Girl on Tour (Kylie Ryans) (4 page)

“G
ood
night, Kansas City! Y’all are awesome! Thank you!” Kylie finished her set, struggling to catch her breath from the intense high performing always left her with. Mia stood in the wings and ignored her as she passed. So far there hadn’t been much progress in that department.

Eleven weeks
, she told herself. Surely she could make it through eleven weeks. Not that she really had a choice. She had rent to pay. And studio time didn’t come cheap.

When she made her way back onto the bus, she thought for a second it had been vandalized. Clothes were everywhere, makeup was poured out all over the small table, and a false eyelash was stuck to the bathroom door. At least that was what it looked like. She started to back off the bus and yell for help when Lily came bounding out of her room.

“Oh thank God, you’re back! I need help!”

She could say that again. Kylie stepped over a pair of red stilettos. “Yeah, um, what the hell happened in here?”

“Huh?” Lily glanced around then back at Kylie as if the bus did not, in fact, look like a hurricane had plowed straight through the center of it.

“Lily. Jesus. You have a room. This is ridic—”

“Kylie, there’s no time for cleaning up! Mia’s onstage now and I still haven’t picked out what I’m wearing! And I need help getting these damn eyelashes on. Why Vitamin Water couldn’t spring for some hair and makeup people is beyond me.” The girl took a breath long enough to look around.

Kylie noticed that one eyelash did look significantly thinner than the other. Snatching the other one off the bathroom door, she handed it over.

Lily’s face lit up as if she’d been handed the keys to Disneyland. “Ah! Thank you! I’ve been looking everywhere for that!” Kylie couldn’t help but smile. The girl was pretty easy to please. She and Mia had soothed her hurt about the big room by offering to let her close the next few shows.

“You’re welcome. But, Lily, seriously. This—”

“Okay, look—here’s the red dress, and I’d wear the red stilettos with it. Or should I wear the cream dress with the jean jacket and boots?” Before Kylie had time to answer, Lily grabbed another outfit that had been lying on the counter by the coffeemaker. “Ooh! Or maybe the silver sleeveless one with my pink heels. Or black boots.”

A dull, throbbing sensation began to make its way to Kylie’s temples. “Um, I like the red dress. Maybe wear the jean jacket and boots with it? Or the red heels. Whichever.” She watched as Lily chewed her lip, and a dimple appeared in her left cheek. The sixteen-year-old suddenly seemed very sixteen.

“You’re a genius!” Lily leapt at her, wrapping her in a hug she was both unprepared for and unable to return before the girl grabbed an armful of clothing and darted into her room.

After shaking off the overly affectionate encounter and carefully sidestepping the landmines of Lily’s crap, including an enormous hair dryer with something on the end of it that looked like it could inflict some serious pain, she made her way to her room. She’d no sooner stepped inside her haven, where she was safe from Lily Taite, than the girl yelled out again. “Kylie! I still need your help with this eyelash! I can’t get—Ow! Oh God, ow! Please come help me!”

Sighing, she headed back towards Lily’s room. Touring with Trace was starting to look like Heaven compared to this.

Once she’d removed the spiky eyelash from Lily’s eyeball and glued it in place where it should be, she told the girl to have a great show and finally escaped to her room. She wasn’t a neat freak by any means, but her version of messy was carefully contained chaos, whereas Lily’s version was more holy-fuck-we’ve-been-robbed.

After she’d changed out of the black dress she’d performed in, she slipped into her jammies. Grabbing the cellphone from the charger on her nightstand, she collapsed onto her bed.

She was just about to text Trace and see if he was up for a Skype date when she saw she already had several texts from Cora reminding her to blog, Tweet, and post a Facebook message about the show. And she was supposed to post photos as well.
Damn. Why can’t I just freaking sing?

Well, she hadn’t taken any pictures inside The Hangout, the music cafe where she’d just performed, so she made her way to the main area of the bus and snapped a picture of the damage Lily had caused. She posted it online with the caption:
Girls are slobs. Note to self: Do not ever leave Lily Taite alone on the bus again.

She Tweeted about how awesome Kansas City was and how excited she was about next week’s shows in Colorado and Texas. She commented on a few photos that fans had posted of them together before tonight’s show. Finally, after she’d hopefully done enough to please Cora, she sat back down on her bed and texted Trace.

