Love Out Loud

by Aimee Salter

  And Amber’s going to make me do it again.

  When the door closes behind her, I lean my elbows on my knees, fingers clawed in my hair, staring at the carpet.

  Can’t think. Need to think. Need to do something.

  Coda arrives from I-don’t-know-where and licks my face with his doggy breath. I wrap my arms around his thick neck and shove my face his fur. Pull him onto the couch so I can hold all sixty, obese pounds of him. He struggles for a minute, questions me with a quiet whine. But his joints won’t let him get up unless I let go, and I need to hold him. He’s the only comfort I have left.

  Mentally, I file through the things I could tell Kelly. How I could explain that I was protecting Tommy, and our future.

  But all I can see is her face. Her tears. The hurt she’ll feel that I betrayed her—today of all days. She’ll think I wanted it. She won’t understand that my body wanted her. That Amber used that.

  A text buzzes on my phone. It’s Kelly.

  Everything okay?

  I drop the phone on the couch and bury my face in Coda’s warm fur, trembling.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  August, Last Year

  Crash

  Before I called Kelly to come over, I dug out an old pack of cigarettes I’d found in a guitar case when I moved. They were stale and made the room reek. But I needed something to calm my nerves, and if I’d started drinking, I wouldn’t have stopped.

  I kept catching my hands in my hair.

  How did I let this happen?

  The events of the morning file through my head—all the little turns and corners it took, all the times I should have said no, all the ways I got blindsided and didn’t think straight.

  All the ways I failed.

  Every way.

  Now Kelly stands in the middle of my living room, eyes wide and pleading—does she know her hands keep fluttering towards me? That I can see my words land on her like tiny blows?

  She’s the sun in the room—heat and light I can feel on my skin. Electric awareness that raises the short hairs on my arms.

  And her face is aghast, like I slit the throat of a puppy in front of her.

  “You’re breaking up with me.” It’s not a question.

  It’s reflex to look at her then. I feel the contact like mainlining electrical current and tear my gaze away as fast as I gave it to her.

  I pace. “It’s just while we’re on tour,” I lie.

  She makes me talk about what that means. Makes me keep lying.

  It’s almost a year.

  We both know that’s not a break.

  “Look at me.” Her voice cracks. “Is this Tommy thing true? Or was all this just to get me in bed with you?”

  “What?! No!” She can’t leave thinking that. Last night was life. “I didn’t know any of this last night. I didn’t know I’d have to—” I catch the words before they cross my tongue, blank my face so she can’t see what I would have said.

  She raises Amber’s name and adrenaline floods my system. But she doesn’t realize. She doesn’t know.

  Her questions threaten every defense I tried to erect before she got here. I can’t do this. She has to leave before I tell her and it kills us both.

  Then she does the worst thing.

  “Crash, please don’t do this.” She throws herself in my arms. I stumble back, staring down at her hands on my chest, her tears. My arms twitch to circle her and hold her, soothe her, but the image of Amber on top of me flashes in my head and suddenly I need to not be touched.

  I raise my hands, keep them away from her. Mumble something about this being for the best.

  Please stop touching me.

  “What is wrong with you?” she shrieks. “Why would you do this to me?” She punches my chest and I grunt. “Why? Crash?”

  “Kelly . . .”

  “Tell me!” she screams.

  I physically recoil. Catch her wrists so she’ll stop touching me. Almost tell her. Almost.

  “You’re breaking me.”

  It’s too much. I twist and step back, out of her grip. She stumbles after me, but another step and she pulls up short. Horror on her face. I have to look away.

  I don’t know what she says after that. I only remember the way she flinches when I say, “Because I need you to leave and it seems like the only way to get you out of here.”

  Instead of reaching for me, she stumbles back, catches herself on the wall. Sees her own hand, the ring, makes a noise like I just slit her throat. Then throws it at me.

  It bounces off my chest, but cuts through my ribs.

