by Caisey Quinn
Tears clouded her vision. “That’s what being with Trace is for me.”
IT WAS as if his internal clock was programmed to her. He knew exactly when it was seven and she’d be taking the stage. She’d be looking for him. Expecting to see him in the crowd. She wasn’t even mad at him anymore. Her two dozen voicemails said as much. But he was. He was downright fucking furious at himself.
He was going to miss her last show. Not because he wanted to. More like because he had to. If he went there, if he saw her up on stage, he’d talk himself out of what he’d decided. What he’d promised Gretchen and what he knew he had to do.
Walking into The Rum Room was damn near painful. But this was where it had started, so this was where it should end. He didn’t see the owner anywhere, for which he was grateful. He wasn’t in the mood for talking. Not any more than necessary anyways. He skirted the dance floor and lowered himself into the private booth in the back. It took ten minutes for a waitress to come take his drink order. Thankfully it wasn’t the friend of Kylie’s who worked there. He ordered his bourbon from the perky bottle blonde and waited for the angry call to come.
Glancing up at the wall beside him he saw the picture of them on stage the first night they’d met. Seeing her lit up like that, knowing he’d been what made her feel alive that night, was a sucker punch to the gut. Because after that night, he’d been the one to drag her back down. The media outlets were having a field day dissecting her bombed show last night. Drug use, illness, and pregnancy had all been mentioned. He didn’t have to speculate on the cause. He knew exactly what her problem was. Him.
He was on his fourth drink when his phone finally lit up with her face. Or it might’ve been his fifth. He wasn’t in the mood to count. God, he loved that face. It was slightly blurry. Maybe his screen needed wiping off.
“Hey.”
“Trace? Where are you? Is everything okay?” She didn’t even sound mad. She sounded…worried. Concerned. He didn’t deserve her. He never had. He emptied his glass, savoring the burn as it went down.
“I’m at The Rum Room, Kylie Lou. Can you come meet me? We need to talk.”
“I’ll be right there.” Panic rushed her words out. He wanted to tell her to take her time. Not to get there too soon because he needed more time.
The waitress sat another glass down. This was supposed to be to take the edge off. A farewell drink or two. Oh well. He was going down. Might as well go down in flames of fucking glory.
He pulled off the trucker hat he was wearing and sat it on the table. His full glass of bourbon sat untouched in front of him. He’d tried. He’d tried so damn hard. But every day was like being forced over a cliff and having to dig his way back to the top with his fingernails. Every. Damn. Day. He couldn’t do this on his own. Not long term. So when Gretchen had said she was ready to get help, he’d known deep down she wasn’t the only one.
He had to save Kylie from himself before he took her down with him. She was about to break out and be huge. It was already happening. She was already on the radio, in the tabloids, and a local well-known. Soon she’d be nationally well-known and then global probably. But not if she didn’t unhitch herself from him. Before it was too late.
He felt her presence before he actually saw her.
“Trace?” Her voice shook with the promise of tears. “What’s going on?”
He looked up at his pretty girl. She had on the same red dress she’d worn on their date. He loved that dress. Loved the girl in it even more. Knew she loved him too, loved him enough to let him rake her through the murky pit of hell he was about to drag himself through. “Sit.” He nodded at the seat across from him, watching her every move as she slid into it.
He wrapped his hands around his glass.
“You’ve been drinking,” she said quietly. The band began warming up on stage, and between that and the ringing in his ears, he could barely hear her.
“Yeah. I have.” He cleared his throat and looked up into her wide blue eyes. Mistake. Her pain was pouring straight out of them.
“Okay, well let’s go back to my place and we can call Dr. Reynolds.”
“I already called him.”
“Oh.”
“Sorry I missed your show.” He really wanted to down the drink in front of him. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it in front of her. He was already about to hurt her bad enough as it was.
“It’s okay.” Now her eyes held a sadness that made him sick of himself.
“No, it’s not.”
