CHAPTER FOUR

The Wake

The air inside the hall was thick with polite sadness—people standing in tight clusters, murmuring soft condolences, their faces pale and tired. The room was filled with the low hum of conversation and the clink of glasses, but underneath it, all was an overwhelming sense of loss that no amount of wine or small talk could mask.

Eli stood by the bar, his hand trembling slightly as he lifted a glass to his lips. He had promised himself that he wouldn't do this—not again, not after everything—but the weight of Adam's death was suffocating, and the past had a way of catching up with him when he least expected it.

The dark brown liquid burned as it slid down his throat, settling uneasily in his stomach. He had been trying to stay sober ever since the night he hit rock bottom—but here, now, surrounded by old faces and haunted by the ghost of Adam's absence, it was hard to think straight. It was easier to drown everything out.

Eli hadn't even noticed Clare approaching until she stood before him, her eyes sharp as they bore into his. She didn't look angry, not exactly, but there was a quiet intensity to her that made his stomach twist.

"What are you doing?" Clare asked, her voice barely audible above the murmur of the crowd.

Eli didn't respond at first. Instead, he looked down at the glass in his hand, the liquid swirling as he turned it slowly between his fingers. He knew what she was referring to—he could see the concern in her eyes, the disappointment, the same look she had given him all those years ago when he first started down this path.

"Nothing," he muttered, trying to play it off, but the tremble in his voice betrayed him.

Clare's jaw tightened, and her eyes narrowed in that familiar way, the way they always did when she was frustrated with him. She crossed her arms over her chest, not bothering to hide the tension in her posture.

"Eli," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "You've been sober for years. You've been drinking, I've seen it the last few days. You can't just throw all of that away now… ."

Eli took a slow breath, holding her gaze. He knew she was right, but that didn't change anything. The pain, the grief—it was suffocating. Adam's death had brought all of it rushing back—the guilt, the self-loathing, the memories of a time when he thought he could be better, be someone who deserved love, who deserved to be a part of something. But now? Now it all felt impossible.

"You don't understand," Eli said, his voice raw with emotion. "You don't get it."

Clare's expression softened, but only for a second. Then, as quickly as it came, the softness disappeared, replaced by something sharper.

"Right," she shook her head, a laugh escaping her even though nothing was funny. "I lost him too, you know. But I'm not drowning my sorrows."

Eli's heart lurched, and for a moment, the world around him blurred. He could feel the heat rising in his chest, the familiar burn of frustration and helplessness.

"Stop," he said, his voice low, pleading. "Stop pretending like you have it all figured out, Clare. I'm not perfect like you."

Clare flinched, and Eli immediately regretted the words. He hadn't meant to sound so cruel, but the anger was there—old and bitter, as familiar to him as his own skin.

"Eli…" she whispered, her eyes glistening from all her crying that day.

Before he could say anything else, Bianca appeared at his side, her presence like a sharp breath of air in the heavy atmosphere. She glanced briefly at Clare before looking at Eli, her expression unreadable.

"I think you've had enough for tonight, no? Can I talk to you?" Bianca said, her voice steady and calm, almost too calm.

Eli could feel Clare's gaze on him, he knew she was mad, maybe even feeling betrayed all over again, but he didn't look at her. Instead, he followed Bianca as she led him away from the bar, her hand resting lightly on his elbow, guiding him toward a quieter part of the room.

"You don't need to keep doing this," Bianca continued as they reached a secluded corner of the hall, away from the prying eyes of the others. "You don't need to keep masking your issues with this." he gestured to the glass.

Eli didn't say anything for a moment, the silence between them thick.

"I'm not masking, Bianca," Eli said quietly, his voice hoarse, and very much in denial.

She studied him for a long moment, her eyes searching, her lips pressed into a tight line. Then, slowly, she exhaled, her hand moving to his shoulder as she gave him a firm, almost reassuring squeeze.

