Girl on Tour (Kylie Ryans)

by Caisey Quinn

“Since this.” He pulled out the two squares of paper he’d folded and put in his pocket. One was a picture of her and Steven. He had his arm around her and they were smiling. The other was from the night he’d nearly been arrested. It was grainy, probably taken by a cell phone. But anyone could see she was upset as the bouncer restrained him just after he’d punched the asshole that had grabbed her in Charlotte.

  She glanced at the pictures and shook her head. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing. We’re just friends. This was taken out of context. You of all people know how the media manipulates everything.”

  He nearly growled in frustration. She was so damned stubborn. He loved that about her. But right now it was making this nearly impossible. “The label is going to have to cancel the remainder of the tour. They won’t drop me right away but it’s coming. They won’t sign you if you’re linked to me since I’m fucking up their whole world right about now.”

  “Y-you can’t know that for sure.”

  “It’s over, okay? Whatever this was, it’s run its course and I have to handle me now. I can’t do that while trying to do whatever it is we’ve been doing.” The lie burned in his mouth. He could ask her to wait. To wait for him to get his act together. But who knew how long that would be? He loved her too damn much to ask for that. He didn’t deserve her. Not like he was.

  Her eyes narrowed. “So you’re just getting drunk and making decisions for the both of us now?”

  “I didn’t just decide this, okay?”

  “How long?”

  Trace took a deep breath, causing an ache to spread deep in his chest when her sweet honey vanilla scent hit him. “What do you mean, how long? How long have I known I was going to go into rehab or how long do I think I’ll be there?”

  She closed her eyes for a second, heartache flashing in them when she stared back at him. “When did you decide this? About rehab, about ending things?” She pulled her trembling lower lip with her teeth and he nearly lost himself staring at her mouth.

  “That night in Georgia, Gretchen and I talked. I didn’t realize—”

  “Did you sleep with her?” she asked, hurt filling her eyes as quickly as the tears she wiped furiously away before they could fall.

  “Jesus fucking Christ. We’re back here again?”

  “Did you?” The normally bright blue of her eyes had faded. Washed away by pain. Because of me.

  “I didn’t sleep with Mia or Cora. You can’t assume I sleep with every woman I mee—”

  “You’re not answering my question.”

  He sighed, barely resisting the urge to reach out and comfort her. Her pain was raw and right on the surface. And he was about to make it so much worse. But he couldn’t lie anymore. Not about this at least. “A long time ago. Before you. Before I was anyone.”

  “You were always someone,” she said softly, dropping her gaze to the table.

  “Look, I didn’t tell you before because this was new and I didn’t want to upset you. I wanted you to focus on your career and your success and not worry. Nothing happened with Gretchen. Not this time.”

  “Except you were honest with her while you were lying to me. I asked you, Trace. More than once. If you were drinking again. You lied.”

  He nodded. She was right. He didn’t know how to explain it in a way that wouldn’t cut her even deeper. He could be honest with Gretchen because she was just as screwed up as he was. Plus he didn’t give a fuck if Gretchen found out he was a pathetic alcoholic loser and never wanted to see him again. Kylie feeling that way on the other hand…would destroy him. Was destroying him.

  “So then why are you here? Drinking and…doing this, if nothing happened?”

  “Because something did happen. Not with Gretchen, but with me. I can’t do this, Kylie. I can’t be in a place where I’m going to fall off the fucking wagon every time there’s an article or a picture or a—”

  She winced. Literally winced like he’d punched her in the face. “So it’s my fault, then? I’m the reason you—” She was losing it. Her bottom lip quivered again and she placed her hand over her mouth to cover it.

  He barely held back from slamming his fist into the table. Or the wall. Or that damned picture of them mocking him from above. “No. That’s not what I’m saying.” He raked both hands through his hair. “It just needs to be over right now. I don’t know what’s going to happen. Shit, I wish I did. But I don’t. So just let it go, okay? It’s for the best right now.” He slid his hat back on, pulling the bill down low so she wouldn’t see the moisture gathering in his own eyes.

