Girl in Love

by Quinn, Caisey

  All it was now was an eighteen-acre reminder of Kylie Ryans. Of taking her in the kitchen, the bedroom, the shower, the barn. Waking up with her. Feeding her breakfast in bed. Throwing her in the pond, chasing her around with a handful of mud. Loving the ever-loving shit out of her.

  “This is bigger than you, Trace. You get that right? These people are counting on you, okay? So let’s do what needs to be done. I’ll see you day after tomorrow. I’ll handle Cora and Pauly and everything. Just do whatever you need to and get home. We miss you.”

  “Miss you, too. Thanks, Claire Ann. You’re one hell of a woman, you know that?”

  He smiled at his sister’s laughter on the other end of the line. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled. But her next words wiped the grin clean from his face.

  “Do you want me to tell them to invite her or no?” She didn’t have to clarify who she was referring to.

  Trace cleared his throat. Twice. “Er, naw. She’s probably too busy for this kind of thing. Especially on such short notice.”

  Truth was, even though her sound had changed pretty drastically, he knew who she was well enough to know how much she cared about the cause. She’d probably come to anything for A Hand Up if she were invited.

  She’d been raised by a single parent herself. But seeing her was hard enough. Seeing her in the place where they’d been…whatever they’d been, the place where he’d let himself imagine marrying her someday…That would gut him.

  “Okay. Got it. See you soon, big brother.”

  He forced out a chuckle. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you. Or Rae. But I’m glad I did it.” Claire Ann was silent for so long, he checked his screen to make sure they hadn’t been disconnected.

  “You cooked for us, Trace. When Mama couldn’t. You hid us in the closet. You kept us safe,” she said quietly. “You did plenty to deserve us. I just wish for once you’d find a way to get what you deserve.”

  “Claire…” Fuck. He closed his eyes and clenched the fist that wasn’t holding the phone to his ear. “I don’t, I mean…I didn’t—”

  “She’ll come around. If she doesn’t, then she doesn’t deserve you.” With that, his sister ended the call. Leaving him drowning in a sea of painful memories. But there was no bottle of bourbon to grab. No sweet, burning numbness.

  Leaning back into his couch, he let the pain come—let it soak into his skin.

  His sisters gave him too much credit. He hadn’t always kept them safe. And it was the times he’d failed, stayed out with friends, or worked late to earn extra money and came home to his sisters bruised, bloody, crying, and clinging to each other after his father had taken out his anger on them that haunted him.

  The bruises had faded. A few of the marks had scarred. They each had a few. But the deepest one for him, the one he knew he’d never be able to get over, was the one he’d left on someone else.

  “THEY WANT me to what? No, hell no.” Kylie scoffed at her agent and her manager, who sat across from her in the back booth at the Oak Bar.

  She put her burger down, having suddenly lost her appetite, and wiped the napkin across her mouth. Her agent was a traitor, she was damn near positive. But her manager usually had her back. She leveled him with a glare and he put his hands up.

  “Kylie, you bailed early on your own release party for The Other Side of Me, imitated a soulless corpse to the point we wondered if you were auditioning for a spot on The Walking Dead at the party they threw you when it went platinum, and turned down the tour with Bryce Parker. You’re turning into some type of diva who won’t play by the rules. The label can support you or let your ass hang in the wind. It’s your choice. But they’re asking you to do this, to make a quick appearance at this benefit, to generate some buzz for both of you.”

  She narrowed her eyes at Chaz Michaelson. He shrugged, clearly unfazed by her hostility.

  “Bull. They want me to show up there and make some kind of scene so the tabloids can drum up some shit about me and him and his crazy-ass girlfriend. Get him back in the public eye before his next album drops. Pass. They can find a hundred other girls willing to fake a relationship with him for attention. I’d bet my daddy’s truck on it.”

  Her agent pulled her glasses off and rubbed her eyes. “Is this about you not wanting to be a pawn in the publicity game or about your feelings for him? Be straight with us, because we’re the ones trying to help you here. Remember?”

