The Kylie Ryans Series: Girl with Guitar, Girl on Tour, Girl in Love (extended edition)

by Caisey Quinn

  “I’m sorry. I should’ve—”

  “Trace.” Her voice saying his name was music in the air. It was his favorite song. “It’s fine. I checked last night and I’ve done better with my pills than I thought. I haven’t missed one. Just been taking them at weird times is all.”

  He placed a chaste kiss on her breast just before laying his head on it. Damn, she felt good naked and in his arms. Exactly how and where he needed her. For a little while, all the voices in his head telling him why this was wrong, why it would never work, and that he’d never be good enough for her, just shut the hell up. It was pure and utter perfection. Just like she was.

  A tiny thought snaked its way to the forefront of his mind. A glimmer of hope that somehow managed to wrestle its way through the deep dark pit of doubt. Maybe, just maybe, what they had, the two of them together, was perfect too.

  FIVE WEEKS later, he was anxiously pacing the bus like a caged beast, anticipating seeing his girl again as they pulled into the parking lot of a bar in Charlotte. The time apart sucked and phone calls and video chats weren’t soothing his urge to drink or his dick like the real live version could. He’d just hung up with her when Gretchen appeared from her room. She was makeup free and clad in jeans and a T-shirt. Her hair was pulled back and her eyes were clear. Hallelujah. The last thing he needed was to take an intoxicated Gretchen to Kylie’s show. She really did seem to be making progress. It was more than he could say for himself.

  “Hey,” she said, coming up beside him. “Can we talk?”

  He checked his watch and motioned for her to follow him off the bus. “Can we do it inside? I don’t want to be late. The girls don’t always perform in the same order and I don’t want to risk miss—”

  “I’m leaving the tour, Trace.”

  His feet hit the pavement and he froze. “You’re what?”

  Gretchen fidgeted, wringing her hands and then shrugging. “I’m going into rehab. Dr. Reynolds found this place in Dallas that’s supposed to be really good. Private.”

  “What about the label?” They’d drop her for sure. He didn’t have anyone there who’d do him any favors or he’d try to help her out. “Maybe Pauly could—”

  “Trace. Listen. Please.” She put a hand up to silence him. “I’m done. I’m done with the label. All of it. It’s time to get my act together and be the kind of mother Daniel deserves. That’s my son’s name. Daniel. He likes to be called Danny.” He watched as the moisture gathered in her eyes again. “Or at least he used to.”

  Jesus. She was breaking down again. His fiddle player’s name was Danny. That probably sucked for her, hearing his name so often. He leaned over to give her a hug. He meant for it to be a quick one but she began full out sobbing in his arms. Women crying was not something he was equipped to handle. And yet, it seemed to be happening a lot lately. Any time one of his sisters or Kylie cried he felt like a helpless jackass. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay. We’ll talk to Dr. Reynolds inside and I bet you’ll feel a lot better afterwards.” He gave her a few pats and pulled back just as the flashbulb of a camera went off.

  What the hell?

  “Trace, Gretchen, are you two an item?” a heavy fella in a Hawaiian shirt called out as he snapped another photo.

  “Get lost, asshole,” Trace said, ushering Gretchen into the building. He was proud of Gretchen, he was. But things like this, some jerkoff causing problems that would just cause Kylie pain, just made him want a drink that much more.

  “THAT’S HER!”

  “There she is!” The voices came just before a small herd of stampeding paparazzi converged on her and her friends.

  “Shit, let’s go,” Mia commanded, ushering Kylie towards the entrance of The Evening Muse, a bar in Charlotte where they were performing and hosting open mic night.

  Kylie gaped at the crowd gathering around her. She knew things would change after Trace kissed her in front of the world at the festival in Nashville. But she didn’t expect it to be like this. A few photographers had begun accosting her before and after shows in the last few weeks. But this was the most she’d seen all together in a crazed, aggressive mob like this. Thankfully Mia and Lily flanked her, shoving her forward and forcing her feet to move.

  Someone whistled loudly. It pierced the air and she winced as she tried to make her way through the crowd. The questions began pelting her like bullets.

