Love Out Loud

by Aimee Salter

  If I say yes, he’ll know it’s why I broke up with her and he’ll push again. If I say no, he’ll ask why she’s allowed to know if he’s not.

  I rub my forehead. “Fuck, I don’t know, Tommy. Can’t you just trust me?”

  “I would have said yes before you lied to me.”

  I glare at my notebook, making a chord notation. “I told you, that’s the only time—”

  Tommy shakes his head, but stops pushing, goes back to fingering a song on his guitar. We don’t talk for half an hour, until I’m playing through the new song and he’s coming in, harmonizing, using his guitar to syncopate.

  “This one’s different to your usual angst,” he says, pierced brows high.

  I snort. Angst? No. “It’s a departure. But it’ll work,” I say, distracted by a difficult fingering I’m working on for the bridge.

  We keep working on it until a text bings on my phone and Tommy runs down to meet Kelly. It’s barely after four. She’s early.

  I’m stoked.

  I’m also shaking with nerves.

  I try to keep playing, but as soon as the crown of her head shows up on the stairs, her teasing lilt thrown over her shoulder at Tommy, I stop strumming and stare. I don’t even realize I’m doing it until she reaches the top of the stairs and hesitates.

  I’m torn. I want to throw my arms around her and hug her. And I want to keep my space.

  She must read that because she doesn’t move to hug me. “Hey.” No smile.

  “Hi.”

  Tommy frowns at me while Kelly walks to the same chair she sat in yesterday. When she sits, I do too.

  She’s pale. Very pale. Tiny, high spots of color in her cheeks don’t balance the gray tinge washing the rest of her face. There are dark bruises under her eyes like she’s barely slept.

  “What the hell did I miss last night?” Tommy growls, glaring between me and Kelly.

  “Nothing,” we both say at the same time, then look at each other. We don’t grin. We should have grinned. He would have thought it was good and left it alone.

  But we just stare. He can see it’s real. And now he won’t leave it alone.

  “Fuck that. It’s obviously something.”

  Kelly puts her hand on Tommy’s tattooed forearm and I am jealous. “We talked,” she says to him. “About stuff last year. And it was big. And it was hard. So can we just not, today? Can we just play and rest and—”

  “Are you okay?”

  Bastard didn’t ask me that.

  “I will be,” she says. She doesn’t look at either of us, just curls herself around the guitar I left next to that seat for her.

  Tommy sits back, biting at his lip ring. When she doesn’t say anything else, he looks at me. He’s pissed. And I don’t blame him. But he can also back the fuck off. This is bigger than he realizes.

  We glare at each a second, then he shakes his head. “The chip,” is all he says.

  I look away. “Shut up about—”

  “Guys, please.”

  Tommy ignores her. “How do I know it’s okay if you won’t tell me? You’ve lied—”

  “Let it go.”

  “Why, so you can fuck up everyone else’s lives without feeling guilty about it?”

  “Ever think maybe my life’s fucked up so I don’t have time to worry about yours?”

  “Stop it! Both of you!” Kelly’s on her feet, wheezing, gripping at the edge of the table.

  “Kel?” I shove out of my chair to get to her. Tommy told me about the attack she had at her house. “Do you have your inhaler?”

  She shakes her head and I’m almost there but Tommy is up already. “Just breathe. It’s okay. We’ll stop. We won’t yell. Sorry, babe. Just relax.”

  He tries to hug her, but she just shoves him and steps backward, her chair sliding across the deck. Her hands come up to stop us both. But I can hear the wheezing. See how tense she is.

  Tommy takes a half step closer.

  “Give her space, idiot.”

  “Why, so you can try to be the hero?”

  “S-stop. N-now.” She stares between us, her shoulders sliding up and down, too fast. It takes a full minute before her throat doesn’t make a whistling noise.

  Then she inhales through her nose, exhales through her mouth. When she opens her eyes, there’s a warning in her gaze.

  “I won’t s-stay here if it’ll make you fight.” She looks at Tommy, then to me.

