Girl in Love

by Quinn, Caisey

  It reminded her that she was human.

  But Marlena’s last words wounded her right down to her soul. After they’d told her they’d come to her show and that she was welcome in their home anytime, the lady added one last sentiment.

  “He spoke very highly of you when he visited. Went on and on about how amazing you are and how much you changed his life, inspired him to be a better man. A love like that…” She paused to look at her daughter, and Kylie’s heart ached. “It’s special. And it’s rare. I hope my own daughter is lucky enough to find such a love some day.”

  “Looks like she already has,” she said, nodding at the woman before closing her door so she could have her breakdown in private. Once she was safely in the cab of her truck, she gave up her stubborn battle and let her tears fall.

  THE CEMETERY was empty when Kylie arrived. She made her way to where her mother and father lay from memory.

  “Hi, Daddy. Sorry I haven’t been home in a while. Life has been…interesting.”

  It was the first time she’d seen the headstone Trace had purchased for him in person. Running her hand over the cool marble slab and through each of the letters of her last name, she let out a breath of reverence. It was beautiful.

  Even her hometown was a reminder. There was no escaping Trace Corbin because her feelings for him, the impact he’d had on her life, was as much a part of her as her DNA.

  She crouched down and admired the guitar etched into her daddy’s headstone before she sat between his stone and her mom’s.

  “Bet y’all are surprised to see me.” She sighed, wondering if it was possible to pour her heart and soul out until she had nothing left. It was beginning to feel like it was. “I wonder if you’d even recognize me. Sometimes I see a stranger in the mirror.”

  She watched a few small birds take flight in the distance. Then twirled a blade of grass around her finger as she collected her thoughts and tried to do the same with her emotions.

  “I wish you were here tonight. I’d get you front-row tickets so you could finally see me living my dream. Well, our dream, Daddy.”

  The sound of her own voice startled her. It was hollow.

  Nothing at all like the way a girl’s voice should sound when talking about living her dream.

  “I miss y’all so much. Floating around in the world with no family to speak of… feels like I hatched from an egg sometimes.” She shook her head at her own ridiculousness. “But then I remember how I learned to play guitar. And how Daddy always said I had your eyes, Mama.”

  She wiped her tears from her face and leaned her cheek against the cool marble.

  “They call me Nashville’s Sweetheart.” A small humorless laugh escaped her lips. “Pretty crazy since being sweet was never really my thing, huh?” Tremors began to rack her body from the inside out. “I just…I just hope you’re proud of me.”

  Using both hands to brush her hair back from her face, she stood. “I met someone. He’s…well, he’s kind of a mess. We both are. But together it seems like…maybe we’re not so messed up. I wish y’all could meet him.”

  She looked down at the two stones side by side, knowing this was probably not a place she’d return to. At least not anytime soon.

  “I miss y’all—more than I can hardly stand most days. But I’m glad you’re together now.” She kissed her fingertips and touched each of their carved names before walking back to her truck.

  She’d just pulled onto Main Street when she saw it. The ghost of a girl carrying a faded pink suitcase with a black guitar case strapped to her back.

  She thought of warning that girl, telling her to be careful. Explaining that she might have to choose between following her heart and chasing her dreams and that sometimes she might not even get a choice either way.

  But she didn’t. Because that girl was going to have to learn for herself. And as Kylie drove toward the outskirts of her hometown, she realized a warning wouldn’t have made a bit of difference. That girl wouldn’t have changed anything anyways.

  “Goodbye, Pride,” Kylie whispered into the wind as she drove out of town.

  “I SAID I’d pay for it and I will. Claire Ann, I’m not letting this go to court if I can help it.” He shook his head. “The media gets so much as a whiff of this and they will destroy her. She’s my sister, she was drinking, and someone was hurt. They won’t see a sweet kid who messed up. They’ll make her a monster.”

  Trace sat in the polished mahogany-filled office that belonged to his lawyer arguing with his sister for the third day in a row. But Rae’s case was finally being closed it seemed. Her friend’s family had settled on an amount and it was being handled out of court.

