“YOU READY FOR THIS?” SAN FLICKS a quick glance from the road to me in the passenger seat.
“Of course. You know I love weddings.” I stroke the ribbon on the gift in my lap, avoiding San’s eyes. “And I love Grady and Em.”
“You didn’t answer the real question.” San gives me a wry look. “Are you ready to see Rhyson?”
There are things we need to get straight. Things we need to fix. Our last conversation wasn’t great. I’ve been angry at him. He’s been frustrated with me. But I know we still love each other. That chain still linking our hearts tells me that. But what do I want to do about it? I’ve spent the last two months sorting through this pile of hurt, seeing if I can get past it and back to him. And even if I can, how am I going to be with him and keep that tape from coming out?
“Kai?” San presses.
“Yeah, I heard you,” I answer. “Even if we can work things out, there’s still the tape.”
My eyes wander to the gorgeous ocean view alongside this narrow, curving road, not really seeing it. Too caught up in what, or rather who, waits for me at Grady’s wedding.
“I still have no idea who’s behind that video. I assume Drex is connected to it, but why the anonymous text?” I clamp the inside of my jaw between my teeth. “Until we get to the bottom of it, find that video, convince them to destroy it if I can, I need everyone to at least believe that Rhyson and I are done.”
San opens his mouth, and I can already tell by the look in his eyes what he’ll say. He wants me to tell Rhyson. We’ve gone back and forth about this, but I won’t budge. God, how can I? Before he gets to make his case again, my phone comes to life in my lap with a text from an unknown number. I swipe to see the full message. A gasp rushes past my lips, and my fingers tremble around the phone. I drop it like it’s on fire and it falls by my feet.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, my hand covering my mouth to catch the words. “He released the tape.”
“What?” San’s eyes swing away from the twisting road to search my face. The truck swings dangerously close to the edge. “Shit.”
He pulls off to the narrow shoulder, kills the engine and unsnaps his seat belt, reaching to the floor to retrieve my phone.
If you can be numb and electrified all at once, I am. Every cell of my body buzzes with shock even as shame numbs me piece by piece, a slow, steady creep until I can’t feel my fingers or toes. But I feel my heart, and it throbs as if it’s suffered a blow. I don’t even think about the millions of people who will now see that tape. I can only think of one. I can only think of Rhyson.
“Kai, I don’t think . . .” San’s forehead furrows as he considers the phone screen. Irritation presses his lips together. “He’s fucking with you. It’s not real.”
“What?” The question dies on my lips when he turns the phone for me to look again.
The picture hasn’t changed. It’s a still of the tape, my face clearly visible, Drex leering over my back and shoulders. There’s a post accompanying it, the headline proclaiming “Rising Star, Rhyson’s Ex, Caught In The Act!”
Seeing it, reading it a second time only turns my stomach more, and I reach for the door handle because I think I need to puke. I’ll dump what little is in my stomach right here in the dirt of this oceanside road.
“Look closer.” San tosses the phone to my lap. “Actually read it.”
I cautiously pick up the phone and scan the graphic and post again. The picture is exactly what I thought it was—me and Drex in the most compromising position imaginable. But the post, when I read it, is just gibberish. Letters thrown together and making no actual words. I’m still processing what this means when a second text comes over.
Unknown: This could so easily be real. Remember that when you see Rhyson at the wedding today. Remember what I said. It’s over between you two, or this goes LIVE.
Before I think better of it, my fingers zoom over the keys.
Me: Drex, is this you? Why are you doing this? I need to talk to you. Please.
I call the number, but it just rings. No voice mail. No answer. Nothing.
I hold the phone, waiting for it to vibrate in my hand with a response, an explanation, anything that will help this make sense and show me how to make it all go away. San and I sit there on the side of the road for minutes, quiet and waiting, but apparently my blackmailer is done tormenting me for now.
“Just tell Rhys.” Concern weights the look San gives me. “That takes all the power away from this son of a bitch.”
“Are you out of your ever-loving mind?” I turn as far as my seat belt will allow me to face him, back pressed to the door. “This isn’t some game, San. This is my life. My relationship, if I can still salvage it. My reputation. Rhyson can’t ever see that video. No one can. I only told you because I knew you were the only one I could trust to help me.”
“I know, but I remember the way Rhys was the night of the fight. The night you left. The guy was . . . despondent. He loves you. He wouldn’t let something like that from your past ruin your future together.”
“And you didn’t see his face when I tried to tell him everything about that night with Drex. He couldn’t hear it. He said the only reason he can get past it is because he doesn’t know the details.” I hold up the phone with the trashy still splattered over the screen. “And doesn’t ever want to.”
“Yeah, he cut me off when I tried to explain, too.”
“See! If he can’t even hear about me being with Drex, imagine him watching . . .” The image of Drex pounding into me from behind invades my mind, his grunts and gasps stinging my ears. “Oh, God. If Rhyson sees that tape, I don’t know if he can get past it. He and Drex hate each other so much.”
“Speaking of which, there’s still no sign of Drex. It’s like he’s disappeared into thin air. He’s not anywhere. He’s even sublet his apartment.” San gives me a quick apologetic glance before starting the engine again. “I’m trying. I’ve been discreet, but I’m using every resource at my disposal through Spotted. It’s hard to quietly investigate something like that when it involves two rock stars.”
“I’m not a rock star yet.” I give a little bark of a laugh. “And I’m not sure I’d classify Drex as one, either.”
“Well, he’s famous enough, and between your relationship with Rhys and the tour, now so are you. If I poke around too much, and the wrong people get a whiff of it, they’ll go digging and maybe figure things out before we do. And that you don’t want.”
No, that I can’t have.
“How does he just disappear?” I knot my hands in my lap. “He may not be an A-lister, but he is a celebrity. No sightings of him? Nothing? We have to find him, San. I need to talk to him. He has to want something else. Just Rhyson and me not being together? It doesn’t make sense.”
