Live Out Loud Page 2

  And then, there’s a shift in the tempo, and he’s smiling and happy.

  *

  Griffin, the lead singer, lifts his hands in the air and says something into the microphone. Chloe, standing beside me, jumps up and down in response.

  With a little nudge from my hip, I get her attention. “What did he say?”

  “We’re the best crowd they’ve ever played for,” she signs quickly, turning her attention back to the stage.

  I glance around the club, watching all the cheering bodies, when my eyes fall on Trey, Chloe’s ex. I’ve never truly hated anyone, but Trey Carver is in the lead to earn that distinction.

  Dammit! I hope Chloe hasn’t seen him. I’ve got to get her out of here before she does. Trey is Chloe’s personal brand of meth. I don’t know what it is about the guy, when they were together, he treated her like shit and she always took him back.

  I knock my hip into her side again. When her dark eyes focus on mine, I tell her the most convincing lie I can think of. “I’m not feeling well. I really want to get home.”

  “Really?” She raises an eyebrow, confused. “The band’s finished, but we could get another drink, mingle a little.”

  No mingling. Mingling is bad. That is exactly what I’m trying to avoid. I shake my head and repeat myself. “No. I want to go.”

  With a dramatic sinking of her shoulders, she signs, “All right. Let’s go.”

  I know she’s disappointed, but what I’m doing is for her own good.

  As we turn to leave, I sweep my eyes across the stage one more time, hoping to catch a final glimpse of Thorin Kline. This time, my shoulders deflate like a popped balloon. The stage is bare. Thorin’s gone.

  I pivot on the heel of my shoe and nod to Chloe to go to the right side. The last time I saw Trey, he was behind us, but toward the back. Standing on my tiptoes, I scan the crowded room but don’t see him.

  Chloe moves right and we press through the crowd. We’re almost to the exit when a heavy hand presses down on my shoulder.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Thor

  Shit, sweetheart, where’s the fire? “Hey, Red, hold up,” I say, trying to get her attention. I don’t want to startle her, but it’s no use, she can’t hear me over the noise of the club. If I don’t stop her now, she’ll leave and I won’t get her number. I drop my hand onto her shoulder and she goes rigid under my touch.

  Smooth, Kline. Way to scare the poor girl.

  Very slowly, she turns around, almost as if she’s expecting to see the Grim Reaper standing behind her. When our gazes meet, her shoulders relax and she lets out a deep breath. Up close, she’s even more beautiful. And Jesus…her eyes. When I caught her gaze for a few seconds on stage, I knew there was something special about her eyes; I just couldn’t see them clearly. Up close, they’re extraordinary. I’ve never seen eyes like hers before…the color of emerald sea glass. A long forgotten memory surfaces, one of my earliest…walking along the beach as a kid…with my dad…before everything went to hell.

  I shake off the phantom thought and focus on the girl. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just…I…” I stumble over my words like I’m a thirteen-year-old boy. What the hell’s my problem? She’s not the first chick you’ve ever talked to. Spit the damn words out, Thor. “I saw you while I was up on stage, and I was hoping to get your number, I’d really like to take you out sometime.”

  There. I said it. Not hard.

  She smiles widely and nods. Lifting her hands between us, I notice her fingers move. Graceful and deliberate hand motions. Is she using sign language?

  “She can read your lips.”

  I glance to my right. A tall girl with long, half black, half blond hair flanks her side. Pretty, but pales in comparison to her friend.

  “Read my lips?” I shake my head, not understanding. I point to the redheaded beauty and direct my question to her friend. “She’s deaf?”

  There’s a tap on my shoulder and my eyes snap back to Red’s. Moving her hands again, she signs something, and I’m clueless. Her lips move, but she doesn’t speak. And apparently, I’m shit at lipreading. But at least her expression is playful. That’s a plus, right?

  She lowers her arms and smiles. Damn, I love how the right side of her lips pulls up higher than the left.