  Tommy reaches for her. “Kel, I’m sor—”

  She pulls her arm away from him.

  “Not now, Tommy. Okay? I can’t take this. And n-not you either,” she says, at me. “Both of you, just leave me alone.”

  I’m afraid she’ll leave. So it’s a relief when she stalks in the opposite direction, towards the lawn.

  When she’s gone, Tommy bites his lip ring again and I can tell he’s deciding whether we’re best-friends or enemies right now. He must come down on the side of friends because his shoulders slump and he raises a hand in the direction she went. “Let’s leave her to it for a while.”

  I nod, wary. But he just beats time on the arms of his chair. It takes me a minute to realize it’s the rhythm of the song we were working on.

  “I can’t stop thinking that sounds really familiar,” he says. “Which is weird because I’ve definitely never heard you play that before. Not even anything like it. Did you hear something that made you think of it?”

  “Not like that,” I say, shuffling back to my chair. I can’t stop glancing back in the direction she disappeared. But pretty soon I’m engrossed in the song again. And even though she’s never out of my head. Tommy’s right, we need to give her space.

  I’m just glad she didn’t leave.

  If she can’t handle us arguing because of what I told her, then we’re screwed. I’m giving her an hour. Then I’m going after her.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Two Months Ago

  Kelly

  When they sing it’s easier to breathe.

  They still don’t know it’s panic that closes up my lungs, not asthma.

  I wasn’t thinking when I left the deck, I just had to be away from them. This gorgeous space has called me ever since I came back. But as soon as I’m on the grass, I’m flooded by so many memories my chest gets tight again.

  I look away from the pool and the spot where Crash knelt, toward a pocket of shade from the trees that line the fence—ten feet out. Crash told me they can’t have trees next to the fence, because someone might try to climb them and get over.

  I can’t believe he has to think that way.

  He says he doesn’t. Merv does. But when he remembers, it makes him wonder. He feels watched, sometimes, he said.

  I find a spot on the grass, right in the shade of a massive tree, and sit down, take off my shoes, bury my toes in the soft grass. Look to make sure I’m hidden by the house, so the guys can’t see me. Then I let myself cry.

  My head spins over all the questions I had last night. I still don’t have answers. And I don’t have the energy to go looking for them. I should be spending time with the guys while I can. I should be laughing and making music and who cares about Dan?

  All I feel is miserable and confused.

  I’ve stopped crying but I’m no closer to answers an hour later when footsteps clomp down the stairs—heavy on purpose, I think—and Crash appears on the grass, a leather necklace showing over his collar, his arms bare.

  He watches me as he approaches, sympathetic, wary, waiting for me to tell him to leave. But all I can see is the stalking power in him—the way his hips shift as he walks. His shoulders roll with his stride. Like a cat.

  He settles on the grass, crosses his legs and shifts until he’s only an inch from me, leans his elbows on his knees, then slowly, slowly reaches out with a searching look at me, and takes my hand.

  I tense, but don’t take my hand back.

  Crash scans the pool, and the trees, and that spot, but doesn’t say anything.

 
I look at him sideways, follow the definition of his biceps under his skin. The way his t-shirt clings to his washboard stomach. Even his thighs—not thick, bordering on skinny—look hard as iron.

  He flips his hair back and squeezes my hand.

  I have a flash in my head of Amber kissing him, touching him, see him on the couch with her. My stomach rolls.

  Then I ask the most difficult question.

  “How could she have sex with you if you didn’t want it?” I’m having a hard enough time without pushing the word “erection” between my teeth.

  Crash picks at the grass with his free hand. “I was so focused on you that day, so ready for you—planning to get you into the tub, or the pool, or something. Thinking about it a lot. Making plans. When she hit me up I was already mostly hard. And she . . .” He swallows audibly, “she thought it was for her. Or at least, that’s what she said.” His fingers go stiff in mine. “And once it’s, um, sensitive you can’t always control it.” The image falls to the grass between us like a grenade with the pin pulled. We’re both waiting for it to go off.

