Текст книги "My Soul to Keep"

Автор книги: Kennedy Ryan

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

NOTHING COMPARES TO THE EXHILARATION OF performing, even if it’s in a bowling alley on a makeshift dance floor. And dancing with someone of Dub’s caliber—absolute choreographic theater. It’s one of the few things that penetrates the wall of grief that still surrounds my heart sometimes. The only thing that has come close to comparing, to exceeding is . . .

“Dub, do you see Rhyson?” I crane my neck to peer over the dense crowd. He’s not where we left him.

“I’m sure he’s in here somewhere.”

But I don’t see him. There was something hungry and possessive about the way Jimmi Dawson watched Rhyson. And she wasn’t happy to see me here. She wasted no time pawning me off on Dub. What if they’ve slipped off to the bathroom for a quickie? Even the thought stabs a fork through my heart. I did this. I shut him down at every turn. He’s not a monk. Who could blame him for seeking out someone else? Certainly not me. I have no right to—

“Did you hear me, Kai?” Dub takes my arm to regain my attention.

“Huh? No, what’d you say?”

“I asked if you wanna be in the video I’m choreographing.” He twists his full lips into a knowing smile. “You were too busy looking for your boyfriend.”

“He’s not.” I frown up at him. “Rhys and I really are just friends.”

“I’ll take you at your word.” He shrugs. “You in or what?”

Obsessing over Rhyson, I almost missed exactly the kind of opportunity I’ve been waiting for.

“I’m in.”

“Great. I’ll get your number and send you details.” Dub nods his head toward a section of tables and booths. “And if you’re still looking for your friend, there he is.”

Jimmi sits across from Rhyson, and I recognize Grip, the rapper, whom Rhyson’s talked about some before, at the table too. Rhyson faces away from me, his arm draped casually around the slim shoulders of a girl whose face I can’t see. Dark, thick hair falls to the middle of her back. She turns to say something to him, and I see her profile. She’s striking. I feel like I walked into a brick wall and all the air has been knocked out of me. Of course, he’s free to date. Free to see other people. Sleep with other people. But actually seeing him touching another woman, affectionate with another woman, sets a small fire at the base of my throat, like I could cry. Ridiculous.

Get it together, Kai.

When we reach the group, I take the seat beside Rhyson, glance at him, and find him already looking at me. Looking from me to Dub and back again, jaw tight, hands gripping his knees. He told me it was okay to dance with Dub, but maybe seeing me with someone else bothers him as much as seeing his arm all over the gorgeous woman seated on his other side bothers me.

Her hair is dark, but burnished with streaks of copper like Rhyson’s. She passes her eyes over me so sharply I feel like a razor sliced across my face. Her eyes are beautiful, stormy grey, like Rhyson’s. I glance between the two of them a few times. They could be . . .

“Kai, this is my sister, Bristol.” He tugs on his sister’s hair. “Bris, this is my . . . my friend, Kai.”

I bite my lip until it hurts holding back the big, goofy smile that threatens to take over my whole face. His sister! Of course. His family is the one thing Rhyson hasn’t talked much about, except to say he doesn’t talk much about them.

“Nice to meet you.” I smile at Bristol, but she doesn’t smile back. What is it with the women in his life? So far, Jimmi and Bristol have been rude for no reason.

“So you’re one of Uncle Grady’s students?” she asks instead.

“Yeah.” I nod and wipe at my neck. I didn’t realize what a sweat I worked up dancing. Rhyson slides his glass of water across to me, not watching while I take a grateful sip.

“Interesting. Yeah, nice to meet you.” Bristol slides her eyes from me to Dub, her smile growing wider, her eyes flirting. “And you, too. Dub, was it?”

He smiles and takes the seat beside me, not biting what she’s baiting.

“And this is Marlon.” Rhyson gestures to Grip. “Marlon, Kai Pearson.”

“Heard a lot about you,” Marlon says, a polite smile on his face. “You guys did it out there. That was fire.”

“Thanks.” I offer a small smile. That flip has switched again. The one that emboldens me onstage or the dance floor, but leaves me shy with strangers. “Rhyson’s told me some about you, too.”

“Don’t believe half of what that dude says. He makes shit up.” Marlon laughs when Rhyson rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “He didn’t tell me you could dance like that.”

