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

by Caisey Quinn

  To my critique partners, writing buddies, and fellow Love Junkies, Emily Tippetts, Elizabeth Lee, Anna Cruise, Rachel Brookes, Diane Alberts, and Rachel Harris, thank you all so much for your encouragement, friendship, honesty, and support. And for the emails that resemble therapy sessions so much that you should charge me. I couldn’t do this without you. I’ve learned so much from all of you and am blessed to call you my friends.

  Speaking of Emily Tippetts, probably every book I ever publish will have a love letter to her in it because without her there’d be no Kylie Ryans series. She not only designs the covers and formats the books but she is the one who said “you have to publish this” way back when I had no idea what I was doing. (Not that I necessarily do now, but I’m learning y’all). Thank you, Emily, for reading my hideous first drafts and for your endless support of this series. For everything you do to contribute to and improve the writing community. You are a truly special and wonderful human being. I’ve said it before, but if I live to be one hundred, I’ll never be able to really repay you.

  To Dominique—my dear sweet Puff, and Ashley Haid, thank you for Tweets that made sweet tea shoot out my nose and for allowing me to quote you both. This book is better because of both of you.

  I have to thank my precious husband who is the hardest working man I know and who gives up what little bit of off time he has to be both mommy and daddy so that I can write. To my angel of a daughter who tolerates the many hours on end that I spend with my laptop instead of her and who has informed me she’ll allow mommy to work as long as I use the money to take her to where Mickey and Minnie live. Working on it, sweetie. Promise.

  To those of you who have allowed me and Kylie and Trace into your homes, your eReaders, your secret Facebook groups, and your lives, THANK YOU SO MUCH. You will forever have a part of my heart. Those of you who participate in cover reveals, blog tours, release week events, and all the many things I ask of you without expecting anything in return, you are truly precious to me. I would squeeze you all entirely too hard if I could reach you.

  To Tyler Farr, Hannah Moon, Steven Waldon, and the many musicians and talented management professionals who answered my bazillion questions about touring and the music industry, bless you for your patience with me. You are all rock stars in my eyes.

  I have to say one last I heart your faces to each and every one of you who promised to stick this journey out even though this book probably just shattered your heart into a million pieces. I promise I’ll put it back together again as soon as humanly possible.

  Big smothery hugs to those of you who purchase the Kylie Ryans books during their release week. All sales profits from that week go to The Red Cross for Oklahoma Disaster Relief and I would never in a million years be able to give such a sizeable donation without y’all.

  Lastly, thank you to Casey Beathard and Monty Criswell for writing Like Jesus Does and to Eric Church for recoding it. Y’all have no idea who I am and probably never will, but your song changed my life and added something truly special to the ending of this book. It has become the theme song to my marriage, though I can hardly listen to it right now because it provokes an emotional breakdown of epic proportions, but it is the most beautiful testament to unconditional love I’ve ever heard.

  I probably forgot to name a few phenomenal people who have done amazing things for me that I didn’t deserve, so to those of you, I apologize. I’m a flawed individual with a scrambled, sleep-deprived brain and you deserve better. Please accept this as my heartfelt apology and appreciation.

  For Emily, who read Girl with Guitar and said, ‘You have to publish this,’ then held my hand every step of the way.

  For the two men I’ve loved. For my dad, thank you for showing me what real love looked like. I miss you every day. And for my husband, who taught me the meaning of forever.

  What’s the greatest chapter in your book? Are there pages where it hurts to look? What’s the one regret you can’t work through? You got it, baby. Mine would be you.

  Mine Would Be You – Blake Shelton

  “SERIOUSLY, THANK y’all for coming. I know I’m not great company lately.”

  Kylie looked down at the glass of champagne she held instead of up into the eyes of the guests of her birthday party. The surprise one Mia and Lulu had thrown her. Biting her lip, she gathered the courage to glance up.

