by Caisey Quinn
Mia ordered another beer and Kylie kicked her under the table. “You order one more and we’ll be carrying you out of here. Or we could get Steven to do it.”
“Shut it, Oklahoma.” Mia leaned forward and her dark green eyes met Kylie’s. “Seriously though. Did you and him ever hook up?”
Kylie leaned back to look at her. “Steven? No. We actually only hung out once and I had too much to drink. He helped me to a bathroom and Trace got the wrong idea.”
“Ah.” Mia kept her face blank, but Kylie thought she saw relief in her eyes.
“You think he’s cuuuuttee,” she sing-songed. “You want to kiiisss him, and looovvee him, and maaarrrry him.”
Mia scoffed. “You’ve been hanging out with Lily too long.”
The girl turned from the stage at the sound of her name. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Kylie barely stifled a laugh at Lily’s pouty expression.
When the song ended, Mia began heckling the band. “Play something that doesn’t suck,” she shouted, lifting her beer.
“Mia!” Kylie hissed at her.
Surprisingly, Steven was grinning. He stepped back up to the mic beside the lead singer. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special treat for you this evening.”
A sinking feeling hit Kylie’s stomach so hard she gripped the table.
“Mia Montgomery, our very own American Idol, is in the crowd tonight. Let’s see if we can get her up here. Shall we? Come on up here, Mia. Pretty please?”
Whistles and cheers filled the darkened room. Kylie and Lily stared at Mia. The blood had drained from her face but she grinned. She finished off her most recent bottle of beer and stood. Kylie was nearly overcome with déjà vu. Damn musicians.
“Lucky girl,” Lily muttered. But Kylie knew the truth. She knew Mia’s heart was likely pounding a mile a minute and that she was probably secretly terrified of making a complete ass of herself. She’d been there.
Once Mia reached the stage, Chris reached out and helped her up. He gave her a big smile but shook his head at Steven. “This one’s for you, Mia,” Steven said into the mic. When the opening chords of Jet’s Cold Hard Bitch began playing, Kylie covered her mouth with her hand. Steven Blythe must have balls of steel. Or at least she hoped he did. Because Mia was probably going to kick him in them.
Much to her surprise, Mia sang right into the mic along with him. And then she began doing an extremely sexy dance that involved grinding all over Chris. Which Steven’s face said he didn’t like one damn bit.
“Let’s go,” Lily said, standing and holding her hand out to Kylie. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”
Kylie followed her and they joined the band on stage. She imitated Mia’s sexy moves on Steven—poor guy needed some TLC since Mia was hurting his feelings. Lily was head-banging with the drummer, and the whole thing was getting the crowd really riled up.
When it was over, Steven gave Kylie a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Ryans,” he murmured in her ear. “I owe you one.” She smiled and the girls hopped off the stage.
The band jumped right into another song as they returned to their seats. “Seriously, they are freaking amazing.” Lily’s eyes were shining as she shouted over the music.
“Yeah, they are really good,” Kylie agreed.
“They’re all right.”
Kylie smirked over at Mia. “Is this how you get when you like a guy? ‘Cause I gotta say, it’s not nearly as deceiving as you probably think it is.”
Mia’s eyes narrowed. “Looked like he was more interested in you than me, Oklahoma.”
Kylie nearly choked on her Coke. “Are you serious? That whole thing was for you. To get you up there. Someone’s got a crush.”
“I do not,” Mia argued. But her face turned red enough to be noticeable.
Kylie raised a brow. “Yeah, I was talking about him. But methinks you doth protest too much, my friend.”
Mia snorted. “Oh hell. Redneck quoting Shakespeare. The apocalypse is upon us.”
“Funny. And you can kiss my redneck ass, by the way.” Kylie held her glass up and tipped it in her direction. “You know, I actually don’t hate either of you nearly as much as I thought I would.”
Lily’s light eyes went wide as she tore them from the stage. “You thought you were going to h-hate us?”
Mia snickered. “She’s a bitch, Lily. She can’t help it. She has no filter. She just says whatever the hell comes into that head of hers.”