“Wasn’t Kai amazing?” Dub smiles and sips his water. “I just asked her to be in the video I’m working on.”

“That’s great.” Jimmi passes a sly glance between Rhyson and me. “I knew you two should meet.”

She and Rhyson share a look for a few moments before Rhyson drops his eyes to the table, jaw tight again.

“So you ready for Chicago, Rhys?” Bristol peers at her brother over the rim of her martini glass.

“Guess so.” Rhyson toys with the wide, leather strap of his watch. “Can I get through Thanksgiving before we start talking about Chicago? That trip’s not until after Christmas.”

“Did you guys see him on Fallon last week?” Bristol wears a proud grin.

“Yeah.” Grip takes a chug of his beer. “I was surprised you did ‘Lost.’ You’ve never done it before.”

“That was brilliant, actually,” Bristol concedes. “Downloads for that song went bananas after the show.”

Rhyson and I lock eyes, smiling over our secret. Not only did he play “Lost” on Fallon, but he also tugged on his ear, his private greeting to me. I must have watched that performance a dozen times on DVR. The moment loosens something that’s been tight between us ever since I returned from the dance floor.

“Not a big deal,” Rhyson says.

“As the person who moved heaven and Middle Earth to book it, I think it’s a huge deal,” Bristol says with a frown.

“I’ve done Fallon before.” Rhyson takes his glass back and sips.

“Still a big deal,” Grip says. “I haven’t done Fallon yet.”

“If you’d let me manage you,” Bristol smiles at Rhyson’s best friend, “You’d get Fallon.”

“If you’d go out with me, I’d let you manage me.”

Bristol rolls her eyes and flicks her dark hair over one shoulder.

“I don’t mix business and pleasure. Although, I’m not sure there’d be any pleasure.”

“Guys, I have food coming.” Rhyson grimaces like he feels sick to his stomach. “Please stop talking.”

Bristol’s lips twitch, and Grip laughs aloud. Jimmi joins in. Eventually, Rhyson loosens his mouth into a smile, and I realize these are the friends he told me about. He said friends are more intimate than lovers in some ways. I see that now. He has a bond with them. He’s relaxed with them. I’m glad for him.

Food arrives, and everyone sorts out their meals.

“I ordered you the veggie nachos,” Rhyson leans toward me and says quietly. “There weren’t many healthy options.”

“It’s fine. Thanks.” We share a quick smile before digging into our plates.

“Will you see Petra when we’re in Chicago?” Bristol asks, her voice loud and deliberate. I get the impression she’s returning to the subject for my benefit.

“Yeah. We talked the other day.”

“Petra Andreyev?” Jimmi asks with a frown. “Did she immigrate?”

“Yeah.” Rhyson pushes his plate away nearly untouched. “Couple of years ago. She lives in New York now, but she’s guesting for a few weeks with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and invited us to come see her while we’re there.”

Dub’s phone rings and he walks off to talk. Rhyson scoots his chair closer to me.

“You did look amazing out there.” His voice drops until the others at the table would have to strain to hear. “I didn’t even know you could dance like that.”

My cheeks heat and I dip my head until my hair covers my face.

“Can you believe Dub wants me to be in a video?”

“Yeah. I can believe it.” Rhyson’s voice goes gravelly, and he leans back, folding his hands over the tight muscles of his stomach. He hasn’t really eaten anything. I lean forward until I’m right at his ear, even if everyone else thinks it’s rude.

“Why don’t you ever eat in public?’

He stills and turns his head until only a few steamy centimeters separate our lips. It’s my first time being in public with him. Really in public, and he is much more guarded than I’m used to. The eyes that usually speak all the things he’s thinking are opaque, giving away nothing. I don’t look away. Honesty has become a habit between us, and if I wait, Rhyson will remember that.

He takes a quick sweep of our surroundings. Grip is dragging a laughing Bristol to her feet and toward the dance floor. Rhyson rolls his eyes when Grip turns to give him a thumbs-up and a silly grin. Dub is a few feet away, still on the phone. Jimmi has wandered off to talk with some of her other party guests. In a crowded room, we’re suddenly alone again. Just us at the table. Two peas that should never have ended up in the same pod. There should be nothing about us that mixes or draws us together, and yet, the veil hiding his secrets, dissembling his thoughts, floats away. And all that’s left is the truth and the connection always burning bright between us.

