by Caisey Quinn
He closed his eyes and tried to think. He knew one girl who was always online and generally made a habit of knowing more than she should. Plus he missed her and wanted to hear her voice. So he finished his drink, savoring the slow, sweet burn while he pulled her number up on his phone. She picked up on the first ring. He held the phone a little ways away from his ear in anticipation of her squealing.
“Trace! I was just thinking about you!” Yep, there was squealing. Good thing he’d been prepared.
“Hey, baby girl. You missin’ me?”
“You know I am!” He could practically see her beautiful smile. The same one that had wrapped him around her little finger the first time he’d ever seen it.
“I miss you too, Rae. But I’m actually calling because Kylie’s upset with me and—”
His little sister, who, much to his dismay wasn’t so little anymore, interrupted him. “Oh no! Why?”
“Because I’m practically an expert in the art of pissing off women.”
Rae laughed softly. “Nah, you make me pretty happy. I’m still loving my car by the way.”
Trace grinned despite the heap of trouble he was in at the moment. “You’re wearing your seatbelt and not texting and driving, right?”
“Yes, Dad.”
An ice-cold hand plunged into his chest and squeezed. He wished he had been her dad instead of the sorry fucker they’d been stuck with. May his black soul not rest in peace. But he was ten years older than her, so he was the closest thing she had. Just the thought of the man had him pouring himself another drink. “Rae, I need you to Google me. Please.”
“But you said never to—”
“I know what I said. But Kylie’s really upset and I have no idea what I’ve done this time.” He used the hand not holding his phone to rub his temples. This was not how he usually celebrated the end of a kickass show.
“Just a sec,” she said. He stood up and paced a path around the bus while he waited for her response. “Okay, you ready for this?”
No. “Yeah, tell me what came up.” He eyed the bottle sitting on top of his dresser. He’d barely even broken the neck of it. See? All under control.
He heard the girl take a deep breath. “Um, so there’s like three articles about you and Gretchen hooking up and having a night out on the town. The rest of the links look like just tour info. But on the images…”
“What about the images? Tell me.”
“The first one is of you and Gretchen Gibson taking body shots off of each other. The second is of you staring at her like an obsessed creeper while she plays pool. And the third is of you dancing together in a bar.”
Jesus Mary Mother. Some asshole had used the photo shoot pictures to make it look like he and Gretchen were involved. And out drinking together. No wonder Kylie Lou was so beside herself. He unscrewed the cap on his bourbon and took a swig straight from the bottle without even consciously meaning to.
He swallowed and took a deep breath. “Okay, we are going to discuss how you even know what body shots are at a later date. For now, please tell Claire Ann that it was a promotional photo shoot for the tour and that there was water in my shot glass if she sees them. I gotta go, baby girl. I love you.”
“Love you, too. Good luck with Kylie.”
“Thanks.” I’m damn sure gonna need it.
“Stop looking at them.” Lily demanded as she slammed the computer screen closed.
“Hey!” Kylie protested, flipping the screen back up. “I might have been checking my email or posting on the blog.”
“No you weren’t. You were looking at those pictures. I could tell by the look on your face.”
“They were promos for the tour, he said.” She bit her lip. He’d called back and explained. She knew she needed to get a grip. It was just easier said than done.
“Whatever. I need the computer. My dad should be calling any second.” Lily plopped down next to her in the booth.
“Okay.” Kylie swallowed the lump that looking at the photos of Trace and Gretchen Gibson taking body shots off of each other had caused.
“Is she looking at them again?” Mia asked, poking her head into the media room and smirking at Kylie. She’s probably enjoying this.
“Jesus. Can a girl not check her Facebook?” Kylie shook her head and stood. “I’m done, okay? Y’all can use the computer all you want.”
Mia stepped aside to let her out of the cramped room. “You’ll see him next week, right? He’s coming to the show, isn’t he?”
Is she trying to comfort me or does she want to see him as much as I do?
Kylie took a few deep breaths and tried to keep her voice calm. “Yeah, his show in Louisville is in the afternoon, and he should make it to the music festival by the time I go on. Long as y’all are still okay with me closing.”