Back to the Kylie Ryans Hatefest. Kylie winked at Lily. “I yam what I yam.” She’d decided she was officially done letting Mia get to her.
“Is it weird that you two might be the only friends I have?” Lily asked. Kylie felt her mouth drop open. Were they friends?
“Yeah, I’m not exactly drowning in them myself,” Mia said softly.
Shocker, Kylie thought but didn’t say.
“Me either,” Lily added quietly. “Not real ones anyways. Just the ones that want me to buy them stuff and invite them to parties.”
“Well, you don’t have to buy us shit,” Mia informed her. “But the party invites…”
“THANK you, Columbus! Y’all are beautiful!” Trace shouted as he walked off stage with his band and a few security guys.
“Hey, you meeting with Dr. Reynolds tonight?” Mike asked as they headed towards the bus.
“Hadn’t planned on it. Why, you having a hard time, man?” Trace stopped walking, letting Danny go on ahead of them. He’d been so caught up in Gretchen’s mess during the tour that he’d barely had time to check in with Mike. He was three years sober but knew guys who’d fallen off after much longer than that.
“Nah, I’m good actually. Uh. Shit. Not to get all gay on you or anything, but I’m kind of worried about you.”
“Me? Why?” Trace cleared his throat. Yeah, he’d had a few drinks here and there. He’d even blacked out a few nights, but for the most part he had it under control. At least that was what he kept telling himself.
Mike ran a hand through his long hair. “You just seem…wound up lately. Like any little thing is going to set you off. This can’t be easy, dealing with Gretchen’s bullshit and the label, and—”
Trace held a hand up. “Dude. Relax. I’m fine.” He just needed to get laid. And the only girl who could give him what he needed was touring all over the country at the moment. So was he for that matter.
Mike glanced from side to side before he spoke again. “Tray, you know I mind my own business, right?”
Trace nodded. He knew he was lucky that the guys in his band had not only stuck with him but had kept their mouths shut about some of the hell he’d put them through.
“Okay, so I’m just gonna lay it all out there. I know where you are, man. You’re at that place where you know you shouldn’t want a drink but you do. Where it’s all you can think about sometimes and giving in to the urge is a hell of a lot easier than fighting it.”
Trace clenched his jaw. This would be a great time for Mike to go back to minding his own damn business.
“If you get online anytime soon for any reason at all, you’re gonna see something that shoves you right over the fucking edge. I don’t want that. The guys don’t want that. I know Gretchen’s got alcohol on that bu—”
“What the hell are you talking about, man?”
He watched as his bass player took a deep breath. “Danny and some of the guys keep tabs on your girl. Not to be shady or anything. She was just a tough chick and we’re all happy to see her doing well for herself, you know?”
Trace noticed some dark silhouettes coming towards them. Roadies. “Shh.” He nodded and told them thanks as they began loading equipment on the surrounding trucks. Once they were out of earshot, he turned back to Mike. “I have no idea where you’re going with this. Did something happen to Kylie? Is she okay?”
He knew she was in Chicago tonight. Not the safest city on the planet. He’d made her promise not to go walking off and sightseeing alone. Not that she would ne
cessarily listen.
“Yeah, man. She’s fine. But ever since y’all went public there’s been some shit going around. You know how it is. Frankly, none of us really pay any attention to any of it. But I know you. And I know you’re already holding on to your sobriety with an inch of your life.” Mike dropped his shoulders and held his hands up. “Naw, screw it. I know you’re still drinking. I can fucking smell it on you right now. You need to stay off the damned Internet. For a while at least.”
Well now he was just getting pissed off. This was bullshit and he really wasn’t in the mood. “It’s probably nothing, just like the promo shots of me and Gretchen were nothing. I’ll check it out and give her a call to clear things up if need be.”
“Okay. I hope you’re right. Can I come hang with you on the bus for a while?”
Trace raised both his eyebrows at the man across from him. Since when did Mike get all mother hen on him?
