A perky brunette reporter shoved a microphone in her face. “Kylie, can you comment on Trace’s absence from the tour? Surely canceling multiple sold-out shows warrants a bit more explanation than a family emergency. Is there any truth to the rumor that Trace is back in a rehab facility?”
Judging from the look on her face, that rumor was a new one to her. Trace wasn’t surprised. He knew that would always be the one that came up from now on. He didn’t have any problem being a walking punch line. But he hated himself even more for putting her through this.
“I won’t comment on that,” Kylie said evenly. “The fact of the matter is things in our personal lives often affect our public ones. And even though we put ourselves out there with our music, it doesn’t mean that we don’t deserve to be able to deal with difficult situations privately, just as anyone else has the right to. If I were a teacher or a nurse, I’d be given leave from my job to deal with a family situation if needed. This is no different. Trace needed time to be with his loved ones and he deserves that. He gives a great deal to the community and has earned the right to take a break if that’s what’s best for him.”
Kylie lowered sunglasses over her eyes and Trace caught sight of her friend Lu and her assistant Hannah stepping up on either side of her. The three of them walked to a black SUV with two security team members close behind, but the reporter clearly wasn’t done grilling her.
“Yes, well, can you tell us why you aren’t fulfilling your commitment to your fans by finishing this tour with Bryce Parker as planned?”
Kylie stopped and turned. Trace saw Hannah’s hand come up to signify that the interview was over, but Kylie answered the question.
“Finishing this tour—the tour named for a song I wrote with Trace, the tour that was ours from the very beginning—with anyone other than Trace, would be a joke. It would be a sad simulation of something that can’t be forced or faked or copied. And I won’t do that to my fans. I won’t sell them a cheap imitation of a man I know to be one of the most incredible performers and musicians of our time. Not for all the money or the labels or the sponsors in the world.”
Flashbulbs went off in every direction as she climbed in the vehicle and slammed the door.
When the waitress returned to ask him if he was ready for something stronger, all she found was a twenty-dollar bill and an empty chair.
“CAUGHT YOUR interview on television,” a familiar voice said. “Impressive. I gotta say, I didn’t know you had those kind of guts.”
Kylie turned as she stepped out of her apartment building and tried desperately not to glare at the woman behind her. “Clearly it’s my life’s goal to impress you. Guess I can die happy now.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.” Gretchen Gibson rolled her eyes. “It was a compliment.”
“Well in that case, gee, thanks.” She kept walking toward the car that was waiting. She had a meeting with her band at the studio to talk about the plans for their future. Not that she really had any solid ones. But they’d been so understanding about her reasons for not wanting to finish the tour that she felt like she owed it to them to keep them in the loop.
At the last show they’d all bonded over Bryce Parker’s annoying habit of talking about himself in third person and trying to bring back leather vests as if he were a hardcore biker in a motorcycle club instead of an obnoxious pretty boy with a god complex. Mostly, he was just a creep.
“Give me ten minutes,” Gretchen called out. “It’s about Trace. And me. There are things you need to know before you just write him off for good.”
There were things she’d needed to know all right. And yet she always learned them just a little too late. She’d been there, done that, and had the country music break-up album to prove it.
She sighed and stopped walking. “Seriously, whatever it is, the time to tell me about it has probably passed.”
Gretchen took another step to catch up before Kylie got into the car. “Look, I know he thinks that impulsive thing you do where you make big dramatic exits without stopping to hear anyone out is real cute. Me, not so much. Personally I find you immature and annoying.”
Kylie regarded her with raised brows. “Uh huh. And this is supposed to make me want to hear you out?”
The other woman threw her hands up. “I’m not going to blow smoke up your ass if that’s what it takes to be heard. But I am going to tell you the whole story, the part that’s mine to tell and that Trace was too much of a gentleman to repeat without my permission.”