Love Out Loud

by Aimee Salter

  New song is great!

  Different. I like it.

  I text them both in a group text. Then I stare at the screen. It takes seconds for a reply from Crash—in an individual thread, without Tommy.

  What song?

  I roll my eyes.

  The one on YouTube.

  I wait, but there’s nothing more. And I don’t know what to say, so I put the phone down, silence it, and turn off my light.

  I’m wide awake, staring at the ceiling when that side of the room lights up with a new notification on the phone.

  I tap it.

  Shit. It’s not supposed to be

  public. Thanks for the heads up.

  I don’t know whether to laugh or cry about that.

  Well, your fans are excited.

  A lot of them have watched

  it already.

  When he doesn’t answer, I bite my lip, but can’t resist. I tap the YouTube app on my phone and skip past my own account to the Crash Happy channel.

  I’m about to click on it when I freeze. Dan played it fullscreen, so I hadn’t noticed. The song’s called Forever You.

  I push play. Even though the image is broken into four pieces, the top left corner where Crash sings draws me, and despite the puffy eyes his familiar intensity burns.

  You never knew the truth

  The ends, the means, they broke me

  You never heard my heart

  I’ll never forgive myself for you

  I hate that it’s about what Amber did to him—but love that he’s sent it to me. A message no one else understands, except maybe Tommy. And Amber, I suppose. That thought makes me burn.

  Deep inside for life

  For you, I’m in hell.

  In you, I’m in hell

  Deep deep down.

  Without you

  There’s no more hell.

  You buried me deeper.

  I worry that I know exactly what that means, but the images it conjures, the night we spent . . . I turn away until the last verse starts.

  You never saw reality

  The dark, the beast it owned me.

  You never heard my heart

  I’ll never forgive myself for you.

  His honesty is harrowing. He means it. He’ll carry this for the rest of his life, beating himself up and letting it screw up every relationship he has. It’s his way. He can’t let stuff go. He hates himself for even the smallest failure. And this isn’t small.

  I have an image in my head, suddenly, of him sitting on some strange couch, alone, hands in his hair, cursing himself because he’s ruined another relationship—and every time he does, it just proves to him how useless he is. He never lets other people carry the blame. He always blames himself. And loathes himself for letting them down.

  My throat jumps and pain radiates from my chest. Oh, Crash.

  Now I’ll never

  Forever you

  It’s a promise and a plea and it breaks me all over again.

  I sob when I realize what he’s saying. Cry harder when I realize I don’t want it to be true. Even though I’m terrified, even though I’m hurt, I don’t want to lose forever with him.

  The thought startles me.

  The music is just winding up. Crash meets my gaze with his brown one and repeats, low and deep,

  I don’t want to never

  Forever you

  As the screen fades to black, I’m about to replay it like Dan did every time we watched it when large, white text appears on the screen.

  FOR THE BROKEN GIRL

  I bite my lip, tell myself to calm down. But I can’t. He did it. He wrote another song for me. Crash is still my Crash.

  And it comes home to me in a blinding flash that I want him to be.

  For a second I can see myself climbing out of my window, jumping to the grass outside, taking my car, and running to Crash’s. Right now. Throwing myself in his arms and begging him not to give up.

  The image is so clear, so necessary, I sit up and put my feet on the floor. But the moment when I should stand, get dressed, I freeze. Because there’s another image . . . him getting on a bus without me.

  My hands shake as I pick up the phone. At first, unable to figure out how to express this, I take the coward’s way out and text him.

  Thank you.

  He replies almost immediately.

  It’s true.

  I type the text three times, deleting each version, until I give up and just say it, then press send before I can second guess myself.

  Never say never.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Two Months Ago

  Kelly

  The next morning as I walk into the main hall at school, my name rises over the hum and bang of the crowd.

  “Kelly!”

  I look over my shoulder and almost swallow my tongue when Lacie smiles brightly from a few feet behind me, waving with the hand that isn’t gripping her folder. “Hey, wait up.”

  I don’t look at her but, unperturbed, she trots up next to me and bumps me with her shoulder. “That’s an amazing song Crash wrote for you.”

  “W-what do you mean, f-for me?”

  “Broken girl. That’s your YouTube channel, right?”

  How the hell does she know that? No one watches my videos. Speechless, I just stare at her. She tinkles a laugh.

  “You look like you saw a ghost! You think we don’t know about your songs? You’re good.”

  I try to figure out what to say to that, but before I can, she lands me with, “So does that mean you guys are back together?”

  “No!” I gasp.

  “Oh, that’s too bad. Pretty cool he’s writing for you again though, right?”

  “No, he’s not. Lacie, what do you mean you think my songs are good? You haven’t said a nice word to me for a year. You can’t just act like we’re friends!”

  I didn’t realize I’d stopped walking until Lacie looks left and right, her face rigid, then scowls at me. “I was trying to be nice. If you don’t want friends, well, that’s your problem.”