  Yeah, Kylie remembered. She also remembered that her agent was his agent, too.

  “I don’t want to be involved in anyone’s game. Not his and not the label’s. That’s how I started out, and I’ve put it behind me. My career is about me. Not about him and not about whatever the label wants to spin us as. He and I are nothing and it’s going to stay that way.”

  “He who?” Maude Lowenstein prompted. “If your feelings for him aren’t an issue, then how come you haven’t said his name? He’s not Voltemort, last I checked. Saying his name won’t conjure him out of thin air.”

  Kylie resisted the urge to fold her arms and glare at the surprisingly sharp and callous woman in her late sixties. And to storm the hell out. She took a deep breath and shrugged.

  “Trace. His name is Trace. And while I fully support his A Hand Up charity-thing, I have no interest in being involved in his benefit concert. I’ll donate a signed guitar or something. But I’m not going to it. I wasn’t even technically invited. We done here?”

  She began to scoot out of the booth, but her manager reached out and put a hand on her arm.

  “You were invited, Kylie. He’s having a hard time. The venue pulled out because of his rehab stay and so did some of his family-friendly sponsors. The event’s been moved to his property in Macon and his sister called me personally and invited you.”

  He’s having a hard time.

  The words wrapped around her heart and squeezed. Kylie swallowed and looked up at the ceiling. She sucked in a lungful of air and glanced from her agent to her manager.

  “All I have to do is show up?”

  The other two people at her table exchanged glances and Chaz cleared his throat.

  “Um, not exactly. The label was hoping you and Trace would sing The Other Side of Me. On the tailgate of some truck that’s being donated to his charity.”

  Kylie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Why do they want us to sing it at some benefit? I don’t see how that would make any difference to them.”

  “We don’t know for sure,” Maude answered. “But if I had to make an educated guess, I’d say they’re playing with the idea of sending you two on tour together. Again.”

  THE TOWN car’s windows were tinted so dark she could barely see out of them. Kylie used the long drive to text Lulu so she wouldn’t be tempted to watch the scenery. To smile at the sight of magnolia trees dotting the sprawling land bordered by white fences, and grand weeping willows that made her want to do just that—weep.

  This drive used to mean something to her that she couldn’t even articulate accurately or aloud without a lump forming in her throat.

  It used to be the way home.

  Now it was the way to a place she’d sworn she’d never return to. A place where she was pretty sure she wasn’t wanted. Not by the homeowner anyway. Obviously some other people had other ideas.

  “Shit. Are you going to cry, Oklahoma? If you are, at least get drunk first so we can blame the alcohol.”

  Kylie glanced over at Mia. “Shut it. I’m tired. It’s been a long few weeks.”

  Mia Montgomery grinned and handed Kylie a bottle of expensive imported beer. “Here. I smuggled these. Pretty sure you’re going to need a drink or two to get through this.”

  “I’ve got to quit telling people you’re a conceited bitch. You’re actually somewhat thoughtful.”

  Mia raised her own bottle in a toast. “Nah. Then I’d have to stop gossiping about what a self-centered pain in the ass you are. I think the rivals thing works for us.”

  Kylie took
a long pull of her beer. She vaguely recalled the last article she’d seen about her and Mia getting into a screaming match about both of them being up for Breakout New Artist. They’d been joking around in a crowded bar and had to yell to hear one another. But sometimes the alternate reality the media created was better than the truth.

  The truth was, Mia was a tough chick that had somehow become a friend. A damn good friend. One who was willing to accompany her to her ex-boyfriend’s house and had brought the liquid courage she needed to get through it.

  Not that they didn’t still give each other constant hell. But that was the dynamic that worked for them. Just like they bossed Lily Taite around and were obnoxiously overprotective of her because she’d become the little sister neither of them had ever had.

  Kylie opened her mouth to come clean with her friend about everything that had happened with Steven. To ask Mia about what was going on with her and Chris. If anything was going on. Mia was so private—it was hard to tell. But then she closed it. There was enough happening today without adding to it.

