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

by Caisey Quinn

  “It’s kind of late for that,” Hannah informed him with a shrug. “She’s probably suffering from mild exhaustion and dehydration. Some Gatorade and some rest and she’ll be good as new.”

  “I’m sorry, did I miss the part about you being a doctor?” Trace felt his anger rising to an unstable level. He’d been through this with management professionals. All the ones he’d had early in his career had cared about was pushing him as hard as they could so they got paid. He’d be damned if he’d sit by and watch that happen to Kylie.

  “I didn’t mean to imply that—”

  “Hey, you know what? We’re gonna give these guys some space so they can check her out.” Mike clamped down hard on Trace’s shoulder and tugged him away from where the small group had gathered around the back of the ambulance.

  “What the hell, man?” He glared at his bass player.

  “You her manager, agent, doctor, or next of kin? No. No you’re not. You needed to back up and let the people do their jobs, Tray. Period.”

  He took a few deep breaths. “Yeah, okay. But when they’re done, I’m talking to her. And if she’s not up for this tonight, we’re postponing. Period.”

  Mike shrugged. “Fine by me. You might want to call Cora and whoever Kylie’s working with before this gets out. Some of the VIP fans were recording that little scene on their phones. And uh, before you go postponing anything, someone might want to check in with Davies and let him know the situation. You know he’ll use this to activate that No fucking up allowed clause in your contract.”

  Trace nodded as Mike’s advice sank in. A slight tinge of guilt hung around the edge of his concern. He knew he shouldn’t have snapped at Hannah. Girl seemed nice enough. And not like a money-hungry leech like some of the ones he’d worked with. Part of it was his own selfish fear that he was to blame because he’d kept her up late last night.

  Just as he pulled out his phone to call his PR lady, he saw Pauly Garrett headed his way.

  “I called Kylie’s management company. Chaz Michaelson said he’d take care of talking to her publicist and the label.”

  Trace thanked him and watched her talking with the medics. He couldn’t ignore the fact that she looked awfully frail. Seeing her like that, weak and tired, brought his every protective instinct to the surface.

  “She okay?” Pauly asked, jerking his head in her direction.

  “They think it’s just dehydration and maybe exhaustion,” Mike answered before he could.

  “No. Her manager thinks that. The medics are still checking her out.”

  Pauly raised his eyebrows.

  Mike’s hands came up in a defensive gesture. “Yeah, and Trace thinks the entire world should shut down so we can lock the two of them on the bus and he can play doctor with her.” Mike smirked at him. “To be honest, she does look kind of pale. I don’t think she’s up for the kind of treatment you probably have in mind.”

  Trace’s fist twitched in anticipation of connecting with his bass player’s jaw.

  Pauly must’ve noticed because stepped between the two of them. “Tell you what. Why don’t you run to the bus and grab her some waters and crackers or something,” he told Trace. “And you,” he began telling Mike, but Trace didn’t hear the rest.

  He was busy mentally berating himself for being such a complete idiot. All he’d seen her eat the day before was two s’mores. Claire Ann had offered to cook for everyone and he’d just figured she knew she’d been invited and hadn’t wanted to go. Which was mostly true.

  Well, I wasn’t invited to the farm last I checked…It hurts being there, in that place…

  Her words—her soft, heartbreaking words—filled his head as he searched the cabinets on the bus for some damned crackers. He found peanut butter granola bars and grabbed a few Gatorades and some bottles of water as well.

  He really hoped her fainting spell wasn’t a result of the fact that she wasn’t eating or sleeping. Because if she wasn’t taking care of herself—and if her not taking care of herself had anything to do with him or being on tour with someone who’d hurt her like he had—then he’d call the whole damn thing off.

  He nearly dropped everything he was carrying when he stepped off the bus just in time to see the ambulance pulling away.

  Pauly waved an arm in his direction. He jogged over to where he could see her being led by Hannah and Lulu and Mike back towards the bus.

