Love Out Loud

by Aimee Salter

  Love Out Loud by Aimee L. Salter

  Published by Pruitt Productions LLC

  1252 Redwood Avenue #77

  Grants Pass, OR. 97527

  www.AimeeLSalter.com

  © 2018 Aimee L. Salter

  All rights reserved. In accordance of the U.S. Copyright Act of 1975, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permissions contact:

  Aimee@AimeeLSalter.com

  This is a work fo fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  FBI Anti-Piracy Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by federal law enforcement agencies and is punishable by up to five years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Cover image and design by Regina Wamba of MaeIDesign.

  Editing by Sandra Hume, and Jami Nord, Chimera Editing

  (Any flaws or errors that remain are the responsibility of the author.)

  Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9900041-2-7

  LOVE OUT LOUD

  By Aimee L. Salter

  LOVE OUT LOUD

  By Aimee L. Salter

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Author’s Note

  Also By Aimee L. Salter

  PROLOGUE

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  EPILOGUE

  For Mum, who is beautiful, strong, and still here—

  which is the greatest blessing of all.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First and foremost, always, thank you, Jesus. Thank you for saving my life. Thank you for saving my soul. And thank you for the special mercy this year of saving Mum’s life. I don’t have words to accurately express my gratitude for that. Thank you for being here in the thick of things. I couldn’t have gotten through the last two years without you. Thank you for not being afraid of the ugly, and reassuring me that I don’t need to be afraid of it, either. I hope you find delight in the truth we’re telling here.

  A round of applause, please, for my husband, Alan, who continues to support my weird and erratic career in writing. It’s not easy living with a writer—especially not this writer. I’m thankful to God for you, Alan. And I’m especially thankful for the example you have set as a man who can desire me, and be thoughtful of my needs and wellbeing at the same time. You’re a rare breed. I know what a blessing I have in you. Also, you’re hot. Just sayin’.

  Thank you, Harry, for sharing me with these fictional people. Your patience with me and encouragement means more to me than you’ll ever know. You were my miracle gift from God, and you continue to keep giving. Never lose that. I love you more than my own life. But, please don’t read this book until you’re at least sixteen…

  Mum, while I was prepping this book for publication I thought it might be the last book you ever got see me write, and that thought terrified me. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for supporting me and the time I give this, even when it takes away from you and Dad. And thank you for letting me into your heart. I’m so grateful to God for giving us more time. But whenever He takes you home, just know I’ll never forget you, never stop being grateful for you, and never let go of the things you’ve taught me about life, and being a wife, mother, sister, and friend in this world. Your strength astounds me.

  Dad, I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you. Thank you for always being there for me. Having a strong, loving, affectionate father is so rare in this world. Every year I become more aware of that. You are an incredible blessing to me—and to the other people around you. Thank you for your faith in God (and in me!) And please don’t read this book. But if you do, blame God. He inspired it, ha!

  Heather, every year I learn more what a blessing we have to be as close and as loving as we are. There is no friend like a sister. You’re my best friend. Your endless interest in what I’m doing, in my stories, and your belief in what I do humbles me and excites me. I want to make you proud. But whether I achieve that or not, I’m grateful that I got you as my big sister. Thank you.

  Even though writing is a lonely occupation, it isn’t done in isolation. I had so much help for this book:

  Thank you, Tracy Banghart, for always being there. Pure and simple. Because I share this weird and wonderful career with you, it makes me laugh more than it makes me curse. (And all the authors who read that statement went, “Really?!”) You’re a blessing to me.

  Thank you, Vanitha Sankaran, for your always insightful help on my work—and for believing in these characters, and this story. You’re a gift to me. And I’m pretty sure we’re coming up on a decade of being in this together, so I think it’s official: You won’t get rid of me now.

  Thank you, Tammara Webber, for caring more about me than about your own time. Thanks for letting me into your world. (We’ve come a lot way since the days when I pestered you via your website and generally made a nuisance of myself. In the event you ever change your mind about being my friend, just know I retain written proof that you give me credit for your contract with Penguin.)

  Thank you, Sandra Hume, for your eagle eyes, your friendship, and your forgiveness. I’m humbled by your skill. I wish I could write as you do. Thanks for being a part of making this book manageable.