  She turns in a circle, looking for her purse, finds it on her shoulder, and takes a shaking breath.

  “I won’t put you through any more. G-goodbye, Crash.”

  I immediately want to reach for her. Take the words back. My entire body shivers with the urge to go after her as she walks unsteadily out of the room, out of the door, out of my life.

  I sink to my knees, claw my hands into my hair.

  The door slams and my entire body jerks. “You don’t understand,” I breath. Pick up the twinkling ring with a shaking hand. “She took me. I had to let her. And right after—”

  I choke on the words. Swallow. Can’t finish them out loud.

  Best night of my life. With you. And I betrayed you.

  I’m sorry, Kelly. But the truth would hurt more.

  I’m so sorry.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Two Months Ago

  Crash

  “Crash?”

  The wrong voice jerks me back to the present, to my living room. I search for blonde hair and soft eyes but instead find red hair and a brittle smile.

  Amber’s lip is bleeding.

  Brow furrowed, she snaps, “What is going on with you?”

  I’m not dead anymore, that’s what.

  I’m not a kid anymore, either. Can’t be after what she’s done.

  Holding my phone like it’s a lifeline, I stalk across the space between us to crowd her. She doesn’t give. When I’m towering over Amber, I drop my chin so we’re almost nose-to-nose.

  She smiles.

  I’m done. “I’ve hated you ever since that day.”

  Amber jerks back a hair, then she catches herself and rolls her eyes. But I know her too well now. She’s lying about not caring that I hate her.

  “Oh, come on. You’re a nineteen-year-old boy getting sexual education from a woman. Most guys would kill to be in your position.”

  I grew up with an addict mother who’d attack me when she was high.

  I grew up in a house with a revolving door of men—every kind of addict and asshole in a twenty-mile radius.

  I grew up poor, hungry, and beaten down. And I never once touched a woman violently.

  But here and now, my hands clench and I shake.

  I am a fucking hurricane. The knot in my chest breaks open under the tension.

  I put a shaking finger under her nose. “This is done. I let you make me a whore. You stole Kelly and our future. You stole everything from Crash Happy’s success. There are days I’d rather be dead, do you understand that? And that’s all on you, Amber.”

  Then I step back because it’s making me sick to be so close to her.

  She looks hurt. But only for a second. Then she draws herself up, wipes her lip again and glares. “I don’t have time for your theatrics. What do you want? What’re you angling for? Let’s stop the charade and fix this—whatever you want, I’ll do it. Crash Happy’s blowing up. What more do you want?”

  “I want you to never touch me again!” Her face remains impassive. “You destroyed my life and I’m taking it back. I’ll fix what I can and lose what I have to. But no matter what, the first thing going out with the trash is you. I’ll find someone else. We’re done with you.”

  All flirtation, all nurturing, incestuous-surrogate-mom-ness flees her. She raises her chin and fixes me with a scowl that says she’s not a woman or a rapist. She’s the best manager in the bus
iness and she doesn’t take shit.

  Well, good for you, Amber. Neither will I anymore. That’s one thing I can thank you for teaching me.

  “See, Crash, even if you could find someone else who’d be able to replace me—newsflash: they don’t fucking exist—you’re just showing how much of a child you still are. You can’t get out of my contract overnight. And I can sue you, freeze the entire case up in court so you never get anywhere, and meanwhile, your career goes down the toilet.

  “While that’s happening, I’ll let the label fire Tommy. Without him, you lose control. They’ll hire someone who’s happy to be under my thumb—because the label loves me more than they love you—and you won’t even have a choice to keep the band.”

  My heart races. Don’t give in. Make her admit it. “You do that and I’ll tell the entire world that you’re the one who broke up the band. The fans will be rabid. Millions of them. They’ve got power too, Amber.”

  She rolls her eyes again. “So I’ll sue you for defamation—and win. Do you really think I’m stupid enough to leave a trail? Fuck, Crash, I had no idea you were still such a child. I’ve got you by the balls—literally. And I don’t care if you want me to let go, I’m digging my nails in.”

