by Caisey Quinn
It sounded like heaven on earth, but Kylie worried what his sisters would think of her. She didn’t want to look like some spoiled brat. She liked them. She had a good time talking with both of them last night. That was the problem. She really liked all of them. And this down home version of Trace. Too much. Way, way too much.
“Okay?” Trace probed.
She nodded and he clapped his hands together. “All right then.” And then he was gone. Suddenly Kylie felt drained and utterly exhausted. Maybe she needed more rest. Or coffee. Or both.
Slipping her jeans off and placing them on the nightstand, she started to get back in the bed. She planned to snuggle in and pull the covers up to her waist before Trace returned. But he was like The frickin’ Flash.
“Okay, I brought, um whoa—”
Kylie jumped into the bed and then burst into laughter at his panicked expression. The shirt was past her thighs and he was Captain Panty Dropper of country music. Surely he wasn’t as embarrassed as he looked.
“I bring you breakfast in bed, you flash me, then laugh at me. Nice.”
“I did not flash you, at least not on purpose.” Kylie laughed harder, relieved that the awkward tension from her crying jag in the bathroom seemed to be gone.
“Yeah well, you can keep that shirt by the way. Pretty sure I’ll never be able to look at it the same again,” he said, putting the tray with her breakfast on the bed. She noticed he’d added to her plate.
“Aw, but then you won’t have anything to remember me by,” she teased, enjoying the light flirty atmosphere.
Trace’s face was serious as he sat her coffee and a cup of orange juice on the night table next to her jeans. “Kylie, you sang the hell out of my song the first time I laid eyes on you and then you tore into me with the fury of ten hells the first time we ever actually spoke. After what happened in Jackson…” He closed his eyes and swallowed hard before he finished. “I don’t think I’ll be forgetting you anytime soon.” When he opened them, his usually bright eyes were dark and hooded as they burned into hers.
“Okay,” she said, taking a bite of omelet and chewing carefully before swallowing. It was still warm, making her wonder if he’d reheated it. “I’ll keep the shirt then.”
Trace held her captive in his gaze for a few more seconds and then he stood abruptly. “Finish your breakfast and get cleaned up. I’ll give you the grand tour of the property and then we can head back to the bus.”
“Pauly’s probably mad at me,” she said quietly. Or at least he will be when he notices me gawking at you like I love you.
“He’ll get over it,” Trace answered with a smirk.
Yeah, but will I?
AFTER FINISHING her breakfast, Kylie found Trace out back sitting in a golf cart.
“Nice,” she commented as she stepped carefully around the ashes of the previous night’s bonfire.
“Yeah, I try to ride in style wherever I go,” he said with a grin.
The property was huge. And beautiful. Kylie could only imagine what it would look like in the fall.
“When I get some time off I plan to get a few horses, maybe breed paints or something.”
“My grandparents had a few quarter horses. They were retired racers, just used them for riding lessons, kid’s birthday parties, stuff like that,” Kylie told him. An emotion she was getting used to swept over her. Loss.
Thankfully Trace didn’t ask any questions. After they’d ridden too far to see the house, he pulled the golf cart over near a brown fence that probably could’ve used a new paint job.
“It gets kind of hilly from here on out. The ol’ cart’s not really ready for off-roading yet.”
“Yet?” she asked with a raised brow.
Trace grinned and the mischievous gleam in his eye told her he had actual plans for jacking up that golf cart. Artist of the Year or not, he was still such a boy. Kylie remembered her conversation with Rae. According to his little sister, he’d never really gotten to be a kid or a teenager. No wonder he acted like he was still fifteen. He’d had to act like he was thirty-five the first time around.
They walked for a few minutes, hands barely grazing as they passed. Trace didn’t seem to notice but each brush of bare skin sent a shiver of electricity humming through Kylie’s body.
“Here we are,” he told her as they reached a small shed. “Careful, it’s still muddy from the rain last night.”
