“Okay. Shoot.”
“Why did you want me? Back then? When we first met?”
Steven pulled back for a second but didn’t release the death grip he had on her wrists. “Same reason I want you now.” She could feel him grinning in the darkness. “You need me.”
The old Kylie would’ve told him to fuck right off. That she didn’t need anyone. But he was right. She’d needed him then and she needed him now.
“Oh,” she whispered into the darkness.
“I’m screwing with you, Ryans. I want you because you’re beautiful. And strong. And amazing. There’s not a guy out there in his right mind that doesn’t want you.”
“There’s one,” she said quietly.
“And he’s the only one you can think about, isn’t he?” Steven let go of her wrists and they fell to her sides.
“I’m sorry.” Her lower lip began to tremble.
“Hey, come on. I didn’t come here just to get laid. I was coming over anyways. As a friend, remember?”
Before she could answer, Steven pulled her into his arms and guided her to the couch. He eased her down with him and she let herself relax on his chest. The silence surrounded them until she whispered her secrets into it.
“I just want to move forward, you know? I want to be able to feel things, do things, without connecting everything to him. Think that will ever happen?”
He shrugged beneath her. “No idea. But until you really do get completely over him, Ryans, I’ll be here for you in any way that I can. But I told you. I’m no one’s rebound guy. Not even yours.”
She tucked her face against his side so he couldn’t see how much she was hurting. The small sobs gave her away.
“Hey, don’t do that.” Steven tightened his arms around her. “It’s been a long day. Let’s see how you feel about it tomorrow. If you still want to talk about this in the morning, then I’ll be here. Get some rest, Ryans.” She felt the gentle pressure of him kissing her on the top of her head. It was a soothing and yet excruciatingly familiar gesture.
She was weak and empty. Exposed and disoriented. Rest actually sounded really good.
“THE 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.