  “What’d they say?” His manager looked grim and his stomach turned. “What’s going on?”

  “Relax. She’s fine. Slight dehydration they said. We’re going to stay in a hotel tonight. Show’s been moved to tomorrow.”

  Trace watched as Pauly tapped a few things out on his phone.

  “I should—”

  “Trace, maybe you should ride with me,” his manager said, bracing him back with a hand on his chest. “I think this has been a lot for her to deal with. The fight, the guitar player leaving...And her manager mentioned that her mom wrote a tell-all that’s recently been published. You know firsthand how messy those situations can be. You going in there all worked up like this isn’t going to be good for anyone right now.”

  He frowned. “I care about her, Pauly.”

  The man nodded. “I know. I know you do. I just don’t want this to start being a trend. I’d like nothing more for the two of you to finish this tour amicably and for everything to go smoothly. But times like this, I really think it’s best if you just keep your distance. The last thing you need is for it to hit the press that you’re the cause of her stress or something.”

  An icy cold wave of dread hit him hard. That was his biggest fear. That this was his fault. He handed Pauly the snacks and drinks he’d been holding.

  “Here. Take those to her. I’m going for a walk.”

  “WELL THAT’S the last time I tell you anything,” Lulu said.

  Kylie sat up and sipped more water. “Very funny. I should’ve eaten breakfast. I just didn’t feel hungry this morning.”

  Mike rode with them to the hotel. He was quietly watching SportsCenter on the flat screen while Lulu sat by Kylie’s makeshift bed on the couch.

  “Any idea where Trace went?” she asked him.

  He looked over at her and shrugged. “Dunno. I guess he got a ride on one of the other buses. He was feeling a little out of it himself I think.”

  “So y’all just ate s’mores last night, huh?” Lulu arched a brow.

  Kylie thwacked her will a pillow. “Shut up. This is embarrassing enough. I can’t believe they postponed the show. Tabloids will probably all say I’m pregnant tomorrow.”

  “Or anorexic,” Lulu offered helpfully.

  “Or a drama queen making a desperate play for attention,” Mike said, waggling his eyebrows at her.

  “Nice. Both of you. Thanks a lot.”

  “Who cares what they say?” Lulu rolled her eyes. “I’m about to Tweet that you were really tired from the orgy you had with your band and needed a day to recover.”

  Kylie snorted. “No one would believe it. My band hates me.”

  “No they don’t,” Lulu reassured her.

  “Yeah. Actually they do,” Mike informed them both. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but they think she’s a slave driver who needs to get a life.”

  Kylie tried not to let either one of them see how much that hurt to hear. Not that it was surprising, but it stung.

  “Okay, Bass Boy, you’re like two seconds from being tossed off this bus.”

  “It’s fine. He’s just being honest,” Kylie told Lulu. “And they have every right to feel that way. I never take breaks, they have to beg for holidays off, and I’m a perfectionist. They pretty much all hate my guts.”

  Lulu turned her back to Mike and gave her friend her full attention. “You’ve worked hard for this. It’s your ass on the line. Your face on the album. You can be however you want to be. They don’t like it, they can find another band to be in.”

  Kylie shrugged. “My New Year’s resolution was to try
and take it easier on them. It’s not their fault I don’t have a life.”

  “Mia mentioned that you were pretty much living in the studio before this tour. Ky, can I ask why that was? I mean, you have a great apartment, you live in the city of your dreams, your album rocketed off the damn charts, and this is everything you wished for, right? So what’s with the constant nose-to-the-grindstone routine?”

  A lump formed in her throat. Kylie waited until she could swallow to answer.

  “It’s all I have, Lu. Music is literally my life.”

  The pity in her friend’s expression made her feel even worse.

  “You know, I don’t get why everyone acts like it’s such a bad thing. In this business, if you take a break, someone younger and prettier replaces you while you’re not looking. So I don’t like to sit around on my ass and wait for that to happen. So what?” She threw her hands up. “And besides, this is temporary. It’s not like I’ll be the next big thing forever. The newness will wear off and I’ll be old news. So it only makes sense to do as much as I can while I’m in the spotlight, right?”

