by Caisey Quinn
Her accusatory tone had Kylie’s hackles rising. “Okay, first of all, I came onto this disaster of a bus and was accosted by the blonde fairy of destruction herself. She threw a bunch of outfits at me—ones she’d already picked out—and I made a suggestion.” She didn’t mention the surgical procedure she’d performed on Lily’s eye.
Mia huffed out a loud breath. “She really is a fucking slob.”
At that, Kylie grinned. “I Tweeted about it. Put a picture on the blog, too.”
“No you didn’t.”
“I did.” She shrugged even though she was beginning to wonder if what she’d posted would hurt the girl’s feelings. Lily was a spoiled pain in the ass but she meant well and didn’t deserve to be made fun of, online or otherwise. She wasn’t out and out hostile like Mia at least.
“Maybe I should post something about people not touching my stuff without permission.” Mia snorted. “Anyways, I’m going to go grab some food and a few drinks with a couple of roadies. Later.”
Part of Kylie wanted to ask her to wait. To stay and chat or maybe just tell her what the hell her problem was. But she knew that might not be the best idea. And Mia seemed to be in a hurry to get away from her. She didn’t miss that she very clearly wasn’t invited to dinner.
Once the girl was gone, she glanced at her phone.
I’m on Skype. Where u at, Kylie Lou?
His text was from a few minutes ago. She hadn’t even realized she’d been chatting with Mia that long.
She bolted to the media area and flipped the computer open. Crap, it was off. She hit the button to turn it on and waited. And waited. His schedule was packed in the mad rush to get his No Apologies tour going. If she missed him tonight, there was no telling when she’d get to see his handsome face again. Finally the computer screen came to life and she typed in her username and password. She clicked on the Skype icon. While it logged her in, she tapped out a quick text.
Sorry, was talking to Mia. Getting on Skype now.
When her chat window opened up, he was marked as offline. Damn. She glanced down at her phone but he hadn’t responded. She propped her elbows on the table and rubbed her eyes. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. So she’d missed him. But it was a big deal. As much as she hated herself for it, it was suddenly hard to swallow. Because she missed him.
“HAVE I mentioned what a bad idea I think this is?” Pauly Garrett asked as he scratched his goatee.
“You have. Several times. Now let’s go.” Trace opened the truck door and got out. He walked into the Tin Roof with his manager and glanced around for her. He wasn’t all that thrilled about her choice of meeting place or the fact that they were about to be going on a sixteen-week tour together. But this was what the label had decided, and he was going to man up and deal.
She was in a back booth. Several shots were lined up on the table in front of her. He and his manager made their way over.
“Gretchen.” He tipped his hat in her direction and sat down in the seat across from her. Pauly pulled up a chair to the end of the table and nodded.
“Trace.” She nodded back, her jet black hair sweeping over one eye as she did. “I see you brought your keeper along.”
He raised an eyebrow at her but didn’t bite. If she was trying to get a rise out of him, she was going to be disappointed. He wasn’t that guy anymore. At least, he was trying not to be. “Gretchen, you remember Pauly, my manager.”
“Not really.” She shrugged and downed her first shot. Tequila. He could smell it. Same old Gretchen. “I bet he remembers me though.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“How could I forget,” the man answered dryly.
“I’m pretty unforgettable.” She winked at Trace. So much for letting bygones be bygones.
“So what’s the deal, Gretch? You gonna be able to get through this tour without passing out or falling off stage? ‘Cause I gotta say, I’m pretty damned sure the label is setting us up to fail. Killing two fuck-ups with one stone and all that.” He propped his elbows on the table and waited for her to either promise she was getting her shit together or tell him to screw right off. With Gretchen Gibson, he never knew what to expect.
“Aw, is wittle Twace worried about me?” She snorted and took another shot. “Relax. I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.” She shoved a shot in his direction and half of it spilled onto the table. “Let’s toast. To not having to apologize for being who we are.”