  I open my mouth again, but she’s gone, and everyone’s staring.

  Embarrassed, I hurry down a cross-hall and take the long way to class.

  She’s only being nice because she thinks I can get her close to Crash and Tommy. I lift my chin and walk into my first class, putting her out of my mind.

  But the questions continue all day.

  Are you guys back together?

  Will you be in the video?

  When will they release it on iTunes?

  Why did they dedicate it to you?

  Is that why Tommy was at your house?

  Every time I leave a room whispers chase me out.

  By the end of the day, I’m in pieces. I can’t get away from thoughts of Crash, of that song, of how this popularity will disappear when they leave. My heart races. I almost decide to tell the guys I can’t see them anymore. I can’t handle all this attention.

  But I also can’t handle being alone, away from them. I need to see them. To talk to them. To play and have fun.

  It’s been so long since I had fun.

  Before I can second-guess, I text Crash.

  You writing this afternoon?

  I’ll come if you are.

  He doesn’t answer right away, and I have to get to class. But halfway through the hour my phone buzzes in my bag. I spend the rest of the class wishing the teacher would leave long enough for me to read it. As soon as the bell rings, I shove my books into my bag and grab the phone.

  Yes we’re writing. But there will

  be people. Sony is PISSED about

  the video. Took it down, but people

  recorded it and keep reposting. Now

  deciding whether to put it on the

  official channel.

  I hesitate. Is he just being nice? Should I stay out of it if there’s drama? Then a notification pops.

  Please come just know

  things will be tense.

>   Joy fizzes in my chest. Quickly plummeting into a chill. Dan came home last night. He’ll be expecting dinner, and probably for me to dance attendance. I can only ask. But the fluttering in my stomach doesn’t go away.

  The whole way home from school I practice different approaches to figure out what’s least likely to tip Dan over the edge.

  When I get in the door, he’s in his chair, the nurse they sent to spend most of the day with him, just packing up to leave.

  “Hi, honey,” she says with a southern twang and a smile as big as her hair. “He’s doin’ good today. You remind him to stay off his feet except when he does his exercises.”

  I murmur assurances and she pats Dan’s hand, who smiles up at her like a little boy with a crush until she’s out the door.

  “How was school?” He picks up the remote to unmute the baseball game.

  I glance at the screen but don’t move, shift my bag strap higher on my shoulder.

  “Not bad. I don’t have much homework.”

  “That’s good. How about those meatballs for dinner?”

  “Sure.”

  He takes a drink from the water bottle on the coffee table. When he looks back at me and I’m still standing in the middle of the floor, he frowns. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” My tension ratchets higher with every word. “It’s just, the guys are writing today and wondered if I could help again. But I didn’t want to if—”

  He flaps a hand at me. “Sure. Go ahead. You can feed me early if you want, then head over there. Give ‘em hell about that video. Just make sure you have your homework done before bed.”

  It takes him a few seconds to realize I haven’t moved.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Uh, nothing. Just zoning out I guess,” I say lamely.

  He winks. “Thinking about the boys, huh?” Then, as he reaches for his water bottle again, I see the little orange pill bottle nearby and it all becomes clear.

  I bite my lip and make a mental note to get him high on painkillers before I ask him for anything. Who knows, maybe I can get that new laptop after all?

  “Okay, well, I guess I’ll get my homework done and then cook.”

  “Sounds good,” he says, already back to the baseball game.

  I head to my room feeling like I’ve entered an alternate universe.

  All my excitement dissolves when I use the clicker to open Crash’s gate and am forced to pull into the space left next to Amber’s car.

  The car jiggles when I yank up on the parking brake, but I don’t get out. Just stare at her flashy red sports convertible for a second, my chest growing tighter.

  How can I be in the same room as her?

  How can Crash?

  All hope I had for some fun tonight drains out of my toes into the floor of the car.

  I can’t be here.

  It’s tempting to just leave, but they’ll know I’m here. Leaving without explanation just makes drama. I’ll tell them something’s come up and I can’t stay.

  Assuming they’re on the deck, I use the path on the other side of the house to go in the front door to give me a second alone. But as soon as I step into the entryway, I see the little table where Crash put the flowers and card the first time I came here.

  Iron bands wrap around my chest. My hands grip so hard my nails leave crescents in my palms.

  I hurry towards the living room. There’s no one there, but I don’t have enough oxygen. So I sink onto the couch, head between my knees, to talk myself down.

  There’s nothing bad happening right now. It doesn’t matter that Amber’s here. I can say hi, then leave.

  “You okay, Kelly?!” a deep voice says over heavy footsteps crossing the floor quickly. A moment later a huge hand rests on my back, there’s a crackle-bloop, and the voice talks to someone who isn’t me.

  “Get Crash up to the main room. Kelly needs some help.”

  “I-I’m okay, M-Merv,” I wheeze. I am so pathetic. I hate myself.

