Текст книги "My Soul to Keep"

Автор книги: Kennedy Ryan

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“YOU COMING OR WHAT?” RHYSON POKES his head into the music room.

I’m at his piano, even though I don’t play. This spot always seems to inspire him, and maybe it will help me by osmosis. I’m seated on the bench, head phones in my ears, phone in my lap. Song on repeat. I pull one earplug out, tilting my head.

“Coming where, babe?”

“Remember you said you wanted to roll with me down to Wood.” Rhyson pulls a navy blue beanie over his messy hair. “Marlon and I are working on his song. You still wanna listen in?”

“Oh, yeah.” I roll the headphone wires up. “I was just listening to my song for the Total Package audition next week.”

He doesn’t respond. He just drops his head and fixes his eyes on the floor. The audition has remained a point of contention between us. Dub confirmed the details for Tuesday. I’m singing Jessie J’s “Masterpiece.” Ironically, it was Rhyson’s suggestion. He heard me practicing Christina Aguilera’s “Beautiful” and in bed that night told me it was trite and predictable. This while my eyes were rolling in the back of my head from a third orgasm. I asked him—after, of course—what he’d suggest instead. I was shocked when he actually gave me his honest opinion. He’s kept his distance while I’ve rehearsed it, though, leaving me to Grady’s tutelage.

Which is fine by me. The more space between Rhyson and my career, the better.

“How did the production meeting go?” I’m eager to change the subject.

“It was okay.” He leans against the doorjamb, folding his arms across the Nike logo on his chest. “At this point, they have everything planned out. It’s me and a piano. Not a ton of stuff. But lights and video and all the other things they want to add will be cool.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“The shows Petra’s doing with us will be kind of fun.” Rhyson links his hands behind his head. “We’ll do just a few pieces together since my audience isn’t exactly into classical. Just enough to make them ooh and ahhh a little.”

Petra. Again. If my ugly insecurity were visible, I’d need a bag over my head.

“It’s so soon.” I chew on my bottom lip. “Two weeks, right?”

He walks over and sits beside me, pulling my legs across his lap.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says.

“Uh oh.” I smile at him, running my hand over the stubble on his chin and jaw.

“What do you think about coming on tour with me?”

My hand falls from his face and into my lap.

“And do what?”

“Be with me?”

Be his girlfriend. Leave all the opportunities popping off here for myself to watch him from the wings. I’m not sure what to say without starting an argument.

“It’s not a long tour,” he continues. “It’s like six weeks. Just a few shows.”

“Aren’t you going to Europe?”

“A little.” He squeezes his thumb and index finger together, leaving a tiny continent-sized space between.

“You’re going to Europe a little?”

“It’s just six weeks.” He hesitates, pulling my fingers between his, not looking at me until he has to. “If you come, maybe we could do some songs together.”

I know any other girl in my position would be thrilled, but all I can think about is what I would assume if some unknown took the stage with Rhyson. Some girl I’d never heard of. Some girl he’s sleeping with.

“Are you bribing me to come on tour with you?

“What? No. You’d be great. I’m doing stuff with Marlon to build buzz for his new solo album.”

“Grip has platinum collaborations with other artists. He’s already proven himself. I keep saying this, but it’s like you don’t hear me. All I want is the chance to do the same. To prove myself.”

“I do hear you, baby, and this is an excellent chance to prove yourself to a worldwide audience.” He grabs my hand, his fingers playing some melody I don’t hear on my arm. “Pep, if I’m on this tour and you’re here, we’re apart for six weeks.”

“We’re both in the business. There will be times when our commitments separate us.”

He frowns, dropping my arm. I give him a hopeful smile.

“Let’s see what happens with my audition and then talk about it later.”

His face steel traps as soon as I mention the audition. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, biting down on whatever he would say.

“Is that hummus?” Rhyson conveniently turns his attention to the bowl of hummus I left on top of the piano.

“Yeah.” I hold my breath while he scoops up some of it on a cucumber. “Taste.”

“Shit.” He screws his handsome face into a grimace. “What the hell? Sarita made that?”

My face falls and my shoulders slump.

“I made it.”

“You . . . you made it?” He laughs, dropping the half-eaten cucumber back to the plate. “It tastes like butt.”

“Rhyson, it does not. It’s made with fresh chick peas.”

“Tastes like it’s made with fresh butt.”

“I wanted to make one of your favorites. Something healthy, and this is what I get?” I can barely hold on to my offended face because he always does this to me. Makes me laugh when I should be mad at him.

He grabs me, squatting and snatching me close, arms under my butt until my heels leave the floor and I’m on my toes.

