Live Out Loud

by Marie Meyer

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Author’s Note

  Excerpt from Long Road Home

  About the Author

  Also by Marie Meyer

  Newsletters

  For Nenna.

  You’ve been so patient.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Harper

  The door signaler flashes. I look up from the hospital’s extensive patient counseling materials and glance at my clock. Had I really been studying for three hours straight? With my pharmacy clinical rotation at St. Louis Children’s Hospital starting next week, I plan to be more than prepared; I want to be at the top of my game. I’d have to be. If that means spending hours reading and rereading the hospital pharmacy’s patient counseling literature, then so be it. I’ll gladly give up my Friday night.

  Tossing the binder to the floor, Bobby—my little white-haired West Highland terrier lifts his head, not pleased that I interrupted his twentieth nap of the day. He is the laziest dog I’ve ever met, and I love him for it.

  I stand and stretch, climbing my hands up an invisible ladder, my back realigning.

  LED lights flash again. Someone’s at my door.

  Reaching for the knob, I pull it open. My roommate, Chloe stands on the other side, a beatific smile on her face and her hands on her hips. Wearing a tiny denim skirt, cowboy boots, and a hot pink shirt that hangs off one shoulder, it’s no mystery she has big plans for the evening. She’s braided her hair to the side so the dramatic transition from the black tresses at the top of her head transform into a trail of blond perfection near the end. How she gets away with such an extraordinary dichotomy, I’ll never know; I couldn’t pull off an ombré look if I tried.

  The way she’s dressed and the look on her face, she’s up to something…and I’m certain she means for me to be involved as well. “What?” I sign, palms up.

  Bobby uncurls himself from his bed and trots to the door, greeting Chloe. Crouching on her heels, she scratches Bobby on the head as he sneaks in a few licks on any patch of skin he can reach. Glancing up at me, Chloe stands back up, leaving a tail-wagging Bobby dancing at my heels.

  Chloe raises her arms, and in a flurry of motion, her hands form words in impeccable American Sign Language. “Don’t say no, okay? Promise me you won’t say no. There’s this hot band playing at Mississippi Lights tonight. They’re my new favorite, and I really want to see them. Will you come? Please?” She juts her lower lip out and bats her eyelashes. “Oh, and I heard T-R-E-Y is supposed to be there tonight,” she adds, sticking her tongue out. “If he sees me having a good time, maybe it will make him realize what an idiot he was for breaking up with me.”

  I love Chloe. She’s my best friend. We’ve been roommates for the last three years, but to be honest, she falls in love with a new band every other week. Her enthusiasm over this new group doesn’t have me psyched to give up on the intriguing world of hospital protocol and patient care. And the fact that she wants to make her douchebag ex-boyfriend jealous doesn’t light a fire inside me either. I’ve always known Chloe is too good for his cheating ass; I only wish she could have beaten Trey to the punch and dumped him first.

  I cock my head, irritated. Why is she such a softie for him? “Chloe, we’ve been over this, you can do so much better than T-R-E-Y.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “I just want him to see that I don’t need him. That I’m getting along just fine—better even—without him.”

  Yes. Yes she is. I just wish she believed that.

  “Mississippi Lights?” I ask. There are worse places to see a band. At least the venue is small and they crank the volume. If I stand near the side of the stage, right in front of the speakers, well, I still wouldn’t be able to hear the band, but at least I could feel the music’s pulse.

  Chloe’s eyes widen, waiting for me to cave. She is the master of the sad Puss in Boots face. When she brings out the eyes, she could persuade the Pope to commit homicide. Hand against her chest, she makes a slow clockwise circle. “Pleeeease?” Her lower lip pops out again.

  “I guess.” I drop my hands to my sides and let out a long breath.

  An enormous smile breaks through the pleading look she just heaped on me. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she throws her arms around my neck and squeezes. When she pulls away, she’s beaming. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she repeats, tapping her chin with the tips of her fingers.

  I nod. “I’ll be ready in a few.”

  “Great!” Turning around, she bounds down the small hallway and disappears into her room.

  I shut the door and turn around, sighing. “What did I get myself into, Bobby?” He may not know sign language, but my little guy gets me. He cocks his head, his ears perked up in understanding. As much as I didn’t want to go out tonight, I know Chloe needs the distraction, and knowing Trey will be there, it’s best that I go, just to keep Chloe as far away from him as possible.

  Walking back to the bed, I bend over and pick up the hospital’s book and toss it onto my desk before heading to the closet. Flipping hangers from one side to the other, a blue, mid-thigh bodycon dress catches my eye. I yank it off the hanger and lay it on the bed. As I wiggle out of my yoga pants and T-shirt, I reach for the dress and bring it over my head, mourning the loss of my comfy clothes.

  After touching up my makeup and taming my red curls, I’m presentable and club-ready…well, at least I look club-ready, my mind-set anything but.

  The door signaler flashes again—Chloe’s subtle way of telling me to hurry up. I grab my keys and purse from my desk, give Bobby a goodbye pat on the head, and open the door.

  “Ready,” I sign, before she has a chance to chastise me for taking too long.

