Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“Just calling to say it was good seeing you today.”
Oh, shit, maybe I’m not in the right space to listen to this. A sob falls from me.
“I’m so happy you’re back in LA. You guys were always my pride and joy to watch. It might not have been all smooth sailing, but I think if you give Harley a chance, you can fix all that was wrong. You just need to give him a chance.”
The last thing on my mind right now is getting back together with Eleven. Do I owe it to Harley? Owe it to Cameron? I try to think of what I actually want from life, but listening to a dead man’s voice, all I really want is to stop hurting.
“Don’t forget to make more time for the old man while you’re here. I miss all you kids, and I’m determined to get you all in the same room. I just know the magic will spark once again.”
Damn it. I don’t think I owe Eleven or its fandom anything when they all turned their backs on me, but I do owe it to Cameron to go and see him one last time. Even if I don’t believe he’s there in spirit or whatever.
I need to go and say goodbye.
Denver’s guitar I’ve been using to write songs calls to me, and I know exactly how to give Cameron the type of send-off that he’d want.
Fucking Cameron Verikas.
Always having the last word, even when he’s dead.
I’m late, but there are so many industry people here that it’s standing room only at the back of the gardens. It’s easy to slip into the crowd, and hardly anyone notices me as I arrive.
It’s perfect sunny LA weather, and that old song pops into my head. The one about expecting it to rain on such a depressing day.
Guests are seated each side of a reflecting pool that’s lined with purple, yellow, and orange flowers. All the seats are taken, and I spot the other four Eleven guys down the front near the altar.
I get a few side-eyes as I make my way past people, but are they looking at me weird because I’m late, because I’m Mason Nash, or because I barely look like the old me anymore? It could be any one of those reasons or all of them. What I’m wearing probably doesn’t help. It doesn’t scream funeral service. I’m in black jeans, a tight T-shirt, and a blazer from a suit Denver had organized for me while I’ve been in my grief-induced trance. It doesn’t exactly fit because I mumbled a guess at the size I thought I was. Apparently, I haven’t lost as much weight as I thought I had. Playing guitar will be interesting. If I don’t rip seams in the thing and hulk out, I’ll be surprised.
Right now, though, I don’t care. I don’t care what anyone here thinks of me. All I care about is fulfilling one wish of Cameron Verikas’s. It seems I arrive at exactly the right moment.
The person running the service asks for Harley to come forward to talk.
My feet work fast to move past all the guests and get to the front where Harley stands. He sees me coming with a guitar strapped to me, and his lips quirk, but not in the Harley Valentine way. It’s sadder.
When I get to him, he holds out his arms, and I hug him how I would back in the good old days onstage—like we were brothers. With the guitar, it’s more a one-armed, nice to see you type hug, but the sentiment is there.
“You made it,” he says quietly so no one can hear.
“I know what Cameron would’ve wanted.”
I step back, glance over my shoulder at the other three, and then my gaze lands on Denver.
I lift my chin and nod for them to join me. They glance at each other but then get up. As they approach, I realize it’s the first time we’ve all been in the one place since we split.
I look up at the sky. You did this on purpose, didn’t you, you asshole? That man was so stubborn, I wouldn’t put it past him to die so he could get his way.
Ryder and Blake meet me with back slaps, but Denver throws his arms around me and holds me tight.
“You made the right decision.”
“We’ll see about that. I’m not excited about this going viral, but we know it will.”
“What is this?”
“A tribute. Cameron’s last wish was for us to get back together, so I thought I needed to give it to him. Even if it’s only a song.”
Suddenly, it’s like it was years ago, and we step into place. We know where to stand. We know how to play up our angles, and when I start strumming “Memories” by Maroon 5, we don’t need to look to each other for cues even though we’ve never performed this song together before.