My Soul To Keep (Soul Series Book 1) (27 page)

THIS COULD RUIN CHRISTMAS.

Me singing with Rhyson Gray? I mean, yes, he’s
my
Rhyson who rides dune buggies and watches
Sex and the City
marathons and throws French fries at me, but lest we forget . . . he’s still Rhyson Gray. His voice . . . I can’t even really articulate what his voice and the words he wrote meant to me when I was stuck here in Glory Falls those last years. “Lost” became my anthem in the mornings, my lullaby at night, my lifeline anytime I was sinking. To sing with Rhyson could be the most terrifying and possibly most blissful experience of my life. To sing Mama’s favorite carol with him on Christmas Eve?

I don’t know if I’m ready for that. If my heart is ready for that.

Rhyson glances up at me, sitting on the stool, acoustic guitar resting on his knee.

“What key?”

“What what?”

Could I speak intelligibly? Nope.

“What
key
do you wanna sing it in?” He frowns, dark hair dragging over his eyes. “You okay?”

“Um. . . . yeah, sure.”
No
. “B flat?”

He nods, sliding the capo down the neck of the guitar.

“How about you start and I’ll listen the first time through.” He begins strumming the melody that always brought Mama to tears. “I’ll come in later. I’m thinking if I just harmonize on the chorus, it’ll have more impact. Especially at ‘fall on your knees.’”

It was the chorus that always got Mama, and hearing him play, it’s what will probably get me too.

“I’m not sure about this.” I press my palm to my stomach, afraid I won’t be able to breathe normally, much less the way I should to sing.

Rhyson’s fingers never pause, moving with agility over the strings of the guitar. His gift, his greatness as a musician, goes deeper than skill. This old guitar, barely in tune, responds to his touch like he found some hiding place where it was keeping this beautiful sound just for him. It’s like he gives some of himself to each instrument until it speaks for him, saying things Rhyson may never voice. He might be guarded in public or in conversation, but not with his music. He strips every barrier away that would separate him from the listener. I’ve heard people say this musician or that one pours their heart into the music. It’s more than that with Rhyson. I think what he gives it is his soul.

“Any day now, Pep. I’m going grey here.”

I realize he’s run through the first verse a few times waiting for me to start.

“I-it’s hard with you here.” The admission comes out stilted.

“It’d be hard for me to accompany you and
not
be here. Even I’m not that good.” Rhyson’s fingers never stop, almost absently plucking at the haunting melody, but his eyes hold still with mine. “Why’s it hard?”

“Because you’re . . . well, you’re . . . I’m . . .”

He’ll think I’m ridiculous. I’m ridiculous.

“There’s a reason you haven’t heard me sing much.” I shove my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. “I’m afraid you won’t . . .”

I hate this. It only highlights the inequities I always try to ignore.

“Afraid I won’t what?”

“You won’t like it. You won’t like my voice. My singing. Maybe I am just a dancer who sings. I’ve been working on my compressions, and I think I’m getting better and improving my tone and stretching my range, but—”

“You’re not just a dancer who sings, Pep. Don’t be nervous. I’ve heard you sing.”

“I sang like a few notes for a breathing exercise. You haven’t really heard me sing.” I study my shoes. “What if you don’t like it? If you think I’m no good?”

“I’d tell you.” Rhyson stops playing, leans the guitar against the stool, and crosses over to me, forcing my eyes to meet his with a gentle finger under my chin. “I’ve heard enough to know you have a beautiful tone, a disciplined instrument, and a trained voice. That’s more than I can say for half the people on the charts right now. Is there room to improve? There always is. As professionals, we’re always growing. So keep growing.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I don’t do that.” His eyes hold mine as he shakes his head definitively. “Not with music. Certainly not with you. Is that why you haven’t sung for me?”

“That, and well, I just kind of wanted to put our music in a box that we leave alone and separate from our . . . our friendship for now.”

The contact of his finger under my chin doesn’t seem to be enough, so I wrap my hand around his broad wrist.

“Rhys, there are so many things that could screw up our friendship. I don’t want music to be one of them.”

His thumb caresses my jaw and emotion smolders his eyes to pewter.

“Nothing will screw up our . . . friendship.” His smile promises things that make my heartbeat stutter. “If anything, sharing our music will only add to what we have. You know how important music is to me, right?”

I nod because, obviously.

“And you know how important you are to me, right?”

I don’t nod. I don’t breathe. The warmth in his eyes slows the blood down until I’m sure it’s merely crawling through my veins. Everything in my body pauses, waiting for his next words. He leans closer, both hands cupping my face, our eyes still connected by this sweet, fiery thread.

“I was almost glad to have an excuse to get out of my parents’ house today.” Rhyson is so close that his breath begs entrance at my lips. “It was hard to leave you on Christmas Eve. This is where I wanted to be.”

He drops a hand to touch the Pepper nameplate necklace he gave me for Christmas, something in his eyes, in his fingers, laying claim.

“
You
are where I wanted to be.” His hand slips beneath my hair to stroke the sensitive skin of my neck. “That’s how important you are to me.”

The door swinging open behind us shatters this fragile moment. I turn to see Aunt Ruthie at the door.

“It’s time.” She waves her hand out to the hall. “Come on.”

“Already?” I squeak, my heart dropping several floors down to my feet. “But we didn’t get to really rehearse or anything.”