The two of them got on the bus and headed straight to the media room. Trace retrieved the bottle of water he’d crammed into the back pocket of his jeans and took a swig before he sat. He flipped open the MacBook and typed in his password. Opening the Internet browser, her smirked at Mike. Dude looked like he was waiting for the results of a pregnancy test. “Relax. I’m good.” He’d learned a long time ago not to believe the shit people said about you when you were in this business. Couldn’t even trust his own mother for God’s sakes.
He was planning to click the page he had marked for Kylie’s tour blog. But as soon as his homepage came up, he saw what Mike was so worried about.
KYLIE RYANS MOVES ON FROM TRACE CORBIN’S BETRAYAL—WITH A YOUNGER MAN.
You won’t catch Kylie Ryans crying over the news that her favorite country music man is shacking up with his new co-headliner, Gretchen Gibson. But we did catch her in Chicago tonight with fellow up-and-comer…If he wanted to read the rest, he’d have to click the link for the full article. And he damn sure didn’t want to do that.
Below the headline was a grainy photo of him and Gretchen saying goodbye at the hotel in Georgia. Next to it was one of Kylie walking down the street with a guy. The guy had his arm around her and she was laughing. She looked much happier than she had the last time he’d seen her. When he’d lost his temper and almost gotten them both arrested. Below the photos was a video link. He clicked it and instantly wished like hell he hadn’t.
There she was. In a bar. Dancing all over Steven motherfucking Blythe. She’d never danced on him like that. He closed the video and glanced back at the photo. Same tattoos, same mess of black hair on his head. Fuck.
They’d met at The Texas Player’s Club. He remembered. She’d come into the VIP room with Steven close behind. Or did they know each other before? She’d never mentioned it and he’d never asked. His fist clenched. To hell with this. He slammed the computer shut.
Mike was on him in an instant. “Okay, now you’re the one who needs to relax.”
“I am relaxed.” He took a few deep breaths to calm his pounding heart. He felt his jaw clench and flex. “It is what it is. She can hang out with anyone she wants. I’m not her fucking keeper.”
“Okay,” Mike said warily. “So you’re cool and you’re not going to drink?”
“Naw, I’m good,” he lied. “But thanks for the high school girl intervention. Much as I’d love to stay up late so you can paint my fingernails and shit, I’m going to take a shower and get some sleep.”
“You hungry? We’re gonna grab some burgers at a local joint before we head out.”
“I’m good. Thanks though.”
“Seriously. Come with us. You need to get some air.”
Trace glared up at him. “You’re replaceable. It’d take one phone call.”
The other guy shook his head. “Corbin, don’t do this. Call Dr. Reynolds. Take a walk. Call her and find out what’s going on. Don’t sit here and work yourself up and end up drink—”
“Get the fuck off my bus, Mike. If you want to keep your job, that is.”
He gave his bass player exactly one minute to clear off the bus before he pulled up the pictures again. And that video. Jesus Christ that video. He glared at the screen until his eyes burned.
When he couldn’t take any more, he slung the computer into the cabinets across from him. The noise wasn’t nearly as satisfying as what he craved. He stood, not to retrieve the computer, but to grab a bottle from his liquor cabinet. Which was empty. No way I drank them all. Someone had taken his liquor. Except the only person who’d ever done that hadn’t been on his bus in over a month. He closed his eyes, planning to count, to do some deep breathing. To try and remember how in the hell he’d gone through that many bottles of bourbon without realizing it. But all he saw was the girl he loved in another man’s arms. Her body pressed against his for the world to see.
This was his fault. He knew that. He deserved this. For not telling her he loved her when he had a chance. For not ever saying the words she needed to hear to know it was him and her and no one else. He’d never be able to erase those images from his mind. Not without help. So he headed into Gretchen’s room.
“IF you wanted to see my panties, all you had to do was ask.” Her low, throaty voice interrupted his search.
He slammed the dresser shut and glared at her. “Where is it? I know you have some.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She widened her eyes, feigning an innocence she wasn’t capable of. She was still worked up and sweaty from performing. Or maybe from screwing a roadie. He didn’t know and he didn’t care.
“Just tell me where it is, dammit!” He’d turned the entire bus upside down looking for her stash.