Hey babe. Just finished my set. Lily Taite reminds me of Rae. If Rae was on crack. Miss you…

She knew he was busy with planning his upcoming tour, so she didn’t expect a response right away. But it came a minute later.

Miss you too. That sounds terrifying.

She laughed out loud and sent him the photo she’d taken of the bus. Within a few seconds he responded.

What the hell happened???

She explained about Hurricane Lily. And how she didn’t realize how good she had it touring with him. He sent a winky face. His response time began to increase. When she heard Mia come back on the bus, she knew she needed to get to the computer before the other girl did. One computer and three girls was a shitty idea to begin with. As was sharing a bathroom with Lily. She was kind of starting to wish she’d taken the suite after all.

Skype date?
She texted as fast as her fingers would allow. Several minutes passed and no message came.

Her bedroom door slid open and a red-faced Mia Montgomery glared at her. “Did you tell Lily she could wear my jacket and my boots?”

Kylie set her phone down on the nightstand. “Um, no I didn’t.”

Mia folded her arms over the tight blue T-shirt she was wearing. “I just passed her as she was heading to the stage. She was wearing my shit. I asked her what the hell she was thinking and she said you told her to wear that.”

Her accusatory tone had Kylie’s hackles rising. “Okay, first of all, I came onto this disaster of a bus and was accosted by the blonde fairy of destruction herself. She threw a bunch of outfits at me—ones she’d already picked out—and I made a suggestion.” She didn’t mention the surgical procedure she’d performed on Lily’s eye.

Mia huffed out a loud breath. “She really is a fucking slob.”

At that, Kylie grinned. “I Tweeted about it. Put a picture on the blog, too.”

“No you didn’t.”

“I did.” She shrugged even though she was beginning to wonder if what she’d posted would hurt the girl’s feelings. Lily was a spoiled pain in the ass but she meant well and didn’t deserve to be made fun of, online or otherwise. She wasn’t out and out hostile like Mia at least.

“Maybe I should post something about people not touching my stuff without permission.” Mia snorted. “Anyways, I’m going to go grab some food and a few drinks with a couple of roadies. Later.”

Part of Kylie wanted to ask her to wait. To stay and chat or maybe just tell her what the hell her problem was. But she knew that might not be the best idea. And Mia seemed to be in a hurry to get away from her. She didn’t miss that she very clearly wasn’t invited to dinner.

Once the girl was gone, she glanced at her phone.

I’m on Skype. Where u at, Kylie Lou?

His text was from a few minutes ago. She hadn’t even realized she’d been chatting with Mia that long.

She bolted to the media area and flipped the computer open. Crap, it was off. She hit the button to turn it on and waited. And waited. His schedule was packed in the mad rush to get his
No Apologies
tour going. If she missed him tonight, there was no telling when she’d get to see his handsome face again. Finally the computer screen came to life and she typed in her username and password. She clicked on the Skype icon. While it logged her in, she tapped out a quick text.

Sorry, was talking to Mia. Getting on Skype now.

When her chat window opened up, he was marked as offline. Damn. She glanced down at her phone but he hadn’t responded. She propped her elbows on the table and rubbed her eyes. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. So she’d missed him. But it was a big deal. As much as she hated herself for it, it was suddenly hard to swallow. Because she missed him.

“H
ave
I mentioned what a bad idea I think this is?” Pauly Garrett asked as he scratched his goatee.

“You have. Several times. Now let’s go.” Trace opened the truck door and got out. He walked into the Tin Roof with his manager and glanced around for her. He wasn’t all that thrilled about her choice of meeting place or the fact that they were about to be going on a sixteen-week tour together. But this was what the label had decided, and he was going to man up and deal.

She was in a back booth. Several shots were lined up on the table in front of her. He and his manager made their way over.

“Gretchen.” He tipped his hat in her direction and sat down in the seat across from her. Pauly pulled up a chair to the end of the table and nodded.

“Trace.” She nodded back, her jet black hair sweeping over one eye as she did. “I see you brought your keeper along.”

He raised an eyebrow at her but didn’t bite. If she was trying to get a rise out of him, she was going to be disappointed. He wasn’t that guy anymore. At least, he was trying not to be. “Gretchen, you remember Pauly, my manager.”

“Not really.” She shrugged and downed her first shot. Tequila. He could smell it. Same old Gretchen. “I bet he remembers me though.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“How could I forget,” the man answered dryly.

“I’m pretty unforgettable.” She winked at Trace.
So much for letting bygones be bygones.