“And why the anonymity of the text message from some burner phone when he’s obviously involved?”
“Did your guys find out anything from the cell number?”
“It’s in the name of some corporation that, as far as we can tell,” San says, sparing me a quick glance, “doesn’t really exist. I mean, on paper it does, but nothing that has lead us to a real person once you sort through the maze of paperwork covering up the identity. No apparent link to Drex that I’ve found.”
I swallow the fear that churns in my belly, rises past my chest, and splashes into my throat when I think of the threats.
“If he wants to blackmail you, he’s not being very stealth about it. He’s the obvious person to have that video, since he made it and would presumably have access that no one else would.” San shakes his head, dark brows squeezed together in a frown. “And then he disappears right after you receive the threat.”
“I have no idea what he’s thinking.” I glance out the window, taking in the ocean bordering the winding road. “I just know he’s making my already complicated situation with Rhyson that much harder.”
“I hear ya about Rhyson not getting past it, but I think you’re wrong.” San takes one hand off the wheel to grab mine even though his eyes don’t leave the road. “You should trust him.”
“Trust?” I blow my anxiety out in a long puff of air. “That’s the one thing we don’t have a lot of right now after what he did.”
“Well, you can’t say he hasn’t been trying to make up for it. You’ve been ignoring him for two months.”
“I couldn’t deal.” Though none of it is funny, a laugh breezes past my lips. “Between the demands of the tour and the huge learning curve, and being threatened with a sex tape, I just couldn’t deal with everything. My time on tour was the best thing for us, I think, though I know he doesn’t agree. I wasn’t ready.”
“And now?” San asks.
“I miss him. You know I do.” I close my eyes tightly. “I love him. It would be a lot to work through under normal circumstances. This tape only makes it harder.”
“And you won’t even consider telling him about it?”
The question reminds me of that loose end I have to tie up before I can be with Rhyson, free and clear and out in the open. The loose end that is on my phone, coiling in my lap like a noose. If I can keep him from ever seeing that sex tape, I will. I have to try. Because what if that tape, not our fight, is the very thing that makes me lose him for good?
“Let’s keep trying this my way for now and see what we find.”
San goes quiet, still not looking convinced that my way is the right way when we pull up to the venue, formerly a private estate that now hosts weddings and other events. The cream-colored limestone house with its circular steps and wide veranda welcome us as warmly as the wedding hostesses.
San hands the keys to his shiny new Tahoe over to the valet. Steady work at Spotted is paying off. We’ve both moved up fast in the world. He’s even in a new apartment downtown, where I’m crashing for my one week off tour. I’ll figure out living arrangements when I’m done in another month. Maybe by then, I’ll have the whole video problem solved. Maybe by then I’ll have the whole Rhyson problem solved, too.
My problem is standing in the slab-stoned foyer where guests gather as they wait to be ushered into the backyard. Rhys wears a dark suit and a sky blue tie, eyes dark and intense and set on me, waiting for me. I could never forget the pewter eyes that barrel through my defenses, or the hair, dark but dappled with deep copper streaks, or the beautifully rugged symmetry of his features. I didn’t forget, but everything about him impacts me like it’s the first time, trapping the breath in my throat. Our eyes haven’t even met yet, and I already feel the tug of that chain. I was a fool to underestimate this pull. It’s only now that he’s within touching distance that I realize how foolish I was to think I could resist him.
He steps into my path so there’s no avoiding him, his eyes licking heat over my body in the periwinkle dress molding to my torso, clinging to my arms from shoulder to elbow, and belling out from my waist to stop just above my knees. For a moment, we just stare at one another, drinking in the details until I can’t take it another second and free my eyes from his, looking instead at the simple flats on my feet.
“Kai, hey.” He flicks a dismissive look at San by my side. “San.”
“Rhyson, good to see you.” San smirks, standing there when he knows good and doggone well Rhyson wants to talk to me alone. He just pokes Rhys sometimes to watch him jerk. Rhys levels an annoyed look at San.
“Dude, take a walk.”
San slides his glance to me, brows raised, silently asking me if it’s okay to leave.
“It’s fine.” I assure him with a smile. “I’ll catch up.”
San saunters off, finding someone I don’t know to chat with a few feet away, leaving Rhyson and me alone. The air charges with every breath we draw, both of us waiting for the other to speak. Rhyson finally goes first.
“I see you still have your guard dog.” He frowns over at San before returning his attention to me.
“We’ve been taking care of each other a long time.” I still don’t, can’t quite fully meet his eyes.
Whatever small talk I thought we might make disintegrates as soon as I brave a glance up at him. The space between our eyes, our bodies, pulses with tension and heat.
“Pep, you’ve got to stop looking at me like that,” Rhyson says, voice strung low and tight.
“Like what? I . . .”
He dips his head, looking up from beneath the dark brows in a way that tells me I know exactly how I’m looking at him. Like he’s a wall I want to scale and devour everything on the other side of. That’s how it feels, assaulting me without warning. The desire to reclaim, repossess him.
“You’re looking at me like you wanna get fucked in this foyer,” he answers softly.
His husky words set my cheeks on fire, and I lower my eyes so he won’t see just how accurate that statement is. Maybe a little time and distance dulled my memory of this connection that vibrates between us like a physical thing exploding onto my senses. Our passion sprinkles across my tongue. Our lust hovers like a torch just shy of my skin. Our love—an ultrasonic boom, out of frequency for everyone but the two of us.
“I-I guess I didn’t really think about how it would be seeing you again.” I glance up at him once I have my body set to simmer.
“And I haven’t been able to think of anything else.” His eyes never leave my face, and I can’t look away for the life of me. We’ve trapped each other, and less and less I want to wiggle free.
“It’s good to see you,” I manage.
“Is it?”
