Текст книги "My Soul to Keep"

Автор книги: Kennedy Ryan

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

I’ll never forget those early days either. We lived in the parish house owned by the church, designated for the pastor’s family. When Daddy left and Pastor Charles came, we had to vacate. Mama met them with a fresh apple cobbler and a pitcher of lemonade. She helped them settle in even as she had to figure out where we would live and what we would do.

“Kai took care of her mama those last days she was with us,” Pastor Charles says. “And at the end, there were some things insurance didn’t take care of.”

Oh, no. I hope they aren’t doing what I think they are. I’ve seen this on more than one occasion. A person stands in need, and the whole congregation rallies its resources to help the one. The thought of these sweet people with their modest incomes reaching into their pockets for me is humbling.

“We wish we could pay off all your mama’s medical bills, Kai,” Pastor Charles says. “We can only do a little, but it’s done in love.”

I don’t even look at the envelope he places in my hand. I know it holds money they’ve collected to help with Mama’s lingering medical bills. If my cheeks weren’t wet before, they are now. I lean into Pastor Charles, dampening his shirt with my tears. Grammy is gone. Pops followed soon after, and my heart still sags sometimes with the grief of losing Mama. But I still have people right here looking out for me, and they are like family.

I’VE BEEN TIRED BEFORE. GOING ON the road touring by the time I was ten years old, I’ve got some miles on these tires. I know the exhaustion of staying up three days straight working on an album. All night jam sessions? Been there, done that. But this fatigue digs into my bones.

And I can’t wipe this shit-eating grin off my face.

Last night after the church service, we came back to Kai’s house. I thought that might mean some time alone with her, but I didn’t realize Aunt Ruthie lives in the house too. I didn’t realize they live on the top floor, and the Glory Bee occupies the bottom. I didn’t realize they spend Christmas morning cooking and serving breakfast to a hundred people. I’ve never seen anything like it. And somehow I found myself serving eggs and gravy and grits all morning. Not saying I was great at it, but I did my part. And no one asked for an autograph or a single selfie. Kai made sure they got that memo.

“You doing okay?” Aunt Ruthie wipes down one of the wooden tables in the quaint dining room.

“Yeah.” I glance at the register where Kai rings up a customer. “Is that the last of them?”

Aunt Ruthie presses her hand to the small of her back, stretching out muscles that must be aching.

“Yep, and now we can have our Christmas.”

“It’s good you found someone who could take Kai’s mom’s place cooking in the kitchen.”

A sad smile graces Aunt Ruthie’s face before fading.

“No one ever really could take Lin’s place, but Marilyn does all right.” Aunt Ruthie eases down into one of the hard-backed seats and gives me a searching look. “You and Kai seem to be real close.”

I proceed with caution. I didn’t miss the look Aunt Ruthie gave Kai last night when she offered me the couch upstairs in their small living room. Of course I didn’t expect to share Kai’s bed. Aunt Ruthie looked like she wasn’t so sure. She wonders what’s going on between Kai and me. Rest assured, our first time making love certainly won’t be in Kai’s childhood twin bed with Aunt Ruthie listening through the wall.

“We’re really good friends.” I sit down too, propping my elbows on the table and coupling my fists under my chin.

“Friends, huh?” Aunt Ruthie’s skepticism sends one brow up. “But let me guess. You want more.”

Kai walks the last customer out the door and onto the porch, chatting and laughing. I’m not sure she’d want me saying this to her Aunt Ruthie, but fuck it. I’m just about done shelving what I want.

“You’re right.” I look the only family Kai has left right in the eye. “I want to be with Kai. I care about her very much.”

“You know she’s been through a lot.” Aunt Ruthie’s eyes don’t waver and her mouth is a stiff line. “I won’t see her hurt.”

“I have no intention of hurting her. If she . . .” I clear my throat. “When she’s ready to be with me, I’ll take care of her. Don’t worry.”

