Girl in Love

by Quinn, Caisey

  Formatted by E.M. Tippetts Book Designs

  Books by Caisey Quinn

  The Kylie Ryans Series

  Girl With Guitar

  Girl On Tour

  Girl In Love

  Keep Me Still Series

  Keep Me Still

  Hold Us Close

  Broken Heartland Series

  Storm Warning

  Abbott Springs Series

  All I Ever Wanted

  For Emily, who read Girl with Guitar and said, “You have to publish this,” and then held my hand every step of the way.

  For the two men I’ve loved.

  Daddy, thank you for showing me what real love looked like. And for my husband, who taught me the meaning of forever.

  What’s the greatest chapter in your book? Are there pages where it hurts to look? What’s the one regret you can’t work through? You got it, baby. Mine would be you.

  Mine Would Be You – Blake Shelton

  “SERIOUSLY, THANK y’all for coming. I know I’m not great company lately.”

  Kylie looked down at the glass of champagne she held instead of up into the eyes of the guests of her birthday party. The surprise one Mia and Lulu had thrown her. Biting her lip, she gathered the courage to glance up.

  It had been nine months, nearly a year, since he’d walked out of her life. But she was still a shell of the person she used to be. She hid it well. Hell, she had two—well technically three—hit songs to show for it. But the people in this room knew better. And she knew they knew.

  The two scheming hosts, plus Carmen and her fiancé, Lily, Steven, and the guys in his band all looked at her with similar expressions. Pity. God she hated that look.

  “You’ve been working so hard lately. You deserved a night of fun.” Lulu nudged her shoulder. “You did have fun, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, I did. It was great.” She forced the biggest smile she could. Lulu’s eyes narrowed as she silently called bullshit.

  “Hey, we should head out. Let you get some rest for your big day tomorrow.” Mia threw her a knowing look. Kylie thanked her with her eyes. Of all people, she never would’ve expected Mia to become the person to pull her out of her own personal hell. But she had.

  Not that tomorrow was something she necessarily wanted to be reminded of. The Other Side of Me had gone platinum and the label was throwing a party. One she had no desire to go to. Not that she had a choice.

  “I’ll walk you home, Mia,” Chris, Steven’s band’s lead singer, offered. Kylie’s eyes darted back and forth between Mia, Chris, and Steven. Steven’s face remained blank, but she saw the slight tension in his shoulders. Now there was a weird little love triangle she was kind of curious about. She grinned to herself as she considered nicknaming Mia Yoko.

  “We should get going too. Our flight leaves early,” Carmen said, pulling Kylie into a side arm hug before walking to the door with her man. “You comin’, Lu?”

  Kylie had told them all that they could stay in her new place. It was big enough, that was for sure. But they’d insisted on getting hotel rooms. She had a feeling it was because she wasn’t much fun to be around.

  She spent nearly every waking minute either writing or in the studio. She knew her weirdo behavior made people uncomfortable, and she didn’t miss the looks they shot each other when she zoned out and missed an entire conversation. But she had no idea how to help it.

  “Um, nah. I’ll get a cab later. I’m going to stay and help clean up.”

  “Don’t be silly. You did all this work and you’ve had a long trip. I can handle it.” Kylie gave her friend a lingering hug and whispered, “Thank you,” in her ear. She hugged everyone else goodbye as they left. Well, everyone except Steven, who was still leaning on the bar in her kitchen. Part of her was glad he’d stayed behind. And part of her was nervous as to why.

  She didn’t mind cleaning up by herself. In fact, she preferred being alone. No smiles to fake or forced conversations. But sometimes being alone was…lonely.

  Once they were gone, she turned back to the tattoo-covered man in her kitchen.

  “I’m staying to help clean up. Like it or not, Ryans.”

  She laughed. “Okay, Blythe.” They worked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, clearing beer bottles and washing dishes.

  “I’ll take this out to the dumpster.” Steven pulled the big black garbage bag from its can in her pantry.

  “Thanks.”

  She was bent over, putting the remaining bottles of alcohol into her fridge, when he retuned.

  He cleared his throat and she jumped, nearly slamming her head into the top of the stainless-steel door. “God, you scared me.”

  He gave her a wicked grin, provoking a twisting sensation all through her insides. “I like it when you call me God. Like it when you moan, ‘Oh God’, even more.”

