by Caisey Quinn
There was laughter and a few more whistles.
“Okay. Here we go.”
The members of Trace’s band began to play. The tingle of the symbols rose goosebumps on her skin. She sucked in a deep breath and threw up a silent plea for the strength to get through this.
I used to believe in make believe. Used to wish on stars. Used to fall asleep at night feeling safe there in your arms. I wanted to believe. That a girl like me…could have everything.
Kylie pulled in more air—hoping additional courage would come with it.
Now I know that life doesn’t always work out like I want it to. I get to go and live my dream but I had to let go of you.
The tempo sped in time with her racing heartbeat. Deep down there’s still one thing, one simple wish I wish could still come true. I wish there were two of me. So one of me could live my dream and the other one could stay right here with you.
Yeah I wish there were two of me. So one of me could lay right here on this old porch swing forever. Where we’d always be together. I wish there were two of me. So I could stay in your arms, chase my dreams and follow my heart. Oh I wish there were two of me.
Thanks to the glaring lights she couldn’t see him. But she could feel him. Could feel a heavy gaze boring into her as she finished her song.
When she was done, she thanked the audience and hopped down from the tailgate. Carefully weaving her way around lights and cords, she made it to the back of the barn. Where she put her hands on her knees and threw up everything she’d eaten in the last week to the soundtrack of Gretchen Gibson singing about second chances.
AFTER SHE’D gone inside and rinsed her mouth out, she smiled and shook hands and posed for pictures and signed autographs while Trace belted out Rock It On My Tailgate. The audience hollered and cheered and sang along as she navigated the path to the car that had brought her here. Once she’d found it, she snuck a lukewarm beer from the cooler in the back seat and looked around for Mia. But she was nowhere in sight.
The really sick part was she didn’t actually want to leave yet. Common sense said she should get as far from this place as she could and never look back. But she wanted to hurt just a little longer, ache a little more for what she’d lost. For a life she’d never have.
She didn’t feel like she’d so much as taken a breath until she made it down to the pond, away from the partygoers. She’d never thought she’d feel this way. Not here. Not in the only place aside from her actual home she’d ever felt safe. Alive. Loved.
She wondered briefly if he’d arranged this on purpose. Having her here. Making her face him and Gretchen since he’d seen her with Steven. But deep down she knew better. He couldn’t have known the label would be so insistent about her going. And how self-centered was she? This was about his foundation, raising money for his A Hand Up charity. He didn’t give enough of a shit about her to plan such a significant even just to lure her here.
She took a large swallow of her beer. Thank God for Mia.
She almost laughed out loud. There were four words she never imagined she’d ever be thinking. Plus, she was drinking and Trace was sober. Now there was some irony. But seeing him fresh out of the shower like that, shirtless, and wet and…damn. She really did not need to go there.
Insects danced on the surface of the pond, rippling the water here and there, contorting the perfect reflection of the moon. Whippoorwills called in the distance, and she closed her eyes. For a split second the moon became the sun and she could hear the echo of her own squeals as she was tossed into that very same pond.
She could see him coming towards her, looking panicked at first and then smiling when he realized she wasn’t drowning. They’d splashed and laughed and she’d dunked him with all she was worth. They’d made love soon after. Her first time. Jesus. It seemed like it was yesterday and a lifetime ago all at once.
“Tellin’ your troubles to the crickets?”
She jumped at the deep cadence of his voice. For a moment she thought it might have been in her head. But turning, she saw him. Walking slowly down the steep incline towards the pond. She took another long drink from her bottle and steeled herself, slamming the thick walls back over her exposed emotions.
“You’re the one who just bailed on your own party. Who says I have troubles?”
Trace took a step towards her, tentatively, as if he realized he wasn’t welcome in her space. “Well I know that when I snuck off to drink it was because I had troubles. Everybody has troubles, Kylie Lou,” he answered quietly.