“I do worry.” Aunt Ruthie shakes her head, straightening the snowman salt and pepper shakers on the table. “I worry that she works too hard and won’t let anyone help her.”

I check to make sure Kai isn’t on her way back in before leaning forward and lowering my voice.

“I wanted to talk to you about that.”

“About what?” Aunt Ruthie lowers her voice too, looking over at the entrance.

“The money they donated last night for the medical bills, was it enough to pay everything off?”

Aunt Ruthie frowns and shakes her head.

“Not near enough. There’s still a balance of forty thousand. I spare what I can, but there isn’t much left over each month.”

Forty thousand? Kai is working around the clock and neglecting her music career for forty thousand dollars? I get paid that much to sneeze.

“I’d like to help.”

“Does she know about this?” Aunt Ruthie offers a heavy laugh. “That girl is as stubborn as a lid on a new jar of mustard.”

“Exactly.”

“She may not take too kindly to you doing this, Rhyson. She probably wouldn’t take your money.” Aunt Ruthie smiles. “But I will. ‘Bout time somebody looked out for that girl.”

“Why’s she so hard to help?”

“I think it goes all the way back to Jim. To her daddy. When he left, Kai’s mama fell apart. It wasn’t just the money or having to do everything by herself. She needed him, and when he chose somebody else, it took a long time for her to be the woman she was before. Kai’s never wants to be that dependent on anyone.”

Before I have time to answer, Kai walks up beside us.

“Last customer gone.” Kai flops into the other chair at our table, long hair scooped up on top of her head and escaping around her ears. “Dishes done and food put away. Now it’s time for Christmas. Y’all ready? Everybody’s already on their way over.”

Aunt Ruthie and I exchange a quick look, a silent agreement to finish this later. She’s given me great insight. Maybe it’s not as simple as Kai wanting to do things on her own. Maybe it’s that she doesn’t want me to help. If that’s the case, she’s shit outta luck.

Christmas has never been a big deal for my family. Hell, this was the first time in twelve years I even tried to spend it with my parents, and that turned out amazing. I can tell, even with her gone, that Kai’s mother made Christmas something special.

What I would describe as a cast of characters invade Kai’s house over the next hour. Aunt so-and-so. Cousin this-or-that, none of them actual relatives. I didn’t know people wore Christmas sweaters in real life, but they are surprisingly—or not surprisingly—popular here in Glory Falls. Aunt Bea, which is literally her name, as in Andy Griffith, wears a 3-D sweater with a red, squeezable Rudolph nose.

I’m tripping.

“If you don’t stop staring at that sweater,” Kai whispers from one corner of her mouth, “I’m dumping this gravy boat over your head.”

I almost choke on my biscuit. I turn my head in Kai’s direction, ready with a snappy comeback, but it dies on my lips.

God, she’s beautiful.

Like steal-your-breath, heart-skip-a-beat, grab-you-by-the-balls gorgeous.

I’ve never seen anything like her. It’s not even just the dark eyes, exotically slanted. It’s more than the sweet slope of her cheeks. It goes deeper than the smooth gold of her skin or the dark hair she braided into some coronet thing on her head today. The long-sleeved red dress she wears fitted to her small, high breasts and the wisp of her waist so closely that I see the flex of muscles in her stomach when she laughs. It’s none of that. Something has changed, almost cellularly. I don’t know if it’s being home again, surrounded by people she loves, or if it’s just the holidays, which are her favorite time of the year. But she looks happy, and it adds something to her physical beauty that I’ll fight to keep. Even if I have to fight Kai herself.

“Are you racking your brain for a quote from Elf or what?” Kai slants me a smile.

“As a matter of fact, I was sitting here planning out our whole day,” I deadpan. “First, we’ll make snow angels for two hours, and then we’ll go ice skating, and then we’ll eat a whole roll of Toll House cookie dough as fast as we can.”

“And then we’ll snuggle?” Kai finishes the movie quote, a husky laugh parting her lips, showing me the sweet, pink tongue hiding behind her teeth.

