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bothered to show up to your own damned show, feel free to give a girl some notice.” Kylie started to stalk back to her closet of a room, but she was still boiling. And she was determined not to lose anymore sleep over this selfish jackass. No, she was going to rage on, getting it all out until she was exhausted.
    “No, you know what? Here’s what really burns me. There are people out there, real people, with kids they can barely feed, and bills to pay, and rent, and real problems. And they show up to work day after day, night after night. But you, with your money and your flashy bus and your tight ass jeans, you show up whenever you feel like it. Or not. Like there aren’t a million people out there who would step over their own mothers to be in your shoes. And you know what else?” She sucked in more air so she could finish.
    Something resembling pain flashed across the man’s face at her last comment but she couldn’t stop. Words tumbled out so fast she barely had time to think. “You probably have about fifteen more minutes until some guy with deeper dimples and tighter jeans, if that’s possible, comes along and steals your thunder. Because really, you’re not all that damned special. But congratulations. I hope it makes you feel like a big man to leave me and Pauly high and dry while you go out and have a good time.”
    “You done?” Trace’s eyes were only half open. The red tingeing Kylie’s vision was fading slightly.
    “No, I’m not, but I think two more seconds would be too much time to waste on some pathetic drunk who pisses away God given talent for his own amusement.”
    At that, he sat up, squaring his shoulders and leveling her with a cold stare. “Oh yeah, and what the hell do you know about it?”
    Oh, wow. He was just spraying her fire with gasoline. Kylie lowered her voice and leaned close enough to smell the liquor emanating from him. “I know that I thank the good Lord that I’m not a fan of yours, because the only people you treat worse than me and Pauly are your fans—or maybe your band members who’d rather travel crammed into the Winnebago behind us than be this close to you.”
    “Really waitress, that the best you got? If I’m so pathetic, why don’t you just run on home to Daddy now?” He cocked his head and folded his arms across his chest.
    Tears stung the backs of Kylie’s eyes, but no way was she going to let this guy cut her any deeper. Snapping back as if he’d slapped her, she tried to keep her tone light. “You know, I would, but he’s been dead for seven months. And it’s a good thing for you because if he was alive to see you destroying everything I’ve worked for, you’d be in a world of pain.”
    “Shit, I didn’t know—” Trace interrupted himself to scrub a hand over his face.
    “Makes no difference,” she snapped. “But I can tell you this much. Your ass better show in Baton Rouge because one of us actually wants to be here. And I’ll be damned if someone like you is going to piss all over my dream before I’ve even had a chance to live it.” She knew she was snarling. Good. Maybe he would realize that she wasn’t screwing around. “I could care less if you like me, or respect me, or give a damn about me, Mr. Corbin. But this is my shot and everything I’ve ever wanted and—”
    And that was all she had. She shook her head, trying to convince herself not to cry. One more word and Kylie would break down in humiliating sobs. So she turned on her heels and escaped to her room.

T race was the one who’d stayed out drinking all night, but Kylie woke up with the headache. Naturally. She sat up and tried to get her bearings. Why was she awake so early?
    Screaming. She could hear the screaming of someone on speakerphone filling the bus. Leaning against the wall by the bed, she heard a man’s voice she didn’t recognize. And he was pissed.
    “…how much that fucking costs? Paying back the venue, the vendors, refunded tickets? That shit is