Love Out Loud

by Aimee Salter

  Crash will be worried by now. They’re into the first encore song. He’ll have realized I’m not there, and he’ll freak. But he’ll finish the show because he’s a professional. The encore is only three songs and they’re already well into the first one. I have about ten minutes.

  Feeling Turk’s eyes on my back, though I don’t even know if he followed me, I grab Holly’s arms.

  Her eyes go wide. “Kelly, what’s going on?”

  She has to understand. I can’t say it here. “I can’t.”

  Her brow tightens. “Okay. We can cover details later. What do you need?”

  I stare at her a second. My chest shudders. “Out. Have to leave.” I have to get away from Turk.

  Holly leaps into action.

  While I stare helplessly, she grabs the bag that was supposed to be for getting on the bus with Crash tonight. Biting my lip, I silently plead with Crash to forgive me and cling to the hand Holly offers me as she opens the door of the dressing room and rolls my suitcase back into the hallway.

  Joss takes one look at the suitcase, then at me, then Holly, his shaved head glinting under the fluorescent lights. “Where to?”

  Holly opens her mouth just as Merv jogs towards us, lips thinned.

  “Kel, you were great honey. But you were supposed to stay on stage.”

  I burst into tears.

  Merv’s horrified. “What’s wrong?”

  “Now’s not the time,” Holly snaps. “I need to get her out of here.”

  “C-can’t breathe.” I sway and have to grip Merv’s arm to stay upright.

  I’m suddenly aware of the curious crew members all around us. Merv notices them too and his face goes blank.

  He doesn’t ask any more questions, just quietly launches into action. He lifts a black brick of a walkie-talkie to his lips, talking into it as he flaps a hand at Holly and me so we’ll follow him down the corridor to a spot where a dark curtain flutters against the wall. He stops until the others make a circle around us, facing out. Then pushes back one side of the curtain and spirits us through without a word, leaving Joss and his team on the other side.

  “What happened?” Merv asks Holly. “One of the guys?”

  “I don’t think so,” she says, glancing sideways at me.

  “No!”

  There’s another corridor that bends to the right, a high ceiling, and a double, metal side-door. Merv punches a combination into a digital pad next to it and there’s a shrill beep, then the thunk of a latch unlocking. He shoves the bar in the door and fresh, night air washes over me. I stumble toward the stretch limo purring outside.

  Merv rushes me forward with his hand on my back, scanning in every direction, but there’s no one out here. He opens the door for me. “This is back up. If there’s an attack on one of the guys, or an earthquake, or anything, this is our way to get the guys out.”

  About to crawl into the back of the car, I balk. “What if they—”

  “They’ll be fine. We have a plan C if it’s needed. It won’t be. Good crowd tonight.”

  Holly watches as Merv and I stare at each other. But his concern makes me shakier, so I slip into the car. Holly does too, edging past me to sit next to the phone in the limo wall.

  Merv leans through the open door and clicks my seatbelt in for me. I think he’ll pull away then, but he doesn’t. His massive paw lands on my shoulder and he pins me with the look of concern.

  “You could tell me what’s wrong. I might be able to help.”

  I didn’t realize I was crying until I try to talk and I can’t get the words out. I shake my head. “Just tell C-Crash that I love him, okay? Tell him . . . n-never say never.”

  Merv pats my shoulder.

  “The driver will take you wherever you want to go. And he won’t report it to dispatch. The only person who will know where you end up is me, and I won’t put it in any reports, okay?”

  “Thank you,” Holly flushes.

  Merv stares at her and, for a split second, there’s a crackle in the air. Then he straightens, thunks the door closed and leans into the driver’s window to give instructions. I hear words like radio silence, and report, and lockdown.

  Holly takes my hand. I squeeze it.

  “Don’t worry,” Holly says. “We’ll get out of here. You can tell me when you’re ready.”

  I nod miserably.

  Merv pulls back. “Goodbye, Kelly,” he says sadly, then taps the top of the car.