“I don’t care if you can make hummus, babe.” He sucks my earlobe into his mouth, and my fingers cling to his shoulders because it feels so good I might fall if I don’t hold on. “You do everything else well. Especially that magic trick you’ve been working on.”

I pull back, looking at him suspiciously. Because it’s Rhyson and there’s always a catch.

“What magic trick?”

“You know.” He grins and bends to whisper in my ear. “That one where you make my dick disappear in your mouth.”

“Rhyson!” I drop my forehead to his chest, face on fire.

“I’ll never get tired of making you blush.” A deep laugh from his chest reverberates between us. My favorite sound, next to him singing. “I’m sorry, by the way.”

“For what?” I ask, frowning.

We haven’t had much to apologize for since our big argument last week. Things have been unbelievable. I’m almost scared to leave the house because it’s all the outside forces that tear at us.

“I’m sorry I haven’t told you I love you today.” He shakes his head from side to side, eyes locked with mine. “So remiss. Bad boyfriend.”

I’m convinced half my laugh lines will be because of him. After Mama died, I thought the closest I would come to joy would be the absence of pain. I was ready to settle for that. To just not feel that black hurt that hovered over every part of my life and seemed to occupy my very soul. Rhyson has taught me that joy has its own space. It is not the absence of anything, but its own presence. Its own entity. It fully inhabits us if we let it, and I have it with him.

“Does it feel weird to be somebody’s boyfriend?” I caress the hair not shoved haphazardly under the beanie.

“Not yours.” He leans down, licking into my mouth. Pulling my lips between his. Scrolling down to suck at the underside of my jaw. “I could eat on you all day. Just nibbles here and there until you’re all gone. All mine.”

“I’d like that,” I say, voice husky with passion and emotion because the two are inseparable when it comes to Rhyson. I’ve had sex before, but I’ve never had this. This melding of the deepest love I can fathom and passion I never imagined. They twine around each other so tightly that every time he’s inside of me, I hand over more of my heart. More of my soul. I always think he has it all, and he always finds more. Takes more. Gives me more.

Rhyson walks us backward to the piano bench, sitting down and settling me on his lap, his erection poking between my legs. I know where this leads. It’s led there on this very bench several times.

“Rhyson, we don’t have time.” I still press my breasts into him, just because I want him to regret it as much as I do. “Grip’s waiting.”

“I know. Ignore the wood. That’s my constant state when you’re around.” He pushes my hair over my shoulder, his eyes unexpectedly serious when they meet mine. “I want to talk to you about something. It’ll only take a minute.”

“Is everything okay?” I pull back. “Your dad?”

His face changes, hardens like it always does when we talk about his family.

“Dad’s recovering. Grady still wants us to try family counseling when he’s well enough.” His eyebrows shoot up and he rolls his eyes. “Oh. I forgot to tell you this—my mother wants to move here.”

“What? Wow.”

I don’t know how to feel about that. She wasn’t exactly a welcoming presence the first time we met.

“Yeah, she says she wants the family to heal, and nothing is holding them in New York since all of their family is here.” He shakes his head and seems to want to shake off the subject. “Save all that for later. That isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh. Then why so serious?”

“Was that a Dark Knight movie quote? Or were you actually asking why I was being so serious?”

“Little bit of both.”

We smile at each other because even with the sex we can’t get enough of, even with the cameras that seem to follow us if we step outside this house, even with the tension over my next career steps, we’re still great friends. I hope that never changes.

“I want you to move in with me.”

Whoa. Didn’t see that coming. I go from an easy smile in a tender moment to the breath ragged in my chest and sweat popping out on my forehead. Even though I thought I was ready for this, thought I wanted it, now that he’s actually asking me, I’m not sure I can.

“What? Rhyson, I . . . that’s a huge step.” I slide off his lap, pacing back and forth in front of the piano, running my hands through my hair. “And we haven’t been together long at all.”

“We may have only been officially dating for a few weeks, but we’ve been together for months.” He persuades me with the charisma of those eyes and that smile. “Come on, Pep. It makes sense. You’re here all the time anyway.”

“I know, but—”

“And I know San’s your best friend, but you living with a Spotted reporter isn’t a good look. I know he’d never expose anything on purpose. He’d never hurt you on purpose.” Rhyson’s mouth flattens into a hard line. “But if he ever hurt you just by being who he is and working where he works, it would be very bad for him.”

“Rhyson, that look scares me.”