Trace took her hand and Kylie’s heart stuttered and then took off as if it were trying to escape her chest. He didn’t let go until they reached the door to the shed and he had to retrieve keys from his pocket to unlock it.
The lights flickered on when they stepped inside and Kylie realized it wasn’t a shed at all. It was a small recording studio. Cozy dark furniture filled a small living area that opened into a tiny kitchenette. A stone fireplace tucked into the corner smelled lightly of ash.
“The writing room,” Trace said gesturing to the couches. She noticed they faced a wall made entirely of glass so the breathtaking view of the property was still visible. He led her into a soundproof room that had some exposed wiring. “Still working on this part,” he told her. “There’s a bathroom back there with a shower, too.”
Kylie nodded. “So when this tour’s over and I’m out of a job, I think I might just sneak in here and live.”
Trace’s head fell back as he laughed.
“I’m only half kidding,” she said, glaring at him. “Don’t be surprised if you find me crashed out on your couch next time you come home.”
“I could probably live with that,” he said, all hints of humor gone from his voice. The silence stretched out and Kylie tried to think of something light and funny to say. Things were taking a turn towards awkwardsville.
“Promise not to dump any liquor I find, and I’ll replace any beer I drink.” She winked to let him know she was over it.
“Damn right,” he growled, nudging an elbow into her ribs, making her laugh out loud. The strained muscles in her stomach loosened a bit.
“You working on something?” she asked, lifting a hand to point at a notebook on the coffee table once they were back in the living room.
“Sort of. Not really. Actually I came out here late last night and jotted some stuff down.” His face pinked with something that looked like embarrassment.
She could understand how being home would trigger an urge to write. “Can I take a look?” She stepped towards the table but stopped when she saw Trace’s shoulders go stiff.
“Never mind, sorry,” she mumbled, remembering how she flipped out on the bus when he looked at her writing.
“No, it’s cool. I just don’t really…it’s just not actually a song yet.” Trace shrugged and handed her the notebook. She lowered herself onto the couch behind her and started skimming the lines he’d written. And she could hear it. In fact, it almost made her wonder if he’d read the song she’d started writing about him. No, that wasn’t possible. She’d made sure he was never alone with her book again once she’d added those lines.
While she was looking at the words Trace had scrawled across the pages, he picked up a guitar and started playing bits and pieces of songs she recognized. One of his, one of hers. Some she could tell he was still trying to work out. When he strummed out a melody that was damn near exactly what she was hearing in her head, she called out in excited panic.
“Wait! Go back,” she told him, looking up at his eyes. He looked almost drugged. Playing out here alone makes him happy. Her heart gave a little squeeze at the realization.
“What?” Trace startled.
“Go back and play those last few chords again, but a little slower.”
“Yes, boss.”
Softly, practically under her breath, she began singing his lyrics, adding a few of her own here and there.
Suddenly Trace stopped playing. “Here,” he said, handing her a pen. “Write down those last two lines.” She didn’t want to tell him that it wasn’t necessary, that she had them memorized.
She’d written them down in a notebook that was tucked away under her mattress on the bus.
Taking the pen he offered, she jotted down the lines she’d added.
Seeing their lyrics mingling together on the page was doing something to her that made her nervous. Each stroke of ink on the paper felt like a caress of Trace’s skin. When a line of one of her letters crossed into his, she felt like she was pressing herself against him.
“Um, maybe we should take a break,” she said, making more than a serious effort to control her breathing.
“No way, you’re in the zone. Let me see what you have,” he said, reaching for the notebook. Kylie would’ve felt more comfortable handing him a naked picture of herself.
Okay, maybe not more comfortable, but about as exposed.
Big blue eyes, and a pretty little smile, that’s what everyone else sees, he began as he strummed along. God, he was singing her part. Her words. And wow, he could seriously sing. His vocal skills were even more impressive in private. Kylie realized she was holding her breath and tried to exhale without being obvious.
