Down to My Soul (Soul Series Book 2) (9 page)

“I see you still have your guard dog.” He frowns over at San before returning his attention to me.

“We’ve been taking care of each other a long time.” I still don’t, can’t quite fully meet his eyes.

Whatever small talk I thought we might make disintegrates as soon as I brave a glance up at him. The space between our eyes, our bodies, pulses with tension and heat.

“Pep, you’ve
got
to stop looking at me like that,” Rhyson says, voice strung low and tight.

“Like what? I . . .”

He dips his head, looking up from beneath the dark brows in a way that tells me I know exactly how I’m looking at him. Like he’s a wall I want to scale and devour everything on the other side of. That’s how it feels, assaulting me without warning. The desire to reclaim, repossess him.

“You’re looking at me like you wanna get fucked in this foyer,” he answers softly.

His husky words set my cheeks on fire, and I lower my eyes so he won’t see just how accurate that statement is. Maybe a little time and distance dulled my memory of this connection that vibrates between us like a physical thing exploding onto my senses. Our passion sprinkles across my tongue. Our lust hovers like a torch just shy of my skin. Our love—an ultrasonic boom, out of frequency for everyone but the two of us.

“I-I guess I didn’t really think about how it would be seeing you again.” I glance up at him once I have my body set to simmer.

“And I haven’t been able to think of anything else.” His eyes never leave my face, and I can’t look away for the life of me. We’ve trapped each other, and less and less I want to wiggle free.

“It’s good to see you,” I manage.

“Is it?”

He takes my hand, pulling me subtly closer inch by inch. His thumb brushing over my wrist electrifies the skin, jolting me back to my surroundings. A glance around confirms that several people watch us closely, probably waiting for a replay of the last scene Rhyson and I entertained the world with. Is one of them keeping tabs on me for my blackmailer? Could one of them be . . .
him
? I jerk my hand away, slipping it into the slit pocket of my skirt.

Rhyson stiffens, eyes narrowing.

“So I can’t touch you now?”

“It’s not that.” I step back, allowing myself room to catch my breath and patch my composure back together. “Or maybe it is that, at least not in front of all these people itching to grab their camera phones.”

“You’re not leaving this wedding without talking to me.” He captures my eyes with his. “I can’t trust that you’ll answer my calls or text me back or see me, and you only have a week off tour.”

I glance uneasily at the clusters of wedding guests milling around the spacious foyer.

“I’m not sure, Rhys.”

“Well, I am, and I don’t care who hears or sees, so if you want to avoid attention, I suggest you listen.”

I don’t put it past him to make a scene. What if Drex isn’t working alone? Whoever sent that mock up knew I was coming to the wedding today. Somehow they know my schedule. The last thing I need is to tip off the crazy person holding that disgusting video over my head. I have to be careful.

“Okay, what are you thinking?” I ask.

“You want to know what I’m thinking right now?” A grin quirks his full lips. “Well, in my mind, you’re not wearing any clothes and—”

“Rhyson.” I close my eyes, hating the insistent heat flooding my face. “I mean about us . . . talking. What are you thinking?”

“There’s my blush.” He dusts his knuckles across my cheekbone. Despite the eyes I feel on us, I can’t pull back. Finally, his hand falls away. “There’s an orchard that borders the yard out back where the ceremony’s being held. Through that orchard, on the other side, is an old barn.”

“When?” I flick an anxious glance over the small crowd around us, my voice barely reaching a whisper.

“I have all kinds of responsibilities today.” A smile softens the firm line of his mouth. “Best man stuff.”

He shrugs, running a hand through his hair, longer than I’ve ever seen it, falling past his neck, riotous, thick and dark. My fingers itch to get in there, to twist into it.

“So the last thing I have to do is the best man toast.” His words draw my attention from the affair I’m having with his hair in my head. “After that, slip away to the barn.”

My mind catches up to his plan for us to talk. It’s reckless. Foolhardy. Any hint that Rhyson and I are together could set off a salacious fire I won’t be able to put out. Even standing here with him now so close is dangerous. But seeing him, being so close that his familiar scent lures me to lean in, I hurl caution far to the wind. I’ll slip away. I have to.

Before I get the chance to tell him so, Bristol strides over to us, her dark hair up and elegant. Her tall frame sheathed in a dress the same blue as Rhyson’s tie.