  “You don’t mean this.” She sniffled loudly. “I don’t believe you.” The tears she’d been holding at bay finally fell. He clamped his hands down onto his seat to keep from reaching out to wipe them. Images of them together in Nashville, in Macon, in Jackson, in Atlanta forced themselves to the forefront of his mind. Before he could say anything, she made a request he wasn’t expecting.

  “Dance with me.”

  “What?” He wouldn’t have been more surprised if she’d said, “Marry me.”

  “I love this song. Just…dance with me. Please? And then if you still want to go…” She lifted her shoulder and let it drop in defeat before she slid out of the booth.

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. He’d never be able to say no to this woman. That’s what she’d become in the few short months on the road. He didn’t know if it was him or the touring that had changed her. He stared at her as she stood there. Vulnerable and needing him. She wasn’t a bright-eyed girl anymore. Wasn’t his girl. But he could do this one thing for her.

  She led him to a back corner of the dance floor and pressed herself against him. Instinctually his arms wrapped around her as they swayed to the damned song that he’d cursed as soon as it had begun. It was the worst he’d ever felt with her in his arms. This close he could feel the steady tremble, the vibration caused by her fighting off the pain and the tears. He squeezed her tight as the song ended and inhaled her warm, sweet scent one last time.

  He wanted to kiss her more than he wanted air. More than he’d ever wanted a drink in his life. Wanted to grab her up and take her back to Georgia and just make love to her until nothing else mattered. But he’d tried that method. She couldn’t babysit him forever. She had a life, a career, friends. She deserved so much better. He was going to make sure she got it. He just wished it could’ve been him. Part of him hoped one day it would be him. But today was damn sure not that day.

  He stepped back to leave, knowing Pauly was out back waiting to take him to the airport to catch his flight to Dallas. But before he did, he leaned over to kiss her on top of the head. It was the closest he could allow himself to get to kissing her goodbye. “I’m sorry, Kylie Lou.”

  The knocking felt like a fist hammering her skull. Over and over and over. She was lying on her couch in her sweats watching a muted television. Well…not really watching it. On the coffee table sat the latest issue of Country Weekly open to the two-page spread she’d read so many times she’d memorized it.

  LAST YEAR’S COUNTRY MUSIC ARTIST OF THE YEAR TRACE CORBIN ENTERS REHAB…AND HE’S NOT ALONE.

  The pictures of him and Gretchen getting out of a black SUV Kylie didn’t recognize were blurry, but it was very clearly them. The one of him holding Gretchen’s hand as they passed through the doors was the clearest of them all. They both wore dark sunglasses but there was no mistaking them. Trace had glanced back at the last second, looked over his shoulder—probably suspecting someone was watching.

  Yeah, I see you.

  Time to work on himself her ass. He’d told the truth about rehab but conveniently left out the part about him and Gretchen checking in together. He’d chosen someone else. Someone who understood what he was going through when she couldn’t. Plain and simple. A deep, dark ache she was becoming familiar with stirred inside of her as the knocking continued. Is this all for publicity? Rehab? Gretchen? Was our entire relationship for publicity?

  She’d gone so long w
ithout eating or sleeping that the reality of the whole situation was blurring before her eyes. Did I ever mean anything to him? Was it all in my head? He’d told her once that it was. She didn’t believe him then. She did now.

  “Kylie, open the damned door or I swear to Christ I will call the fire department!” Now, along with the constant skull-hammering knocking, there was shouting. Fanfuckingtastic. She closed her eyes, pulling the pillow over her head to block out the world. It was a shitty, cruel world anyways, and she was sick of it. She’d tried. She really had. But she was done now.

  She’d learned an important lesson though. If you give everything you have to other people and they don’t have anything to give you in return…you end up with nothing. Not a single thing.

  She’d given Trace Corbin all of herself. Every single thing she had. Her body. Her heart. Her soul. All he could give her was a kiss on the head and a weak-ass apology. And he’d walked away. Left her alone to deal just like her father had.

  “I got it,” she heard someone say just before a loud click alerted her that the door had been opened.

