Chapter 6: Dan & Crash

The thought sucks the last of the oxygen out of the air. I grip my skirt with clammy hands. I never should have posted it. I was wrong. I didn't want him to see it. So wrong. I have to go take it down.

Can't breathe. Can't freaking breathe.

"Kel?" He looks around, alarmed. "Where's your inhaler?"

I'm already tottering across the living room into the kitchen. In a drawer next to the refrigerator, I pull out my inhaler and shake it frantically, before taking a puff that I pull in deep. Then another.

"Kelly?"

I shake my head and lean on the counter. But it's still hard to inhale, so I let myself down to the floor, put my back to the cupboard, and close my eyes.

"Kel? What can I do? What do you need?"

I just need to focus on relaxing, breathing in through my nose, out through my mouth.

"Kel—"

In, out. In, out. "Gimme a sec."

Which is when Tommy Sandowsky, drummer for the arena-filling, platinum-selling band Crash Happy, lowers himself to the stained linoleum of my kitchen floor. He sits back to watch me. I ignore the laser-point of his gaze until I know I can speak without my voice shaking. "Okay," I say a couple minutes later. "You thought I broke up with Crash."

"Yes."

"Because he told you that?"

"Yes."

Anger blisters in my chest, but I shove it down. That answered a question I'd had for over a year. Why did Tommy bail too? Had I somehow done something that hurt them both? Or did they both morph into prima donnas overnight?

I'd have understood if Tommy got a little distant, or only wanted to talk on the phone. It was always awkward how close he was to me and Crash individually—protective of both of us, concerned about us getting together, but happy for us too. So in a way, his distance made sense. When he didn't return my calls right away, I figured we'd have to set some rules. But as unanswered calls became unanswered texts—lots of them—and days became weeks and I knew they were on tour, and I knew they were talking to other people because Tommy's mom got interviewed on the local news, then I tried to call again and the system message said the call couldn't be connected, I realized he wasn't just busy, or pissed, or trying to support Crash.

He'd stopped caring about me.

Knowing that Crash had lied to Tommy—made it sound like my fault—explained why Tommy ghosted. And it made me want to rage and cry and laugh, all at the same time. I didn't piss my closest friend off so much that he couldn't be bothered with me after he got famous. His asshole famous friend lied to him about me.

"And all this time you've been watching my YouTube channel?"

He scratches the back of his neck again, grimacing. "Sometimes. I mean, I knew you had it. And every few weeks I'd go check out your covers." I shut my eyes, hard. With all of the reassurance of a childhood best friend, he says firmly, "You're good, Kel. Seriously. But I hadn't looked at it since, like, April, I think? We were traveling a lot, doing a lot of publicity. So I just hadn't. Then this morning I went on there and I saw that it was an original. And, hell, I was proud as fuck, Kelly. Seriously. Before I even listened to it. So proud of you for putting yourself out there like that. I didn't even bother with the other songs, just went straight to that one. And, yeah."

"And you showed it to him."

Tommy's face goes dark. "Not right away," he says in a voice so deep and rich with a threat that I stare at him. "First I listened to it a lot of times. Because he was so messed up last year when you broke up—when he broke up with you. I thought it might be about another guy. And I didn't want to do that to him."

He's got his knees up, his arms resting on them. He clasps and unclasps his right hand. Which is when I notice the red, swollen knuckles, one of them split open with a smear of dried blood.

"You hit him?"

"Fucker deserved it."

My heart clenches. "Tommy!"

Tommy's face doesn't move. Suddenly I catch a glimpse of the rocker bad-boy the entertainment stories are forever talking about. Before, they'd baffled me. The Tommy I knew was about as much of a bad boy as he was a menopausal goose. But the Tommy I knew wouldn't bail on me without warning either. So I'd convinced myself maybe I just didn't know him anymore.

"He lied to me, Kel. We don't do that."

"But to hit him—"

"Do not defend that bastard. Not when he hurt you, then made me hurt you and...shit." Tommy pushes to his feet, pacing in front of me. "I didn't want to hit him. I went to his house because I needed to know. I figured I'd be able to tell by how he looked when he watched it." The muscles at the back of his jaw flex.

"And?" How did he look when he saw me? Does he miss me? Is he sad? Does he care?

"He's lucky I didn't kick his ass then and there."

