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

by Caisey Quinn

  “Nice,” Kylie muttered. Bile rose in her throat at the memory. She was grateful she was in the bathroom of her hotel room incase her stomach decided it wasn’t going to hang on to the bagel she’d choked down. “Now you tell me.”

  Last night seemed like a blurry fever dream-turned-nightmare in her head. But no, the way she’d woken up, half-naked and sprawled out in his bed, confirmed what she’d pretty much known. It was real. And real humiliating.

  She’d taken half a dozen shots of bourbon, despite Lulu’s and Mike’s protests, and thrown herself at Trace. Only to have him turn her on and then turn her slap down. Her head pounded so hard it felt like it was vibrating. It was as if her heart had relocated itself to her skull and was super fucking angry that she’d exposed it last night.

  “Where the hell is Hannah? I need something for this headache. Soundcheck is in an hour.”

  Her friend sighed and sat her makeup brush down on the bathroom sink.

  “Look, I know you’re upset, and I’m sorry things went the way they did. But I don’t think he did what he did because he doesn’t want you or care about you. I think it’s because he does.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Love.” Kylie lifted her head and squinted at the torturous florescent lights in the bathroom as Lulu applied her makeup. “But it was a mistake—one I won’t be making again. Trace Corbin made his choice a long time ago, and there are obviously some side effects of dehydration that no one bothered to tell me about. Like clinical insanity.”

  Lulu rubbed something under her eyes and then grunted her disapproval as she surveyed her work. “The dark circles under your eyes are lighter, but as far as making them go away, you might have to take a nap after soundcheck.”

  “Sounds like a fantastic idea. Actually, I think I might need to go lie down right now.”

  “Go,” Lulu said, dismissing her with an eye roll. “I’ve done all I can do for now.”

  She didn’t need to be told twice. Kylie was drifting in and out of consciousness on her bed when Hannah arrived with her pain pills and a bottle of water.

  “How about I tell them you’re going to sit soundcheck out due to side effects of yesterday’s episode?” her assistant asked.

  Lulu snorted from across the room.

  “Yeah, that sounds good.”

  She would take a nap and pray that she woke up in a different life. Or maybe a different universe.

  Preferably one where she hadn’t made a complete ass out of herself.

  KYLIE WOKe up feeling much better than she had the first time.

  “You know, now that I’m not hungover and I’ve had time to think about it, Trace did what was best for both of us.”

  “Agreed,” Lulu mumbled as she gave Kylie’s hair one last spray with something that smelled like rubbing alcohol and fruit. “As I was saying, it’s probably better to talk about—”

  “Because really, how much of a nightmare would it have been to wake up knowing we’d done it?” She shuddered.

  Being turned down was one thing. Having let him inside of her again, giving him that part of her, just for him to walk away once this tour was over…Now that would’ve been something worth regretting.

  “Right,” her friend said slowly. “I’m sure you’re super thrilled the two of you didn’t get it on last night. You don’t have to pretend with me, Ky.”

  “I’m not,” Kylie said, nodding her approval at Lulu’s handiwork in the mirror. “Last night was a minor drunken episode that only served to remind me of what I already knew.”

  “Which is?” Lulu prompted.

  Trace Corbin was bad for her. Bad for her heart, her body, and her career. She lost all sense of reason when it came to him. That wasn’t something she could afford to do in this business.

  “It’s over.” She wasn’t going to shrug and pretend it wasn’t a big deal, because it was. He was the first man—besides her daddy—that she’d ever loved. “Trace and I aren’t going to have some big Hollywood love scene reconciliation. We had our time together and it’s time to move on. For good.”

  And she was going to let him know how she felt. But since she sucked at talking these kinds of things out, she was going to take a page from his book and sing the song she’d never thought she would. She’d literally titled it The Song I’ll Never Sing.

  But she was going to sing it tonight.

  Her friend eyed her with blatant disbelief plain on her face.

  Trace Corbin was like a huge plate of comfort food. It felt good while inhaling it, but afterwards, she was miserable and consumed painful regret.

  She felt ready to let him know once and for all that whatever they’d had, whether it was real love or just some highly intense lust-fueled attraction, was over.

  He didn’t have to keep giving her that apologetic look he was always aiming in her direction. Or step out of the room when Gretchen called. Or worry about her throwing her stupid drunk self at him.

  She was going to sing her piece and move the hell on. Finally.

  THE CROWD in Greensboro had an energy that brought Kylie back to life. She apologized to them for yesterday and made a joke about the sexy singer she was touring with getting her so hot and bothered that she passed out.

  She was proud of herself. Her heart was safe once again.

  Her pride was a little wounded though. It cuddled her bruised ego in a darkened corner while she smiled and shook her ass all over the stage.

  After what was normally her final song before her duet with Trace, Kylie addressed the audience.

  “Any of y’all ever have that person, that one person who deep down you knew you shouldn’t love? Knew would only break your heart?”

  The majority of the audience cheered in response.

  “And no matter what you do or where you go, after that person breaks your heart, it seems like everything everywhere you turn is a reminder of them?”

  She was greeted with understanding once more. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Trace watching her from the side of the stage.