“I was attending state dinners by the time I was ten years old.” Rhyson looks at me from under his thick eyebrows. “Ten, Pep.”

“Got it.” I smile and push the wayward hair back from his forehead. “Ten. And what?”

“I could never get it right.” He catches my hand before I can pull away, toying with my fingers on the table when he speaks. “Always using the wrong fork. Talking with my mouth full.”

His mischievous smile invites me to smile back.

“Farting at the table.”

“Farting at state dinners.” I laugh and wrinkle my nose. “I bet you were a terror.”

“I really wasn’t.” His smile fades. “I was actually pretty well-behaved, but it wasn’t ever good enough for my mother. I infuriated her by, well, by being a kid.”

“But you were ten. Who cared if you used the fork wrong or burped or whatever?”

“I was a ten-year-old kid making thousands of dollars every night playing for my supper, so to speak.” Cynicism hardens the curve of Rhyson’s mouth. “My mother finally said if you can’t get it right, don’t eat.”

And I thought Bristol was a piece of work.

“But surely you . . . you ate, right?”

“I’d eat when we got back to the hotel or back home. I guess it became a habit not eating until later.” He sets my fingers aside and runs an agitated hand through his hair. “You think I’m crazy, huh? I promise I’m not. I just . . . some habits are hard to break.”

I hate that his own mother did that to him. Everything I hear about her and Rhyson’s father makes me want to peel back their scalps for hurting such a unique, gifted little boy. For hardening him into a cynical man who has had all of one girlfriend his whole life and settles for meaningless sex instead of meaningful relationships.

I pick up a loaded nacho and suspend it in front of Rhyson’s mouth.

“Eat.”

He looks at me for a moment and shakes his head, an uneasy laugh escaping his lips.

“Don’t be silly.”

“Don’t be stubborn.” I press the chip against his mouth. “Eat.”

Not letting my stare go, he opens his mouth and takes the nacho. I watch every bite, ready for the next one. I pick up one of the French fries in the basket in front of him and offer it to him. He eats one and then another until he’s almost done. When he’s down to just a few fries, I grab one and throw it in his face. Surprise drops his mouth into an “o” for just a few seconds, but he recovers quickly and throws a fry back at me. We volley the last of his fries at each other, laughing at how silly we’re being.

“You’re ridiculous.” Rhyson gathers fries off the table and I pick up a few from the floor. He places his hand over mine, making sure I look into his eyes. “Thank you.”

“For what? A food skirmish? I can’t even call it a fight.” I laugh, but there’s suddenly not enough room in my chest for my heart because it’s swelling with some emotion that shall remain nameless.

“For noticing. For caring about me. For making me eat. It’s not even hard.” Rhyson looks away, dropping his eyes to the table. “I guess I was wrong. Maybe I did need another friend.”

“That’s what friends are for, huh?”

I need to change the subject, because this one, where I get to see the damage his parents did to him, makes me sad. Makes me angry. Makes me want to spoon him all night. And who knows where that would lead?

“How come you never told me you had a sister?”

Rhyson considers Grip and Bristol on the dance floor, his mouth loosening into a grin. “I keep her away from my friends as long as possible.”

“Are you older? Younger?”

“Technically, I’m older, but only by about two minutes. We’re twins. Like my dad and Grady. Twins run rampant in our family. We weren’t really that close until the last few years.”

“Why not?”

“She isn’t musical at all.” Rhyson chuckles. “I mean, at all. Believe me, my parents tried. If they could have wrung a few coins out of her, they would have.”

He pops a French fry into his mouth and points to the now-empty basket.

“See what I did there?”

“Yes, I’m very proud that you ate all your food.”

“It’s not that I never eat when I’m out. Just . . . I don’t usually want to.”

“’Well, now you do. You were saying?”

“Well, Bris resented me. Felt like my parents poured everything into me, which they did as soon as they realized how well I could play. Everything revolved around me. Around piano, and lessons, and then tours and concerts and promotions and recordings and television appearances.”

It sounds glamorous, but he was so young. Seeing Rhyson that day in the dune buggy, laughing and free, I bet at ten years old, on some level, he would have preferred that.

“Then when I emancipated, she called me ungrateful.” Rhyson shakes his head, a wry tilt to his mouth. “I wouldn’t trade my gift for anything, but I never asked for that life. She couldn’t understand how much it suffocated me.”