  Since Griffin and I started Mine Shaft, I’ve never had to chase down a girl. For some reason, chicks dig guys in a band. They’ve always pursued me. But, the one time I see a girl so gorgeous, and take the time to run after her, she can’t even hear me.

  I look at her friend. “What did she just say?”

  Red’s friend folds her arms over her chest, wearing the same beatific smile she did when I stopped them. “She answered your question. Yes, she’s deaf. She also asked if you still want her number.”

  I stare at the girl. With wild red curls framing her face and a mischievous smirk, she waits for my answer. Hell yeah, I do. I want the opportunity to get to know this woman. There’s something about her…I don’t understand what…but I know want to find out. And damn, I want a chance to run my hands over the curves of her body.

  I look her square in the eye, “So, what about it, Red? You gonna give me your number?”

  She cocks her head, glances at her friend, makes some complicated movements with her hands, and holds her phone out to me.

  This whole situation is so damn weird. Red’s friend laughs and says, “She isn’t going to give you her number, but she’ll take yours.”

  I scrutinize Red’s face. Is she serious? “You want my number?”

  She nods, again.

  My lips pull up at the corners. Huh. This is a first. No girl has ever denied me her number and asked for mine instead. “Sure thing, Red.”

  I look into her eyes and deliberately fold my hand around hers, lifting the phone from her fingers. I’ve been dying to touch her ivory skin, and now that I have, I want more. Even beneath my callused fingers, her skin is silky and warm. I can only imagine what she would look like with that dress on my floor, and I sure as hell want the chance to find out.

  She nods, green eyes flashing.

  I wink at her and look down at the phone in my hands. Behind the apps a little white dog peeks out the side of a purse. “Cute mutt.”

  The friend chuckles. Smirking at both ladies, I tip my head in the direction of her screen and tap on the phone app. Adding my name and number to her contacts list, I go a step further and add myself to her “favorites” list, and put myself on top. Then, dammit, images of her on top of me in bed pop into my head. Shit! Calm yourself, Kline.

  I click the button on the side of her phone and the screen goes dark. Holding it out to her, she reaches for it, this time, wrapping her hand around mine, just like I’d done. That small gesture, the heat of her touch, and the infinitesimal connection of our bodies has mine aching for something deeper.

  Dropping her phone into her purse, she glances up at me. Pressing the tips of her fingers against her chin, she lowers her hand, pulling it away from her face.

  “She says, ‘Thank you.’”

  I mimic the gesture. “Thank you,” I say in return, keeping my eyes glued to her brilliant green ones.

  The girls smile, then turn to walk away. With their heads bent low, I can see the conspiratorial glances, hear the friend’s hushed giggles, and see Red’s fingers move.

  “Hey!” I call after them. “What did she say?”

  Over her shoulder, Red’s friend says, “Harper will let you know.”

  Harper. She had me so flustered, I’d forgotten to ask her name. I am such a douche.

  Harper and her friend make it to the back of the club and slip out the door. The second they’re out of sight, I turn and make my way back to the stage. Pauly, Griffin, and Adam have the mess well contained.

  I blow out a long breath, lift the last cabinet, and start down the hall to the back exit. Images of Harper play on a continuous loop in my head: her lips…her eyes…her freckled, ivory skin…the way s
he moved her skillful, elegant fingers. They’re so long and slender. I bet she’s good with her hands.

  Kicking open the propped back door with my boot, I see Griffin in the back of the van arranging the equipment. “Hey, man. Got one more.” I walk over and pass the amp to him.

  “Where’ve you been?” he asks.

  “Just talking to someone.”

  “Yeah? The Hammer arranging a post-concert hookup?” Griffin hops down from the van and lands a punch to my shoulder.

  “Nah. Not tonight.” I think of Harper. Why hadn’t I insisted on getting her number? Damn, she’s got me all fucked up. “I promised my mom I’d stop by tonight.”

  “She doing okay?” Griffin throws the van doors shut, the echo of slamming metal reverberating down the small alley behind the club.

  For the first time in twenty years, I can answer with a confident, “Yeah. She’s good.”

  “That’s great, man. If anyone deserves some peace, it’s your mom.”

