Down to My Soul (Soul Series Book 2) (14 page)

An annoying voice whispers in my head that maybe I should trust
him
about the sex tape, but it sounds too much like San for me to pay it any mind. This is different. It
has
to be.

“What can I do to prove I’m serious about this?” His hand moves again under the sheet to grip my hip.

“Since you asked.” I give him a careful glance like my next words might set him off. “The family counseling that Grady keeps bringing up? I think you should do it.”

He closes his eyes tightly and presses his lips against his teeth.

“Pep, that won’t—”

“Hear me out.” I tangle my fingers in the thick hair hanging past his ears, holding his eyes with mine. “I know you hate it when I say this, but there’s a pattern. The same way your parents controlled you and called it love, you have the potential to do that. Not on purpose, but it’s the way you were first loved.”

He swallows, lowering his lashes before looking back at me.

“That will prove to you that I’m serious about this? That will make you feel good about coming back to me?”

“
You
make me feel good about coming back to you.” I shake my head, cupping his jaw. “Do you think I didn’t miss you, too? I did. I just . . . I don’t want us to go through that again the next time you don’t like a move I’m making.”

“Don’t ask me to stand by and watch you get hurt or taken advantage of, Kai.” His jaw flexes beneath my fingers as he grits his teeth. “No amount of counseling will get me to do that.”

“Can we just talk about it? Don’t go behind my back. Don’t undercut me. Manipulate me.” I bite my lip to stop because the more I say, the more the anger and hurt rush back. “The counseling, it’s a start. It’s a step. That’s all.”

“All right.” Rhyson gives a jerky nod, flipping onto his back and linking his hands behind his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I’ll do it. Grady’ll set it up.”

“Good.” I snuggle into his side, slipping my arm across the hard plane of his stomach.

“I have my own conditions.” He twists a chunk of my hair around his hand, gently tugging until I have to look at him. “Remember after the tour, we go public.”

Fear and anxiety slosh around in my belly. That gives me a month to find Drex. To kill this threat before Rhyson or anyone else sees that sex tape. There has to be more we can do. I’ll have San redouble his efforts and press his contacts a little harder. Last night proved I can’t stay away from Rhyson, but if I’m giving us just this slice of time together before I go back on the road, I’ll have to be extra careful.

“Kai?” Rhyson asks. “You agree? Once the tour is over, everyone knows about us.”

“Yeah.” I nod and meet his eyes. “I said so yesterday.”

“I need you to mean it.”

“Okay. Of course. After the tour. “

“It’s like we’re hitting the reset button.” He smiles the tiniest bit. “This is our fresh start. Our clean slate. No more lies. No more secrets.”

I stare at him for long seconds, and that last secret, which blossoms every day into a full-blown lie, gathers between us like an invisible storm cloud. I want to reset so badly. And after this tape is settled I will.

If something is built on a lie, can it still be real?

The question I asked myself so many times when I was trying to forgive Rhyson comes back to mock and challenge me.

“Yeah.” I drop my eyes from the eager light in his. “We’ll reset.”

“Thank you for forgiving me.” He tips my chin back so our eyes reconnect. “Nothing but trust from here. Promise.”

“Promise,” I whisper.

“In case I haven’t told you.” He brushes a thumb over my lips. “I’m so damn proud of you. You’re doing amazing. Everyone’s falling for you just like I knew they would. I want you to have that without all the speculation and the drama about me distracting from what should be
your
time.”

I didn’t expect the tears that burn my eyes when I hear him say he’s proud of me. Maybe I didn’t realize how much that meant to me until he said it. It means the world. Emotion stifles my words, so I just nod and manage a watery smile.

“In the meantime, we’ve got today.” Rhyson drags himself to sit up, back against the headboard, smiling down at me. “I wanna take you out.”

I frown, pulling myself up to sit beside him, sheet tucked beneath my arms, dropping my head to his shoulder.

“Doesn’t sound very low key to me, us being out in public together.”

“Ah, I have a plan, ye of little faith. I have a plan.”

“A plan, huh?” I pull my knees up to my chest under the sheet.

He tugs on the sheet gently at first, but then with a wicked grin, jerks it away and tosses it to the floor. I stand to my knees in the middle of the bed naked, scooting to the foot, and dive for the sheet. His hand nudging my shoulder stops me. He grips both my arms, inspecting my body.

“I did that?” He traces a finger over a black and blue bruise belting my waist.

I have bruises in unusual places. It’s not every day a girl gets bent over a piano and screwed out of her mind. I wanted it, needed it rough in the moment, but I’m paying for it now.

“No, the piano you bent me over last night did that.” I take his wrists and place them on my shoulders, pushing into him. “It doesn’t hurt, and it was worth it.”

“And your tired voice and weight loss.” He thumbs under my eyes where I know he’ll see shadows. “Exhaustion. Is that all worth it?”

“Don’t.” I pull back, jump off the bed to gather the sheet and toss it onto the rumpled bed. “I told you it’s the dancing that has me losing weight. Every day, every night, all the time. I can’t keep weight on.”

“And the voice? And the—”

“Rhys, stop.” I walk toward the bathroom and turn on the shower, looking at him over my shoulder. “You’ve been on tour. You know the toll it takes.”

“But I don’t like it taking a toll on
you
.”

“I’ll be fine. The worst of it’s over. I’m back on the road, and then only another month. I don’t wanna fight, okay?”

He nods, walking toward me, a tall, lean, naked distraction.

