Page 73 of Versions Of Us

“It’s fine,” I say. “At least I know I can trust that you haven’t told her anything.”

As I say this I realise if she knew what EJ knew, she may very well still choose not to give me the benefit of the doubt. It’s highly probable that she would still hate me.

“Yeah,” EJ frowns sympathetically. “But honestly, I don’t know how long I can keep that up. It’s getting really hard to keep lying to my future wife.”

“I know,” I say, hanging my head in shame. “I’m sorry.”

“Forget about it.” He waves my apology away. “We’re here to jam. Forget all the bullshit.”

I nod. “Sounds like a plan.”

That’s all I really want to do right now. Work out all the tension I’ve been carrying and jam with my best mate. Maybe try to pretend for a few short hours that things could ever be as simple as they were when we were younger, playing in a garage band on weekends and performing at Steve’s every Friday night.

We play a couple of our old songs, but it isn’t the same without Cayden. It’s not the same for a lot of reasons. So much has happened since those carefree days that they almost feel like they happened in another life.

Still, I feel good today.

EJ’s theory about music being better than therapy is one hundred percent accurate. It’s liberating to finally be able to play again. On a drum kit that isn’t damaged, without the confines of the tavern and its unapproving customers. Thank God for soundproof studios.

I stop for a break, wishing I’d bothered to bring a spare t-shirt. I’m betting I could just about wring the sweat out of this one.

I’m wiping the moisture from my brow and stretching my tired, burning biceps when Levi enters the studio. I look up in time to see him unhook a shiny black bass guitar from the far wall, slinging it around his neck in one swift movement.

“What’s up guys?” he asks enthusiastically. “Good to see you, Henley.”

“Thanks. You too,” I reply, curious about his arrival.

EJ didn’t tell me we’d have company here today. I don’t know Levi that well, but we’ve jammed in the past, both of us having laid down backing tracks for EJ’s first album.

“I hope you don’t mind, H,” EJ says, adjusting the dials on the amp his Gibson is connected to. “I asked Levi to swing by and help me practice a few songs for a gig I have coming up.”

“Dude!” Levi scoffs. “Don’t tell me you haven’t asked him yet.”

EJ bites his lip, squeezes his eyes shut, then removes the guitar from around his neck.

“Ask me what?” I say, my attention darting back and forth between the two of them.

EJ throws an annoyed look at Levi, then his eyes shoot back to me. “Are you going to the carnival next weekend?”

I hadn’t forgotten about the annual Cliff Haven carnival. How could I possibly forget when Dylan has been breathing down my neck about stock levels all week?

“Pretty sure I’m gonna be stuck working the whole time if Dylan has any say in it. He’s freaking out about how packed the tavern will get.”

“Well, you’re in luck.” EJ says, rubbing his hands together conspiratorially. “I might be able to get you out of there for a few hours if you help me out with something. No pressure though.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” The idea of getting some relief from the bar does sound appealing.

“I’m doing a gig there. Probably five or six songs,” he explains. “I need a drummer. Thought I’d ask you. See if you wanted to do it. For old times’ sake.”

“Come on, EJ,” I complain. I realise now that he had a motive for offering me a jam session in the studio today. “You roped me in here under false pretences?”

“Well, when you put it like that you make me sound evil or something,” EJ says light-heartedly. “Please. Help me out. Damon was meant to drum but something came up and he can’t do it.”

“Oh yeah? What’s his excuse?” I mutter.

“His wife’s due to have a baby.”

I raise one eyebrow, twirling a drumstick between my fingers. “Fair enough.”

---