by Caisey Quinn
Kylie arched a brow. “I think I’m missing the point of this little speech.”
“The point is they look awful on you.”
“That was a really shitty analogy. Wish me luck.”
Bryce Parker and an actress Kylie didn’t know but vaguely recognized were hosting the awards show. They were right in the middle of announcing her as the next performer when Mia touched her on the arm and sighed loudly.
“Sorry if that was harsh. I know you’re still hurting, and I can be kind of insensitive sometimes. Good luck out there.”
Kylie nodded and turned towards the stage. “Thanks,” she mumbled. The weirdest part was she wasn’t hurting. She wasn’t anything. She was numb and had been for the better part of a year. It’s why she wasn’t nervous about performances like this. She felt nothing.
Well, she felt Bryce Parker trying to cop a feel when the lights went down. She smacked his hand away. Hard.
But other than that, nothing. No butterflies, no jangled nerves. No worries about anything going wrong.
Except…when the lights came up on her this time, in that split second before the band cranked into her song, she looked down. Because she had the oddest sensation that instead of wearing the five-thousand dollar designer dress she had on, she was actually in her sweatpants.
“WE PROBABLY shouldn’t sit by each other.” Gretchen shuffled down the aisle around Mike, putting a seat between them. “Unless we want to be engaged with a baby on the way tomorrow.”
“You’re being paranoid.” Trace shook his head.
He hadn’t even wanted to come to this. The label was holding all the cards now though, and he was grateful they’d understood about his needing time to step back from his career and get his drinking under control. Plus, he wasn’t a complete moron. They weren’t really as understanding as they were pretending to be. They just didn’t want to send a public message that they didn’t want their artists to get help if they needed it.
He knew that at the first sign of any wrongdoing on his part they’d drop the ax over his head so fast he wouldn’t even feel the pain of being cut loose.
“No, I’m not,” she said. Her voice was a hiss of a whisper because the lights were going down as the show began. “You need to read some tabloids, my friend. There’s all kinds of stuff going around about us.”
“I’ll pass. Thanks.”
He didn’t care what anyone said. That had been part of his therapy in rehab. Overcoming the impulses that surged when he felt out of control or powerless.
Some things he could control. Himself. His drinking. He was working on his temper. What a bunch of dickheads printed about him in some trashy-ass magazine…there was nothing he could do about that.
“She’s right, Trace.” The oldest member of his band, Danny, leaned over. “If you want to start clean, then you two need to keep your distance. If it gets around you that and Gretch were in the front row for Kylie’s first big performance, you’ll be a shoe-in for Asshole Country Artist of the Year.”
He blinked at the man. Kylie’s big performance?
He hadn’t paid attention to any of the stuff about the awards show. He’d just shown up because the label said he had to. Before he had time to ask any questions, the room went pitch black. Bright pink lights on the stage caught his eye. They lit up, one letter at a time. K-Y-L-I-E-R-Y-A-N-S.
Aw hell.
“I’m an alcoholic,” he whispered to Danny. “An emotional drinker. None of y’all thought it might be a good idea to mention this ahead of time?”
Danny’s eyes were glued to the stage as he answered. “Pauly and Noel said not to. Said you wouldn’t come.”
Trace turned to see her coming from the smoke and fog on stage. The lights hit her and for a second he couldn’t breathe. “I wouldn’t have.”
In nearly a year of rehab, he’d learned a few things. One was that there were certain situations he had to avoid if he wanted to remain sober. Triggers, Dr. Reynolds called them. Tabloids—any media coverage at all, actually—were some of them. He’d yet to determine if Kylie Ryans was a trigger or not.
Guess I’m about to find out.
The woman on stage was something else. Her sound had changed. It was harsher, angrier. But mesmerizing. She was a force of nature up on that stage, stalking towards the audience as her lyrics hit him full force.
