by Caisey Quinn
“No. No, we’re not canceling. We’ll have the it at the farm before I cancel.”
The program had become even more important to him than he’d realized. He cared about these people, knew them by name. Knew they needed more than he could currently give. But by raffling off signed guitars, tickets, and all the other stuff that had been donated, he could raise the kind of money that could make a difference. Money he could use to do a lot for those families.
Pauly Garrett cleared his throat. “Okay. Well, the label suggested asking Kylie to perform, a way of showing you two are on good terms and maybe even—”
“No. Not an option.” Trace took a deep breath. “Look, between you and me, seeing her at the CMAs nearly killed me. I’m not going to play their game and use her to generate publicity. I’m just not. I’ve put her through enough. I’m done.”
“She’s made quite a name for herself since you’ve been gone. Her involvement might help us secure a venue.” Pauly’s voice was even, matter of fact. Trace knew his own was in danger of shaking.
“No. She’s doing well and I’m happy for her. But I can’t go anywhere fucking near her, Pauly. You know I can’t.” Jesus Christ. Just thinking about her was painful. A sharp, stabbing ache tore at his chest and his temples throbbed. She was bourbon and intoxication and freedom from everything that had ever held him captive all rolled into one dangerously enticing package.
He clenched the oak table where the ever-expanding pile of his problems sat.
“Okay, I hear you. Loud and clear. I’ll make some calls, okay? We’ll figure it out.”
Trace huffed out a loud breath and eased his hands off the table. “Thank you. I’ll make some too.”
After they said goodbye, he stared at the papers in front of him. Some were bills. Some were letters from single parents thanking him for the help they’d received from A Hand Up.
Some were old, some were new. The past and the present, overlapping in a chaotic mess. Just like his fucked-up life.
A year ago, just the sight of the responsibility, the pressure, with no clear answers in sight, would’ve sent him over the edge. Straight to the bottle.
The irony of it all was so bitter it caused him physical pain.
He’d wanted to be better for her. Gone to rehab so he could be the kind of man she deserved. And he’d lost her in the process.
TWO DAYS and two dozen phone calls later, he still had nothing. Nowhere to have his benefit concert and auction. He and Gretchen were the only confirmed artists, and everything was going straight to shit.
“We can do it, Trace. It’ll be good. I call some friends and get some help getting things done around the property.” His sister’s soothing voice reassured him—to an extent.
“Claire Ann, honestly, I don’t know if I can handle this. A Hand Up was supposed to be a good thing, but it’s turning into nothing but a nightmare.”
Somehow, his sister had convinced him to go ahead and have the benefit at his house. His farm in Macon—the one sanctuary he had left. Not that it was much of an escape anymore.
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 music 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’d they been…whatever they’d been, the place where he’d let himself imagine marrying her someday…That would fucking 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.” Kylie nudged the girl beside her.
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 throb of pain that swelled through her chest. “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 they’ll hopefully see there’s nothing here. Nothing that would be worth sending me on tour with him.”
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.”
“WHAT IN the hell is she doing here?” Claire Ann Corbin yanked the earpiece off and watched as a slender blonde stepped out of a sleek black town car. She jammed her finger down on the button on the handheld. “Somebody find Pauly Garrett—now!”
Jesus. This was bad. So very bad. She was certain that she’d controlled everything. Handled every single aspect of this benefit. Micromanaged the details of the event down to how low the dang grass was cut. But this she hadn’t expected. Couldn’t have planned for. Prepared him for.
From the area where the sound guys were setting up the equipment, Trace’s manager began heading her direction. He glanced to his left and saw the girls emerging from the car in the driveway.
His eyes were wide when they met hers. “I thought you weren’t inviting her?” he asked as he jogged closer. “Trace said not to, right?”
“I didn’t invite her,” Claire Ann hissed. “I swear to God I didn’t.”
At that same moment her little sister Rae barreled out of the house. Squealing. “Oh my gosh! Kylie! You made it!”
“I am going to strangle her with my bare hands,” Claire Ann gritted out between clenched teeth. “So help me God, she isn’t going to live to finish her freshmen year of college.”
She stormed towards her little sister, realizing exactly how Kylie Ryans had gotten invited to the event.
A warm hand wrapped her upper arm. “Claire. Hold up. A big scene won’t help anything. Won’t help him.”
“Oh, I’m not saying a word to Nashville’s precious Sweetheart. My sister, however, I am drowning in the pool before anymore witnesses arrive.”
“Shh. There’s no need for that. It’s fine. It’ll be fine. Breathe.”
She took a deep breath. “She’ll ruin this. He’s been so stressed already and seeing her…seeing her will be—”
“He’s got this. You’re underestimating him. He’s going to have to get used to seeing her.”
Claire Ann glared flaming daggers at her sister as she tackle hugged Kylie Ryans in the driveway. Then she turned her heated gaze to the man wh
o still had a hand on her arm.
“Oh, so he can handle seeing her but he can’t handle seeing us? Which is it, Pauly? Either he’s strong enough or he’s not.”
The man she’d been secretly dating for nearly a year removed his hand from her arm and used it to rub his graying goatee roughly. “That’s different and you know it.”
She huffed out a breath and whirled to face him. “Is it? Or is that just going to be the excuse you use forever?”
“Claire, please. Don’t—”
“You know what? Forget it. I can’t do this right now. I have to find my brother.”
“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.”