“What pushed you to emancipate?”

We’ve never really talked about this, and I’m not sure why in the middle of a birthday party in a bowling alley, I choose now, but I won’t let this window close before getting a look inside.

“Like, after all those years, what was the straw that kind of broke the camel’s back, Rhys?”

A frown darkens his face. He won’t look at me.

“Rhyson?”

“I heard you. Yeah.” He keeps his eyes on the long, sensitive fingers in his lap. “Um, it was actually Grady.”

“What’d Grady do?”

“He found out I was addicted to Xanax, and that I’d been on it since I was eleven.” Rhyson lifts his long eyelashes, and his eyes probe mine. Searching for—I don’t know—judgment?

“How . . . what? How is that even possible?”

Rhyson chuckles, a raspy, scornful sound.

“My mother gave me hers to help with anxiety before performances until later on when I got older and got my own prescription. I got hooked early and was pretty messed up by the time I was sixteen. Grady saw me at Christmas and confronted my parents about it.” He looks at me, eyes crystalline with emotion. “They wanted to hold off on rehab until after my European tour.”

Rhyson relaxes his face so deliberately I know he’s hiding the hurt.

“And that was the beginning of the end for me and my parents. I told Grady I wanted out, and he helped me emancipate. When things got really nasty during the hearings, he threatened to expose what my mother had done so they would stop fighting it. I haven’t seen them outside of a courtroom in years.”

“And Bristol stayed with your parents in New York, obviously.”

“Yeah, I moved here and started at the School for the Arts. She stayed back East. We had very little communication from the time I was sixteen until she left home and went to Columbia.”

“Who reached out first?”

“She did actually.” Rhyson gives a quick shake of his head and a half smile. “Told me she was getting her entertainment business degree so she could manage me.”

“But weren’t you teaching vocal lessons for Grady then? You weren’t even performing, were you?”

“Right. I was writing and producing for other artists by then, but she assured me that I’d be back.” Rhyson watches his sister dance with Grip. Affection softens his face, I assume for them both. “She was right, and when I told her a few years ago I wanted back in the business as an artist, she was ready.”

A frown darkens Rhyson’s face and he shifts in his seat.

“My parents weren’t too happy about it, but Bristol’s got too much backbone to care much what they think. We’ve been rebuilding our relationship ever since. She’s started rebuilding with Grady too, something my parents still won’t do. They won’t forgive him for helping me leave.”

“Why didn’t he just become your guardian? Why emancipate?”

Rhyson chews on a straw, eyes narrowed with fierce determination.

“I didn’t want anyone to have control over me ever again. Not even Grady.”

“I’m surprised you signed your record deal.”

He wears a crooked grin on his handsome face.

“So true. I signed a deal for just two albums because I knew music, but the business I was clueless about. I had a lot to learn.”

“Wow, really?” I fold my knee up and prop my heel on the seat. “I’m surprised they went for just the two.”

“They wanted me enough to loosen the rules a little.” Rhyson shrugs. “They still allowed me a lot of control given my experience and history.”

“You mean as a genius?” I tease him with a wide smile.

“Yeah, whatever.” He matches my smile and adds a wink that makes my pulse pound. “Can you keep a secret?”

“To the grave.”

“My next album?” He lifts both brows, making sure I’m tracking with him. “It’s not with the record company.”

“What . . . then who . . . ?”

The smug, eager look on his face clicks things into place for me. Rhyson wants to control everything around him.

“You’re starting your own label, aren’t you?”

He touches the straw to the top of my head like he’s knighting me.

“Ding! Ding! Ding!”

“Rhys, that’s awesome.”

So many questions flood my mind, but I’m not sure what to ask. I want him to trust me with whatever he wants me to know.

“It’s called Prodigy, the label, I mean.” Rhyson, so often impassive and guarded, looks almost animated. “Grip’s my first artist.”

My eyes find Grip and Bristol out on the dance floor.

“He’s so popular right now, hard to believe he doesn’t have an album yet,” I say.

“I know. All collabs and features. That was our strategy. To build his fan base and create so much buzz before he even has his solo project. Kind of how Drake did.”

Rhyson takes a swig of his water and reaches for an onion ring from Bristol’s abandoned plate. So we’re passed the eating in public thing.

“We’ll drop his album first and then my next album after my tour.”