I know they talk trash behind my back. But baby I got news for you. Those crazy rumors about me? Well hell, they might all be true. I’m not a nice girl.
He tried to focus on his breathing while her guitar player rocked out. She was doing country-rock crossover? Last he’d seen her perform, she was going more a folksy bluegrass route.
His chest ached as his mind conjured the most probable cause for the change. He hadn’t seen Steven Blythe anywhere tonight, but surely if he and Kylie were still a couple, he’d be here. He’d been with her on her birthday three months ago. Alone. In her apartment. Trace had to swallow a few times to choke down the bile that rose in his throat from the memory.
Knowing it was entirely possible that a television camera could be aimed at his face at that very moment, he worked to keep his features expressionless as she began to sing.
I’m not the one that your mama would choose. I’m not the kinda girl that you propose to. Turns out I’m just fine with a one-night-stand. Baby I’m not lookin’ for a wedding band. I’m not a nice girl.
The picture perfect moment her lyrics brought to life behind his eyes was a solid chink in the armor of his resolve to try and put the past out of his mind and move forward.
You are not a nice girl, he’d told her when he’d thrown her into his pond and she’d faked him out and pretended she couldn’t swim.
Some days he wished someone could punch him hard enough to make him forget. If he knew it would work, he’d take the hit. Happily. And at the same time, his ego swelled just a bit. It could have been a coincidence that something he’d said to her when they were together became the title of her hit single, or it could be that she still remembered too.
There wasn’t a single second of their time together—from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her in a smoke-filled bar two years ago—that he’d forgotten. And he’d tried.
She was strutting around stage with the confidence of a superstar. Even if Steven Blythe was the one responsible, he was still proud of her. And as much as a part of him still wanted a drink, wanted to soothe the hurt of seeing her again, of knowing she probably belonged to another man—maybe even a better man—he knew he wasn’t going to give in. Not tonight at least. Tonight he was going to focus on his music and taking it one day at a time.
So he thought.
Damn that dress she had on. It was black and tight and light reflected off it all over the place. There was a longish skirt-type deal but it was wide open in the front and the sight of those perfect legs was enough to make him regret everything.
Leaving her. Going to rehab without asking her to wait for him. Going into rehab period, because it meant nine-plus long months without those firm, perfectly toned legs wrapped around him.
The tightening in his pants reminded him how very long those months had been. She was still singing, but in his head, she was moaning his name.
He closed his eyes. Hard. Trying to erase those images. It wasn’t fair to remember that. To think of her that way. He’d walked away from it. From her.
In place of her lip-biting, please-don’t-stop, I’m-coming face, another version of Kylie Ryans appeared behind his eyes. His girl. Kylie Lou. Those gorgeous eyes of hers round and wide and full of tears. Her voice was as clear in his head as it was on stage.
Don’t do this. You don’t mean it. I don’t believe you.
And even though she was wearing a black dress and singing her ass off right in front of him, the Kylie he saw was just standing there. Crying and broken in a red dress.
Just as he’d left her.
“I CHANGED my mind.”
Mia smiled as Kylie made
her way to her seat between her and Donovan Taite, their friend Lily’s dad.
“About going out?”
Kylie nodded.
“Sweet. I’ll text the guys to meet us after their show. It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”
She gave Mia a taut smile. “Can’t wait.”
The truth was, she’d rather do anything else. Write, record, sleep. Take up knitting. Have dental work done. But fate was cruel and downright spiteful.
Tonight had been the biggest performance of her life and the man she’d forced out of her memory had been in the front damned row.
And he wasn’t alone.
“ARE YOU wearing that out tonight?” Mia eyed Kylie’s tattered jean skirt and her Hank Williams Junior T-shirt.
“Hell yeah I am. Why?”
Mia frowned. “I mean, I know you haven’t been out in a while but the club we’re going to is kind of—”
“I don’t have anyone to impress.”
“Yeah, well, no danger of that.” Mia rolled her eyes and linked arms with Kylie as they left her apartment.