“So what’s the deal, Gretch? You gonna be able to get through this tour without passing out or falling off stage? ‘Cause I gotta say, I’m pretty damned sure the label is setting us up to fail. Killing two fuck-ups with one stone and all that.” He propped his elbows on the table and waited for her to either promise she was getting her shit together or tell him to screw right off. With Gretchen Gibson, he never knew what to expect.

“Aw, is wittle Twace worried about me?” She snorted and took another shot. “Relax. I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.” She shoved a shot in his direction and half of it spilled onto the table. “Let’s toast. To not having to apologize for being who we are.”

“I’m good.” He slid the shot aside, away from both of them. “And yeah, I hear you’re handling yourself real well these days. Your crazy shit makes mine look normal. At least when I get plastered I have the decency not to show up for my shows. You, on the other hand, find it entertaining to pass out, vomit, and piss yourself on stage.” He leaned closer to her, moving the last remaining shot even farther out of her reach. “I’ve been where you are, Gretchen. Recently. And I’m not going back there. I’m also not going to let you screw up my chance to show everyone that I still want this. That I deserve it.”

Dark, heavily lined eyes raked over him cold and hard. “What are you trying to say, Corbin? That I
don’t
deserve it?” Her voice was always kind of throaty and rough. It was what made her songs so sexy and unique. Like her. But he saw more than that now. More than the edgy dangerous badass vibe she was trying to put off. He saw the pain. The desperation. He saw it because he was finally learning to recognize it in himself.

He shook his head, remembering how cornered he’d felt when people started telling him he had a problem. “No. That’s not what I’m saying at all.” He took a deep breath and tried to explain better. “Look, I’m done with drinking my pain away. And yeah, it’s hard, and I’m not exactly in complete control of it. But Pauly has a friend. His name is Camden Reynolds. Dr. Camden Reynolds.”

Gretchen smirked. “Oh, good. Pauly finally came out of the closet then.” She turned to Pauly and grinned. “And you landed yourself a doctor. Congratulations.”

Trace watched as his manager grimaced. He hated Gretchen. Most people did. But Trace couldn’t bring himself to. He saw too much of himself in her. Not that he necessarily liked himself much. But he was working on that. “He’s an addiction specialist. He can go on the tour with us and you can talk to him any time you feel like things are getting out of control.”

Gretchen’s steely gray eyes darkened. “No.”

Trace cleared his throat. He’d known this wouldn’t be easy. He’d tried being nice, but women like Gretchen didn’t really respond to that. Nice guys were the ones they crushed to dust under their boot heels and stepped over to get to some sorry son of a bitch who’d treat them like shit. He knew—he’d been a sorry son of a bitch most of his life. “Okay, let me rephrase. See, I wasn’t asking you. I was telling you. Dr. Reynolds is basically going to be at my beck and call. If you start fucking things up on the tour, he will intervene. And so will I.” He leaned back in anticipation of the anger that was about to come spewing out onto him.

Surprisingly, Gretchen just glared back at him. When neither of them said anything, Pauly spoke up. “Look, both of you are in poor standing with the label. They think you’re both drunks who can’t handle your careers and aren’t worth their time or money. Either this tour can be your way of showing them you’re still the kind of artists they want to support or you can prove them right.” He shrugged as if he were okay with whichever option they chose.

Trace nodded in agreement and turned his focus back to Gretchen. “What do you say, Gretch? Can we show those suit-wearing bastards that we can do this? Or should we call it a day and cancel the tour?”

She reached forward, grabbing the shot in front of Pauly and downing it before anyone could blink. Standing abruptly, she stumbled but regained control of herself before Trace or his manager could offer to help her. She stopped next to where Trace sat and leaned down to his level. He could smell the tequila on her breath. Thankfully he’d never been much of a fan. If she’d been drinking bourbon, his mouth probably would’ve watered at the scent. “Hm. What do I say?” He turned to look at her, his stomach clenching at the redness in her eyes. The vacant stare on her face. She looked like hammered hell. That was what Kylie Lou must’ve seen when she looked at him. How or why she’d thought him worthy of her was beyond him. Gretchen let out a little snort and continued on with her response. “I say it’s a shame. You used to be
a lot
more fun.” With that, she sauntered away from them, over to the bar where she propped up on a stool and began flirting with the bartender.

“Well…that answers that,” Pauly said.

Trace dropped his head into his hands. “Well…fuck.”