by Caisey Quinn
“Stall, Pauly. I will find him. He will perform. Don’t tell anyone anything, okay?” Kylie demanded as she started to leave.
“No,” he said, startling her by standing abruptly and grabbing her arm just before she stepped out of reach. “Kylie, if you don’t make it back in time for your performance then you’ll be done too. Nashville is like high school—people talk, things get out. Not only will Chaz Michaelson tell everyone you’re a flake but there’ll be bad blood between you and the label. You signed a contract,” he reminded her gently.
“So it’s my career or his, Pauly. Is that what you’re telling me?”
“No. I am simply pointing out that if you get caught up in his mess and don’t get back here before you’re supposed to be on stage, then you won’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to having a career in country music and there won’t be much I can do to help you.”
“And what about him? If I perform tonight and he never shows, will there be anything you can do to help him? Can’t you talk to someone at the label?”
“I’ve done everything I can for him—and then some. I’ve begged, pleaded, apologized, and called in every last favor I had. You can’t make someone want this life.”
“But he does want it. He’s just mad at me and taking it out on himself because that’s what he does,” she pleaded. It was so clear now. This was Trace’s MO. Self-destruct so he won’t hurt anyone else. Unless his sideshow fling falls for him, then his asinineness hurts her, too.
“Wait. Stop and think for a second. You want this and you’re talented. Don’t go looking for him. Don’t throw your shot away like he keeps doing. Most people don’t get so many.”
“I have to,” she told him as she slid her arm out of his grasp. “Because this time he’s throwing it away because of me.”
RUNNING OUT of The Tin Roof, she thanked the Powers That Be that she hadn’t dared worn those stupid ass stilettos. She checked every single bar within walking distance. She was nearly out of time. She had thirty minutes until she was supposed to be on stage.
She slipped her phone out of her jacket pocket and dialed the only person she knew who might help her.
“We had an argument. I can’t find him, Rae, and if we both aren’t ready to go on stage in the next hour, we can kiss our careers goodbye.”
“Oh my God! Tell me what I can do!” Trace’s younger sister squealed, clearly worried about her brother but sounding like she was also pretty excited that Kylie had called her.
The gears turned in her head. “I’m sorry to put this on you but I need you to call him and just act casual but concerned. Tell him you spoke with me and I sounded strange, like I was going to do something crazy, hurt myself or something. Just say whatever you have to. I need him to get back to the bus, like now.”
“Okay, awesome! I’ll get to test my acting skills! Maybe I can be in one of your videos!” Yep, she was definitely excited.
“Rae, if this works and your brother will allow it, you can be in every video ever as far as I’m concerned. Call me as soon as you talk to him. Please.”
Millennia passed as Kylie stood staring at her phone. Screw standing around. If he did show he was probably going to be drunk. She hopped back on the bus, said a quick hello to Carl, who had also been out looking for Trace, and turned on the Keurig. She brewed three cups and pulled out a thermos she’d found in a cabinet. Her phone buzzed on the counter mid-pour and she nearly scorched herself.
“Did you get ahold of him?”
“Yeah, um, he’s on his way. He wouldn’t tell me where he was but I could hear voices and music in the background, and he was slurring his words a little.”
She’d kind of figured that was the case but it still made her sad. “Okay, well, at least he’s coming.”
“Yeah, um, Kylie,” Trace’s sister hesitated. “I had to kind of play it up a lot to get him to say he’d go check on you, like I might’ve made it sound like you are going to kill yourself before you go on stage if he doesn’t come profess his undying love or something so…”
Jesus. “Well that’s going to be awkward but no worries, Rae. You did what I asked. I’ll tell him I said he was committing career suicide and there was a bad connection and you misunderstood.”
“You’re really quite the expert at this whole lying thing then, aren’t you?” Trace’s voice said from behind her.
“Gotta go, Rae. Thank you,” Kylie said quietly before disconnecting the call and turning to face a man with pure hatred on his face.
