Love Out Loud

by Aimee Salter

  The lines in Tommy’s forehead go deep. His hand twitches on his knee.

  I bite my lip. “Tom?”

  He looks at me without moving his head.

  “When he got her talking about it, she basically admitted that it wasn’t to do with you. She just wanted power over Crash.” It’s not exactly what she said, but I can tell he’s blaming himself, and I don’t want Amber having that hold on him.

  Tommy rubs a hand over his face twice. He’s trembling.

  I scoot closer to him on the couch. Crash tracks me.

  “She did that to you by using me . . .” Tommy looks up at Crash. “We need to fire that bitch.”

  My thoughts exactly.

  “It’s not that simple—the order came from the label, Tom. I think she probably manipulated it so they’d think that way—you know what she’s like—but it’s on their radar now. And with the new tour coming, it wouldn’t matter who our manager is. Someone else might not stand up for you.” Crash’s hair stands in tousled spikes all over his head because he keeps running his hands through it. “And don’t forget, if we try to break our contract, she’ll take us to court. It’ll mess everything up, bleed us dry financially. And it’s not like she’d do her job, so we’d be on our own.”

  “She still has power.”

  “Barely.”

  Tommy shakes his head. They bicker back and forth, but I can see the wind leaving Tommy’s sails. Crash does a good job of explaining details while skirting around the real issue of Amber’s sexual aggression.

  The weight of this messed up situation presses down on me like a saturated quilt, suffocating and heavy. I have to leave the room.

  As I wander down the hall towards the bathroom I wonder how many times Amber’s been here. What she’s touched. Where she’s touched Crash. Which rooms are tainted with her stink.

  I imagine Crash kissing me and touching me and wanting me—because I know he does.

  But after the initial flash of warmth and desire, my insides go cold.

  I flip on the light in the bathroom—all modern shiny surfaces and a huge mirror. Then I catch sight of myself. It’s no wonder the guys looked worried when I got here.

  My eyes are sunken. My skin shiny. Hair escapes my messy bun in chunks.

  I’m a mess.

  An image of Crash flashes in my head and my heart clenches.

  Are we the perfect mess? Stronger together than apart?

  Or are we a disaster waiting to happen?

  Is Tommy right?

  Tears pinch. I shake my head. Run some water to cover the sound of my breath catching, in case one of the guys comes looking for me.

  Deep down I know this is risky.

  But the hole in my heart has yawned wide for too long.

  I can’t give up on Crash now.

  I just can’t.

  Crash

  While Kelly’s gone Tommy’s eyes follow my hand, but his gaze is distant. He frowns. “You know what I think, Crash?”

  I sit back in my chair and claw a hand through my hair. “No, Tom, what do you think?”

  “I think you should have told me about all of this—Kelly, Amber, the label wanting to boot me—back when it happened. I’m pissed at you, man. And I think you being with Kelly right now is a mistake. But you know that. So what else is there to say?”

  “How about, it’s not your call to make?”

  “Clearly,” he shoots back.

  We stare each other down, but I won’t budge. I’ve just found her again. I need to keep her close. Keep her with Crash Happy.

  “I will find a way to make this permanent, Tommy. Keep her safe.”

  Tommy shakes his head and walks onto the deck alone.

  I pick up my guitar and strum determinedly.

  He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand what happened back then. Not really. And he doesn’t understand that I’m not going back.

  I’m never leaving her again.

  I just need her to believe that.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  One Month Ago

  Kelly

  I sustain the last chord so it can fade off. When I exhale, it thunders in the microphone, ruining the effect. But Bob and his assistant, Turk, clap enthusiastically. I grimace when I catch Turk’s laser gaze pointed at me.

  He’s got this incredible olive skin and dark hair, and eyes so light green they leap out at you. And because he hardly ever blinks, his gaze is a glaring spotlight. He’s too intense and a close talker. He often doesn’t seem to get jokes. But he helps with all the logistics, and Bob trusts him.