  “Kylie, do you know that Trace Corbin and Gretchen Gibson are in there? Did you ask them to come?”

  “Are you and Trace really an item or is it all for publicity?”

  “Kylie! Hey, over here! Kylie, do you plan to confront Trace about his night on the town with Gretchen? Have you seen the photographs of them checking into a hotel in Georgia?”

  “Is Trace cheating on you with Gretchen? Or are you his little thing on the side?”

  She was thankful for the aviators that hid her eyes. It was like they all knew exactly where she was most vulnerable. And the flashbulbs were bright as hell. And did someone say hotel in Georgia? Her stomach sank, pulling her heart down with it.

  When they made it safely inside the bar, she was relieved that the voices didn’t penetrate the walls. She’d never been so sick of hearing her own name. But her relief was short lived. Making her way to the stage with Mia and Lily, she caught sight of something that sent her heart pounding even harder than the paps had. Trace, Gretchen, Pauly, and a well-dressed man Kylie didn’t recognize sat in a back corner table. Together. Looking like they were enjoying each other’s company. Immensely.

  She turned to approach them, but Mia grabbed her. Kylie eyed the girl’s fingers on her upper arm before glaring up at her. “I’m going over there. He’s my boyfriend and I haven’t seen him in five damn weeks.”

  “Don’t do it, seriously. Look.” Mia nodded in the direction of several patrons with their phones out. They were most likely waiting for her to make a scene so they could post it all over the Internet.

  “You holding me back like I’m a rabid animal isn’t helping things, Mia,” she bit out. “Since when do you give a shit anyways?”

  “I don’t.” Mia dropped her hand. “Listen, don’t look over there. Just smile, Kylie. They need to see you smiling. This snarling-at-the-world thing you’ve got going isn’t endearing you to any record labels. Trust me.”

  “I’m sorry about screwing things up for you with BackRoom Records,” Kylie said quietly. She forced a tiny smile because it was all she could manage. She followed Mia’s advice and didn’t look over in Trace’s direction. She just…couldn’t. Not with the words hotel in Georgia burning themselves into the back of her mind. “And you’re right. Okay, let’s go.”

  Mia nodded and walked to the stage. Kylie followed, even though it meant walking away from the one person she usually wanted to run towards.

  THE SHOW went well despite the fact that, while she was on stage, Trace barely even looked up. He glanced at her and winked a few times but the rest of the time he was deep in conversation with the members of his table. After she finished performing and introducing amateur acts with Lily and Mia, she sat with them at a table near the stage and waited for Trace to come to her. But when he finally did, she wished he hadn’t.

  Because he didn’t come alone.

  Gretchen Gibson offered Kylie an apologetic smile as she approached. “Hey. Great show y’all,” she said to the three of them.

  “Thanks. Wow, you’re Gretchen Gibson! I’m Lily Taite. Nice to meet you.” Lily and Gretchen shook hands. Mia just nodded and turned to order a drink from a nearby waitress.

  Kylie steeled herself when Gretchen turned her gaze to her. “Hey, Kylie. Good to see you again.”

  She glanced at Trace, who rubbed his neck and gave her a small smile before she gave her full attention to Gretchen. She forced herself not to grit her teeth. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Thanks for inviting me.”

  I didn’t. She nodded anyways. Shit. Gretchen was being nice. The photographers outside were shouting about
hotel rooms in Georgia, and Trace seemed about as comfortable as a whore in church. Had something happened? Her daddy always said, “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.” Maybe the paps were onto something. The sickening realization had her stomach churning. As did the word paps. She hated it. Reminded her of pap smear. No wonder celebrities refer to them that way. Seeing them is about as much fun as visiting the gynecologist.

  She felt a little better when Trace leaned forward and kissed her softly. “Hey, babe. You killed it, as always.” There was still pride sparking in his eyes so she took that as a good sign.

  “Trace, um, can we talk? Privately?”

  He nodded.

  “Yeah, hey, I’m gonna get back over there,” Gretchen said before Trace could answer. “Enjoy your night, y’all.”