She grit her teeth together so hard it hurt. Asking him not to call her that would make her look weak, and demanding he not call her that would just make him do it that much more.
“Whatever you say. I’m gonna head back up and grab Mia. It’s gettin’ late.”
“Past your bedtime?” he teased.
She was careful to keep the smirk off her face. She had his number, knew his game. But she wasn’t playing. Not this time. She’d already gone all in once and lost everything.
“Something like that.” She gave him the widest berth possible as she passed. “Party was great. I’m sure it was a success. Best of luck with your foundation.”
“Hey.” He turned and reached for her but she took another step, just far enough to keep out if his reach. “Come on, it’s not that late.”
“It is,” she said, backing up even more. “It’s too late.” Her words held a double meaning, and his expression said he’d picked up on the one below the surface. She dipped her head. “It was a great benefit. Thanks for inviting me.” She swallowed hard, trying to gather the strength to say the rest. “Goodnight, T-Trace.”
Saying his name out loud ripped the air from her lungs. She turned away and stumbled. He reached out to steady her but it wasn’t necessary. She steadied herself and shook him off.
“I’m fine.”
He stepped closer. “Are you?” He pulled his hat off and ran a hand through his hair before turning it backwards. “‘Cause it kinda seems like you might not be.”
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
“Well I am.” She bit her lip. Hard. But the words still came out. “Not that it’s any of your concern.” Shit. Shit, shit, shit. She was losing control of her mouth. Becoming the person he’d deemed Hothead not so long ago. This close she could smell his cologne and his warm woodsy scent. Memories she’d worked so hard to keep at bay forced their way back into her mind.
“Doesn’t mean I don’t still care,” was all he said.
She didn’t trust herself to speak again so she just turned and walked away without even saying goodbye. Just like he’d done. Just like everyone else always did.
Somehow it didn’t feel nearly as good as she’d expected it to.
“SITUATIONS LIKE this are called triggers,” Dr. Reynolds reminded him. “Sometimes it’s a person, a place, or just a stressor that agitates the urge to drink. We talked about these at length, remember? It’s okay to have them. I’d be shocked if you didn’t.”
The benefit had gone surprisingly well. They’d raised nearly twice as much money as Trace had expected, and the outpouring of support had blown his mind. But…Christ Almighty, seeing her there had nearly destroyed every ounce of self-control he’d had.
When she was on stage, singing a song that’d pummeled his heart six ways to Sunday, he’d wanted nothing more than to grab her up, throw her over his shoulder, and drag her to his bedroom caveman-style. He’d spend all night—and every night afterward—trying to take away the pain he’d caused her. And if he got her back in there, she was never coming out. Neither of them was. Ever.
He’d tried to talk to her and she’d all but run from him. Afterward, he’d spent the entire night sitting alone in his bedroom staring at the bed, picturing her in it. He hadn’t downed a bottle of bourbon and let the burn coat his insides with sweet fire and distract him from the pain of missing her. Of having lost her.
But now, having gone more than twenty-four hours on no
sleep and an entire night of watching the ghost of Kylie Ryans tease and taunt him, he was on the brink.
“It’s more than that, Doc. This isn’t a trigger I can avoid. I mean, I can try. Hell, I’ve been trying, but…” He sat in his truck, rubbing the bridge of his nose with the hand not holding the phone. “I can’t outrun my own memory.”
He’d left the house as soon as it was daylight and driven to his house in Nashville. Which he knew wasn’t nearly far enough from her apartment. The only thing that kept him from going there was the memory of what had happened last time.
“Trace, it’s not your memory that’s the trigger. It’s the situation or your feeling like you can’t control it. Can’t repair what’s been broken.”
Yeah, okay. The man had a point.
She wasn’t a piece of equipment on the farm, wasn’t something he could take a hammer and nails to and fix. Unfortunately. Kylie Ryans was a force of nature—wild like prairie winds that blew past so quickly you couldn’t tell which direction they’d come from. She’d blown him the hell away from day one.
