CHAPTER 7

Getting the band back together

Eli sat in his cluttered living room, a notebook open on the coffee table in front of him. His guitar leaned against the couch, untouched for weeks. The air smelled faintly of stale coffee and cigarettes, one of the many bad habits he'd picked up again in the aftermath of Adam's funeral. The notebook was filled with half-written lyrics, scribbled in moments of inspiration that never lasted long enough to become a full song.

The knock at the door startled him. He glanced at the clock—mid-afternoon—and wondered who it could be. When he opened the door, Drew stood there, his expression a mix of determination and unease.

"We need to talk," Drew said without preamble, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

Eli sighed, closing the door. "What is it now?"

"I've got an idea," Drew began, turning to face him. "A way to honour Adam."

Eli frowned, crossing his arms. "Go on."

"I want to get the band back together," Drew said, his voice steady. "Just for one night. A charity event. We'll play in Adam's memory and raise money for something he would've cared about."

Eli froze, the words hitting him harder than he expected. "You're kidding, right?"

"I'm serious," Drew replied. "This isn't about reliving the past. It's about doing something good, something Adam would've been proud of."

Eli shook his head, pacing the room. "You think playing a few songs is going to make any of this easier? It's not. It's just going to bring back all the shit we left behind."

Drew's jaw tightened. "We owe it to him, Eli. He was always there for us, always believed in us, even when we didn't believe in ourselves. Don't you think he deserves this?"

Eli opened his mouth to argue, but the words caught in his throat. He thought of Adam—his laugh, his unwavering loyalty, the way he could always make them feel like they were capable of something great.

"I don't know if I can do it," Eli admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You can," Drew said firmly. "And you won't be doing it alone."

Later that evening, Eli sat at the kitchen table, nursing a drink he didn't need. His flask, a constant companion since the funeral, sat within reach. He stared at the guitar across the room, the weight of Drew's words still pressing on him.

The sound of Bianca's knock brought him back to the present. She didn't wait for him to answer, letting herself in as she always did.

"I heard Drew stopped by," she said, leaning against the doorframe.

Eli didn't look up. "You here to tell me it's a bad idea?"

"No," Bianca said, her tone softer than he expected. "I'm here to tell you it's exactly what you need."

"Did he put you up to this?" He scoffed, taking another sip. "What I need is to be left alone."

Bianca walked over and sat across from him, her dark eyes locking onto his. "That's the problem, Eli. You've been shutting everyone out. Adam wouldn't want that."

Eli flinched at the mention of Adam's name. "Don't use him against me."

"I'm not trying to," Bianca said. "You're a musician, Eli. You've always poured your soul into your music. And right now, you've got a lot to say."

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "What if I can't do it? What if I screw it up?"

"Then you screw it up," she said simply with a shrug of her shoulders, "But at least you tried. And I think you'll surprise yourself."

Her words hung in the air, and for the first time in weeks, Eli felt a flicker of something he hadn't in a long time—hope.

Two days later, the old band gathered in Drew's studio. Eli hesitated outside the studio, the sound of muted laughter and the faint hum of instruments filtering through the door. His guitar case felt heavier than usual, and his chest tightened at the thought of stepping back into this world. It wasn't just about the music; it was about facing the past—Adam.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open.

Jake and Dallas were already there, tuning their instruments and catching up like no time had passed.

"Finally," Jake called out, a grin spreading across his face as Eli entered. "I was starting to think you bailed."

"Not like you've never shown up late before," Eli shot back, trying to mask his nerves with sarcasm.

Jake chuckled, his bass guitar slung over his shoulder. Dallas leaned against the workbench, strumming his acoustic aimlessly while Drew adjusted his drum kit in the corner. The studio smelled the same as it always had, the faint musk of stale energy drinks.

"Glad you made it," Drew said, looking up briefly from his setup. His tone was casual, but there was an undercurrent of relief in his words.

Eli nodded, setting his guitar case down and opening it. "So, what's the plan?"

"The plan," Drew said, standing up and wiping his hands on his jeans, "is to not sound like garbage."

"Tall order," Dallas quipped.

"Funny coming from the guy who forgot how to play half our setlist," Drew shot back, earning a laugh from Dallas.

Jake clapped his hands together, drawing everyone's attention. "Let's get started. We've got a lot of rust to shake off."

"Alright," Drew said, settling behind his drum kit. "Let's start with something easy. How about 'Youngblood?'"

"That's easy?" Dallas muttered, rolling his eyes but positioning his fingers on the fretboard.

Eli smirked despite himself. "Don't worry, D. It's like riding a bike—assuming you've ever actually ridden one."

"Ha-ha," Dallas said dryly.

Drew counted them in, and the garage filled with the familiar chords of one of their most popular songs. The first verse was shaky, Eli missing a chord change and Jake coming in late on the chorus, but by the second run-through, the pieces started falling into place.

As the final notes faded, Drew let out a breath, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Not bad for a bunch of has-beens."

"Speak for yourself," Jake said, cracking open a water bottle. "I'm still in my prime."

Dallas laughed. "Yeah, your beer gut says otherwise."

