The Way It Hurts

  I watch you battle your way through the night,

  Every little thing puttin’ up a fight.

  I’ll be there next to you, just for you, for the rest of my life.

  She smiled at me, took another step closer, and took my hand.

  The world righted. Everything snapped into focus…the Beat, Twitter, the trolls, the crowd…lines and points, curves and edges, it was all clear as crystal now. Together, we finished it, voices lifted not in screams and growls but in harmony, Kristen filling in the downbeats as I sang the lead.

  Baby, I’m yours

  I’m yours

  but this is too tough.

  Yeah, things got rough

  Why am I not enough?

  I’m sorry I messed up.

  What else can I say?

  What else can I say?

  What else can I do?

  What else can I scream?

  Everything I am means nothing much to you.

  The man that you are is everything to me

  It can’t get worse; this is the way it hurts.

  This is the way it hurts.

  The last word floated and echoed, and then she was in my arms kissing me like I was a sip of water in a drought, and the crowd was on its feet, the applause so loud, it made my chest rattle. It didn’t matter that she’d taken off, deleted me out her life. It didn’t matter how many fans and followers and likes and shares we had, and it didn’t matter that Sam would probably hate me for this.

  All that mattered was her.

  28

  Kristen

  My heart was beating a rhythm against my ribs that rivaled Nick’s percussion.

  “You’re here,” Elijah murmured against my ear, holding me tighter.

  “I’m so sorry!”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said and drew back to the swelling adoration of the crowd. He took my hand, raised it high, and bowed to the audience, now on its feet, aiming a thousand camera phones at us. For the first time in well, forever, I turned away from an audience and looked up into Elijah’s eyes, burning with the intensity that had hooked me from the moment we met.

  “I thought you hated me,” I admitted. He looked blank, so I elaborated. “For what happened with Anna.”

  “No! God, no. It wasn’t your fault. It was my fault. You tried to tell me over and over again, and I wouldn’t listen. Then I saw that post on Rawr and thought you—”

  “I didn’t even know about that post until Leah texted me. When she showed it to me, I almost died. I never said any of those things, never felt that way, never believed them. I was so scared you saw that and hated me even more than you already did. I wanted to run away, but Etta convinced me that would be a huge mistake.”

  “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.” His hands cradled my face, and he kissed me softly and then quickly pulled away with a frown. “So Etta’s doing okay?”

  I nodded and waved a hand toward stage left. “She’s better. She’s communicating now, and she promised me she won’t give up. This was her idea.” Etta managed a wave from her wheelchair. Mom, Dad, Gordon, and Dylan were all grinning and applauding behind her.

  “It was a good idea.” He shut his eyes, cursed, and shook his head and then grinned. “That scream. Oh my God, Kristen. Always knew you’d rock that.” He grabbed a few bottles of water from the floor of the stage and handed one to me.

  I slapped his arm and then lost my smile. “Anna?”

  His eyes clouded, and he shook his head. “She’s still in. I can barely look at my dad. But now…now, maybe, I think they were right.” He chewed his lower lip and looked away, face full of self-hatred.

  “You think you failed,” I said on a gasp. “Is that what you think?”

  Tears collected in the corner of his eyes, so I tugged Elijah behind the stage so we could talk.

  “Eli, don’t. Don’t ever think that.”

  He laughed once, breaking my train of thought.

  “What?”

  “You called me Eli. Think that’s the first time.”

  “Well, you call me Kris.”

  He lifted a brow. “Payback?”

  “No, it’s—oh, never mind that. Just listen to me.” I slapped his chest, teasing him, but Elijah didn’t laugh.

  “I’m listening.” He said it like a vow, all serious, and I froze for a second, and then I understood what he was saying. He hadn’t listened to me before, but from now on, he would.

