Love Out Loud

by Aimee Salter

  Tommy curses. “I’m calling her.”

  “No!” I jump and Tommy’s face gets hard. Then he sees my trembling fingers and, I hate myself, but I can use that. “Not yet. I can’t handle any more from her. Talking to her, seeing her . . . it would be too hard. Amber’s putting pressure on me. This tour is going to break me, man.”

  I let the real fear and shame show in my voice. Because I know he remembers the conversation we had years ago—mostly about our moms. But it was a night we snuck out and laid in the back of his truck staring at the stars, talking about what it would be like to get famous. Get paid to play.

  I told him I was afraid Mom would break me before we could get there. He said he knew what I meant.

  I’m so sorry, Kelly. “I don’t think I can do this if I have to keep hearing her name, or knowing she’s on your phone. Please, Tom. Be on my side? Just until I’ve got it together?”

  He heaves a sigh. But he sits up with a tight-lipped nod.

  The relief would buckle my knees if I was standing. “Thanks.” Even though the sick feeling won’t leave, at least I know I can keep him away from Kelly. He can’t know everything I heard and saw and did today. And he can’t be allowed to learn it secondhand.

  He’ll end up in jail.

  And I can’t lose him, too.

  Chapter Twenty

  September, Last Year

  Kelly

  I haven’t seen or heard from Crash—or Tommy—in a month.

  They left on tour three weeks ago to manic excitement from critics and fans alike. The machine is working overtime. I can’t turn on the TV or scan a website without hearing what they’re doing. But it’s sketchy. Something’s been wrong with Crash—his performance emotional, but lacking its usual punch.

  There’s been marketing that I can’t avoid—every YouTube video I watch, every social media advertisement tells me: Crash Happy are releasing a new song to give a boost to the tour which has had solid sales, but patchy reviews.

  I’m driving to school in my old Toyota, sweaty palms slick on the steering wheel so I have to grip it too hard. As I pull in the gates to the school parking lot, my stomach’s sick with nerves.

  I stifle the surge of desperation and turn up the radio. I’ve become a shameless addict. I own every recording they’ve put out. I bought the album they released on the day the tour started.

  “. . . new song from boy rockers, Crash Happy.” The announcer crackles through my ancient radio. “It took three weeks, but the first single hit number one on the Billboard charts, and now, to celebrate, they’ve released a bonus song as a thank you for the fans. You can buy it as a single on iTunes!”

  I ache. People flow past my car, but I ignore them, waiting for the song. Hearing something from Crash—anything—feeds me in a way nothing else will.

  At least, I thought it would.

  What if I wanted to break,

  Roll with the punches,

  Say no to you?

  What if I wanted to fall,

  Tumble and shout,

  Burn right on through?

  Won’t let me go

  Won’t let me say no

  I blink through tears. Why would he tell me this way?

  . . . What if I wanted to stand,

  Stubborn, defiant,

  Choose my own stake?

  What if I wanted to laugh

  Right in your face

  As you give up and break?

  Won’t let me go

  Won’t let me say no

  Maybe I wanted to break?

  I’m sure that I want you to break.

  The song fades out and something else eases in over the top of the outro—an upbeat rock-rap that tries too hard. But I can’t take it in.

  He doesn’t want me. He hated that night.

  He wishes it had never happened.

  I didn’t realize it until that moment that something inside me had held on to hope. Hope that he’d miss me while he’s gone, and wants me when he gets back.

  The bell jangles across campus, but I don’t move.

  Then I can’t do anything but move. I dig through my bag for my purse, find Tommy’s number and, ignoring the dozens of unanswered texts I’ve sent him over the past month hoping to get a nugget, a crumb back since he disappeared off the face of the earth too, I dial his number. I will be calm. I won’t cry. And he will get the message and call me back and tell me—

  “We’re sorry,” a robotic voice says on the other end. Definitely not Tommy’s. “Your call to this number cannot be connected at this time. If you believe this is in error . . .”

  I cry out and throw the phone away from me. It cracks against the window and falls to bounce on the passenger seat.

  Tommy blocked me? They’re both gone?

  The voice keeps talking, so I scramble at the screen to hang up the call.

  When it’s finally silent, my hands shake so badly, I can’t do anything but drop the phone back onto the seat and cover my face and cry.

  It takes an hour before I have the presence of mind to get the car moving and drive myself back home. For the first time ever in my entire life, I ditch school.

  Instead of chemistry, English lit, and governance, I spend all day crying.

  And when my phone buzzes, the tiny speck of hope I had that it might be one of the boys is burned to the ground when it’s Lacie. Why is Lacie texting me?

  Heard Crash’s new song.

  So embarrassing for you.

  I wouldn’t be at school either.

  She ends it with a series of emojis I can’t begin to unravel.

  I switch my phone off, pull the covers over my bed, and pretend I’m sick for almost a week.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Two Months Ago

  Kelly

  Shaking off the memory of last year, I tune back into what we’re singing now. On Crash’s deck. In front of Amber.

  I’m sitting on one side of the table, hunched over the guitar. Crash’s gaze bores into me like he can imprint the words on me. His impossible cheekbones draw beautiful lines on his face.

