Girl in Love (5 page)

“T
HE VENUE
pulled out, Trace. I’m sorry.”

Trace could picture his manager’s apologetic expression just by the tone of his voice. He was getting really good at receiving bad news.

“Great.” He raked a hand into his hair and stared at the pile of paperwork in front of him.

While the label was putting on a supportive front about his rehab stay, not everyone else was willing to do the same. Sponsors of his A Hand Up program for single parents were dropping like fucking flies.

“They said they’d made a mistake and double-booked. They’re refunding the deposit,” Pauly Garrett informed him. “We have to find somewhere else to do this. Soon.”

“Right.” Trace huffed out a breath. The benefit concert he’d scheduled nearly a year ago was a week away and he had jack shit. Well, no. He had five hundred people who’d RSVP’d, concert tickets and VIP passes to raffle off from people he actually considered friends, and a truck the local dealership had donated for him to give to one of the AHU families. But nowhere to have the damn thing.

“Look, I hate to say this. But at this point, we might just need to accept that it’s time to cancel and—”

“No. No, we’re not canceling. We’ll have 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 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 he could practically taste it.

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.

T
WO 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’ll 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 sound 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 they’d been…whatever they’d been, the place where he’d let himself imagine marrying her someday…That would 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.

“T
HEY 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.”

T
HE 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.”

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.”