“I’m good.” He slid the shot aside, away from both of them. “And yeah, I hear you’re handling yourself real well these days. Your crazy shit makes mine look normal. At least when I get plastered I have the decency not to show up for my shows. You, on the other hand, find it entertaining to pass out, vomit, and piss yourself on stage.” He leaned closer to her, moving the last remaining shot even farther out of her reach. “I’ve been where you are, Gretchen. Recently. And I’m not going back there. I’m also not going to let you screw up my chance to show everyone that I still want this. That I deserve it.”
Dark, heavily lined eyes raked over him cold and hard. “What are you trying to say, Corbin? That I don’t deserve it?” Her voice was always kind of throaty and rough. It was what made her songs so sexy and unique. Like her. But he saw more than that now. More than the edgy dangerous badass vibe she was trying to put off. He saw the pain. The desperation. He saw it because he was finally learning to recognize it in himself.
He shook his head, remembering how cornered he’d felt when people started telling him he had a problem. “No. That’s not what I’m saying at all.” He took a deep breath and tried to explain better. “Look, I’m done with drinking my pain away. And yeah, it’s hard, and I’m not exactly in complete control of it. But Pauly has a friend. His name is Camden Reynolds. Dr. Camden Reynolds.”
Gretchen smirked. “Oh, good. Pauly finally came out of the closet then.” She turned to Pauly and grinned. “And you landed yourself a doctor. Congratulations.”
Trace watched as his manager grimaced. He hated Gretchen. Most people did. But Trace couldn’t bring himself to. He saw too much of himself in her. Not that he necessarily liked himself much. But he was working on that. “He’s an addiction specialist. He can go on the tour with us and you can talk to him any time you feel like things are getting out of control.”
Gretchen’s steely gray eyes darkened. “No.”
Trace cleared his throat. He’d known this wouldn’t be easy. He’d tried being nice, but women like Gretchen didn’t really respond to that. Nice guys were the ones they crushed to dust under their boot heels and stepped over to get to some sorry son of a bitch who’d treat them like shit. He knew—he’d been a sorry son of a bitch most of his life. “Okay, let me rephrase. See, I wasn’t asking you. I was telling you. Dr. Reynolds is basically going to be at my beck and call. If you start fucking things up on the tour, he will intervene. And so will I.” He leaned back in anticipation of the anger that was about to come spewing out onto him.
Surprisingly, Gretchen just glared back at him. When neither of them said anything, Pauly spoke up. “Look, both of you are in poor standing with the label. They think you’re both drunks who can’t handle your careers and aren’t worth their time or money. Either this tour can be your way of showing them you’re still the kind of artists they want to support or you can prove them right.” He shrugged as if he were okay with whichever option they chose.
Trace nodded in agreement and turned his focus back to Gretchen. “What do you say, Gretch? Can we show those suit-wearing bastards that we can do this? Or should we call it a day and cancel the tour?”
She reached forward, grabbing the shot in front of Pauly and downing it before anyone could blink. Standing abruptly, she stumbled but regained control of herself before Trace or his manager could offer to help her. She stopped next to where Trace sat and leaned down to his level. He could smell the tequila on her breath. Thankfully he’d never been much of a fan. If she’d been drinking bourbon, his mouth probably wo
uld’ve watered at the scent. “Hm. What do I say?” He turned to look at her, his stomach clenching at the redness in her eyes. The vacant stare on her face. She looked like hammered hell. That was what Kylie Lou must’ve seen when she looked at him. How or why she’d thought him worthy of her was beyond him. Gretchen let out a little snort and continued on with her response. “I say it’s a shame. You used to be a lot more fun.” With that, she sauntered away from them, over to the bar where she propped up on a stool and began flirting with the bartender.
“Well…that answers that,” Pauly said.
Trace dropped his head into his hands. “Well…fuck.”
“WHERE IN the hell is my left boot, Lily? I’m serious!” Mia shouted from the back of the bus where she was digging through her closet.
“I don’t know! Hey, have you seen my straightener?” Lily called back. “Oh, is this your boot?”
Kylie stepped out of her room and ducked just in time to narrowly miss being nailed in the head by a flying Frye boot. They’d just parked outside the Fall Festival fairgrounds in Denver where the girls would be performing in a few hours. She picked up the boot that had nearly maimed her and carried it into Mia’s room. “Looking for this?”
