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

It’s quiet behind me for a few seconds ‘til Daddy clears his throat.

“There’s all kinds of love. I have a real special kind for your mama.”

“But it’s not the deep calls out to deep kind?” My lip starts trembling for no reason, and I think I might cry if he doesn’t love my mama that way. “You don’t love her like that?”

“’Course I do,” he finally says, so low I almost don’t hear him.

I look up and over my shoulder, unsure for the first time in my life that he’s telling me the truth, but he looks like Daddy. I lean into his neck and sniff. Smells like Daddy, and Daddy always tells the truth.

“It’s like that song they taught us in Sunday school,” I tell him.

“What song? How’s it go?” His voice isn’t low anymore. It teases me the way I’m used to. “Why don’t you sing it for me?”

I know he knows. He just always wants me to sing.

“Your love goes past the heart,” I sing, barely remembering the melody, but knowing the words for sure. “Your love goes to the deepest part. Your love, Your love, Your love, Your love. Your love goes all the way down to my soul.”

“Yep. That’s it.” He brushes my bangs back. “You’ll be in the choir soon, baby girl, and—”

“Excuse me, Pastor,” a soft voice comes from the door. Daddy’s secretary, Carla, stands there, holding a stack of folders. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need, um . . . your signature.”

“Of course.” Daddy slides back from the desk and sets me on my feet, patting my shoulders. “We got some work to do. You go on now, baby girl. Come get me when dinner’s done.”

“But, Daddy, I—”

“You heard your father, Kai.” Carla walks over to the desk, plopping the folders into a pile. “You hurry on now. We got work to do.”

I look up and over the skirt, just short of her knees, past the blonde hair around her shoulders to meet her blue eyes. She helps Daddy. He says he doesn’t know what he’d do without her. Indispensable. That’s what he calls her, so I should like anyone who helps my daddy like that

But I don’t. I don’t like Carla at all.

“Kai, come on now,” Mama says from the hall. “Let your daddy work. Come help me snap these peas.”

I walk slowly past Carla, looking her up and down like I’ve seen Aunt Ruthie do a few times. I don’t think Aunt Ruthie likes Carla either.

“You staying for dinner, Carla?” Mama asks, the smile on her face she always has for everyone. Even Carla.

“Um, I’m not sure.” Carla’s eyes go to Daddy. He shakes his head, a small frown on his face. “Maybe next time.”

Mama frowns a little, too, asking Daddy questions with just her eyes the way I’ve seen her do when she doesn’t want me to know what they’re talking about.

“Well, there’s plenty and you’re always welcome.” Mama takes my hand once I make it into the hall outside the study. I don’t want to leave, so I look for something else that will give me a few more minutes before Daddy goes back to work.

“Mama, Daddy thinks I’m gonna be a preacher,” I say loud enough for him to hear, grinning up at her and then over at Daddy, but I’ve already lost his attention. He and Carla are working, their heads close together over the stack of papers she brought. Mama leans down to whisper in my ear.

“We know he’s wrong, though.” She pulls back, her dark, tilted eyes warm and smiling. Making me smile back. “We both know what you’re gonna be when you grow up, Kai Anne.”

“What am I gonna be, Mama?” I whisper, even though Daddy and Carla don’t seem to be paying us much mind.

She kisses my nose and pats my bottom, leading me toward the kitchen and the peas that need snapping.

“Baby, you’re gonna be a star.”

THAT WEARINESS DOING WHAT YOU LOVE
kind of loses its novelty around the second week of eighteen-hour days. Dub, the choreographer, and I expend so much energy working on my opening act for the second leg of the tour, I barely have energy for the show each night. It’s just singing easy BGV parts for Luke’s set. When Luke performs his hit single, I join him onstage to simulate the lap dance from the video. It’s a show-stopper.

The whole plan is getting me lots of face time, lots of exposure. It’s a brilliant strategy, but it’s wearing me down. I can’t let on, though. I don’t want Mr. Malcolm to think I can’t pull this off. I can. I’ve waited too long for this. Nothing will get in my way. Certainly not my own body.

I keep hearing Rhyson’s warning about John Malcolm. It’s galling that I kind of already see what he means. Mr. Malcolm’s not tyrannical, but he definitely focuses on the bottom line, and requires the talent to do whatever it takes to meet it.

It’s been a week since Rhyson called or texted me. We have a fifteen-minute break from rehearsal, so I sit on the stage step and pull out my phone to look at his last text. It was a long one, but I almost have it memorized, I’ve read it so many times. It starts, of course, with a movie quote.