Eli chuckled, the sound surprising even himself. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this light, even if it was just for a moment.

During a break, they all sat around the studio, the tension easing as they fell into old patterns of conversation.

"You remember that time we played that dive bar downtown? Like our second gig ever," Jake said, grinning. "The one with the broken stage lights?"

"And the world's worst sound guy," Drew added.

"Oh my God, yeah," Dallas said, laughing. "Didn't Adam spend half the night trying to fix their amp?"

Eli smiled faintly, the memory tugging at his heart. "He ended up duct-taping half the wires. We didn't even sound that bad after he was done."

"He could fix anything," Drew said, his voice softening. "Not just amps. Us, too. Anytime we started to fall apart, he'd pull us back together."

The group fell quiet, the weight of Adam's absence settling over them like a cloud.

"He'd love this," Jake said after a moment, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "Us, playing together again."

"Yeah," Eli murmured, his fingers brushing against the strings of his guitar. "He would."

"This might actually work," Jake said, wiping sweat from his brow.

"It's going to work," Drew said confidently.

"For Adam." Dallas Continued.

Eli didn't say anything, but as he set aside his guitar, he felt a small spark of something he hadn't felt in a long time—purpose.

As the others dispersed to grab water or stretch, Jake wandered over to Eli, who was sitting on an old amp, strumming his guitar absently. Jake leaned against the workbench, cracking open a bottle of water and studying Eli with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"You've been quiet tonight," Jake started, keeping his tone casual.

Eli glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "That's new?"

Jake chuckled. "Fair, but I mean quieter than usual. Like your head's somewhere else. What's going on?"

Eli hesitated, his fingers stilling on the strings. "It's nothing. Just...everything, I guess."

Jake tilted his head. "You want to narrow that down a bit?"

Eli sighed, leaning back against the wall. Eli hesitated, his gaze shifting to the floor. "It's Adam. The band. Clare..."

Jake's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Clare?"

Eli groaned, leaning back against the wall. "Don't."

Jake smirked. "Hey, you brought her up, not me."

Eli rubbed his temples, his frustration evident. "It's just...she's been on my mind, okay? Ever since the funeral. And then the wake..."

"The wake?" Jake asked, his tone laced with curiosity. "What happened?"

Eli hesitated, debating how much to share. "We...talked. Sort of. And then, later, we ran into each other. Things got...complicated."

Jake's smirk deepened. "Complicated how?"

Eli shot him a glare. "Not like that's any of your business, but if you must know, we did what any other dumb grieving people do. Have sex they regret."

Jake whistled low. "Wow. Didn't see that coming. How'd that go?"

Eli laughed bitterly. "How do you think? I woke up alone the next morning. She just...left."

Jake's smirk faded, replaced by a look of sympathy. "That's rough, man. Did you try reaching out?"

"And say what?" Eli countered. "'Hey, Clare, sorry about the funeral. Also, what does last night mean to you?'"

Jake shrugged. "Why not? Sounds like you're already overthinking it anyway."

Eli groaned, shaking his head. "It's not that simple. There's too much history. Too much...everything."

Jake nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "You're right, it's not simple. But maybe that's why you've got to figure it out. You've already got enough ghosts hanging around. Don't let Clare become one, too."

Eli swallowed hard, Jake's words hitting closer to home than he expected. "It's not just Clare, though. It's Adam. Every time I pick up this guitar, I think about him. About how he was the one who believed in us when no one else did. It's like I can't play without hearing his voice in my head."

Jake's expression softened. "That's not a bad thing, Eli. Adam pushed us to be better, and yeah, he's not here now, but maybe that's why we need to do this. To carry that part of him forward."

Eli nodded slowly, though his gaze remained fixed on the floor. "Everything feels...off. Like I'm not the guy I used to be when we were doing this before."

Jake snorted. "None of us are. You think I've got the stamina I had at 19? I'm dying over here after three songs."

Eli managed a weak laugh, and Jake smiled, glad to have cracked through his defenses, even for a second.

"Look," Jake continued, his tone turning serious again. "I get it. You've been through a lot. We all have. But maybe this isn't about being who we were back then. Maybe it's about finding out who we are now—and why Adam still thought we were worth it."

Eli swallowed hard, the weight of Jake's words settling in his chest. He glanced at his guitar, the worn fretboard a reminder of countless nights spent creating something out of nothing.

"You think we can actually pull this off?" Eli asked after a long pause, his voice quieter.

Jake grinned. "Hell, no. But since when has that ever stopped us?"

Eli smirked despite himself, shaking his head. "You're an idiot."

"Maybe," Jake said, clapping him on the shoulder. "But I'm your idiot. And so is Drew. And Dallas. And Adam? He's still got our backs, man. Whether you feel it or not."

Eli's throat tightened, and for a moment, he couldn't speak. Instead, he nodded, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Now," Jake said, standing up straight and stretching. "Let's get back to it before Drew has a meltdown about timing again."

Eli chuckled, his chest feeling just a little lighter. "Yeah, wouldn't want to upset the 'perfectionist.'"

As Jake walked back to his bass, Eli picked up his guitar again. This time, when his fingers brushed the strings, the melody came a little easier.