  The driver’s window hums into place as the car pulls away, the same driver as I had last night looks with surprise in the rearview, where I’m mortified to see my own tearstained and blotchy face gaping back at him.

  He recovers quickly. I’m grateful. “Where to, Kelly?”

  Holly looks at me.

  “The airport.” I look for buttons in the arm of the door, but can’t see any.

  Holly takes over. “Kelly needs to rest. Is there a way to close the divider? It’s nothing personal,” she winks.

  He smiles. “It’s fine. I’ll close it. If you want to open it, the button’s on the console in the middle of the seats.” A black, glossy wall eases up between us, whirring until it meets the ceiling of the car and stops.

  It seems like I take the first real breath since I woke up in the wee hours this morning.

  Every second since that moment feels distant. Surreal. Like I watched it happen, instead of experiencing it.

  I know I was on stage. I know it happened. The lights. The crowd. That kiss.

  Crash’s kiss.

  I look at Holly.

  “Oh, honey. Please, tell me what’s going on,” she cries and opens her arms.

  I sink into her chest, shuddering. But I can’t make the words.

  I’m ruined.

  For Crash.

  For myself.

  Forever.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Ten Minutes Earlier

  Crash

  Security’s wrestling with people at the front in three different places when the lights come back up. I hope Kelly’s enjoying this. These people are going nuts for her.

  I try to catch her eye, but she’s gone.

  Tommy mouths, she get sick?

  Yeah, probably. I hope she can come back and enjoy the last songs.

  The crowd’s roar pulses. So I leap to grab the microphone and try to smile. “Just a couple more,” I say and it booms across the arena. They all scream back. “And Kelly should be back in a minute.” A wave of sound washes over us again.

  As Tommy whacks the beat on his sticks, I look into the wings for Kelly. Duran, the stage manager, has the light on that she clips to her clipboard. She’s screaming into her headset and looking behind her, arms flailing. The only time I’ve seen her that flustered was when we had a piece of set fall and almost take Tommy out during a show.

  I keep watching, but the repetitive beat is getting awkward. “The problem with live shows is that they require live humans,” I say dryly into the microphone. It lands. The crowd laughs, which gives me another second.

  But Duran freezes. Her lips thin and she looks directly at me and, obviously reluctantly, makes the rolling gesture with her hand that means we need to keep going.

  Where’s Kelly?

  I return to the crowd, strumming, and begin to sing, I don’t even know which song it is. I’m too busy wondering where she’d go.

  Tommy’s probably right, she got sick, I reassure myself.

  She’s worn out, I remember as we slip into the next song.

  She’ll be so embarrassed and apologetic, I tell myself when we’re winding up the final song.

  Then, we’re done. I lift an arm, tell the crowd the band’s names. They roar their approval. I thank them for coming, tell them how awesome they are, and yell “Goodnight!”

  The stage goes black. The glare of the lights shimmers green in my vision. I have to blink for a few seconds before I can move. The crowd screams, begging us to come back. But we’re done. Kelly needs me. I can feel it.
<
br />   I rush offstage—on the wrong side. Merv will kill me. But I need to find out where Kelly is. Luckily Duran’s assistant is just offstage. I grab the skinny guy—why is he wearing a suit?—and pull him close so I can scream in his ear over the noise of the crowd. I yank out my earpieces.

  “Where’s Kelly?”

  The guy splutters and stammers his way through saying he doesn’t know.

  Disgusted, I plow through the backstage space with its levers and curtains, and only a few people on this side who all look surprised, but greet me or clap as I pass. I don’t know if I say anything to them, I can’t think of anything except finding Kelly.

  As I move out of the stage area and into the bowels of the arena, I relax a little. I’d forgotten what it’s like to roam a place like this without security. It’s like the early days before anyone knew who I was. I can just walk and think.

  But it’s a short-lived luxury. A door swings open in the corridor ahead of me and Merv and my security team come barreling up before I’m more than half the stage length into the cement corridor.

