CHAPTER TWO
Homecoming
The drive back to his hometown felt longer than Eli had anticipated. The quiet hum of the car was almost oppressive, as if the kilometers stretching between the city and the small town where he'd grown up were weighted with the ghosts of his past. He stared out the window for a moment, watching the landscape pass by before his eyes went back to the road, but it all felt unreal, like he was moving through someone else's life.
For years, he'd avoided returning to this place. It had been easier to stay away, to pretend the town and everything it represented didn't exist. He'd left behind more than just a town—he'd left a version of himself, a version that had been hurt and lost, egotistical, and one he hadn't been able to reclaim. But now, he was coming back, not as the person he had been, but as someone different. A failed Musician with an alcohol problem. A man who probably would never face his demons.
The car slowed as he neared the edge of town, the familiar landmarks coming into view—the corner café, the rundown theater where they'd spent their late nights, the highschool, the park where they'd all hung out as teenagers. Memories flooded Eli, sharp and vivid, but none of them felt like they belonged to him anymore. Every street corner, every tree, every house felt like it held a piece of his past that he could never go back to. The boy he had been was a stranger now.
His grip on the steering wheel tightened as his thoughts turned to Adam. He and Adam had been inseparable back in the day, and Eli's heart ached with the thought of his old friend's absence. Adam had always been the glue that held the group together—optimistic, supportive, always there when Eli felt like he was falling apart. Now that glue was gone, and Eli wasn't sure how any of them would hold up without him.
Clare arrived in town just as the sun was setting, casting a soft golden glow over the streets. Her hometown hadn't changed much. It still had the same small-town charm, the same sense of familiarity that wrapped around her like an old sweater. But it felt colder now, the weight of Adam's absence sinking in. She hadn't seen any of her old friends in years apart from Alli—since everything had fallen apart. The years spent in the whirlwind of the emotional wreckage of her break up with Eli and her failed engagement to KC had kept her from returning.
But now she was here. For Adam. She owed him that much.
She parked her car in the small lot near the old diner, her heart beating in her chest as she stepped out. It had been too long. Too much had happened. The faces of Alli, Jenna, Becky, and Bianca all flashed in her mind. Would they recognize her? Would they even want to?
As she approached the diner, she saw them sitting at a corner booth, huddled together like they always used to. Alli, ever the optimist, looked up first. Her smile was hesitant, but warm.
"Clare," Alli said softly, standing to greet her. "You came."
Clare nodded, her throat tight. "I had to. For Adam."
Alli embraced her gently, and for a moment, Clare allowed herself to lean into the comfort of her old best friend's arms. When they pulled away, Clare's eyes scanned the table. Jenna gave her a small wave, her usual bubbly demeanor replaced with a quiet sadness. Becky was looking down at her phone, clearly distracted, while Bianca was silent, her arms crossed as she stared out the window.
The weight of their shared history hung between them, but none of them spoke of it yet.
"Can I get you something? I'll call the waitress" Alli asked, breaking the silence and motioning to the waitress.
"Coffee, I guess. If I can even stomach it" Clare shook her head, her stomach uneasy. "Just... I don't know. I'm still trying to process everything."
"I think we all are," Jenna murmured. "It feels like we're living in a dream. Adam… gone. Just like that."
Becky finally looked up, her face tight. "It doesn't feel real. He was always the one who held us together. I keep waiting for him to text me, or call, like it's all just a mistake."
Clare swallowed hard, the grief sinking in deeper now that she was face to face with her old friends. The memories of Adam—the way he'd always managed to keep things light even in the darkest moments—suddenly felt suffocating.
"I just don't know what to do with all of this," Bianca said softly, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. She finally turned to face Clare, and for the first time in a long time, there was no venom in her eyes. Only sadness.
Clare opened her mouth to speak but hesitated. Her last memories of Bianca were coloured by their bitter fallout—the jealousy, the misunderstandings, the unresolved anger between them. Of course, how else was clare supposed to feel after she found out Bianca and Eli wasted no time getting together after her break up with Eli. But now, the tension in the air felt different. It felt like grief, not animosity.
"I think we all feel that way," Clare said softly.
Bianca nodded, her eyes flicking briefly to the door as if expecting someone else to walk in. "I keep thinking about the band," she said quietly. "How the boys kept trying to make it work… But it just didn't."