  “What about when you’re not in it anymore, Ky?” Lulu’s voice was much softer than usual. “When this all ends or slows down at least—because, like you said, it will one day—I’m worried about what your life will be like then. What you’ll be like.”

  Kylie wished she could just disappear and avoid this conversation. She knew what kind of life she was going to have. She’d always known.

  Holidays alone eating frozen meals on her couch. Pretending it was fine. That she was glad to have some time to herself.

  Her daddy’s death had left her with nothing but a dream, a dream that she’d chased and caught and would probably have to let go of at some point. She had her dream career, had success she knew many only hoped for and never got. But she wasn’t stupid. She knew a career in music wouldn’t last forever, wouldn’t love her, and wouldn’t keep her warm at night. But she’d been naïve enough to hope for everything once, to think maybe she could have her dream and someone to share it with. She’d be damned if she’d make that mistake again.

  “What would you suggest I do? I’ve tried dating and having a life outside of it. You saw how well that worked out for me.”

  Lulu opened her mouth to answer, but it was Mike clearing his throat that she heard.

  “Mind if I take this one?” he asked her friend.

  “If you say something hurtful and asinine, I promise you will be hoofing it to the hotel on your own two legs.”

  “Noted,” Mike answered with a grin. He scooted a little closer to where they sat and looked Kylie right in the eyes. “You know what I always liked about you?”

  “Probably nothing that’s appropriate to say out loud,” Kylie muttered.

  He laughed good-naturedly. “Well, yeah. But also, you were tough. And anything anyone gave you, you gave right back. You didn’t play any bullshit games. Well, minus hustling us all in Hold ‘Em in Mobile. But aside from that, you were a straight shooter.”

  “Are you trying to say I’m some big phony now, Brennen? Because—”

  “Eh, eh, eh,” he said, cutting her off before she could blow a gasket. “Hear me out.”

  She huffed out a breath and waited for him to continue.

  “What I’m saying is, somewhere along the way, for whatever reason, you changed. And that’s probably not a bad thing since this business tends to eat pretty little girls like you for breakfast. But from what your band bitches about and how tight Corbin’s been wound lately, I think you probably went a little too far in the I don’t fucking need anyone direction. And when you work with a band who has your back in the studio and on the road, that’s a dangerous move.”

  Kylie chewed over the things he’d said for a few minutes.

  “So you’re telling me I should just go with the flow and say to hell with rehearsing, recording, and the rest of it?” She threw her hands up and let them fall back into her lap. “You know as well as I do, this business will toss me out on my ass if I do that.”

  Mike didn’t answer right away. When he did, his question caught her off guard. “Your guitar player, the one that just had twins, what are their names?”

  “Uh, his kids’ names?”

  “Yeah.”

  Kylie scanned her memory for any mention of their names. “I don’t know. He never said.”

  “Really? ‘Cause I’ve met him all of once and I know their names, time of birth, and weight.”

  “I’ve been busy,” Kylie said in her own defense.

  “Okay, what’s his wife’s name then?”

  Once again, she felt like she should know the answer but couldn’t pull it to her lips. “Starts with an M I think.”

  Mike raised a brow. “Really? They spell Rachel with an M where you’re from?”

  “Jesus Christ, Mike. She doesn’t have to memorize all of their life stories,” Lulu broke in. “Give her a friggin’ break.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying.” He gave a slight shake of his head and shrugged. “All I’m saying is, I can get not letting everyone in. The way shit went down with you and Tray, I can see how you’d want to be careful. And it’s not easy trusting people in this business, period. But when it comes to your band, you might want to at least make an effort. Let them know you’re human and you actually give a shit about them.”

  She pulled her knees up to her chest. It felt like the man had just torn her skin off and shown everyone her battered heart.