  “That was the best yet, Kelly, you’re relaxing,” Bob says as he walks forward to pull the microphone away so I can slide off the stool.

  I give him a look. I know it wasn’t bad. But it also wasn’t great. I’m so tense I can’t breathe right, so I’m struggling with some of the higher notes, and can’t hold the power-moments as long as I should.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Bob says gruffly. “It’s getting better every time.”

  As Turk hovers, waiting for orders from Bob, his man-bun standing to attention, MacKenzie, an intern who showed up a couple days ago, paces, nose down in her phone. She was taking photos for my new Instagram account. She takes the job of selecting images and filters so seriously I have to swallow a laugh.

  “Bob, can I talk to you for a second?”

  He says something to Turk over his shoulder, then leads me towards the thick, black leather couch in the corner.

  I lean my guitar up against the seat and pick at my fingernails while I’m talking. “I think I should just do the duet.”

  “Kelly—”

  “I’m getting worse, not better. You know that. I do better than this on all my YouTube videos—even the first ones. I can’t relax with all this pressure.”

  “Kelly, there is no way Sony’s paying for you to go on tour to sing one song a night. It’s just not happening.”

  The little bubble of hope inside me pops and I deflate.

  Bob runs his hand over his face, his craggy hands looking rougher than usual. Not for the first time I try to guess how old he is. He looks like he’s about fifty, but when he hangs out with Turk and the other young people around him, he’s so cool I wonder if I misjudged him.

  “Look, Kelly. I know this is new for you, so it feels scary. But I’ve been doing this for a long time. You think you’re the first new artist I’ve seen whose nerves are getting the best of them?”

  I thought the question was rhetorical, but he waits, until I squeak, “No?”

  “No. I’ve seen this so many times it’s almost funny. And here’s what I can tell you: You’ll have a breakthrough. Whether it’s at rehearsal or on stage, one of these days you’ll be doing this and you’ll remember how much you love it and something will click and it’ll come to life again.”

  “But what if that doesn’t happen before we go on tour?” Crash doesn’t need pressure to save me on top of Tommy. It’s my darkest fear that Amber will find a way to use me against him.

  Bob pats my shoulder. “I have a hunch Crash and Tom would still want you around even you if you streaked across the stage painted in Thirty Seconds to Mars albums,” he chuckles. “But you’re right, we don’t know if this will happen before you hit the stage with them. So until then, it’s your job to be a professional. You do your miles, train your body so it’ll remember what to do even when you’re terrified, and you leave the rest up to me.”

  He must see my skepticism. He clears his throat then glances at Turk who’s standing in front of the big window at the other side of the room, staring out into the dark. His voice is a low rumble. “I’m going to tell you something I want you to keep to yourself, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Turk over there is a singer too. He realized pretty quickly he wouldn’t get a seat at the table unless he got to know the people who sit there. So he pestered me until I gave him an internship, then made himself indispensable. Smart kid. He’s saved
my life more than once. I caved and listened to his stuff and he’s talented.” He pins me with a stare. “But I didn’t offer to work with him, because he’s not unique. You understand?”

  I shrug.

  “Kelly, you have what it takes. If you want to make a living doing this, working with someone like me you will. Pure and simple. But you have to want it. Do you want it?”

  Sometimes I don’t know.

  I’m gathering the courage to say it when Crash’s face, eager and excited when we sang the duet together yesterday, flashes in my head.

  I’d give anything to be able to sing with him every day. To not have to say goodbye when he’s getting on that tour bus. So I nod.

  “Good.” Bob pats my knee, then pushes to his feet. “You just work on keeping your voice strong in the upper register, and leave the rest to me, okay?”

  My head’s spinning.

  Turk, seeing Bob get up, is already halfway across the room to meet him with a tablet, pointing to the screen and talking before Bob even reaches him.