  By the last verse the air hums with tension, and I forget we have an audience.

  I let my voice fade on the last word, hold until I run out of air, strum once so the guitar sings to silence. Then I ease back in my chair.

  Crash is still leaning over his guitar, watching me through his dark hair falling almost into his cheekbones. I can’t look away.

  Don’t do this, I plead with him in my head. It’s so wonderful it hurts. I don’t trust you. I don’t understand you. Don’t make me want you back.

  “Wow.” Amber claps a couple times and chuckles, breaking the spell.

  I startle. She’s sitting there in her silk blouse, top three buttons undone, staring at Crash like a cat on a mouse.

  Tommy’s slouched next to her in his band t-shirt looking sullen. He must have borrowed one of Crash’s guitars since I’m using his. When he catches me looking, he waggles his pierced brows and grins.

  It doesn’t reach his eyes.

  “I agree, Crash,” Amber says. “She’s helping. That song’s miles better than it was last month. Kelly, when did you learn to write songs?”

  I feel it like a punch to the gut—I’m the amateur here. The nobody. The nothing.

  “When I got away from these guys,” I say. Because it’s true. I had to get away from Crash and Tommy’s genius to find my own inspiration.

  Amber looks thoughtful. “Do you have any of your own?”

  “Just one.” And another that’s not finished.

  I feel Crash tense, but I don’t offer any more.

  Amber’s smile gets sharp. “You’ll have to play it for me sometime.”

  “No, she won’t.” All three of us look at Crash, surprised. He puts his guitar down behind the table and gets to his feet. Then he glares at Amber again. “I need to talk to you. Inside.”

  Her brows pop up, but she stands too. “Well, sure, Crash. Whatever you need. Just let m
e hit the bathroom first, okay?” She sounds like she’s patronizing him, and I have the urge to defend him. But Crash waits until she heads inside and has a few seconds to get out of earshot, then shakes his head. “Let me handle this.”

  “Kelly’s off limits.”

  “Agreed. I know how to handle it.”

  “You guys remember I’m here right?” They both look at me like they’d forgotten. “I’m capable of telling her to back off if she gets pushy.”

  “No, you’re not,” they say in unison.

  I scowl. “Look, I know I was timid before. But I’m stronger now. I have to be.” Crash looks away. “If I don’t want to play a song, I won’t do it.”

  Crash runs a hand through his hair. The flash of his bicep gives me a surge of heat. “It’s not that we think you’d give in, Kel,” he says, watching Tommy more than me, “it’s that even when you say no she just keeps pushing. She wears people down. I don’t want you to have to deal with that.”

  A rush of arguments—how I would know how to handle her by now if they hadn’t abandoned me, how I don’t care what Amber thinks of me, how it pisses me off that she has so much sway in their lives that they feel like they have to manage her. But before I can figure out how much to say, there’s footsteps in the living room and Crash turns back to the slider. “Just give me a minute.”

  “Hey! If this is about me—”

  Tommy catches my wrist, gives a little shake of his head.

  Crash stalks to the slider, throws it open and stomps inside, Amber’s on the other side looking like a bemused mother. She closes the door much more slowly than he opened it. I don’t know why the exchange makes me uneasy.

  As soon as the slider’s closed, Tommy turns to me. “Don’t worry about it, Kel,” he says in a low voice. “They have this thing they do. It’s weird, but it works. She pisses him off constantly, but she gets the best out of him. And he’s the one she’ll listen to.” He holds my gaze. “We need her.”

  The message is clear: Don’t rock the boat.

  The pinch between my shoulder blades won’t go away. Something about the way Crash looked at her—wary, defensive. Afraid? It seems too strong. But I can still read him. He doesn’t like her. Yet she’s in his world in a way I’m not. They’re close in a way I can’t understand.

  It must be a creative thing. The passion for the music, or something. It’s confusing and makes me sad and insecure.

  Then I realize where I’ve seen him that way before: When a girl at school kept coming onto him while we were together. He hated it. Hated rejecting her. Hated that she’d show up places. I hated it too. Even though I knew he didn’t have feelings for her. She was always touching him.

  “You don’t think Amber has a crush on Crash, do you?”

  Tommy snorts. “No. She’s old.”

  I murmur something that’s an agreement, but the high I felt playing music with the boys again has plummeted to uneasiness.

  When Amber stares at me, it’s not like a manager to an ex-girlfriend she has to manage. It’s a woman to a rival.

  Tommy absentmindedly fiddles with his guitar. At first, I think I’ll wait for Crash to come back out, then I realize it’ll be awkward with Amber again and I’m too worn out.

  “I’m gonna go,” I say.

  Tommy stops playing. “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I haven’t finished my homework.”

  “Okay. Come back tomorrow?” He stands to give me a hug.

  “Mmm,” I say, which isn’t really an answer but sounds like one.

  Cursing the manners Mom drilled into me, when Tommy lets go I walk to the slider. I can’t leave without saying goodbye. As I’m about to open the door, I can see through the glass. They stand in the middle of the living room. Crash looks really unhappy. Amber steps closer, leans her chin down to say something and puts her hand on his arm.