They think I’m pink champagne, you know I’m whiskey and rage. They want love songs and romance, you know I’m get drunk and let’s dance. I try and I try, to live their lies, be what they need me to be. But you know the truth. Know I’m all scarred and bruised, on the other side of me.
The music stopped and Kylie couldn’t bring herself to look at the man across from her.
When she finally risked a glance, he wasn’t even looking at her. He was jotting something down in the notebook. She watched as he gripped the guitar and began again. Big strong man, singin’ lead in the band, that’s what everyone else sees. They think I’m bulls and beers, you know I’m pain and fears. They want singin’ and drinkin,’ you know I’m drownin’ and sinkin.’
Trace paused and made a few marks with his pen before continuing on.
But I’ll keep it all in, hide it under a grin. Cause you’re the only one who sees, the other side of me.
Kylie knew the next few lines by heart so she sang along. The world wants fun and shiny and new, but I save the best of me for when I’m alone with you. Yeah I’ll keep it all in, hide it under a grin. ‘Cause you’re the only one who sees, yeah you’re the only one who sees, the other side of me.
For a moment they both just stared at each other, the residual intensity of their music swirling in the air, making it thick between them. It was rough and raw, and the chord progression needed work, but it had potential. Kylie’s face began to tingle, along with some other parts of her anatomy. The space between them surged with electricity that had a voltage so high it would turn the first one who entered into ash.
She knew she should be the first to look away, but she couldn’t. This is it, she thought to herself. No turning back now. Not that she wanted to. Trace’s eyes conveyed the same want she knew hers did. For a moment. Then he shook his head as if clearing the lust from it. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away from her.
“Well, that was unexpected,” he said as he propped the guitar against the couch and cleared his throat. “Maybe when we both have some time we could try and write together, maybe record something.”
“Maybe,” Kylie said. She lifted her shoulder in what she hoped was a noncommittal shrug. That was what Pauly had been wanting all along—she’d heard him on the phone enough to know that. Somehow writing and singing with Trace felt dangerous. Like she might enjoy it a little too much, get carried away and reveal more than she wanted to. Like the fact that she really wanted him to kiss her, hard and deep, just to know what it would feel like.
BEFORE THEY left, Kylie took one last look at the writing room. She wanted to memorize it so she could recall that experience whenever she wanted. It was like riding a roller coaster. The whole time it was happening she was thinking, This is crazy. What am I doing? But when it was over, she’d have given anything to do it again.
The buzzing of Trace’s phone interrupted her thoughts. He pulled it from his shirt pocket and looked at the screen before tucking it back away quickly. “Text from Rae. The girls are going shopping. They said it was nice meeting you and they hope you’ll come back and visit.” Something about the look on his face told Kylie that his little sister’s text had said more than that, but she didn’t want to pry.
“I’d like that, especially since I made such an ass out of myself this morning.” She could feel her skin flashing hot just thinking about it.
“Nah, I told them you weren’t feeling well. Rae kind of thinks you’re pregnant and she might post it on her Facepage but other than that, no big.”
Slapping Trace on the arm she told him, “It’s Facebook genius, but that’s real funny.”
For a minute he just looked at her with a goofy grin on his face, but then his expression softened into something serious. “Want to tell me what was up this morning? Or you can tell me to mind my own damn business. Whichever,” he told her with a shrug as they leaned against the fence.
Kylie propped a boot on the golf cart and looked at Trace. It was one more show and then she’d probably never see him again. What the hell.
She took a deep breath and tried to put her thoughts into words. Putting them into lyrics came so much more easily. “My dad was pretty much all the family I had left. He was killed in an accident at the factory where he worked right before last Christmas. I was eating breakfast the last time I saw him alive.” Kylie swallowed hard. There was more, but she wasn’t sure she could get it out. “The factory said the accident was a result of something he failed to do, gross negligence they called it, so they didn’t pay any kind of…whatever it’s called. His small life insurance policy paid for the funeral and the burial, but I can’t afford a headstone yet. When this tour ends tomorrow, I will be completely one hundred percent on my own. I was actually starting to be okay with it until…” There was no way to describe what she felt.