  Her eyes went wide and she slapped him lightly on the chest as he came closer. “I thought we weren’t ever going to mention that again?”

  Last weekend they’d crossed a line.

  They’d stayed up late finishing a song they were writing together and she’d had a few drinks too many. She’d felt bold and made a move. Kissed him. Kissing had led to more. Much more. They hadn’t actually sealed the deal, but what they’d done was still more than she thought she had probably been ready for. But since then, they’d both adhered to the strict no discussing drunken making out and inappropriate touching policy.

  Until now apparently.

  He responded with a cocky smirk that was as annoying as it was a turn-on. “Who’s mentioning it?”

  Her chest heaved between them as he came closer into her personal space. “Y-you are. I think.”

  “You want me to stop?” He leaned in, the force of his bright blue eyes pressing her back against the fridge as he let his hands rest on her hips. “Say the word and I will.”

  She should say it. Should tell him it had been a mistake then, and would be a mistake now. She didn’t love him. Couldn’t love him. Couldn’t love anyone since she didn’t have enough of a heart left to love with.

  But that was what made it so tempting. He didn’t love her either. It was just comfort.

  Trace had walked away from her. Mia had rejected him. They’d found a way to ease the pain. Together.

  She’d felt like hell afterwards. Like she’d cheated on Trace. Or betrayed herself somehow.

  But with him this close, she couldn’t think straight.

  She closed her eyes and she still saw it. The source of her pain. Trace and Gretchen Gibson holding hands as they entered a rehab facility in Dallas. Hugging in a hotel doorway in Georgia. Arms wrapped around each other in a parking lot at a bar in Charlotte, where he’d supposedly come to see her. They’d been blurry photos online and in the tabloids, but the images in her mind were crystal clear. Even nine months later.

  She licked her lips, knowing Steven could make them go away, even if it was just for a little while. “Same deal as before?”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  She sucked in a lungful of air. He smelled so damn good. Sharp and sweet all at once. Cologne and beer. A hint of men’s soap and sugary icing from her birthday cake. “I want—”

  She was interrupted by a harsh knock on her door. Well that was frustrating. She smiled at the irritated look on Steven’s face. “Wonder which one of them forgot something?”

  “I’m kicking their ass, whoever it is.”

  She snorted out a laugh as they both headed for the door. “It might be Lulu, and when she threatens to junk-punch you, she’s completely serious.”

  Steven chuckled as they reached the door. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  It was kind of nice being with him. Easy. “Consider yourself warned,” she told him with a grin.r />
  But when she opened the door with him close behind her, the smile dropped straight off her face.

  Her world began to pitch hard left and then right as she completely lost her center of gravity. A bright bouquet of peachy pink roses, held by the last person on Earth she had expected to see at her door, greeted her.

  Emotions she’d held back for so long slammed into her with the driving force of a runaway freight train. “W-what are you doing here?”

  His hair was slightly longer. What had once been stubble was a full-grown beard. But it was him. If she’d thought his hazel eyes had been stormy before, they were currently a tsunami of colors swirling and threatening to drown her that very second.

  “Just thought I’d drop by to wish you a happy birthday, Kylie Lou.” Pain leaked out into his words and was evident on his face.

  “Corbin,” Steven said evenly from behind her.

  Oh sweet Jesus. She’d completely forgotten Steven was there, even though he was so close his chest was touching her back.

  “Blythe,” Trace said just as evenly. He jerked his chin upward almost imperceptibly. His greeting was slightly deeper and laced with something she couldn’t name. Anger, maybe. Whatever it was, he’d managed to make Steven’s own name sound like a threat.

  “Anyways, I just wanted to stop by and give you these. I’ll let you get back to…whatever you were doing.” A muscle in his jaw ticked, and even under the beard, she saw it.

  It was taking all of her concentration to breathe normally and remain standing. Her hand shook visibly as she took the flowers he held.

  “Thank you. I didn’t realize you were—”

  “Out,” he finished for her, making it sound like he’d busted out of prison. “Yeah. I am. Have a good night.” His gaze lingered on her briefly before he turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall.

  And just like before, he took what was left of her heart with him.

  3 months later

  “PLEASE SAY you’ll come tonight, Kylie. It’ll be fun. And if anyone needs to have a little fun, it’s you.”

  “Gee, thanks.” She would’ve rolled her eyes but Jean Claude was prying them open to apply another pound of mascara.