  She’d changed. She knew she had. But she also felt like she’d had to. Otherwise she’d just keep trusting the wrong people, giving them everything she had to give, and winding up empty and alone. At least this way she was alone by choice.

  “I need to know something. Tell me the truth, Brennen. Please?” She hated the pathetic pleading tone in her voice, but she had to know.

  He smirked at her, and she glared hard at him before he made some inappropriate comment.

  “Trace and…Trace and Gretchen. Are they a thing or not? Was it all media hype or was there truth to any of it?”

  Trace’s bass player and friend tilted his head and stared at her intently. Then he ran a hand through his messy blond hair and shrugged. “You and the kid who recently parted ways with the tour. Were you a thing or not? Was it all media hype or was—”

  “I got it,” she said, putting a hand up. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  Lulu handed her another bottle of water from the fridge. “Ignore him. What the hell does he know, right?”

  “No, he’s right,” Kylie said softly, taking the drink from her friend. “I shut people out. It seemed easier that way, after everything. Until…” She trailed off, unsure as to how to explain.

  “Until you had to face him again. He’s not exactly the type of guy you can shut out.”

  Kylie swallowed, the knot in her throat threatening to choke her for what seemed like the millionth time recently. “Yeah,” she managed to get out.

  “Well, I don’t know that Bass Boy is exactly the best person to be giving life advice, but I do think there’s at least one person you should talk to about how you feel about Trace. Get everything out in the open and go from there.”

  Her brows dipped in confusion. The sham of a relationship she’d faked with Steven was over. Her cover was blown and she was pretty sure everyone knew that.

  “Kylie,” her friend prompted, giving her a gentle nudge with her shoulder. “I think it’s time you talked to him.”

  The bus stopped and she realized they were at the hotel. That wasn’t the only thing she realized. Her friend was right. Painfully so.

  “Can we stop in the hotel bar before we head to the room? I need a drink.”

  Mike’s eyebrows shot up. “You just passed out from dehydration and you want to—”

  “Yes,” Lulu interrupted, glaring at Mike as she did. “Yes we can have a drink. It’s been a crazy few weeks. You’ve earned yourself a drink. But just one, Ky. You did just pass out on me a
fter all.”

  Kylie still felt sick and slightly dazed as they got off the bus and walked towards the hotel.

  If she was going to tell Trace Corbin how she felt about him, how she really felt, she was going to need a hell of a lot more than one drink.

  BECAUSE HIS manager was a decent guy and also a decent-sized pain in the ass, he’d kept on and on at him until Trace got on the bus and rode to the hotel with the band.

  Danny asked if Kylie was okay, and Trace mumbled that he wasn’t allowed to check on her apparently.

  He felt like he had a babysitter from the second they arrived at the hotel in Greensboro. Danny and Pauly flanked him closely as they passed the hotel bar.

  “What the hell is the deal with you two?”

  “Nothing,” they both answered a little too readily.

  Pauly glanced at his phone. “Hey, I’m starved. How about we let the crew unload everything and we go grab some dinner?”

  Trace’s eyes narrowed. Pauly and that damn phone. He was beginning to wonder if his manager was selling classified government secrets on the thing. “Something going on I should know about?”

  He’d had it with whatever overprotective dad shit they were trying to pull. If something was going on with Kylie, if she was worse off than they were telling him, then he was going to find out and do something about it. The more they evaded discussing her, the more hell-bent he became on finding her right that second and making sure she was really all right.

  Danny spoke up before Pauly could answer. “How about we all go out to dinner? Round up the band and—”

  “Stop. Stop with the distraction techniques.” He wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but they were definitely trying to keep him from something. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  He swung his imploring gaze from his manager to his fiddle player and back again. Neither of them met his eyes.

  “I get it.” His chest tightened, and he was surprised to realize that his feelings were hurt. “There’s a bar here. And probably a mini-bar in my room. So naturally everyone’s worried I’m going to get wasted and take this whole tour down with me.”