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

by Caisey Quinn

  “Okay, Hothead. I think she gets it.”

  Kylie whirled around to see Trace fighting back a grin.

  He held up her cell phone. “You forgot this.”

  Her face began to burn as she realized he’d probably caught the majority of her outburst. But for the first time in a long time, she felt like herself again.

  A sheepish smile snuck across her face and she bit her lip. “Um, your mom and I were just—”

  “About to duke it out in the hospital parking lot?”

  Kylie shrugged and took another step towards him. “Something like that.”

  Neither of them even looked up as his mom passed them and disappeared through the hospital doors.

  “You really believe all that stuff you said?”

  “Of course I do. It was all the truth.” She kissed him softly on the lips. “I’m sorry I lost my temper. She just said some really ugly things and I couldn’t—”

  “It’s okay, darlin’. I’m well versed in her lack of faith in me. I read the book.” He wrapped his arms around her and she pulled him even closer.

  “Well, I have enough faith in you for everyone. To hell with her.”

  His lips crashed down on hers and she felt her knees go weak. It took all of her self-control to let him go when the shuttle arrived to take her to her truck.

  “Come home soon, okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  AFTER A long, hot shower—one in which she found herself assaulted by the sensual memories of Trace making love to her in the very same shower—Kylie felt slightly more human. She’d gotten to talk to Rae on the phone, and hearing that she still sounded like herself, albeit a very tired and slightly medicated version of herself, made her feel somewhat better.

  She snuggled down in Trace’s bed in hopes that he would be home soon. The past few days and then the run-in with his mom had left her feeling bereft and alone in the great big farmhouse. She needed him. Needed him badly.

  It felt selfish, considering she knew that his family needed him just as much, if not more. But every time she glanced at her phone and saw the many messages and demands of the outside world, a clawing ache began to gnaw at her insides.

  She’d spent the majority of the evening on the phone with Jane and Hannah and Chaz. Like it or not, she had one more day until she had to be in Oklahoma to resume the tour. It was either that or lose the label’s support on her next album and all the credibility she’d worked so hard to get.

  The thought of leaving Trace, of finishing the tour without him, made her sick to her stomach. She knew exactly who the label had chosen to replace him and she’d be damned if she would sing the song she and Trace wrote together with him.

  Kylie’s head swam with memories of the past and dreams of a future she rarely let herself imagine. She needed him to touch her, kiss her, to soothe that clawing ache inside. To return them to the private bliss they’d been wrapped in before police had come knocking on the bus door.

  The memories of her time with Trace in Macon had begun to fade, making her fantasies less vivid. But being in his bed brought them back in full force.

  She was still reaching for him, surrounded by memories of their past, when she drifted off to sleep.

  “IT’S KIND of hard to explain. Things got crazy and I haven’t exactly had time to tell her yet.”

  Trace’s voice roused Kylie from unconsciousness. She rubbed her eyes and sat up. It was barely daylight, and she wasn’t sure if she’d slept for a few hours or a few days. But she was in his bedroom. In his shirt. Which was her absolute favorite place to be.

  Right up until a woman’s voice made its way to her ears.

  “Well I’m thinking you’re out of time, Tray.”

  It wasn’t Rae or Claire Ann, which she didn’t expect it to be since Rae still had at least one more day to stay in the hospital according to Trace.

  Kylie grabbed her jeans and yanked them on.

  I don’t bring women here. He’d told her that the first time she had come to the farm. And she’d believed him. But maybe things had changed, because even though Kylie couldn’t tell whose voice it was, whoever Trace was arguing with quietly in the next room was decidedly female.

  She ran her fingers through her hair and stepped out of the bedroom.

  “Hey, I thought you’d be back sooner…” Her voice failed her as soon she saw the two people embracing in the kitchen. “Oh. God. Wow. Okay, well, I was just—”

  “Kylie,” Trace began while hastily removing himself from Gretchen Gibson’s arms. “Good. I’m glad you’re up because we need to talk about—”

  “Yeah. Um, actually I’ve been talking to Hannah and the label and I really need to go because I have like no time to get to Oklahoma. So I’m glad you’re here and I didn’t have to leave a note.”

  The words tumbled over each other as her mind raced, trying to process the real-life version of the nightmare she’d been living for the past year. She prayed on everything holy that the feeling of her blood rushing from her head wouldn’t cause to pass out. Because this was humiliating enough as it was.

  This wasn’t a grainy cellphone photo in a cheap tabloid magazine or a pixelated image on a website. This was the real deal. Live and in person.

  Adding insult to injury, Kylie looked and felt like week-old run-over garbage while Gretchen Gibson looked amazing. She was practically gleaming as she stood there looking from Kylie to Trace and back again.

  Surprise, annoyance, and something akin to amusement sparkled in the woman’s eyes.

  There is something I should tell you. Something about Gretchen.

  “Kylie, wait. Slow down,” Trace began, coming towards her as she snatched her keys and cell phone from the kitchen counter. But she couldn’t hear him. She could only hear the memory of him trying to tell her something she didn’t want to hear.