  “Crash!” Merv’s voice is even deeper than usual. He grunts something into his headset and one of the other guys shakes his head. They’re pissed.

  “I’m sorry. I thought Kelly was over there and—”

  “You can’t do that, Crash. It’s not worth the risk.”

  “Whatever, look, just get me to her dressing room okay?” I stalk along the corridor, forced to move around more people as we get closer. Faces pepper the sides of the corridor—crew, groupies, security, the arena staff. Many call my name or take pictures as we pass. I raise a hand and try not to scowl.

  Oddly, Merv’s talkative tonight. I shake my head and look at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear any of that. Just let me make sure Kelly’s okay, then you can ream me, okay?”

  “No, Crash—”

  “Merv. Look, I’m pulling rank, okay? I’m sorry, but I’m not having this conversation right now.”

  “But you won’t—”

  “For fuck’s sake!”

  “Crash—”

  “Merv, seriously, back off.”

  “She’s gone.”

  I freeze mid-step to glare at Merv. His gaze is too soft.

  “What did you say?”

  Merv clears his throat and puts a hand on my shoulder. I shrug it off. “I put her in a car a few minutes ago. She needed to get away from here, Crash.” His face is awful. Sad, and angry, and pitying.

  Fuck that.

  “What do you mean, put her in a car? Did she go home?” She’s just sick and nervous. I can calm her down. She’ll do so much better tomorrow when she’s used to it.

  But before Merv can answer, in the eternally poor timing of the press, a journalist from Rolling Stone chooses that moment to reach our little circle. For a second I can’t believe they aren’t keeping him back. Then I remember: We agreed to an interview right after the concert. I was supposed to meet him off stage so he could do the debrief and write a story about Crash Happy behind the scenes. He was cleared and has been sitting backstage with security to observe the entire concert.

  I’d planned to grab Kelly and bring her in on it since I knew they’d want to talk to about her.

  Fuck.

  It’s okay. I’ll just tell everyone we’re not getting on the buses right away. I’ll talk to Kelly first. Dan probably got to her or something. I can fix this.

  The journalist, in an open-neck business shirt with his sleeves rolled up and sweat on his forehead, shoves his microphone in my face. “The show was amazing, Crash. Especially the second half. How do you feel about it?”

  As I answer with pat clichés about how amazing the crowd was, I watch Merv who’s watching me, sorrow in his wrinkled forehead. The clench in my stomach won’t relax because of his expression.

  He doesn’t look like Kelly’s just sitting at home, embarrassed about throwing up.

  I have no idea what I say to the journalist, but I answer two or three questions before I lose my patience. “Look, I’m really sorry man, but there’s stuff going on that has nothing to do with the tour. I need to get out of here,” I say, then shove past him, Merv at my shoulder.

  Behind me, the guy must try to follow, because he squawks. I’m guessing the team stopped him bodily. “We’re supposed to have an exclusive!” he shouts after me.

  “You do!” I shout back.

  “What about our photo op!”

  I raise my middle finger over my shoulder. Photograph that.

  Around the corner, every crew member is clapping, everyone’s whistling. I ignore them. “Take me to her dressing room,” I say low and hard.

  Merv sighs but leads the way.

  At her dressing room, a couple of her security guys stand across the hall. I frown. They usually stand in front of the door to block people getting to her.

  “You guys stay out here.” I turn the handle. But when I walk in, Merv follows, closing the door behind us.

  I stand in the middle of the room, turning back and forth. The room’s completely empty. Even her bag is gone.

  I whirl on Merv. “Where is she?”

  “She couldn’t deal. She said to tell you she’s sorry. And, Never say never.”

  Those words slice me open from navel to sternum.

  I’m stunned. And terrified for her. Did she really leave? What about the tour? What about me?

  Merv calmly explains that she came off-stage in a full-blown panic, pale and shaking.

  Luckily Holly was there.

  Merv put them in a car.