“You’ve sung this song a thousand times, Kai Anne.” Aunt Ruthie opens the door wider. “You could sing your ABCs and these people would love it. They love you and have missed you. Now get that li’l butt in gear.”

“Yeah, Kai Anne.” Rhyson’s smile teases me. He’s loving this. “Get that li’l butt in gear.”

I narrow my eyes at him, warning of retribution later. It’s not the congregation I’m worried about. They remember when I couldn’t sing worth a hill of beans. I grew up in front of them. Many of them helped Mama raise me in some ways after Daddy left. It’s not them. It’s
him
.

Rhyson grabs the acoustic and walks past me into the hall, giving me one last smile over his shoulder.

“You’ll be fine. Come on.”

And once we’re on the small stage, surrounded by the familiar faces I’ve missed so much, seated in the pews that gave me splinters growing up, I am kind of fine. Nerves still flutter in my belly, and my breath still comes shallow and faster than it should, but as I take the stool next to Rhyson’s, I think I’ll be fine. I grab one of the two mics set up for us.

“How y’all doing tonight?”

The hundred or so people gathered clap and grin and hoot and holler at me. Or maybe it’s for the rock star beside me.

“As you can see,” a small smile settles on my lips, and I spare Rhyson a quick glance, only his eyes are fixed on me like the crowd isn’t even there, “I have a friend with me tonight. Some of you may know him.”

Rhyson smiles and waves when the crowd gets louder, a few of the younger ones screaming his name. He’s been so open. I don’t want to see that guard drop and block all of that.

“I have a favor to ask of you, family.” I smile, meeting as many eyes as I can. “Most of you know who Rhyson is, and I know it’s exciting to have him with us.”

I look at him, and my grin kind of falls apart when our eyes meet. Even though every look we exchange telegraphs it, I try to hide how much he means to me so everyone won’t see it.

“I’m as excited as anyone to have him here.” I look back to the crowd, firming my lips like I saw Mama do when she meant business. “But I’m asking you to put the phones away. He’s celebrating Christmas with us and is singing my mama’s favorite Christmas carol with me. I’m gonna ask that you don’t record it. Don’t put it on YouTube or make a Vine out of it. Don’t Instagram it. Just let it be.”

I soften the severe line of my mouth with a smile.

“Can you do that for me, family?”

The congregation cheers, answering with a chorus of “yes” and nods.

“Well, all right then.”

Emotion drenches every part of me as I approach Mama’s favorite moment of the holidays. She said she felt closer to God on this night, during this song, than any other time of the year. And tonight, as Rhyson strums the opening notes, I feel closer to her.

I close my eyes and forget that one of the biggest rock stars on the planet is accompanying me. I’ve sung this song so many times, I don’t even have to think about the words. I just breathe and they come out.

“O, holy night, the stars are brightly shining.”

The lyrics, older than this church, older than all of us, older than this town, immediately take my heart into their grip, reminding me of how they always affected my mother. I sink into the lyrics of the first verse. As the words, the holy sentiments, penetrate my heart and settle on my soul, tears gather behind my closed eyes. I hold on to the notes, even though emotion blisters my throat. We come to the chorus, and just like he said he would, Rhyson adds a husky harmony to my voice on the plane above his.

These notes, these lyrics, these moments feel holy. Pure. Clean. Our voices twine around each other, meshing and separating, blending, bowing, and rising up, up, up until it’s too much. There’s no holding the tears back. The way our voices wrap around one another, joy and sorrow do the same. I feel sorrow that Mama is not here to witness this. That this year, this moment, this
life
goes on without her. But I feel joy that I am alive. I’m here. I can offer this up to the world the way she always wanted me to. And joy that I will see her again.

That climactic note of the song, the word “divine,” reaches up to the rafters. Rhyson drops away and allows my voice to soar on that note alone, piercing the absolute silence that blankets the room.

And it is perfect. Tonight, together, we are perfect.

The last note drifts away, and I open my eyes to see cheeks as wet as mine all around the room. For a few moments, there is no applause. A collective reverence hangs over the crowd until the clapping begins. I look over at Rhyson, and when our eyes connect, the rest of the room falls away. It’s just us. Even in a roomful of people, it’s just us. I recognize that look on his face. That’s how I felt that first day in Grady’s music room. Rhyson’s music caressed my heart and shook my soul. And even if he never says it, the look on his face tells me this song arrested him that way. And like me, he, will never forget what we just shared on this stage.

Pastor Charles’s arm around my shoulder pulls me back into the moment with the congregation. He took over pastoring when Daddy left, and has been the kind of pastor Glory Falls deserved. The kind Pops would have been proud of. He takes the mic from my tight fist and starts speaking.

“Glory Falls, it’s good to have Kai home, ain’t it?”

I smile back at all the familiar faces. I was so glad to get out of this town, so ready to get away from the disappointment and the pain this place held, I almost forgot how much I loved the people.

“As most of you know,” Pastor Charles continues. “Kai’s mama, Mai Lin, passed away a few months ago.”

The hurt squeezes my heart, but somehow not as tightly. Its grip is less brutal. Is this what healing feels like? I share a small smile with Rhyson, acknowledging only to myself what a huge part he has played in the process.

“Lin was a rock for this church and for this community.” Pastor Charles swallows emotion, blinking away tears. “I’ll never forget how welcome she made me and my family feel when we moved here to lead Glory Falls Baptist.”

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.