“You,” was all he said. He pointed a finger at Steven and then jerked it toward the door. “Outside. Now.”
Steven’s eyes widened at the sight of Trace’s rage. But then he rolled them. “Here we go. Pistols at dawn.”
His sarcasm only served to make Trace even angrier. He was starting to wonder if he was in danger of having a heart attack.
“Be right back. Keep my seat warm, will ya?” he said to the Tailgate Twin as he shifted her off his lap.
Trace stormed off the bus and glared at the tattooed jackass as he followed him.
“Let’s have it, Corbin. Unburden yourself.”
Cocky little shit. “I’m just trying to figure out why a guy who has someone like Kylie would be screwing around with a backup dancer. I mean, do you just not care about her at all, Steven?”
“Says the guy who dropped her for trailer trash like Gibson. You’re one to talk, buddy.”
“First of all,” Trace began, squaring his shoulders and placing himself directly in Steven’s line of vision, “I didn’t drop her for anyone. And second of all, you don’t know a damn thing about Gretchen Gibson. In fact, you have no idea what the hell you’re talking about. But I’ll tell you what I know. I know what I just saw in there. And I know that no matter how cool you think you are with the band, someone in there is going to tell Kylie what you’re doing. And if she sheds a single damn tear over it, I am going to knock your fucking teeth down your throat.”
“You’re the one who doesn’t know what the hell you’re talking about. And you know why that is? It’s because you weren’t here. You ended things with her. Remember?” When Trace didn’t respond, Steven continued. “You left the rest of us to pick up the pieces. Which we did. And just when she’s getting over it and really moving on with her life, suddenly you want to tour together? For the sake of your career. Right. Then you come in acting all ‘knight in shining armor’ and making me the bad guy. If that’s what helps you sleep at night, Corbin, you do what you gotta do. I’m going back to my card game.”
“The fuck you are.” Trace grabbed his shoulder. “I’m not done here.”
“Well, I am.” Steven shrugged Trace’s hand off. “And I’m telling you right now, man, I’m done with this bullshit game the two of you play. I grew up looking up to you, wanting to be like you. But you put your hands on me again or hit me like that shit you pulled before, I’ll hit your ass right back. I don’t care how she feels or doesn’t feel about you.”
Steven turned around and left Trace simmering in his own anger. He was just about to march right back up onto that bus and coldcock Steven Blythe to get his point across when he saw Mike running toward his bus.
He threw his hands up in an attempt to ask Mike what the hell was going on but he didn’t stop.
Mike jerked his head so Trace followed.
“Why are we jogging to my bus?” he asked when he caught up to Mike.
“Olivia texted me. Said it was an emergency.”
It took Trace a second to realize that Olivia was Kylie’s friend that she called Lu. Once they arrived at the bus he stopped and stared at his friend. “Whoa, seriously? Dude, you have sex with her once and suddenly you’re her beck and call boy?”
Mike gave him a strange look. “That was round three, brother. Not that I’m counting. But no, I was running because she said it was an emergency involving Kylie and I didn’t know if it was, like, medical or what. Or if they just maybe wanted to have a threesome.” He shrugged, and Trace stared him down.
“You know I’d kill you, right?”
“You know I’m kidding. Mostly. But something is definitely up. Something about Kylie’s mom or something?” He looked as confused as Trace felt.
It made zero sense. Kylie’s mom had died when she was a little kid. That much he knew.
Aw hell. The fucking stepmom. He’d met her. She was a nightmare. If she was here giving Kylie a hard time, he was going to have police escort her off the premises.
He followed Mike onto the bus and reeled at the difference between the atmosphere on her band’s party bus and the somber one on his.
Lulu sat behind Kylie as she watched the television screen. Hannah was finishing connecting the laptop to it. A recorded interview with Kylie’s stepmom, a busty blonde woman who wore entirely too much makeup, was playing.
Trace watched the screen as a table full of women who couldn’t shut up fawned over Kylie’s bitch of a stepmother. They mentioned her bestselling novel and her insight on the real Kylie Ryans.