“Hey, you said it, but I’m down if you are.”

She rolls her eyes, but keeps smiling.

“So, Kai,” Mr. McClausky calls from the other end of the table. “How long you been dating a rock star?”

Wow. So that’s how you get this rowdy crowd completely silent. They all stare down the table at us, a menagerie of Christmas sweaters and overalls.

“Um, we aren’t.” Kai turns wide, panicked eyes my way. “I mean, he’s not. That is to say, I’m not and we don’t . . .”

Her eyes beg for help and I have mercy.

“We’re just friends,” I say, even though every fiber in my body resists admitting that when she’s mine. But I don’t want to fight on Christmas in front of all her friends and family who have been so nice and accepting and all around cool.

“Could have fooled me,” Aunt Ruthie mutters into the silence that follows my statement. She and I share a grin because she knows all the plans I have for Kai. Well, some of them. The ones involving nudity I’ll keep to myself.

“I remember when your Pops saw your Grams for the first time, Kai.” Mr. McClausky nicely segues us out of awkward and into sentimental. “She wanted nothing to do with him. Said she wasn’t marrying no preacher.”

“Grams was kind of wild growing up,” Kai tells me, grinning.

“To say the least.” Mr. McClausky chuckles, shaking his head. “It took him a long time to convince her, but once he did, they had the kind of love most people only dream about.”

“He used to keep mistletoe in the house year round,” Kai says, her voice soft with the memory. “Said he’d use any excuse he could to kiss her all the time.”

“I wish I could have met them.” I say it so low probably only Kai hears me, but that’s okay since everyone else has moved on to old stories about other people.

“They would have loved you.” Kai’s eyes are a little shy, barely meeting mine before falling back to the napkin in her lap

“You sure about that?” I make a bold move, stealing her hand from her lap and linking our fingers on my knee. “Wild, bad boy musician corrupting their sweet granddaughter?”

“You’re not that bad.” She squeezes my hand and flirts with me through her eyelashes. “And I’m not that sweet.”

Oh, she’s sweet all right, and soon I’ll taste for myself.

THE LAST TIME I STOOD ON this porch, considering this inky sky dotted with dying stars, my mama lay inside and up those stairs drawing her final breaths. My heart was so heavy I could barely drag it up the steps to say good-bye. That night and the months that followed, I often thought my heart would never be light again.

And yet not even a year after Mama’s passing, the first Christmas without her, I laughed all through dinner and couldn’t stop smiling. I could lie to myself and say it was being back home, eating good food, surrounded by Aunt Ruthie, Mr. McClausky, and all the people who helped raise me, but I won’t.

It’s Rhyson. Not just today, but all the days that have come before. All the days he’s made me smile and pulled my heart out of the dark. I hate that things went so badly with his parents, but I’m glad he’s here. It feels right.

“Cold?”

The deep rumble of Rhyson’s voice behind me dents the quiet of Christmas night.

“Li’l bit.” I don’t turn to see him, but I’m already smiling. “Got a coat?”

“Nope.” He walks farther onto the porch bringing a smile with him. “Got an arm though.”

“I’ll take it.”

I shift on the step to make room for his wide shoulders beside me, and notice for the first time the step doesn’t move under my bottom. I wiggle again, frowning when the step doesn’t wobble.

“Something going on with your hips?” Rhyson laughs and settles beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

“This step has wobbled for years, but—”

“I fixed it.”

“Why?” I can’t explain the fist tightening around my heart, but it’s squeezing until I’m sure blood will leak through my dress. “Who told you to do that?”

Rhyson pulls back to stare at me, his arm dropping from my shoulder.

“It was dangerous.” His words start out slow like he’s still figuring out my crazy. “It was loose, and we had a hundred people coming up these steps for Christmas breakfast.”

“Yeah, I mean . . .” I run a finger over the step like I have a million times sitting here, looking up that road, waiting for Daddy to appear. “I’m sorry. Thanks.”

“Did you want the step loose?”