I see it in Bristol. I saw it in his mother at the hospital. There is a ruthlessness inextricably tangled into their DNA. I’d never want to be on the other end of it, and I don’t want San to be either.

“That look isn’t ever for you. You don’t have to worry.” He walks over to me, taking my hands in his. “But anyone who ever tries to hurt you, they should worry.”

He dips his head until I can’t look away, and neither of us blinks. He’s showing me something he doesn’t show everyone, and I’m not sure I can handle it, but he thinks I can. So I will.

“Move in with me, Pep.”

“I just . . . I have to—”

“What’s the real issue? There’s always a real issue behind what you actually say.”

I heave a weighted breath because he’s so right.

“I watched my mom pack up our lives and start from scratch when my dad left. I promised myself I would always have my own space. That I would never be at the mercy of a man like that.”

“You don’t trust me to take care of you?”

He frowns, bending closer, eliminating the space between us. I pull back enough to think. Enough to make my point.

“I don’t want you to take care of me.”

Why does he still not get that?

“Pep, but I can. While you are making your way, I can. Have you thought any more about quitting The Note?”

I have considered it. Not for the reasons he probably thinks.

“I’m quitting.” I raise a hand when his face lights up. “I’m quitting because it’s a circus. Photographers come in since it’s a public place. All the customers take pictures of me. Everyone asks about you. It’s just . . . a joke.”

“Can’t say I’m sad about it.” He tries to seduce me with those long lashes, going in for the kill. “So about you moving in . . .”

“I thought we were going to the studio.”

“Oh, yeah. Marlon’s gonna kill me if I’m late.” He grins, slapping my butt. “I can just blame it on you.”

“Oh, yeah, because he’s such a fan of me already.”

It upsets me that Rhyson’s best friend doesn’t trust me. Bristol, I can’t make myself care about because she’s probably an apple that didn’t fall far enough from her mother’s cold-hearted tree. But Grip is like a brother to Rhyson, and I know he only wants what’s best for him. For him to think that isn’t me hurts.

“I don’t care if he isn’t a fan yet. He will be. Soon everyone will be a fan of you. But I’m your biggest fan.” Rhyson drags me out of the music room by one hand, looking over his shoulder with that irresistible grin. “Don’t forget that when you’re big time.”

By the time we pull up to Wood, Rhyson is fifteen minutes late. He’s such a consummate professional, it does bother him. The whole way there, he’s tapping the steering wheel, honking at slow drivers, and driving too fast. I can barely keep up with his long legs on the best of days, much less when he’s speed walking to get to this session. He barrels through the front door of Wood, and I barely have time to take in the glass reception desk with mahogany accents or appreciate the mural of famous musicians painted on the walls before we are down a long carpeted hallway on our way to the studio.

“So each studio has a theme,” Rhyson says over his shoulder, giving his version of an abbreviated tour. “Oak. Mahogany. Pine. You get the picture.”

“Hey, Rhyson!” A girl calls from the end of the hall we just left.

We both turn to look at her. She looks ethnically mixed, her light caramel skin, smooth and unblemished. Blonde dreadlocks fall past her shoulders and to her waist. Her grey-green eyes are clear and a little too warm when they settle on my boyfriend.

“Kai, this is Amber, our receptionist,” Rhyson says, his voice impatient. “Amber, Kai, my girlfriend. What’s up?”

She looks at me an extra moment, those beautiful eyes cooling before she speaks.

“Just wanted you to know Marlon moved from the Maple room to Cherry.” Her eyes go wide. “Oh! And nemesis is in Birch.”

“Great,” Rhyson mutters. “This night just got better.”

“Problem?” I hold his hand as he negotiates the maze of hallways, passing various studios with their huge soundboards and the booths I would kill to get in.

“No, she was just giving me a heads up that Drex is here.”

Rhyson stops because I have. He tugs on my hand, but I’ve dug my heels into the hallway carpet like they’ve dried into cement.

“Pep, I’m already late.” He gives me a quick frown. “Come on.”

“I’m-I’m not feeling well.”

I have to get out of here. As vindictive as Rhyson says Drex has always been toward him, it’s a small miracle he hasn’t already made sure Rhyson knows about our one night together. Everyone else knows we’re dating. I know Drex knows. And I know he remembers me. If he hears Rhyson and I are here together at Wood . . . I can’t take the chance.

“What?” Rhyson leans in, cupping my face, frowning, concerned. “What kind of not feeling well? Like fever? Stomach? What’s wrong?”

I ignore the guilt gnawing at my insides and clutch my stomach.

“I think it was that hummus.” I grimace, biting my bottom lip.

His face clears and he grins ruefully.

