Trace’s eyes narrowed. Pauly and that damn phone. He was beginning to wonder if his manager was selling classified government secrets on the thing. “Something going on I should know about?”
He’d had it with whatever overprotective dad shit they were trying to pull. If something was going on with Kylie, if she was worse off than they were telling him, then he was going to find out and do something about it. The more they evaded discussing her, the more hell-bent he became on finding her right that second and making sure she was really all right.
Danny spoke up before Pauly could answer. “How about we all go out to dinner? Round up the band and—”
“Stop. Stop with the distraction techniques.” He wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but they were definitely trying to keep him from something. “Tell me what’s going on.”
He swung his imploring gaze from his manager to his fiddle player and back again. Neither of them met his eyes.
“I get it.” His chest tightened, and he was surprised to realize that his feelings were hurt. “There’s a bar here. And probably a mini-bar in my room. So naturally everyone’s worried I’m going to get wasted and take this whole tour down with me.”
He shook his head. When neither of them answered, he pulled the room key he’d been given out of his back pocket and stalked toward the elevator alone.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, fellas,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Really. Means a lot to me.”
“Trace. Son, wait,” Danny called out, but it was Pauly who reached him first.
Pauly Garrett was a patient man. He was also a smart man who’d been blessed with the gift of foresight. And he’d been Trace’s manager for as long as he had because he’d learned to spot potential explosions before the necessary components gathered in one place. Trace usually appreciated that about him. But this time, he just wanted the guy to give him the benefit of the doubt. For once.
“I am worried about you.” His manager sighed. “But it’s not about the bar, Trace.” He nodded to Danny to go on with the rest of the band. “Not exactly.”
“Okay,” Trace said slowly. He pressed the button for the elevator. “So what is it?
He heard his manager pull in a breath. Jesus. Was someone dying?
“Trace, you know I try not to interfere with the things I don’t have to interfere with. But sometimes, I’ve stayed out of your personal life only to wish later that I’d said something. Something that maybe could’ve prevented—”
The elevator dinged as it reached them. Trace looked up at the red light to see which door was about to open.
“Get to the point, Pauly.”
“It’s about Kylie. And I don’t want this to come out wrong but—”
“Is she okay? Dammit. I knew I should’ve—”
“She’s fine. I swear,” his manager assured him.
“Then what is it? What’s going on with her? I’d appreciate it if you stopped jerking me around.” The elevator door glided open, and thankfully the plush red cavern of it was empty.
Trace stepped on and his manager followed. He had to hold his room key in front of a black panel to get to the private floor he was on.
“She’s looking for you. But Trace’s she’s been—”
Before he uttered another word of explanation, she was there.
Flanked by her friend and Mike in the same fashion he’d been guarded by Danny and his manager moments ago.
Trace barely registered the curse Pauly mumbled under his breath.
His arm shot out to hold the doors open.
When his gaze collided with hers, her blue eyes burned so bright he couldn’t fucking breathe. It was her. His girl. The one who’d given him all of herself, heart and soul, that very first time. Readily and without hesitation.
The walls she’d had up all this time were gone and she was locked in his stare.
She wore a dark blue dress that slid tantalizingly off one of her smooth bare shoulders and her favorite boots, but the way she looked at him, she might as well have been stark naked.
His world suddenly became a very fragile place made entirely of glass. The wrong move, the wrong word, would send it all crashing down.
“Get off the elevator, Pauly,” he said evenly without taking his eyes from hers.
“Trace, I don’t think you—”
“Get. Off. The. Elevator.” His chest pumped in response to the considerable effort he was making to operate his lungs. “Now.”
His manager shook his head and stepped off the elevator.
He didn’t look up into the worried faces of the other three. Because all he could see was her. And she was in desperate need of something. He hoped like hell it was something he could give her.