  “This one’s for you,” she said softly into her microphone.

  The band played the slow opened chords and Kylie began to sing.

  There’s a road I never take. It’s right past the interstate. It’d be easier to get where I’m goin’ if I went that way.

  She swallowed hard, startled by the thick knot of emotion threatening to interrupt her.

  But I just drive on past. Go ahead and waste the gas. ‘Cause I know right where that road will lead. Straight back to the memory of you and me.

  For reasons she didn’t want to admit to herself, she couldn’t even glance to the side of the stage he was on as she continued.

  No I don’t turn the radio on, ‘cause damn if they don’t keep playin’ our song. There’s a shirt in my closet, way back in the back. But I don’t even think about that.

  No I don’t go down that road, don’t even turn the radio on, and I don’t walk around wearin’ your old shirt. ‘Cause I know right where all of that will lead. Straight back to the memory of you and me.

  Her eyes began to pinch and sting and she prayed the audience couldn’t tell that every single lyric was struggling to make its way out over the lump in her throat.

  This was therapeutic in a way. It was their final goodbye. She knew it as sure as she knew her own name.

  I tell myself one day I’ll be strong enough to handle these things, but right now it’s the song I’ll never sing. You don’t have to worry about hearing these words from me. ‘Cause you’ll always be the song I’ll never sing.

  The audience erupted into applause when she was finished. He came out onto the stage and her arm brushed his. Trace’s entire body twitched as if she’d electrocuted him.

  But she felt pure relief.

  She wouldn’t have to work so hard to guard her heart anymore. She’d left it out on the stage.

  This time she didn’t have to avoid him as they sang The Other Side of Me together to close the show. He didn’t even glance in
her direction.

  When they finished and he left her on stage alone, as if he couldn’t get away from her fast enough, her feelings weren’t hurt. Because there was only one emotion she could feel, the safest one she knew.

  Blissful numbness.

  CLAIRE ANN had nearly worn a path in the hardwood floor.

  Things are complicated. He’s dealing with a lot right now. I’ll call as soon as I can.

  After reading his text for what seemed like the umpteenth time, she turned her phone off. Enough was enough. His last message was from three days ago.

  She’d cleaned every inch of the house, the barn, and even Trace’s mini-studio.

  She didn’t know what was upsetting her most. The fact that she and Pauly were still keeping their relationship—if you could even really call it that anymore—a secret, or the fact that something was definitely up with Trace.

  Pauly was worried but had kept all mention of his concern vague.

  Trace hadn’t responded to a single one of her texts or phone calls in over a week. She knew he was in trouble but she had no idea what to do about it.

  To make matters worse, she’d missed Rae’s last few phone calls due to board meetings with the A Hand Up foundation board members.

  This was the part about her life that made her crazy. She was beginning to feel like she spent every minute of it worrying about everyone else, taking care of everyone else, and frozen in some type of time suspension paradox while the rest of the world lived their lives.

  The majority of her time was spent attending Trace’s meetings, dealing with Rae’s mini-melodramas, and wondering if the man she loved would ever be willing to put her first. Or even second.

  As it was, Trace was his top priority, his job was second, and she was hoping to beat out traveling the countryside for third place. So far she was running a distant fourth with very little hope of a change, at least not in the foreseeable future.

  She’d left several voicemails for him to call her. She texted that she missed him. That she wanted to tell Trace now so that she could meet up with them in Oklahoma at this weekend’s show and not have to make up an excuse for being there.

  And his response had basically been, Please hold. I’ll get back to you when I can.

  So much for romance.

  Trace was getting to live his dream. Rae had her whole future spread out in front of her, not to mention the free ride and no responsibilities thanks to their brother. And Claire Ann had…well, she had the distinct privilege of holding down the fort while everyone else was out living it up.

  For one night, she wanted live. To do something crazy.

  Except…she’d been out of the loop of the local women her age for so long that she didn’t have the first idea what anyone did on a Wednesday night.

  Guess I’ll go to church. So much for crazy.

  Once she was dressed and ready, she studied her appearance in the mirror.

  She wasn’t a dog, she knew that. She ate healthy foods, organic mostly, and jogged every morning. Keeping up with he property alone kept her in shape. She had thick healthy hair, straight teeth, and nice enough skin.

  Ugh. I sound like a horse for sale.

  She frowned at her reflection. She hadn’t ever wanted much. A family of her own maybe—and not even a particularly big one. A chance to raise a child in a better environment than she’d been raised in. A small house full of love and laughter.

  It didn’t seem like too much to ask.

  But at this rate, if Pauly didn’t man up or she didn’t meet her soul mate at church, she was in for a nice long life as a spinster.

  She really hoped it wasn’t time to start taking in stray cats. Trace was allergic to them anyway.

  There I go again. It’s always about what’s best for everyone freaking else.

  She was knee-deep in self-pity by the time she grabbed her purse off the kitchen counter. Despite her promise to herself to stop checking the danged thing, she tossed her cell phone into it.

  Her hand was on the knob to the front door when a ringing sound made her jump. Her mind couldn’t put the pieces together quickly enough. Her cell phone was off—it couldn’t have rung.

