I guarantee if you miss out on saying goodbye, you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life.”
I lean up on my elbows. “What’s the difference between saying goodbye to him when I’m alone without the media and saying goodbye to a casket? It’s not like his soul will be there. It’s his body in a wooden case being covered by dirt. I don’t need to see that.”
Denver takes my hand. “It might make you finally accept that he’s gone.”
I want to say I’ve still got four more stages of grief to get through before I’m anywhere near acceptance, but maybe he’s right. It might be a step.
I just don’t know if I can face it. “Maybe I can come late and stand at the back. I don’t want the attention. I don’t want to have to keep it together in front of the media.”
“It’s being held in the gardens. I really hope you make it. For your sake.” Denver leans in and kisses my forehead as he stands. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”
What I need is to forget, but I don’t think even Denver has that kind of power over me.
When Denver leaves, I force myself to get up and shower in case I get the sudden urge to go, but like I said to Denver, I can say goodbye to Cameron wherever I am. I don’t need to be where he is.
I’m not exactly a spiritual person—I don’t believe in God, I don’t have faith—but I believe once someone is passed, their soul is no longer here. Where it goes? I have no idea. I like the idea of an afterlife, but it’s hard to believe in one.
Cameron wouldn’t give a flying fuck if I was at his funeral service. He’d tell me to toast to him, say a prayer because he was the faithful type, and get my ass back to work.
And it’s there, under the warm spray of Denver’s shower, that I finally let myself break down and cry for the first time since it happened. I’ve shed tears, but I haven’t full-on bawled until now.
Thinking back over the last eighteen months, of him turning up in Montana, of calling me, him constantly trying to get me to come back, it reminds me of the voicemail he left a few weeks ago after our business lunch. I listened to the message but didn’t delete it.
I rush to get out of the shower and find my phone. Only wearing a towel, I step onto Denver’s balcony overlooking his view of Malibu, the water in the short distance, a view not dissimilar to what I used to have in Palos Verdes. It may be a different beach, a different area, but it’s the same damn ocean, and I have the same alone feeling.
Sucking in a deep breath, I put my phone to my ear and listen to what Cameron had to say.
“Just calling to say it was good seeing you today.”
Oh, shit, maybe I’m not in the right space to listen to this. A sob falls from me.
“I’m so happy you’re back in LA. You guys were always my pride and joy to watch. It might not have been all smooth sailing, but I think if you give Harley a chance, you can fix all that was wrong. You just need to give him a chance.”
The last thing on my mind right now is getting back together with Eleven. Do I owe it to Harley? Owe it to Cameron? I try to think of what I actually want from life, but listening to a dead man’s voice, all I really want is to stop hurting.
“Don’t forget to make more time for the old man while you’re here. I miss all you kids, and I’m determined to get you all in the same room. I just know the magic will spark once again.”
Damn it. I don’t think I owe Eleven or its fandom anything when they all turned their backs on me, but I do owe it to Cameron to go and see him one last time. Even if I don’t believe he’s there in spirit or whatever.
I need to go and say goodbye.
Denver’s guitar I’ve been using to write songs calls to me, and I know exactly how to give Cameron the type of send-off that he’d want.
Fucking Cameron Verikas.
Always having the last word, even when he’s dead.
I’m late, but there are so many industry people here that it’s standing room only at the