Standing in the middle of the crowd at the airport, I watched Aiden and his girl stroll toward the security check.
“Have a safe flight, Kennedy,” I shouted when my friend turned around and waved at me. 

Weeks passed since Ellie’s assault. At some point, I doubted the two of them were strong enough to deal with all of it — the drama, the revelations, the betrayal of the people they should've been able to trust.

Kennedy stayed at my condo while his girl was recovering. I was grateful for his company and even happier when my little brother Brian stopped by and spent a few days with Aiden and me on his way to our hometown. 
Now, I was on my own again.

Glancing around the packed terminal, I waited for a while before taking the elevator to the garage. I wasn’t going home, not because it was empty and seemed too cold, although that alone was a valid reason to avoid doing it.
My bandmates were back in the city after our winter break. The guys and I would have lunch at a restaurant downtown.

As I parked and got out of the vehicle, clutching the bag with gifts, I spotted a familiar blond head.

“Jay!”

He spun around and grinned. “Isn’t that our Jimmy boy?”

“Call me that again, fucker, and Santa won’t give you your Christmas gift, got it?”

Jason laughed, hugging me. “Just kidding. How have you been?”

“Spent the holidays at the hospital with Kennedy and his girl."

“Are they alright?”

“On their way back to Paris. What about you? Anything new?”

Jason shrugged. “Same old. Visited my parents and my sister, ate tons.”

“And Nick?”

“On his way. Speak of the devil.”

Nick slammed the driver’s door of his SUV shut and rushed to us. “Ladies.”

“Last time I checked, I had all my guy parts in place, thank you very much,” Jay said.

I gave Nick a hug, and the three of us strolled toward the restaurant.

A delicious aroma wafted from the kitchen, making my stomach growl. My bandmates and I settled at our usual table in the back. Only a few customers were eating. They were engrossed in conversation, which would grant us some privacy.

Jay furrowed his brows as he read through the selection of dishes on the menu. Nick followed his lead. I cast a glance at my watch and looked at the guys. “And Fin?”

Jason rolled his eyes. “No idea. He didn’t answer my text.”

“But he knows we’re meeting here, right? You reminded him.”

Groaning, Jay leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I did, Jim, and so did Nick. The guy’s weird. We've gone out together countless times, and he always bows out. It’s like we’re some plague he wants to avoid.”

“Jay,” Nick hissed.

The sound of quiet footsteps reached my ears. Fin was walking toward our table, sporting the same indecipherable expression.

Sometimes, it looked like boredom; other times, it seemed as if he were angry.

The guy was an extraordinary drummer. After he auditioned for us, Cayden, our producer, insisted on hiring Fin immediately, afraid that another band would snatch him away. 

While we were compatible professionally, Fin was reluctant to make an effort and get to know the guys.

It drove Jay wild, but I was willing to wait and give Finlay a chance. Our bassist, Nick,  and I grew up in neighboring towns and had been playing together since we were eighteen. Jay, the rhythm guitarist, joined the band when Kennedy moved cities. We’d been through thick and thin, facing a ton of rejections until Cayden heard us play at a gig in Thierry’s bistro, and we auditioned for him.

“Hey, Fin,” I said to my bandmate. “How have you been?”

Fin took off his coat and plopped down on a chair next to me. “S’all good.”

“Awesome,” I said, grabbing the bag from the floor. “Before we stuff our faces, Santa asked me to give you some gifts.”

I opened the bag and took out a package, handing it to Nick, who accepted his present— a videogame— and gave me a thumbs up. “You know me. Thanks, man.”

“You’re welcome. Jay, this is for you.”
Jason was obsessed with vinyl records. I got him a few by the old rock bands he loved. The smile on the guy’s face made me chuckle.

“Thank you, Jim,” Jay said.  “I wonder where you got them. I’ve been looking forever with no luck.”

“I know places.” I winked at him and retrieved the last package — a drumstick bag.

“Take it, Finlay.” I handed Fin the gift.
“For me?” he asked as if he hadn’t heard me.

“For your evil twin we have yet to meet,” Jay butted in, chuckling. Nick shook his head, glaring at our bandmate.

“Thank you,” Fin said, finally accepting his present. 

When he peeked into the bag and saw its contents, the grin on his face made me wonder about his earlier reaction. The guy was closed off and kept his distance in contrast to Nick and Jay, who were almost family to me. I made a mental note to talk about it with them when the waitress approached our table, ready to take our order.

