did you need?”
“I was hoping he’d mail me a few personal things from my house.” They were Ansley’s things and Beau’s fingers itched to touch them again.
“Sure. You can email me the list and I’ll make sure it gets done.”
His voice was gentle and Beau figured he’d realized why the items were so important to him. “Thank you so much, Hendrix. I really appreciate you.”
“No problem. Any reason you’re not coming back to get the items yourself?”
Beau didn’t miss the smugness in the man’s voice. “You’re just as bad as the rest of them,” Beau accused.
“I am,” Hendrix admitted without the slightest bit of shame in his tone.