  “Jesus,” a muffled voice said. It came from behind her. Kylie rolled over and looked up into four worried faces. Two of the people worked for her. Chaz, her manager, and Maude, her new agent…well, for now. She was also Trace’s agent, and Kylie didn’t want to be associated with anyone linked to him in any way. Which was why she wasn’t answering his sisters’ texts or calls. Well, that and she had absolutely nothing to say. To anyone. The other two people in her apartment were Mia Montgomery and Steven Blythe. What the hell they were doing here, Kylie had no idea. She mentally kicked herself for not locking the damned bolt latch. She’d have to remember that in the future.

  “Go away.” She rolled over so her back was to them. She wasn’t on tour, wasn’t scheduled for studio time, and didn’t have any more phone interviews with radio stations that she knew of. She’d done everything that had been asked of her. Now she just wanted to be left the hell alone.

  “Kylie, you need to get up, sweetie.”

  Mia “I don’t even fucking like you” Montgomery calling her sweetie did make her look back. The sympathy in Mia’s face set off the deep pang in her chest she was getting used to. She’d seen the article, too, then.

  Kylie sat up, hugging her pillow to her and watching them eye her warily, as if she were a cornered animal about to jump up and attack. Or flee for her life. She didn’t have the energy for either. “Okay, I’m up.” Her voice was weak and scratchy. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d said a full sentence out loud. Her mouth tasted like she’d been eating raw sewage for a week.

  “Good news,” Chaz piped up with way too much pep in his voice.

  She cut her eyes in his direction. “I can hardly wait.” She would’ve forced a smile. But she just…couldn’t. She couldn’t make her eyes or her face or her body do much of anything.

  “So, Maude got a special package for you this morning!” He bravely took a step closer. “And we knew you weren’t, um, feeling well. So we brought it over.”

  Her eyelids were heavy and sore from all the crying. It felt like someone was trying to push her eyeballs out of her head from the inside. She was getting a headache trying to keep them open. Sighing loudly, she closed them for a second. “Okay. What is it?”

  “It’s from Capital, Kylie,” Maude informed her. “Capital Letter Records wants to sign you. They’re going to take care of the album, the publicity, everything. This is it, what we’ve been waiting for.”

  She opened her eyes. All she could do was stare at them as the words tried to break through the thick fog surrounding her mind.

  “Come on, Kylie. Say something,” Chaz pleaded.

  She looked at the packet Maude held out. “Wow. Yay, ” she sing-songed softly. She tried to smile. She really did. But her mouth was dead set against it.

  “Jesus Christ.” Mia shook her head and began giving orders. “Steven, go get a pizza or some of those subs from that Italian deli down the street.”

  He shot Kylie a sad smile. “Congratulations, Ryans. You deserve this.” He nodded at her and turned to leave. His words twisted in her head. You deserve this. You deserve to hurt like this. You were never good enough for him. It’s your fault he had to go into rehab. He never loved you. That’s why he never said he did. He’s with her now. She swallowed and tried to nod back. That wasn’t what he meant. He meant the recording contract. She closed her eyes again.

  “Call me when you’ve signed them all and I’ll take them to Capital. They’re already planning your signing party so, um, maybe take a shower and go shopping.” Maude set the thick stack of paper down on the coffee table, covering the magazine that lay open. She was a no-bullshit kind of lady—this Kylie knew and respected. So she wasn’t surprised when the woman shook her head and left without saying goodbye. Like everyone else had.

  Chaz leaned over and kissed her on top of the head. The familiar gesture sliced into her and she winced. “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart. Get some rest. Call me soon so we can talk about what’s next, okay?”

  She went through the exhausting steps of telling her lungs to breathe, her heart to beat, and her head to nod. People got nervous when you went catatonic. She didn’t need or want any more unnecessary attention.

  After Chaz left, it was just her and Mia. The girl stood in the middle of Kylie’s living room. “You’re a mess, you know that?”

  “Thanks for noticing.” Her throat was so tight from lack of use it hurt to swallow. She hugged her pillow and curled onto her side.

  “Are you kidding me right now?” Mia’s eyes bulged as stepped closer. “You just got a signing offer from the biggest damned label in Nashville. I know you, Kylie. I know how hard you worked for this.”

  “Lots of people work hard, Mia. Doesn’t mean we always get what we want.” She understood what he meant now.

