My Soul To Keep (Soul Series Book 1) (23 page)

I am suddenly aware of everyone’s compassion, this collective kindness for which I was unprepared. It penetrates the wall I use to insulate my grief and hide the lingering pain. I hate that these tears keep assaulting me when I least expect them. That sadness ambushes me. That the desolation Mama’s absence creates inside of me is inescapable, even here at Thanksgiving dinner in front of Rhyson’s family before we’ve even served dessert. And I hate this awkward quiet while they all try to figure out if it’s okay to move on or if they wait for me to get it together. Only this time I can’t. I’m trapped in this moment while I reach for my composure in vain.

Breathing in and deeply usually helps, but I’m too far gone. My heart is too raw today. A sob erupts into the silence. I’m horrified that my body is betraying me this way. That my emotions are this undisciplined, wet spill over my cheeks. I squeeze the linen napkin in my lap until I’m sure I’ll draw blood from it, but the tears won’t stop. The pain doesn’t stop. I leak it. I lose it. I cannot stop it.

I cover my face with my hands too weak to even stand or run. I’m lost in this storm of grief, and there’s nothing to hold on to. I’m blowing in high winds, and I’m sure I’ll be carried away. God,
please
carry me away. In this moment, saturated with loss, life is merely the thing I want to escape. On this day that always meant so much to us, I want to be with her again more than I want to be here.

But then strong arms encircle me. Rhyson’s firm hand nudges my face into the solace of his shoulder. He rubs my back and makes
shhhh
noises by my ear. His voice, his touch, is an unexpected balm.

“It’s okay, Pep,” he whispers, his voice so low and tender I want to stop sniffling to hear what he’s saying. “I’m right here, baby.”

It’s so perfect. It’s just what I needed him to say. That he’s right here. That even though I feel like I’m alone in the outer reaches of grief, someone who cares is right here with me. Anchoring me to this life. Every touch, every soothing sound pulls me back from the precipice until I can breathe again.

I sit back to look up at him. He smiles at me, a slow, subtle smile that tells me if I need to cry some more, I can. His food could grow cold and his family could wait all day, and he’d still be right here. I manage a watery smile as he gently mops the tears from my face with his napkin.

“Better?” He angles his head and positions his shoulders to block everyone else out. I nod and finally glance around the table. Emmy’s eyes are wet, but she gives me a kind smile. Grady’s concern is all over his face, and so is San’s. Bristol is looking between her brother and me, a mixture of emotions I can’t decipher shadowing her pretty face.

“I’m sorry, everyone. I didn’t realize . . .” I pick up my fork and turn back to my plate, hoping it’s the signal they all need to resume dinner as usual. “I didn’t know it was hitting me that hard. Please, go on and eat.”

I dig into the turkey and stuffing, even though it tastes like ashes in my mouth. I eat and manage to smile as Bristol and Rhyson fall into their usual brother-sister banter, but it takes time for me to get past that dull ache. When will it be gone for good? Will it ever, or will there always be this chance that when I think of her, when I dream of Mama, I will lose myself to this sorrow?

“I THINK I ATE AWAY TEN
years of my life,” Rhyson groans, holding his stomach.

I laugh and scoot a little closer on the nook built into the wall surrounding Grady’s poolside fire pit. Today was gorgeous and warmer than any Thanksgiving I’ve ever had, but with the sun gone, there’s a bit of an early evening chill.

“What was your favorite dish?” I already know. I lost count of how many helpings Rhyson had of my stuffing.

“You know what it was.” Rhyson bumps my shoulder and laughs.

“My stuffing?”

“Yes, your stuuuhffin.” Rhyson drags the syllables out and teases me with a sideways glance.

“There you go again, belittling my Southern roots. Will it never get old?”

“I doubt it.” Rhyson eases back against the pillows behind us, pulling me closer and tangling our ankles. “That first night we met, I thought you were gonna stab me in the eye with a toothpick for teasing you about it.”

“You were awful.” I kick his shin and feel his shoulder shake against me when he laughs. “You teased me about my accent and then made me feel even more self-conscious about that icky producer at my audition.”

I expect him to laugh again, but he doesn’t. He’s still against me for a few seconds before speaking again.

“Yeah, you never told me who that guy was.”

“Huh? Who?”

“You know, the guy. The one who wanted you to blow him.”

“Oh, he was . . .” I stop myself just in time, sitting up and looking back at him. His easy smile doesn’t distract me from the cold calculation in his stormy eyes. “Why do you want his name, Rhyson?”

He shrugs one shoulder, but he’s tense at my side.

“Just wondering.”

“Just wondering so you can go find him? You’re worse than San.”

Rhyson sits up so fast I’m not prepared for how close it brings us together. Not prepared for the heat of his body or his words.

“You’re right.” His sharp words disrupt the quiet. “I
am
worse than San because he knows who the guy is and didn’t do anything about it. If you gave me a name, not only would that bastard be walking with a limp, but he’d be broke by next week. Count on that.”

It scares me. The violent emotion brewing behind Rhyson’s eyes. Not because I think he would hurt me. He never would, but because he lets me see it. Less and less he’s hiding, and I wonder how long we’ll be able to stay in this limbo where everyone knows we’re more than friends, but where I keep us less than lovers.

“Look, I know you worry about me, but I’m a big girl.”