“No, of course not. I just . . . it’s stupid.”

“All the more reason to tell me.” Rhyson bumps shoulders. “Your perfection is exhausting.”

God, he’s great.

He’s the most unexpected gift I’ve ever received, and he treats me better than any guy ever has. And I’m whining because he fixed a step I could have tripped and broken my neck on waiting for my daddy to come home and repair it?

“My mama would never fix that step because it was the last thing Daddy said to her. I had a dance recital. He said I’ll fix that step when we get home after the recital, but he never showed up.”

I palm my knees, squeezing them until I can finish.

“He never came home.” A one-sided smile cracks my face. “She wouldn’t touch that step for years, but would never say why. I knew though. And this is where I’d sit on birthdays and Christmas, wondering if he might show up.”

My fake laugh sounds harsh even to my ears.

“The first few years, when I was still young, I’d sit right here wearing my ballet shoes so I’d be ready when he came back. Somehow, I convinced myself that if he had just seen me dance, he would have stayed.”

It shouldn’t still hurt that he never came back, but especially at Christmas, especially this first Christmas without Mama, it does.

“I’m sorry,” Rhyson says. “Not that I fixed the step. That was a hazard. I’m sorry he never showed. Sorry he ever left and missed out on you and your mom. I can tell she was something special.”

Enough talk about my sorry excuse for a father. He doesn’t deserve any of a day that has been as close to perfect as it could be without Mama here.

“You know what was special?” I drop my head to his shoulder.

“Aunt Bea’s Rudolph sweater?”

I laugh until I snort.

“Admit it,” Rhyson continues. “If I went up to your closet right now, I’d find a dozen Christmas sweaters.”

“I was much younger and it was a long time ago.”

“Sure it was, Rudy.”

“Would you be serious for a minute?” I’m still laughing. Can’t help it.

“Okay.” He reaches down to caress my hair. “What was special?”

I want to lean into him until he absorbs me and I can’t tell where he ends and where I begin. But that’s what’s so dangerous about Rhyson. I need to begin somewhere. I need to be my own person with my own goals and my own dreams, not get lost in his breadth. Our dynamic could get really complicated, but tonight it’s simple. Just a boy and a girl who love being together.

“You coming here was special.” I laugh a little. “You serving pancakes was special. This whole day was special.”

“For me too.” Rhyson puts one hand over mine on my knee. “It’s been the best Christmas, maybe ever.”

That makes me happy.

“It’s gonna be hard to go,” Rhyson says.

That makes me sad.

“When are you leaving?” I study his profile in the dim porch light, the hard lines of his jaw and cheekbones softened only by the curve of his full lips.

“Probably tomorrow.”

“Why?” That sounded whiny. “I mean, I thought you could stay a little longer.”

“I gotta get ready for New Year’s Eve.”

“New Year’s Eve?”

“Yeah, I have this little performance in Times Square.”

“You’re performing in Times Square for New Year’s Eve?” I squeal. “Oh my gosh. That’s incredible. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, it’s Bristol’s doing.” He quirks his mouth and rolls his eyes. “They invited me, but I’m bringing Marlon so we can do that song from his album we’re releasing soon. Build some buzz. We need to start rehearsing this week.”

“I’ll make sure to watch.”

“I’ll give you another shout out.” He tugs his ear twice the way he did when he performed on Fallon. “Or you could come with me?”

He tempts me with a look from under those long, girls-would-kill-for lashes.

“Nah, not this time.” I shake my head. “I probably won’t see Aunt Ruthie again for a while, and I promised her this whole week.”

“So the next time we see each other, it’ll be a new year.”

“Yep.”

I’ll see him in a week, so it’s foolish how my heart sinks at the thought of him leaving tomorrow.

“Pep, I know you wanted to take things slow and to make your own way before we took things to the next level between us.” Rhyson slides away and squats on the step below me, catching and holding my eyes. “But next year can’t be like the last few months.”