“I hate to say I told you so, but I did say that hummus tasted like butt.”

I give a weak grin, pressing my hand deeper into my stomach.

“I’ll take you home.” He starts us back down the hallway.

“No, Grip’s already waiting for you.” I place a staying hand on his chest. “I’ll catch a bus. I saw a stop just up the block.”

“No way.” He looks torn for a second. “I’ll have Gep come get you. He’ll take you home, and I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

I’m not crazy about it. I want out of this place like right now, but it’s probably the best I’ll do.

“Tell him to hurry.” I fake a stomach cramp. “I need to lie down.”

“I’m sorry, baby.”

He pushes a door open behind him. The only noise in the room is the hum of a refrigerator. It’s a break room of sorts, furnished with just a few chairs and tables, a water cooler, and a couple of couches against the wall. He walks me over to a couch, pressing my shoulder until I’m horizontal.

“Just lie down here for a little bit. I’ll call Gep.” He kisses the corner of my mouth. “Let me find Marlon. I’ll be back.”

I lie down, staring at the tiles above me, wondering how my life got this complicated. My eyelids drift closed, for a few minutes blocking out all the threats to the best thing in my life. A finger tickles across my eyebrows.

Rhyson.

I open my eyes, and my worst nightmare stares back at me, wearing a disguise of blue eyes and dark brown hair, prone to curl. Most women would think he’s handsome. I did the first day I met him on set.

“Drex, hi.” My voice dries up. I swallow to irrigate the words. “I . . . it’s good to see you.”

“Is it really?” His grin is made of trouble and malice. “Long time, no see. You never returned my calls or texts.”

“I was busy.”

I sit up, putting distance between us, scooting to the other end of the couch. He follows, his body crowding me. I walk over to lean against the wall by the refrigerator.

“Where’s your boyfriend?”

I keep my face straight, raising my lashes to stare back at the man who can send everything tumbling down with just a few words.

“Drex, please don’t.”

“Oh, I’ve been watching you, sweet girl.” He walks over to me, and my heart thumps harder with every step he takes closer. “All over the blogs and tabloids. Rhyson Gray finally found his girl. How shocked was I when I realized it was you, my little dancer from months ago. A night I’ll never forget.”

He rolls a knuckle down my cheek, leaning forward, until his breath feathers across my lips. I tolerate his touch for a second, before pulling away ready to reason with him.

“Drex, you don’t have to—”

“Did you know we hate each other?”

I don’t nod or acknowledge his question. There isn’t a right way to respond. Anything I say or do, he’ll use against me.

“And knowing that, didn’t you wonder why I hadn’t rubbed it in his face already?” He smirks. “Our night together, I mean.”

I answer with one blink.

“I was waiting for the right time.”

A movement at the door draws glances from both Drex and me. It’s Rhyson.

Drex looks back to me, smiling like the devil.

“In case you’re wondering, this is it.”

“Kai, Gep is on his way.” Rhyson steps deeper into the room, Grip right behind him. “Drex, shouldn’t you be in Birch?”

“You know what, you’re right.” He walks to the door, pausing in front of Rhyson. “Did your girl tell you we know each other?”

This awful man holds my happiness in his careless hands like a child skipping with Ming porcelain. I already feel it shattering around me, even though he hasn’t dropped it yet.

“Yeah, she was in that video of yours, right?” Rhyson shrugs. “Sorry, I don’t really remember that song. Not sure many people do.”

Drex’s narrowed eyes flick between Rhyson and Grip, who has flipped a chair, straddling it, elbows folded across the back.

“Yeah, that video wasn’t very memorable either. The director was a joke.” Drex nods. “The most memorable thing about that shoot was the night it wrapped.”

Fear and anxiety vice my chest. I want to crawl into the refrigerator and hide under a leftover, something with green fur growing on it.

I know Rhyson sniffs out Drex’s malevolence, trying to discern where it’s coming from and where it’s headed. I want to run across the room and insert myself between them, protect Rhyson from what’s coming, but some naïve part of me holds out hope that Drex won’t do it.

“Whatever.” Rhyson walks over to me, taking my hand and checking my eyes. “You okay, Pep?”

“That’s so sweet, Gray,” Drex says, looking at us, malignant anticipation building behind his eyes. “You’re trying the girlfriend thing again. Remember how I fucked that other one? The Russian? What was her name? Petra?”

“Shit.” Grip lowers his head to the arms he has folded across the back of the seat. “Drex, you got a death wish, dude?”

Rhyson stiffens beside me for a moment, but I can practically see him make a conscious decision to let it go.