Clare felt a pang of guilt. The band had been Adam's dream, the thing that kept him alive in the most difficult times. The band seemed to fall apart shortly after she and Eli broke up. She had left it all behind—left him behind—when she walked away from Eli and everything that had once been important to her. She felt guilty for the downfall of the most popular boy band in Canada.
"Yeah.." Clare said quietly, feeling the guilt consume her all over again as she climbs in the booth and they quietly, and sadly caught up about everything and nothing all at the same time. Their hearts too broken to speak of anything with real substance. Their faces all dimly lit by the bluish glow of the mounted television. The air between them heavy as ever and thick with an unspoken grief that clings to every breath.
The television cuts to a news anchor with a solemn expression. "Breaking news tonight,"
"Wait—turn that up!" Bianca shouted to the waitress behind the counter, cutting through the din of the room. Her sharp tone froze the table for a moment.
The waitress grabbed the remote, raising the volume. The anchor's voice, steady and grave, echoed through the diner.
"This just in—tragedy has struck the music world. Adam Torres, guitarist and founding member of the hit band CTRL ALT DELETE, has tragically passed away in a car accident."
Clare's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my God."
The image on the screen shifts to a picture of Adam in his prime—a candid shot of him laughing, a guitar slung over his shoulder, his eyes bright with life.
The entire booth falls silent, save for a sharp inhale from Jenna as the news continues. She turns her face away, as if avoiding the sight of him might soften the blow.
Alli presses her knuckles to her lips, her eyes fixed on the screen. "They didn't even give it twenty-four hours before plastering him everywhere," she says bitterly, though her voice trembles with emotion.
"It's what they do," Becky replies softly. She's clutching a napkin in her hand, twisting it into knots. "They make it all feel so… impersonal. Like he was just a headline."
"Adam wasn't a headline," Clare snaps, surprising everyone. She looks up, her eyes fierce but glistening with unshed tears. "He wasn't just some celebrity. He was ours—our friend. Our—" Her voice catches, and she chokes back a sob.
Jenna reaches for Clare's hand, squeezing it tightly. "I know," she whispers, though her own voice is shaking. "I keep thinking about him at graduation, you know? With that stupid grin and his cap falling off because he wouldn't stop headbanging during the ceremony."
Bianca smirks faintly, a fleeting shadow of a smile. "He said he wanted to be the first guy to play guitar during a valedictorian speech. You remember that?"
Alli nods, her lips curling into a bittersweet smile. "And the speech was literally just him playing 'Stairway to Heaven' because he couldn't think of anything to say."
The table briefly fills with a low murmur of laughter, but it dies almost instantly when the news cuts to footage of the accident scene. Twisted metal, shattered glass, a mangled guitar case lying on the asphalt.
Jenna covers her mouth with her hand, tears streaming freely now. "I can't—why would they show that? Why would anyone need to see that?"
Becky averts her gaze, shaking her head. "It's so cruel," she says. "Like they're trying to strip him down to just this… tragedy. He was so much more than that."
"He was," Clare agrees, her voice quieter now. "He was the guy who made us all feel like we could do anything. Like the world wasn't so bad when you had music."
The group falls into silence again, the only sound the muffled chatter of the TV and the clinking of a spoon in a nearby mug.
Finally, Bianca speaks, her voice low but firm. "He wouldn't want us sitting here like this. Moping. Crying. He'd tell us to grab a guitar and scream into a mic until the pain stopped."
Becky glances at her, skeptical. "I don't think he'd say it quite like that."
"Close enough," Bianca says, shrugging. But there's a crack in her voice that gives her away.
Alli dabs at her eyes with a napkin. "I miss him already," she admits, the words trembling as they leave her lips.
Clare's gaze drifts back to the television, where Adam's face lingers one last time before the broadcast moves on to another story. Her hand tightens around her coffee mug.
"So do I," she whispers. "So do I."
The five women sit together, the quiet binding them as much as their shared loss. It isn't enough to heal, but it's enough to keep them from falling apart—for now.
Later that evening, Drew sent out a group text, calling everyone to meet at a small bar downtown. It wasn't an official wake—there hadn't even been time to organize anything yet, not fully at least—but Drew knew they needed this. Something informal. A chance to see each other and remember Adam in a space without the weight of eulogies or ceremony or the press he knew was driving to their small town as they speak.
