“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.”