  It had been nine months, nearly a year, since he’d walked out of her life. But she was still a shell of the person she used to be. She hid it well. Hell, she had two—well technically three—hit songs to show for it. But the people in this room knew better. And she knew they knew.

  The two scheming hosts, plus Carmen and her fiancé, Lily, Steven, and the guys in his band all looked at her with similar expressions. Pity. God she hated that look.

  “You’ve been working so hard lately. You deserved a night of fun.” Lulu nudged her shoulder. “You did have fun, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, I did. It was great.” She forced the biggest smile she could. Lulu’s eyes narrowed as she silently called bullshit.

  “Hey, we should head out. Let you get some rest for your big day tomorrow.” Mia threw her a knowing look. Kylie thanked her with her eyes. Of all people, she never would’ve expected Mia to become the person to pull her out of her own personal hell. But she had.

  Not that tomorrow was something she necessarily wanted to be reminded of. The Other Side of Me had gone platinum and the label was throwing a party. One she had no desire to go to. Not that she had a choice.

  “I’ll walk you home, Mia,” Chris, Steven’s band’s lead singer, offered. Kylie’s eyes darted back and forth between Mia, Chris, and Steven. Steven’s face remained blank, but she saw the slight tension in his shoulders. Now there was a weird little love triangle she was kind of curious about. She grinned to herself as she considered nicknaming Mia Yoko.

  “We should get going too. Our flight leaves early,” Carmen said, pulling Kylie into a side arm hug before walking to the door with her man. “You comin’, Lu?”

  Kylie had told them all that they could stay in her new place. It was big enough, that was for sure. But they’d insisted on getting hotel rooms. She had a feeling it was because she wasn’t much fun to be around.

  She spent nearly every waking minute either writing or in the studio. She knew her weirdo behavior made people uncomfortable, and she didn’t miss the looks they shot each other when she zoned out and missed an entire conversation. But she had no idea how to help it.

  “Um, nah. I’ll get a cab later. I’m going to stay and help clean up.”

  “Don’t be silly. You did all this work and you’ve had a long trip. I can handle it.” Kylie gave her friend a lingering hug and whispered, “Thank you,” in her ear. She hugged everyone else goodbye as they left. Well, everyone except Steven, who was still leaning on the bar in her kitchen. Part of her was glad he’d stayed behind. And part of her was nervous as to why.

  She didn’t mind cleaning up by herself. In fact, she preferred being alone. No smiles to fake or forced conversations. But sometimes being alone was…lonely.

  Once they were gone, she turned back to the tattoo-covered man in her kitchen.

  “I’m staying to help clean up. Like it or not, Ryans.”

  She laughed. “Okay, Blythe.” They worked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, clearing beer bottles and washing dishes.

  “I’ll take this out to the dumpster.” Steven pulled the big black garbage bag from its can in her pantry.

  “Thanks.”

  She was bent over, putting the remaining bottles of alcohol into her fridge, when he retuned.

  He cleared his throat and she jumped, nearly slamming her head into the top of the stainless-steel door. “God, you scared me.”

  He gave her a wicked grin, provoking a twisting sensation all through her insides. “I like it when you call me God. Like it when you moan, ‘Oh God’, even more.”

  Her eyes went wide and she slapped him lightly on the chest
as he came closer. “I thought we weren’t ever going to mention that again?”

  Last weekend they’d crossed a line.

  They’d stayed up late finishing a song they were writing together and she’d had a few drinks too many. She’d felt bold and made a move. Kissed him. Kissing had led to more. Much more. They hadn’t actually sealed the deal, but what they’d done was still more than she thought she had probably been ready for. But since then, they’d both adhered to the strict no discussing drunken making out and inappropriate touching policy.

  Until now apparently.

  He responded with a cocky smirk that was as annoying as it was a turn-on. “Who’s mentioning it?”

  Her chest heaved between them as he came closer into her personal space. “Y-you are. I think.”

  “Do you want me to stop?” He leaned in, the force of his bright blue eyes pressing her back against the fridge as he let his hands rest on her hips. “Say the word and I will.”