“Rhys, we need you.” She doesn’t even look at me or acknowledge my presence. “They want to make sure the piano is still tuned the way you want it. Something about the weather affecting it outdoors.”

“Yeah, I need to check that.” He looks back to me, eyes intent. “I’ll give you a shout out during the song I’m playing.”

I’m used to this by now, so I know he means he’ll tug his ear like he usually does during performances.

“You wrote a song for them?” I ask.

He leans in until his breath touches my ear, until his fingers touch my elbow, so his words can touch my heart.

“No, I wrote a song for
you
.”

He pulls back, studying the effect his words have on me. I know what he must see. The blush heating my face again. The deep breath lifting my chest. The lashes I drop to hide from him. He sees it all, I’m sure. What he doesn’t see, the only thing I can hide is how my heart twists around inside of me. How anticipation speeds my pulse.

“Rhyson, we need to go.” Bristol looks at me for the first time. “Hey, Kai, thanks for pointing Qwest my way. Hopefully I can hook her up with Grip.”

“Hopefully.” I give her a tentative smile. “She seemed sweet.”

“Sweet?” Bristol lets out a rough laugh. “Not that I noticed, but she doesn’t need to be. Anyway, you’ll have to excuse us. We need to get in there.”

“After the toast.” Rhyson waits for me to confirm.

I nod wordlessly. I’ve barely lost sight of his broad shoulders in the dark, well-tailored jacket when San rejoins me. I just shake my head, warning him not to ask any questions now. We’re ushered through a room where long tables hold wedding gifts. When San and I drop off our gifts, he starts a conversation with a student from one of Grady’s music classes. I’m turning away, about to walk through the French doors into the backyard when a slim, cool hand on my arm stops me.

“Kai, so good to see you again,” Angela Gray says, her eyes disconcertingly similar to Rhyson’s and Bristol’s. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“You are? I mean . . . yes, ma’am.” I lick my lips, hoping I don’t say anything to make her like me less than she did the last time we met. “It’s good to see you again, too. How’s Mr. Gray?”

Angela allows her sculpted brows a tiny frown.

“He had a small setback, or he’d be here today. Open heart surgery recovery can be difficult, and it’s only been a few months, but we found an excellent facility here and have been very pleased.”

“Rhyson mentioned you were moving to LA.” I keep my smile polite. “I hope the transition hasn’t complicated Mr. Gray’s recovery at all?”

“Oh, no.” Angela waves her hand. “Gorgeous weather and finally on better terms with our son, he couldn’t be happier.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“And we’re coming back together as a family,” she says. “Did Rhyson tell you we may be starting family counseling soon?”

“Oh, we haven’t . . .” I reach up to touch the nameplate necklace Rhyson gave me out of habit, but it’s not there, so my hands drop to my sides. “Rhyson and I aren’t together anymore, Mrs. Gray. I thought you knew.”

Surely everyone knows after that video.

“Yes, I knew.” Something that is probably the closest she can come to sympathy enters her eyes. “I just assumed . . . well, the two of you seemed to be friends even before you were . . . more, so I wasn’t sure if you still talk.”

“We were.” I look around to find San still deep in conversation. “We are. It’s just . . . complicated.”

“Believe me. I know how difficult Rhyson can be.”

“He’s not difficult.” I blurt the defense before I can stop it. “I mean, he’s complex, yes, but not difficult. At least I wouldn’t say so.”

“I see you still have feelings for him.” She pulls her thin lips into a matte red moue.

I smooth the belled skirt of my dress, running my fingers over the raised flowers embroidered into the material. Caution slows my response. There’s nothing maternal about Angela Gray. If anything I hate how she’s hurt Rhyson in the past. She’s the one who got him hooked on prescription drugs when he was still just a boy so he could perform under pressure. She doesn’t trust me with her son, and I certainly don’t trust her with him.

“Let’s just say Rhyson’s not an easy guy to get over.” I look up from my skirt and offer a smile that tells her nothing more.

She pats my hand, that supposed sympathy evident in her eyes again.

“I’m sure you’ll manage, dear. There’s someone out there for you.”