“Doc, I’m sorry to have called so early. I have to go. I’ll check in again tonight.” Before the doctor could protest, Trace hung up the phone. Grabbing a pen from the center console, he began jotting down the song that had just begun to play in his head.
AFTER WRITING a song he knew he’d probably never have the balls to sing in public, Trace sprawled on his couch and stared at the ceiling fan. The cherry oak blades drifted lazily in circles, but he didn’t see them. He saw her.
She was different. Guarded. Less…something.
It was as if someone had coached her. Her sassy Oklahoma accent was less pronounced. She carried herself with the grace of someone older and wiser than he’d remembered. She thought before she acted, before she spoke. For just a moment last night, he’d seen her slip. Caught a glimpse of the Hothead who had turned his whole world inside out.
The Kylie Ryans he’d known was open, honest, and wore her heart on her sleeve. The girl—no, woman—he’d seen last night was closed off, holding everything in, and had her heart on maximum-security lockdown.
Because of me.
Understanding hit him hard, as hard—if not harder—than the urge to drink always did.
I love it… I love you, she’d told him when he’d bought her daddy’s truck and given it to her. And he’d said nothing. She’d handed him her whole heart and he’d fumbled it. His fists clenched as he lay there. No wonder she’d hidden it away.
There was still another factor he was trying not to think about. But it was pretty hard to ignore with its tattoos and screaming guitars and the annoying smirk Trace wanted to sucker-punch right off its damn face.
Maybe she wasn’t hiding her heart from the world. Maybe he just couldn’t see it anymore because she’d given it to someone else.
THE NEXT morning, the blaring ring of her phone compounded the hangover from hell. She’d stopped using music as her ringtone and just used a traditional one. It was annoying, but at least it didn’t dredge up any painful memories.
“Ugh,” she groaned as she rolled over and glanced at her phone. Bright blue eyes greeted her. “Morning, Blythe,” she greeted her caller.
“It’s noon, Ryans. You missed the opportunity to tell me good morning.”
“Damn. How will I ever go on?” She yawned and sat up in her bed. Which she didn’t remember getting into. She owed Mia one. Or more than one.
“I’ll let you make it up to me. Somehow. Want to have lunch? Or breakfast in your case? I’m in the neighborhood.”
Well this was new. Steven Blythe had gone from a once upon a time late-night fool around friend to a writing buddy and just plain old friend. Though he wasn’t exactly someone she expected to be asking her on a lunch date.
“Oh-kay. Where do you want to meet?”
“How about at your front door?”
Kylie jumped up and sprinted to her bathroom. “Um, okay. So, like, you’re here now?”
She almost cried out when she saw her reflection. Her hair was a mess and her makeup was smeared all over her face. She had no idea if the dark rings under her eyes were from crying her mascara off last night or lack of sleep.
A low rumble of laughter came through the line. “Yeah, I’m heading to the elevator now.”
“Okay. See you in a minute.” Kylie disconnected the call and splashed some water on her face. Shit that was cold. After brushing her teeth and throwing on an old Rum Room t-shirt and jeans, she met her unexpected visitor at the door.
“Morning, babe. You didn’t have to get all fixed up for me.” Steven gave her his wickedly adorable grin and an appreciative once-over.
Kylie pulled her hair up into a messy bun and rolled her eyes. “You’re welcome,” she told him as she grabbed her keys and sunglasses off the table by the door. “So where to?”
“Wanna grab something at the Rum Room? Or hit one of the diners down the street?”
She’d already locked her door when she realized she’d forgotten two of the most important items she owned.
“Oh crap.” She sighed and turned back around. “I need to grab my wallet and my phone. I don’t know where my head is today. Sorry.”
She wasn’t one to sleep in, and normally her daily life was scheduled down to the minute. She was beginning to realize why.