  I took a deep breath, knowing this would hurt him. “Elijah, Anna is never going to college, she’ll never get married, and she’ll never have a life of her own.” When he made a sound like I’d kicked him in the groin, I hurried to add, “It’s not your fault. You’re not responsible. You told me yourself it’s a genetic thing. There is absolutely nothing you can ever do to change her.”

  “I know. But that’s not it.” The mask he wore fell, and for the first time, I saw the truth in his eyes. “I…God, Kris. I don’t want her to forget me.” He gripped his head and sank into one of the folding chairs that lined the backstage area. “When she was born…before we knew…Dad sat me down for a man to squirt talk, you know?” He managed half a laugh. “He said, ‘Eli, you’re a big brother now. That’s an important job. You ready for it?’ I nodded, all solemn—like I had any idea what he was talking about—and he told me that baby Anna was tiny and fragile and needed a bodyguard.”

  Elijah’s intense eyes crinkled at the corners when he grinned. “That, I totally understood.” He took a worn bandanna from his pocket, mopped his face, and let the smile fade. “I took my job seriously, Kris. For the last thirteen years, I worked my ass off to make sure nothing scared her, nothing hurt her, nothing touched her.” He shoved the bandanna back in his pocket and stood up. “This one time…I messed up. She fell, hit her head. Six stitches, right here.” He ran one long finger along his hairline, near the temple, where beads of sweat had collected. “For a long time, I thought that’s what caused her problems. I hated myself for that. Swore I’d never slack off again.”

  Oh, God. The playground. He’d never get past that. My heart gave a tight squeeze. “Elijah, I am so—”

  He put up a hand. “No. It’s not your fault. It’s not,” he repeated, taking my hand when I frowned. “Kris, the truth is, my parents are right. Anna’s growing up. She’s getting stronger, and her episodes more frequent.” He spread his hands. “And none of us are pros.” He shut his eyes. “She needs more, Kris. More than just us.” He opened his bottle, poured some water over his head, and shook the wet hair from his eyes. “I keep telling myself she’s better off there. But underneath that, I’m all… Aw, fuck. I actually want her to have some sort of a giant meltdown so they kick her out.”

  He finally lifted his eyes to mine. “Tell me I’m not really that big of a selfish douche bag.”

  “For which part?” I laughed.

  But when it was obvious he wasn’t seeing the humor, I nudged him. “Come on, Elijah. You’re giving her a world that’s hers instead of forcing her to adapt to ours. That’s pretty damn unselfish if you asked me.”

  He still didn’t look convinced, so I tried again. “Besides, you have a connection with Anna nobody else does. Music. All you have to do is sing, Elijah. She’ll remember.”

  He stared at me for a long moment and then smiled. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah.” He tapped his bottle to mine and swallowed some water. “I was a real dick to you, and I’m not sure why you stuck around as long as you did, but I’m so glad you did.”

  My mouth went dry. “Really? You haven’t figured it out yet? I thought you were smart.”

  He shot me a look that was all smirk, and if my mouth hadn’t already dried up, I’d have drooled. “Figured what out?” he asked.

  “You know.” I lowered my eyes, suddenly afraid to say it out loud.

  “I wanna hear you sa
y it. Don’t make me tweet it.” He smirked.

  A laugh burst out of me, and I rubbed my hands over the stubble on his cheeks. “I love you, Guitar Hero.”

  “Love you right back, Broadway,” he whispered and kissed me. The cheers still coming from the crowd provided our very own soundtrack.

  29

  Elijah

  The Beat: account deleted

  Facebook: account deactivated

  Twitter: account suspended

  “Uh, guys? Sorry to interrupt but…” Nick poked his head around the stage. “There’s somebody here who wants to talk to us—all of us.” He jerked his chin at Kristen.

  She met my eyes, and I just shrugged. I had no damn clue. I took her hand and followed Nick back around to the front of the stage where the crowd had already left, probably filling their bellies with popcorn, cotton candy, and funnel cake before waiting on yet another insanely long line for one more ride on the Ferris wheel.