I gulp, pulling back from the intoxicating heat and scent of him.

“Rhyson, I—”

“Nope,” he interrupts, trapping my eyes with his. “I’ve let you take the lead for a long time, Pep. I’m doing this.”

“Doing what exactly?”

He reaches into his back pocket, pulls out his phone, and turns it around so I can see the screen before suspending it over our heads.

I don’t know whether to laugh or pass out.

“A mistletoe app?” My voice is small and uncertain. “Digital mistletoe?”

“Yeah.” Rhyson shrugs like this is normal. “Guess Pops inspired me. This way I can keep mistletoe around all the time too. And always have an excuse to kiss you. Starting tonight.”

“Rhyson, I think we should—”

“Any last words before we have our first kiss?”

“We’re not going to—”

“The hell we aren’t.”

He sets the phone on the step, captures the back of my neck, and pulls me so close his breath invades my mouth. The kiss starts slow, a brush of our lips together. A catch and release, him pulling back and running his eyes over my face before pressing my breasts back into his hard chest. He’s kissing me again, his tongue stroking mine, sucking gently until my toes curl in my boots. He’s imprinting his taste into the lining of my jaw, into the underside of my tongue, into the skin inside my lips. A sweet heat is trapped in my mouth, like lightning in a bottle. Exploding and suffusing the sensitive tissues with delicious fire.

His thick hair curls around my fingers as they dig into his scalp. My hands drift down to cup either side of his face. I stretch my mouth wider over his, pulling his tongue in so deep it whispers across the entrance of my throat. We pant into each other’s mouths, and we’re so tight together, his heart slams into mine.

I’m standing at the edge of flame. Singed, not yet burned. If I don’t break this kiss, there is no way back. I’ll find a way to have him. Even with Aunt Ruthie upstairs, even with Mama’s memory lingering in every room, even with the family Bible on the living room table—I’ll have him tonight if I don’t put a stop to this.

“Rhyson, please stop,” I beg against his lips. “Not yet.”

He pulls back a few centimeters, pressing our foreheads together, hard breaths against my mouth, palms at my throat, fingers at the back of my neck.

“Pep,” he whispers against my lips. “When?”

How do I answer? My heart and my body scream right now! I thought I could hold out until I made it big, till I got my break, and stood on my own two feet. Had my own accomplishments separate from Rhyson’s fame. My own career. But asking myself to wait is like asking my heart not to beat. Or my eyes not to blink. Rhyson is my involuntary response. I can’t help but to want him, and not just physically. To want everyone to know he’s mine and I’m his. To wake up with him on my mind and in my arms. I don’t know how much longer I can resist him. As a matter of fact, I’m forgetting why I should, so I lay my lips against his softly and whisper the truth.

“Soon.”

IT’S A NEW YEAR, AND I’M going to Rhyson’s house.

I mean, technically, he invited me to see his home studio and sit in on a session for Grip’s new album. But still . . . I’m going to Rhyson’s house. I’ve lost count of the times he’s been to my apartment, but I’ve never been to his place. I drive across town in San’s beat-up Toyota, letting Google maps lead me to Rhyson’s Calabasas address.

If Google maps girl could comment on the changing landscape, she’d probably say something along the lines of, “Holy crap.” The closer I get, the more exclusive the scenery becomes. Everything is gorgeous and gated. When I reach Rhyson’s community, the first thing I notice is the photographers parked alongside the road, poised to jump in their cars and give chase as soon as someone famous rolls through those gates. They probably assume I’m delivering pizza or something.

The small structure housing the security guard intimidates me, though Rhyson promised to leave my name up front. Sure enough, when I show my ID, I’m buzzed right in. The closer I get to Rhyson’s home, the more tangled the knots in my stomach become. I haven’t seen him since he kissed me on the porch over a week ago. Between Times Square, his other commitments in New York, and all the hours I’ve been putting in preparing the girls for their next dance competition, we’ve barely spoken. And when we did, it wasn’t as natural or as easy as I’m used to. I think we’re figuring out what’s next. I’m not sure, and Rhyson feels like he already knows. Will we compromise? That doesn’t seem to be something Rhyson’s especially good at.