  “She raped me.” He clears his throat, takes his hand back. “Amber raped me.”

  Hearing it like that, tears blur my vision. “I’m so sor—”

  He shakes his head but doesn’t look at me. “Don’t apologize for what she did,” he says with angry conviction. “The only person who should be apologizing is her. And you heard what she had to say about it.”

  When my Bluetooth rang that night and said it was Crash, my heart leaped. But I couldn’t even say hello before I heard him saying he needed me to be quiet. So I waited.

  When I heard what he said to Amber and how she didn’t deny it, I finally understood why he couldn’t tell me for a year.

  I turned the car around, still hanging on every word. Parked outside his house and waited.

  “You have to understand, I had no power back then. We’d signed, we had money, things were looking really good. But it hadn’t happened yet. The tour could still have bottomed out. The album might not have continued to sell. It felt like everyone was on edge. And I was the only one who could keep it safe. I had to keep my house—and pay for Mom’s place. Tommy was the same. If we didn’t keep earning our lives fell apart.”

  He rests his elbows on his knees, hunches over to run a hand through his hair. “I was stupid. I thought it wouldn’t mean anything. That I’d hate it, but then it would be done and everything would be fixed. But after . . .”

  He told me last night he’d thrown up several times. And she kept going anyway.

  I almost threw up myself. What kind of person does that?

  “For the past year, I’ve begged God to take me back to that day so I could say no. Find another way. But he won’t do it. Kel, I was willing to let this whole thing blow up in my face. I still am. I’ll let it all fall down if it’ll bring you back.”

  I freeze and he hurries on.

  “I don’t mean right now. I just want you to know.” He looks down, takes my hand again, and strokes the back of my knuckles with his guitar-string-calloused fingers. “All this stuff—the money, the fame—without you around, it’s work. I had more fun singing with you yesterday than I ever had on tour. And except for when I’m actually on stage, the rest is a farce.” He hesitates. “My life’s a lie.”

  “No, it’s not,” I say. “Your songs are the real you. They’re why everyone loves you. You lay yourself bare, Crash. I’ve always admired that. You used to make me feel safe that way. I know she took advantage of you. And I hate her for that. But the problem is, I was so confused and hurt for so long, I’m afraid now. I don’t know how to get from here to where we were before.”

  I watch the trees because the way the moonlight makes the angles of his face stand stark is achingly handsome. We both go quiet.

  I look for my phone. I can’t be late. But I’ve got half an hour to get home and I relax—until I remember Dan’s face last night, his words.

  No matter what I do, Dan thinks lots of terrible things about me. And now I can’t argue. Because the truth is, I did give it up for Crash. And he broke up with me the next day. I hate the idea of what he was going through then. But still, whatever we had wasn’t enough to get us through that.

  I suppose I should be glad a broken heart was the only consequence I paid.

  “Stop it.” Crash’s voice is hard. Almost sharp.

  I look at him. “What?”

  “You’ve got that look on your face. You’re hating yourself. Stop it. Don’t hurt yourself. We can get through this—”

  The words light a fire in me. “How, Crash? How do I go back? Because I want to, so badly.” Our faces are only inches apart. His eyes fix on my mouth before he gamely pulls them back up. And I get it. “For months I begged God to give you back to me—that’s what I wanted all this time. But now that you’re here, I don’t know what to do with this. With us.”

  “Don’t do anything except forgive me. And love me.” Then he waits, calm.

  I scramble to my feet. Crash follows, but instead of being frantic, or apologizing as I’d expect, he gets in my path and won’t let me walk.

  “Don’t you still love me?” he says in a voice so deep I feel it in my toes.

  “How can you ask me to be the one to—”

  “I love you, Kelly. I never stopped. Forgive me. Please. You don’t have to be my girlfriend. You don’t have to touch me. But, please, forgive me. And let me prove that I still love you. And if you can, love me back.”

  Hope and fear war in my chest. Then I stop thinking. I step right, right up, take his face in my hands and pull it down to kiss him. Just once. Soft, and open. I put everything I feel into the brush of our lips.