“Trace, right now, I don’t give a damn about the show. The tour’s over. Right now I’m worried about you. Please talk to me. What did Dr. Reynolds say?” She was practically pleading with him. This from a girl who didn’t beg. This is what you reduce her to. He didn’t want to drag this out. But saying what he had to felt like plunging his own fist into his chest and yanking his heart out with his bare hands.
“I’ve got some….things I need to deal with. On my own. Alone.” He squeezed his eyes shut, but not quick enough. Not before he saw the shadow that passed across her face.
“Trace, what are you talking about? Did I do something? I don’t underst—”
“No. Stop, just stop. Just let me get this out, okay?”
She nodded.
“When I saw those pictures of you and Steven—”
“Oh my God.” She huffed out a breath. “Seriously? If you would’ve answered your phone, I would’ve told you we were—”
“For fuck’s sakes, Kylie. Just listen for once in your damned life.” He wanted to hit something. He grabbed the glass and downed its contents in one swallow.
“I’m listening,” she whispered, her eyes going even wider at the sight of him becoming belligerent. Yeah, this is me. Be glad you’re getting out while you still can.
He exhaled harshly through his nose. “Those pictures made me think. Not that I necessarily want you with Steve, but at least he’s not a drunk. If he says he’ll be at your show, he’ll be there. Me, not so much.” He forced himself to shrug like missing her show wasn’t that important to him. Even though it was the absolute worst thing he’d ever done. Which was saying something. Letting her down was the one thing he never wanted to do. And yet, he was pretty sure this was only the beginning. Unless he came clean. Now. “See, I can’t promise you shit, Kylie. I can’t promise you tomorrow. Or next week, or next month. I never know when I’m going to give in to the urge to drink. I’ve been fighting it—well, failing at fighting it—for the past few months and I’ve been miserable.”
“You’ve been miserable?” Her voice was small and it quivered over the last word. Shit. She thought she’d made him miserable.
He didn’t know how to explain what he actually meant so he rushed on. “It’s just been…harder than I expected. And frankly, I’m doing you a favor. You deserve better than this. I’m checking into a rehab facility in Dallas. Tonight.”
She took a deep breath and he thought he saw relief on her face. “Oh, well, okay. Babe, if that’s what you need to do, then I completely understand. Surely the label will realize that—”
“I don’t give a fuck about the label. That’s not why I’m doing this. I just…need to work on me right now. And you need to concentrate on your music, on your career. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
She shook her head. “Are you…breaking up with me?”
The pain in her voice was too much. He signaled the waitress for another as the band began blaring out a song about a woman loving her man as much as Jesus did. Excellent timing. Nothing like a song about unconditional love while you shattered someone’s heart to hell and back. “We went on one date, Kylie. I don’t think I have to break up with you.”
“Don’t do this.” Her bottom lip trembled. Damn. He should’ve kissed her one more time first. Long and hard and deep so he’d have the memory to hold on to.
“You’re young. All of your dreams are about to come true. You don’t need to be linked to me while the media—”
“I don’t give a fuck about the media,” she said, throwing his words back at him full force.
“Settle down,” he said as the waitress approached with his drink.
Kylie whipped her head to the side and glared at the blonde. “Do not bring another goddamned drink to this table or I will tell Clive to fire your ass right this minute.” The woman’s face went slack, and she turned and walked away with his drink.
He shook his head. She couldn’t spend her life saving him from himself. “Listen, I know—”
“Please don’t do this. This isn’t you. You don’t mean any of this. You’ve been drinking. Tomorrow, when you wake up, you’ll—”
“Be in a rehab facility in Dallas. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Move on with your life, Kylie Lou. Enjoy being nineteen. Enjoy making it big in country music like you’ve always dreamed of doing. Don’t think about me or worry about me. I can’t have a phone or a computer so it’s not like we’d be able to keep in touch.”
“But there’ll be visiting days and stuff, right?” Tears filled her eyes. He felt like he was drowning in the deep blue pools.
“I don’t know and I don’t care. I don’t want you visiting me in fucking rehab. I don’t want them posting pictures all over the damned Internet about you and your loser boyfriend.”
“Since when do we care what they say?”
“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 leane
d 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 without 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.