  Two dudes sat on empty seats by center stage, dressed in khakis and ball caps bearing a logo that—

  Holy shit.

  I knew that logo. It was Island Sound, a record label.

  Kristen squeezed the hand I nearly forgot she was holding, and immediately, I found my center. I nodded amiably. Sam’s face was red, and Nick’s knees bounced to a rhythm only he could hear, but judging by the tempo, it was either bounce or he was gonna launch into orbit.

  Dude One held out a hand. “So this is Ride Out?” he asked with a grin. “I’m Bryce Morton, and this is Cameron Finnley.”

  Bryce handed us each a business card bearing the Island Sound logo—a map of Long Island bent into an eighth note—that listed him as a producer.

  Holy hell.

  “Cam and I have been following your tweets since the first CatCall hashtag. The whole Eli Versus Kris thing was a stroke of brilliance.”

  Cameron spoke up. “Marketing genius aside, you guys are way more than just talk. You back it up with solid talent. Based on the reaction we just heard, you’ve got the potential to top the charts. That’s where we come in.” Cameron looked back at Bryce, who leaned forward, smiling for a moment before asking us the one question I’d wanted to hear for half my life.

  “Assuming your parents go for it, how would you guys like to cut an album with us?”

  “Hell, yeah!” Sam pumped a fist in the air before I could call for a conference.

  “Me, too.” Nick held up a hand for a high five.

  “Elijah?”

  I held up a hand, wishing I could freeze this moment and put it under glass to preserve it forever.

  This was it.

  I was a rock star.

  The one thing I’d wanted more than anything I’d ever wanted before. Or the one thing I needed—the one thing that was going to solve every problem. Money, providing trained caregivers to Anna, taking the pressure off my parents—everything. And here it was, extended on fancy-ass business cards, and I was just sitting there, stunned because it suddenly wasn’t the only thing. Did I need this or did I want it? Those were now two very different questions.

  “Elijah. Bro, come on.” Sam slapped my arm.

  “Give us a minute.” I stood up, held out my hand to Kristen, and jerked my head at the guys. All of us walked a few feet away, aware of the eyes drilling into our backs.

  “Holy shit, Eli. This is it.” Nick mock-punched my arm.

  “Yeah. It is. I just want to make sure we all still want it. There’s still a year of school left. You know our parents are gonna give us grief over that.”

  Sam cursed. “Yeah. True.”

  “Yeah, but you heard that tall dude. He said they’d have to get our parents approval too.”

  I rubbed both hands over my face hoping to get the blood pumping because this still felt like a dream. “The truth is, if we do this, we’ll have to work harder than we ever did before. It won’t be just jam sessions in my garage on Saturday mornings. It’ll be every day. There won’t be time for things like football. Or drama club,” I added, turning to Kristen. Her blue eyes were bright and her face flushed and she looked so beautiful, and I knew I could do this—would do this—no matter what her answer was, and that really fucking scared me. I just got her…and now, I could lose her.

  “Kris, no pressure. You already know what my answer will be, but I need to know what you want to do.”

  “I get a vote?”

  Beside me, Sam shifted and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Okay, look. I was a total ass to you.”

  Kristen waited a minute and then rolled her hands. “And?”

  “And I’m sorry for it.”

  “And?”

  Sam cursed and shot his eyes toward heaven. “And I was wrong. You got some wicked pipes, and we would not be standing here, having this discussion, if it wasn’t for you. So this happens for us only if you’re part of us.”

  Kristen chewed her lower lip, eyes darting back to the record label guys. “You guys know I did this just for something to put on my conservatory applications, right?”

  Nick scratched the back of his neck, a shadow crossing over his face. He looked away. “Yeah. But that was before.”

  He left it at that. Before Anna went away. Before Etta had a stroke. Before everything went wrong.

  Kristen nodded.

  I squeezed her hand. “If you still want to do that, we need to know now so we can tell them.”

