Page 29 of Vespertine

An awkward silence fell and Nicky reached for his sunglassesresting on the side of the table and slid them on. “Well, you said it.”

“So I did.”

Nicky expected Jazz to say goodbye then but he didn’t. DeathCab’s “Bixby Canyon Bridge” escalated powerfully again as Jazz fixed his gazeon the cove beyond the drop off of the hill. The cacophony grew and grew untilit collapsed into feedback, and Jazz crossed one arm over his chest, clutchinghis bicep and leaving the other arm hanging loose. Nicky knew that particularstance so well. It was a bittersweet ache in his gut to see it again.

“So,” Jazz said conversationally. “Given Vespertine’smusical style, I wouldn’t have pegged you as a Ben Gibbard fan.”

So Jazz had heard Vespertine’s songs. Satisfaction andanxiety crashed inside of him. What had he thought of them? Had any of Nicky’sarrows hit home? “Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

“It’s a really different sound from yours.”

“Diversity makes the world go round.”

“And you told me once that Jimmy Eat World was crap.”

“Right. And you went off on an impassioned plea for theirbrilliance.” Nicky snorted.

Jasper shrugged. “Death Cab For Cutie doesn’t fall far fromthat musical tree.”

“I might have exaggerated my dislike for Jimmy Eat World.”Nicky pointed the remote at the stereo and shut it off. The birds filled in thesilence and Jasper stood quietly, expectantly. “You seemed to like their musicbetter than mine back then.”

Jasper scoffed. “That’s absurd.”

“Of course it was. My music was brilliant.” He shrugged anddecided to poke Jazz with the sharp end of the stick too. “But the real problemI had with them was your crush on the lead singer. I was jealous. In more waysthan one.” Nicky watched for Jazz’s reaction to his words and was gratified bythe nervous bob of his Adam’s apple.

“Ah. I see.” Jazz shoved his hands in his pockets. His lipstwisted into an amused smile. “So, can I have it in writing? You take back allthe things you said about Jim Adkins not knowing how to write a decent pop-rocksong?”

Nicky ran a hand through his wet hair and squeezed someexcess water from the tips. “Sure. Why not?”

“Wow.” Jazz’s eyes sparkled. “I wish I could go back in timeand play a video of this moment to you.”

Nicky shook his wet hair like a dog, splattering droplets onJazz’s black shirt. “Well, if you figure out how, be sure to add this part,too: Death Cab for Cutie and Jimmy Eat World are both the epitome of wankerbands.”

Jazz blew out sigh and shot him a chastising look. Hisparishioners probably withered under it. “You had to kill the moment, didn’tyou?”

“Yep. Had to be done.” Nicky slid off his sunglasses andtossed them into the grass near the edge of the pool. Jazz’s lower lip wentbetween his teeth for a second as their gaze connected. “But, you know what?Turns out Vespertine’s a wanker band too.” Nicky nodded his head toward thestereo. “I guess I’m in good company.”

Jazz’s cheeks creased with his smile. “You’re the same asever.”

Nicky closed his eyes and took a deep breath of fragrantsummer air. The stirring scent of his father’s roses and the bright spike ofhis mother’s mints filled him up.

A clear memory of Jasper officiating over Mass swam up behindhis closed lids. Jazz in his robes, presiding over the holy sacrament. Nickyhad watched from the pews before he’d worked up the nerve to stay behind forthe scene he’d made in the confessional. Jazz had looked so handsome andconfident up there—calm and collected, like he never tossed and turned at nightpossessed by doubts and fears. Like he’d never thought of Nicky and wondered ifhe’d made the right choice.

He probably hadn’t. Jazz had always been so fucking sure ofhimself.

Nicky exhaled slowly. “You’re the same too.”

“Maybe. Although, I’m sure we’ve both changed over theyears.”

Nicky’s therapist had explained to him that drug abuserswere often emotionally arrested at the age they first became addicts. Whichmeant he probably had more in common with the teenage Jasper he used to adorethan the thirty-four-year-old man in front of him. Pretty humiliating.

“Sure. I guess we have,” Nicky agreed. He looked around athis childhood home. He’d had it so good here; lived such a privileged, safelife, and he’d never truly known it until he left. Adrian was right. He nevershould have gone to L.A.

“Of course we have. You’re a rock star now and I’m a priest.”

“A rock star.” Nicky snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Well, aren’t you?” Jazz asked softly.