He takes my hand, pulling me subtly closer inch by inch. His thumb brushing over my wrist electrifies the skin, jolting me back to my surroundings. A glance around confirms that several people watch us closely, probably waiting for a replay of the last scene Rhyson and I entertained the world with. Is one of them keeping tabs on me for my blackmailer? Could one of them be . . . him? I jerk my hand away, slipping it into the slit pocket of my skirt.
Rhyson stiffens, eyes narrowing.
“So I can’t touch you now?”
“It’s not that.” I step back, allowing myself room to catch my breath and patch my composure back together. “Or maybe it is that, at least not in front of all these people itching to grab their camera phones.”
“You’re not leaving this wedding without talking to me.” He captures my eyes with his. “I can’t trust that you’ll answer my calls or text me back or see me, and you only have a week off tour.”
I glance uneasily at the clusters of wedding guests milling around the spacious foyer.
“I’m not sure, Rhys.”
“Well, I am, and I don’t care who hears or sees, so if you want to avoid attention, I suggest you listen.”
I don’t put it past him to make a scene. What if Drex isn’t working alone? Whoever sent that mock up knew I was coming to the wedding today. Somehow they know my schedule. The last thing I need is to tip off the crazy person holding that disgusting video over my head. I have to be careful.
“Okay, what are you thinking?” I ask.
“You want to know what I’m thinking right now?” A grin quirks his full lips. “Well, in my mind, you’re not wearing any clothes and—”
“Rhyson.” I close my eyes, hating the insistent heat flooding my face. “I mean about us . . . talking. What are you thinking?”
“There’s my blush.” He dusts his knuckles across my cheekbone. Despite the eyes I feel on us, I can’t pull back. Finally, his hand falls away. “There’s an orchard that borders the yard out back where the ceremony’s being held. Through that orchard, on the other side, is an old barn.”
“When?” I flick an anxious glance over the small crowd around us, my voice barely reaching a whisper.
“I have all kinds of responsibilities today.” A smile softens the firm line of his mouth. “Best man stuff.”
He shrugs, running a hand through his hair, longer than I’ve ever seen it, falling past his neck, riotous, thick and dark. My fingers itch to get in there, to twist into it.
“So the last thing I have to do is the best man toast.” His words draw my attention from the affair I’m having with his hair in my head. “After that, slip away to the barn.”
My mind catches up to his plan for us to talk. It’s reckless. Foolhardy. Any hint that Rhyson and I are together could set off a salacious fire I won’t be able to put out. Even standing here with him now so close is dangerous. But seeing him, being so close that his familiar scent lures me to lean in, I hurl caution far to the wind. I’ll slip away. I have to.
Before I get the chance to tell him so, Bristol strides over to us, her dark hair up and elegant. Her tall frame sheathed in a dress the same blue as Rhyson’s tie.
“Rhys, we need you.” She doesn’t even look at me or acknowledge my presence. “They want to make sure the piano is still tuned the way you want it. Something about the weather affecting it outdoors.”
“Yeah, I need to check that.” He looks back to me, eyes intent. “I’ll give you a shout out during the song I’m playing.”
I’m used to this by now, so I know he means he’ll tug his ear like he usually does during performances.
“You wrote a song for them?” I ask.
He leans in until his breath touches my ear, until his fingers touch my elbow, so his words can touch my heart.
“No, I wrote a song for you.”
He pulls back, studying the effect his words have on me. I know what he must see. The blush heating my face again. The deep breath lifting my chest. The lashes I drop to hide from him. He sees it all, I’m sure. What he doesn’t see, the only thing I can hide is how my heart twists around inside of me. How anticipation speeds my pulse.
“Rhyson, we need to go.” Bristol looks at me for the first time. “Hey, Kai, thanks for pointing Qwest my way. Hopefully I can hook her up with Grip.”
“Hopefully.” I give her a tentative smile. “She seemed sweet.”
“Sweet?” Bristol lets out a rough laugh. “Not that I noticed, but she doesn’t need to be. Anyway, you’ll have to excuse us. We need to get in there.”
“After the toast.” Rhyson waits for me to confirm.
I nod wordlessly. I’ve barely lost sight of his broad shoulders in the dark, well-tailored jacket when San rejoins me. I just shake my head, warning him not to ask any questions now. We’re ushered through a room where long tables hold wedding gifts. When San and I drop off our gifts, he starts a conversation with a student from one of Grady’s music classes. I’m turning away, about to walk through the French doors into the backyard when a slim, cool hand on my arm stops me.
“Kai, so good to see you again,” Angela Gray says, her eyes disconcertingly similar to Rhyson’s and Bristol’s. “I’m glad you could make it.”
“You are? I mean . . . yes, ma’am.” I lick my lips, hoping I don’t say anything to make her like me less than she did the last time we met. “It’s good to see you again, too. How’s Mr. Gray?”
Angela allows her sculpted brows a tiny frown.
“He had a small setback, or he’d be here today. Open heart surgery recovery can be difficult, and it’s only been a few months, but we found an excellent facility here and have been very pleased.”
“Rhyson mentioned you were moving to LA.” I keep my smile polite. “I hope the transition hasn’t complicated Mr. Gray’s recovery at all?”
“Oh, no.” Angela waves her hand. “Gorgeous weather and finally on better terms with our son, he couldn’t be happier.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“And we’re coming back together as a family,” she says. “Did Rhyson tell you we may be starting family counseling soon?”
“Oh, we haven’t . . .” I reach up to touch the nameplate necklace Rhyson gave me out of habit, but it’s not there, so my hands drop to my sides. “Rhyson and I aren’t together anymore, Mrs. Gray. I thought you knew.”
Surely everyone knows after that video.
“Yes, I knew.” Something that is probably the closest she can come to sympathy enters her eyes. “I just assumed . . . well, the two of you seemed to be friends even before you were . . . more, so I wasn’t sure if you still talk.”