  Thank you, Jami Nord, for your willingness to help, your lightning-quick turnaround, and for always responding to emails with thoughtful, engaged advice, even when my questions are circular, or lengthy. Thank you for making sacrifices in order to help me. You will probably never know just how much you offered to this book at a time when I was ready to give up on it.

  Thank you, Lanie Davis, for teaching me how to write. Any poor exampl
es in here of the skill you helped me develop are wholly on me, not you.

  Thank you to everyone in the BFORW group (you know who you are.) You’re my favorite corner of the internet—your humor, wisdom, encouragement, balance, and general willingness to be in the trenches together makes our space my favorite place to be. As a writer, and as a woman. I pray we never lose that. (Special shout-outs to Sarah Estep and Cari Gillespie for those emergency reads!)

  Thank you, CJ Redwine, Sharon Johnston, Lisa Amowitz, BB Easton, and everyone else that I’m forgetting, who encouraged, inspired, or supported me as a writer over the past year, or this book in its development. The gifts of your care and time are greatly appreciated.

  Thank you, Regina Wamba, for that incredible cover. Seriously, you blew my mind.

  And, finally, thank you, dear reader. I do what I do because I want to connect with people who share my love for stories and the characters that inhabit them. The fact that you’ve invested money and time into this book humbles me and makes me grateful for my life every day. So, seriously, thank you. From the bottom of my heart. This process would be a lot less fun without you.

  Author’s Note

  This book contains very difficult themes. Themes that have been, I fear, overly-reduced and sensationalized in our current political climate. This is my attempt to remind myself, and anyone who reads Love Out Loud, that there are human hearts and minds carrying the weight of these themes in their real, day-to-day lives, every moment they’re still breathing.

  These issues can’t be—shouldn’t be—reduced to soundbites, or entertainment. However, I hope that something like this book can create an opportunity for conversation. Because if I learned anything through the research for Love Out Loud, it’s that these issues deserve our honesty and transparency. We must stop shying away from the difficult truths about sexual assault and harassment—and stop being blinded by fame, wealth, or status—so that we can truly offer justice to victims.

  Sexual assault and harassment are all too common in every level of society but seem particularly rampant in the facets where power exists in the hands of a very few. I believe our admiration for a person’s achievements should never outweigh the damage they wreak when they violate another human being.

  No exceptions.

  Years of research went into building the situations and characters depicted here. However, as someone who has never had to deal with the deep and abiding trauma of sexual assault, I have tried to make these characters inhabit the testimonies of those who have. Any inaccuracy to the experience is firmly on my shoulders.

  Thank you to all the amazing survivors who contributed their stories, impressions, memories, and honesty to these characters. Thank you to everyone who has trusted me with their painful truths. I hope I’ve done justice to the depth and breadth of your experience.

  Know that my heart is with you, even if my words fail.

  And if you’re reading this as a survivor, I know your story is unique, but I hope you find strength and truth in these pages. And I pray nothing I’ve offered here causes you additional pain.

  I look forward to a day when no one will ever have to experience this kind of pain again.

  Until then, if you’re in need of support, contact RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network). RAINN is the nation's largest anti-sexual violence organization. RAINN created and operates the National Sexual Assault Hotline (details below) in partnership with more than 1,000 local sexual assault service providers across the country and operates the DoD Safe Helpline for the Department of Defense. RAINN also carries out programs to prevent sexual violence, help survivors, and ensure that perpetrators are brought to justice.

  Phone: 800.656.HOPE

  Online ENGLISH: https://online.rainn.org

  Online ESPANOL: https://hotline.rainn.org/es

  And if you’re not a survivor, but would like to advocate for those who are, please consider donating to RAINN ( https://donate.rainn.org/ ) or a local service in your area, especially those focusing on the youth.

  Also By Aimee L. Salter

  Young Adult Romance:

  Every Ugly Word (Alloy Entertainment, 2014)

  When seventeen-year-old Ashley Watson walks through the halls of her high school, bullies taunt and shove her. She can't go a day without fighting with her mother. And no matter how hard she tries, she can't make her best friend, Matt, fall in love with her. But Ashley also has something no one else does: a literal glimpse into the future. When Ashley looks in the mirror, she can see her twenty-three-year-old self.

  Her older self has been through it all already--she endured the bullying, survived the heartbreak, and heard every ugly word her classmates threw at her. But her older self is also keeping a dark secret: Something terrible is about to happen to Ashley. Something that will change her life forever. Something even her older self is powerless to stop.