We’re at a turning point. I know we can’t keep doing this, but I’m not sure I’m ready for what a relationship with Rhyson means. Am I ready to be chased all over town, followed because of who I’m dating? Splashed all over the media any time we go out? Potentially not taken seriously in auditions, or given a chance only because I’m Rhyson Gray’s girl? Am I ready to be Rhyson’s girl? To trust him with everything? Because when he looks at me, eyes already possessive, I know he’ll settle for nothing less.

A gigantic house looms ahead with its gate standing open. I park in the cobblestone driveway, San’s compact car dwarfed by the beautiful Mediterranean architecture of Rhyson’s home. After a few deep breaths, I get up the nerve to ring the bell.

The short, round woman who answers the door offers me a warm smile.

“Ms. Pearson?” she asks in a soft voice with a heavy accent.

“Yes.” I step in when she opens the door wider. “But please call me Kai.”

“I’m Sarita.” She leads me through the foyer with the stone-slabbed floors and the modern chandelier glinting overhead. “Mr. Gray told me you’d be coming.”

We walk down the long, wide hall with art-splattered walls and down a flight of stairs until we reach an open room with pinball machines, arcade games, a gargantuan plasma television, and a pool table, where Rhyson leans, holding a cue and grinning.

“Welcome to Chez Gray, Pep.” He walks over and grabs my hand.

“Will that be all, Mr. Gray?” Sarita asks.

“Yeah, thanks.” He looks down at me as Sarita walks away, his eyes devouring me. “I’ve missed you.”

“It’s only been a week.” My cheeks heat and my belly somersaults under that look.

“I’ve gotten spoiled seeing you all the time.” He sets one hand at my waist and one at my neck, dipping to brush his lips over mine. I enjoy the warm contact for a few seconds before pulling away, my pulse slamming against my wrists.

“You were already spoiled, Rhyson, and it had nothing to do with me,” I say, hoping to thin the air that thickens around us when he touches me. “Where’s Grip? You promised I’d get to see a session.”

“I may have invited you over a little early.” He pushes back into me, sliding an arm around me again. “You think I want to share you with Marlon?”

“Rhyson.” I step back again and take a deep breath. “We need to talk about—”

“You said soon.” His voice, his eyes declare he means to hold me to it.

“I know.” I lean against the pool table. “But it’s a big step, and we need to talk about what this could look like.”

“It looks like us together.” He frowns. “It doesn’t have to be this complicated, Pep.”

“That’s easy for you to say. There aren’t photographers lined up at my door when you come to my place.” My phone ringing interrupts. I pull it out of the slit pocket of my skirt. “Geez Louise. It’s the bill collector for my mom’s hospital. I need to take this.”

“No.” Rhyson reaches for the phone. “Let it roll into voice mail.”

I pull back, shaking my head.

“Believe me, I wish I could, but they’ve called like three times today, and I’ve been ignoring.” I walk across the room toward one of the leather couches. “It’ll only take a sec. I actually meant to call anyway to make sure they got the payment I made after Christmas. I don’t want them bothering Aunt Ruthie about it.”

“Pep, I think you should wait.” Rhyson’s frown gets heavier every time the phone rings, but I answer anyway.

“Hello.” I sit on the leather couch and rest against the cool cushions.

“Hello. This is Central Financial,” the representative says from the other end. “Am I speaking with Mai Lin Pearson?”

“This is her daughter, Kai. Mai Lin passed last year, but I’m responsible for the medical debt.”

“That’s why I’m calling. We received your last payment and will be sending an electronic receipt reflecting the zero balance.”

“I did just make a payment, but it wouldn’t have brought the balance to zero.” I give a brief laugh. “That would be awesome, if it did. I’m hoping I can soon though.”