The bar was nothing special. Small, and unassuming, with dim lighting and a worn jukebox in the corner that still worked most of the time. It had always been a favourite spot for the group during their younger days, a place where memories clung to the walls like old posters. Tonight, it felt heavier than usual, as though the ghosts of their past lives were waiting inside.
Eli lingered outside, his breath fogging in the cold night air. His hands were shoved deep in his coat pockets as he stared at the familiar wooden door. It hadn't changed at all. The scuffed handle, the chipped paint—everything was the same. Except him.
He wasn't sure he belonged here. Not anymore. He'd been the one to leave, after all. And though time had passed, the weight of that choice hadn't. Yet here he was, drawn back by the gravity of Adam's absence, and the quiet, desperate hope that some things might still be mended.
Inside, the bar was buzzing with low conversation. Drew stood by the jukebox, drink in hand, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he scanned the room. Bianca sat perched at the end of the bar, her dark eyes fixed on her half-empty glass.
Eli hesitated before stepping inside, letting the door close behind him with a soft creak. His eyes scanned the room, searching instinctively. And then he saw her.
Clare.
She was sitting at a table near the back, her hands folded around a mug of something steaming. Her hair was a little longer now, her expression a little wearier, but she was still unmistakably Clare.
She hadn't noticed him yet.
Eli's breath caught, and for a moment, he thought about retreating. He wasn't sure he could face her, or anyone—not now, not after everything. But something rooted him to the spot, and as if sensing his presence, Clare glanced up.
Their eyes met.
In that instant, the noise of the bar seemed to fade away. The years, the distance, the tangled mess of their history—it all came rushing back in a flood that neither of them could stop. For a moment, they weren't two people standing in a bar. They were just Eli and Clare, the way they used to be.
Clare's fingers tightened around her mug. She knew she'd see him, Drew told her so just moments before, but She hadn't expected to see him so soon. And yet, here he was, standing in front of her like some unresolved chapter of her life come to haunt her.
Eli swallowed hard, forcing himself to move forward. He stopped just a few feet from her, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on his chest.
"Clare," he said softly. His voice was rougher than he'd intended, heavy with emotion he hadn't quite managed to tamp down. "It's... been a long time."
She nodded, her expression unreadable. "Yeah. It has."
They stood there, awkwardly suspended between the past and the present, both unsure of what to say. The air between them crackled with a tension that neither of them knew how to break.
Before either could speak again, Drew appeared at Eli's side, breaking the moment with a bear hug that left no room for hesitation. "You made it," Drew said, his voice gruff but warm. "Glad you're here, man."
Eli let out a shaky breath and returned the hug, grateful for the interruption. When Drew pulled back, he gestured toward the bar. "Grab a drink. We've got everyone showing up tonight. It'll be good to catch up."
Eli nods and Clare gives him a skeptical look at the mention of the word drink. Eli glances her way and offers a small somewhat guilty side smile. She knew of his dependency on alcohol, it was one of the many reasons they hadn't worked out. Clare goes to open her mouth, but words don't come out. Instead she glances back down to her drink-too exhausted from her grief to lecture her ex-boyfriend about his drinking habits.
Bit by bit, the others began to arrive. Jake came in next, nodding quietly to Eli before finding a spot at the table. Jenna and Alli followed soon after, their arms linked as they exchanged hushed words. Dallas followed behind the two girls and Becky slipped in last, her face pale and drawn, but she gave a small smile when Clare waved her over.
They all drifted toward the same corner of the bar, forming a loose circle around a table crowded with drinks. The conversation started off stilted, awkward. Too many years had passed, too many wounds left untended. But as the night wore on, something began to shift.
As the evening stretched on, glasses and bottles cluttered the surface, half-drunk and forgotten as their attention turned inward. Conversation came in waves—sometimes light and scattered, sometimes heavy with silence that weighed on them like damp air before a storm.
Drew stood suddenly, his chair scraping against the floor, the sound sharp enough to catch everyone's attention. He raised his glass, the amber liquid sloshing slightly, and cleared his throat.