  Her smile grows and her eyebrows pull up as she takes in my outfit. “Holy shit, girl! Why didn’t you tell me you’re looking for a man?”

  “Is it too much?” I gesture to my ample assets and cringe. There is no hiding in this dress. If my parents knew I had a dress like this, I’d get a lecture on modesty and be sent back to my room to change. I bought this dress because I knew my parents would disapprove if they ever saw it, not to draw male attention.

  Chloe shakes her head. “No freaking way! You look hot! I’d give my right arm to have boobs like yours.”

  I roll my eyes and squeeze past her, walking down the stairs. Once we’re in the living room, I turn and face Chloe, “And I’m not looking for a man,” I tell her. I do not have time for a man.

  “I hate to break it to you, sweetie, but that dress is going to be like a lighthouse in a dark sea.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing I have you by my side.” I smile. “You and those sexy boots, and your legs that go on for miles will distract all the guys before they even lay eyes on me. I pale in comparison.”

  “You’re delusional.” Chloe rolls her eyes this time and picks up her keys. “I’ve been dying to see Mine Shaft!” With a little shimmy of her hips, she opens the door and I follow behind.

&
nbsp; I walk to the passenger side of Chloe’s purple Jeep Wrangler and wait for her to unlock the door when I notice she’s waving her hand, trying to get my attention.

  I adjust the thin strap on my purse and sign, “Yeah?”

  With a sincere look that melts my heart, she says, “Thanks for going out with me tonight. I know you’re worried about starting your clinical rotation next week, and I know you didn’t want any distractions, so this means a lot to me.”

  I walk around the backside of her Jeep and stand beside her. I won’t vocalize how much she means to me, as I gave up trying to verbalize a long time ago, but I squeeze her in an all-consuming hug. I hope she knows that I would do anything for her.

  Four years ago, I was a deaf girl in a sea of hearing pharmacy students. So many people told me I’d never make it, and I’ll be the first to admit, nothing about school has been easy. But, Chloe was the first person who believed I would make a great pharmacist, and she told me so on a daily basis our first year, after I’d had three different interpreters quit before the end of the semester. She also learned to sign for me…something my own parents struggled to do. If putting down some boring hospital procedural textbook in order to support my best friend and help her find her confidence again, then I was glad to do it.

  I pull back and look into Chloe’s eyes, letting her shoulders go. “You know I’d do anything for you, Chloe.”

  “Yeah, I know. Now scoot.” She directs me back to the passenger side with a hip-check and a smile. “I want to be close to the stage. Have you seen these guys?”

  I shake my head as I climb onto the passenger seat.

  “Well, I have.” Chloe drops her hand to the ignition, and I feel the Jeep rumble to life. Before she pulls out onto the street, she adds, “And let me tell you, we have some serious eye candy to consume this evening.”

  I squint my eyes and give her a questioning look. “What are you waiting for then? My sweet tooth is hurting!”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Harper

  The last remnants of Indian summer linger as a warm breeze tosses my curls into my face. I swipe them back as Chloe and I come to a halt at the end of a long line. The line in front of Mississippi Lights.

  Chloe faces me and pouts, irritated. “What are all these people doing here?” Her hands fly.

  I shrug. “You said the band was hot.”

  The line inches forward and Chloe shuffles ahead of me. “Yes, but…” She throws her hands up, not finishing what she was about to say.

  “But what?” I ask.

  “But they’re my hot, new band!”

  I grin and shake my head. “I hate to break it to you, Chloe, you have to share them.”

  “I liked Mine Shaft before all of these”—she gestures to the gathered crowd—“poseurs.”

  It’s a good thing our conversation transpires in ASL, I don’t think this crowd would take kindly to being called poseurs.

  I point over Chloe’s shoulder and she turns around—it’s our turn to go inside. We hand the bouncer our IDs, along with the cover charge, and he waves us through the door.

  Taking in the number of people packed into the small club, it’s safe to assume everyone had Chloe’s idea to arrive early.

  I grab her hand, so we aren’t separated in the massive crowd, and we weave through the dance floor toward the bar.

  Leaning against the wooden bar top, I read the bartender’s lips. “What can I get you?” he asks.

  Opening the note application on my phone, I type, Cosmo, please, and turn my phone around. He leans closer, squints at the text, and nods. He directs his attention to Chloe, takes her order, and gets to work.

  With our drinks in hand, Chloe and I make our way back across the dance floor. Chloe knows I like to be near the front, close to the speakers.

  I take a sip of my drink, and keep my eyes glued to the stage. A guy with sandy blond hair is busy adjusting the height of the cymbals on the drum set.

  Turning to face Chloe, with my free hand, I quickly sign, “Is he one of the Mine Shaft guys?” I point in the direction of the drums.

  Chloe’s dark eyes widen and a know-it-all grin blossoms on her face as she bobs her head up and down. “See? What I’d tell you. H-O-T!” she spells. “Wait until you see the rest of them.” She nudges my shoulder with hers and puts her beer bottle to her lips, taking a generous pull. As she swallows, she adds, “In my opinion, the lead singer is the hottest. G-R-F-F-I-N. Oh my God.” Her eyes roll back in her head and she fans herself. “I wonder if I can get him to come on Sweet Nothings?” She wags her eyebrows.