  Then MacKenzie squeals that Crash’s team has agreed to post a couple of her photos of my rehearsal pictures on their accounts. Then the three of them get in a huddle.

  I pick up my guitar to practice singing the chorus that gave me so much trouble.

  Crash’s face swims through my head again and I ache to go to him. But I’ll get this right first.

  I can’t let him down.

  I inch the car through Crash’s gates as soon as there’s enough room, then kill the ignition and peer up at the motion sensor light until the gates slide closed behind me.

  I didn’t finish at Bob’s until ten. I should have gone home and gone to sleep. I have school in the morning. But I couldn’t face it.

  Crash doesn’t know I’m here. I needed to see him. Part of me was afraid he’d give me a reason not to come.

  I push out of the car, opening the backseat to get my guitar out. It’s my excuse. I’ll tell him I need to practice the duet. That I can’t really do it on my own. Which is sort of true.

  I’m oddly shaky. Have been since the rehearsal where all I saw in my mind was a sea of hostile music executive faces wondering why they’d been forced to watch me perform. I got worse and worse until Bob gave up and told me to go home.

  Now I wonder if he’d give up on me after all. The idea is coated in shame, but also a worrying amount of relief.

  “Kelly?”

  I whip around, pulling my guitar case into my chest like a shield, heart pounding in my ears. Then I let out a shaky laugh.

  Mervin’s sitting on the bottom step of the stairs up to the deck, his dark clothing blending into the night because he’s behind the cone of light cast by the sensor light.

  “Hey, Mervin. You scared me.”

  “Didn’t mean to, sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” There’s an awkward pause in which he waits to see what I’m doing and I realize he must be here for a reason. Merv’s usually only here to pick the guys up for an event, or meetings. They don’t have one at midnight, surely? “Did something happen?”

  Mervin’s huge shoulders heave up and down once. “Nothing you need to worry about. Probably nothing at all. But we’re being careful.”

  This is a side of Crash’s fame I haven’t had much chance to see. Since we’re usually here at the house, I forget sometimes that there are millions of people out there who know his name. And some of whom aren’t happy about it.

  “A threat?”

  Mervin’s face is blank, serious. So different to when he’s relaxed and happy and teasing Tommy. “Does Crash know you’re here? He’s supposed to tell me.”

  “No. That’s my fault. I didn’t warn him.”

  “He’ll be glad to see you. But text him next time, okay? I had to put the team on alert when the gate opener registered.”

  “Okay. I mean, sure. Yes. I will,” I mumble, embarrassed. I shouldn’t be here.

  Mervin gets to his feet, surprisingly lightly and steps out of the way so I can pass. He clicks something at his belt and rumbles, “Let Crash know Kelly’s here to see him.” I can’t hear any reply he gets through his earpiece, but then he says, “Have a good night, Kelly. And let me know when you’re ready for us to help you too, okay?”

  Mervin’s offered more than once to run security for me—at a discounted rate since I don’t have Crash’s profile. It’s ridiculous. No one knows who I am. He insists if they don’t already, they soon will. And according to him, the “crazies” are the first to come out of the woodwork. He’s already going to be covering me as part of the Crash Happy tour. But he wants to go with me when I’m not performing too.

  “I’ll let you know,” I say sheepishly, patting his arm as I pass.

  It feels like warm steel.

  The lights flash on over the deck before I’m halfway up the stairs, then the slider rumbles and Crash appears at the top.

  “Get back inside,” Mervin says before Crash can even say hi.

  Crash sighs, but his hand slides into mine as I round the top of the stairs and he tugs me inside.

  “What’s going on?”

  Crash pulls me into his chest. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  His intensity makes me nervous and I lean back far enough to see his face. “Crash, what’s happened? Why’s Mervin outside? And he said he’s got the team here?”

  Crash grimaces. “We had an incident,” he says reluctantly. “But you don’t need to worry. These things never turn out to be real.”

  “What happened?”

