by Aimee Salter
“You look amazing,” she says happily. “I bet you can’t wait. Don’t worry about the nerves. As soon as you get that first verse out, they’ll get better. And the people will love you. I saw banners for you and Crash, Kel. Banners.”
I try to grin, but it doesn’t really work. Mention of Crash has thrown me back into the dark hole of my thoughts.
It isn’t until Holly’s gone silent that I realize she was still talking and I wasn’t responding, and now she’s closed her mouth and is examining me shrewdly.
“Kel?” she asks gently, glancing at the guys around us, glaring at the PA. “What’s wrong?”
“Just nervous,” I say. But my voice is too high and the last of her relaxed smile falls off her face. She looks around us again, pulls me in closer.
“Well, no matter what, I’ll be here, okay? We were going to surprise you, but Bob arranged for me to travel with you guys this weekend. So you don’t have to do these first couple shows alone. Okay?”
That’s right. I’m boarding a bus tonight, sleeping on it, and waking up tomorrow in another city.
Crash is excited about that.
He’s already told me I’ll have my own room on the bus, but that if I ever want to share his . . .
I suck in and Holly’s brows pinch together. “Kelly, whatever it is, I’m here, okay? I’m so sorry I’m late. You get through this tonight. And I’ll be here when you’re done and we’ll deal with it, okay? No matter what.”
My throat has closed with the urge to cry, so I just look my thanks at her.
I’m grateful when we turn a corner and the security guys spread out—two climbing the metal stairs ahead of me, two easing back to follow. Holly’s allowed to stay in the middle with me.
She lets go of my arm, takes my cold hand in her warm one and squeezes.
“No matter what.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Present Day
Crash
I’m singing, but as we get to the final chorus and repeat, all I can think is Kelly. She’s gotta be in the wings, but with the lights, I can’t see her.
Tommy’s glancing to our left too, so she must be there. I turn for the fade and he winks at me, shaking his head.
. . . So take it all, just take it all, And go . . .
Tommy sings the reply, but I don’t even notice if he hits the high note, because I can see movement in the shadow of the wings. Duran, the stage manager, talking to someone.
She’s here. This is finally happening.
. . . Take it all and go.
As Tommy and the band slow and fade the music out, my heart’s pounding. There’s a shadow in the wings in front of Duran that has to be Kelly. I smile at it, hoping she can see me better than I can see her. The crowd, sensing her, roars. Security gets focused. We told them before the song that this was the last one before they’d meet our friend, and they’re screaming her name as much as mine. Tommy grins. This audience is great.
“Are you guys ready to meet the prettiest voice in rock today?”
Bodies surge and flail, jumping up and down against the guardrail, pumping hands raised, voices screaming. Security spread in front of the stage like a football defensive line. The roar is a physical wave that hits me in the chest. My pulse jumps another notch. I’ve missed the big crowds. They’re a drug.
“Well, guys, here we go.” Their voices crescendo so I can only hear myself through the earpieces. “Give your best welcome to Broken Girl Singing . . . Kelly Berkstram!”
The bassist starts the slow baseline for Restless, Kelly’s first number. I still hate this song—but only because I know it’s true. A couple seconds pass in which the crowd loses their collective shit. I get a jolt when she doesn’t arrive in the spotlight immediately.
Then there’s a flash, a shadow, and Kelly walks out, guitar in hand, almost expressionless, but scanning the crowd. She raises an arm to wave and they go crazy.
Merv will flip if security doesn’t get them under control.
I wait for her to look at me, but Kelly walks to the stool at the front of the stage and leans into the microphone. “Hey, everyone.”
The answer is a shriek that would be literally deafening without the earpieces. I hope they fitted Kelly’s properly.
As she slides onto the stool and gets herself comfortable, one knee on the crossbar to cradle her guitar, the other foot on the stage, the urge to go to her is so strong I’m leaning. But this is her moment and I want to give it to her. They’ve dimmed the lights everywhere except over her and the crowd’s loving it.
The base thud, thud, thuds behind us. Tommy’s hitting his sticks together, starting the beat over the opening riff. The plan was always to give Kelly as much time as she needed. He’ll just keep it on repeat to build the tension until she plays. He’s staring at her, not smiling and I feel my own smile falter. What’s he seeing that I’m not?
“This song is called Restless,” Kelly says softly into the microphone and the crowd roars again.
It’s only then that I realize she’s pale under the lights. They’ve caked makeup on her so I can’t see if she’s got the dark circles of insomnia, but there’re bags under her eyes, and her hand is shaking as she strums the first chord.
She’s just nervous.
I shift and she glances in my direction. I wink. Her eyes go liquid, but her lips barely twitch at the corners. Then she sings and I’m holding my breath for her. I remember the first notes I sang on a stage like this. It was terrifying. And awesome. I hope she’s able to feel the awesome part while she’s here.
The crowd calls her name. Her voice cracks, but it sounds like emotion and they love it.
Kelly looks down at her guitar.