  Damn straight she does. “Thanks.”

  Griffin locks the van. “I’m going to give Pauly the keys, then I’m heading back to the apartment. I need some fucking sleep. That drive from Rhode Island was a bitch.”

  “How’s Jill?” I ask, knowing it’s killing him to have his best friend halfway across the country. They’ve been inseparable since they were kids.

  Scuffing his foot in the loose gravel of the cracked pavement, he shrugs and casts his eyes downward. A beat later, he pulls in a large breath of air, settles his attention back on me, and says, “She’s going to kick serious ass at that school.”

  I have no doubts. Jillian is going to be a famous designer one day. “Damn, right,” I agree.

  “I’ll catch you later, man,” I say, walking toward the side of the building.

  “See ya.” Griffin steps toward the door, pulls it open, and disappears inside.

  I glance at my watch and pull a pack of cigarettes from my jacket pocket. Slapping the pack against my palm, I take one out and slip it between my lips. With a quick flick of my wrist, the lighter catches. I shield the flame and bring it to the end of the cigarette, inhaling those first glorious puffs of nicotine. The tension in my shoulders ebbs.

  It’s a soundless night. As I make my way around the building, toward my car, all I hear is the crunch of gravel beneath my boots and the faint crackle of burning tobacco when I take a long pull on my cigarette. Once again, thoughts of Harper come flooding back. She can’t hear. To her, the world is truly soundless.

  Am I a complete idiot? Can I really go on a date with a woman who can’t hear? How the hell are we supposed to communicate?

  So many questions have me scared shitless. This is uncharted territory. When it comes to one-night stands, I’m the king. I don’t do relationships. I’m the Hammer for fuck’s sake. My reputation precedes me.

  But with Harper, there’s an inexplicable desire for more than just one night, the glimmer of hope that she might text me, and I’ll get the chance to know her, and for some reason, that silences all of my fears.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Thor

  I kill the Charger’s engine and pull the latch on the door. Stepping out of the car, I glance around the quiet parking lot. A couple of the large security lights are burned out and the lot’s darker than it should be. Mom’s new townhouse isn’t in the best neighborhood, but at least she’s out of his house, and that makes her a million times safer by comparison.

  Walking along the cracked sidewalk, I scan the address numbers nailed into the brick, to the right of each front door, and stop at 12B—Mom’s new place. I’m so fucking proud of her, this move was a long time coming. She should have left my drunken asshole of a father years ago—why she stayed so long, I’ll never understand. He beat the shit out of her…out of the both of us, for years. But, nine months ago was the last straw—when he put her in the hospital with a handful of broken ribs and a concussion. The police tried to track him down, but he skipped town. I begged her to file a restraining order and leave him. She agreed it was time to move out and start fresh, but didn’t want to get the courts involved, content that he was truly gone this time.

  I press the doorbell and hear its faint chime inside, followed by Mom’s footsteps. I glance at my watch and notice it’s just after one in the morning. Why did she insist that I come over this late? What’s going on?

  “Who is it?” Mom calls from the other side.

  “It’s me, Mom.”

  She turns the deadbolt and I can hear her sliding the chain off the latch. With a yank, she opens the door and smiles. “Thor,” she says with a sigh. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Sure thing. What’s up?”

  She opens the door wider and I step inside, locking the deadbolt.

  Mom stands in front of me, smiling from ear to ear like she’s won the lottery or something. “Ma? You okay?”

  She stretches her arms out wide. “Come here. I just need a hug.”

  I step into her arms and swallow her tiny, five-feet-four-inch frame with all of my six feet two inches. My height comes from his side of the family…the Kline traits dominating any of Mom’s Gilbert genes.

  Mom rubs her hands up and down my back, squeezing me as tightly as she can. “So glad you’re here. Love you,” she mumbles against my chest.

  I tighten my biceps, squeezing her closer. “Love you, too. But what’s so important that you needed me to come over in the middle of the night?” I break our hug to give her a sidelong glance. I know she has an ulterior motive, but hell if I know what it is.

