The songs fly by as we return them to the fans who watch in person or over the livestream. The audience sings along, my voice joined by thousands. Cheers sound as Jared plays an intricate riff. Luca tosses a drumstick in the air and catches it with ease.
When the second to last song ends, I step forward.
“Thank you all for being here. Without you, we’d just have been some guys playing music in Luca’s parents’ garage. You gave us the whole world, and we’re so happy to relive the highlights with you. We never could have imagined that our music would have such an impact after a decade. You haven’t let us become ‘Half a Memory.’” I pause, and I’m met with a roar ofapplause. “And don’t forget, you can see me and an old friend of the band, Avery Sloane, on our tour kicking off later this year.”
She’s up on the balcony with an unreadable expression. A chill rips through me straight to my bones. Something is off, I just can’t figure out what and I don’t have time to speculate as the opening strains of the finale start. The one we never got the first time around and now that we have it, I won’t let the moment slip by.
The lights dim to a hazy glow. The drums fade, and each of us step closer to the edge, united. I wonder if that’s what these people think. That we’re the same—still young, still friends, as if time gave us a free pass—even as they’ve aged. But for the three men beside me, this is goodbye.
You and I were only half a memory.
I think about it all the time.
We were only half a memory, but it’s my favorite place to hide.
Tell me I won’t find you one day. Tell me this isn’t goodbye.
The song ends and we bow. There’s a moment before we exit when we’re all rooted in place. This is it. A freeze frame.
Us. The Crowd. The music that made this happen.
And then we’re walking off, the sounds of the crowd muted by the thick velvet curtains that start to pull closed.
“I missed that,” I say, stretching one arm over my head.
“Sure, ’cause it’s been, what? Four months since your last tour.” Garrett scoffs as he pushes his way into the green room.
A year, but I get the point. Why should this feel special for me when I never gave it up? Signatures and posters line the walls, a defiant contrast to the gothic Southern elegance of the rest of the venue.
“No. I meant I missed this. Us.” I collapse onto the couch. “It’s not the same.”
Jared flops down next to me, his sweat-soaked hair falling into his eyes as he exhales heavily. “I get what you mean. Sometimes, I wish we stuck it out a little longer. Made that last album. I love my family, but sometimes I miss how big you can feel out there.” He stops, looking at each of us. “I swear, if you repeat any of that to Alyssa… Honestly, I’ve never felt so stressed over anything in my life.”
“You’re serious?” Luca asks.
“Yeah, it’s not like we’re practicing round the clock like we used to, except for Wes. And they”—Jared gestures, fanning out his arm to encompass an imaginary audience—“expected us to be just as good. Shit, I even started going to therapy twice a week because I couldn’t handle the stress.”
“Why didn’t you say something?” Luca demands.
“I guess I just thought we were all going through it.” Jared shrugs.
“Speak for yourself,” Garrett says. Though, he looks at me, arching a brow as if to saysee, Jared’s not nearly as fucked up as you and still thinks it’s worth getting help.
I promise,I try to say back.I’ll try harder. Be better.For them.
“Oh, fuck off. Not all of us can be savants,” Jared shoots back.
“I guess I just never thought…” Luca starts.
“Thought what?” Jared pushes.
“That you guys would understand.” Luca swallows hard and averts his gaze. The loneliness and helplessness that came after the breakup? Yeah, he’s not the only one.
“Understand what?” Garrett urges Luca, though it still feels like he’s using this as an excuse to say what he thinks I need to hear.
“Luca…” Jared’s voice trails off.
“No, you’re right. It’s fucked that we just kept going without you. We should have stopped and given you a chance to recover before ending things for real,” I finally say, scraping a handthrough my hair. The apology tastes sour on my tongue. I’m sorry he was hurt, that how everything ended has impacted him for so long.