  “It’s just, the girl is fine. The doctors said she’ll make a full recovery and they’re taking advantage because of who you are. It’s not fair, Trace.”

  He looked at his sister and his manager, who was also her boyfriend, as they sat there holding hands. Rusty blades of regret stabbed him deep in the chest.

  “Well, fair isn’t exactly the running theme in my life, in case you haven’t noticed. I’ll deal with it.”

  After he’d signed a nondisclosure agreement and a check with an astronomical figure written on it, he left the lawyer’s office. Pauly and Claire Ann had asked him to come to dinner with them, but he could only handle being around people in love for so long. He really wanted to see his baby sister and check in on her physical therapy session, but she lived with his mom and that was a lady he avoided at all costs.

  After Kylie had decimated her verbally, in that special Kylie Ryans way she had, the woman had actually offered him a half-ass apology. But he was past caring about that these days.

  He’d worked out the things he’d needed to work out with Gretchen, so he had that going for him. But he had a meeting with Capital Letter Records in a week. He was pretty damn sure it was going to be the final ‘so long, fuck you very much’ from Noel Davies.

  And then he’d have nothing left. Not. One. Damn. Thing.

  Ripping the tie from his throat, he aimed his truck in the one direction he knew he shouldn’t.

  “WHAT CAN I getcha, handsome?”

  He snorted. The waitress’s vision must’ve been bad. Or she was willing to lie for a good tip. He hadn’t shaved in a week. He had a trucker hat pulled low over his bloodshot eyes. He couldn’t even remember the last night he’d had a decent night’s sleep.

  “Just club soda for now, sweetheart.” He knew he’d practically snarled at her. But he wasn’t in the mood for nice. He’d come into the bar after an hour of sitting outside in his truck and trying to come up with reasons not to.

  When he finally worked up the nerve, he’d stepped into his own private hell. The scent of beer and bourbon and cigars had slapped him so hard in the face he’d nearly turned around and walked right back out. But an unrelenting desire propelled him forward. Need. Emptiness. A pain he could only rid himself of one of two ways.

  Either Kylie Ryans in his arms, or a bottle in his hands.

  Turning to his left, he saw the mirror behind the rows of liquor bottles. He caught a glimpse of his reflection and nearly threw his glass at it.

  It was a strange thing to see the devil inside himself. To recognize the tormented creature that thirsted for destruction he was sure he’d chased away for good.

  But that was the really screwed up part about being an alcoholic. It was a beast that lay dormant, not one that ever went away.

  Everything he’d been through in his entire life twisted together in his mind, as if thrown into a blender that was set on puree.

  There was no escape from it. From her.

  The smell of her, the feel of her. The sweet honey-vanilla taste of her skin that matched her intoxicating scent. She was blinding shards of light in the darkness of his mind. The memory of being inside her was cruel and vivid, even more so than any of his nightmares. Having her was like taking a hit of something that took him higher than he’d ever been. Losing her was what he imagined goi
ng cold turkey on heroin might be like.

  She’d run. Grabbed her heart out of his hands and taken off just as he had when everything had gotten a little too real.

  She needed space. And she’d wanted answers he didn’t know how to give.

  He didn’t even blame her.

  And he didn’t know how to get her back. Gretchen had some theories, but she was the last person on the planet he planned to ask for help with Kylie Ryans.

  He winced at hearing her name. And even though he hadn’t even had a drop of alcohol yet, he heard her voice. Her strong, melodic voice. The one he assumed would be haunting his dreams for years to come.

  “And we have the exclusive, folks. Kylie Ryans, Nashville’s Sweetheart, has called off her The Other Side of Me tour after a final show in Oklahoma City.”

  “Turn that up,” he hollered to the bartender, an older gentleman who he was pretty sure owned the place.

  “Keep your pants on, buddy,” the old man answered as he reached for the remote.

  Trace lost his breath when her beautiful face filled the screen.