  “Do you think she’ll be here?” Kylie asked quietly.

  Mia was quiet for a minute. “Gibson?”

  Kylie nodded.

  The other girl shifted on the seat and lowered the phone she’d been texting on. “Yeah, um, I checked the website. She’s going to be here. She’s performing.”

  Of course she was. Kylie fought hard to ignore the sinking pull of pain Mia’s confirmation caused. “Awesome. That’s awesome.”

  She made the colossal mistake of glancing out the window. They were about fifteen minutes away from the farm.

  “No offense, Oklahoma. I’m not judging your professional decisions here because I’m assuming you know what you’re doing, but why in the hell did you agree to this?”

  Kylie polished off her beer and reached into the small cooler between them for another.

  “Honestly? I have no idea what the hell I’m doing. Not when it comes to…this. Chaz and I talked about it. Our theory is that if there’s drama tonight between…” She cut herself off to take a deep breath. “If there’s drama between me and him, the label will feed on it and push us to tour together. But if I can suck it up and just get through this with even an ounce of my dignity intact, then hopefully they’ll see that there’s nothing here. Nothing that would be worth sending us out on tour together.”

  Mia whistled low and took a slow sip of her beer. “That’s one hell of a theory. What do you think your odds of keeping your shit together are?”

  A sharp left turn made Kylie look out the window once more. This was the road the farm was on. A few more miles and the car would make another left, pulling her closer. Closer to him. To the past. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes.

  When she spoke, her words came out as a whisper. “Not good.”

  “MR. CORBIN, they need to know if you want the truck by the pool or by the pond.”

  Trace glanced up over the amp he carried. A twenty-something brunette with a clipboard eyed him appreciatively. “Uh, pool I guess. Pond is a littler farther out than I expect guests will want to venture.”

  “Yes, sir. Got it. I’ll make sure you get what you want.” She gave him a wide-eyed look of innocence, but when the slow smile spread across her face, he saw it. That gleam in her eye that said she would do whatever he wanted. And call him sir while she was at it.

  He cleared his throat and nodded as he made his way past her. “Thank you, darlin’.” His bass player smirked at him as he set the amp down a few feet away. “What?”

  Mike grinned and shook his head. “Green Eyes over there has been eying your ass all day. Literally. I made her an offer but I think she’s more interested in you. Guess she has shitty taste.”

  He glanced back at the brunette.

  Her eyes were green? Trace hadn’t noticed. He actually couldn’t remember much about her except that she’d asked about where to put the truck.

  “Guess so. Hey, do they have the speakers set up yet? I need to get back up to the house and check in with Claire Ann. She’s radioed me ten damn times.”

  He was grateful for his older sister’s help with this, but Lord, the woman was a slave driver.

  “We’re good here, man. Go on up and see what Hitler wants.”

  Trace thanked him and jogged up toward the small studio on his property. The golf cart he’d covered with custom Mossy Oak panels and ATV tires was waiting for him. He hopped on it and headed to the house. He stopped twice on the way to check on people helping set up for the event. He was overwhelmed with gratitude at how many people were volunteering to do what they could for this benefit. It was an odd mix of people from home and people from Nashville setting up the tents, buffet tables, and sound equipment.

  He’d learned a few things in rehab. One of those things was how to tell who actually gave a damn about him.

  When he reached the driveway he parked the cart and got out. A few more cars had arrived, and the valets were beginning to park them out in the pasture. A sleek black town car caught his eye. It was the kind his label, Capital Letter Records, usually sent artists in. Except he was the only Capital artist here.

  Gretchen was performing tonight, but she was no longer affiliated with the label. And he was pretty sure she’d run late. She was sober but she was still Gretchen.

  He squinted into the setting sun. It was getting late and he needed to get his ass inside and get ready for the show. He pulled the handheld from his hip and hit the button.

  “Headin’ in the house, Claire Bear. I’ll find you after I’m decent.” A few catcalls from the guys rang out over the channel. “That’s my sister, you sick fuckers.” He pressed the button again. “Mike, you can come join me in the shower now.”