  “I’m gonna run by the hospital and say goodbye to Rae.” She swallowed hard and did her best to keep her grip on what was left of her dignity. “Great seeing you again, Gretchen.”

  She let Trace’s back door slam behind her. Running to her truck, she ignored the way the wind ripped through her thin shirt. Just like she was ignoring the way it carried his voice calling her name.

  HER TEARS were nearly blinding her by the time she hit the main road.

  The voice in her head screamed obscenities and for her to turn around and face whatever was going on with Trace and Gretchen. Force it all out in the open.

  But she just…couldn’t.

  She’d walked away from her career, her dream, her managers, her label, her band, her best friend—all of it. Thrown caution to the wind to be with him. To be here for him because she thought he needed her.

  And for what? So he could offer to let her be girlfriend number two?

  There has to be an explanation for why she’s here.

  Yeah. There did. But she couldn’t figure out what it could possibly be. The way they were hugging…Granted, it wasn’t like he’d had his tongue down Gretchen’s throat, but there was something there. Something deep and complex. Something she didn’t know about or understand.

  How could I have been so damn stupid?

  Her hand smacked the steering wheel hard enough to make the truck swerve off the road. She hit the brakes and felt the skid of tires on gravel.

  Crying out in frustration, she jumped out of the truck to make sure she hadn’t flattened a tire or hit anything.

  Kicking a back tire that thankfully wasn’t damaged, she broke down in sobs on a deserted Georgia road.

  The sound of a truck approaching and squealing to a stop right behind her startled her. She wiped her tears, expecting to wave whomever it was off and let them know that she was fine.

  Trace jumped out of the old blue truck and stalked towards her.

  “What the fuck, Kylie? What happened to not running out on each other?”

  “I’m fine,” she pleaded. “Leave me alone.” Turning away from that swirling storm of a mess of a man an
d heading for the safety of her truck, she reached for the door.

  “No I damn sure will not leave you alone. Did that once, remember?” He yanked her wrists back and pulled her to his chest.

  She slapped at him as hard as she could in an attempt to break free but he didn’t even flinch.

  “Fucking hit me. You know I can take it.” He pressed her up against the truck. “But don’t run out me like that. That, I cannot fucking take.”

  “W-what is she doing here, Trace? Why is she here? What happened to I don’t bring women here? There a concert happening later that I don’t know about?”

  She hated the way she crumbled in his arms, the way he—and only he—had the ability to reduce her to this. This wasn’t her. This wasn’t the Kylie Ryans she wanted to be. She wanted to be a serious musician, the kind of girl who could handle anything that came her way. Not a simpering mess of someone’s sort of girlfriend.

  Something Pauly Garrett had said to her a long time ago whipped through her head.

  If you want to be Kylie Ryans, country music artist who gets taken seriously, it would be unwise to align yourself with an already established artist in any way other than professionally. Trust me, I’ve seen it happen. Now, if you want to be Kylie Ryans, Trace Corbin’s little sideshow fling, then by all means…

  He released one of her wrists to run a hand through his hair. “Baby, it’s complicated. And it’s not entirely my story to tell. But it’s not what you’re thinking. I swear to hell and back it’s not.”

  She used her free hands to wipe her tears. “How am I supposed to know that? To believe that?”

  She took a deep breath and used every ounce of strength to pull those old familiar walls back down over her heart.

  “Kylie Lou, please don’t—”

  “You know, I’ve been thinking. Your family needs you and I need to get back to the tour, so we should probably take a step back anyways.” She forced herself to swallow and look away from the torment filling his eyes. “Everything’s been so crazy lately, we haven’t really had time to think about what’s best for everyone.”

  “Kylie, I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about. I don’t really give a damn what’s best for everyone. You’re what’s best for me. And I’m trying my hardest to be what’s best for you. But if you’re having second thoughts—”

  “Second thoughts is hardly the right term.” She tried to smile at him but her mouth wasn’t cooperating and it resulted in more a smirk. “More like we’ve been rushing into things without bothering to have any first thoughts about them.”

  “Don’t do this. Don’t bail on me, now, sweetheart. I hear the words coming out of your mouth, but you forget I know what’s really going on in that head of yours.” Trace pulled her close once more and she held her breath so as not to breathe him in.

  Her own words echoed around them.

  Don’t do this. You don’t mean it. I don’t believe you. She’d once begged him not to leave her. And he’d had to go too. She finally got it. Sometimes it was better to walk away. Painful as it might be, sometimes that was the only option.

  “Well unless you’re going to explain what the hell she’s doing here, I guess we’re out of luck. I gotta go, Trace. One of us has to be the grown up and finish this tour.”

  He stepped back as if she’d shoved him. She flinched as well, knowing that was a cheap shot.

  “I didn’t mean that.” She wanted to hit something. “It’s just her…and you. And—”

  “She’s a friend, Kylie. A good friend. One that I trust and have been through a lot with. That’s it. For the most part. But it’s not like you think. Not like what you and I—

  Kylie put a hand up between them. “Then tell me, this friend you trust, what does she think of us being together? And what are you going to do the next time you slip up and drink? Who are you going to turn to for advice? Let me guess, the good friend you trust and have been through a lot with. Who also happens to despise me.”