  He gives a one-shouldered shrug. “Someone threw something over the fence. Since most people don’t know where I live, it makes Mervin nervous.”

  “Threw what?”

  “Just a note.”

  I wait because the light might be a little dim in here—he’s just got the lamps on, not the overheads—I saw him dart a look over my shoulder, outside, before he answered. It’s his tell. He’s lying.

  I tense. “Crash—”

  “I don’t want you to worry. It’s really not a big deal. It’s happened a couples times and nothing ever comes of it.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “He’s trying to avoid telling you someone threw a brick over the wall wrapped in a picture of him on the deck. They’d scratched his eyes out.” Tommy says, emerging from the entry.

  “What?!”

  “Tommy, what the fuck?”

  Tommy stops halfway across the big living room, arms folded across his chest. I stare at the deep lines of muscle and tendon on his forearms. Sometimes I still forget he’s all grown up.

  “She needs to understand how important it is for you to stay inside tonight, and stay on a short leash until they figure this out.”

  Aghast, I look at Crash. The showcase. Will he miss it? I’d be more nervous if he’s not there. But it’s not worth him getting hurt.

  He must guess what I’m thinking because, “It’ll be fine,” he says with a brittle smile. “Merv will be babysitting me, but I’ll be there, okay?”

  “You shouldn’t come if it’s dangerous.”

  “It’s not dangerous. These people just like to mess with us.”

  “Some of these people are dangerous and you know it,” Tommy says.

  I step out of Crash’s grip. “Can one of you please fill me in on whatever you guys aren’t saying?”

  Crash tries to follow, but I step back again. He stops, scowling at Tommy. “See, you freaked her out. Good job.”

  “She needs to be freaked out. We agreed last time, don’t play with this shit.”

  “Last time?”

  “Who’s playing?”

  “You are when you go out on the deck even after Merv told you not to.”

  “He’s right. You shouldn’t have done that,” I say weakly, the shakiness returning to my voice as well as my hands. I reach the couch, Crash in my wake, and sink into it, breathing deep the way my old therapist taught me.

  “What happened last time?” I ask in
to my hands.

  Next to me, Crash sighs. It’s Tommy who finally speaks. “For a couple months Crash had a stalker. She kept trying to sneak backstage, and leaving gifts, sending emails . . .”

  I look up when he trails off. “And?”

  Crash squirms. “Nothing. It was just creepy.”

  “How’d they catch her?” Neither of them answers. I look at Crash, who’s scowling at Tommy. “What?”

  “They didn’t,” he says. “It just stopped.”

  My insides twist. “You’re in danger, Crash.”

  He sinks into the couch next to me and pulls my legs up into his lap so I’m leaning back against the broad arm of the couch. I let him move me, but don’t lighten my expression.

  “I don’t think so. But like Tommy said, we don’t play with this stuff. Mervin and his team are here for the next week or so to make sure we don’t have any issues—or to catch them if they come back.”

  “A picture of you on the deck? How’d they get it?”

  Crash’s Adam’s apple bobs. “Well, that’s the part that’s making everyone nervous. The angle in the photo means they must have been inside the wall.”

  I tense. Crash’s hands tighten on my legs to keep me in place.

  Someone we don’t know got into the property. How? They must have gotten a ladder or something? But why didn’t the sensors get them? Mervin told me there are sensor trip-wires with a direct alarm to the Police. If someone climbed over the wall then walked in, the sensors should have picked them up.

  I look at Crash.

  “Please don’t freak out about this, Kel. It’s just something that happens sometimes.”

  “You aren’t scared that someone was actually on the property?”

  “No,” Crash says. “We have the people to deal with it if it’s something.”

  “But what if they had a gun or something?”

  “Exactly what I said.”

  Crash looks at me, pleading. “We can’t control other people. If I let Mervin run my life I won’t have one,” he says. “Please, Kelly. Please don’t freak out.”