"You've always been stronger than you give yourself credit for," she said, her voice low and sincere. "You don't have to do this alone, Eli. You never did. Don't push her away because you're grieving. "

Eli looked at her then, really looked at her. Bianca had always been the tough one—the one who had always kept everything bottled up, never letting anyone in. But there was something different about the way she spoke now. A tenderness, a vulnerability. It reminded him of Adam.

"I don't know if I can do this anymore," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "I don't know how to keep moving forward when everything's falling apart. The Band is done, Adam is dead, and Clare's back for the first time in years and I keep messing up."

Bianca's gaze softened, her expression unreadable but full of something Eli couldn't quite place. "You don't have to have it all figured out right now. You just need to take the first step. Go apologize to her, talk to Jake and Dallas." She suggested.

He nodded slowly as if her words were the lifeline he'd been waiting for, even if he wasn't sure he believed them. "Thanks, Bianca."

They had been hot, heavy and nothing more than a rebound for each other after their relationships had come to an end at similar times. But Just as fast as it started it had ended and over time the two became friends. But not everyone knew that. Clare didn't know and Drew tossed his chance away when he saw them together years ago.

Across the room, Clare sat at a small table with Alli, her head in her hands, eyes closed as the flood of emotions threatened to overwhelm her. The dim light in the room seemed to press down on her, as if it were adding weight to the turmoil inside her. The silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken, filled with the echoes of everything Clare couldn't put into words. Alli watched her carefully, unsure of how to help, unsure of what to say. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours? I saw you speaking to Eli..."

"I don't know what to do, Alli," Clare confessed, her voice breaking as she lifted her head, revealing the tear-streaked face she tried so hard to hide. Her eyes, usually so full of defiance and strength, were now vulnerable, a rawness there that made Alli's chest tighten. "I'm… My heart aches when I see him still like it's pulling even after all these damn years, but he's so broken still…"

The words felt like a confession like a secret Clare had kept buried in the deepest part of herself, not just from others but from herself too. She had tried to move on, rushed a relationship with K.C. just for it to fail to bury the ache of old love, but it was still there—quiet and persistent. Alli wanted to reach through the air and somehow make it all easier for her, but she knew she couldn't erase the weight Clare carried. Alli was with Dallas, she knew how tough it was to be with someone with so much spotlight on them. Alli was surprised her relationship hadn't come to a fiery end too.

Alli reached across the table, placing a hand on Clare's. The warmth of her touch was a lifeline, offering some comfort, though it couldn't mend the cracks in her friend's heart. "I heard he had been doing okay, Clare. Adam's death… it's hitting him hard. They were best friends. You know that." Alli spoke softly, her voice steady, hoping to offer at least a sliver of perspective.

Clare nodded slowly, a tightness in her throat making it hard to breathe. She thought of Eli—of his wild, unfiltered energy, and the way it had once been a beacon in her life, guiding her through the dark. But now, even with all the love they had shared, he felt like a shadow of himself, lost in the grief of losing Adam. She had seen it in his eyes, a reflection of everything he couldn't escape.

"I know," Clare whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek despite her best efforts to stay composed. "But it's like I'm trapped in this place where I want to be there for him, but I don't know how to help someone so broken when I'm still not whole myself." Her voice faltered again, the weight of it all suffocating her.

Alli squeezed her hand, her expression softening. "You're not alone in this. You don't have to carry it all on your own, Clare. We're all here for you."

Clare's gaze shifted to the floor, her mind still tangled in a sea of conflicting emotions. She knew Alli meant well, but this kind of pain wasn't something that could be fixed with comforting words. Not now, maybe not ever. She was still stuck in a web of memories, of old wounds that hadn't fully healed. But as Alli spoke, something within her shifted. She could feel the hint of a possibility, like a small thread being pulled, maybe leading her out of the darkness.