“Well, since you’re not on the verge of anything drastic, think I’ll go finish my drink now,” Trace told her. He wasn’t full out slurring but he did sound like his tongue might be heavier than normal.
“Carl, a little help please,” she called out to the driver. Thankfully, the bus driver had a good forty pounds on Trace. He stood in the doorway successfully blocking the exit.
“You’re fired,” Trace growled as he glowered at the man Kylie thought of as a big teddy bear.
“He has four kids to support, Trace,” she reminded him. “You’re not fired, Carl. Hang tight. He’ll forget all about this by tomorrow.”
“Just hear the girl out, man, for Pete’s sakes,” Carl grumbled as he ambled out of Trace’s way.
His fists were clenched and his jaw was doing that clenchy twitching thing, but Trace stayed where he was, standing in the aisle of the bus.
“Can we sit please?” she asked, gesturing at the semi-circle booth across from her.
Trace strode over to her and sat but his eyes were flat black and empty. He’s this mad because I didn’t tell him I had a crazy stepmother?
“I’m sorry I lied, truly I am, but it was a necessary lie at the time. You met Darla, and you know my situation. I never planned to meet you, to get this amazing opportunity. What was I supposed to do, Trace? Risk missing out on it because of her?”
“What you were supposed to do was tell the goddamned truth and not play some stupid fucking mind games with me and then trick me in to sleeping with you so that you and your stepmother could blackmail me.” The sneer on his face was the only expression Kylie had ever seen him wear that made him appear anything even close to unattractive. She took several deep breaths. He’d been drinking. He couldn’t possibly mean what he was saying. “And then you use my family to lure me here so you can what? Lie to me some more? What the hell do you want from me, whoever the fuck you are?”
Kylie couldn’t sit this close to this awful man anymore. She slid out of the booth and stood. “All I want is for you to forget you ever met me, forget everything that happened, and go out on stage and be Trace Corbin, the brand, like you said. Make the label happy so that you can keep recording and doing what you love instead of ending up angry and alone and bitter like your dad.”
She knew that last part was probably a step too far. But it was true.
“What I love.” Trace laughed an ugly laugh she hoped she’d never hear again. “You know what I love? Lying whores who think they know everything. You and your stepmom aren’t so different. Actually, you’re all the damn same.”
Kylie’s knees buckled and a noise that an animal being tortured might make escaped her throat. Even Carl flinched. She couldn’t even open her mouth to ask who was all the damn same. When Darla had called her a whore, it had been a lie and she knew it. But Trace had been with plenty of women. If the way she’d behaved during sex with him made her a whore, he would know.
At some point Pauly had stepped onto the bus and was just watching the nightmare unfold.
Tears pinched her eyes and her entire body trembled, but there was no way she was letting alcohol-fueled courage tear her down. “Pardon me, but you can go straight to hell, Tracey Corbin. I made a mistake, but you know what? I wouldn’t change a damn thing because I risked everything I had which, okay, wasn’t a whole hell of a lot, for what I love, for who I love, and for something I’ve dreamed of since I was a little girl. Now I may not be as perfect as you, but I’ve learned not to th
row away opportunities to say what’s in my heart. I did that once and I’ll have to live with that forever. So I’m going to tell you, sorry sonofabitch that you are, exactly what I feel.”
Kylie took a deep breath and stared down at a large man who suddenly seemed very small. “I don’t know this version of you, and frankly, I don’t care for him. But I do know Rae and Claire Ann, and I know they deserve a hell of a lot better from you than this. So do Pauly, Cora, the band, and your fans. Maybe I don’t, and that’s fine, because even though I meant what I said in the truck yesterday and I still mean it, I am done with you after today if you don’t go on that stage and sing like your damned life depends on it tonight.” Her voice shook audibly but she couldn’t have stopped the rest of what she had to say even if she’d wanted to. “Anyone who behaves the way you do, running off to self-destruct in a bottle of whatever the hell you’ve been drinking, is a selfish coward. And whether or not you think my career is going anywhere, I am going to damn well try. Matter of fact, I will try even harder just to spite you.” Kylie struggled to catch her breath. The lack of oxygen had her seeing dark spots behind her eyes.