R. Geritol: “So I’m single now, and everything’s changed. I hate it.”—Say Anything

I know you’re mad at me. It was a dick move. I know that, but don’t give up on us, Pep. San told me you’re on tour for three months. I’ve started my tour, too. We can take this time to clear our heads and do what we need to do, but you know I can’t let you go. Please don’t see me not coming after you as giving up. When you get back, you have to give me another chance. You have to. I thought I was doing what was best for you. I wanted to protect you. I’m sorry I went about it the wrong way. Please forgive me, and PLEASE TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF! You know I don’t trust John Malcolm, but this is a great opportunity, so kill it. Your whole life is about to change, because when the world sees what I see, they won’t be able to get enough of you. I can’t. Don’t forget I’m yours and you’re mine.

I LIVE you.

I fight the smile forcing its way onto my face when I see our “auto correct” way of saying I love you. It’s too soon to smile. I’m too close to what happened, to what he did, but I can’t deny he affects me even with just words on a screen. A new text comes in as I’m reading the last line of Rhyson’s message.

My heart patters in case it’s him. Stupid heart. After all he did—the manipulation, the deception, the out and out betrayal—a chain still hooks my heart to Rhyson’s, stretching from wherever I am to wherever he is in the world. I have no idea how to break it. When it comes down to it, in spite of everything, I’m not sure I want to.

The text is not from him. It’s an unknown number. Odd.

There’s a link, and I open it, which is probably stupid, but I’m curious. It’s to a
Spotted
post detailing our very public fight. And breakup. Okay. Old news. Even my tour mates have stopped looking at me funny by now. Their curiosity has waned, and thank God, so has the public’s.

Another text comes in.

Unknown: You and Rhyson Gray don’t belong together. I advise you to keep things this way.

What the hell?

Me: Who is this?

Unknown: Don’t worry about who I am. Worry about what I have.

A video file comes over. This can’t be good. Finger hovering over the screen, I tap the file. Sounds of loud panting and grunting come from my phone. Two naked bodies in profile, a man and a woman, fucking hard, doggy-style. The man at the back turns his head to grin right into the camera like he’s giving the performance of his life. My heart skids to a halt, burning rubber and slamming on the brakes in my chest. Horror and disgust war in my belly, churning dark emotion until it leaks out through my sweaty palms and under my arms. I can’t process what I’m seeing. How did he . . . How could it . . . It can’t be. The handsome face smeared with a devil grin is Drex. Even though I know it’s not possible, I feel like those malevolent eyes are looking right at me—taunting and toying with me.

My brain is still catching up to what my eyes are seeing, when I focus on the woman. She’s on all fours, her face forward and turned away, but I know her. I see the words hugging her ribs. Lost in the iniquitous sight, buried in the lusty sounds, the prayer looks out of place.

My soul to keep.

As if I needed further confirmation, the woman turns her head just enough for me to see her face clearly. I’m ashamed of my face, looking so much like my mother in a situation she would never have allowed to compromise her.

I tap the screen to stop the video, doing a frantic sweep of the stage to see if anyone heard or saw. Sweat covers my body, slicking my palms and dampening my forehead. My heart rages and rattles inside of me. My hands tremble so badly I drop the phone.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.

On the brink of my big break, the girl who wanted no distractions could be ruined by the biggest distraction of all.

A sex tape.

But it’s not the buying public I consider, who’d probably be titillated and maybe even more intrigued than ever. It’s not the good people of Glory Falls Baptist, who’d be scandalized to see Mai’s little girl getting herself plowed from behind. It isn’t Aunt Ruthie, who might not judge, but would probably never see me quite the same way. It’s none of those people, none of those responses that strike fear right down the center of my heart.

It’s Rhyson.

He didn’t even want to
hear
the details of what went on with Drex, the vermin who has been a pain in his ass and a thorn in his side since high school. The man screwed Rhyson’s girlfriend behind his back and sabotaged his first album release. How would he handle
seeing
me with Drex that way in dirty, living color? Could he ever scrub his mind completely free of it? Would it change how he saw me? How he loved me? Even if he said it wouldn’t?

All these weeks I thought his transgression was the thing that might irreparably break us.

Turns out it may be mine.

IF I NEVER WEAR ANOTHER PAIR
of fake eyelashes again, it’ll be too soon.

I gently bat away the slim hand poised to apply the ridiculously long falsies.

“Not today, Ella.” I meet the makeup artist’s bright blue eyes in the mirror of my hotel bathroom. “I think my normal human-size lashes will be fine. It’s not the tour. It’s just radio.”

“One of the biggest radio shows in the country.” Ella sets the lashes aside and picks up her go-to mascara. “And it’s streaming to millions online so it may as well be your first TV appearance. Why do you think Malcolm insisted on hair and makeup for it?”