Both girls nodded. Their expressions were matching masks of sympathy. Mia’s was tinged with disgust. Or pity. Or maybe amusement. Kylie wanted to scream. She’d have preferred they both go back to being bitchy.
“I’m going to bed.” She sulked to her room, semi-grateful that Lily had interrupted her. The CMA Music Festival where she’d be performing seemed a million miles away. He’d called right back after she’d acted like a childish idiot. She believed him about the photos. But it still hurt. Bad. She texted him goodnight, knowing he was probably asleep or busy. She lay awake for a long time, waiting for a text back. Just something that connected them. It had almost been six weeks since they’d been together on his farm in Macon. When she looked at the pictures of him and Gretchen, she couldn’t help but feel like she’d dreamed the whole thing.
Because when she closed her eyes, the images of Trace and a dark-haired woman drinking together, dancing, playing pool—looking for all the world like they were out on a date and having a hell of a time—flashed behind her eyes. She’d stared at them for so long they were burned into her retinas.
The next morning started with a Lily Taite breakdown of epic proportions. It was nearly enough to make Kylie forget all about the pictures of her boyfriend with another woman. Almost.
“Lily? Lily, come on. We’re gonna be late.” Kylie sighed as she watched Mia banging on the bathroom door. She leaned against the counter—at least she thought there was a counter under all the curling irons, shoes, clothes, and piles of makeup.
Kylie couldn’t even count which number breakdown this was. Once again, Lily had locked her crazy ass in the bathroom with her cellphone and was refusing to come out.
Mia knocked again. They’d been with Lily a few short weeks and they both knew her dad wasn’t going to show up for shit. Yet Lily was sixteen-years-old, had been dealing with him her whole life, and still didn’t seem to get it.
Kylie stepped towards the bathroom door. “Listen, Lil, we’re supposed to meet with Brian at that little diner so he can show us how to post videos and stuff to the site before tonight’s show.”
“I don’t care.” Lily’s muffled voice came from the other side of the door. “Just go on. I’m not going to post any stupid videos anyways.”
“Lily,” Mia began in her calmest voice. “This is part of our contract, remember? This isn’t something you can just stop doing because you’re having a bad day, okay?”
Kylie watched as Mia fumed at the door. She was a no-nonsense chick and Lily was practically made of nonsense.
“Go away!” Lily screamed.
“Listen to me!” Mia yelled right back. “Get your spoiled little ass out here and come the fuck on. Grow the hell up, Lily. You wanted this, wanted to be on this tour. So you are damn well on it. Now let’s go!” Mia smacked the door hard with her hand. Kylie winced. That was going to leave a mark.
And it didn’t work. Lily’s sobs got louder. Kylie shrugged at Mia. “Maybe we should just tell Brian she isn’t feeling well.”
“Right, let’s start making excuses for her like everyone else does. Great idea.”
Lily’s pampered princess act pissed her off too. But she also felt kind of so
rry for her. If her daddy was still alive, she knew he’d put on his one dress shirt—the gray striped one he wore to weddings, funerals, and the few times they went to church—and come to every show of hers he could. A flicker of anger began to well up in Kylie’s gut. What the hell was Lily’s dad’s deal? Could he not be bothered to show his daughter a tiny bit of support or affection? Far as she’d seen, he hadn’t shown up for anything and his few calls left Lily in tears.
The night Lily had fallen off the tailgate in Oklahoma, she’d gotten wasted and cried and gone on about her dad not paying enough attention to her. Kylie had chalked it up to the alcohol. But she could see there was more to it. Lily had been all over several random guys at the party. Kylie practically had to drag her off of them and out of there. Girl might as well have had a neon sign flashing ‘Daddy Issues’ over her head. Lord help if Country Weekly ever found out about that.
She sucked in a breath and leaned past Mia towards the door again. “Lily, please come out so we can talk. You don’t have to go to dinner with us. I’ll see if Brian will write down the instructions. Or email them or something. Okay?”