Gretchen stepped towards him. “What the hell is your problem? I told you, I’m not going to fuck up any more shows or whatever the hell you’re worried about. I’m going to do the best I can before I leave for Dallas. I’ve been talking to Dr. Reynolds and—”
“I’m not worried about you,” he said, immediately wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. That would’ve been the perfect way to play it. Like he was just confiscating her alcohol for her own good. Not because he needed a drink more than his next breath. The images of Kylie laughing as she strolled down the street with Steve, a kid he’d known since the little fucker was in middle school, were assaulting the shit out of him. The memory of what he’d seen, her writhing and grinding on him while he played guitar on stage, was driving him fucking mad. They were the kind of images a man couldn’t shake. Or forget. Unless he burned them out with hard liquor.
“What’s going on, Tray?” Gretchen took another step closer. She hadn’t called him Tray in years. He didn’t like it.
“Nothing. I’m just…getting the alcohol off the bus. Removing temptation.” He ran a hand through his hair.
“Hmm. Temptation. Now there’s something I can understand.” She advanced on him until they were close enough to touch. “I don’t know what has you all worked up, but I’d be happy to help you—”
“The only thing I want help with is finding where you’re hiding your liquor. I know it’s in here somewhere.”
Gretchen cocked her head. “You really trying to get rid of it, or you just have a hankerin’ for a drink?”
His face must’ve given him away because she smiled before he answered. Moving past him, she leaned over behind her bed. He knew she was taking her time to make sure he got a nice long view of her ass. His patience was running out. “Just give it to me.”
“I’d be happy to give it to you,” she said, licking her lips as she handed over the dark bottle. It was a half-empty pint of Jack. Or half-full, depending on how you looked at it. Thank fuck.
“Pass.” Trace took the bottle greedily and all but ran from her room.
TRACE’S song, Waitin’ for You to Call, was playing in her dream. They were singing it together at the Rum Room. His stormy eyes were bearing down into hers and she just wanted to grab him and hold on tight.
Softly, she began humming the tune in her
sleep.
“Answer your fucking phone, Oklahoma,” Mia’s sleepy voice demanded.
Her eyes flew open. Where the hell was she?
She sat up and glanced around. Oh yeah, she was in a hotel room in Chicago with Mia and Lily. They’d had a cot brought up but Mia had been out with Steven and his band so Kylie and Lily got dibs on the beds. Obviously Mia had come in too tired to care where she slept because she was in bed with Lily. Trace’s song was still playing. The alarm clock on the nightstand read 3:46. She grabbed her phone, yanking it free of the charger and praying everything was okay.
“Hello?” she said quietly as to not wake Lily or piss Mia off further.
“Hello yourself.”
“Trace? Are you okay?” She sat up and put her feet on the floor. Except the floor grunted and moved. She squealed.
“Shh, calm down,” Mia hiss-whispered. “They were sleeping in their van so I told them they could bunk with us tonight. Chris got the cot and the other two are on blankets on the floor. You just stepped on Steven probably.”
“Great.”
“What’s great?” Trace asked, slurring his words a bit as he did. Jesus, was he drunk? The likelihood that he’d been out drinking with Gretchen made her feel woozy, and she stumbled once more in the darkness.
“Um, I just tripped over Steven. Or someone.”
“What?” He was full out roaring at her now.
“Nothing. Never mind. What’s going on, babe? Is something wrong?” She stepped carefully over the bodies in the floor and made her way into the bathroom. She closed the door behind her and turned on the fan so everyone wouldn’t hear her conversation.
“Let’s see. What could possibly be wrong? Well, for one, I had the pleasure of watching you shake your ass all over Steven online. And now he’s in your hotel room in the middle of the fucking night. So maybe you can tell me what’s going on, Kylie.”
Oh, this was bad.
“Um, well we ran into—”
“You know what? Why don’t I tell you how it looks from my end instead? Because to me, it looks like you’re pissed that I had to deal with Gretchen when I should’ve been paying attention to you. So now you’re making sure you get my full attention by fucking someone else. The pictures were great, by the way, but you outdid yourself with the video.”