  My stomach sinks. Get out of here! But then Crash looks over her shoulder, eyes widening when they land on me.

  The urge to flee is so strong I freeze with my hand on the slider handle. But Crash is staring. He’ll just chase me. So I brace and open the door.

  Amber’s mostly turned away from me, so doesn’t know I’m there until the door rumbles, just as she murmurs, “—you know how this ends.”

  She freezes. Crash’s eyes dart back to her. They stare at each other and I hate that they can talk without words. I used to do that with Crash.

  Then they both look at me.

  The sense of intruding on something private is strong. His scrutiny as I step inside makes me want to sink into the floor. I have to get out of here.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt. But I have to go. I’ll see you soon, I guess?” I give a pathetic wave then turn to head back out to the deck, grab my bag from under the table, scratch Coda’s ears, and start towards the stairs. Tommy mutters another goodbye and I return it.

  “Kel, wait!” Crash’s voice echoes in the large room.

  I wave again over my shoulder. “It’s fine, you guys do what you need to do. I just wanted to let you know I’m going,” I say without stopping.

  But Crash doesn’t stop. He’s on my heels as I head down the stairs. I look back, relieved to see Amber isn’t with him.

  As soon as we get around the front of the house, to the driveway, he catches my arm and I stop, but slide out of his grip because that’s too hard.

  “That, back there wasn’t about you. That was me and Amber—I mean the band and her—we have some stuff to figure out.”

  I fold my arms. “Maybe you should let Tommy in on those conversations. He’s in the band too.”

  “Yeah,” he says in a way that I know means he isn’t even listening. “Look, will you come back tomorrow? Please? There’s something I want to talk to you about.” He scratches his arm and looks over his shoulder.

  Then he looks at me again, and there’s pleading in his gaze. And I hate myself because my head is flooded with images of singing with him, of the high it gives me to wail a harmony against Tommy’s baritone.

  The other option is sitting in my room pathetically replaying videos of their concerts, I can’t say no.

  “Yeah. As long as Dan doesn’t have a cow about it.” I have to leave. This moment echoes the last time we had this conversation and that sucked.

  I practically dive for my car, the trembling grief sinking into my skin. I need to be away from this place. Away from him. But I don’t say anything. When he reaches for my arm before I close the door and I lean away, his face gets really sad.

  “This isn’t like last time, Kel,” he says.

  I stare at my hands. “Okay.”

  “I know things are weird.” He leans on the roof of the car. “But we want you around. And I’ll prove that you can trust me.”

  My gut clenches.

  “Tomorrow will be better. She won’t be here. I’ll make sure of it,” he says cryptically. And even though that’s exactly what I want, the slight shake in his voice makes me cold.

  “We just need tonight to get some details sorted out in the band. With Amber. Tomorrow it’ll be better.”

  Just like last time.

  He leans closer. “Let me prove it.” He’s so close his breath flutters on the side of my neck. I shiver. “Please.”

  “Sure, Crash. Whatever. I have to go.”

  “Kel—”

  I start the car, put it in gear, and twist to look back over my shoulder as an excuse to get away from him.

  I’m running. And it pisses me off. But right now, in this second, I can’t handle whatever’s happening that he’s not telling me. I fear I know exactly what it is, and I fear I’d throw up if he tells me.

  But because I’m weak, as I pass through the gates, I glance back.

  Crash stands in the middle of the driveway, hands at his sides, his face lined with an edge that twists and spirals through fear, hate, and desperation so quickly I can barely catch the emotions before they’re gone.

  What is going on?

 
I shake my head.

  Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

  But even driving down the block doesn’t shake off these feelings. There’s a cord between us now that tugs on me from the second I leave.

  And that’s so unfair.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Two Months Ago

  Crash

  Watching Kelly pull her car down the street and the gates swing closed in front of me, I shudder.

  She has no idea what she just saw.

  At first, when I saw Kelly at the door, realized she’d seen Amber touch me, my insides coated with shame. I had this moment, a crystal clear second of knowing. This is what it will always be like. Always hiding things. Always worrying about what someone else will see, or hear.

  Always wondering how it could be if things were different.

  And standing there in the driveway, I realize Kelly thinks I have a thing with Amber—because the jealousy was obvious in her gaze. It broke me and made me want to fist-pump at the same time. But the risk . . .

  This pressure’s been building for so long. It washes over me like a wave.

  Something inside me snaps awake. Having Kelly around, making music with her, has woken me up from the nightmare that’s gripped me for over a year.

  But when she looks at me, she sees a selfish asshole. I’ve never given her any reason not to think that.

  My head spins. I have to fix this. I’ve spent all these months walking this line, giving up myself and my dreams and everything for what? Money? Fame?

  And I’m miserable.

  When Kelly’s near—when her voice blends with mine—it’s like the sun comes up. I didn’t realize how dark things were until she got here.

  The only way to get rid of shadows is to shine a light on what’s inside them.

  And as I stand there, finding my resolve, the plan that had been simmering in the back of my head, but that I’d been too much of a coward to set into motion, crystalizes.