“You coming, or what?” Bristol yells from behind the wheel of her Audi convertible in the circular driveway. “Jimmi’s already on her way.”
May as well lose myself in music again. It’s the only thing that’s gotten me through the last two months. I may not know what day it is, but I know I made it through one more day without her. Music is all I have right now. It’s not all I want, but it’s all I have. I lock up, climbing into the truck as Bristol pulls away.
Disappointment cements into the resolve I somehow find every day to send another message, knowing I’ll get the same response.
Nothing.
I’m adjusting my mirror ready to pull out of the driveway, when I’ll be damned if the phone doesn’t ring.
“PEP?”
The silence puddles over the phone between us like water, waiting for me to dive in. It’s a plunge I can’t un-take. Once I make contact with Rhyson, that chain linking our hearts, the one I’ve spent the last two months figuring out how to break, only tightens.
“Pep, you there?” It’s in his voice. The same ache, the same need, the same desperation that compelled me to answer his text today. To finally surrender to the pull I’ve resisted since I left LA. Since I left him. And just the sound of his voice reminds me of what we had, makes me want to find a way to save it, even though right now I’m not sure how.
“Yeah, I’m here.” I take a few steps away from the stage, putting some distance between this conversation and any possible eavesdroppers.
“So . . . I heard you’ve been sharing State secrets,” he says, forcing some humor into the conversation.
“What?” Panic overtakes me for just a moment. Irrationally, the word “secrets” sets off an alarm system all over my body. I immediately think of the sex tape and my blackmailer. “What secrets? What-what do you mean?”
“Relax.” Rhyson chuckles at the other end. “The radio show yesterday. Telling the whole world I love hummus. What’d you think I meant?”
Relief drains the tension away, and I slump against a wall backstage. Just the thought that someone got to Rhyson with that tape, that he saw me with Drex that way . . . I can’t even speak for a minute.
“Kai, you still there?” Uncharacteristic uncertainty colors Rhyson’s voice on the other end.
“Yeah, um yeah. Just came backstage to talk.”
“I can’t believe you called. I wish I’d known all it took was Tarantino.”
Despite the tension that has me gripping the phone like a lifeline, I have to smile just a bit. He sent one of my favorite lines from Pulp Fiction. It would be a film with grit and blood and Samuel Jackson that reconnected us.
“What made you finally call?” he asks.
Because I’m a fool. Because I miss you. Because . . .
“Because you asked me to.”
“And that’s it?” Tamped-down frustration creeps into his voice. “So me texting and calling for the last two months didn’t let you know I’d like to hear your voice?”
“I just . . . I guess it was time.”
“Past time, Pep. We need to talk. We’ve needed to talk.”
“Yeah. I know.” I notice a stagehand clearing some props away and I take a few more steps back. “Things are crazy right now, though. I’m in the middle of a rehearsal. We’re on break, so I can’t talk long. I picked a bad time to call.”
“You picked the perfect time to call, even if it’s for just a few minutes. I’ll take it.”
“Well, like I said, we’re in rehearsal.” I hesitate before plowing on, completely unsure of the words that will come out. “I know we have a lot to talk through, but things are hectic on the road.”
“I’ll come to you.” He keeps his voice soft, but I know Rhyson too well not to hear the steel determination behind it. He’s not dropping this. Me calling gave him an inch. He’s fully prepared to take a mile.
“Rhys, I’m all the way across the country.”
“Chicago is only halfway across the country.”
I’m not surprised he knows exactly where I am. There’s a trail of mistletoe dotting my tour schedule that says as much. There was mistletoe last night in New York. I’m sure there will be some waiting for me in my dressing room tonight.
“Thanks for the mistletoe, by the way.”
“Hey, it worked for your Pops with Grams.” He releases a laugh that on anyone else would sound nervous. “I figured . . .”
He trails off, and the silence between us remains uncertain. Neither of us knows where to step next. A real conversation between us could be a patch of briars and thorns. I’m certainly not going to be the one taking the next step. I’m not sure I should have taken this one.
“I fucked up,” he finally says. “I know that, Pep.”
A fresh wave of hurt and humiliation washes over me as I remember crying in his arms on his pool table after Total Package passed on me. As I remember standing in the wings watching Rhyson perform while John Malcolm told me how my boyfriend had betrayed me. I felt like a fool. As much as missing him compelled me to answer that text, hurt still holds parts of me back.
“Yeah, ya did.” I choke out. “That’s an understatement.”