  She took a deep breath and nodded, eyes filling up with tears. “I still really want to do that.”

  And then she pulled her hand free.

  I studied her for a long moment, blood pounding in my ears. I watched her chewing her lip, the tears falling down her face, and knew her gut was probably churning right now, just like mine. But it wasn’t just the gut. It was the heart too. I loved this girl, and I think maybe I’d loved her since I heard the first note she ever sang. When that heart seemed to twist behind my ribs, it was because I held the power to make her biggest dream happen—like she’d just done for me. If I loved her, didn’t I have to give her that? Didn’t I owe her that much?

  I turned and walked back to center stage, where we’d left Cameron and Bryce. I cleared my throat and looked directly at them. “You guys just made a dream come true for us. But it’s a no.”

  Sam made a choking sound. Nick’s hand came down to my shoulder and squeezed.

  “I’m really sorry.” I spoke to the record label guys, but I was apologizing to everyone. “I can’t do this without Kristen, and she wants to do the college thing. A conservatory.” I thought the words would get stuck in my throat.

  But they came out easy.

  Because this was right. Kristen may not have been with us when we started Ride Out. But she was one of us now. So we’d wait…as long as it took, we’d wait until all of us were ready for the next step.

  Bryce and Cameron exchanged a glance. “When you’re ready, make sure you talk to us before you deal with any other label, okay?”

  I laughed and shook their hands. “Deal.”

  I looked at Kristen, standing a bit away from us, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her family surrounded her, all wearing identical looks of extreme pride—except one of her brothers. He looked at her like she was nuts. I laughed and walked over to her, and she put a hand on my face.

  “You said no?”

  I shut my eyes and nodded.

  “But this is what you always wanted.”

  I nodded again. “Yeah. But now there’s something I want even more.”

  A throat cleared. “We’ll just give you a moment.” Kristen’s dad smiled tightly and began pushing Etta’s wheelchair over the rutted ground. They’d made it to the fence around the stage when Etta stuck her hand in the air, and Kristen and I both burst into rib-cracking laughs.

  Rock on, her hand said.

  We wou
ld.

  Epilogue

  “So, Elijah. You’re notoriously private and haven’t granted an interview since that county festival back when you were seventeen. Does this sudden reversal on sharing your personal life have anything to do with being back on Long Island, just an hour’s drive away from the Tony Awards, where odds are, Kristen Cartwright will take home an award? Does it hurt, knowing she’s a success without you?”

  I flash my trademark smirk while Savannah Roberts, the current NBC daytime darling, crosses her very nice legs and sits back, waiting for me to confirm or deny, and I have to suppress an eye roll because it’s so obvious that Savannah is new at her job.

  I’m not.

  We’re sitting in my studio…one of many additions to the house I’d made when the money started flowing. Nick, Sam, and I are sitting on the old stools I’d saved from our days in my parents’ garage. Across the room is Frank, our manager, and all of Savannah’s people—makeup artist, producer, sound guy, lighting guy, and assistant. Sitting on a low table in front of us is our Grammy for Best New Artist.

  The Grammy, plus the release of our third album, means we have to do some press. I’d learned years back that people make up their own shit to fill in the gaps in our narrative, and I’m fine with that so long as they leave Anna out of it. I’d agreed to this interview because Savannah’s people had promised to keep questions about Anna off the table, which was apparently the green light to double her assault on Kristen. And her first volley is a hard one to let go by.

  If I say yes, people would assume I mean it hurts. If I say no, people would assume that I agree with the rest of the statement…that Kristen’s a success despite her association with us…or worse, that she’s the reason we’d won a Grammy.

  I sit back, tilt my head, and share our version of the truth—one Sam, Nick, Kristen, and I had planned ahead of time, knowing this question would come up. “Savannah, I know I speak for Sam and Nick on this… We’re excited and pretty damn proud of Kristen. Nobody’s worked harder than she has, and it’s awesome to see her rewarded.”