  Dark Touch (Alloy Entertainment, 2016)

  Tully isn't alone in her skin. Whenever she touches someone, they feel everything she feels. All her ugliness. All her darkness. All her pain.

  The only thing she wants is to be left alone--and to finally get out of her small Oregon town.

  But then she meets Chris. He's everything she's not. Light. Trusting. Innocent. And he wants Tully.

  Tully knows she should spare him the heartache of being with her. But when he touches her, she's not sure she'll have the strength to push him away--until he learns about her dark past, and what really goes on in her ever-decaying home.

  New Adult Romance:

  Love Out Loud

  COMING SOON: Love in the Quiet

  PROLOGUE

  Present Day

  Kelly

  It all started with a YouTube video I posted last June.

  By August the video had three hundred twelve views, twenty-four likes, and one thumbs-down. In other words, no one noticed it.

  Until Crash did.

  Sitting at the formica counter of the dressing room, my reflection lit by the glowing bulbs that march in perfect formation around the mirror’s edge, I’m supposed to touch up my face. Instead, I struggle to inhale. Avoid looking at my gold hair, cut stark for drama, reddened eyes lined in deepest black.

  “Are you sure?” Merv, the head of security, shifts his weight in the shadows behind me. I nod.

  He turns in that impossibly light way he has despite his size, opens the door, and slips out, glancing at me over his shoulder. As the noise and light from the arena outside slide in I tense, but the door closes without anyone coming in to replace him.

  I made all the PAs and crew leave, but they’re still nervous about me being alone.

  They should be.

  Away from my mirror, the room is dim. I like it that way, feeling closed in. Hidden.

  The thunder of the audience in the arena over my head is a physical thing, feet, hands, and voices chanting Crash’s name, pounding on the floor—my ceiling, my walls, my bones.

  My desert-dry tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.

  The thunder overhead takes on a rhythm, a stomping demand. Crash Happy has finished the set. While the studio musicians play, I picture the stage going dark. Backstage, Crash and Tommy will wait while the crowd gets rabid. I close my eyes and imagine Crash, his lean body poured into torn black jeans and a muscle shirt that shows off the tattoos on his upper arms. The nervous tension that makes him stand on his toes and shake out his hands. But I know he’ll kill this. He’s only two years older than me, but he’s done so much more than I’ve ever been allowed to.

  Once, I asked Crash what it was like on stage. How he could connect with the audience—because he’s famous for it. Always. Every show.

  He said that each crowd is an entity with its own personality. Some are playful, others solemn. Some worship. Others destroy. He said you just have to figure out how that night’s crowd wants you, then give yourself that way.

  If that’s true, then tonight’s crowd is an expectant beast, already pissed that it’s being forc
ed to wait for him. For me, too, I suppose.

  Shadows of the things that happened scratch their claws on the corners of my mind. I shove out of my chair to pace between the sleek couch and the coffee table. Both black.

  Why does everything have to be black?

  My bitter laugh dies when I’m struck by the vague memory of fingers twisting in my hair.

  My throat closes.

  None of this should have happened. I obeyed the rules.

  In contrast with my light blonde hair, I’m painted in midnight: black kohl around my eyes, lipstick the darkest red of coagulated blood, so dark you can only tell it isn’t black under lights. Black mesh, black belt, black leather pants, boots, soul.

  My eyes burn again and my ribs squeeze, iron bands that want to stop my breath completely.

  No. Not now. The monster squeezing my chest ever since the day my mother died is back. I have to sing.

  Leaning on the back of a chair, I force myself to inhale through my nose, exhale through my mouth, remind myself: There are people, dozens of them, between me and that beast of a crowd. And between me and that smaller, more frightening beast of a man who’s probably in it—or watching from the green room. There’s an entire security team right outside my door, hired to be my personal wall. Plus a coterie of publicists, managers, make-up artists and only-the-Lord-knows who else, hired to ensure I’m driven mad with the constant noise, demands for my time and attention.

  It doesn’t matter if the man is here. As soon as I walk out of this room, I’ll never be alone. Not for a second. And even he’ll lose interest eventually.

  Won’t he?

  The thought freezes me in my tracks.

  I lurch upright. I need to tell. I need to scream what I’m ever more certain he did to me. He can’t be allowed to—