  She steps in close to me and for a second I think she’ll do it.

  My skin crawls where I can feel her body heat.

  “You’ve got two choices,” she says. “You can do what I want when I want it, or you can lose everything.”

  I take a deep, shaky breath.

  Amber smiles because she thinks I’m second-guessing. But I’m just relieved, thinking about Kelly and how this house is in my name now. If we have to, if it’s what it takes, if Kelly will forgive me, we can make a life without Crash Happy.

  I’d give it up. All of it. If she’ll come back.

  Amber’s not worth this hell.

  Kelly is.

  I hold Amber’s gaze. “You’d do that, wouldn’t you? You’d ruin my life and Tommy’s and ruin the band for the fans just so you and your friends can keep having sex with me?”

  Amber gets quiet too. “You still don’t get it? This isn’t about sex, Crash. I own you. I own Crash Happy. As far as you’re concerned, I’m God. Well, God giveth, and God taketh away. Tomorrow—today!—I can drop you into obscurity, and pick someone else out of the pile and put them in front of your fans who’ll throw you away faster than a hot potato without me to keep the publicity fires burning. You’ll have nothing. And for what? So you can feel like you’re in control of your dick? You’ve got a lot of growing up to do if you think you can make it in this business based only on your talent, Crash. Are you seriously that naïve? Well, wake up: the last word on your dick is mine. It’s been mine since the first day I took it, and it’ll stay mine.”

  Yes. Yes.

  I smile and it makes her wary. I walk right up to her until we’re toe-to-toe. Without breaking her gaze, I pull my phone out of my pocket and tap on it.

  She smiles, touches my chest, but I slap her hand away.

  “You’ll do two things,” I say with a smile. “First, you’ll tell the label that Kelly gets co-writing royalties on the four songs she helped with—and any more that she works on between now and when we go into the studio.”

  Amber’s brows pop up.

  “Then you’ll never touch me again. Not once. Not even by accident. And you’ll never touch another guy who says no—or looks like he wants to—for the rest of your life.”

  Amber hardens. “Your word against mine, Crash. And I’ve got fifteen years of professional credibility behind me. You’re a tortured artist with an addict mother. Who do you think they’ll believe? You say one word, I’ll have them certain you’re on drugs and Crash Happy needs a new lead singer. Then I’ll take you to court for breach of contract and drain every cent dry. You want that?”

  I shake my head.

  “Good. Then let this go.” And she slides her palm up my thigh.

  I slap her hand away, then hold up my phone. “No, Amber. You let go. Last chance.”

  She’s truly baffled. “Why would I ever—”

  I tap the screen of my phone where I’d installed an app that will record phone calls, saving them to the cloud.

  First my voice, then Amber’s, echo around the room.

  “. . . I let you make me cheap. I let you make me a whore. You stole Kelly and our future. You stole every ounce of joy I might have gotten from Crash Happy’s success. There are days I’d rather be dead, do you understand that? And that’s on you, Amber.”

  “Cut the act. What do you want? I’ll do it. Crash Happy’s blowing up, Crash. What more do you want?”

  I click the app again and smile.

  Amber’s face pales.

  While she absorbs that I have her recorded—finally!—I bring my phone down and tap the screen to—

  Amber snatches the phone and hurls it away. It cracks against the wall. The screen starbursts and cracks again as it lands on the kitchen tiles. Amber runs to it, stomps on it with her heel several times, then even gets down on her knees, her nylons tearing on shards, to rummage through the pieces, ranting under her breath like a crazy person.

  There’s blood on her knees and hands by the time she gets the back of my phone open to pry the SD card out. Then she stomps on that too, face twisted until she looks unhinged.

  But I’m calm. Except for my heart beating a little faster than usual, I just watch placidly.