  She should say it. Should tell him it had been a mistake then, and would be a mistake now. She didn’t love him. Couldn’t love him. Couldn’t love anyone since she didn’t have enough of a heart left to love with.

  But that was what made it so tempting. He didn’t love her either. It was just comfort.

  Trace had walked away from her. Mia had rejected him. They’d found a way to ease the pain. Together.

  She’d felt like hell afterwards. Like she’d cheated on Trace. Or betrayed herself somehow.

  But with him this close, she couldn’t think straight.

  She closed her eyes and she still saw it. The source of her pain. Trace and Gretchen Gibson holding hands as they entered a rehab facility in Dallas. Hugging in a hotel doorway in Georgia. Arms wrapped around each other in a parking lot at a bar in Charlotte, where he’d supposedly come to see her. They’d been blurry photos online and in the tabloids, but the images in her mind were crystal clear. Even nine months later.

  She licked her lips, knowing Steven could make them go away, even if it was just for a little while. “Same deal as before?”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  She sucked in a lungful of air. He smelled so damn good. Sharp and sweet all at once. Cologne and beer. A hint of men’s soap and sugary icing from her birthday cake. “I want—”

  She was interrupted by a harsh knock on her door. Well that was frustrating. She smiled at the irritated look on Steven’s face. “Wonder which one of them forgot something?”

  “I’m kicking their ass, whoever it is.”

  She snorted out a laugh as they both headed for the door. “It might be Lulu, and when she threatens to junk-punch you, she’s completely serious.”

  Steven chuckled as they reached the door. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  She laughed again. It was kind of nice being with him. Easy. “Consider yourself warned,” she told him with a grin.

  But when she opened the door with him close behind her, the smile dropped straight off her face.

  Her world began to pitch hard left and then right as she completely lost her center of gravity. A bright bouquet of peachy pink roses, held by the last person on Earth she had expected to see at her door, greeted her.

  Emotions she’d held back for so long slammed into her with the driving force of a runaway freight train. “W-what are you doing here?”

  His hair was slightly longer. What had once been stubble was a full-grown beard. But it was him. If she’d thought his hazel eyes had been stormy before, they were currently a tsunami of colors swirling and threatening to drown her that very second.

  “Just though I’d drop by to wish you a happy birthday, Kylie Lou.”

  Pain leaked out into his words, and for a moment. she was confused.

  “Corbin,” Steven said evenly from behind her. Oh sweet Jesus. She’d completely forgotten Steven was there, even though he was so close his chest was touching her back.

  “Blythe,” Trace said just as evenly as he jerked his chin upward just a little. His greeting was slightly deeper and laced with something she couldn’t name. Anger, maybe. Whatever it was, he’d managed to make Steven’s own name sound like a threat.

  “Anyways, I just wanted to stop by and give you these. I’ll let you get back to…whatever you were doing.” A muscle in his jaw ticked, and even under the beard, she saw it.

  It was taking all of her concentration to breathe normally and remain upright. Her hand shook visibly as she took the flowers he held. “Thank you. I didn’t realize you were—”

  “Out,” he finished for her, making it sound like he’d busted out of prison. “Yeah. I am. Have a good night.” His gaze lingered on her briefly before he turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall.

  And just like before, he took what was left of her heart with him.

  3 months later

  “PLEASE SAY you’ll come tonight, Kylie. It’ll be fun. And if anyone needs to have a little fun, it’s you.”

  “Gee, thanks.” She would’ve rolled her eyes but Jean Claude was prying them open to apply another pound of mascara.

  “I’m serious. It’s been nearly a year. It’s time.” Mia stepped to the side where Jean Claude wasn’t. “Come on, Oklahoma. Steven and Chris have been asking us to do something with them forever. It’s just a club. We’ll have a few drinks, and hell, maybe we’ll go crazy and do some dancing.”