“No fighting.” He backs me into the shower until I’m flush against the wet tiles. “We have to make the most of the time we have. Starting now.”

He’s gentle with me, mindful of my bruises, until he can’t be anymore. Until the time we’ve spent apart, wanting and needing, takes over, and he’s rough and fast, taking me hard with my slippery arms and legs wrapped around him and barely hanging on. Every powerful thrust slamming me into the shower wall. Our grunts, groans, and moans echoing off the walls, the love slick between our bodies until I’m coming so hard, I just know my heart will stop. I just know I won’t ever catch my breath again. Every time he loves me, I’m changed. Every time he takes me, I die a little and am born again.

I’ve missed the intimate rituals of living with him almost as much as everything else. Dressing together. The privacy of our nakedness where no one else can see. Our eyes meeting in the mirror to reminisce about what we just shared.

“So this date we’re going on.” I tighten the belt of my robe, one of the many things I left behind when I went on tour. “Tell me more.”

“Music Festival out at Newport Beach.” Rhyson shrugs shoulders still damp from the shower. “Marlon says there’s a few acts I should scope, possibly for Prodigy.”

“Just how do you plan to keep us off the radar?”

“Very simple.” He walks backwards toward his closet, pulling me with him by the belt. Once we’re in, he turns me to face a small alcove at the back. “Voila.”

It basically looks like he raided the nearest Salvation Army. This collection of out-of-date jackets, floral-patterned shirts and polyester pants could only mean one thing.

“You’re going in disguise?”

“
We’re
going in disguise.” He laughs at the expression I can only imagine is on my face. “While you were blow drying all that hair of yours, I had Sarita run out and buy you a few things that should fit.”

“I hope it’s not polyester.”

“No, that’s my thing.” He opens a small drawer in the panel of built ins. “Let me show you what I was thinking.”

He pulls out a jacket that’s straight from Goodwill.

“Is that a Member’s Only Jacket?” I hold it against my chest. “So what are you, the last Member?”

“
Shallow Hal
,” he says absently, not looking away from the array of horrific shirts he’s flipping through to offer the movie reference. “Throwing soft balls this morning, are we?”

I haven’t movie stumped him in a long time. Must try harder.

He pulls out a small drawer beneath a row of watches to reveal a disgusting display of fake lip hair.

“You have a mustache collection?” I cackle through the hand covering my mouth. “That’s just weird.”

“My life is weird.” He turns to me, the expression on his face so earnest you’d think this was a matter of national security. “OK. Here’s the first option. I usually save this for special occasions. It’s the handle bar moustache.”

“That thing is not leaving the house with me.”

“See? I knew you would say that.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did, so I have a back-up.” He points to a row of thin moustaches.

“And here we have the Creeper Collection, ladies and gents,” I say, disgusted by the little hairy squiggles.

“Is that a no?” His face actually falls.

“Resounding no!”

“What about this one?” He points to an obscenely thick row of hair.

“It’s the size of a pregnant caterpillar.”

“It’s the Magnum P.I. What I like to call full lip coverage. No one ever recognizes me behind this thing.”

“That one will do, I guess. Let’s just go so we won’t miss the first acts.”

“Wait.” He gives me an I’m-loving-this grin and gestures back toward the array of lip toupees. “You have to choose yours.”

“Mine?” My mouth drops open. “I’m not wearing a moustache.”

“Come on. Get in the spirit. It’s like Halloween, but better.”

“Is there candy?”

“No.”

“Then it’s not better.”

“I think going full guy will guarantee that no one recognizes you.” He grabs me by the hips and does a little shake, his voice cajoling me. “It’ll be fun.”

Those sound like famous last words to me, but to be with Rhyson after so long, even in this ridiculous get up will be worth it.

DAMN, THESE GUYS ARE GOOD. THE
band, Kilimanjaro, lives up to all of Marlon’s hype. And then some. I especially like the bass player. That’s one instrument I consider myself only adequate on, so I envy guys who can make it speak the way this one does. The bass has a soul, a musical undercurrent that, though subtle, anchors everything else. And the bass player is the soul of this band.

“What do you think?” I turn to study Kai, whose eyes haven’t left the stage since Kilimanjaro came on.

“They’re fantastic.” She turns to me, her eyes wide and a huge grin on her face. “The bass player’s sick, right?”

I nod, distracted by the peculiar and entrancing picture she makes. Sarita bought her some boy jeans, which fit okay, but I still can’t stop staring at her ass. The bulky, hooded sweatshirt does a good job of disguising her breasts, but that face . . . The delicate bones and striking lines, even under the baseball cap, with all her hair hidden, would still stop me in my tracks. Those full, pouty lips look completely kissable under the thin moustache I finally convinced her to wear.

I can’t believe she did this—came out in public like this with me. If I wasn’t convinced there is only one girl in the world for me before, this did it.

“Rhys?” She frowns and pokes my chest. “I said they’re fantastic. Are you listening?”

“Oh, yeah.” I force my attention back to the subject at hand. “Think I should sign ‘em?”

“Like yesterday.” She returns her eyes to the stage. “Before someone else snatches them up.”

“Yeah. I was feeling that, too.”

“They’re almost done with the set. Should we try to see them? Like get backstage?”

“Nah.” I grab her fingers, locking them with mine. It feels so good to hold her hand in public again, even if everyone does assume we’re just two gay guys in love, taking in the show. “I’ll have my people call their people.”

“You think they have people?”