  My vision tunnels and the big hand rubs a circle over my spine.

  “S’okay, Kel. I used to have panic attacks, too. Back in school? I’ll just stay here. No judgment. You’ll be okay.”

  I’m trying to answer when more footsteps arrive in the room.

  “Kel?!” Crash’s voice is charged, urgent.

  The room spins a little when I look up. He slides to kneel at my feet, putting one hand on my knee, the other taking mine.

  “Did you forget your inhaler?” he says.

  I nod.

  “Merv, can you leave? She needs to do her relaxation exercises and she does better when there aren’t lots of people watching.”

  Two is hardly “lots”, but Merv pats my shoulder and ambles down the hall. There’s a stairway along there that leads down to the basement where the guys have a tiny recording studio with no windows.

  As soon as the door closes behind him, and Crash’s fingers tighten on mine, I relax. I get half a breath and the black spots in my vision fade.

  “I’m sorry.” I’m so sick of myself.

  “Don’t be. It’s an excuse to get out of the dungeon.”

  A door slams down the hall and I startle. Crash swears. I’m still only getting half the oxygen I need. I squeeze his hand and will my tears away.

  “Hey, hey,” he says. “You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to. The label decided to have us record an official version of the song, so a producer’s here, Amber, Merv, a couple of assistants, and a studio musician. They’ll mostly stay downstairs, but if you’re nervous about being around them you can stay up here.”

  Stupid, stupid boy. He might have a couple of years on me, but sometimes Crash is oblivious.

  He hasn’t missed my reaction. He’s stopped next to me.

  “Kel—”

  “I can’t be around Amber,” I blurt.

  “Is that what this is about?” Crash is still squatting in front of me, his hand on my knee. I brush it off.

  “She makes me sick. I can’t be around her, Crash. How can you stand to be around her?”

  Because it’s suddenly occurred to me: Every time his phone rings, it’s probably her. He sees her. Talks to her. Works with her. Faces her every day. How can he do that?

  He reads my mind. “I can’t explain it,” he says, low and hard. “It’s like there’s two of her. Manager Amber is great. But then the other Amber shows up sometimes, and she makes my skin crawl.”

  What does that even mean?

  We sit in silence.

  Crash looks at the clock on his phone.

  “Crash—”

  “It’s okay. It’s all okay.” But he’s far away.

  “Where did you go, just then?”

  He huffs. “I was thinking what if you went away because of this? What if that’s it for us? I don’t want that, Kelly. I know it’s my fault. I get it. But I’m selfish enough that I don’t want to stop fighting for you. Please. Please don’t give up on me. I know this whole thing is worse for you. But . . . I need time.”

  “I’ll wait forever. You know that.”

  When he’s looking at me like that, I feel it on my skin. And obviously he does too because his pupils get bigger.

  Two sides of me have a screaming argument in a blink.

  I want to kiss him.

  I can’t let that happen. It sends the wrong message.

  We’re meant to be—we both want forever.

  He’s too screwed up to know what he wants—and so am I.

  Around and around. Meanwhile, Crash’s gaze slides to my lips and he murmurs. “I miss you. I missed you this whole time.”

  Sigh. “I missed you too.”

  He swallows. “Kelly, can you please give me—”

  “Crash?” An oily voice says from the hallway.

  We both startle. Part of me curses the guy in the trim suit walking toward us. But the other half of me is relieved. Because I’m not ready for the conversation we were about to have.

  Crash shoots
me an apologetic look, takes my hand to help me up from my seat, but then we both let go. I focus on counting my inhales and exhales, relaxing my throat as I follow them down the hall.

  “. . . make a slight change on the timing in the verse it really smooths the flow.”

  “No,” Crash says emphatically.

  “Crash, it’s a unique song, but that transition—”

  “I said no.”

  I walk behind them, head down, wondering how the hell I’ll get through this without either passing out or losing my mind.

  I guess we’ll find out.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Two Months Ago

  Crash

  When we get downstairs—me and Eric still arguing about the timing of the song because he doesn’t understand what I plan to do with it and I don’t want to tell him. That’s for Kelly—I’ve almost forgotten about the shitstorm brewing until I see Amber.

  She’s got her shoes off, the top three buttons of her blouse undone, and she’s sprawled on the couch—the only seat outside the studio itself. There are just a few feet between it and the soundboard where Conrad, the producer, hunches over all the knobs and sliders.

  Behind the glass of the recording booth, Tommy’s sitting at the drums, shirt off, hair in a bun on top of his head, headphones over one ear, tapping and twirling his sticks while he waits.

  “That’s a wrap, Tom,” Conrad says into the microphone so Tommy can hear him then turns to me. “We’ve got the beat down, so we’re square, but we need some backing vocals to fill out those weird holes.” He talks about syncopation and scowls about the same gaps in the lyrics Eric pestered me about.

  They don’t understand. God-willing, they never will. This one’s for Kelly and only her.