“We were.” I look around to find San still deep in conversation. “We are. It’s just . . . complicated.”
“Believe me. I know how difficult Rhyson can be.”
“He’s not difficult.” I blurt the defense before I can stop it. “I mean, he’s complex, yes, but not difficult. At least I wouldn’t say so.”
“I see you still have feelings for him.” She pulls her thin lips into a matte red moue.
I smooth the belled skirt of my dress, running my fingers over the raised flowers embroidered into the material. Caution slows my response. There’s nothing maternal about Angela Gray. If anything I hate how she’s hurt Rhyson in the past. She’s the one who got him hooked on prescription drugs when he was still just a boy so he could perform under pressure. She doesn’t trust me with her son, and I certainly don’t trust her with him.
“Let’s just say Rhyson’s not an easy guy to get over.” I look up from my skirt and offer a smile that tells her nothing more.
She pats my hand, that supposed sympathy evident in her eyes again.
“I’m sure you’ll manage, dear. There’s someone out there for you.”
The thought of being with anyone other than Rhyson nauseates me, but I just wax a smile onto my face. I wish she’d rip away the thin layer of pleasantry and voice what is so apparent beneath her polite smiles and condescending words. I wish she’d just say I’m not good enough for her son. That someone like Petra is better suited, is her preference. But she’s not prepared to be that sincere at her brother-in-law’s wedding in front of two hundred guests, and neither am I. I’m saved from responding to her candy-coated gibe when San walks up.
“Sorry to interrupt.” San smiles at Mrs. Gray before looking back to me. “But they’re seating now.”
“Of course.” I gesture to Mrs. Gray. “San, this is Mrs. Gray, Rhyson and Bristol’s mother. Mrs. Gray, my friend, Santos.”
“Nice to meet you.” San’s smile doesn’t slip, but his eyes chill a degree or two. He knows the history between Rhyson and his parents as well as I do. As well as everyone does.
“Yes, nice to meet you, too.” Her eyes flit from me to my good-looking best friend, speculating about a relationship between us. Maybe it’s best I let her believe that.
“Ready if you are.” I link my arm through San’s, smiling up at him warmly. “Let’s go.”
We’re a few feet ahead of her when San leans down to whisper in my ear.
“What was that all about?”
“Nothing. She doesn’t like me, at least not for Rhyson. It was all she could do not to jump up and down that we aren’t together anymore.”
“She must not have seen you together when we first got here.” San lets out a low whistle. “You could have boiled an egg between the two of you.”
“He wants me to meet him.”
“I just bet he does,” San says with a chuckle. “Two months is a long time. Wedding fucks are the best.”
“Not for . . . not for that, San.”
“I’d bet my next check it is for that.”
I ignore all the tingly places his suggestion ignites, and don’t bother responding since we’ve reached our seats. Instead, I settle into the white folding chair and absorb the beauty of this day. Not the green carpet of grass under our feet, vibrant, verdant. Or the canopy of cloud and cerulean sky overhead, with the sun glowing bright and gold. Not the trees, Spring heavy on their branches, blossoms scenting the air. No, the beauty of a man who has always sought good for others, finally finding so much good for himself.
Grady didn’t have to take me under his wing when I moved here, a country bumpkin fresh off the truck, green as a watermelon. But he did. He looked out for me, for San, and so many of his other students. He looked out for Rhyson, when his parents should have but didn’t, and for that I’m more appreciative than a beautifully wrapped gift from Williams-Sonoma could ever express.
I cry a little when Grady takes his place at the front under an arch of crimson roses. So much of the good I see in Rhyson is because of Grady. Seeing Rhsyon standing beside the man who’s been more of a father to him than his natural father only stirs the emotion more. I reach into my little clutch where I stuffed Kleenex. I thought that was all the preparation I’d need, but wiping away the tears doesn’t wipe away the emotion that goes even beyond Grady.
I want this.
It hits me out of nowhere, as incongruous as rain would be on this bright, sunny day, but that doesn’t make it less true. Even with all we still have to work out, even with the tape threatening me, even when right now I’m not even sure I trust him, I know I love him. And I want this. A gorgeous day with Rhyson standing there waiting for me at the end of a path of roses like the one Emmy’s walking down now, with a crowd of family and friends standing when I enter. I want an impractical white dress that I’ll only wear once and that costs entirely too much. Something I can save for our girls just in case one of them wants to wear it one day. With all the crap we still have to sort, that feels like an improbable light at the end of an impossible tunnel, but I want this more than I ever wanted to perform. The idea that one lonely, careless night with an asshole who hates the man I love could ruin those possibilities for me, for us, chokes me. Lodges emotion in my throat too thick to swallow past.
“You okay?” San whispers.
“Yeah.” I give a jerky nod, sniffling and patting at the corners of my eyes as the minister tells us we can take our seats again. “You know how I am at weddings.”
San studies my profile, but I refuse to look at him. The man sees enough without looking into my eyes. And then Rhyson’s voice makes me forget San is even there.
“Thank you for celebrating this great day with Grady and Em,” Rhyson says from behind a piano on a slightly raised dais. “This is a day I’ve been really looking forward to. Probably not as much as Grady has, though.”
The crowd laughs, and Rhyson smiles into the mic.
“For as long as I can remember, Grady and I have shared the songs we’re working on. When he heard this song for my next album, he asked me to sing it today. And even though I wrote it for my girl, today it’s from Grady to his. It’s called My Soul To Keep.”
I keep a straight face, even though several sets of eyes swing in my direction, watching for a response. Wondering if I’m still “his girl.” Wondering if he wrote this song for me. My expression remains impassive, but heat and pleasure combust in my chest, setting fire to every part of me waiting to hear my song.