“Until this morning when you saw my big happy family having breakfast?” Trace finished for her, tilting his head in her direction.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was just…” I wanted to pretend they were mine. That you were mine.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, we weren’t always so happy,” he said barely loud enough for her to hear.
“No, of course that doesn’t make me feel better. But yeah, Rae mentioned something about that.” Kylie’s gut twisted. She hoped she wasn’t getting the girl in trouble.
“Of course she did,” he said through clenched teeth.
Kylie’s hand reached out and landed on Trace’s arm without her permission. “Don’t be mad. She was just trying to explain why…”
“Why I’m such an ass?” Trace offered.
“Something like that,” she answered with a smile, grateful he didn’t seem too angry with his little sister.
“Can I ask where your mom is?”
“In Heaven with my dad, I hope,” she whispered, then cleared her throat. “She died in a car accident on her way to work when I was almost two. She’d already dropped me off at daycare. I don’t really remember much about her.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
She could hear the tightness in his voice, and wondered if he was thinking of his own mom. Feeling guilty for knowing so much about his situation without him having volunteered it, made her want to let him in on more than she normally would have.
“It was actually okay being raised by my dad. We went hunting and fishing a lot, rode four-wheelers, played baseball. He even took me to a few Oklahoma State football games.”
“You like hunting, fishing, four-wheelers, and sports.” Trace smiled a broad, heart-melting smile at her. “You’re every guy’s dream girl. Bet that was not your dad’s intention.”
Kylie laughed. “No, probably not.” In fact, she was pretty sure that was exactly why he’d married Darla right before she’d turned thirteen. He was worried he was turning his little girl into a boy.
“Well, I’m sorry to hea
r about your parents. I don’t keep in touch with my family like I should, to be honest. Surely you’ve seen how much drama some artists’ families can cause.” Kylie vaguely remembered hearing something about Trace’s mom writing a tell-all book about him. She almost flinched at how much pain that must’ve caused, his mom disowning him and then cashing in like that. “Not that it’s any consolation, but at least you don’t have to deal with any of that. It’s actually one of the reasons Pauly wanted you on the tour even though you were an unknown. You didn’t come with any baggage.”
“Um, yeah, lucky me.”
“So…there’s just no one?” Trace’s eyes were full of compassion that Kylie didn’t know if she wanted. Or deserved.
“Nope, just me.”
“Well, I have somehow managed to ruin what was supposed to be a fun tour of the farm, so I’m feeling pretty good about myself right now.”
She smiled up at him. “It’s fine. Not like I’m going to have any secrets if Cora has anything to say about it.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, the bottom of Kylie’s stomach gave out. She had one secret. And it was a pretty damn big one. But there was no reason to bring up Darla. That part of her life was over.
“Since I’ve already turned this into an episode of Dr. Phil, can I give you some advice?”
“Sure, as long as I don’t have to actually take it.” She bit her lip, hoping he would realize she was only half kidding.
“Course not,” he told her with a wink. “It’s just that it’s come to my attention recently that you’ve actually got some talent, and I know how this industry can be…it’s a machine, Kylie and it can churn and burn you into something you’re not just as easily as it can toss you out on your ass if you don’t give it what it needs. And what it needs is money, ticket sales, number one hits, radio play, and a brand. That’s what they’re going to turn you into—a brand. I’m not saying it’s the worst thing in the world just…try not to forget who you actually are under all that.”
It was the most she’d ever heard him say in the entire time they’d known each other. The look in his eyes was hard and intense and almost frightening. Like he was trying to will her to believe him with his glare. It also explained why he was so damn set on being late to sound check after the label had told him not to be. Sort of.