When the girl was back with our food, we gobbled up the steaks in a matter of minutes and spent the next half an hour chatting about the holidays. Just as expected, Fin kept to himself, sipping his water and answering with his trademark ‘s’all good’ when Nick asked him if he had fun at Christmas.

“It was awesome seeing everyone, but I have to go,” Jay said after a while. “By the way, Nick and I have gifts for you guys too, but of course, Nicholas forgot them at home.”

“We’ll give them to you after the meeting with Cayden tomorrow,” Nick said.

I gulped down the rest of my wine, ignoring the question in Jay’s eyes. “I’ll see you there, guys.”

After a while, we paid the check and left the restaurant. As soon as I got behind the wheel, I put the radio on to make the drive home less tedious, but the upbeat song didn’t manage to distract me. 

My thoughts drifted to the conversation with our producer I’d have the following day — the one I knew wouldn’t go well. Cayden was a great guy, but he’d given me too much leeway. It wouldn’t happen this time, not with all the pressure Wyatt a.k.a. the label guy, a.k.a. the fucker put on all of us, especially after I postponed the arena show until April.

Once in my condo, I tossed the keys onto the end table and sprawled on the sectional with a notepad and a pen.

The tip of the pen hovered over the blank page. I stared at it, waiting for the words to come, but they never did. 

I’d failed to write anything for months, and no lyrics meant no new songs, which, in turn, equaled no music to placate Wyatt.

Letting out a groan, I flung the notepad across my living room, flinching when it landed dangerously close to the fragile vase Mom gave me when I bought my apartment. I went to pick it up, and for some reason, the cute little thing from the hospital appeared on my mind. It was probably because of the notebook she carried with her that day. What if she also wrote stuff?

Shaking my head at my ridiculous conclusion, I stalked off to the kitchen to make myself a drink.

I still hadn’t called Ava, and I couldn’t do it now, not knowing what awaited me tomorrow. Once again, I did my usual thing. I put on some music — Van Halen for a change — made myself a cup of pitch-black coffee, and drank it, trying to savor each drop. 

Alone.

***

Cayden was all smiles as we settled at the round glass table in his office. 

“So, anything new for me to work on?” he asked, rubbing his palms together as he swept his gaze over my bandmates before giving me his undivided attention.

Fin’s eyes were glued to his clasped hands, but Jay and Nick were staring at me.

I cleared my throat. “Not yet.”

Cayden raised his eyebrows. “Not yet? Jim, it’s been months.”

Even Fin swiveled his head, giving me a sympathetic look.

“I know, Cay,” I said. “What can I say? I’m struggling, okay? I need more time.”

“You signed a contract. Wyatt will lose his shit, and you know you’ll have to deal with him in person in a couple of days. My job is to help you create the best music, but my hands are tied when you give me nothing I can work with. The label—”

“I know it, dammit, okay? I had a lot going on, and fuck, creativity isn’t a well that never runs dry. You have to nurture it, and I couldn’t.”

“Don’t be hard on Jim,” Nick said. “He’s the singer, the lead guitarist, the songwriter, and the manager since Pete resigned. We need help, Cay.”

“We need a manager as in yesterday,” Jay chimed in. “Jim has to handle the business shit, which leaves no time for music.”

Cayden rubbed his graying temples and sighed, his tired eyes flicking over our quartet.

“Fine. I’ll make some calls and see if we can find someone as good as Pete was. Go home and write, Jim. I get where you’re coming from, but if I don’t have anything in a week, we’ll have to hire someone who can write lyrics.”

I nodded, smoothing my thumb over the glass tabletop. “Okay.”

It wasn’t, but I had to play along to buy myself some time.

“Glad to hear that,” Cayden said.

My shoulders hunched as we left our producer’s office.

“Do you think you can write something, Jim?” Nick asked, his voice subdued and laced with insecurity.

I clenched and unclenched my fists. “No.”

Nick squeezed my shoulder, said goodbye to me, and joined the guys once we were out of the building. My friends were going to see new equipment, but I made up an excuse not to go with them.

I stood on the sidewalk, inhaling the chilly air, watching people stream past me.

My hand reached into my coat pocket. I fished out my phone and pulled up the contact list.

Then, I called the cute little thing.

My talented reader rikkimennyt made this beautiful edit of Jimmy's band, and I am in love with it. Tell me what you think now that you know them a bit.