Out Loud

Chapter One

Was it my pride?

Tristan stared at the paper, eyes dry and unwilling to focus. The pencil scratches were poised on the edge of legibility. The inability to read his own writing was, he suspected, an implication that he should stop attempting to work for the day.

He set the pencil down, watched it roll across the table. The sound was abrupt in the silence, a marching patter of wood-on-wood until it concluded in a plummet to tile. A sigh escaped his dry lips.

Should I have tried harder to keep us together?

But he knew the answer, even as his mind spoke the question. He had known the answer the very first time he demanded it of himself, and the answer never changed, despite how often he chased the tails of dreams and memory in circles.

It had been time for the end, and nothing he did or didn't do could have changed that. Clutching at the remains would have resulted in a sad crumbling, sand slipping through cracks.

They had been a successful band. Since the very first day they were picked up by a big label, Tristan had never let himself forget: there were so few bands that made it. Dreams and talent weren't always enough. Luck, too, was necessary.

Every day, throughout the life that was Almost Heaven, even on those days when quitting seemed like a tempting solution, Tristan never forgot that it had been a gift for them to make it. What fuller career could a band expect? He had lost count of the number of live performances; the band had toured around the world; their list of albums was long.

Even so...

I guess I was the only one?

—He hadn't been ready to let go.

Another ghost of breath, then he tore the page out of his notebook. Without even glancing at the ruin of the page, he got up and went to slip it into the bottom drawer of his desk.

'Never throw anything out,' you told me. God, that was years ago.

And yet it still brought the hint of a smile to his lips.

Tristan had taken those words to heart. Ryan had spoken them so solemnly, though even in that moment of gravity, the light of joy and life had not been absent from his eyes. Ryan contained light. And the brightness that shone from his eyes when he smiled could challenge the darkest moment.

Since hearing that advice a decade ago, Tristan had stopped throwing anything away. A clumsy series of notes, a scrap of lyrics, not matter how terrible or useless it was, it went into a drawer. There was always potential. And if it couldn't someday be turned into a song, if it sat in that unused stash and was never once looked at again with new inspiration—

'So what? At least you tried, and you have proof you tried. Music isn't just about what we play for others, or perform for a crowd. It's everything, even if you're the only one who knows about it, even if it sucks.'

Ryan wasn't one to often give advice. He listened intently and asked questions often. He was as ready to debate as he was to stop a burgeoning argument with a joke. Advice was rare, and after all those years together, Tristan still didn't understand why. He had a lot to offer.

On the other hand, Ryan came to Tristan often for advice on any topic—music, relationships, family. Life. Tristan wondered if anything he had imparted to Ryan was as memorable or held as closely as that which Ryan had given him.

"Go away," Tristan murmured to his thoughts, the echo of a months-old plea. He shut the drawer firmly; the pencil holder on one corner of the desk rattled with the force. Tristan turned away, dropping his hand from sight before he had a chance to see if his fingers were shaking.