  “It just wasn’t right. And the label is upset, and the sponsors will want to be reimbursed, and I know there will be disappointed fans. That’s the hardest part, knowing I let people I care about down. But this is the right thing to do.”

  A perky brunette reporter shoved a microphone in her face. “Kylie, can you comment on Trace’s absence from the tour? Surely canceling multiple sold-out shows warrants a bit more explanation than a family emergency. Is there any truth to the rumor that Trace is back in a rehab facility?”

  Judging from the look on her face, that rumor was a new one to her. Trace wasn’t surprised. He knew that would always be the one that came up from now on. He didn’t have any problem being a walking punch line. But he hated himself even more for putting her through this.

  “I won’t comment on that,” Kylie said evenly. “The fact of the matter is things in our personal lives often affect our public ones. And even though we put ourselves out there with our music, it doesn’t mean that we don’t deserve to be able to deal with difficult situations privately, just as anyone else has the right to. If I were a teacher or a nurse, I’d be given leave from my job to deal with a family situation if needed. This is no different. Trace needed time to be with his loved ones and he deserves that. He gives a great deal to the community and has earned the right to take a break if that’s what’s best for him.”

  Kylie lowered sunglasses over her eyes and Trace caught sight of her friend Lu and her assistant Hannah stepping up on either side of her. The three of them walked to a black SUV with two security team members close behind, but the reporter clearly wasn’t done grilling her.

  “Yes, well, can you tell us why you aren’t fulfilling your commitment to your fans by finishing this tour with Bryce Parker as planned?”

  Kylie stopped and turned. Trace saw Hannah’s hand come up to signify that the interview was over, but Kylie answered the question.

  “Finishing this tour—the tour named for a song I wrote with Trace, the tour that was ours from the very beginning—with anyone other than Trace, would be a joke. It would be a sad simulation of something that can’t be forced or faked or copied. And I won’t do that to my fans. I won’t sell them a cheap imitation of a man I know to be one of the most incredible performers and musicians of our time. Not for all the money or the labels or the sponsors in the world.”

  Flashbulbs went off in every direction as she climbed in the vehicle and slammed the door.

  When the waitress returned to ask him if he was ready for something stronger, all she found was a twenty-dollar bill and an empty chair.

  “CAUGHT YOUR interview on television,” a familiar voice said. “Impressive. I gotta say, I didn’t know you had those kind of guts.”

  Kylie turned as she stepped out of her apartment building and tried desperately not to glare at the woman behind her. “Clearly it’s my life’s goal to impress you. Guess I can die happy now.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic.” Gretchen Gibson rolled her eyes. “It was a compliment.”

  “Well in that case, gee, thanks.” She kept walking toward the car that was waiting. She had a meeting with her band at the studio to talk about the plans for their future. Not that she really had any solid ones. But they’d been so understanding about her reasons for not wanting to finish the tour that she felt like she owed it to them to keep them in the loop.

  At the last show they’d all bonded over Bryce Parker’s annoying habit of talking about himself in third person and trying to bring back leather vests as if he were a hardcore biker in a motorcycle club instead of an obnoxious pretty boy with a god complex. Mostly, he was just a creep.

  “Give me ten minutes,” Gretchen called out. “It’s about Trace. And me. There are things you need to know before you just write him off for good.”

  There were things she’d needed to know all right. And yet she always learned them just a little too late. She’d been there, done that, and had the country music break-up album to prove it.

  She sighed and stopped walking. “Seriously, whatever it is, the time to tell me about it has probably passed.”

  Gretchen took another step to catch up before Kylie got into the car. “Look, I know he thinks that impulsive thing you do where you make big dramatic exits without stopping to hear anyone out is real cute. Me, not so much. Personally I find you immature and annoying.”

  Kylie regarded her with raised brows. “Uh huh. And this is supposed to make me want to hear you out?”

  The other woman threw her hands up. “I’m not going to blow smoke up your ass if that’s what it takes to be heard. But I am going to tell you the whole story, the part that’s mine to tell and that Trace was too much of a gentleman to repeat without my permission.”