The lights rise a little over me because I’m supposed to sing back up for her. Bob wanted the crowd remembering our connection, but still focused on her. The crowd sounds like they’re having a panic attack, but Kelly looks over and for a few seconds our eyes lock.
Fear. Pain. Disbelief. Exactly the way she looked after her mom died.
I sing the line behind her without thinking. She sings into the microphone. Her voice, which had the hushed, almost folksy ring at first, gets stronger and stronger with each line. Her hair swings as she lets herself go and throws herself into the song.
Yes!
This is what she’s been missing. The emotion and power of the words, or the notes, letting them connect with who you are and showing that to the audience. It’s the thing she’s lacked during almost every performance except our duet.
But here she is, her golden hair swaying across her face, lips open around the words, her body singing with her.
It’s what I’d been praying she’d find. And she’s doing it. She’s doing it.
I sing a line then look at Tommy and see him mouth fuck yes!
The next few minutes pass in a surreal fulfillment of everything I’ve wanted for her since I met her. She’s cracked her chest open and shown her heart to the audience and they love it. She’s forgotten about me—and probably about them, too. I can’t stop staring.
I’m supposed to give her space, stay out of the spotlight. But I have to get closer. Be in this with her, because I know what’s happening. It happened for me a couple years ago. People are learning to love her through her songs.
Her blonde hair glows under the light, her lashes flutter. She hasn’t opened her eyes since she closed them after looking at me. Not great performance etiquette, but given what she’s been through, who gives a shit.
Silently begging her to open them and see me, I take my mic off its stand and cross the stage to stand beside her.
The song’s drawing to a close which means we’ll sing a couple songs with Kelly, then the duet, then all that’s left is the encore. Kelly’ll sing back up and echo for that.
We get through the first three songs without any hiccups. Tommy rocks. The crowd screams. It’s a kick. But Kelly doesn’t look at me the whole time.
I’m supposed to be under my own spot across the sta
ge so we can sing Forever You to each other from twenty feet away. But I can’t resist. Amber will snarl about it, but I don’t care. I feel the emotion emanating off Kelly in waves, and so can the audience. This is a moment. The label will gold-plate her toilet. She’s amazing. And I’m so glad that they all got the chance to see it.
Kelly’s head is down as she strums the first chord. I ache for her. It suddenly hits me that she’d want her mom to be here, to watch and share it. No wonder she looks so tired. No wonder she’s been distant today.
Unable to resist, I put a hand on her shoulder.
She startles, her hair whirling as she turns to look at me. The crowd roars again. There’s no way we’ll hear each other over this noise, so I just let her see my love, and will her to keep going. I can’t look away. I don’t think she can either, because something in her expression softens even while she retreats into the song.
She doesn’t look away and she’s got tears in her eyes. The crowd surges again and security scrambles. The reviews of this concert will be epic.
You never knew the truth, she sings.
I shake my head and answer, the ends, the means, they broke me.
You never heard my heart, she accuses, and I know it’s real.
I’ll never forgive myself for you.
The crowd sings along and I’m lost in her as we swing into the chorus. Yet there’s a chill right in the middle of my chest.
Deep inside for life. Kelly looks like she’s breaking in half and for a second we’re back in my kitchen and I’m breaking up with her, watching her die inside because of my words.
Shaking off the memory, I leave my hand on her shoulder and lean in, and we sing and sing and sing. She never looks at me again. Instead, she looks over my shoulder, towards the ceiling of the arena and the chill in my chest becomes a freeze. Something’s wrong.
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.
Now I’ll never
Forever you
We sing the second verse about the beast and I hate myself for putting her through it. Is that what’s wrong? Is she remembering? Getting angry?
I’ll make it up to her.
The crescendo builds and I’m vaguely aware of Tommy driving us forward on the drums.
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.
Then everything—including Tommy—stops. We planned this. Kelly’s supposed to be looking at me, and we sing this last line acapella and in unison. But there’s something off. Even with me touching her, she isn’t holding my gaze. I’m forced to follow her timing as she lowers her head, shaking it, and waits for me to sing.
Now I’ll never forever you
Now I’ll never forever you
We fade on that line, there’s only one more left. But Kelly’s face screws into a grimace. Has she forgotten we’ve got one more repeat?
Kel? I mouth, but she’s not looking. The crowd buffets us with screams. I squeeze her shoulder and her chin comes up.
Her forehead is lined. I could fall into her gaze. But there are tears glimmering on her lashes and it cuts deep. She touches my face like I’m breakable and it all comes home to me.
She’s feeling for me.
I wasn’t aiming for the husky gravel on this line, but it’s unavoidable as I silently remind her that I’ll survive this. I want forever with her.
Her tears don’t spill over. She’s locked onto me now.
Screw the fade. I stop singing and take her face in my hands, dragging my lips across hers.
She gasps and grabs at my shoulders. The crowd surges beside us and the noise is so loud it’s overwhelming even with the ear monitors.