  She couldn’t know for sure, but she’d be willing to bet Gretchen was a firm supporter of his decision to walk away from her last year. And she’d been damned if she was getting a repeat of that performance.

  “You already planning my next rehab stay, Kylie Lou? Nice. That’s hard to hear from the girl who just gave a big speech about her faith in me.”

  His words broke something inside of her. She was upset and didn’t want to keep saying hurtful things. The last thing she wanted was to hurt him when everything was already so screwed up. She needed space. Needed room to think clearly without him disorienting her.

  “I just…need some space, okay? Can you give me that? Please?”

  His shoulders dropped as he stared at her with an unreadable expression. He nodded slowly.

  “Yeah. I can give you that. If that’s really what you want.”

  She leaned up and kissed him softly on the cheek, stilling for a moment so she could feel the rough stubble against her lips.

  Slowly, and without another word, she got in her truck and pulled away. But because she’d never really be able to move on from the natural disaster that was Trace Corbin without looking back, she glanced in her rearview.

  He stood there with both hands on his head, growing smaller. Looking lost and alone.

  Just like she felt.

  OKLAHOMA WAS a lot prettier when you’d been gone awhile.

  It blurred into sight as she crossed the state line. She had three hours to get to Oklahoma City and rehearse for tonight’s show. But she had a stop to make first. Two, actually.

  Pride is Proud of Kylie Ryans, the sign announced when she entered her hometown.

  She’d heard about it, but this was the first time she’d seen it for herself. On one side was her formal senior yearbook photo. On the other was a shot of her smiling for the very first promo shots she’d ever taken when she’d signed up for Trace’s Back to My Roots tour.

  It was like seeing two different girls up there. And then a quick glance in the mirror revealed a third. One she didn’t even know herself.

  A brief lyric flitted through her head. Something about where you go when you don’t recognize the face in the mirror.

  Home, apparently.

  She rolled to a stop in front of her old house. A late-model mini-van with a handicap tag was parked in the driveway. For a few minutes, she let herself remember.

  Sitting on the front porch with her daddy, playing music, catching fireflies, and talking about everything under the sun. But once he was gone, that small faded white house with blue shutters had stopped being home.

  She could practically see herself running out the door with nothing other than her guitar case the day Darla had thrown her out. Cringing at the painful words that had accompanied her eviction, she’d walked to work. Where she’d promptly gotten fired and hopped a bus to Nashville.

  It felt like a lifetime ago. Or someone else’s life.

  She placed her hand over her mouth to keep the tears from coming. She’d left that place and she’d found another home.

  One with a man who might be more than even she could handle.

  For reasons she couldn’t justify even to herself, she got out of the truck and approached the front door. Hopefully a stranger showing up out of the blue and saying, “Hey, I grew up here, can I come inside for five minutes,” wouldn’t creep out whoever lived here. Or at the very least, maybe they wouldn’t call the cops.

  Just as she made her way up the front walk, stepping over the cracks the same way she had as a kid, the front door opened.

  An attractive middle-aged Hispanic lady looked at her and gasped.

  “Hi. Um, so sorry to bother you,” Kylie began.

  “It’s you,” the lady said, seemingly not surprised, as if she’d expected this random confrontation for some reason. “He said you might come by some day.”

  “He?”

  “We’re just heading out. Isabelle has piano lessons at the church,” the woman explained as she pulled a young
girl in a wheelchair out onto the porch. “But if you’d like to come back later, we’ll be home in an hour or so.”

  Kylie smiled at both of them, trying to cover her confusion. “Um, gosh, no. I have to be somewhere. I just… I grew up here and I was in town so…”

  “Pride is proud of Kylie Ryans,” the lady said with a wink. “Yes, we know. I’m Marlena Gutiérrez. And this is my daughter, Isabelle.”

  So someone recognized her then. Well, that made one of them.

  “Is that really her?”

  Kylie glanced down at the girl, who looked to be around nine or ten.

  “It is,” her mother confirmed.

  “She’s really pretty.”

  Kylie smiled at the girl. “Isabelle was it? I bet you sleep in my old bedroom.”

  “I do! The kids at school didn’t believe me until he put the sign up.”

  Kylie glanced at her mom for clarification. Marlena pointed to the small wooden plaque by the front door.

  Childhood Home of Country Music Singer Kylie Ryans - Official Property of the A Hand Up Foundation, it read.

  Below was some small print about restrictions on changes being made to the house, but the water welling in her eyes made it too blurry for her to make out.

  “He’s a good man, that Mr. Corbin,” Marlena said softly. “You didn’t know?”

  Do not cry in front of these people.

  “Yes. He is.” Well, that answered the question of who had bought her house. She’d always wondered. And yes, she knew he was a good man, but she was pretty sure that wasn’t what the lady had meant. “And no, I didn’t know. But I’m glad this old house has so much love in it.” Kylie nodded at each of them. “It was wonderful to meet both of you. I hope y’all have as many good memories here as I do.” She turned to leave before her tears fell.

  “Miss Ryans? Before you go, could you sign something for my daughter?”