“Ms. Pearson, we received a payment for forty thousand, two hundred and four dollars and thirty-two cents last week.”

My heart stops, like the sun pausing in the sky overhead.

“That’s not possible. There must be some mistake. I didn’t make that payment.”

“It was made online.”

“Who made it?”

I already know there is only one person who has that kind of money so easily at his disposal and could have made that payment. Who didn’t want me to take this call.

“Ruthie Sherman was the name on the debit card. I believe she has access to this account too. I see a history of payments made by you both. You’re both listed as responsible parties.”

“Yes, but she . . .” I trail off. Aunt Ruthie and I talked about finances when I was home. She’s barely making ends meet with Glory Bee. There’s no way she paid this off. This representative doesn’t have the answers I need.

“I’ll be on the lookout for that receipt.”

“It should come to the e-mail we have on file.”

“Thank you.” My lips are numb, but I manage to get the words out.

I sit on the edge of the couch with my phone in my lap and frustration rolling up from my feet and over my legs until it reaches my heart. Rhyson looks way too casual for someone who knows we’re about to fight. He leans over the pool table, knocking a ball into the corner. I feel like one of those balls, rolling around at his behest, under his control. Being played by him.

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

I don’t even bother with all the exposition. I don’t want the lies or the excuses. Let’s just cut to the part where he went behind my back and did something he knew I would never ask him to do.

Rhyson doesn’t budge from his position, bent over the pool table, pole sliding between his fingers before knocking the ball.

“What was me?”

“Did you pay off my mother’s medical bills?”

He drops the pool stick and faces me, arms folded over his chest.

“Is the fight we’re about to have in lieu of a thank you card?”

“You shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t ask you to.”

“You should have. You could have.” Rhyson leans against the table, the frown on his face showing me he’s as frustrated with me as I am with him. “At any point I could have erased that debt, and would have gladly done it. You know that.”

“I don’t want your money, Rhyson.” I cross the space between the couch and the pool table until I’m standing close enough to see how dark and stormy his eyes have become.

“Oh, so you can accept money from the good people of Glory Falls Baptist Church, who can’t afford to help, but you can’t accept it from me, who won’t even miss it?”

“It’s not like that.”

“It is like that. You were fine with them collecting money at Christmas to help with the bills, but when you hear I gave enough to pay it off, it’s a problem.”

“I just needed to do it on my own.”

“No, you just needed to do it without me.”

He pins me to the spot with those knowing eyes. The ones that know I can barely stand being this close without touching him. The ones that tell me he feels the same.

“You know I don’t want your help.” I drop my eyes to the floor and my voice almost to a whisper. “Not with my career. Not with my bills.”

“What is this actually about, Pep?”

“You’re not listening to me.”

He lifts my chin, taking my eyes captive again.

“You’re not telling the truth. Tell me what it’s actually about.”

“You’re getting too close.” I force myself to keep looking at him, even though it will show him more than I want him to see. “Too deep.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know how close and deep I want to be with you.”

His words wrap around me as surely as his arms would, and the squeeze is too tight. What should comfort, constrains, and I need just a little room to breathe, to figure this out.

“Rhyson, I just want a little space to make it on my own.” I look up, some of my frustration dying. “To do things for myself.”

“You know what I think this is really about?” He cups my chin, eyes softening, and strokes my jaw with his thumb. “That step on your front porch.”

“What?” I pull back a few inches, hoping it will put distance between his words and the truth I don’t want to admit to myself. “It was just a step.”

“Not the step itself, but what it represented to you. Your mother depended on your father and wanted him so badly, she left that step like that for over a decade because he said he’d come back to fix it. You don’t want to depend on me for anything. You don’t want to need me for anything. You don’t want to trust me, but that’s what a relationship is about.”

“We aren’t in a relationship.”

Yet.

“Now who’s lying? I’m not in this by myself, Pep. You may not want to call it a relationship, but I don’t want anyone else.” He presses his hand just below the small of my back, resting at the curve of my butt. “And neither do you.”