"I just don't know how to talk to him," Clare said quietly, her voice almost pleading. "It's been so long, what if he doesn't want to talk. "

Alli took a deep breath, leaning forward, her hands gently clasping Clare's. "I get it. I do. And I'm not saying it's easy, maybe all you need to do is be there for him when the time's right. He's not the same person he was when you were together, and you're not either. But that doesn't mean there's no way forward."

Clare looked up, her eyes searching Alli's face, trying to understand her. "But what if I'm just a reminder of the past? What if it's too much for him?"

"Clare," Alli said, her voice firm but kind. "These what if's are not doing you any good. You don't have to fix him or solve his problems. You just have to show him that you're here. When he's ready. And maybe—just maybe—when things have calmed down, when the weight of everything isn't so overwhelming, you can talk to him. You can tell him how you feel, tell him what you've been holding onto all this time."

"I don't know if I'm ready for that," Clare whispered, her voice trembling.

"You don't have to be ready right now," Alli reassured her, her voice steady. "But when the time comes—when things aren't so raw—you'll know. And maybe then, you'll both have the chance to heal, in your own way, together. closure might be good after all these years."

Clare's eyes filled with unshed tears, but there was a faint glimmer of something else—something like hope. It was fragile, a tender thing, but it was there. And for the first time in a long while, Clare allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a way forward after all.

Meanwhile, Drew was on the other side of the room, his hands gripping the edge of the counter as he stared at the crowd. The noise of quiet conversations and muffled sorrow felt distant, as though the room itself was fading away. His eyes were wild, a frantic storm behind them, and his chest rose and fell sharply with each ragged breath. His face was flushed, not just with the heat of the room but with a mix of anger, guilt, and grief—an ugly concoction of emotions that made it hard for him to stand still.

"Do you think he knew we were here for him?" Drew snapped, his voice loud, cutting through the murmur of the room as he turned to face Jenna and Becky, who were standing nearby. His words were sharp, each one a reflection of the raw pain he was struggling to contain. "Do you think Adam knew we cared? That we should've been there."

Jenna and Becky exchanged a glance, unsure of how to respond. The question hung in the air, heavy and accusatory, and Drew's eyes locked onto theirs, his gaze intense and unrelenting. The silence between them only seemed to fuel his anger. He could feel the tension building inside him, threatening to explode.

No one knew how to answer. No one had the words to ease the weight of Drew's guilt and frustration. His breath grew more laboured, his hand tightening around his glass. He slammed it down on the counter with a loud crack, the sound echoing through the room. His eyes blazed with frustration and pain, his voice raw. "We failed him," he growled, his words dripping with venom. "We all failed him. we couldn't even keep the band alive for him. What a joke. "

The words hung in the air like a punch, and neither Jenna nor Becky could bring themselves to argue. They both knew the truth of it, but the heaviness of Drew's words made it hard to say anything in response. The silence that followed was thick and suffocating, the kind of silence that settled in when the weight of a painful truth couldn't be avoided.

Jenna bit her lip, struggling with the swell of emotion that rose in her chest. "Drew..." she said quietly.

Becky nodded, but the sadness in her eyes told a different story. She could feel the guilt too, like a physical ache in her own heart. "He knew." she whispered, more to herself than to Drew.

Drew's eyes were filled with fire as he looked between them. "Did he?," he snapped, his tone bitter. "I didn't even pick up his last phone call!"

Jenna opened her mouth to speak, but her voice faltered, the weight of Drew's anger stifling her words. She wanted to tell him that they had all done their best, that sometimes you couldn't fix things, and things just happened, but the words felt empty. Drew wasn't looking for comfort or answers; he was looking for someone to blame, someone to share in his guilt.

The room seemed to close in around them, and the quiet that followed Drew's outburst was thick, filled with unspoken regrets. Drew ran a hand through his hair, his body tense with the anger and helplessness he couldn't shake. He was drowning in it, and no one around him seemed to have the answer.