“You’re not a big girl.” He grabs my wrists, holding them up in front of my face like little sticks. “You’re a tiny girl, and any guy bigger than you—by the way, all the guys are bigger than you—could get you alone and make you do something you don’t want to do. Something I’d have to kill him for. This is a tough town, Kai. It’s not Glory fucking Falls.”

“I know that, and I know you have my best interests at heart.”

“Do you?” He moves his face closer to mine, the apple cider mintiness of his breath misting my lips. “If you know that, then why do you catch buses at midnight instead of calling me when you need a ride? Why do you work yourself half to death instead of letting me help you?”

I jerk my wrists away and pull back a few inches to escape the temptation of his mouth and those soulful eyes.

“Thousands of girls are here in L.A. doing the same thing I’m doing. Working in crappy restaurants. Dodging lechers at auditions. Catching buses late at night because they are
hungry
. They want their big break just like I do, and are willing to pay their dues.”

“And I don’t give a damn about them!” He plows a hand through the hair dipping to the crinkled line of his eyebrows. “I care about you. Only you.”

His eyes soften, and a small smile touches his lips, but I know him too well to think that means he’s backing off. If anything, he’s using our intimacy against me to get his way.

“Let me make things easier for you, Pep.” He pushes the hair over my shoulder and down my back. “Grip is Prodigy’s first artist. Be my second.”

I can’t believe he just offered that to me. After all these months of me telling him I want to make it on my own. That I don’t want anyone thinking our friendship, or whatever this is between us, gave me an advantage, he offers me a spot on his label that I haven’t earned. He’s barely even heard me sing properly.

I stand up and start toward the house. His hand grasping my elbow, gentle but firm, his warm, hard chest at my back, stop me.

“Just think about it.” He runs his hands down my arms until he reaches my fingers, plucking at them like they are the strings of one of his rare guitars. I turn to face him, hoping to make him see once and for all.

“If you give it to me, you can take it away, Rhyson.”

“That makes no sense. Once you have it, you have it. Who cares how you get there? What matters is that you have the talent and drive and grit to
stay
there, and you do, Pep.”

“It matters to
me
how I get there. I want to do this on my own. I wish you’d respect that.”

I wish you’d respect me.

He lifts my chin with one finger. The callus from all the acoustic guitar he’s been playing lately brushes the sensitive underside of my chin, and I press into its roughness. I want him rough and sweet with me, just like this. I want it all the time. I want him all the time, and if I give into it, he could easily become the only thing I want.

“Okay. I’m sorry I brought it up.” He runs a broad hand over my hair and pulls a chunk of it back to drape across my shoulder. “Forgive me? Forget about it?”

The light from the fire partially illuminates his face, painting shadows under the high cheekbones. Lighting sparks in his dark eyes. I nod because I want what’s left of our time together before I go home with San to be better than the last few minutes.

He walks us back over to the fire pit and settles against the pillows like our argument never happened. He pulls me under his arm, and my head flops against his strong shoulder.

“I really like Emmy,” he says, a deliberate change of subject if I ever saw one. “She’s good for Grady.”

“I like her too.” I groan, recalling Emmy’s sympathy when I broke down at dinner. I press my face into Rhyson’s shoulder. “Ugh, I’m so sorry I melted down like that at dinner. What must your sister think?”

“She’ll probably thank you.” He kisses my hair so softly I wonder if he thinks I don’t feel it. I pull back to look at him.

“Thank me?”

“Because of your meltdown, as you call it, I’ve decided to go home for Christmas after all.”

I throw my arms around his neck. I’m too happy to worry if the small sparks always idling between us might flare to life.

“That’s wonderful, Rhys.” I settle back against the pillows with a smile. “I’m glad.”

“Seeing you that way did something to me.” Rhyson gives a quick shake of his head. “What you had with your mom, with your grandparents, I won’t ever have that with my mother and father. Too much has happened, but seeing you today, knowing you would give anything to have one more day with the ones you’ve lost—”

“Anything,” I cut in with a vigorous nod. “One more day with Mama. Seeing Grammy and Pops again, I’d give anything for that.”

“It made me want to at least try to restore things with my parents.” That familiar cynicism tugs Rhyson’s mouth to the side. “I don’t expect much, but I want to at least try.”

I blink back tears because my hurt served some purpose today. I’ve become so accustom to the weight of my grief, sometimes I forget I’m carrying it. And sometimes I think it’s actually getting lighter, more so since I met Rhyson. Maybe I shed pain every time he makes me laugh, opens me up to something new, or shares a secret that by all rights he shouldn’t trust me with.

“You got me through today, you know?” I reach for his hand, and he immediately wraps his fingers around mine. I keep my eyes trained on our hands melded together by friendship and this heat I’m not sure I can keep ignoring. “I almost lost it completely today, and you rescued me. Without Mama, I thought I’d be so . . . alone. But I can’t ever feel alone when I’m with you.”

My soft words are a confession I can’t take back. I don’t know what he’ll make of them, but I can’t take them back. I’m not sure I want to. Rhyson looks at my bent head so long that I have to glance up, compelled by the heat of his eyes on me. He slides his hand around my neck, his fingers warm and searching.

“This wasn’t just your first Thanksgiving without your mom, Pep. It was our first Thanksgiving together.” He bends until his lips whisper against my ear. “But it won’t be our last. D’you hear me?”

I drop my head to his shoulder and nod because I know he’s waiting for me to acknowledge what he said. I can’t look at him though, because I don’t want to see what’s in his eyes. And I can’t let him see what’s in mine.

“Sorry to interrupt this special moment.” San stands over us, smirking.