  His hands land on my waist, but I jolt and step back.

  Crash hesitates. Then his fingers close gently on my wrist and he pulls me in, wraps me in his arms. I resist for a moment, but the warmth of him feels so good, I sigh and rest my forehead on his chest. He kisses my neck and I shiver.

  The words come without my permission. “I love you, too, Crash. I never stopped. And I’ve forgiven you. It’s the next step I can’t take.”

  His arms tighten, but in a rush, I remember all that’s happened in the past year, and I step back. I want to lead him into the house, into his bed, get skin-to-skin and never let go. But I can’t.

  I can’t.

  “I have to go.”

  Crash’s gaze never leaves mine.

  “See you tomorrow or something.” It’s a pathetic way to end this conversation, but I have to get out of here before I do something really stupid. I hustle across the lawn, forcing myself to leave. I’m grateful when he doesn’t follow. I think.

  “Kel?” he calls after me. I stop. “If you need space. From me. I can leave Tommy here and get out for a while. Do stuff. His mom’s binging again, so it’s not fun at his house. But you don’t have to stay away because of me.”

  He walks past and I follow him back to the stairs. It’s like we didn’t even say the words. And it hurts.

  But I have no one to blame but myself.

  “I have a key and a clicker for the gate, so you can get in here whenever you want. Even when I’m gone,” he says, like a real estate agent trying to make a sale. “So you can be here even if we aren’t. And maybe when we’re on tour you can come and hang out with Coda, or something? I have an assistant who’ll do it. But I know he’d rather it was you.”

  I’ll feed his dog? That’s where we ended up tonight? “You really don’t get it, do you?”

  “Get what?” he frowns.

  I stop walking, and he does too. We haven’t reached the stairs yet. I wonder if Tommy’s up there. We’re close enough he could hear. Maybe that’s okay.

  “The reason this is so hard is because I still love you. Because I never wanted to be away from you in the first place. When you’re gone, I’m desperate to be close. And when you’re here, I’m afraid you’ll leave and want to stay away so you can’t hurt me again. I can
’t win.”

  The three or four feet between our bodies is a chasm. Crash looks up the stairs, towards the deck, shoves his hands in his pockets.

  “I let you hear all that last night so I’d have no reason to run from you anymore. And I know—” he steps forward, but I move back to keep the distance and his face goes blank. “I know it was my fault. I know I ran. I wish I could change that. But I can’t. So I’ll wait. Okay? Until you’re sure. Whatever you need, just tell me. I’ll answer your questions. I’ll stay away. I’ll get close. Anything. I mean it, Kel. I love you. I’m not taking that back.”

  I scoff. “A year ago you said we were getting married. Forever, remember? And it all went out the window in a single day.”

  His face crumples. He looks down at his feet.

  “I know.”

  “I believe that you mean this right now. I believe you meant it last year too. So my question is, how can you know? You didn’t know this would happen last year and it took you away. We couldn’t have guessed that was coming. But there are other things that might happen that we don’t expect. So tell me, Crash, how can we be sure? What might it be next time?”

  His forehead furrows.

  He doesn’t have an answer.

  Neither do I.

  And deep inside, something dies.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Two Months Ago

  Crash

  She’s staring at the silvered grass, waiting. She wants me to have an answer for this. But what can I say? I know I’ll never leave her again. If she took me back, it would be forever. But she’s afraid. I can’t blame her. It’s easy for me to go back because I was the one who ran in the first place. I always knew what happened. I made the choice. I can change it.

  She had to live with the choices I made without knowing why. It was fucking unfair. So I can’t blame her for wanting to protect herself now.

  Then she looks up at me. Her face is shuttered in pain. She doesn’t call me names or cry. There’s no accusations or hysterics.

  She raises her chin, says, “I love you Crash.” Then she walks away. When she stops, my entire system lights up. But when she turns her cheeks are glistening. “And Crash, tell Tommy.” Then, without looking back, she crosses my grass, up my stairs, and is gone.