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Quick favor his ass, Ben thought as he yawned. The team had barely landed from America and he got a text. “I left something at the house, can you ship it?”
He’d not even been home. Not had a chance to greet James who’d moved in while he was away. Quick favor.
“He can’t wait until tomorrow?” James had grumbled, mostly good naturedly. But James had watched Ben take the brunt of the break up. Field calls from both Mason and Christian. Tried to get the warring pair to see reason before they did something irreparable.
Like signing for Manchester United.
Like moving to Italy.
Like putting the flat on the market without even speaking to each other.
“Fifteen minutes. The relator is showing the flat in the morning,” Ben replied to James. “Order the Nandos. I’ll be home soon.”
He got back a <3 and smiled as he turned onto the Kensington street where two of his best mates used to live together. How had this even gone so wrong.
But Ben knew what had gone wrong. It had been a horribly stressful season for everyone at Chelsea. The new ownership had fired a manager everyone loved. The media blamed the players for pushing him out. The whole dressing room was on edge and everyone was taking it home with them.
Most of them had partners to go to that didn’t spend their days in the middle of it all. Got a break. Remembering their purpose.
And then Lampard came back. Lampard who championed Mason since he was a kid. Took an interest. Invited him around to talk…
Ben knew nothing had ever happened between Lamps and Mase. Knew Mason was devoted to Christian. But when jealousy met hurt feelings. When agents called in with stupid deals and unrealistic promises, it was over before it could be stopped.
Reece had stopped answering texts from both of them. He was angry and he was hurt that they’d leave the club. Christian he could forgive, but Mason was supposed to go the distance with him. Too many had already gone, but Mason was supposed to stick.
Maybe…Ben had thought too many times. Maybe if Reece had answered that late night text. Maybe Mason would have seen sense and not gone.
And once the ink was on the contract, what was left for Christian to do?
Ben shook his head to clear it.
You could lay blame until the end of time. Nothing was going to put it all back together again.
Ben opened the door to the flat. There were nothing but ghosts here now.
Ghosts of all the team gatherings they’d hosted to play video games, share a pizza, or celebrate a win. Mason was going to be the next team captain and he already had the personality for it.
Ben headed for the bedroom and into the ensuite bathroom. He opened the linen closet and peered at the top shelf. He stretched up a hand to see if he could find what he was looking for, but there was nothing in reach. Looking around he couldn’t find anything to stand on, and he was forced to return to the kitchen and get a chair from the table Mason and Christian had picked up at Ikea and assembled one drunken evening. He was careful not to pick the chair that wobbled due to a missing bolt that someone may or may not have dared Jorge to swallow.
As he returned to the bathroom, Ben climbed on the chair and peered in the back of the closet. There it was. He reached out and dragged the tatty old football kit from the back of the shelf. Christian hadn’t told him how the shirt had ended up there, but it was clearly well loved.
After stepping off the chair, Ben held it up. “Mount” it read. It was an England kit. Ben knew it was from his debut match. Claimed by Christian and worn as a comfort whenever Mason was away. Or Christian was away…
Ben carried the chair back to the kitchen and locked the front door behind him as he left, probably for the last time.
“Your Lemon Herb is here,” James texted and Ben replied. “Five minutes.”
He did live close to the empty flat. He’d bought it when he’d believed that Mase and Chris would be his neighbors forever. That when he’d finally talk James into signing for a London club, they’d be the most annoying couple friends ever.
As he pulled into the underground garage, he saw James standing in the door with two wine glasses. Home, Ben thought as he felt the stress leave his being.
“Leave your luggage,” James advised even though Ben had a duffle bag containing his toothbrush and his iPad. The team took care of their clothes.
“I have gifts!” Ben said with a smile as he pulled the Nike duffle out with him, the kit in one hand.
James greeted him with a kiss. “Fucking hate summer tours.”
“America. Land of the humidity,” Ben agreed.
“What did you have to pick up?” James asked as he tried to hide the annoyance in his voice. He knew how much the break up and upset Ben and how both parties had relied on him.
“Just an old kit,” Ben took a glass of wine and let James take the shirt from him.
“This is Mason’s…I thought Chris called?”
“He did,” Ben admitted.
James looked him in the eye. “This is so not over.”
Ben smiled sadly. “I think it is.”
“But…THIS,” James brandished the well loved kit.
“I know…but…”
“He wanted it back,” James said. “It’s not over.”
Ben smiled sadly. “You know I don’t do good with hope.”
James pulled Ben close. “You never gave up on me.”
Ben sagged into his lover. “Never.”