Kylie heard shuffling and then the door opened. Lily looked like she’d been punched in the face. More than once. Kylie struggled to keep her shock from showing. After taking a deep breath, she stepped towards Lily, who clutched her phone like a lifeline. “Lil, why don’t you just tell us what happened? It’ll make you feel better to talk about it.” She didn’t know if this was true. She personally hated talking about her problems. But she and Lily were different that way.
“H-he,” she began, cutting herself off with a sob. The girl who usually seemed full of life and obnoxious energy suddenly seemed extremely small and weak. “He went to California. Said he had business to handle at his LA office. But really he was just at my brother’s soccer game instead of coming to see my show.” She held up her phone as evidence.
Kylie and Mia both leaned in to see the Facebook photo of an extremely good looking soccer player with his arm around an older man in a dress shirt who must’ve been Donovan Taite. Nice. He could fly across the country to see one kid kick a ball around, but he couldn’t drive five minutes up the road to see his daughter perform for hundreds of people? What the hell was this guy’s problem? Obviously he wasn’t a shitty dad to his son. Lily might be annoying but she was a sweet girl who worked hard. Kylie had a nagging suspicion she was working hard specifically to impress a dad who obviously didn’t think she was worth her weight in salt. Well…someone certainly needed a talking to.
“HEY. You busy?”
Trace tried to sound calmer than he was. “Never too busy for you, babe. What’s up?”
“What do you know about Donovan Taite?” Kylie asked, catching him off guard.
“As in The Donovan Taite? The CEO of BackRoom Records?”
“That’s the one.”
He took a deep breath before answering. “Not much. Never met him. Isn’t his daughter on tour with you?”
“Yeah. And he’s a dick. I was wondering if you knew where exactly in Nashville his office was.”
“Jesus, Kylie. You can’t go around calling men like Donovan Taite a dick. I mean, you can, but I wouldn’t recommend it. At least not where anyone can hear you.”
“Oh, I’m going to make sure people hear me all right. Mainly him.”
He pressed a hand to his forehead as he tried to figure out a way to shake some sense into his hot mess of a girlfriend over the phone. “Please listen to me, Hothead. This is not a man I’d mess with. He’s got the kind of connections that come from knowing members of the mob, if you get what I’m saying. He not only creates artists, he destroys them. To the point where you never hear of them again, ever. Do not, Kylie, I repeat, do not go screwing around with anything involving him.”
Kylie’s voice was low when she responded. “He doesn’t show up to anything of hers, Trace. He doesn’t return her calls. He flies across the country to see his son but can’t so much as pick up the phone to tell Lily he’s proud of her. Does he have an office in Nashville or not?”
Gretchen moaned loudly before he could respond. She was wailing like an animal in pain with her head on the table as he carried the vomit-covered bed sheets past her on his way to the dumpster. She’d nearly drunk herself to death the night before and she was paying for it now. Part of him wished he’d just minded his own business. But he’d been there. So he was helping her the best he could. Even though he was slightly hungover himself. He balanced his phone on his shoulder. “Yeah, but you shouldn’t go there. Listen, I know you. I can tell you’re upset and I’m sure whatever Donovan Taite has done is shitty enough to deserve your anger. But he’s not a man you mess with.”
“I just want to talk to him. Just want to tell him what he’s doing to his daughter is wrong. If my daddy was alive, armed guards wouldn’t be able to keep him from my shows. She’s…she’s not okay, Trace. I can’t just sit back and watch him break her.”
He heaved the disgusting pile of bedclothes into the dumpster. “I hear you, babe. I do. But I’m not kidding. Promise me you won’t—”
Fuck. As he released the last of the acidic smelling sheets into the dumpster, his phone fell from his ear. When he picked it up the screen was shattered to hell. Kylie had told him to get one of those cases that kept it safe even if a tank backed over it, but had he? Why hell no. And now the damn thing was dead and wouldn’t turn back on. And for all he knew, his girlfriend was going to walk her hotheaded ass straight into a lion’s den with a T-bone slung around her neck. Fucking Gretchen. He kicked the dumpster just before pitching his phone into it.
“WHAT the hell’s your problem?” Watery bloodshot eyes glared at him as he slammed a travel-size mug of coffee down on the table in front of Gretchen.
