Down to My Soul (Soul Series Book 2) (17 page)

“Good. ‘Cause when we’re done here, I had an idea to add to the lap dance for Luke’s number.”

Can I tap out? I silently beg him not to give me any more new material. I thought the week off would reinvigorate me, for this last month on the road. Re-energize me for Europe. Instead my body just realized what it had been missing and is craving more. Rest. Relaxation. Rhyson.

Mostly Rhyson.

Being back on tour, having this distance between us is ideal for the situation with my blackmailer. There are fewer chances to slip up and provoke him to release that sex tape, but I miss Rhyson. And even though San reports little progress, and the threat still looms, if I were in LA, I’d find a way to be with Rhyson, no matter how much I had to sneak around. Despite the risk.

But I’m not in LA with Rhyson. I’m here. Living the dream.

Some dream.

“Let’s catch a quick break before we take it from the top.” Dub glances at the countdown clock mounted on the sound booth in the middle of the arena. “Fifteen minutes, guys.”

Before Dub can pull me to the side to coach me on a move, or worse, not coach me. Just find an excuse to talk about nothing at all. I skip down the stage steps, barreling down the aisle before anyone stops me.

“Kai!” Dub calls from stage.

“Yeah,” I answer, but keep moving forward.

“Kai! Wait up!”

His heavy steps pound behind me. He catches up, gently taking my arm and turning me to face him.

“Wanna go grab a coffee across the street before we get started back?” His eyes travel over my face and down my body. His interest is becoming harder to ignore. I don’t want to acknowledge it to myself because eventually I’d have to acknowledge it to Rhyson. I already have a sex tape hanging over my head. With all the stress I’m under, another complication could crush me.

“I need to make a quick call.” I step back until his hands fall away. I walk backward, forcing a smile. “I’ll be back before we start.”

Without waiting for his agreement, I resume my fast pace up the aisle and out the side door that leads to the loading dock. Not a person in sight right now. Usually crew members and stagehands mill out here prepping props and equipment for the show.

I climb up onto a huge crate, scooting back until my back hits the wall and my feet can’t hang over the side. Before I select the contact in my phone, I stare at it for a few seconds.

R. Geritol.

God, so much has happened since that first night when I saved Rhyson’s number. I can’t help but remember our day at the beach in disguise. We sang “I Got You, Babe.” A laugh gurgles in my throat, and before I know it, I’m blinking back tears. Not even a week back on the road and I want to go home. I want to wake up in Rhyson’s arms tomorrow morning. I want this sex tape to go away. I want to eliminate the threat to all Rhys and I are building. To all we could have.

It’s ringing.

“Come on,” I whisper. “Pick up.”

I’m eight hours ahead of him, so it’s only six in the morning there. I know he’s been in the studio constantly and probably only got to bed a few hours ago, but I need his voice.

It’s gonna go to voicemail. Disappointment rises in my chest. I bite my lip to keep it from trembling.

“Pep?” His voice comes just as I’m about to give up, sounding weary and half-dead. I should feel guilty that I woke him up.

“Were you asleep?”

Dumb question, but he’ll let me get away with it.

“Um, pretty much.” He clears his throat, and I can almost see him dragging himself up in bed with his shoulders against the headboard. I can almost smell that space between his neck and shoulder where I tuck my head. “It’s cool. I’m glad you called.”

“Things were hectic with us just getting to London so I didn’t call yesterday.” I pull one knee up to my chest. “I wanted to see how your first session with your parents went.”

“You remembered.” I hear the smile in his voice.

“I kinda made you go. Least I could do is see how it went.”

“It was good. We’re gonna do some individual sessions, and we may even bring Bristol and Grady in for a few later. Right now we’re just focusing on the issues between the three of us.”

“That’s good, right?” I venture tentatively.

“Yeah, it’s good. I just . . . I’m processing a lot after that first session.” His sigh comes heavy from the other end. “My dad said he was sorry.”

A dry chuckle crosses the line.

“And I believed him.”

“That’s great, right?”

“I guess, but it’s like I can’t quite get to the place of actually forgiving him. Ya know? Maybe that’s what these sessions will do. I keep feeling like if I forgive him, I’m saying it’s okay. Everything they did was okay, and it wasn’t.”

“That’s not what forgiveness is about to me.” I lower my voice some in case anyone is lurking. “At least not what I learned about in Sunday school.”

“What’s that version?” he asks.

“I remember a preacher once saying there’s at least two categories of forgiveness. One is just as much about you as it is about the other person because unforgiveness left on its own too long becomes bitterness. And that can creep into every part of your life, end up hurting the people you love who had nothing to do with the person who hurt you.”

“And the other category?”

“That’s when someone you love has hurt you, and you hold on to it as long as you can until you can’t anymore. The hurt of being apart from that person outweighs the hurt of what they did, and you just wanna make it right so you can repair the relationship.”

Irony soaks the silent moment while Rhyson processes what I said. That preacher was my father, and I’ve still never found a way to forgive him.

“So which category did I fall into?” As soft as Rhyson’s question is, it jars me.

“What do you mean?”

“When you forgave me? Was it the first or the second?”

“Maybe it was both.” My throat is so raw it hurts to laugh. “I just woke up one morning and really needed to hear your voice. It just so happened to be the same day you asked to hear mine.”

“Yeah?” The smile is back in his voice.

