“The hell we aren’t together. Even when we’re apart we’re together,” he says. “I’m all for mending and fixing and whatever shit you think it takes to get us back, but in the meantime he does not touch you.”
I don’t answer. Not because I want to deliberately torture him the way the thought of him with Petra or some groupie has tortured me for the last two months, but because I don’t know what to say. Our first conversation has blown up in my face, and I’ll be picking shrapnel out of my heart for the next two days. Somehow I thought just hearing his voice would make it better. Would make it right, but it won’t happen that way. And I’m so afraid the next thing I say will only make things more wrong between us that I don’t say anything at all.
“Pep, have you and Dub . . .” Rhyson draws and releases a stuttering breath. “Has he . . . did you let him?”
How could I when all I’ve thought about is Rhyson? Can I forgive him? Who’s blackmailing me? How will I resolve this without Rhyson ever finding out? Will it even matter if we can’t fix what’s broken between us? It’s a never-ending equation of x’s and y’s, and nothing adds up, but I know I don’t want anyone else.
“No.”
Relieved air rushes at me across the line, and I envision Rhyson, eyes closed, hand wandering over his face and through his wild hair.
“I’m coming to Chicago.”
“We’re leaving Chicago tonight after the show.” I nod at Dub who waves me over to the circle of back-up dancers assembled center stage. “I gotta go.”
“You’re in Cincinnati tomorrow and Detroit the next night. Should I go on? I’m coming to wherever you are.”
“Don’t.” The dancers line up for Dub’s run-through. “I really have to go. I have a show tonight, and I need to focus.”
“And what? We just go back to not talking? To not resolving this?”
“Rhys, I think we—”
“I’m coming so we can hash this out.”
“No, you’re not.” I turn my back on the stage, holding my hand over my ear to block out the music that just started. “Can I just have this? Can I just do my job and prove to everyone that I’m more than just Rhyson Gray’s ex-girlfriend from that viral video?”
“You’re not my ex. You’re my always.”
Damn him for saying things like that when I need to hold on to this anger long enough to get me through this tour and to the bottom of why he did what he did. Long enough to make sure he never does it again.
“I’ll be home for a few days next week, but I’m sure you know that.” I don’t wait for him to confirm or deny. “I’ll see you at Grady’s wedding. It worked out perfectly that it fell during my break.”
“You actually think that was a coincidence?” His voice lightens.
“You didn’t make him have his wedding when I’d be home, did you?”
“No, but he did ask me when you had a break.” I can almost see him shrugging those broad shoulders of his. “I told him. He and Em wanted you there, so it was an easy call.”
“It was quick. They weren’t even engaged when I left and already a wedding.”
“I guess when you know you know.” Rhyson pauses. “Will we talk before the wedding?”
“I think it’s best if we don’t.”
Please don’t push. Please don’t push. Please don’t push.
Between Rhyson’s dogged determination and my weakness for him, if he pushes, he’ll be in my bed tomorrow night in Cincinnati. And all the issues we need to settle will bow to the power of the pull that breathes between us.
“Okay.” That one word sounds like it’s wrung from his lips, and I know it’s taking everything in him to let me have my way. “If that’s how you want it. I’ll see you at the wedding.”
“Kai! Now, sweetheart,” Dub yells from stage, his slight frown telling me he’s feeling less playful the closer we get to show time.
“Sweetheart?” Rhyson says it like a curse from the other end.
“I gotta go.”
“Remember what I said about that overgrown breakdancer keeping his hands to himself.”
“Rhys, I really have to go.”
“You’re not leaving that wedding without talking to me.”
“I know. Gotta go.”
“Pep, wait.”
I clutch the phone, knowing I should just hang up, but feeling tethered to his voice as long as it’s on the other end.
“I live you.” His voice is a deliberate caress over the three words.
Those words, our words, slip right under the armor I’ve been wearing to keep him out as long as I can. Saying it back will unlock a door between us that I’m not ready to walk through.
“Did you hear me?” He knows it. He understands the power those words carry. He wants me to say it so he feels like we’re on our way back to normal. But our version of normal is what got us here in the first place, so I don’t give him those words. I can’t. Not yet.
“I gotta go,” I say.
And hang up.
“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.”