I haven’t heard a lot of Grip, just on other artists’ albums like Rhyson said, but I know he isn’t the typical rapper.

“He has kind of his own flow, doesn’t he?”

Rhyson reaches across the table to grab a wing from the large tray in the center, dipping it into blue cheese before taking a bite.

“Yeah, probably the closest I’d say to his sound is Childish Bambino.” He shoots me a quick grin. “When I first met him, his raps were basically a notebook as thick as my arm filled with poems he had written. He’s the one who convinced me to start experimenting with my sound. Figure out how my classical training would translate to a more modern, mainstream sound.”

We chat for a few more minutes before everyone drifts back to the table. I love seeing Rhyson with his friends. After hearing about his awful parents, it’s great to see that he is genuinely loved by someone. And after hearing more of his story, I want to kiss Grady’s feet for being the adult who cared more about him than the bottom line.

It’s been a long few days of double shifts for double pay, and my body tells on me with a wide-mouthed yawn.

“You’re exhausted.” Rhyson stands and pulls me to my feet before looking around at everyone else. “We’re gonna bounce.”

Jimmi stands and walks over to Rhyson, looping her arms around his neck and tipping her head back. She’s a tall girl. Not as tall as Rhyson, but in her stiletto boots, she’s almost eye level. I’ve always been small and lean. Dancing, cheering, and gymnastics always kept me that way, and I love my body. Even my butt, which is almost too big for my petite frame. The only thing I’d change is my small breasts. That producer wasn’t the first to suggest I enhance my bustline. Jimmi has full, gorgeous breasts and presses them into Rhyson’s chest. Is that what he likes? I cross my arms under my modest curves, my cup confidence plummeting.

“Thanks for coming.” Jimmi licks her lips and pushes her hand into his hair.

“Jimmi, if you’re in heat, I’m sure we can find some dog in here to help you out.” Bristol laughs from her seat, shoving at Grip’s face when he leans into her neck. “Grip, I said no.”

Rhyson carefully pulls Jimmi’s hands from behind his neck and drops a quick kiss on her forehead.

“Happy birthday, Jim. Your gift should be arriving very soon.”

“What’d you get me?” Jimmi’s arms hang at her sides now that she doesn’t have them wrapped around Rhyson, and she looks a little lost.

“Just call me when it comes. I’ll give you a hint. You can play it and I think you’ll like it.”

A guy dressed in all black approaches and whispers something in Jimmi’s ear. She nods and frowns before addressing Rhyson.

“We got a lot of paps out front and out back.”

“Dammit.” Rhyson frowns at me. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I give him an easy smile, even though my stomach knotted a little as soon as I heard “paps.”

“Let’s go.” He grabs my hand and waves at his friends. “We’re out before it gets any more intense out there.”

Their speculation is so heavy and thick, I can barely breathe under it. All eyes clamp on my hand linked with Rhyson’s. I tug, but he doesn’t let go, even when we head for the back exit. At the door, he stops and peels his Bob Marley hoodie over his head. His broad shoulders straining against the white T-shirt distract me for a moment so I’m surprised when he pushes the hoodie over my head. I absently push my arms through as I breathe in the delicious scent from his body clinging to the sweatshirt.

“I don’t want them to see you.” Rhyson pulls the hood up, tucking my hair into the sweatshirt down my back. “They see you, they’ll start following you. Wondering who the ‘mystery girl’ is. Start stalking and chasing you.”

“But why?” I slide my hands into the front pocket of the hoodie. “I’m nobody.”

He brushes a thumb over my bottom lip, and it’s like an open sesame for my senses. My lips part automatically. His eyes sear the sensitive skin of my lips, and I feel him like a kiss.

“I’m never out with girls, Kai, besides Jimmi and Bristol.” He squats until we’re eye level. “If they see us together, they’ll figure out that you’re special to me.”

His words snatch my breath. Hearing this man who has become so special to me say that he feels the same literally takes my breath away, just for a second. I start breathing again, wanting to look away. I need to look away because the longer we stare at each other, the warmer I become.

“You ready?” He has one hand on the back door bar and one hand at my back. “As soon as I open this door, keep your head down, okay? And keep your face covered.”

I nod that I’m ready. When the door opens, I realize I’m wrong. I’m completely unprepared as we slam into a wall of lights and sound.