CHAPTER THREE

The Funeral

The sky was a dull, oppressive gray, a perfect reflection of the collective mood as the small white church came into view. Its modest steeple reached upward, framed against the heavy clouds, while stained-glass windows cast dim, muted colours across the sidewalks. People streamed in, their dark coats and solemn faces blending into a blur. The church was packed, the pews filled with townsfolk, old friends, and distant acquaintances—many faces Eli hadn't seen in years.

Some were unfamiliar, their presence a mystery. Others stirred old memories he wished he could bury. And others across the street with long zoom lenses, Eli knew were there to make a dollar on photos of Eli, Jake, Drew and Dallas. Every now and then, he caught glances thrown his way, subtle but noticeable. He could practically hear the whispers, and feel the weight of their scrutiny.

That's Eli Goldsworthy.
He used to play in that band with Adam.
Didn't he go off the rails for a while?

Eli ducked his head as he entered, hiding his face from the Photos the best he could. He wasn't here for them. He wasn't here to dredge up his past. He was here for Adam.

Inside, the church was warm, but it felt stifling. The air was thick with unspoken grief, the quiet hum of conversation a low murmur. Eli slipped into a pew near the back, keeping his head low, his shoulders hunched. He wasn't here to be noticed.

His eyes roamed the room. Clare sat near the middle, flanked by Dallas, Alli, Jenna, and Becky, her hands folded in her and Bianca sat closer to the front, next to Drew, his face pale, his jaw tight.

Eli felt a pang of guilt as he watched them. These people had been his family once, and now they all seemed like strangers.

The opening hymn began, the hauntingly unfamiliar melody spreading through the room like a wave to him The organ's deep, sombre notes reverberated through Eli's chest, stirring memories he'd spent trying to suppress.

Adam's laughter, was loud and infectious, as they argued over song lyrics. The way he'd stay up all night, scribbling notes and guitar riffs in a frenzy of creative energy. Adam dragged him out of his darkest moments, reminding him that life was still worth living.

And now he's gone.

Eli's gaze flickered to the closed casket at the front of the room, flanked by wreaths of flowers and a framed photo of Adam mid-laugh, his wide grin frozen in time. Eli felt hot like stepping foot in a church was going to burn him alive, he didn't belong there- the nonbeliever himself. Eli's chest tightened, and he looked away, his hands gripping his knees and he ducked his head, staring at the worn wood of the pew in front of him. He hadn't been there for Adam in the end. He'd been too wrapped up in his own mess and failure to see the cracks forming in his best friend's life.

The service began with the pastor stepping up to the pulpit, his white robe flowing softly as he turned to address the crowd. His voice was calm, steady, as though he were trying to hold the congregation together with the strength of his words.

"Today, we gather to honour and remember Adam," the pastor said, his gaze sweeping the room. "He was a son, a brother, a friend—a light in the lives of so many. Adam's loss is felt deeply by all of us, and it's a reminder of how precious and fleeting life can be."

The pastor paused, his hands gripping the edges of the lectern. "In times like this, it's natural to feel anger, confusion, even despair. We ask ourselves why—why someone so full of life, so loved, could be taken from us. But even in our pain, we must remember the legacy Adam left behind. The joy he brought. The kindness he showed. The love he gave so freely."

The pastor's voice softened, and he gestured toward the congregation. "I encourage you all to carry that legacy forward. To honour Adam by sharing the same light he shared with you. And to find strength in each other, just as Adam always found ways to bring people together."

Eli's throat tightened even more trying to stop himself from crying, as the pastor's words settled over the room. The weight of Adam's absence felt suffocating, but the mention of his legacy. The service continued and eventually, the pastor called on people to say a few words.

Drew rose to the pulpit, his steps heavy, his face pale. He looked different—older, weighed down by grief. His hands trembled as he adjusted the microphone, and for a moment, it seemed like he might not speak.

But then he did.

"Adam was more than a friend," Drew began, his voice rough with emotion. "He was my brother. He was our brother. And he… he held us together when we didn't even realize we were falling apart."

His words wavered, and for a moment, Drew looked completely lost, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his grief. The congregation waited in tense silence, a collective breath held for him.

"He had a way of making you feel like you mattered," Drew continued, his voice thick with unshed tears. "Like you were worth something, even when you didn't believe it yourself. He carried us through so much, and now…" He paused, his voice breaking. "Now we're all trying to figure out how to carry on without him."

Eli's chest tightened painfully, and he ducked his head, blinking rapidly to hold back his tears. The raw honesty in Drew's voice was too much, cutting through every defense Eli had tried to build.

"Adam was my best friend," Drew said, looking out over the crowd, his gaze lingering on Eli for a brief moment. "And I don't know how to do this without him."