Rhyson looks up from the piano, and a moment of déjà vu transports me back to the first time we met in Grady’s studio, when I saw only a sliver of him at the piano, just enough to fascinate me. Only this time he’s searching for me. I know it. He scans the crowd, looking methodically up and down rows until he finds me. Eyes locked with mine, he tugs his ear before launching into the first words.
I was lost before you found me, or maybe I found you
Maybe it was fate or kismet, or something much more true
It could have been an answered prayer, a sacred certainty
All I know is what we have now. I’ve got no plans to leave
Not an ocean, not forever
Nothing wide or deep
Will ever end this love between us
My soul is yours to keep
To have the full power of Rhyson’s gift fixed on me, his talent with words, the nimble fingers loving the keys, the force of his charisma turned on me, is overwhelming. I sit up straight, but inside I’m slumped over from the force of these intimate moments between him and me with a crowd looking on.
From there, things blur. Grady and Em tearfully pledge themselves to each other. By the end of their vows, my Kleenex is a limp, damp useless blob in my fist. I have vague impressions of food in my mouth. I’m sure it’s delicious, but I barely taste it. I don’t look at Rhyson, and I don’t think he looks at me much either. He’s giving Grady and the reception his full attention, and I love him for that.
Grady and Em make their rounds, greeting guests. When they come to our table, I almost lose it again because Emmy has always been beautiful, but today she’s something different—that blissed-out beauty that must be reserved for the special day when you marry your soul mate.
“I’m so glad you could make it, Kai.” Grady pulls me close, bending to whisper in my ear. “You-know-who made sure you’d be here.”
“He told me.” I pull back to look in his eyes, offering him a smile. “I’m so happy for you, Grady. You deserve this more than anyone I know.”
“Thank you.” He glances at Emmy, who’s chatting with San. “She’s something else.”
“So are you.” I lean up to kiss his cheek.
“Have you and Rhys worked things out? He’s driving me crazy. Our honeymoon is basically an excuse to get away from him.”
I smother a chuckle with my palm, shaking my head. I catch Rhyson’s eyes across the room, watching us. Watching me. The smile dies because as much as I want him, I have to protect him. I have to protect us from whoever wants to keep us apart.
“We still have some things to work out, but it’ll be okay, Grady.”
“He handled things badly,” Grady says, eyes sober. “Believe me. I made sure he knew how badly he messed up, but he loves you, Kai. You know that.”
“I know that, yes.”
“And you love him, too, right?”
I drop my eyes to the bright green grass under our feet.
“You know I do, Grady.”
“Then you’ll be fine. It might be hard, but if there’s two people who know how to get through hard things, it’s the two of you.”
I wag a finger up at him.
“Will you forget about us? Today is your day. We’ll figure it out.”
Even after he and Emmy have moved on to the next table, his words stay with me. I wish it was just hard. The tape is a complication I never saw coming. It’s a mess I made, a bad spill I’m determined to clean up before it reaches Rhyson.
The closer we get to the toasts, the slicker my palms become. The faster my heart races. The shorter my breath comes.
“Could I have your attention?” Rhyson finally clinks his champagne flute. “Me again. I promise it’s the last time.”
The crowd laughs, eating up all this face time with Rhyson, who they so rarely see in intimate settings like this. This isn’t him onstage or begrudgingly doing some interview, but it’s him with his family. With his friends, relaxed, joking, happy for Grady. It’s rare, and they love it. So do I.
“I have to go back to the beginning.” Rhyson looks at Grady with a small smile. “When I was really young, I used to get Grady confused with my father all the time because they’re twins.”
He finds Bristol in the crowd and points to her.
“There’s my twin, Bristol. Twins run pretty hard in our family.”
Bristol raises a glass, an enduring smile on her face until the attention shifts back to her brother.
“Anyway, I often ran to him when he was around, if I got hurt or needed something because he looked just like my dad.” Rhyson’s face sobers, and he drops his gaze to the champagne glass in his hand. “In a lot of ways, he’s been a second father to me. He taught me so many important things. Not tying my shoes or riding a bike. He taught me about being kind to people, though sometimes I’m still not very good at that.”
Rhyson gives half a chuckle before looking right at Grady.
“You taught me that I’m more than my music. More than talent, and that I could be loved for who I am, not for all the other stuff.”
Something so special and private passes between Grady and Rhys, I can barely watch. It’s the moment Rhyson should have had with his father, but maybe never will. I’m kind of glad his father isn’t here to see what he forfeited with such a special man. My eyes drift to Angela Gray just a few rows ahead of me. Her posture stiff, her lips tight in profile, her hands clenched in her lap. She is here witnessing that. I don’t know if it’s anger or hurt or some helix of the two, but emotion comes off her like an echo. I don’t hear it, but I feel it the way a clanging cymbal vibrates in your chest.
Emmy’s sister does her toast, and my eyes seek Rhyson out immediately, blood pounding at my wrists. He’s talking to Grip, who has wrangled his dreads into a long, winding trail down his back. Grip nods, and Rhyson catches me looking at them. He flicks his head toward the orchard before returning his eyes to his best friend, concentrating on what he’s saying.
There are so many people eating, dancing, talking, I’m confident I can slip off unnoticed, but of course one person does notice.
“You got protection?” San grins at me over his almost-empty champagne flute.
Exasperation rolls my eyes and twists my lips, but I just shake my head.
“I won’t need it.”
“Oh, that’s right, you get the shot.”
“Would you stop?” I hiss at him, glancing around to make sure no one nearby heard him publicly declaring my chosen method of birth control. “I really am gonna stop telling you girl stuff.”
“You been saying that since seventh grade.” His eyes comb the crowd like mine have done so many times since we arrived. “And be careful. We don’t know who’s watching.”
The reminder of today’s text message weighs me down for a second and makes me wonder if I should meet Rhyson after all, though I don’t have much choice. He really might make a scene if I don’t follow through on my promise. But like he has so many times before, San distracts me with his warped humor.