  When she’s certain she’s destroyed both my phone and its memory card, she pushes her red hair off her face and scowls at me. “You won’t beat me that eas—”

  “Doesn’t matter. It was a phone call. We have a witness.”

  She pales further, looks like she might fall over. “Who?”

  “It doesn’t matter, because that app records to the cloud. So this is your chance: Either you get Kelly her writing credits, and leave me and Tommy the fuck alone, or I send that recording to People, E! and Billboard. Your call.”

  Amber’s mouth opens, then closes. Opens then closes. When she pushes her hair back again her hand is shaking.

  I’d feel sorry for her. But then I remember the first time I went to my dressing room before a show and one of Amber’s friends was waiting for me.

  Sprawled on the couch.

  Naked.

  “Last chance, Amber.”

  She looks down at her bleeding hands, then back to me. “You have no idea who you’re playing with.”

  “Bullshit. I know exactly what kind of snake you are. Next?”

  She scans me, calculating. I wait for the moment when she gives in. Instead, she pulls herself up tall. “You know this is blackmail, right? And that’s illegal.”

  “So’s rape.”

  Amber folds her arms, “I don’t care what recording you have, we’re in a binding, legal agreement. You ditch me, I will sue your ass.”

  I scoff and shake my head. Really? She thinks this is about money? If it wasn’t so tragic, it would be funny. How can a person like her be such a success when they are so oblivious of people?

  “If I ever hear—and believe me, I’ll be listening—that you’ve touched another guy, that recording will go out to every press site and entertainment show that exists. Every single one. You don’t touch a guy who doesn’t choose you first. Are we clear?”

  She huffs, then nods sharply.

  “And Tommy? I assume he’s the one who was on the other end of that phone?”

  Fear spears through me. “You leave Tommy out of this. You don’t say a single word.” I know I’m giving her leverage, and hate myself for it. But Tommy can’t know. He’d kill her. And he’d never look at me the same way.

  “Are we clear?”

  She nods again.

  Relief. “Then it looks like we’ve got an agreement. I’d shake your hand but I never want to touch you again.”

  She looks cold. Untouched. And it’s eating away at my sense of triumph. She should be afraid! Ashamed!

  “How do
I know you won’t give that recording to someone anyway?”

  “You don’t. So my advice is that you watch yourself.”

  Everything in her expression goes dark.

  But her anger doesn’t touch me. It occurs to me, if we’re not telling Tom, if we’re keeping this quiet, she’s got to stick around. If I want to keep this away from my best friend, I have to keep pretending with her.

  My mind supplies a movie reel then—the parade of women every few weeks showing up in my dressing rooms, in my hotel suites, including Amber herself.

  I imagine trying to tell people about that—describe what it’s like to walk into a space that’s supposed to be mine and find someone who thinks they can touch me, make me do whatever they want.

  The horror when my body responds to that, even while it makes me sick.

  The sickness at myself when I get so used to it that I can perform without throwing up.

  I got raped by a woman. By lots of women.

  If that story got out the fans might not believe me. And even if they do, fuck, it sounds so weak.

  Bile rises in my throat. I shake my head. “Give me your keys and your gate clicker, and get out of my house. You never come here without asking first. You text before you call. You don’t dictate terms or times that we talk. You do what we tell you, otherwise you stay away from me. You understand?”

  “We’re in business, Crash. I can’t be expected not to call you when there’s a decision to be made.”

  “Have your assistant do it. Or you text if it’s urgent. I do not want your voice in my ear, you understand?”

  Something flashes through her, and it flips my stomach.

  “Understood.” But her voice is low and with an edge of amusement.

  This is supposed to feel better. More satisfying. Free-er. Why don’t I feel free?

  She digs through her purse, pulls out her keys and the gate clicker, slides a key off the ring and slaps them both on the breakfast bar. “Anything else?”

  “Get out of my sight.”

  She scowls. But she leaves.

  I follow to make sure. Chin high, and shoulders back, she moves faster than usual. I can see the tension in her shortened steps.