I look pointedly at his knuckles.

Tommy grimaces. "I gave him a chance to explain. It was obvious he knew he was the asshole. But he admits lying to me then tries to say I can't see you." He stops in the middle of my kitchen. Black t-shirt, studded belt, ripped jeans. Rocker hair, and piercings in both brows and one lip. My ripped, hardass, dearest friend since the fourth grade looks at me with the same fear as the bullied twelve-year-old. "It happened, Kel. I lost it." His Adam's apple bobs. "I wanted to kill him."

"Tommy." I want to reach for him, but he's impenetrable.

"I'm serious."

I take a deep breath. Tommy usually looks placid, laid-back. And it's not an act. But he's got anger issues from way back. The bullying. Losing his dad. His mom and her problems. He doesn't lose control often, but when he does, it's dangerous to be within arm's reach.

"Is Crash okay?"

Tommy snorts. "His head's harder than mine."

Uncertain what that means, I get to my feet, steadying myself against the counter. Tommy waits for me to speak. I think we both know what I need to say. I take a new breath and say, "It's not your fault Crash lied. But if you'd answered one phone call, Tommy. Texted back one time." The tears I've been fighting blur my vision. "I can't just forget that. You have no idea what this year's been like."

He scratches the back of his neck, shakes his long hair back. "Fair enough."

In looking anywhere but at him, I catch sight of the ancient clock in the kitchen. It's almost five!

I can feel the blood drain out of my face. "You have to get out of here. Dan'll be home in a few minutes and I need to cook."

Tommy scowls. "He still has you playing the maid, then?"

I glare at him until he puts up a hand, acknowledging that he does not get to run commentary on my life. His Adam's apple bobs again, but he doesn't move, even when I look towards the door. "I'll go in a sec. I just . . . can I call you? Can we keep in touch? We're leaving on tour again in December, but until then I want to make it up to you, Kel."

I scowl, fight the blur that threatens. "We can text, I guess. See what happens."

Tommy's shoulders slump, but his face relaxes. "Okay, that's a start. And Crash?"

My protest gets lost in the adrenaline rush flooding my system at the sound of the garage door.

"You have to leave! Now!"

Reluctantly, Tommy goes. He knows what Dan's like. Or at least, he knows how bad Dan was a year ago. He has no idea that it's gotten worse. But he's giving me concerned looks over his shoulder as I shove him towards the back door that's right off the kitchen, praying Dan will take the time to shake out his car mats like he often does before coming in. Because I can't risk him seeing Tommy run past the back windows. "Hurry!"

Tommy is hurrying. But he's also talking. "Kel, are you okay?"

"Yes! Just get out!"

"Is he hitting you, Kelly?"

"No! But he gets really mad. Please—"

The sound of a door stops me dead, halfway across the kitchen.

"Kelly Annette Berkstram, who the hell is here with you?"

It's too late. Even if Tommy goes now, Dan'll hear the door and he'll just go after him.

I do a quick mental calculation about whether it's better to let them clash outside, where the fences will shield them from the street, but the neighbors might see so Dan will be more careful, or for me to try to calm him down in here with no audience.

I'm watching the wide opening between the kitchen and living room where Dan will appear when I hear the kitchen door creaking behind me. "You might as well stay, Tommy. He'll catch you anyway."

"You learn the guitar withou' me?" slurs a deep voice that isn't Tommy or Dan.

A voice I know like I know my own.

Everything slows down.

Dan's footsteps and curses pound down the hallway, ever closer, as I whirl. Halfway around I see Tommy, mouth open, one hand rising in warning.

Leaning on the handle of our back door is Crash, eyes bloodshot, one side of his face swollen in startling shades of purple.

"There's two of them?" Dan bellows, rounding the corner behind me.

I gasp. "It's not what you—"

Dan roars. Tommy's face darkens. I mentally beg him not to hit Dan as Crash stumbles forward, sprawls on the floor, and vomits on Dan's shoes.

*****

ENJOYING THE READ? Because this book is complete, it doesn't need Powerstones anymore--but my entry for the WebNovel Spirity Awards (2021) does: LOVING THE FORBIDDEN PRINCE. If you'd like to support me as an author, please consider giving your votes or gifts there instead! And thank you for reading, no matter which book you love!

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