  “Can’t a mom just want her only son to stop by?” She gives my arm a squeeze.

  “I know you, you’re up to something.” Walking over to her couch, I plop down and toe-off my boots; my feet are killing me.

  “You’re right. I do need you to do something. I need some pictures hung.”

  Pictures? I pull my eyebrows together. “I don’t think your neighbors would appreciate me driving nails into the walls in middle of the night. I could have come tomorrow and taken care of the pictures, Ma. What’s really going on?”

  With a heavy sigh, she falls into the oversized armchair. She’s quiet for a moment, avoiding my eyes. When she does finally turn her gaze back on me, her eyes are shiny with fresh, unshed tears. “You got me.”

  I sit up. “What is it?” Anger boils in my veins, and as much as I hate to acknowledge it, so does fear. For so long, it was fear of what he could do to the both of us, now it’s fear of what he can do to her. I can take care of myself. “Is he back? Did he come here? Did he hurt you?” We haven’t heard from him in nine months, but that doesn’t mean he won’t come back. He’s like a horrible disease you can’t get rid of.

  Mom shakes her head and tries to wave away my panic. “No, it isn’t that. He hasn’t been here.”

  Blowing out a heavy breath, I lean back on the couch, rubbing a hand over my close-cropped hair. If that man comes anywhere near her again, I will tear him a new asshole. Over my dead body will he ever hurt her again.

  “You want some coffee?” she asks, standing, not waiting for my answer before heading down the narrow hallway toward the kitchen.

  I heave myself off the couch, exhaustion washing over me. I’m so fucking tired, I could drink an entire pot of coffee and still fall asleep. “I guess,” I mumble, following her down the hall.

  In the kitchen, Mom’s at the counter pouring water into the coffeemaker, her back to me. Pulling out one of the chairs, I flip it backward and straddle it, watching her. “It’s not the pictures. I can tell something’s up. Talk to me.”

  She busies herself, measuring scoops of coffee grounds into a filter, ignoring my question. Flipping the lid closed, she presses the power button and the machine wheezes to life. I need to get her a new coffeemaker, one of those one-cup pod contraptions.

  Mom turns around and joins me at the table. Sadness is etched on her face, extinguishing the light in her eyes and pulling her smile down. I reach across the table and cl
utch her tiny hand in mine. “Talk to me.”

  Her eyes catch mine and she gives a closed mouth smile. “It’s stupid.”

  “If it’s bothering you this much, it’s not stupid.”

  She sighs heavily, shoulders slumping. “It’s so quiet here,” she says. “I’m not used to the quiet.”

  I wish I understood what she meant. I treasure the quiet…crave it, actually. When I was younger, Dad’s noise sucked the life out of Mom and me, and now, with Mine Shaft booking bigger gigs, there’s a constant buzz in my ears, like I’ve stood to close to the speakers at a concert. It’s rare that I can escape to my quiet place. “Isn’t it nice to be able to hear your own thoughts for once?” And not get the shit beat out of you for having an opinion? That’s what I really want to say to her, but I’m not here to make her feel bad.

  Pursing her lips, she shakes her head. “That’s just it. I went from living with my parents, right into a place with your dad. I’ve never been on my own, and to be honest, I’m scared. At least when I know you’re going to visit, I’ve got something to look forward to.”

  “Being by yourself has got to be better than living with him.” I bite my lip, tasting blood, trying my damnedest to dial back the vitriol I want to spew. I hate that he still has an effect on her. Even when he isn’t around, he’s cinched around her neck like a goddamn noose.

  “It is. I should have left him a long time ago.” She stands, her chair scraping against the worn linoleum. Turning around, she walks to the cabinet and pulls down two mugs and fills them. Two cups of coffee in hand, she returns to the table, the hint of a smile on her face. “Being alone is hard, too. But, I’ll adjust.” Sliding a cup across the table to me, she sips hers. “I’ve survived worse than loneliness and an apartment that makes weird noises in the middle of the night,” she laughs humorlessly.