Steven’s warm hands wrapped around hers. “I’m buying. And you can make it through one meal without your phone, right?”
She froze, wondering if she actually could make it through a meal without her phone. She couldn’t remember the last time she had. And he was buying? And holding her hand? So this was a date? Her head swam with questions she was still too hungover to answer.
“Okay. But, um, I eat like a dude, so consider yourself warned.”
Steven grinned as they left her apartment building. “Maybe take it easy on me then. I’m out of a job.”
Kylie stopped and turned to face him. “You’re what?”
Placing a hand on her lower back urging her forward, he continued. “It’s not a big deal. Band’s just taking a breather.”
“The hell it isn’t a big deal. You guys are about to be freaking huge. You’re like the unsigned band to be right now. I thought there was interest from Eletrick and all that?”
He shrugged as he held the door to the diner open for her. “Things got…complicated.”
Kylie raised an eyebrow at him but he didn’t offer anything further. She watched as Steven nodded to a pretty redheaded waitress. As she took in his tight black T-shirt and the tattoos banding his thick arms, a slow smile spread across the woman’s face. Kylie barely managed to keep from laughing out loud.
The woman gestured to an empty booth Kylie would’ve bet money was in her section and they slid in.
“So, Miss-Eats-Like-A-Dude, what’ll it be?”
“Come on, Blythe,” Kylie began, using her hand to lower the menu he held. “Talk to me. What’s really going on?”
He sighed, setting the menu aside and turning the full force of his bright blue eyes on her.
“Chris isn’t feeling the new sound. He says we’re letting the media influence make us too ‘mainstream.’” Steven used air quotes on the last word. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s right. But lately he and I have just…” He smacked his two fists together as an illustration. “Just been coming up on opposite sides of every discussion you know? And BJ is tired of it. He gets stressed out really easily. Kid had a rough home life.”
“So what are you guys going to do? Just break up? That’s asinine.”
Steven ran a hand through his already mussed black hair and shifted in his seat, but before he could answer, the redhead appeared to take their order.
“What can I get for you?” she asked, green eyes locked on Kylie’s breakfast companion.
Kylie didn’t miss the flirty grin Steven shot the waitress before motioning for her to take Kylie’s order first.
She thrust her menu at the annoying chick. “Ye
ah, I’ll have the pancakes and bacon with extra syrup please. And an orange juice and a large coffee, black.”
The waitress forced a smile that was more like a smirk. “And you?” she said, taking Kylie’s menu and turning back to Steven.
“Same, I guess.”
When she was finally gone, Kylie turned back to Steven. He was spinning a saltshaker back and forth between his large hands. “You do her or what?”
“What?” His eyebrows shot upward as he looked at her with wide eyes.
“No? So all women get ridiculous around you like that? Because if they do, this is our last breakfast date. It’s too early for me to watch some chick ogle you. Her desperation is making me nauseated.” Kylie yawned, which nearly made her giggle at the perfect timing of it.
“Aw, Ryans, you’re jealous.” With a wink, Steven leaned in closer to her. “Actually, that’s kind of a turn-on of mine.”
“You’re a jackass.” Kylie sat back and folded her arms. “For one, I don’t do jealous. For two, I’m more interested in hearing what the hell’s going on with the band than what turns you on. And for three, can we just focus on one thing for a second? I swear I think you have an attention deficit issue.”
He chuckled and slid the saltshaker aside. “For one, I was just messing with you about being jealous. For two, the band is on a break…indefinitely. And three, I actually do. My parents made me take medicine for it when I was a kid but it made me feel dead so I stopped.”
Kylie huffed out a breath. “Figures. Okay, so tell me the truth. You and Chris butting heads—is it really over the direction of the band or a certain brunette we both know and have likely seen naked?”
“You’ve seen her naked?”
“We toured together, so the answer should be obvious. It was a small bus. But I’m guessing from the way you nearly fell out of your seat that you haven’t. And that’s the issue.”