Down to My Soul (Soul Series Book 2)(40)

“It was good. We’re gonna do some individual sessions, and we may even bring Bristol and Grady in for a few later. Right now we’re just focusing on the issues between the three of us.”

“That’s good, right?” I venture tentatively.

“Yeah, it’s good. I just . . . I’m processing a lot after that first session.” His sigh comes heavy from the other end. “My dad said he was sorry.”

A dry chuckle crosses the line.

“And I believed him.”

“That’s great, right?”

“I guess, but it’s like I can’t quite get to the place of actually forgiving him. Ya know? Maybe that’s what these sessions will do. I keep feeling like if I forgive him, I’m saying it’s okay. Everything they did was okay, and it wasn’t.”

“That’s not what forgiveness is about to me.” I lower my voice some in case anyone is lurking. “At least not what I learned about in Sunday school.”

“What’s that version?” he asks.

“I remember a preacher once saying there’s at least two categories of forgiveness. One is just as much about you as it is about the other person because unforgiveness left on its own too long becomes bitterness. And that can creep into every part of your life, end up hurting the people you love who had nothing to do with the person who hurt you.”

“And the other category?”

“That’s when someone you love has hurt you, and you hold on to it as long as you can until you can’t anymore. The hurt of being apart from that person outweighs the hurt of what they did, and you just wanna make it right so you can repair the relationship.”

Irony soaks the silent moment while Rhyson processes what I said. That preacher was my father, and I’ve still never found a way to forgive him.

“So which category did I fall into?” As soft as Rhyson’s question is, it jars me.

“What do you mean?”

“When you forgave me? Was it the first or the second?”

“Maybe it was both.” My throat is so raw it hurts to laugh. “I just woke up one morning and really needed to hear your voice. It just so happened to be the same day you asked to hear mine.”

“Yeah?” The smile is back in his voice.

“Yeah.” I’m smiling, too. I knew he could do that. “Sometimes forgiveness is a decision you make with your head that takes a while to reach your heart, and sometimes it’s just . . . there. You’ll know how to move forward with your dad. Your mom, too.”

“Hey, speaking of my mother, she said she saw you at the wedding. Was she rude to you?”

There’s always winter in Rhyson’s voice when he speaks of his mother. A chill that I never hear for anyone else, not even his dad.

“No, she was cordial. I think she’s hoping San and I will hook up and you’ll be safe from my clutches.”

“San?” His voice predictably hardens. “The hell?”

“Calm down, baby. It was a joke.”

Kind of.

“Jokes are funny, Pep.”

“I’ll try to remember that.”

“Hey, can I ask you something stupid?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I’m serious. You know I love you, right?” Something in his voice desperately searches for the answer. “Not some twisted around control thing handed down from my parents, like real love. You know you’re the most important thing, right?”

“Baby, why—”

“Just answer me. Just tell me you know.”

“Rhys, I know.” I close my eyes to savor this sweet moment his words just made for me.

“Good. Yeah, well.” He sounds like now he feels silly. “I just wanted to make sure.”

A smile stretches over my face as I recall our day at the music festival. “I keep thinking about that day at the beach. It was—”

“Kai!” Dub’s voice snatches me away from the conversation. “There’s a blogger Malcolm wants you to talk to. Hurry up so we can get back to the routine as soon as you’re done.”

He’s covered in curiosity. Who am I off talking to by myself with a goofy grin on my face?

“I’ll be right there.” I wait for him to walk away before speaking. “Hey, I gotta—”

“I heard Dub.” Rhyson’s tone is stiff as bark. “Duty calls.”

“You know there’s nothing going on between us.” My voice drops to a whisper. “You know it’s only you.”

“I know how you feel. I have my suspicions about him.”

So do I, but that would inflame this conversation, and I don’t want that when we only have seconds left.

“Can I be completely honest with you?” he asks.

“Always.”

And I’ll be completely honest with him . . . as soon as I figure out how.

“I knew you’d make it big. I just thought I’d be a part of it.”

“You are, Rhys. You are.”

“I haven’t even seen you perform on tour. Not one show. And to know that he gets to . . .”

A harsh breath breaks the silence his words slipped into.

“He’s there every step. He gets to share all of it with you, and I hate that.” He’s quiet for just a second. “I want that.”