“Good for you, waitress,” he sneered. “I’d high-five you but I’m afraid you might try and sue me for assault.”
Kylie couldn’t speak because of the lump crushing her vocal cords. She’d said everything there was to say, and damn it to hell, she couldn’t reach him. Couldn’t get through to the guy who’d brought her breakfast in bed, wiped her tears, and protected the women he loved.
When she did finally find her voice, it came out raspy and laced with hurt. “How dare you think for one second that I would ever do anything to hurt you? My whole life, I’ve never intentionally hurt another person. You think what you do is okay? Like it doesn’t hurt people who care about you to see you destroy everything good in your life? You’re wrong.” She stared at him, hoping to see a glimpse of the man she knew was somewhere in there. “Who are you?” she whispered.
“Guess you don’t know me as well as you thought, huh?”
“No, and you know what? I don’t even want to anymore.” For a moment they just stared at each other. Then Kylie realized she’d just lied. She did want to know him. Even this horrible version of him. So she could help him find a way to stop doing this to himself.
“That was a lie, what I just said,” she admitted quietly. “But I wish it were true.”
Trace’s eyes widened noticeably, but he didn’t move. “Just add it to the list of all the other lies you’ve told. Hell, what’s one more?”
“Here,” she said, grabbing the thermos of coffee she’d brewed from the counter and slamming it down on the table in front of him. “Sober up, or don’t. I’m done.”
She glanced towards the front of the bus. Carl looked like he might be about to cry and Pauly was just struck dumb and staring blankly. She knew she should get the hell off this bus but there was something else. Something she had to say to that other man, the one she was right in the middle of falling in love with when everything went to hell in a heartbeat.
Swallowing every ounce of pride she had, she slid into the booth next to Trace. He leaned back and glared at her as if she were diseased. He might as well have plunged a fist into her chest and squeezed her heart with all his might.
“What I didn’t get to say yesterday in the truck,” she began in a whisper, “was that I didn’t want to get out because I was terrified of losing you. Not that I had you really, but as much as I love music, and believe me, I love it deep down into my soul, I loved being with you more.” She felt the hot tears escape and roll down her cheeks, but it didn’t matter anymore. He’d already seen everything else she had.
“Next Monday I will turn nineteen. For the first time ever, my dad won’t be there to sing to me and I won’t be able to stop wondering if I had done things differently, told you about Darla up front, if we’d be celebrating my birthday together. Or if I am just the kind of girl that nobody will ever want more than once.”
Bone crushing pain sucked the air from her lungs but she continued. “And a day won’t pass from here until who knows when that I won’t wish that if that were true, I could relive that one day in Macon with you over and over again. Maybe even more than I wish for my daddy back or to make the best country music album that I possibly can to honor his memory. He just wanted me to be happy, and for the first time since he died, I was.”
Kylie wiped her tears and breathed a small sigh of relief. Trace still leaned away from her, but he was in there. The man she could love. Maybe already did love. Or something close to it. She’d seen a lightning flash of him somewhere near the end of her speech.
“You’re young. You’ll get over it,” he said softly, not looking at her at all anymore.
She scooted out of the booth once more and forced a small smile. “I hope you get your shit together. I really do.”
“Kylie,” Pauly called from the other end of the bus. “It’s time to go.”
“Goodbye, Trace,” she whispered. But he didn’t say it back. He was just a statue staring at his hands on the table in front of him. Kylie took a deep breath. It was okay. She was okay. At least it wouldn’t be her who left things unsaid this time.
No words caught in her throat as she prepared to perform. Her voice wouldn’t fail like in her nightmares and she didn’t even have an ounce of nervousness left in her. She wiped her face with the tissue Pauly had handed her on the way out and checked her body for cuts and bruises. How there wasn’t any physical evidence of the bloody battle she’d just endured with Trace Corbin she didn’t know, because she stepped on stage feeling like she’d been sliced clean open and emptied of everything inside of her.