“Yeah.” I’m smiling, too. I knew he could do that. “Sometimes forgiveness is a decision you make with your head that takes a while to reach your heart, and sometimes it’s just . . . there. You’ll know how to move forward with your dad. Your mom, too.”

“Hey, speaking of my mother, she said she saw you at the wedding. Was she rude to you?”

There’s always winter in Rhyson’s voice when he speaks of his mother. A chill that I never hear for anyone else, not even his dad.

“No, she was cordial. I think she’s hoping San and I will hook up and you’ll be safe from my clutches.”

“San?” His voice predictably hardens. “The hell?”

“Calm down, baby. It was a joke.”

Kind of.

“Jokes are funny, Pep.”

“I’ll try to remember that.”

“Hey, can I ask you something stupid?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I’m serious. You know I love you, right?” Something in his voice desperately searches for the answer. “Not some twisted around control thing handed down from my parents, like real love. You know you’re the most important thing, right?”

“Baby, why—”

“Just answer me. Just tell me you know.”

“Rhys, I know.” I close my eyes to savor this sweet moment his words just made for me.

“Good. Yeah, well.” He sounds like now he feels silly. “I just wanted to make sure.”

A smile stretches over my face as I recall our day at the music festival. “I keep thinking about that day at the beach. It was—”

“Kai!” Dub’s voice snatches me away from the conversation. “There’s a blogger Malcolm wants you to talk to. Hurry up so we can get back to the routine as soon as you’re done.”

He’s covered in curiosity. Who am I off talking to by myself with a goofy grin on my face?

“I’ll be right there.” I wait for him to walk away before speaking. “Hey, I gotta—”

“I heard Dub.” Rhyson’s tone is stiff as bark. “Duty calls.”

“You know there’s nothing going on between us.” My voice drops to a whisper. “You know it’s only you.”

“I know how
you
feel. I have my suspicions about
him
.”

So do I, but that would inflame this conversation, and I don’t want that when we only have seconds left.

“Can I be completely honest with you?” he asks.

“Always.”

And I’ll be completely honest with him . . . as soon as I figure out how.

“I knew you’d make it big. I just thought I’d be a part of it.”

“You are, Rhys. You are.”

“I haven’t even seen you perform on tour. Not one show. And to know that he gets to . . .”

A harsh breath breaks the silence his words slipped into.

“He’s there every step. He gets to share
all
of it with you, and I hate that.” He’s quiet for just a second. “I want that.”

So do I.

“I’d probably be really nervous if I knew you were in the audience and fall on my face anyway,” I say to lighten the moment heavy with his honesty. “But I do wish you were here, too.”

“The tour’s ending in LA, right?”

“Yeah, it was a scheduling nightmare. By all rights, we should have done LA with the North American leg, but Luke wanted to end it all in his hometown with a big bang.”

“Maybe I’ll catch that last show here in town.”

I’ve been performing for thousands every night, but the thought of this one man in the audience breaks me out in a cold sweat.

“Okay.” A nervous laugh breaks free. “Just don’t tell me for sure.”

“Kai, come on.” He chuckles. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack. I can’t explain it, but knowing you’re there would freak me out.”

“Okay. I won’t tell you if I come. I couldn’t come to a show right now even if I wanted to anyway,” he says. “I’m helping Jimmi with her album, putting finishing touches on Marlon’s, and working on a few of my tracks.”

“Yay for yours.” I smile. “Seems like you’ve been working on everyone else’s stuff.”

“Well, I got quite a bit of material done while you were on tour.” There’s something in his voice I don’t understand, but I don’t press.

“Really? That’s great.”

“Yeah, it was a little bit of a musical bender where I forgot to bathe and groom myself, but some good stuff came out of it.”

I wrinkle my nose.

“Sorry I missed that.”

“I’m not.” He laughs. “So anyway, some of the songs I did are good, but need an edge. You know DJ Kaos?”

“German?”

“Yeah. He lives in Berlin. He’s coming to LA in a few days to go in the studio. See if we can sharpen some of the stuff I came up with.”

Berlin’s not too far. We’ll be there soon. Maybe I could stow away in the dee jay’s luggage.

“Pep, are you okay?”

The question comes like a flash of lightning, cracking into the conversation with unexpected force. No one has asked me in days how I’m doing. Everyone just assumes this pace, these demands, take no toll, but they have. They do. I don’t want to acknowledge how much of a toll the last two months have taken on me. On my body, my voice, my mind. Part of me doesn’t want Rhyson to worry. And part of me doesn’t want him to know, in many ways, he was right.

“I’m fine. I just gotta go.”

He’s quiet on the other end, like he’s probing between the lines of what I’m saying. Hunting for what I won’t say.

“Yeah, the blogger. I heard.”

“I love you, Rhys.” Stupid tears flood my throat.

“Baby, you know I love you more than anything. If you need me—”

“I’m good. It’s just a tour, Rhyson. I’m good. Promise.” I clear my throat. “They’re gonna come looking if I don’t—”

“Yeah. Okay. Bye.”

I know that once I say this word, it’s over. This conversation, this connection to him, is over, and I’m back to the grind. As much as I love performing and as much as this really is all a dream come true, it’s chaos. I’m ready to rest. And there’s no greater peace than Rhyson. So I hold off as long as I can until I know I absolutely have to go. And then I say it.

“Goodbye.”

LONDON. CHECK

Manchester. Check.

Today. Rehearsals.

Tomorrow night, our show here in Berlin.