The club was crowded and noisy. From the moment they passed through the roped-off VIP entrance, the music grated against her in a way that made her want to cringe. There was a time when she would’ve loved it. Would’ve barely been able to keep still as the bass pounded into her.
Not tonight.
Mia dragged her over to where Steven Blythe and his friend and lead singer of his band sat.
Chris Something. Do I even know his last name? Whatever. Kylie couldn’t remember for sure. Not that it mattered.
“Heard you sang the hell out of that song we wrote together tonight,” Steven said, winking at her.
“Well if you heard that, it must be true.”
Kylie looked past him to where a waitress was delivering drinks at the table behind them. When the woman looked over, Kylie waved a hand. “Can I get an Amaretto Sour please? A couple of them?”
She could tell by the waitress’s expression she was thinking about carding her. Twenty was close enough to drinking age. Kylie fished her black credit card out of her wallet and held it up. “I’d like to start a tab please.”
The woman took it and nodded. Mia and Steven ordered beers and Chris ordered a soda. Plain ol’ soda. Lot of fun he was probably going to be.
Two drinks in, Kylie started to realize what was really going on. This wasn’t a night out for fun. This was a setup.
“So Chris here is really into animal rights. He organized a protest last year at the university and was able to get them to stop testing non-life-saving products on lab animals.” Mia beamed at Kylie as if she’d just said that the dude had invented world peace.
“Cool.” Probably not the time to mention that my daddy used to take me hunting. Kylie downed her drink. Her stomach twinged a little from the sweetness.
This wasn’t a mixed drink kind of night. Not after seeing him. When the waitress passed by again, she lifted her hand. The woman raised her head in Kylie’s direction. “Can I get two fingers of bourbon please? Heaven Hill if you have it.”
In honor of the man who shattered my heart into a million pieces.
“Kylie,” Mia hissed from across from her. “What the hell are you doing?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Getting trashed. Isn’t that the point of going out? Blowing off steam and all that?”
“Ryans, can I talk to you outside?” Steven asked, leaning across the table.
“After I finish my drink.” The waitress returned and sat the squat glass of amber- colored liquid in front of her.
Here’s to you, Trace. She reached for the glass but it wasn’t where she’d expected it to be.
She looked up just in time to see Steven chug it back in one swallow. “What the—”
“There. Now you’re finished. Let’s go.” He didn’t pay any attention to her protests as he wrapped a hand around her elbow and pulled her from the bar.
Once they were outside, she jerked out of his grasp. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you, but if you ever grab me like that—”
“I’m sorry I grabbed you. But I guess we’re even. ‘Cause I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you either. No, I take it back. I bet I do know.” He folded his arms and leaned back against the brick building behind him. “I guess you heard he’s back in town.”
She wanted to roll her eyes. Deny it. Lie and say that she couldn’t care less. But she’d been consumed with feeling nothing for nearly a year. She was too tired to keep up the façade.
She’d sat through her signing party at Capital Letter Records like a zombie. She couldn’t even remember a single thing that was said at her birthday dinner a few months ago.
Only what had happened after.
He’d shown up at her apartment. With flowers. Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Flowers. He’d seen Steven and bolted. Right back to rehab according to the local rumor mill. Seeing him tonight had jolted her back to reality. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was karma repaying her for hurting him. For causing him to fall off the wagon and run back to Dallas. To her.
“I saw him,” she said quietly. “He was there tonight. In the front row. Him and her both.”
Do not cry, dammit.
She looked up at the dark sky. She couldn’t see the stars or the moon. She was glad. A clear night sky unaffected by city lights would’ve reminded her of a farm in Georgia she couldn’t bear to think about.
“Shit. Hey, I’m sorry.” Steven reached out and wrapped his arms around her. Tears came without her permission.
And I’d been doing so well.
