“You’re the one who just bailed on your own party. Who says I have troubles?”
Trace took a step toward her, tentatively, as if he realized he wasn’t welcome in her space. “Well I know that when I snuck off to drink it was because I had troubles. Everybody has troubles, Kylie Lou,” he answered quietly.
She grit her teeth together so hard it hurt. Asking him not to call her that would make her look weak, and demanding he not call her that would just make him do it that much more.
“Whatever you say. I’m gonna head back up and grab Mia. It’s gettin’ late.”
“Past your bedtime?” he teased.
She was careful to keep the smirk off her face. She had his number, knew his game. But she wasn’t playing. Not this time. She’d already gone all in once and lost everything.
“Something like that.” She gave him the widest berth possible as she passed. “Party was great. I’m sure it was a success. Best of luck with your foundation.”
“Hey.” He turned and reached for her but she took another step, just far enough to keep out of his reach. “Come on, it’s not that late.”
“It is,” she said, backing up even more. “It’s too late.” Her words held a double meaning, and his expression said he’d picked up on the one below the surface. She dipped her head. “It was a great benefit. Thanks for inviting me.” She swallowed hard, trying to gather the strength to say the rest. “Goodnight, T-Trace.”
Saying his name out loud ripped the air from her lungs. She turned away and stumbled. He reached out to steady her but it wasn’t necessary. She steadied herself and shook him off.
“I’m fine.”
He stepped closer. “Are you?” He pulled his hat off and ran a hand through his hair before turning it backwards. “’Cause it kinda seems like you might not be.”
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
“Well I am.” She bit her lip. Hard. But the words still came out. “Not that it’s any of your concern.” Shit. Shit, shit, shit. She was losing control of her mouth. Becoming the person he’d deemed Hothead not so long ago. This close she could smell his cologne and his warm woodsy scent. Memories she’d worked so hard to keep at bay forced their way back into her mind.
“Doesn’t mean I don’t still care,” was all he said.
She didn’t trust herself to speak again so she just turned and walked away without even saying goodbye. Just like he’d done. Just like everyone else always did.
Somehow it didn’t feel nearly as good as she’d expected it to.
“SITUATIONS LIKE this are called triggers,” Dr. Reynolds reminded him. “Sometimes it’s a person, a place, or just a stressor that agitates the urge to drink. We talked about these at length, remember? It’s okay to have them. I’d be shocked if you didn’t.”
The benefit had gone surprisingly well. They’d raised nearly twice as much money as Trace had expected, and the outpouring of support had blown his mind. But…Christ Almighty, seeing her there had nearly destroyed every ounce of self-control he’d had.
Claire Ann had promised him she hadn’t invited her. Apparently Rae had decided to take matters in her own hands and someone from the label, a dead someone if he ever found out who, had called in a favor he hadn’t asked for.
When she was on stage, singing a song that’d pummeled his heart six ways to Sunday, he’d wanted nothing more than to grab her up, throw her over his shoulder, and drag her to his bedroom caveman-style. He’d spend all night—and every night afterward—trying to take away the pain he’d caused her. And if he got her back in there, she was never coming out. Neither of them was. Ever.
He’d tried to talk to her and she’d all but run from him. Afterward, he’d spent the entire night sitting alone in his bedroom staring at the bed, picturing her in it. He hadn’t downed a bottle of bourbon and let the burn coat his insides with sweet fire and distract him from the pain of missing her. Of having lost her.
But now, having gone more than twenty-four hours on no sleep and an entire night of watching the ghost of Kylie Ryans tease and taunt him, he was on the brink.
“It’s more than that, Doc. This isn’t a trigger I can avoid. I mean, I can try. Hell, I’ve been trying, but…” He sat in his truck, rubbing the bridge of his nose with the hand not holding the phone. “I can’t outrun my own memory.”
He’d left the house as soon as it was daylight and driven to his house in Nashville. Which he knew wasn’t nearly far enough from her apartment. The only thing that kept him from going there was the memory of what had happened last time.