He takes a sip of his champagne and gives me a lazy grin. “And don’t stain that dress.”
“I . . . you . . . ugh.” I turn to walk away, tossing my last words over one shoulder. “I’ll be back.”
San’s laugh chases me all the way to the edge of the yard. Step by tiny, discreet step, I inch my way toward a small opening in the thicket. I pick through the orchard, which is so thick with apple and pear trees that sunlight barely peers through. At one point, the path forks, and I’m not sure which way to turn. I just stand in the cool orchard shade, looking from left to right.
A wall of muscle warm at my back steals my breath.
“Are you lost?” Rhyson whispers into my ear, linking our hands.
No. After two months, finally found.
I look up at him over my shoulder, and can’t help but think about the song we first bonded over. The lyrics of Lost, track number nine, mark his body and touch my heart. I guard my eyes, hoping he won’t see how good it feels to be this close to him again.
“Where’s the barn?” I look back over the path I followed to reach this point. “No one followed you?”
“We’re not secret agents, Kai.” Rhyson starts moving down the left path, pulling me along. “You’re the one who cares if people know about us. I certainly don’t.”
“There isn’t an ‘us’ again yet, Rhys.” My hand gripping his as we rush toward the light breaking through the thick overgrowth makes a lie of my words.
He looks at me, eyes narrowed and mouth compressed into a flat line.
“There’s always an ‘us,’ Kai. You know that.”
I drag my eyes away from his and look at the clearing we’ve reached. Just ahead stands a red barn that looks like it’s seen better days, but still holds a certain charm. The heavy door falls back when Rhyson pushes, and he pulls me in behind him, letting the door slam shut. He gestures ahead to a ladder leading up to a loft above.
“After you.”
I climb up ahead of him, but pause when his hands circle my waist from behind. His fingers splay over my stomach, and he presses his head to my back, drawing a deep breath.
“Keep going,” he says, voice heavy and husky.
The ladder only takes us a few feet above the ground, so I know it isn’t altitude making me lightheaded and breathless. It’s his touch. His breath ruffling the hair at my neck when we reach the top. His hands on my shoulders, squeezing. His thumb tracing sensuous circles over my collarbone. I’m struggling to hold on to my composure, to my resolve, when I take the last step up and onto the top floor.
A tablecloth, I presume from the caterer since it looks like the ones from the reception, covers a small patch of hay. A bucket filled with ice and a bottle of champagne grace the middle of the white cloth. Two huge chunks of wedding cake under glass sit beside it.
“This is nice.” I clear my throat. “How’d you pull it off when they haven’t even cut the cake yet?”
“I left it to Marlon and didn’t ask. He may have slept with the caterer to get this. It’s better if we don’t know.” Rhyson chuckles. “We don’t have much time before Grady and Em leave. I want to see them off, so let’s sit and eat.”
He traps my eyes with a determined look.
“And talk.”
I drop to the cloth, arranging the skirt over my knees. For a few minutes, we eat in silence, reacquainting ourselves with the solitude of each other. We never needed small talk. Never needed other people. Just each other. I think we’re poking around in this silence to make sure that hasn’t changed. I’m halfway through my mammoth piece of cake before I slow down and actually taste it.
“I love wedding cake,” I mumble, passing my fingers over my lips to rid them of crumbs.
“I see that,” he says with a straight face, even though his eyes tease me.
I give him my evil eye, but my lips twitch.
“You can afford it, though.” His eyes lose their humor as they run over me. “You’ve lost weight.”
“Dancing twelve hours a day for two months’ll do that.” I gather a dollop of icing from the plate and slide it into my mouth.
“And you look tired.”
“Gee, thanks, Rhys.” I grab a napkin to wipe the sweet icing residue from my fingers.
“I’m just saying.” He pushes his clear glass plate of cake away. “And you sound tired, too. Is Malcolm building vocal rest into your schedule?”
“Let’s not do this.” I push away what’s left of my cake, too. “Talking about my career certainly won’t get us far.”
“Just don’t come into the studio tomorrow sounding like that.”
“Tomorrow?” I frown, clueless about what he means. Luke and I are recording a song for his new album tomorrow, but I’m not sure what that has to do with Rhyson.
“Luke didn’t tell you?” Rhyson runs a hand over the back of his neck. “I wrote that duet you’re recording tomorrow with Luke.”
“Oh,” is all I manage before he follows up with even better news.
“And I’m producing it. He may be keeping my involvement low key because he knows Malcolm and I aren’t exactly best buds. Malcolm might try to interfere if he knew.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.” Rhyson takes a sip of the champagne. “I’m not easy in the studio.”
“You’re not easy out of it, either.”
Maybe his mother was right about him being difficult, because none of this feels easy. My first time in the studio recording professionally? Not a demo, but a real track that will be heard everywhere? And Rhyson’s producing? I knew we were recording at Wood, the studio Rhys co-owns, but Luke always records there, so I thought nothing of it. Why didn’t Luke at least tell me?
“I’m not going easy on you because you’re my girl.”
“You keep saying I’m your girl like we’re not apart.”
“Because we’re not.” Displeasure chisels his features. “Have you been out on tour acting like we’re apart?”
“What do you mean?”
Rhyson stands, walking over to the small window letting in light. Back to me, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders stiff, eyes trained on the landscape.
“How would you feel if I fucked someone else, Pep?”
I’d set that woman on fire.
I go completely still, my heart frantic as a hummingbird’s. Every fiber of my body violently rejects the thought of him inside another woman. Was it Petra? Was it on tour? Was it good?
“No answer?” Rhyson nods, still facing the sun. “Then I’ll go first. Even if you married someone else, I wouldn’t acknowledge it. Every night you slept with him I’d call you a liar and a cheat.”
The words slap me across the face like an open palm.