Drew's voice cracked, and he paused, gripping the lectern as if it were the only thing holding him up. His eyes found Jake in the front row, then drifted to Dallas, then Eli.

"I don't have the right words for this," Drew admitted, his voice shaking. "I don't think anyone does. All I know is that we loved him. And we're here because of that love. Because no matter how much it hurts, Adam deserves to be remembered."

He stepped back from the pulpit, his head bowed, his shoulders trembling. Jake rose silently, placing a steady hand on Drew's shoulder, and guiding him back to his seat.

Eli's eyes drifted forward, landing on Clare. She sat a few rows ahead, her back straight, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Her hair was pulled back neatly, but the rest of her looked exhausted, worn thin by the weight of the past few days.

Their eyes met for the briefest of moments when she turned her head, and Eli's breath caught.

There was so much in her gaze—grief, pain, exhaustion. And something else, something familiar yet distant. It was the weight of everything left unsaid between them. Their shared history, their love, their heartbreak—it all lingered in the space between them, unspoken but undeniable.

Eli wanted to look away, but he couldn't. For that fleeting moment, it felt like the rest of the room faded away, leaving only the two of them.

And then the moment was gone. Clare's teary gaze shifted back to the pulpit, leaving Eli with the ache of everything they had been and everything they could never be again.

After the service, the mourners spilled out into the cemetery behind the church. The sky remained overcast, the clouds so thick they seemed to press down on the earth. A chill hung in the air, damp and unrelenting.

The casket sat suspended over the open ground, surrounded by wreaths of flowers. Drew and Jake stood closest, their faces set in grim determination. Dallas lingered nearby, his hands stuffed into his coat pockets, his head bowed.

Eli hung back, unsure of where he fit.

Clare stood closer to the grave, surrounded by the others—Alli, Jenna, and Becky—but somehow, she still seemed alone. Her arms were wrapped around herself, her face pale and unreadable as she stared into the open earth.

Nearby, Drew stood rigid, his jaw clenched tightly, his fists stuffed into his coat pockets. Eli could see the strain in every line of his body, the way he was fighting to hold himself together.

Bianca, usually so composed and untouchable, was uncharacteristically quiet. Her eyes were rimmed red, though no tears fell. She stood beside Drew, her arms crossed as if trying to shield herself from the chill.

When the pastor spoke again, his voice carried over the murmurs of the crowd. "As we commit Adam to his final resting place, let us remember the moments that made his life so meaningful. The laughter, the music, the joy he brought to so many. And let us carry his memory with us, a reminder that even in loss, love endures."

One by one, people stepped forward to leave flowers, notes, and small mementos on the casket. Drew placed a guitar pick, his hand lingering on the polished wood as he whispered something too quiet to hear. Jake followed with a folded letter, tucking it beneath the bouquet of lilies.

Dallas hesitated, his broad shoulders hunched as he stared down at the casket. Finally, he reached out, resting a hand on the wood. "You were better than the rest of us," he muttered under his breath. "Hope you know that."

Clare approached next, her movements stiff and deliberate. She didn't say anything, but the way she stood there, tears pouring down her face and her hands clasped tightly in front of her holding a rose, spoke volumes. Then she tossed the rose and returned to her spot.

Eli stayed back, watching from the edge of the crowd. His feet felt rooted to the ground, his hands trembling in his pockets. He wanted to step forward, to say something, but he couldn't. Eli stayed frozen until finally, he pushed himself forward.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out an old, battered notebook—the one Adam had always carried during their band days, scribbling down lyrics, notes, and half-formed ideas.

He stared at it for a long moment, the weight of it almost too much. He had found it in a box of old band memorabilia, tucked under a stack of dusty flyers in his untouched childhood bedroom at his parent's house the other day. It felt like holding a piece of Adam, a fragment of the person he used to be.

Eli placed the notebook gently on top, his fingers brushing the worn edges. "You never stopped believing, man," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Even when the rest of us did. I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you."

His vision blurred, and he pressed his hand against the polished wood, the weight of everything crashing over him. "I'll do better," he murmured. "For you. I promise."

A few minutes later, The casket was lowered into the ground, and the sound of dirt hitting wood echoed through the quiet cemetery. Eli clenched his jaw, his chest aching as the finality of it sank in. Drew sobbed and Bianca held him in her arms.

When the others began to drift away, Clare turned, her gaze landing on Eli. For a brief moment, their red teary eyes met, and Eli felt everything—the grief, the guilt, the longing—crash over him all at once.

But before he could say anything, she turned away, walking toward the others.

The graveyard emptied, leaving only the wind and the distant murmur of voices. Eli stood there for a long time, staring at the fresh mound of earth, his hands trembling in his pockets.

"I'm sorry, Adam," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

And with that, he turned and walked away, the weight of the day pressing down on him like a stone.