Eli and Bianca watched from across the room, his gaze drifting from Drew to Jenna and Becky. He could feel his own guilt rising again, his chest tightening as Drew's accusations echoed in his mind. Drew was right. They had all failed Adam. There was no easy way to deny it. Adam had been the one who had held them together when everything fell apart, the one who had always been there. And when he needed them most to keep the band going, they had all walked away. They had all been too absorbed in their own lives, their own struggles, to see how deeply Adam wanted it. Eli felt a deep pit open in his stomach, the familiar ache of regret and guilt settling into his bones. He had been so focused on his own battles, his own pain, that he had ignored the quiet desperation in Adam's eyes. And now, there was no going back.

Bianca watched Drew with concern. She could see the storm still brewing inside him, the anger and guilt making it hard for him to breathe. She had known Drew long enough to recognize when he was spiralling. The weight of everything was too much for him to carry alone.

Without saying a word to Eli, Bianca excused herself and made her way over to Drew. She stood for a moment, looking at him, her expression soft but firm.

"Drew," she said, her voice gentle but insistent. "Come outside with me for a minute. You need air."

Drew didn't respond at first, his fists still clenched, his shoulders rigid with tension. But Bianca's quiet presence seemed to pull him from his thoughts, even if just for a moment. He met her eyes, and in them, he saw something that made him pause—a sense of calm that he hadn't been able to find within himself.

He shook his head, trying to brush her off. "I don't need air. I need to... I need to figure this out," he muttered, his voice rough.

Bianca didn't back down. "You need to breathe, Drew. You're not going to figure anything out like this."

He hesitated, his anger fighting with the exhaustion he was starting to feel, but finally, he nodded. Bianca placed a hand on his arm, a simple gesture that felt like a lifeline, and guided him toward the door. The room was suffocating, and maybe for a brief moment, outside, he could catch his breath.

As they stepped into the cool air, the weight of the room and the tension began to lift slightly.

At the far side of the room, Clare was slowly slipping out through a side door, her expression distant, as though she was trying to escape the intensity of the moment. Eli's eyes followed her, a quiet concern rising in him. She had been with Alli near the back of the room, but now, without a word or glance toward anyone, she was making her way toward the exit.

Eli frowned, a sense of unease creeping into his chest. He hadn't seen Clare slip away so quietly before, not in a moment like this. With Drew's outburst still hanging in the air, Clare's sudden departure seemed almost too deliberate, like she was trying to avoid something. His heart tightened with worry, and before he could think too much about it, he started to follow her.

He made his way through the crowd, but when he reached the door, Clare was already halfway down the hallway. The air in the hallway was thick with the weight of grief, an invisible fog that hung over the quiet murmur of conversations. Rows of photo collages rested on either side of the hallway, surrounded by flickering candles. Adam's crooked grin stared out from every picture, a haunting reminder of everything they had lost. Clare's footsteps echoed softly in the quiet space. Eli hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should give her space or go after her. But his concern got the better of him. He moved forward, his steps quickening as he caught up with her.

"Clare," he called softly, his voice almost tentative, unsure of how she would respond.

Clare paused but didn't turn around immediately. It was like she was weighing whether to acknowledge him or not. When she finally did, her eyes were hollow, her face pale. There was something fragile about her, something that made Eli's heart ache.

"Running away?" Eli said softly, his tone tipsy but lighter than earlier.

"I'm not running," Clare replied, though her tone was light. "I'm just… regrouping."

He smirked faintly and leaned against the wall beside her once he caught up. "Same thing."

For a moment, they stood in silence, side by side. The kind of silence that didn't need to be filled, the kind that spoke of history—messy, complicated, but undeniable. It was the first time all night Clare felt like she could breathe.

"I'm sorry for earlier." Eli say finally. "I shouldn't have snapped at you. Just a long day…"

Clare nods, accepting his apology silently.

"Adam would've hated this," she said quietly, breaking the stillness. "All these people crying over him. Drew freaking out...He'd probably want us to be blasting his favourite playlist and doing shots in his honour."