“Rhyson, I—”
“I don’t need a ceremony or a ring or a license.” He turns back around, eyes lit with emotion. “You know there’s already a vow between us that goes beyond all of that, and for you to be with anyone else would be adultery of the soul.”
The intensity of his words frightens me because I feel the same way. Despite every damn thing that would keep us apart, I feel the same way.
“Why are you saying all of this?” I gather enough breath to ask.
“Is there something going on between you and Dub?”
If I really wanted to put him off until I figure out this video thing, I’d say yes, but I can’t do that. It would violate too much. Make him question something that isn’t the question at all.
“I told you no,” I say softly.
“You sure?” His eyes don’t leave me. “’Cause it looks like it. Everyone seems to think you’re with him.”
“I know, but you should know—”
“I should know what?” He takes his jacket off, tossing it to the corner of the loft. “What am I supposed to think when you won’t even talk to me, and I see you all over the place with him?”
“You’re supposed to think he’s my choreographer. That he’s my friend.” I pause before going on. “And what about you and Petra? Did anything happen on tour with her?”
He scowls, huffing his irritation out in a quick exhale.
“Don’t ask me dumb questions.”
“So it’s dumb when I ask, but perfectly valid when you do?”
“I’m not the one who left and shut you out.” Rhyson slams his fist into his palm. “Not a day has gone by that you didn’t know I still wanted this. That I still wanted you. And from you? Nothing.”
“I needed that time to pursue this opportunity.” The memory of his betrayal, the pain blowing a hole in me like a twelve-gauge shotgun when I found out what he took from me, returns full force. “And to get over what you did. Rhyson, you hurt me. What you did hurt me.”
“I know that.” He growls under his breath, and I know this anger is directed at himself, not at me. “I was dumb. I was an asshole and handled it all wrong. You know I know that, but that doesn’t mean it’s over. Ever. And you’ve been acting like it’s over.”
“At first I thought maybe it was.” I snap a stalk of hay between my fingers.
“At first?” Rhyson looks up from the barn floor, eyes alert. “Does that mean you’ve forgiven me?”
Growing up, Mama always reminded me that love keeps no record of wrongs. I didn’t know until now that true love, pure love, the right love, doesn’t keep that record because it can’t. I can’t. I have to forgive Rhyson because I have to be with him. I just want it to be right. I want us to be right. To resolve the things that broke us in the first place. And as much as I want to just pick right back up where we left off, that might take some time.
“Pep.” As hard as I know he’s trying to keep his tone even, desperation puckers it. “I asked if you’ve forgiven me.”
If I say yes, he’ll be all over me. Not just physically, though he’s like a tuning fork vibrating, and my body the instrument helplessly aligning itself to him. He’ll be all over me to be with him. God help me, I want him all over me.
“Yeah, I’ve forgiven you.” Emotion whittles my words down to a whisper. “I have to.”
The words have barely left my mouth and he’s across the space, dropping to his haunches in front of me, palms at the back of my head, thumbs caressing my cheeks and running over my lips.
“Thank God.” He presses his forehead to mine, standing on his knees. “Baby, come home.”
I release a sigh, a breath between our lips.
“I kind of don’t have a home right now.”
He rubs our noses together, his words cool on my lips.
“This is home. Us is home. Come back.”
“I . . .” A ragged breath climbs my throat. “I just . . .”
“You just what?” he whispers, so close the words float across my mouth.
“It’s not that simple to fix, Rhys.” I close my eyes tightly against the emotion reflected in his. “I don’t even know if I trust you right now.”
“I’ll earn it back.” He sprinkles kisses over my cheeks, his fingers creeping into the hair at my nape to draw me closer. “Give me the chance to earn it back, baby.”
“But you can’t control me, Rhys.” I allow myself a quick kiss before finishing my point. “Love isn’t control.”
“You’re right. I’ve got control issues.” He sucks my bottom lip between his like he can’t help himself before he goes on. “I’ll work on ‘em. I swear.”
“Yes, but . . .” I pull his top lip between mine, sucking and groaning into the contact I’ve missed so much. “We need to—”
“We’re doing what we need to do.”
He fuses our lips together, stoking the passion higher with every second we touch. It’s even better than I remember, kissing him. His tongue brushes inside my jaw, over my teeth, licking the roof. Repossessing me with every stroke. I taste his desperation, his regret. I know he must taste my forgiveness because I can’t hold it back. It rushes up to meet him, burning my throat and streaking tears down my face.
“I’m so sorry I hurt you.” His voice wavers as he wets his lips with my tears. “I won’t do it again. I promise. Not like that.”
“I want to believe you.” I slide my fingers into the cool, silky hair.
“Then believe me. I miss you so fucking much, Kai,” he breathes the words over my neck. “I need . . . I have to . . . baby . . .”
He gives up on words, pressing me back onto the soft hay. He dips his nose into the shallow cleft barely visible between my breasts, inhaling.
“Pear and cinnamon,” he whispers, continuing down my torso, past my waist. His hands slide the dress up my legs, and I’m already gasping just from his palms caressing behind my knees. His head disappears under my dress. He pushes my panties aside, and his lips close over me. My back arches up, pressing my breasts into the air like an offering. He slides the panties off altogether, pulling my legs over his shoulders. He nibbles at the lips, separating me with his tongue. Spreading his mouth over me as his hands traverse the backs of my thighs to grip my bare butt, pulling me into his hunger.
“This is mine,” he says hotly against the wet flesh. “And I’m yours, Kai. Nothing changes that. Ever. You know that, right?”
“I know,” I pant, twisting the tablecloth beneath us between my fingers, gale force pleasure ripping through me. “Oh, God. I know.”