  “This is effing ridiculous. Seriously. You’re pissing me slap off. If Trace needed to go into rehab, then good for him. If he chose to be with that train-wreck of a woman who doesn’t have half your talent or drive, then fuck him. But this isn’t about him.” Mia gestured at the papers on the table.

  His name was a sledgehammer to her heart. But Kylie didn’t flinch. She just took it. Welcomed the pain even. At least it was something.

  “Don’t do this,” Mia pleaded, lowering herself onto the coffee table across from her, sliding the contract to the side as she did so. “Don’t give it all up, everything you’ve dreamed of, worked for. Not for this. Not for him.”

  Kylie clutched her pillow tighter. “You don’t understand.”

  “No, you don’t understand. This is a once-in-a-lifetime deal. Shit happens. Life is tough. But you’re stronger than this. Or you damn well better be.”

  Kylie shook her head. “I tried to be. I tried to—”

  “You tried to what, Oklahoma? Tried to make a name for yourself and now you have so you’re going to throw it in the fucking garbage? I know that sounds harsh, and maybe it is. Maybe I’m being unfair to you because…” Now it was Mia’s turn to shake her head. Her gaze began to drift off somewhere else, but Kylie was losing her patience.

  “Because why?”

  “How much did Trace tell you about me?” Mia asked, catching her off guard.

  “Nothing really.”

  Mia took a deep breath and glanced down at her hands. “I’ll start at the beginning then.”

  “The beginning of what?” Kylie breathed in as deeply as she could stand. She really just wanted the woman to leave her the hell alone already.

  “How I got here, to American Idol, then on the tour…and why I kind of hate you most of the time.”

  “Awesome. Can’t wait to hear it,” Kylie deadpanned.

  Mia shot her a sad smile. It was the first time Kylie noticed how vulnerable she seemed. Vulnerable was not an adjective she ever thought she’d use to describe Mia Montgomery. “I didn’t grow up in a great situation.” Kylie realized she�
�d been holding her breath so she let it out slowly as Mia continued. “My mom ran off when I was just a baby and my dad was…not a good man. As in, he makes Lily’s dad look like a saint. When I was three, he went to jail for beating a man nearly to death in a bar. He’s still there. My grandma raised me. My mom’s mom. We didn’t have much. Sometimes people from the church helped out, made sure we had food and that I had clothes to wear…but it was…rough.”

  “Jesus,” Kylie said softly. Okay, this was not what she’d been expecting. At all.

  Mia shrugged and took another deep breath. “My gran and me saved every penny we could to afford my plane ticket to LA to try out for American Idol. When I won, I thought I’d made it, you know?”

  Kylie nodded.

  “But it wasn’t like that. I could only do the things allowed in my contract, and the gigs I wanted to take weren’t permitted. The tour with Trace was supposed to be what launched my career, but everyone hated me. I mean hated me.”

  Yeah, she had heard about her getting booed, and she knew first hand how badly that could hurt. “Bet that was tough to take,” was all she could think to say.

  “Yeah, it was.” Mia’s eyes went dim. “My gran died two weeks into the tour. I’d just been booed off stage when Trace found me crying on the bus. He said some things I needed to hear but didn’t want to.”

  “Sorry about your grandma.” Kylie really was sorry. She knew exactly what it was like when someone died on you, taking your whole world with them. “What did he say?” she whispered, hoping it wouldn’t kill her to hear that he’d kissed Mia or something to make her feel better.

  Mia shrugged. “Just that I needed to take a step back, deal with my Gran’s death, and work on my sound. I couldn’t sing a pop cover, then a country cover, then an original song of mine that no one knew all in the same set. And I couldn’t keep letting the way other people felt about me reduce me to a sobbing mess of a human being every time things didn’t go my way.”

  She didn’t know whether to smile or cry. Sometimes Trace could be pretty amazing. Like he was with his sisters. Like he was with her. “He’s not perfect but he’s… he was something special. To me, anyways,” she finished with a slight lift of her shoulder, shrugging as if the permanent lump in her throat wasn’t choking her to death. She didn’t want to talk about him too much or the missing him would tear another jagged hole into her heart. “You ended up on the tour, so things worked out. Right?”