"Alright, listen up." His voice was louder than usual, a sign he was trying to steady himself. Drew was always the rock, the one who could pull everyone together, but tonight, he was frayed, in denial and yet not at the same time. His free hand clenched the back of his chair. "I know this is… weird. I mean, it's not a wake, not really. We didn't plan for speeches or anything formal, but…"
He looked around the table, his gaze landing briefly on each of them—Clare, Jenna, Bianca, Eli, Becky, Alli, Dallas, Jake. His expression softened, his jaw tightening as emotion crept into his voice.
"But I couldn't let tonight go without saying something," Drew continued, his tone growing quieter. "Adam meant so much to all of us. And losing him like this—it's…" He paused, swallowing hard, his knuckles white against the glass. "It's messed up. There's no way around that."
Jenna, sitting beside him, reached out and touched his arm. "You're doing good," she said softly, her voice encouraging. "Keep going."
Drew gave her a grateful nod before continuing. "I just… I want us to remember him, you know? Not just what happened, but who he was. How he made us laugh, how he always knew when someone needed a dumb joke or a stupid meme to make tour days better."
A faint laugh rippled through the group at that, a bittersweet sound that faded as quickly as it came. Drew took a shaky breath, his eyes glistening under the dim light as he talked about his brother.
"Adam was the best of us," he said firmly, his voice breaking slightly at the end. "And I don't want to forget that. None of us should. So, here's to him."
He lifted his glass higher, and the others followed suit, their glasses clinking together in a somber toast.
"To Adam," Drew said, his voice trembling.
"To Adam," the others echoed quietly.
The silence that followed was heavy, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was filled with the weight of shared grief and unspoken gratitude. They were here. Together.
Jenna broke the quiet, leaning forward with a determined glint in her eye. She had a half-smile on her face, though it was tinged with sadness. "Okay, I'm sorry, but I can't just let us all sit here being depressing. Adam wouldn't want that. He'd want us laughing—probably at something wildly inappropriate."
Bianca smirked. "You mean like that time he fell face-first into the cake at your birthday party?"
Jenna grinned, pointing at Bianca. "Exactly! And do you remember how he tried to play it off like he meant to do it? Like it was some grand comedy bit he'd planned all along?"
"Meanwhile, his nose was covered in frosting," Jake added, laughing softly.
"God, that was the same night he spilled soda all over Becky's shoes," Jenna said, her voice growing louder with enthusiasm.
Becky groaned, though there was a small smile tugging at her lips. "And he just looked at me like, 'You're welcome for the free cleaning.' I wanted to strangle him."
"You totally would've if he hadn't made you laugh two seconds later," Clare said, her tone lighter now, a flicker of warmth in her eyes.
Eli, quiet until now, chuckled softly. "That was his thing, wasn't it? No matter how mad you were at him, he always found a way to make you forgive him."
"Yeah," Drew said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "He had that… thing about him. Like he couldn't stand to see anyone upset."
Jenna leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as her smile faltered slightly. "It's weird, isn't it? How someone like that—someone who cared so much about making other people happy—could be gone just like that."
The mood shifted again, the laughter fading into a quiet understanding that hung in the air.
"Yeah," Drew said softly, his gaze dropping to the table.
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Alli straightened up, forcing a brighter smile onto her face. "Alright, enough of that. Let's talk about the good stuff. Like the time Adam tried to flirt with the bartender at the bowling alley and ended up getting banned for knocking over a tray of nachos."
The group laughed again, this time louder and longer, their shared memories pulling them back into the warmth of their bond. One story bled into another, and for the rest of the night, they clung to the best parts of Adam—the laughter, the chaos, the kindness he'd left behind.
And in that dimly lit bar, surrounded by the echoes of their past, they found a little piece of him still with them.
They swapped memories—some funny, some bittersweet, some so raw they left everyone teary-eyed. The laughter came more easily as the drinks flowed, and the barriers between them began to dissolve, replaced by the warmth of shared grief and love for the friend they'd lost.
Eli found himself seated beside Clare, the two of them leaning in slightly as Becky recounted another story. Their shoulders brushed once, then twice, and neither of them pulled away. It was subtle, but it was enough to remind them both that, despite everything, they were still connected.
By the end of the night, the group was huddled close, their voices softer now as the bar began to empty out. Someone played one of Adam's favourite songs on the jukebox—a track from a band none of them had listened to in years.
They stayed there, quiet and still, letting the music fill the space where words no longer could. And for the first time in what felt like forever, they didn't feel like a group of strangers.
They felt like family.
A/N: Next chapter soon!