He keeps worshiping me with his lips and tongue until my legs spasm, my body stiffening with the intensity of it. My fingers twine in his thick hair, trapping him against me, pushing him deeper into me. My hips rock into his urgent kisses. He’s eating me like I’m so good, his moans vibrating against me, layering sensation on top of sensation until I’m nothing more than a wave beautifully cresting, violently crashing; a tide pulled in, licking at the sand. I’m limp and sated, arms fallen to my sides, head lolling back, drained of all movement, but he’s still tasting me like he can’t stop, his lips and tongue warm and compulsive.
Steps below startle us, still us.
“Rhys,” Grip calls up. “It’s almost time. They’re leaving soon.”
From between my knees, Rhyson’s eyes burn a possessive trail up my body and to my face, his hands venturing over the sensitized skin of my inner thighs as he presses me open wider. He looks between my legs like he wants more. Like I’m something sweet in the store window he’s not sure he can walk past.
“Okay,” he calls down, voice hoarse. “Be down in a minute.”
Grip chuckles from below.
“Wrap that shit up and get back out there before you miss the send off.”
As I slip my panties on, I can’t even manage embarrassment that Grip knows. The love, the tenderness in Rhyson’s eyes, in his touch as he pulls me to my feet, crowd out everything else until we reach the floor below. As soon as my feet touch the barn floor, all the reasons I have to slow this down, to control it, come rushing back, chief among them a sex tape I can’t risk Rhsyon seeing. Maybe San is right. Maybe Rhyson can get past it. Or maybe he can’t, and he’d never see me the same again. And the thought of losing this, the way he’s looking at me right now, isn’t worth the risk. If there’s one thing I’ve seen for myself, one thing I learned from my father, even in a love this deep, there are no guarantees.
My back to the ladder, I tighten my fingers around his, pulling him in for a moment to face me. He stands on one foot and rests the other on a rung of the ladder behind me, pressing into my belly, so I can’t escape feeling him hard and long and ready.
“Come home with me,” he whispers near my ear, one hand above our heads on the ladder, the other wandering beneath my dress to squeeze my butt. Just that gentle squeeze has me clenching again in my panties. With reason my only weapon, I fight my way back through the fog.
“Rhyson, we need to talk about how this will be.”
He drops his lips to mine, feeding the scent of my body to me in light kisses.
“Better than cake,” he whispers against my lips. “You taste better than cake. Come home. I need to be inside you, Pep, so bad.”
I squeeze my thighs together against the pleasure his words dart through me. His words stroke me as surely as his lips and tongue. I tuck my head under his chin and grip his elbows.
“If I go home with you, I’ll end up in your bed.”
Laughter rumbles deep in his chest, and he pulls me so close it reverberates through me. He pulls back just far enough to tip up my chin.
“Can’t say it didn’t cross my mind.” He drops a quick kiss on my lips.
“If we make love . . . have sex . . .” I falter, not sure how to articulate what I’m thinking. “If we sleep together—”
“Is this conversation supposed to be making me less horny? Because that’s not what’s happening.”
“Rhyson.” I laugh up at him, happy to be with him, even with all the complications. Even with the threat of exposure. “I’m just saying we haven’t seen each other in two months. We haven’t resolved anything. Sex is always right between us, and it’ll only give us a false sense that everything is right, when it’s not yet. Let’s just take it slow.”
“Slow.” He pulls a breath in through his nose, expels it in a rush. “We can do slow.”
“And not public.” I glance up at him. “For now it would help me a lot if people don’t know we’re back together.”
He stiffens against me, his arm dropping from overhead, his booted foot leaving the ladder to hit the barn floor.
“Not public?” Irritation clouds his face. “Why?”
“I’m back on tour in just a few days.” I touch the lapel of the jacket he retrieved. “All the crazy viralness is just now dying down from that fight everyone saw. I’m starting to make my mark, and people are paying attention for the right reasons. For my music, my performance on tour. Can I just have the rest of this tour to let it be that without all the speculation about us? To prove myself before it becomes about us again?”
There was a time when everything I just said would be the truth, and to a degree, it is true. Those are all valid reasons, but if it wasn’t for this video, I honestly wouldn’t care if the whole world speculated about Rhyson and me. I’d do my thing on tour and proudly be his girl. But there is the video, and I have to find out who’s behind it.
“So you don’t want to be public?” His eyes fall to the barn floor. “You don’t want people to know we’re back together?”
“Just ‘til I’m done with the tour,” I rush to say, cupping his chin. “Just give me this next month. We won’t be together anyway ‘cause I’ll be on the road.”
He clears his throat and steps away from me, sliding his hands into his pockets.
“I’ve done enough to set you back.” He looks up, wearing his disappointment and his acceptance on his face. “If that’s how you want it for now, then okay.”
“Just until I get off tour. I promise.”
If I haven’t found out who’s blackmailing me by then, I’ll have to confess, but I’ve at least bought myself another month to work on this. I tip up on my toes, one hand gripping the back of his neck and the other wandering into his hair as I open his lips with mine. Our tongues tangle, our bodies swaying into each other while I lose myself for precious seconds in this kiss, as intimate and as binding as a covenant. His hands tighten at my waist, lifting me up higher until my toes barely brush the ground.
“We need to go,” he says against my lips. “We don’t want to miss Grady and Em.”
We walk back to the orchard, our fingers linked until we reach the edge. I know he’ll hate it as much as I do, but I drop his hand before we arrive at the small clearing leading back to the wedding and to the guests and to the speculation and to the camera phones. To exposure. Back to the world we’ve escaped for the last half hour.
“You go first.” I hang back in the shade of an apple tree. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the studio.”
“I hate this,” he says through tight lips. “I don’t care who knows.”
“Just ‘til I come off tour, Rhyson. Please.”
He bites the inside of his jaw for a second before nodding abruptly and turning to leave. He disappears into the thicket, broad shoulders pressing through the foliage. It sounds stupid, but I miss him already. My resolution to find out who’s behind that tape calcifies into absolute necessity.