KYLIE’S COVER of Kelly Clarkson’s Dark Side was by far the hardest song she’d ever performed. It had been in her head for a while now, and she’d worked out the acoustic arrangement perfectly. But Trace’s face, both of them actually, warm, open, and tender, next to cold, closed and angry, wouldn’t leave her. It’s hard to know what can become if you give up almost sent her running off stage. When she finished, roaring applause nearly deafened her.
“Whew, thank y’all. That was a tough one. I just had my heart broken, and damn, that Kelly knows how to pour salt in the wound.” Several people threw her an audible pity party. “Nah, it’s cool. I’m going to Taylor Swift his ass in the next song I write. So don’t y’all worry about me.” The audience whistled and a single face came into view from the back of the dark room. He was there, watching her perform. She just didn’t know which version of him was listening.
After she finished her set, Chaz Michaelson was waiting for her. He was as amazing as Pauly and Cora had both promised. Five minutes into their conversation he had Kylie scheduled to meet with the Vitamin Water people to see if she would be a good fit for The Random Road Trip tour.
She’d have to maintain a blog and ride a bus with a bunch of chicks, but after what she’d been through with Trace the past few weeks, it sounded perfect. Plus it would be a way to earn some money to pay for a place to live and studio time for recording her demo. She’d leave in three weeks and visit twenty-three states and thirty-five cities. If she did well on the tour, maybe she’d get the attention of an agent and a label that might be interested in signing her. It would be an insane schedule but Kylie needed to stay busy or she feared she’d drown in heartbreak.
During her lonely bus time she’d finished the song she and Trace had worked on together. The Other Side of Me was their song even more now than it had been when they’d started, but she knew she had to let it go or she’d try to use it as a way to see him again in a moment of weakness. Recording with him was not something she ever planned to be strong enough for.
FOR TRACE AND PAULY, she wrote on the outside of the envelope. Inside were the completed lyrics and a note. She set it on the table on the bus feeling as if she’d put her heart into words and was about to leave it behind.
I did the best I could. This is yours. It always was. My
signature below is my formal acknowledgement and agreement that I will never record or release this song in any way, shape, or form. I will never sue you for royalties or anything else for that matter. Record it with whoever you want. I just ask that you do not include my name anywhere on the release. Trace, you were right. Underneath all those muscles is a halfway decent guy. I hope you find him again.
Chaz Michaelson, the guy who’s going to make sure they still remember my name tomorrow, is taking me back to Nashville and I’ve cleared my things off the bus. I’m keeping the gold dress from tonight, Pauly. You can bill me. Thanks for the ride boys—it was life changing as promised. Signed, Kylie Lou Ryans
Under the envelope she left Trace’s blue plaid button up folded neatly. She hugged Carl on her way off the bus and he whispered good luck in her ear. She could hear Trace belting his friend Lee’s song, Hard to Love, from inside the bar and it sounded like he was really giving it his all. Good for him. At the very least, maybe they’d both be a little stronger for having known each other.
“I CAN’T accept this, Kylie. It’s sweet of you to offer, but it’s too much.” Tonya shoved the envelope back at her.
“Tonya, I’m almost positive he overpaid me.” Probably out of guilt. “That’s just the excess. I kept enough to pay first and last month’s rent at my new place and kept a bit for some studio time at Bluebird. Clive made some calls so they’re giving me a discounted rate.”
“Kylie, you worked hard for this. You deserve it.” Boy did she. But she wasn’t taking Trace’s guilt money, dammit. She could imagine how well that would go over, so instead of arguing with him, she would just put it to good use.
“If you hadn’t suggested I change my song, none of this would’ve happened.” On second thought, Kylie wondered if maybe she should be charging the woman for the years of gorging on mint chocolate chip it was going to take to get over what she’d been through. She sighed, trying not to think about it. She was fine, or at least she would be eventually. “And I left you high and dry with no one to help out. This should be enough for you to quit working weekends so you can be with your kiddo.”