“Drex, that was high school, and Petra’s ancient history.” Rhyson puckers his lips, like he’s meting out the words, one by one. “Like I said, I think they’re looking for you in Birch.”

“You’re right, high school was a long time ago. Petra was a long time ago.” Drex walks to the door, looking over his shoulder at us. He winks at me, a smirk dirtying his face. “Kai, though, she wasn’t that long ago. You should ask her about it.”

He leaves behind a silence so heavy I’m suffocating under it. It smothers me, sits on my face, blocks my air, squeezes my throat.

Grip looks from me to Rhyson, shaking his head, dark eyes narrowed.

“You have got to be shitting me,” he says. “Rhys, man, if she—”

“Get out, Marlon.” The knife-sharp edge on Rhyson’s voice already drips blood.

I want to cover my face. I want to hide, but there’s nowhere to go. The one secret I knew could ruin everything is out, and I already miss Rhyson’s trust. His love. His affection. It’s floating past me like mist.

“I’m getting tired of you telling me to get out, man,” Grip says. “You need to listen to me on this.”

“I said get out, Marlon, and lock that door.”

The look Marlon shoots me as he leaves boils with suspicion and mistrust. I can’t buy a break with the people who love Rhyson. Maybe after this, I won’t even be able to buy a break with him.

When it’s just the two of us, Rhyson swallows. Draws a shallow breath through his nose. His lips part to speak, but he snaps them shut.

“I want to ask you . . .” His words fall apart. He clamps his lips over what’s left of them.

“You can ask me anything.” The words tremble on my lips. “You know that.”

He’ll have to ask because I can’t volunteer it. I can’t hand over my happiness that way. Maybe he can get past this, but if he can’t . . . God, what if he can’t?

“You see, the thing is I feel like I already know what your answer’s gonna be.” Rhyson looks down at the floor, closing his eyes tightly like inescapable images are burned there, already torturing him. “And I have no right to feel the way I’m gonna feel if you say what I think you’re gonna say.”

“Baby, I just—”

“But we said no more secrets, so you wouldn’t keep this from me, right?”

He looks back up at me, and it’s the hurt in his eyes that undoes me, that makes my eyes water.

“Rhyson, I wanted to tell—”

“Yes or no, Pep.” Rhyson lasers a look at me, pinning me to the wall with the sudden intensity of his stare. “Did you fuck Drex?”

I thought I could just say yes, but I can’t leave everything hanging on just that flimsy word that doesn’t begin to describe the dark loneliness of those foolish moments I can’t ever take back. That one word, those three letters, cannot convey how low and desperate I was that night. Mama’s birthday.

“Rhyson, I was in such a—”

“Yes or no.” Storm clouds build in his eyes.

“It was before—”

“Yes. Or. No.”

“Yes.”

He plummets to his haunches, elbows on his knees, head buried in his hands. His fingers tear at his hair, and a growl rips past his lips.

“Rhyson, you and I hadn’t even met then.”

He holds up one hand, silencing me, head still lowered.

“God, Pep.” He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Anyone else. Just . . . not him. Not that piece of shit.”

“I can’t change this, Rhyson.” Tears drown everything I would say. The words bob up in my throat, desperate to break the surface, only to go under again. “You and I didn’t even know each other then.”

He explodes to his feet, veins in his neck straining, fists clenched at his sides, face radioactive red. I’m standing in the heat blast of his nuclear rage, absorbed in the violent shock of something unreasonable and out of control.

“It doesn’t matter!” He screams it. The words rattle in his throat like in a cage. Like trapped things behind bars clamoring to get out. “He fucked you. He had you, and I . . . I just don’t . . . I just can’t . . .”

His eyes fall to the ground. He looks at the goofy Family Guy magnets on the refrigerator. Looks at the locked door, like he’s held hostage in here with me. His eyes are wild, everywhere but on me. In a matter of minutes, he’s gone from looking at me like he can’t get enough, to now not being able to look at me at all. Like I’m some soiled rag someone else wiped their ass with.

His phone dings with a text, and he pulls it from his pocket to look at the screen.

“Gep’s outside.”

That’s all he says. My heart has atrophied in my chest. A muscle that has forgotten how to work, it doesn’t bother beating. I’m not even sure it’s pumping blood. I wasn’t married to Rhyson like Mama was to Daddy. We don’t have kids or much of a history, but I can’t imagine she hurt any more than this when he left her. He walked away. Is it easier to be the one doing the walking? Rhyson doesn’t tell me to go, but I know he wants me to.

So without another word, I do.