Versions Of Us (The Cliff Haven Series) by Eve Blakely

Author:Eve Blakely [Blakely, Eve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Queen B Ink
Published: 2023-11-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 31

HENLEY

After a long deliberation, I decided to take EJ up on his offer to go and vent my frustration out on the new drum kit he and Liv bought for the music studio.

I regret it instantly when my presence is met with an arctic reception from Liv. I can’t blame her. Kristen is her best friend, and I blew it enormously. I’d expect nothing less from her than the ice-cold death stare she aims in my direction and the insults she mutters under her breath to EJ as I enter the room.

“Hey, Liv,” I say, uncomfortably scratching at my eyebrow.

“Hey,” is the only word that leaves her mouth before she heads out the back to the staircase that leads to their apartment upstairs.

“Sorry, man,” EJ winces.

“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.

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