  It was the house phone.

  No one called the house phone. Ever. She didn’t think anyone besides herself, Trace, and Rae even knew the number. Surely it was a telemarketer. Or a wrong number.

  Feeling strangely panicked and not sure as to why, she made her way to the side of the counter where Trace had mounted the receiver when he’d first bought the house.

  “H-hello?”

  “Mrs. McClain?” a gruff male voice greeted her.

  McClain? That was her mom’s maiden name. It had never been hers.

  “Um, it’s Corbin and Miss. Can I help you?”

  The man cleared his throat loudly in her ear. She flinched at the abrasive noise.

  “Miss Corbin, this is Sheriff Ronald Hewitt. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but there’s been an accident.”

  THE BUS was so dark she couldn’t see a damn thing when she slipped onto it. It was late and she didn’t want to wake anyone so she didn’t turn on any lights and practically tiptoed.

  “So that’s it then? Planning to avoid me for the rest of the tour?”

  Kylie nearly had a seizure at the unexpected sound. She felt the wall and pressed the button for the lights nearest to her. Trace sat completely still at the small table in the kitchenette.

  She’d figured he’d be in bed asleep by now. Or at least, she’d hoped he would be.

  A brief flashback of letting him have it, telling him off like there was no tomorrow while he sat a similar table, crossed her mind. But that was a long time ago. He wasn’t drunk and hateful this time.

  Yet, anyway. He appeared calm, but anger rolled off him so hard it backed her up a step.

  For the past two days, she’d spent most of her time with her band. Looking at Aiden’s baby pictures and getting to know about all of their girlfriends and wives and baby mamas. They were a good group of guys and she was glad she’d taken Mike’s advice.

  He’d been right. She didn’t have to close herself off to everyone.

  Just one someone. Someone who’d apparently decided to wait up for her.

  “What are you doing sitting here in the dark?”

  “Thinkin’,” he answered quietly.

  “About?” she prompted, despite being uncertain she actually wanted an answer. She swallowed hard and took a few steps towards him. When she was close enough to see, she could make out dark circles under his eyes.

  “Things,” was all he offered her.

  “You been drinking?” She whispered her question, as if somehow that might make it less offensive or upsetting.

  He let out a bitter laugh. “No. Have you?”

  It was a fair enough question since technically she’d been slightly intoxicated a few awful nights ago.

  “No.”

  “Good. Got a minute?”

  Kylie took a step towards her room. “It’s late, Trace. We have to be—”

  “I’ll keep it short then.”

  “Um, okay. What’s up?”

  He snorted out a harsh laugh. “Nothing you care much about.”

  A spine-tingling chill made her shiver. Alarms rang out inside of her. Every cell in her body stood at attention.

  This was the way he behaved when he was drunk. But usually when he was angry, he got drunk. This was sober-angry Trace. She couldn’t decide which version was more worrisome.

  “I-I don’t know what you mean by that.”

  “Don’t you?” Trace slid out of the booth and stood in front of her, effectively blocking the path to her bedroom. “Well, let’s see, Kylie Lou. From what I can tell, the only thing you care about being up is my dick, right?”

  She took a step back. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  He glared at her. She worked hard to keep her expression impassive, refused to let him see how much she wanted to break down u
nder the searing heat of his stare.

  “I didn’t fuck you when you were three sheets to the wind, so you sing that damned song and then blow me off—and not in the fun way, like I’d prefer.”

  Her blood began to heat, either from her own anger or his fiery gaze. She didn’t know and she didn’t much care. Her heart threatened to pound straight out of her chest. Which pissed her off even more because she’d thought she’d finally gotten rid of the damn thing.

  “I made a mistake the other night. Like you said, I’d been drinking. Oh, but wait, I guess you’re the only one who’s allowed to get drunk and make mistakes.”

  “No, but that’s the part I can’t figure out. Which part was the mistake, darlin’? The trying to impale yourself on my dick part? Or the leaving the next morning part? Because I can assure you, if you’d stuck around, once you were sober I had every intention of giving you what you wanted. Repeatedly.”

  He knees threatened to give beneath her. “T-Trace,” she began, shaking her head back and forth.

  “I’m done being pushed away.” He came towards her, backing her up as far as she could go. “Tell me, baby. Tell me the truth.” She leaned back against the counter, and he braced his arms on either side of her. “There’s nobody on this bus but me and you. I made sure of it. No assistants, no band members, not even a driver. Forget the fucking music, Kylie Lou. Forget the label. Forget the tour. Look at me and tell me we’re done. Tell me you don’t want to be with me, you don’t love me, and that you’re over it.”

  She licked her lips and tried her best not to breathe him in. Not to let his manly soap and warm woodsy scent disorient her.

  “I’m trying to be. Y-you hurt me, Trace. You hurt me so bad.” Blood rushed in her ears so loud she barely heard her own confession.

  Wild, tortured eyes met hers. “You think I don’t know that? Every damn day of my life has been fucking purgatory since I walked away from you. And I don’t just mean the other night. I mean this whole damn year. Don’t you see that?”