  “In your dreams, Corbin,” Mike’s muffled voice answered. Trace laughed but he sincerely hoped Mike wasn’t bending the brunette over in the barn or something.

  He himself couldn’t even go in the barn because of what he’d done last time he was in it. Who he’d done. She was the same reason he couldn’t use the shower in his private bathroom either.

  The memory of Kylie Ryans had become a ghost that haunted his house. And his dreams.

  AFTER SHOWERING in the main bathroom, Trace wiped the thin film of moisture from the mirror above the sink. Sober eyes stared back at him.

  He sighed, tightened the towel wrapped around his waist, and searched for his razor. Enough hiding behind the beard. The people coming to see him perform tonight were donating to his organization, showing their support when he’d done nothing to deserve it. So he’d give them the best show possible.

  After each stroke of the razor, he rinsed the blade under the rushing stream. When he was done he patted his face with aftershave and met his own gaze again in the steamed-up mirror.

  “You can do this.” Determination set his features into hard lines. He gave himself a nod and stepped out into the hallway.

  Where he was greeted by the sound of his little sister’s voice.

  “You can get ready in the guest room. It’s right here on the right,” she informed someone he couldn’t see. Shit.

  “Hold up, Rae. I’m not—”

  Kylie Ryans—the real-live flesh-and-blood version—appeared right in front of him before he could finish his sentence.

  Someone whistled.

  “Hot damn, Corbin. You doing a strip tease for cash tonight or what?” Mia Montgomery grinned at him from behind Kylie.

  He couldn’t answer. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think of anything except, Holy shit. There she stood. Less than a foot away. Her wide blue eyes met his and robbed him of his breath. The shock of seeing her unexpectedly jolted every cell in his entire body to life. Except the ones involved in brain to mouth speech function apparently.

  “Um, Rae said we could change in the guest room,” Kylie said quietly, avoiding his eyes by aiming hers at his sister.

  Her soft, sweet drawl was music in his ears. His mouth went dry as he stared at hers.


  Rae stepped between him and Kylie in the narrow hallway. “Oh God. Sorry. I didn’t know you were—”

  “Yeah, I had to shower. Thought people might prefer the cleaned-up version.” His words came out about as choked as he felt.

  Rae’s expression reflected the same sheer panic he felt as she looked from Kylie to him and back again.

  “Well this was sufficiently awkward,” Mia deadpanned as she pulled Kylie aside. “We’re just gonna go get ready now.”

  “Right. Got it.” Trace backed up into the bathroom doorway to let them pass, never once taking his eyes off her. When she was out of sight, he leaned against the wall and fought to catch his breath.

  He still wanted her so damn bad. Still craved her like nothing else he’d ever wanted.

  Just what he needed. Another addiction that would likely kill him.

  He clenched his fists and stormed down the hallway.

  So maybe he’d learned two things in rehab. The first being you learned who actually gave a damn. The second was, it was the people you loved, the ones you needed, who had the power to destroy you. Who could rip everything you’d worked for away in a single second. With a look. A smile. A touch.

  Her touch would undo him. Undo everything he’d fought to overcome. But damn if he didn’t want it more than air. More than music. More than anything.

  The image of Steven Blythe standing behind her in her apartment flashed behind his eyes.

  An overwhelming flood of images unleashed themselves, tearing through him so fiercely he couldn’t stop them. Steven kissing her. Touching her. Holding her.

  He couldn’t even hit anything to get a modicum of relief from the torrent of anger and pain building up inside of him for fear of scaring Rae half to death. And it was his home, for fuck’s sakes. This was what it meant to be sober. He had to feel every-damn-thing. Let it wash over him, pound him down, and beat the living hell out of him.

  Once he was safely locked in his room, he dressed in jeans and a black shirt. His fingers fastened the buttons on autopilot. As soon as he was fully clothed and had run his hands through his hair, he pulled the handheld device off the dresser.