Mia looked up from the pile of clothes she was digging through. Relief smoothed her features as she crossed the room and took the boot. “Yup.”
You’re welcome. Two weeks together and Mia was still an ice queen set on freezing Kylie out. She’d even started being friendlier to Lily. But every time Kylie walked into a room, Mia’s posture stiffened and her eyes went hard. Like I ran over her favorite dog. And laughed about it.
The Pistol Annies were blaring from Mia’s iPod. “They’re my favorite,” Kylie told her, nodding at the dock.
Mia raised her eyebrows as if to ask why the hell she thought she gave a damn. Then she stepped over to the vanity and began rifling through her makeup as if Kylie weren’t even there.
“Hey, can we talk for a sec?” When Mia ignored her, she tried again. Louder this time. “Mia! Can you turn that down for just a minute? Please?”
Mia glanced over at her. “What?”
Kylie sighed and made a series of hand motions as if she knew sign language or baseball signals. Mia gave her a weird look and silenced the iPod. “What the hell?”
Kylie leaned her head out of the room. “Lil, can you come in Mia’s room, please?”
Mia glared as if she thought Kylie was staging an intervention. Kylie forced a small smile. It wasn’t anything like that. The only person who needed an intervention was Lily the clothes whore, but that wasn’t what she wanted to talk about either.
Once Lily stepped inside the room, Kylie backed up so she could look at both of them while she spoke. “Um, I wanted to talk to you both. About how we close the show each night.”
“Oh no, Oklahoma. You are not going to strong-arm us into letting you close every night. I don’t give a shit who your boyfriend is.” Mia crossed her arms over her chest and took a step closer to Lily.
Whoa. What the hell? Kylie backed up a step, nearly backing into Mia’s dresser. “Wow. Thanks, Mia. You can cross being a bitch to me off your list for today. For the record, I would never do something like that. And technically we’ve closed the last few shows together—singing that song the Vitamin Water people told us to. And that’s what I wanted to talk about.”
“What about it?” Lily asked, plopping on the bed.
“Do you know who wrote it?” Kylie asked. She knew because Chaz had told her.
“No, why?” Lily glanced over at her reflection in Mia’s mirror. Girl had some serious attention deficit issues.
“Lauryn McCray wrote it,” Mia offered. “So what?”
Kylie bit her lip. If it didn’t bother Mia, maybe it shouldn’t bother her. Except…it did. A lot. “It’s kind of strange, don’t you think? She wrote it when she thought she was going to be on this tour. Now she’s not and we’re still singing her song.” In the past week, the rumors had been confirmed. Lauryn was, in fact, pregnant. By her agent, Scotty Brasher, who no one knew much about except that he wasn’t commenting publicly about Lauryn or the baby.
What made Kylie even more uncomfortable was the fact that the song was called All My Life and was about working hard to realize your dreams. Every time she sang the line I gave it all up, gave it all away, dreamin’ of the day when it would be worth it, knowin’ I deserved it, she felt sick. Like her heart was plummeting to her gut. Lauryn had worked hard and had overcome a pretty rough past, according to her CMT Backstory, to get where she was. Then she got pregnant and her career was pretty much over. Or on hold indefinitely at least. And now Kylie, Mia, and Lily sang her song every night. It was weird. And depressing.
“I don’t get it,” Lily said, pulling her hair into a high ponytail and glancing back in the mirror as she did so.
“Suddenly Oklahoma here has a conscience.” Mia snorted. “Boo hoo. Lauryn got knocked up. Not our fault, and I bet she made enough money selling that song to decorate one hell of a baby nursery. So I don’t see what the big deal is.”
Kylie frowned. Why the hell did Mia think she didn’t have a conscience before? Whatever. That wasn’t the point. “The big deal is, that could be any of us. And if something happened and I couldn’t be on the tour, I don’t know how I’d feel about three random chicks singing my song—you know?”
“Couldn’t be me. I’m a virgin,” Lily announced.