  Once she was out of earshot and Lily and Mia had gone to sit at a table with the people from one of the local radio stations, Kylie stared up at Trace. She hoped her eyes were conveying her question of What in God’s name is going on? So she wouldn’t have to ask out loud.

  “Listen, Kylie, I know lately things have been a little—”

  “Kylie! We need you over here!” Lily’s arm was waving wildly in the air as she motioned her over.

  “Just a sec,” Kylie shouted back.

  “Trace, the guys outside said something about—”

  “Trace Corbin!” a high-pitched female voice squealed. “Oh my God! Oh my God! I can’t believe you’re here! We heard you might be! That’s why we came! Can we please get a picture with you?”

  Normally, Kylie would’ve rolled her eyes at the redhead and her friends. But she was almost grateful for the interruption, so she just stepped back and made room for them to get into the picture. “Here, I’ll take it,” she offered. The girl handed her a phone and Kylie took the picture of Trace with each of his arms wrapped around two girls. For a second, she couldn’t stop staring at the image on the hot pink encased iPhone. This was Trace. This was who he wanted to be. Not some guy chilling with her on Friday nights at the farm.

  She returned the phone but the girls weren’t done. Not even close.

  They were fawning all over Trace, asking him to sign everything from their phones to their boobs. Kylie shook her head. “I have to do this radio interview,” she told him, unsure if he could hear her over the music and the girls.

  “Okay,” he answered as he signed the ass of some blond girl’s jeans. “We’ll talk when you’re done.”

  By the time she’d finished her interview the place was packed. She couldn’t see Trace anywhere in the crowd. She excused herself from the table where Mia and Lily were still chatting up the radio host and made her way to the bar. Shoving through sweaty bodies was not her idea of a fun night. When she finally made it, she still hadn’t found him. A decent looking clean-cut guy in a yellow polo shirt was sitting on the stool next to where she stood.

  “Hey, can I borrow this for a sec?” she asked, gesturing to his stool.

  He took a long pull from his bottle of Budweiser and turned to her. “Hm, well, I’m using it right now. What do you need it for?”

  She gave her best flirty grin. “I can see that, darlin’. I’m just trying to find my…friend. He disappeared on me.”

  Yellow Shirt leered at her. “Well I’m here now. I’m sure your friend will be just fine on his own.”

  Oh for the love of bacon. Why did guys have to be so damned obnoxious?

  “You know what, never mind.” She turned to find another opening where she could maybe see a little better. Just as she turned to walk away, a hand grabbed her arm, yanking her backward.

  “Don’t be like that, sweetheart. Stay, relax. I’ll buy you a drink while you wait for your friend.”

  “No, thank you,” Kylie said through clenched teeth. She tried to jerk her arm from Yellow Shirt’s grip but he wasn’t letting go. Suddenly the crowd seemed to be surging towards the bar and she couldn’t breathe. Or move.

  “Hey, buddy, the lady said no thanks,” a guy said from behind her. She half-hoped it would be Trace but it wasn’t. It was a heavyset man in overalls.

  “Mind your own business,” the guy holding her said. His voice was no longer friendly but practically a growl. “About that drink—”

  Kylie didn’t let him finish. She grabbed the glass of whiskey Overalls was drinking and splashed it into Yellow Shirt’s face. “I said no thank you.” She yanked her arm back and leaned close to overalls. “I’ll buy you another,” she promised, reaching into her pocket to grab what little bit of cash she carried.

  “You fucking bitch,” Yellow Shirt shouted in her face. Before she got the money out, a fist swung by her head and Overalls had laid Yellow Shirt out. She ducked as the shouting began. Someone shoved her and she nearly fell on her ass.

  “Guess they don’t teach you college boys how to talk to ladies,” Overalls said as he stood.

  “Kylie!” someone shouted. Probably Mia. Or Lily. She wasn’t sure.

  The next thing she knew, Trace was wrapping his arms around her and shielding her from the madness. Yellow Shirt was back up, and apparently he had friends. Two other guys stood on either side of him and they all looked ready to murder someone.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Trace demanded.

  “He wanted to buy me a drink, I declined, and–”

  “And he grabbed her,” Overalls broke in.