  “I’m serious. It’s been nearly a year. It’s time.” Mia stepped to the side where Jean Claude wasn’t. “Come on, Oklahoma. Steven and Chris have been asking us to do something with them forever. It’s just a club. We’ll have a few drinks, and hell, maybe we’ll go crazy and do some dancing.”

  Now she wanted to glare at her friend, but Jean Claude was working on the other eye and one-eyed glaring wouldn’t have quite the same effect.

  “Incase you haven’t noticed, I’ve been a little busy.” She waved a hand around to remind Mia where they were. Backstage at the CMAs. Where she was about to perform. And be recognized as a nominee in the New Artist of the Year category. In the past year, she’d spent more time in the studio than the people who worked there. She had two hit singles to show for it. Not a Nice Girl was up for Song of the Year and Heartbreak Town was up for Video of the Year.

  “Exactly. You’ve been busy working twenty-four damn seven. It’s time to loosen up already.” Mia shook her head and stepped aside to let the makeup artist coat her in one more layer of shimmery powder.

  She should’ve been happy-dancing around the dressing room like a maniac. It had been an amazing year.

  She’d cried the first time she heard herself on the radio. She’d cried again when she sang an original song of hers for the first time and saw people in the audience singing along. Because they’d already known the words. Her words. She’d been bombarded with messages from fans saying that they loved her and loved her songs.

  For some artists, this was a hassle to deal with. But for her, her fans were literally her family. Her only supporters. Everything she did, she did for them.

  Tears of joy, she told herself each time she broke down. But deep in the core of her being, there was always that voice. The dark, ugly, honest one.

  You’re crying because he’s not here to share this with you. Because all you want is to tell him about it. And for him to kiss you, congratulate you, and be proud of you.

  She closed her eyes and focused on picturing nothing and no one. No one’s face with boyish dimples that appeared when he grinned. No one’s tan forearms under rolled-up shirtsleeves. No one’s muscular back. No one’s ass in jeans so tight it should be illegal. Just blackness. Nothingness.

  In her twenty years, she’d loved two men. Loved them deeply. Her daddy, who’d died right after her eighteenth birthday in a freak accident at the factory where he worked. And another. One whose name she tried not to even think, much less say out loud. Because that was the past. And she was focusing on the future.

  Music was her future. Nothing else really mattered.

  “I like working,” she said, hopping out of the chair.

  Her friend smirked. “Yeah, I get that. So do I. But I also like having a life. And living that life.”

  “I have a life,” Kylie argued as they walked toward her stage entrance.

  “Oh yeah? So what are you doing after this show?”

  “Stopping by the studio to do one more run-through of—”

  “No.” Mia shook her head. “I mean it. I’m done watching robot-Ryans work herself to death. You’re coming out with us tonight if I have to hogtie your ass.”

  “Like you actually know how to hogtie anything,” Kylie said with a short sarcastic laugh. “You don’t understand and I don’t need you to. This is me. I’m doing what I love. Just because you would rather—”

  Mia put a hand up to stop her. “See what I’m doing here? I’m cutting you off before you say something you’ll regret. Because here’s the thing. I’ve been as kind and gentle as I can with you. But I’ve been talking to Lily and to Olivia and—”

  “You talked to Lulu?” Kylie was bursting with excitement about the latest news from her best friend. On the next tour she went on, Lulu was coming along as her personal stylist. But she was kind of pissed that the girls were obviously talking about her behind her back. She could feel an ambush coming on.

  “Yeah. And the general consensus is we’re all worried about you.”

  Kylie aimed a pointed look at the stage she was about to perform on in front of several thousand people.

  “Not about your career. About you.”

  Is there a difference?

  “So stop it. I’m fine.” She raised her arms as two stagehands came to clip her mics onto her dress.

  “Kylie, I need you to listen to me, okay? You’re not fine. And even if you were, you should be so much more than fine. Your dreams are coming true and you’re fine. Wow. I’m underwhelmed.”

  “I don’t know what you’re getting at but—”

  Mia cut her off once more. “But nothing. Grief is like your favorite pair of old sweats. You get comfortable in them. So comfortable you don’t want to take them off even to shower. They’re worn in and fit just right and you never want to let them go, even when they’re stained and gross and have holes all in them.”

  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 toward 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 smack
ed 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 brief moment 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 that you 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.”