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.
It’s reflexive. It’s instinctual. It’s what happens when you perform with the same four people for seven years and have a formula.
I kick us off with the opening chorus while playing the melody, Harley sings the first verse, and then we back him up with harmonies on the second chorus. Ryder sings the bridge, Denver takes the second verse, and Blake takes lead on the final harmonies.
The song is about loss, about celebrating those no longer with us, and toasting to the memory of loved ones, wishing they were here. I’m relieved I led this and took the opening because as the song goes on, tears sting my eyes, and I don’t trust my voice anymore.
It feels like the perfect goodbye to Cameron, but it also feels like a goodbye to something else.
On the outside, it would’ve looked like this was rehearsed. No one would imagine this was an impromptu performance. It’s why we worked so well as a boy band.
Sure, there were fights. There were hard times. And it wasn’t an instant thing. It took work to get where we were, but if this has shown anything, it’s that our connection