  “Who grabbed her?” Trace said, turning to glare at Yellow Shirt and his friends. Kylie saw the veins throbbing in his neck. This was not a good sign.

  “No one. Forget it. Let’s just go.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and tugged. Hard.

  “One in the yella,” Overalls so helpfully offered.

  Trace broke her grip and cocked his fist. Before she even had time to yell at him to stop, he’d cracked the other guy in the mouth. One of Yellow Shirt’s friends swung at Trace and missed, grazing Overalls. Overalls grabbed the guy and shoved him roughly against the bar.

  “Fight!” someone shouted, and that was the last thing she heard before she saw the black T-shirt pulled taut over the broad chest of a bouncer blocking her vision.

  “Break it up!” the muscle-covered man shouted. She was shoved a few more times before uniformed officers converged on them. The bouncer had Trace wrapped in a bear hug. Kylie felt tears stinging in her eyes at the sight of him looking so angry and being held back. This was all her fault. The media and the label were going to give him so much hell. All because of her. Because whatever band was playing obviously thought this was a time to be funny, they struck up a song she knew was called Read Me My Rights. Awesome.

  “It wasn’t them,” Overalls was shouting to the taller of the two male cops. “It was him.” He pointed at Yellow Shirt and his friends. Two of them were bleeding. Trace wasn’t. This does not look good.

  “Let’s take this outside,” the shorter, stockier officer said. He looked like he’d just gotten out of the military and was itching to kick some ass himself. Kylie followed the bouncer and the officers as Trace, Overalls, Yellow Shirt, and his friends were guided out the back exit. She could practically hear the phones recording the whole thing. “Get the hell out of here,” the cop shouted at a guy with an expensive-looking camera who was waiting by the back exit. He left, but not before firing off a few shots of all of them.

  Kylie stood close to Trace’s side. He wrapped an arm around her and she looked up. His expression was calm but she could still see his jaw clenching and his pulse throbbing in his neck.

  “Okay, folks. So what the hell happened in there?” the taller cop asked. Yellow Shirt and his friends piped up right away, saying they were attacked for no reason. Trace’s grip tightened on her as they waited for them to finish.

  “Wait a minute. Not all at once.” The officer said a few things into a blaring speaker on his shoulder and pointed at Kylie. “You. Blondie. What happened in there?”

  She took a deep breath, sure her voice would shake. She wasn’t scared of cops and had
always managed to charm her way right out of traffic tickets and even a few underage drinking incidents back during the days of field parties in high school. But she was terrified for Trace. An arrest would probably get his tour canceled and he’d be dropped from Capital Letter Records before either of them could blink. “Um, I asked to borrow his chair.” She paused to point at Yellow Shirt. “And he got rude about it. He grabbed my arm and I threw a drink in his face so he’d let go.” She glanced at Overalls. He was just a good ol’ cornbread-fed country boy. No need to get him in trouble just for trying to help. “He told the guy to settle down, and the next thing I knew, punches were being thrown every which way. Trace tried to break it up but it just got worse.” Because he punched the dude in the face.

  The tall cop rubbed his eyes. “Okay. That sound about right?” He glanced over at Yellow Shirt and his friends. They mumbled a few things she couldn’t make out but no one outright called her a liar. The cop nodded. “Good. Anyone want to press charges?”

  Yellow Shirt opened his mouth but one of his friends shook his head and said something in his ear.

  “All right then. It’s the end of my shift and I’m not in the mood to fill out a shit-ton of paperwork at the moment. But if we have to come back, or if any officers have to come back tonight because of any of you, I’ll make sure each and every one of you spends the rest of the night in lock-up. Clear?”

  Everyone nodded as the officer made a point of making eye contact with each of them. Even Trace seemed subdued.

  “Okay, get the hell out of my sight then.”

  The younger guys ambled off down the alley. Overalls shook Trace’s hand and winked at Kylie. “You don’t have to buy me another drink, sweetheart. Pleasure was all mine.”

  The taller officer made his way over to them. “Hey, folks. Sorry for the hassle back there. This place is in an odd spot. College kids and townies don’t always mix well. Not the first fight we’ve broken up tonight.”