Then the entire stage goes black, which is Kelly’s cue to get to her feet. But I’m still kissing her and murmuring her name, though I’m sure she can’t hear it. She claws at my neck and it makes me hot.
But a second later, Kelly wrenches herself away from me. I chuckle. In the blackness, I can’t see her take her place for the bow she’s supposed to give the crowd and I grin. She’s probably so nervous she’ll throw up again. I did after my first big concert.
My lips hum. She kissed me back. Really kissed me back. She meant it.
I’m never letting her go again.
Grinning like a smug cat, I wait for the lights to come back up. The audience isn’t just screaming, they’re chanting and pounding the floor with their feet. I can feel the vibration under my soles. I hope Kelly can keep her dinner down long enough to enjoy these last moments. But regardless, I know this is only the beginning. And no matter what we say in the song, I’m going to forever her, no question. This just makes it easier.
Enjoy this, gorgeous girl, I think. It’ll never be like the first time again.
Chapter Forty-Five
Present Day
Kelly
Crash’s kiss is searing—burning on my lips, down my throat, into my chest where it throbs and aches. And I want it. I need to be close to him.
But the same feelings that make it the most incredible kiss of my life—like feathers on every inch of my skin—crack open my ribs and reveal my heart. It hits me then.
My life has been changed and it will never be the same.
I cling to Crash as the music fades, stomach churning. The beast of a crowd pummels at us, but I can’t think beyond this moment.
Then Crash claws at my back. My stomach twist in response and I wrench myself away. Running to the wings.
I don’t even say goodbye.
I’m supposed to position myself center-stage while it’s dark, then take a bow with Crash and sing back-up for the encore. But I just can’t. I feel like I’ve been skinned. In the blackness, I stumble away from him, praying I don’t bump into a drum set, or whatever, scrambling for the wings and the bucket they left there for me and I heave. And heave. And heave.
The crowd is still chanting when my body stops trying to push my internal organs out through my mouth. I’m shaking, but the nausea is gone.
I swallow.
I don’t want to go back out there, but someone touches my shoulder.
I leap like a startled cat, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end.
There’s only the thinnest blue light from the glow strips on the stairs, but I can see Turk’s silhouette and every muscle in my body cramps.
Get away. Get away. Get away.
Behind me, the beast chants Crash and Kelly! Crash and Kelly!
Turk’s moving like he’s talking, but I can’t hear him.
I can’t be near him.
Without a word I sprint across the stage, fixed on the opposite wings where a soft glow marks the headlamp of the stage manager, barking into her headset and flipping through the pages on her clipboard. Her head comes up and the light slices my vision as I dodge past her towards what I think are at the top of the stairs. I was supposed to stay on stage, but I can’t.
I sprint down the thin stairs, almost falling twice, grab the railing, somehow make it down without breaking myself. There’s a single, dim lamp at the bottom of the stairs. Silhouettes of people I don’t know, standing in clusters, a few journalists in a roped-off corner with their little recorders at the ready. They flail when they see me, screaming questions over the noise of the crowd, but I ignore them and run on.
Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Have to get out of here.
My pulse throbs from my fingertips to my navel.
It’s a panic attack. I should be glad it happened after I’d finished singing. But right now I’m so strung out, all I can think about is getting away from this place. Bob’s gonna kill me, and I don’t care.
In my head, Turk’s laser gaze accuses.
As I race away, the scaffolding that holds the form of the stage gives way to the backstage corridors and finally, light—huge, fluorescent tubes forty feet overhead. It’s like walking out of midnight into noon. I stumble to a stop.
Clusters of crew clap and whistle as I scan left and right, try to figure out where I am.
There’s a shriek behind me, then a deep voice shouts at me to stop. I recognize the commanding tone of Joss, the leader of my security detail.
Uncertain where I am, I reluctantly stay put until the security team hustles to circle me and Holly appears in front of me.
“What is it?”
I detonate. All my pieces fly apart until I’m not sure if I’m still here. Claw for air, plead with it to reach my lungs.
Holly says something and reaches for my arms, but I’m too busy trying not to pass out.
Suddenly there are bodies crowding me and moving me, like a wave across the sand, Holly’s warm arms at my waist, comforting words in my ear.
The wave carries me to my dressing room as I gulp and gasp for air like a dying fish. I lurch for the door, but Joss takes my arm and won’t let go until one of them sweeps the room to clear it. Something he says they’d normally do before I got there, but I caught them off guard. He’s not happy about that.
“S-sorry,” I’m not sure he can hear me over the thunder above us.
“Don’t apologize,” Holly says, glaring at Joss.
We wait. I feel so cold. Holly’s got my hand in hers—it feels so warm.
When the security guy who’s a little slimmer than the others—a rhino to their elephants—comes out of my dressing room and nods at Joss, I shove past him, Holly right on my heels, throwing the door closed behind me when Joss tries to follow. Then I’m standing in the middle of the little room, in front of the black couch, teary, and shaking.