  Now she wanted to glare at her friend, but Jean Claude was working on the other eye and one-eyed glaring wouldn’t have quite the same effect.

  “Incase you haven’t noticed, I’ve been a little busy.” She waved a hand around to remind Mia where they were. Backstage at the CMAs. Where she was about to perform. And be recognized as a nominee in the New Artist of the Year category. In the past year, she’d spent more time in the studio than the people who worked there. She had two hit singles to show for it. Not a Nice Girl was up for Song of the Year and Heartbreak Town was up for Video of the Year.

  “Exactly. You’ve been busy working twenty-four damn seven. It’s time to loosen up already.” Mia shook her head and stepped aside to let the makeup artist coat her in one more layer of shimmery powder.

  She should’ve been happy-dancing around the dressing room like a maniac. It had been an amazing year.

  She’d cried the first time she heard herself on the radio. She’d cried again when she sang an original song of hers for the first time and saw people in the audience singing along. Because they’d already known the words. Her words. She’d been bombarded with messages from fans saying that they loved her and loved her songs.

  For some artists, this was a hassle to deal with. But for her, her fans were literally her family. Her only supporters. Everything she did, she did for them.

  Tears of joy, she told herself each time she broke down. But deep in the core of her being, there was always that voice. The dark, ugly, honest one.

  You’re crying because he’s not here to share this with you. Because all you want is to tell him about it. And for him to kiss you, congratulate you, and be proud of you.

  She closed her eyes and focused on picturing nothing and no one. No one’s face with boyish dimples that appeared when he grinned. No one’s tan forearms under rolled-up shirtsleeves. No one’s muscular back. No one’s ass in jeans so tight it should be illegal. Just blackness. Nothingness.

  In her twenty years, she’d loved two men. Loved them deeply. Her daddy, who’d died right after her eighteenth birthday in a freak accident at the factory where he worked. And another. One whose name she did her damnedest not to even think, much less say out loud. Because that was the past. And she was focusing on the future.

  Music was her future. Nothing else really mattered.

  “I like working,” she said, hopping out of the chair.

  Her friend smirked. “Yeah, I get that. So do I. But I also like having a life. And living that life.”

  “I have a life,” Kylie argued as they walked towards her stage entrance.

  “Oh yeah? So
what are you doing after this show?”

  “Stopping by the studio to do one more run-through of—”

  “No.” Mia shook her head. “I mean it. I’m done watching robot-Ryans work herself to death. You’re coming out with us tonight if I have to hogtie your ass.”

  “Like you actually know how to hogtie anything,” Kylie said with a short sarcastic laugh. “You don’t understand and I don’t need you to. This is me. I’m doing what I love. Just because you would rather—”

  Mia put a hand up to stop her. “See what I’m doing here? I’m cutting you off before you say something you’ll regret. Because here’s the thing. I’ve been as kind and gentle as I can with you. But I’ve been talking to Lily and to Olivia and—”

  “You talked to Lulu?” Kylie was bursting with excitement about the latest news from her best friend. On the next tour she went on, Lulu was coming along as her personal stylist. But she was kind of pissed that the girls were obviously talking about her behind her back. She could feel an ambush coming on.

  “Yeah. And the general consensus is we’re all worried about you.”

  Kylie aimed a pointed look at the stage she was about to perform on in front of several thousand people.

  “Not about your career. About you.”

  Is there a difference?

  “So stop it. I’m fine.” She raised her arms as two stagehands came to clip her mics onto her dress.

  “Kylie, I need you to listen to me, okay? You’re not fine. And even if you were, you should be so much more than fine. You’re dreams are coming true and you’re fine. Wow. I’m underwhelmed.”

  “I don’t know what you’re getting at but—”

  Mia cut her off once more. “But nothing. Grief is like your favorite pair of old sweats. You get comfortable in them. So comfortable you don’t want to take them off even to shower. They’re worn in and fit just right and you never want to let them go, even when they’re stained and gross and have holes all in them.”