Kelly
When I got to Crash's house, they were both on the deck with a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket, and playing their guitars.
And for the first few hours, we didn't talk about contracts, managers, lawyers, or Amber. We just played. And sang. And laughed. And I maybe cried a little. But they were happy tears.
There was a moment in the middle of one of the songs where I didn't need to sing or play. So I just watched them—Tommy ripping on his guitar, lips twisted into a hardass snarl, Crash's voice tearing the night. And I realized, this is happening.
Maybe it can be a good thing.
I'm feeling reckless. Probably because of two glasses of champagne, but who cares?
We play, and we sing, and it's as if the past year hasn't even happened. We're together in the way we used to be--where no one else understands us, but we get each other, and that's all we need.
