Girl in Love (32 page)

Being turned down was one thing. Having let him inside her again, giving him that part of her, just for him to walk away once this tour was over…Now
that
would’ve been something worth regretting.

“Right,” her friend said slowly. “I’m sure you’re super thrilled the two of you didn’t get it on last night. You don’t have to pretend with me, Ky.”

“I’m not,” Kylie said, nodding her approval at Lulu’s handiwork in the mirror.

“Last night was a minor drunken episode that only served to remind me of what I already knew.”

“Which is?” Lulu prompted.

Trace Corbin was bad for her. Bad for her heart, her body, and her career. She lost all sense of reason when it came to him. That wasn’t something she could afford to do in this business.

“It’s over.” She wasn’t going to shrug and pretend it wasn’t a big deal, because it was. He was the first man—besides her daddy—that she’d ever loved. “Trace and I aren’t going to have some big Hollywood love scene reconciliation. We had our time together and it’s time to move on. For good.”

And she was going to let him know how she felt. But since she sucked at talking these kinds of things out, she was going to take a page from his book and sing the song she’d never thought she would. She’d literally titled it
The Song I’ll Never Sing.

But she was going to sing it tonight.

Her friend eyed her with blatant disbelief plain on her face.

Trace Corbin was like a huge plate of comfort food. It felt good while inhaling it, but afterwards, she was miserable and consumed with regret.

She felt ready to let him know once and for all that whatever they’d had, whether it was real love or just some highly intense lust-fueled attraction, was over.

He didn’t have to keep giving her that apologetic look he was always aiming in her direction. Or keep trying to make amends. Or step out of the room when Gretchen called. Or worry about her throwing her stupid drunk self at him.

She was going to sing her piece and move the hell on. Finally.

T
HE CROWD
in Greensboro had an energy that brought Kylie back to life. She apologized to them for yesterday and made a joke about the sexy singer she was touring with getting her so hot and bothered that she passed out.

She was proud of herself. Her heart was safe once again.

Her pride was a little wounded though. It cuddled her bruised ego in a darkened corner while she smiled and shook her ass all over the stage.

After what was normally her final song before her duet with Trace, Kylie addressed the audience.

“Any of y’all ever have that person, that one person who deep down you knew you shouldn’t love? Knew would only break your heart?”

The majority of the audience cheered in response.

“And no matter what you do or where you go, after that person breaks your heart, it seems like everything everywhere you turn is a reminder of them?”

She was greeted with understanding once more. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Trace watching her from the side of the stage.

“This one’s for you,” she said softly into her microphone.

The band played the slow opening and Kylie began to sing.

There’s a road I never take. It’s right past the interstate. It’d be easier to get where I’m goin’ if I went that way.

She swallowed hard, startled by the thick knot of emotion threatening to interrupt her.

But I just drive on past. Go ahead and waste the gas. ’Cause I know right where that road will lead. Straight back to the memory of you and me.

For reasons she didn’t want to admit to herself, she couldn’t even glance to the side of the stage he was on. So she stared straight ahead while she sang.

No I don’t turn the radio on, ’cause damn if they don’t keep playin’ our song. There’s a shirt in my closet, way back in the back. But I don’t even think about that.

No I don’t go down that road, don’t even turn the radio on, and I don’t walk around wearin’ your old shirt. ’Cause I know right where all of that will lead. Straight back to the memory of you and me.

Her eyes began to pinch and sting and she prayed the audience couldn’t tell that every single lyric was struggling to make its way out over the lump in her throat.

This was therapeutic in a way. It was their final goodbye. She knew it as sure as she knew her own name.

I tell myself one day I’ll be strong enough to handle these things, but right now it’s the song I’ll never sing. You don’t have to worry about hearing these words from me. ‘Cause you’ll always be the song I’ll never sing.

The audience erupted into applause when she was finished. He came out onto the stage and her arm brushed his. Trace’s entire body twitched as if she’d electrocuted him.

But she felt pure relief.

She wouldn’t have to work so hard to guard her heart anymore. She’d left it out on the stage.

This time she didn’t have to avoid him as they sang
The Other Side of Me
together to close the show. He didn’t even glance in her direction.

When they finished and he left her on stage alone, as if he couldn’t get away from her fast enough, her feelings weren’t hurt. Because there was only one emotion she could feel, the safest one she knew.

Blissful numbness.

T
HE BUS
was so dark she couldn’t see a thing when she slipped onto it. It was late and she didn’t want to wake anyone so she didn’t turn on any lights and practically tiptoed.

“So that’s it then? Planning to avoid me for the rest of the tour?”

Kylie nearly had a seizure at the unexpected sound. She felt the wall and pressed the button for the lights nearest to her. Trace sat completely still at the small table in the kitchenette.

She’d figured he’d be in bed asleep by now. Or at least, she’d hoped he would be.

A brief flashback of letting him have it, telling him off like there was no tomorrow while he’d sat at a similar table, crossed her mind. But that was a long time ago. He wasn’t drunk and hateful this time.

Yet, anyway.
He appeared calm, but anger rolled off him so hard it backed her up a step.

For the past two days, she’d spent most of her time with her band. Looking at Aiden’s baby pictures and getting to know about all of their girlfriends and wives and baby mamas. They were a good group of guys and she was glad she’d taken Mike’s advice.

He’d been right. She didn’t have to close herself off to everyone.

Just one someone. Someone who’d apparently decided to wait up for her.

“What are you doing sitting here in the dark?”

“Thinkin’,” he answered quietly.

“About?” she prompted, despite being uncertain she actually wanted an answer. She swallowed hard and took a few steps toward him. When she was close enough to see, she could make out dark circles under his eyes.

