Page 59 of Crash & Burn

“Really? That’s awesome.”

“Wait, you didn’t notice the crowd?” I know it is hard to see out with the lights, and he has so much to focus on when he is up there, but it seems odd he didn’t notice the crowd getting bigger.

“I kept an eye out,” he begins, “but I usually get into this zone where it is just me and the guys, just thinking about the music and really feeling the sound. Does that sound stupid?”

“No, not at all,” I assure him. “It actually makes a lot of sense.” Eddie’s love for his music reminds me of Nico’s, and I know how easy it is to get wrapped up in the sound. It used to happen to me too, especially when the music is so special, so close to what you are feeling. It is easy to do with songs written by others, so I can’t imagine how easy it is when the song is one you wrote.

“How did the show go for you?” he asks. He keeps his eyes forward, but his body is slightly angled toward me with the way he is holding the steering wheel, his arm still resting on the console but a few inches closer than before.

“Better than I thought it would,” I reply, which is the truth. I was nervous, but it went well. Better than I could have hoped for, especially taking into consideration where I was this time last year. If you would have told methisis what I would be doing with my time, actually looking forward to being in crowded places with music blasting, I would have laughed my ass off. Even a month ago, there was no way I would have even imagined this is where I would be.

Band photography, and photography in general, is something I can see myself doing, which reminds me I need to talk to Mateo about making that website for me.

“You felt okay out there? You know, in the crowd with all the music and people?”

“What do you mean?” I ask. He hit the nail right on the head, buthow? Am I that easy to read? I haven’t told him the whole story about Nico’s song and why I don’t really listen to music anymore. I don’t think I ever even told him I was nervous to be out in the crowd.

“I mean, your brother is in a band, and you’re a band photographer, but you have said how you’re not a music person,” he explains. “You also get punch-y when you’re in crowds.”

A tiny gasp escapes my lips, “I do not!” I exclaim.

He laughs, and the whole car lights up.

I will never get over Eddie’s laugh.

“Yes,you do,” he says in between what can only be described as giggles. “When I first met you, you had just punched a grown man.”

“First of all,” I turn my body as much as my seat belt will allow to face him, “we met before that.” Eddie rolls his eyes at my clarification even though it was necessary. We met when I was a teenager and barely knew each other, but we still met before. “Second of all, so do you!”

“That was only because I had to stopyoufrom punching him,” he retorts, but he does so in a way that is still playful.

“Yeah right, raindrop,” I argue. “I can handle myself.” He has yet to tell me to stop with the ridiculous nickname. I started using it as an attempt to make him blush, but it is starting to stick.

“Trust me, I know you can. Doesn’t mean I’m going to miss the chance to put a lowlife like that guy in his fucking place.” There is an edge to his voice, and I can’t help but say what is on my mind.

“Yeah, you were pretty pissed.” I guess now is a better time than ever to ask the question I have had in my head. “What was that about?” Eddie’s smile is gone now, but he isn’t closing himself off. “You could’ve gotten kicked off the tour,” I add.

“I don’t care about that,” he says quickly and then shakes his head. “No, I mean, I do, but I didn’t. Not at that moment. When I saw his arm around you I just—” he squeezes the steering wheel in one hand and fists the other, turning all his knuckles white.

I have the urge to grab hold of his hand resting between us, but I push it down.

“I just don’t like seeing grown men take advantage of women. I know you can handle yourself, and I’m sure you would have if I didn’t get to you in time. But I couldn’t help it.”

There is a story behind what he is saying, and I know it has something to do with the anger he buries and the sadness in his eyes. I know it has to do with his need to come across as happy and laid back and why he is always so concerned with everyone around him.

I just don’t know the root of it, and I can’t make him tell me.

So instead I give in to the urge and grab his hand, pulling it into my lap. I feel the tension release as I slowly use my fingers to unwrap his. I steal a glance his way and see his brows are furrowed, and he refuses to turn and look at me. I put my hand in his and interlock my fingers with his. He doesn’t reciprocate at first, but, after a moment, his fingers wrap around my hand.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” I whisper even though it is just us.

“There is nothing to tell, sunshine.” He gives my hand a squeeze before letting go, switching what hand is on the steering wheel.

A few moments pass before he says anything else, “Mia,” he starts, “we need to talk about us.”

I angle my body back to face the front, defiance lining my voice. “There is nous. We’re friends.”

Friends who are only friends because of my brother.

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