“My problem is that you’re ruining my damned life. My problem is that if I hadn’t been here last night, you’d be fucking dead.” Trace took a breath to keep from screaming at the woman. He folded his arms and leaned against the counter. The counter that reminded him of his sexy-ass girlfriend sitting on top of it with her legs spread to accommodate him. Focus, dammit. “My problem, Gretchen, is that you’re not holding up your end of the deal here. I’m working my ass off to prove that I can do this. That I deserve this last shot that Capital has given me. And you’re doing your best to ruin it every step of the way.”
Yeah, he saw the damned irony. He’d paid attention in tenth grade English. Mostly because his teacher had some fine-ass legs. But he’d heard a few things she’d said too. God love Kylie for seeing the good in him even when he was behaving like this. He wanted to throttle Gretchen, throw her ass off the bus, and tell Carl to step on it. Looking at her, he couldn’t imagine what in the hell Kylie Ryans saw in him. He rubbed his eyes.
Gretchen was still glaring at him when he stopped. “I forgot, you’re Mr. Perfect now. Mr. Talks-to-His-Addiction-Specialist-When-He-Has-a-Moment-of-Weakness. Good for fucking you. Just don’t forget, you’re also Mr. Punched-Out-Several-Guys-Who-Didn’t-Deserve-It, Screwed-Anything-That-Moved, and wait, isn’t your girlfriend like fifteen? How’s your mom, by the way?”
He’d never wanted a drink so badly in his life. His chest tightened as the intensity of his need nearly overtook him. He’d bet Gretchen had a stash of liquor bottles in her room. His was empty. His fists clenched. He dropped them to his sides and flexed his fingers while counting to ten. And then twenty…five. He blew out a breath and lowered himself into the booth where she sat. “You’re right, Gretch. I’m an asshole. And Kylie’s nineteen, not that it’s any of your business. She’s still more of a grown up than I am on my best day.”
Gretchen’s expression said she wasn’t interested in hearing about his girlfriend. Or anything else he had to say. “Sounds like a real prize. Congratulations,” she deadpanned.
“And you know good and well my mom doesn’t want shit to do with me. So whatever you’re trying to do here, it won’t work.” He tilted his head. Gretchen Gibson was a bi
tch. But she was like him in a lot of ways. Defensive. Angry. Weak when it came to opportunities to numb the pain. But what pain was she numbing? He had no clue. Didn’t particularly care to know.
“I’m not trying to do anything. Why don’t you just do your thing and I’ll do mine? Feel free to mind your owned damned business.” Her eyes narrowed to cat-like slits.
“We’re on tour together. Whether we like it or not, what you do affects me. And your thing is going to get you killed, Gretch. Or at the very least get both of us sacked from Capital before you can order your next tequila sunrise. You need help.” I’m one to talk. Yeah, he felt like a hypocrite. But their situations were completely different. He had his drinking under control. He wasn’t out getting trashed like Gretchen, sleeping around, or passing out in his own vomit.
“Go to hell,” she hissed, standing abruptly. He watched helplessly as she stormed back to her room. Dropping his head into his hands, he focused on the reasons why he shouldn’t drink. Kylie deserves better. So does Claire Ann. And Rae. I’ve worked too hard to throw my career away like this. I sure as shit don’t want to end up like Gretchen. And repeat.
But it was still there. That want. The need to swallow shot after shot until he couldn’t think about the trouble Kylie was getting into with Donovan Taite or the fucked up mess that was Gretchen Gibson. And worst of all, the fact that just like when he was a kid living under the roof of a volatile man who used his fists instead of words, he was powerless to do anything about any of it.
“GOT a minute?” Mia’s head poked into her room and Kylie braced herself for the blast of shit that was probably about to follow.
“Sure. What did I do this time? Wait, don’t tell me. Just say whatever bitchy thing you came to say.” She leaned back and waited.
Mia swallowed hard and took a step inside. “I didn’t come to say anything bitchy. Believe it or not I came to apologize. What I said about Trace, that’s none of my business. It wasn’t a fair comment to make and I shouldn’t have made it.”