Eli chuckled, but the sound was bittersweet. "Yeah. He'd have wanted a party, not… whatever this is." He paused, "But I think he'd be happy you're here."

Clare turned to look at him, her brow furrowed. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Eli hesitated, his thumb tracing the rim of his cup. "You've had every reason to keep your distance. From me. From everyone."

She shook her head, her gaze softening. "Adam wasn't just your friend, Eli. He was my friend, too. And no matter what happened between us, I would've been here. For him. For you too."

Her words lingered in the air, raw and unguarded, and Eli felt the familiar ache in his chest—the one he always felt around her. The one that reminded him of everything they'd had and lost. He wanted to say something, something that would cut through the years of hurt and misunderstandings, but before he could, a voice cut sharply through the hum of the room.

"Clare?"

Both of them turned at the sound of her name, and Clare's heart sank as she saw him—K.C., standing in the middle of the hall like a ghost from her past. He looked the same in some ways—the confident stance, the sharp cut of his suit—but there was something in his expression that seemed less sure. Less steady.

Eli stiffened beside her, his shoulders squaring instinctively. His dark eyes flicked between Clare and KC, his lips pressed into a thin line. "What the hell is he doing here?" Eli muttered under his breath.

Clare didn't answer. Her pulse quickened as KC strode toward them, his presence commanding enough to draw a few glances from nearby guests. She hadn't seen him in months—not since the engagement ended—but seeing him here, in this place, felt like a cruel twist of fate.

KC stopped a few feet away, his gaze fixed on Clare. "I heard about Adam," he said, his voice quieter than she expected. "I wanted to… I don't know. Pay my respects, I guess."

"You didn't know him," Clare said, her tone sharper than she intended. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her purse. "Why are you here, KC?"

KC flinched, but he quickly masked it with a defensive shrug. "I just wanted to see you, Clare. It's been a long time, and I—"

"This isn't the time for this," Eli interrupted, stepping closer to Clare. His voice was low but firm, his stance protective. "Maybe you should go."

KC's eyes narrowed as he shifted his attention to Eli. "I don't think this involves you."

"It does when you're upsetting her," Eli shot back, his jaw tightening.

"Eli," Clare said softly, placing a hand on his arm. She wasn't sure if she was trying to calm him or herself, but her voice wavered just enough to make him glance at her.

KC saw the gesture, and something flickered in his expression—hurt, jealousy, or maybe just regret. He turned back to Clare, his voice softening. "I know I don't have any right to be here. I just… I couldn't stay away. Seeing you again, it—it made me realize how much I screwed up."

"KC, stop," Clare said firmly, her voice steady now. "This isn't about you. It's about Adam. And you showing up here, uninvited, isn't helping anyone. You're adding unnecessary weight to this day."

For a moment, KC looked like he might argue, but then he nodded, his shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'll go."

He turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd as quickly as he'd appeared. Clare let out a shaky breath, her hand falling from Eli's arm. She felt the weight of his gaze on her, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him.

"what a dude." Eli said bitterly, his voice edged with frustration. "Why do guys like him think they can just show up and—"

"Eli, please," Clare cut him off, her voice soft but firm. "I don't want to talk about KC."

Eli hesitated, his frustration giving way to something else—something more vulnerable. He opened his mouth to say something, but then he stopped, his expression hardening. "Yeah," he said finally, stepping back. "I get it."

"Eli—" Clare started, but he shook his head.

"It's fine," he said, his tone clipped. "I shouldn't have come over here in the first place."

Before she could stop him, Eli turned and walked toward the exit, his long strides carrying him out of the hall and into the cold night air. Clare stood there, her heart pounding, as the door swung shut behind him. She wanted to follow, to explain, but her feet felt rooted to the floor.

And just like that, the moment they'd been sharing—the fragile connection they'd started to rebuild—was gone.