She stepped back, knowing she’d probably see a cell phone quality shot of this moment in a gossip magazine any day now.
“I’m fine. It’s fine.” She shook her head and wiped her eyes. “I’m being stupid.”
“Naw. You’re being human.” Steven nudged her with his shoulder. “Good thing, too. We were starting to wonder.” He winked at her.
She rolled her eyes. “Guess I made a hell of an impression on my date, huh?”
“You caught that, did you?” He shrugged and put his hands up. “Mia’s idea, not mine. Swear.”
She gave him a small smile. “I figured.”
Steven huffed out a breath and she caught the familiar scent of bourbon in the air. She licked her lips and took a step closer—feeling like a junkie who’d just gotten a hit of her favorite brand. She wanted it. Wanted it to hurt and burn and remind her of everything she’d tried so hard to forget.
“Take me home.”
Deep blue eyes widened as she came closer. Who knew five-feet two inches of blonde mess could make a six-foot tall tattooed guy look so panicked? Steven’s eyes narrowed as he watched her move in for the kill.
“Oh-kay. You mean take you home as in walk you home, right?”
“Are you sleeping with Mia?” Kylie asked, tilting her head to the side.
“Jesus, Ryans. Guess subtly’s not your thing, huh?”
“Yes or no?”
Steven shook his head. It was the answer she wanted. For tonight, he could help her remember. Maybe he could help her forget, too. One day. Except…something had flashed in his eyes when she’d said Mia’s name.
“You’re not.” She blew out a breath. “But you want to be, don’t you?” It was probably for the best.
He didn’t answer right away. His eyes raked over her. Not in an I-want-to-tear-the-clothes-from-your-body kind of way like someone else’s used to. More in the I-have-no-idea-what-the-hell-you’re-doing kind of way.
Well, that made two of them.
She liked Steven. Enjoyed writing music with him. Hanging out with him wasn’t turning out to be so bad either.
They’d crossed a few lines once, months ago after a late night writing session and too many drinks. But it hadn’t been like…like it was with Trace. Damn. Even thinking his name still stung.
“I don’t know yet. We’re getting to know each other. Seeing how it goes. Neither of us is really looking
for anything serious, you know?”
Kylie turned her face away from his. “Of course not. Don’t want to end up like me, right?”
“Hey.” She flinched and half-stumbled when Steven reached for her. He steadied her and placed his finger under her chin so she’d have to look up. Her gaze met clear blue eyes when what she wanted to see was stormy hazel ones. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You hear me? Nothing whatsoever.”
“Yes there is,” she whispered.
I gave my heart away and he didn’t want it. Now I can’t find it anywhere.
Steven shook his head and leaned in close. Close enough to kiss her. Her head swam a little. Their surroundings faded, but it still wasn’t the heart-hammering rush she’d once experienced. The one she still craved with every fiber of her being.
“That first night we met, when I saw you breaking into the VIP room at The Texas Player’s Club, I had every intention of taking you home. For about five seconds. When I saw the way you looked at him, the way he looked at you...” He stopped and shook his head. “Every person in that room felt that connection, Ryans. I knew I didn’t stand a chance.”
The bourbon on his breath combined with the power of his words was conjuring a memory she couldn’t handle. Causing parts of her to tingle, confusing the hell out of her.
Her eyes began to sting. She clutched Steven’s hips and shook her head. “He doesn’t want me anymore. I don’t know that he ever really did.”
“He did. He just…I don’t know. I wish I knew how to make it better for you, but I don’t. But he knew he needed help and he went and got it. Can’t fault a man for that.”
“So how do I move on? How do I get help for what I need?” She knew it wasn’t fair to demand answers from Steven. But he’d known Trace longer than she had. Surely he knew something.
He stared at her long and hard. She didn’t miss it when his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Tell me something. If I take you back to my place tonight, if we do things to each other that you’ve never even said out loud, who will you be thinking of in the morning? Me? Or him?”