“Things,” was all he offered her.

“You been drinking?” She whispered her question, as if somehow that might make it less offensive or upsetting.

He let out a bitter laugh. “No. Have you?”

It was a fair enough question since technically she’d been slightly intoxicated a few awful nights ago.

“No.”

“Good. Got a minute?”

Kylie took a step toward her room. “It’s late, Trace. We have to be—”

“I’ll keep it short then.”

“Um, okay. What’s up?”

He snorted out a harsh laugh. “Nothing you care much about.”

A spine-tingling chill made her shiver. Alarms rang out inside of her. Every cell in her body stood at attention.

This was the way he behaved when he was drunk. Because—back then—when he was angry, he got drunk. This was sober-angry Trace. She couldn’t decide which version was more worrisome.

“I-I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“Don’t you?” Trace slid out of the booth and stood in front of her, effectively blocking the path to her bedroom. “Well, let’s see, Kylie Lou. From what I can tell, the only thing you care about being up is my dick, right?”

She took a step back. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He glared at her. She worked hard to keep her expression impassive, refused to let him see how much she wanted to break down under the searing heat of his stare.

“I didn’t fuck you when you were three sheets to the wind, so you sing that damn song and then blow me off—and not in the fun way, like I’d prefer.”

Her blood began to heat, either from her own anger or his fiery gaze. She didn’t know and she didn’t much care. Her heart threatened to pound straight out of her chest. Which pissed her off even more because she’d thought she’d finally gotten rid of the damn thing.

“I made a mistake the other night. Like you said, I’d been drinking. Oh, but wait, I guess you’re the only one who’s allowed to get drunk and make mistakes.”

“No, but that’s the part I can’t figure out. Which part was the mistake, darlin’? The trying to impale yourself on my dick part? Or the leaving the next morning part? Because I can assure you, if you’d stuck around, once you were sober I had every intention of giving you what you wanted. Repeatedly.”

He knees threatened to give beneath her. “T-Trace,” she began, shaking her head back and forth.

“I’m done being pushed away.” He came toward her, backing her up as far as she could go. “Tell me, baby. Tell me the truth.” She leaned back against the counter, and he braced his arms on either side of her. “There’s nobody on this bus but me and you. I made sure of it. No assistants, no band members, not even a driver. Forget the fucking music, Kylie Lou. Forget the label. Forget the tour. Look at me and tell me we’re done. Tell me you don’t want to be with me, you don’t love me, and that you’re over it.”

She licked her lips and tried her best not to breathe him in. Not to let his manly soap and warm woodsy scent disorient her.

“I’m trying to be. Y-you hurt me, Trace. You hurt me so bad.” Blood rushed in her ears so loud she barely heard her own confession.

Wild, tortured eyes met hers. “You think I don’t know that? Every damn day of my life has been fucking purgatory since I walked away from you. And I don’t just mean the other night. I mean this whole damn year. Don’t you see that?”

Instinctively, she reached up and placed her hands on either side of his face. His stubble tickled her palms. It was as if she were seeing him for the first time, or maybe she was just allowing herself to remember what she’d known all along.

She nodded as she dropped her hands and let them rest on his broad, solid chest.

“I see.”

And she did. She saw the selfless man who took care of the women he loved, the passionate one who loved with all he had—even when it meant walking away. And she saw the beast in him, the one that led him to drink. He wasn’t two separate men as she’d always told herself. There wasn’t one who’d loved her and one who’d walked away. They were two parts of a whole. Both parts making him the man that he was.

The man she loved.

She let her eyes memorize every inch of his face, fearing they’d both reason their way out of this intense stare down before it went much further. Trace’s hands came up to her wrists and slid down her arms. She barely stifled the shiver it caused.

“You’re still my beautiful girl. Still too damn beautiful for my own good,” he said, his voice a tormented whisper. “I knew I could take care of this.” He slid a hand down and cupped her intimately between her legs.

Her hands clutched his black T-shirt, gripping him tighter for support as need pooled liquid and scalding where he’d touched her.

“I had to make sure I was worthy of this.” Trace’s right hand left the throbbing apex of her thighs and came to rest on her heart. “I know you still love me, Kylie Lou. I don’t know that I’ll ever deserve your love, baby. But I want to. I’ll spend the rest of my damn life trying to be the kind of man who does.”

She placed her hands over his. Her heart quivered in fear at his words. When he lowered his head and kissed her softly between her breasts her entire body began to tremble under his touch.

His chest expanded as he pulled in ragged breaths. She let her hands roam from his hands to his arms. Smoothing them down his chest, she gripped the hem of his shirt.

“I’m scared,” she whispered into the small space between them.

“Me too, baby,” he breathed. “But I need you to trust me. We can’t do this without trust. I just want you, Kylie Lou Ryans. There’s no one else. The things the media says about me are—”

“Shh.” She brushed a finger over his mouth before lifting his shirt over his head. She’d heard all she needed to.

Once his chest was bare, her eyes drank in the muscular planes. Her hands made a path over the chiseled lines of his abdomen up to the hard ridges of his shoulders.

“When you first left,” she began softly, “it felt like I had nothing to hold on to. Nothing that mattered anymore.”

An apology flashed in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but she placed her small hand over it once again. His eyes never left hers while she spoke.

“And then I grabbed on to music, to the only thing I knew and understood. Even though every note, every chord, every single lyric I played or sang cut deeper into the pain of losing you.” She felt his hands massage their way up her back as she worked deftly to remove his belt. “I couldn’t save you from yourself. No matter what I did.”