Mia rolled her eyes. “Good for you.” She looked at Kylie for a few seconds before adding, “Okay. So what song are the three of us going to sing if we scrap that one? If we’re even allowed to do that?”
She hadn’t gotten that far yet. “I don’t know.”
“Ooh, we could write something together,” Lily suggested, practically bouncing up and down with excitement.
Well, that was one idea.
“We have a show in a few hours. We’d have to write fast.” Mia’s voice was even but Kylie could see she was interested. And that she was only looking at Lily. She was going to try and shove Kylie out of this too. Like hell she is.
Kylie stepped forward so they couldn’t ignore her. “Anybody got a pen?”
Three hours, two dozen sheets of paper, and more dirty looks from Mia than Kylie could count later, they had a song. Or something that looked like a song at least. They’d get to practice a few times at sound check and then give it a go for real. Misty Cole, their contact at Vitamin Water, had been surprised about their request but said she didn’t see any problem with them performing a new song instead of Lauryn’s. Kylie was relieved. Every time they sang it, she’d pictured herself having to tell Trace she was pregnant. How he would react and how much it would hurt both of their careers. Before she saw him again, she was going to buy the biggest box of condoms she could find. And she was going to start taking her birth control pills religiously.
“Think the audience will like it?” Lily asked after they’d finished rehearsing.
“Hope so,” Kylie answered. Mia said nothing. She was in one of her moods where she acted like they were beneath her. Kylie knew twenty-one-year-old Mia felt like Lily was too young to be touring. She’d said so out loud. And Kylie kind of agreed. But what the hell her problem was with her was a mystery. Unless…it was the one thing they didn’t discuss. He who shall not be named. She really hoped that wasn’t what was bothering Mia. Because it was sure as hell starting to bother her.
IT WAS Mia’s turn to close the show. Once she’d finished her set, Kylie and Lily joined her on stage. Kylie’s heart was racing as she took her seat on the stool between the two of them. They were going acoustic style for the debut of the song they’d written together. Your Time to Shine reminded Kylie so much of Trace she feared she’d tear up during her solo. But she sucked it up and sang the first verse. Don’t know who deals the cards that decide the hand we’re dealt. But I know I’ve seen my lows and I see you goin’ down that road. The other two joined her on the bridge. And it’s a long, dark pa
th. No end in sight. Just before you give up, you’ll see the light. ‘Cause, baby, it’s your time to shine.
Lily’s clear voice was soft as she sang her solo. You made your bed on a wish and a prayer. Looking up on that stage sayin’ one day you’d be there. But it was a long, dark path. No end in sight. Just before you gave up, you saw the light. Baby, it’s your time to shine. The three of them harmonized as they sang the part Lily was so adamant about adding. Ooohh oooh ooohhooo. Ooohh ooh ooohhoo. Baby, it’s your time to shine.
Mia’s voice was strong and had a deep southern twang similar to Kylie’s, even though Kylie knew she was actually from Detroit. But to hear her sing, anyone would think she was from the Deep South. And that spotlight’s bright when you finally get there. Not much you can count on, besides a dream and a prayer. And they’re all gonna say that you’ll fall any day. But lucky for you, you know that’s not true. They just wanna be in your shoes.
Kylie sucked in a breath to sing her final solo. When you fall back down, on that unforgivin’ ground, that’s okay. ‘Cause if there’s one thing you’ve learned along the way, it’s how to pick yourself back up. You didn’t get here on luck.
The three of them sang the final chorus and another string of Lily’s Oooh oooh oohoos. When the song ended, Kylie took a deep breath. Her ears were filled with applause. Thank God. She smiled and glanced over at Mia and Lily. They’d written and sang together now, and even if they didn’t like each other very much, she respected the hell out of both of them.
“HOW’S THAT pretty little girlfriend of yours?” Rose asked Trace as she touched up his makeup. He couldn’t help but grin. He’d just seen Kylie’s latest post on her tour blog. There was video link of her and the two girls she was on tour with singing a song they’d written together. He’d been so damn proud watching her he’d nearly burst. They didn’t get to talk much with their busy schedules, but he checked in with her blog every day, hoping for a picture of her beautiful face. God, he missed that face.