  Kylie thought it over. She missed him so much that it was a struggle to force herself through mundane daily activities. And it had only been a few days. But even Rae hadn’t seen him much lately and was worried. As much as she knew it would hurt to hear Gretchen’s depiction of her relationship with Trace, she figured it was better than the gaping black holes she kept falling into while wondering what was going on.

  “There’s a diner down the block.”

  Gretchen motioned for Kylie to lead the way so she did.

  Once they arrived, Kylie saw the same waitress who had hit on Steven a few months ago. This was so not her day.

  “Black coffee, please,” she told the woman without bothering to look up.

  Gretchen ordered the same and removed the jacket she was wearing. “So, as much of an honor as it is to be having coffee with Nashville’s Sweetheart, I’m going to cut to the chase.”

  “Guess you don’t read Rolling Stone magazine,” Kylie muttered under her breath.

  “Kylie, I can only begin to imagine what you think of me. And thankfully, I don’t much care what most people think. But there is one person who I do care a lot about and he deserves someone who can cut him some slack.”

  She watched as Gretchen dumped about a pound of sugar into her coffee. Kylie stirred a slightly smaller amount into hers.

  “I did cut him some slack, for the record. And then you showed up.”

  The woman sipped her coffee and nodded. “Yes, and if you hadn’t run off like your panties were on fire, you might have heard what I had to say and we could’ve avoided all this.”

  Kylie ignored her drink and focused her attention on Gretchen. “For the past year, I spent day after day being bombarded by pictures and questions about you and Trace. And when I finally let myself believe that it was just a rebound thing or media hype or friendship or moral support or what the hell ever, I wake up to you. At his house. Where he swears he doesn’t bring women.”

  Gretchen opened her mouth to respond, but Kylie wasn’t done.

  “And that’s the thing. I feel like it’s always going to be something. I throw my heart at him, because like you said, I’m immature and impulsive
apparently. And he keeps tossing it back at me like a game of hot potato. So excuse me if I didn’t stick around for the gory details.”

  Gretchen nodded again, the hint of a smile playing on her lips. “Well guess what, kid? Love is one big mess of gory details. So deal with it.”

  Kylie watched her intently. “Meaning?”

  “We all have shit in us that we’d rather other people not be privy to. Except that one person who sees that and loves us anyway.” Gretchen looked sad for a moment, a fact Kylie tried not to dwell too much on. “And for you, Trace is that person. He doesn’t care how much of a pain in the ass you are. In fact, I think he likes it. For whatever reason. The part that concerns me is that you might not be that person for him. Can you handle everything that comes with him? Because I think you know by now it isn’t all sunshine and rainbows.”

  “If he loves me so much, how come every time you called he took it in the other room? Or looked like a deer in headlights when I saw you together in Macon? If y’all are just friends, why all the secrecy, Gretch?”

  Judging from the way her eyebrows lifted, Gretchen didn’t miss Kylie’s disdain for the nickname Trace called her by.

  “Well, let’s see. The media has made us into some alcoholic duo just because we happened to do a stint in rehab together. He knows you and I aren’t exactly friends. And he and I are about to be business partners. He was trying to figure out the best way to tell you about it when I heard from a mutual friend that his sister was in an accident and decided to bring myself over to Georgia and check in. Plus, I had paperwork for him to sign.”

  Kylie was beginning to feel as if she were being buried under the heap of information Gretchen was piling on her. “But I saw the pictures. Same as the rest of the world. The two of you didn’t just happen to go into rehab at the same time, you walked through that door hand in hand.”

  “And if we were teenagers, instead of grown adults, that might’ve been a big deal.” Gretchen’s pointed expression let Kylie know how big of a deal it wasn’t. “But for your information, if you saw a picture of Trace and I holding hands, it was because at the last minute, I panicked. The fear of everyone knowing I was trying to get help, of knowing I might fail, had me retreating. Trace literally pulled me through.”