  Sweet Nothings is Chloe’s—and sometimes, her sister Megan’s—massively popular YouTube baking show. Having just surpassed fifty thousand subscribers and gaining a slew of new advertisers, she’s making a killing. I wonder why she’s still in school, and when I ask, she just shrugs and signs, “I’ve made it this far, why quit now?”

  I shake my head and smile. I bet she’d love for any one of the guys in Mine Shaft to join her on an episode of Sweet Nothings, that’s the Chloe I know and love.

  Glancing back up at the stage, I watch the drummer tinker with the different instruments in his drum set. I stare, fascinated by each calculated adjustment he makes.

  I’m sure all the careful fine-tuning is what separates good bands from great ones, ensuring the music will sound its best. For me, if there’s a decent bass line or a heavy drumbeat, I can usually find the rhythm of a song through the vibrations of the sound waves. I love watching the people who make the music, especially when they’re in caught up in a song. It’s like being privy to a secret, or sharing a deeply intimate moment.

  The drummer finishes his adjustments and looks over his shoulder. Seconds later, three more guys join him on stage. The fine hairs on my arms rise, excitement tingles in my veins. There’s nothing like a live concert.

  The band members take their places on stage. The lead singer, Griffin, I presume, steps toward the microphone and begins moving his hand over the strings of his bass guitar. He’s as gorgeous as Chloe mentioned. For a guy to even register on her radar, they have to be taller than her five eleven. By the looks of it, Griffin Daniels is well over that mark.

  I watch Griffin’s lips move, trying to decipher a few words to the song, but I’m not close enough. Then, I feel it. I’m engulfed by waves of sound. I sway my body in time to the rhythm. I take note of the vibrations under the soles of my feet, rising up through my legs. Closing my eyes, I “listen” the only way I know how.

  The skin on my cheeks prickles as each crest of sound washes over me. My heart finds the beat, and I know I’m in the same place as the guys on stage. A place where you can’t tell where your own body ends and the music begins, they’re one in the same.

  When the intensity of the pulse fades away, the song comes to an end. I open my eyes and notice the guitarist for the first time. Yes, Mine Shaft lives up to the eye-candy status Chloe had billed them as, but damn, the guitarist is in a league all by himself.

  I still my body and watch him, mesmerized. Every now and then, he shifts his weight, licks his lips, and presses his mouth close to the mic. I can’t read his lips, but that doesn’t mean I can’t pull my eyes away either. The way they move…the way he moves. His body, the way his fingers roam over the strings of his guitar…he’s enchanting.

  My gaze drifts from his mouth, upward, following the five-o’clock shadow of his square jawline…and then his eyes. Intense, focused, he stares at something far away, lost in the music.

  Watching him, I wonder what he sees…what images the song conjures in his mind. He blinks, shifts his body, and locks his eyes directly on mine.

  Holy crap! I suck in a breath and hold it, almost tearing my eyes away from his in embarrassment—he caught me gawking. But I can’t. I can’t look away.

  No longer in profile, I have the perfect view of his whole gorgeous face. And he’s staring right at me.

  Stunned, I hold his gaze for one beat…two…three…long enough
for the heat blazing in my core to work its way to my cheeks. It’s impossible. There’s no way he can see me, not with the stage lights beaming down on him. But, I’ll be damned if it doesn’t look…feel like he’s looking straight into my deepest, darkest thoughts.

  His stare is so consuming, if I don’t look away, I may burn up.

  As I pull my eyes away I catch the corner of his mouth turn up in a subtle half smile.

  Now I know I’m imagining things! Turning to Chloe, I tap her on the shoulder. When she looks at me, I ask, “Who’s the guitarist?”

  Her fingers work over the letters of his name. “T-H-O-R-I-N K-L-I-N-E.”

  I set my eyes back on his whiskered, brooding face. His eyes are closed now, giving me the chance to resume my ogling without getting caught in his seductive stare. I don’t know what passed between us in those few seconds, but whatever it was, it left a current of electricity running through my veins. My insides are still buzzing like a live wire, which is completely ridiculous because I know he couldn’t have seen me. There’s no way.

  I trail my gaze downward, across his broad shoulders, over his well-defined biceps, wishing I could get a close-up look at the intricate sleeve tattoos winding down his arms. I settle on the sinuous movement of his hips—a counter rhythm to his right hand stroking the strings of his guitar. I bet those fingers can work all kinds of magic. I shiver at the thought.

  Despite my lusty thoughts, something else about him catches my eye: the play of emotions across his face. Usually, I can tell when one song ends and another begins, because the vibration of the music changes. I know if a song is fast or slow by the tempo of the beat, and if the song is popular—getting lots of radio exposure—I can usually guess the title. Each song has its own pulse; its own identity. But tonight, I don’t have to rely solely on what I feel. Thorin Kline, whether he knows it or not, tells a story when he plays his guitar. I may not be able to hear the words to this melancholy song, but thanks to him, I understand it just the same.