  The driver’s comms are turned off. He’ll fill Merv in when he gets back.

  Merv promised her he’d help her get away.

  From me? What the hell is his problem?

  “What did you do?” I whirl on him. But the door swings open and I freeze again, heart pounding because it might be her.

  Instead, a sweaty, long-haired drummer in a muscle shirt, face-piercings glinting in the low light, storms in. Tommy takes one look at the empty room, then meets my gaze. “Where is she?”

  I look at Merv.

  He folds his arms. “She had a panic attack. She had to leave. So we helped her. We sent her and Holly in the Plan B car so no one would know where she was.”

  “Sent. Her. Where?”

  Merv looks at me his brows pinched together. “She took her bag.”

  I scoff. “Call that driver and find out—”

  Merv steps forward and puts one of his huge hands on my arm. “Crash, I’m sorry . . . but she’s gone.”

  I punch him.

  EPILOGUE

  Six Weeks Later

  Kelly

  I’m a robot today.

  Holly made the appointment for me yesterday and I’ve walked around with a ball of dread in the pit of my stomach ever since.

  We’ve been here over an hour. I’ve been poked and prodded, swabbed, and taken from. Now I’m sitting on one of those examination tables covered in paper, in a hospital gown, shivering with cold, glad they let me keep my socks on.

  I pull my elbows into my sides and hunch, praying the doctor will show soon so I can put my clothes back on.

  A little stereo sits on the counter to my left, softly playing a radio station. The DJ sounds hilarious. At any other time, I’d listen. But I can’t focus today.

  I have to know.

  I stare at the walls, at the frosted window that lets light in but nothing else, and ignore the music.

  It’s weird that they play music in an examination room. But I guess it makes the waiting less interminable.

  Holly sits on the little chair to the left of the bed, legs crossed, pretending to read a magazine she brought from the waiting room. But I know she’s not really. Foot tapping on the floor, she keeps flipping pages—so aggressively they almost tear—cover to cover, then back again.

  The song ends and the radio announcer says something about a car crash and I’m immediately thrown back to that night—to the stage and the lights an
d Crash’s smile and his kiss.

  That kiss is an arrow to my chest. I want to cry whenever I think about how upset he must have been when he got offstage.

  I stopped reading his texts after the first hour because they threatened to unhinge me.

  They started off reassuring, then became questioning, then dissolved into begging.

  Holly and I got on that plane with zero plans. I had some money from the songs. Not a lot, but enough.

  Holly made frantic phone calls all night and again early in the morning. Work was expecting her back Monday. That didn’t happen.

  I don’t even know which city we landed in. Holly booked a nice hotel. We ate room service, watched bad movies, and barely spoke for three days.

  Then I woke up Tuesday morning and told her I wanted to live with her now.

  She didn’t even comment. Just called the airline to make reservations for us to go back in a few days.

  I told her the important stuff slowly.

  She’s helping me face it.

  I’m here because I’m certain someone had sex with me that night and I’m afraid. So I’m getting tested, and then we’re going to the Police.

  I swallow hard.

  When the door swings open to admit the doctor—a beautiful, middle-aged Indian woman who’s as short as me, but much slimmer—I heave a sigh of relief.

  She doesn’t look happy. Her face is blank as she offers me a hand and introduces herself. Her accent is beautifully musical. While English clearly isn’t her first language, she speaks better than I do.

  “I’m sorry you had to come in today, but you’ve done the right thing letting us check everything out,” she says, then scans the file she carried in with her.

  In the corner, the announcer crackles words I can’t absorb.

  Crash, I wish you could be here. Without being homicidal.

  And just like that, it’s as if he is here. It’s an inexplicable sensation I’ve been having ever since I left. I think about him, talk to him in my head, feel his warmth.

  It makes me feel less alone.

  The doctor smiles and grabs a rolling stool in the corner, still reading, then sits on it, sliding it towards the bed where I’m sitting, my bare legs hanging off the end. They had me keep the gown on in case she wants to examine me again.