The thought of being with anyone other than Rhyson nauseates me, but I just wax a smile onto my face. I wish she’d rip away the thin layer of pleasantry and voice what is so apparent beneath her polite smiles and condescending words. I wish she’d just say I’m not good enough for her son. That someone like Petra is better suited, is her preference. But she’s not prepared to be that sincere at her brother-in-law’s wedding in front of two hundred guests, and neither am I. I’m saved from responding to her candy-coated gibe when San walks up.

“Sorry to interrupt.” San smiles at Mrs. Gray before looking back to me. “But they’re seating now.”

“Of course.” I gesture to Mrs. Gray. “San, this is Mrs. Gray, Rhyson and Bristol’s mother. Mrs. Gray, my friend, Santos.”

“Nice to meet you.” San’s smile doesn’t slip, but his eyes chill a degree or two. He knows the history between Rhyson and his parents as well as I do. As well as everyone does.

“Yes, nice to meet you, too.” Her eyes flit from me to my good-looking best friend, speculating about a relationship between us. Maybe it’s best I let her believe that.

“Ready if you are.” I link my arm through San’s, smiling up at him warmly. “Let’s go.”

We’re a few feet ahead of her when San leans down to whisper in my ear.

“What was that all about?”

“Nothing. She doesn’t like me, at least not for Rhyson. It was all she could do not to jump up and down that we aren’t together anymore.”

“She must not have seen you
together
when we first got here.” San lets out a low whistle. “You could have boiled an egg between the two of you.”

“He wants me to meet him.”

“I just bet he does,” San says with a chuckle. “Two months is a long time. Wedding fucks are the best.”

“Not for . . . not for
that
, San.”

“I’d bet my next check it
is
for that.”

I ignore all the tingly places his suggestion ignites, and don’t bother responding since we’ve reached our seats. Instead, I settle into the white folding chair and absorb the beauty of this day. Not the green carpet of grass under our feet, vibrant, verdant. Or the canopy of cloud and cerulean sky overhead, with the sun glowing bright and gold. Not the trees, Spring heavy on their branches, blossoms scenting the air. No, the beauty of a man who has always sought good for others, finally finding so much good for himself.

Grady didn’t have to take me under his wing when I moved here, a country bumpkin fresh off the truck, green as a watermelon. But he did. He looked out for me, for San, and so many of his other students. He looked out for Rhyson, when his parents should have but didn’t, and for that I’m more appreciative than a beautifully wrapped gift from Williams-Sonoma could ever express.

I cry a little when Grady takes his place at the front under an arch of crimson roses. So much of the good I see in Rhyson is because of Grady. Seeing Rhsyon standing beside the man who’s been more of a father to him than his natural father only stirs the emotion more. I reach into my little clutch where I stuffed Kleenex. I thought that was all the preparation I’d need, but wiping away the tears doesn’t wipe away the emotion that goes even beyond Grady.

I want this.

It hits me out of nowhere, as incongruous as rain would be on this bright, sunny day, but that doesn’t make it less true. Even with all we still have to work out, even with the tape threatening me, even when right now I’m not even sure I
trust
him, I know I love him. And I want this. A gorgeous day with Rhyson standing there waiting for me at the end of a path of roses like the one Emmy’s walking down now, with a crowd of family and friends standing when I enter. I want an impractical white dress that I’ll only wear once and that costs entirely too much. Something I can save for our girls just in case one of them wants to wear it one day. With all the crap we still have to sort, that feels like an improbable light at the end of an impossible tunnel, but I want this more than I ever wanted to perform. The idea that one lonely, careless night with an asshole who hates the man I love could ruin those possibilities for me, for us, chokes me. Lodges emotion in my throat too thick to swallow past.

“You okay?” San whispers.

“Yeah.” I give a jerky nod, sniffling and patting at the corners of my eyes as the minister tells us we can take our seats again. “You know how I am at weddings.”

San studies my profile, but I refuse to look at him. The man sees enough without looking into my eyes. And then Rhyson’s voice makes me forget San is even there.

“Thank you for celebrating this great day with Grady and Em,” Rhyson says from behind a piano on a slightly raised dais. “This is a day I’ve been really looking forward to. Probably not as much as Grady has, though.”

The crowd laughs, and Rhyson smiles into the mic.

“For as long as I can remember, Grady and I have shared the songs we’re working on. When he heard this song for my next album, he asked me to sing it today. And even though I wrote it for
my
girl, today it’s from Grady to his. It’s called
My Soul To Keep
.”