Down to My Soul (Soul Series Book 2)(50)

“True. This wouldn’t have happened if you would tell people we’re back together. Again, a move you’re making with your career in mind.”

“You said you agreed with that. Understood it, and you’re going back to it like it’s a strike against me now? If it came down to it, you know I’d choose you. But it doesn’t have to come down to it. That’s what I’m saying. Dub’s not a threat, and everyone will know we’re together after the tour. Are you good with that or not?”

I actually am. I don’t know why we’re fighting. Why I’m pressing this when I don’t have to. There’s this part of me still aching from the two months when she wouldn’t even take my calls. I made one wrong move and almost lost her. That part of me has been left uncertain, afraid I’ll make another wrong move. Or that she will. That part of me is afraid our love is as fragile as it is strong. And that part of me is about to f*ck things up all over again. It makes me say and do dumb shit that will only keep pushing her away.

“I trust you,” I answer after a moment. “I guess I was just thrown by the kiss. I didn’t handle this well. I’m sorry.”

“Neither did I. If I—” Before she can finish, a rough cough rattles in her chest, making me feel like an inconsiderate *.

“Hey, up off that cold floor.” I sit on the edge of the tub again, gesturing for her to come to me. She climbs into my lap, looping her arms behind my neck. We’ve gone from snarling to snuggling in under sixty seconds flat.

“You may not believe it,” she says, caressing the back of my neck. “But you’re first. In all of this, you’re first, Rhys. I’ve dreamt of this chance, worked for this shot my whole life. I just want to do it right. It’s not worth losing you, though. Not worth losing this. You believe that?”

I look down at her, huddled close against my chest, shivering and heavy-lidded. She’s done. Exhausted from the rigors of today and the days before it. She has rehearsal in the morning and a show tomorrow night, and I have her up late arguing about shit that doesn’t even matter. Is this the lesson I should have learned the last time? Hold something you love too tightly and you’ll crush it? I can’t go through that again, and I won’t put Kai through it either.

I stand up, hoisting her light weight against my chest, walking back into the bedroom.

“I said do you believe that, Rhys?” Kai mutters into my shoulder.

“I do, baby.” I lay her down on the bed, crawling in behind her and pulling the down comforter over us both.

“You’re not just saying that?”

“Nope.” I turn off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness I hope will push Kai over the edge of exhaustion into the deep sleep her body craves. “I believe you.”

“Are we done talking?” She turns over to face me, her breathing slowing down to a sigh over my lips. “We can talk some more if we need to.”

“Let’s try not talking.” I pull her in, stroking her back until her body relaxes against me.

“I like it when we don’t talk.” Her voice gets softer the closer she gets to sleep. “I can be quiet with you.”

“Then do it.” I drop a kiss into her hair. “Be quiet with me, baby.”

And after a few minutes, the only sound in the hotel room is her deeper breathing. I lie perfectly still for a long time, but my thoughts remain in constant motion, our argument replaying in my head. I need to stay out of her business. I know it’s best for our relationship, but I can’t ignore my need to protect her from sharks like Malcolm and guys like Dub. There has to be a balance. Maybe I’ll ask Dr. Ramirez next week in our one-on-one session the best way to find it.

Once I’m sure she’s not waking up, I carefully roll out of bed and close the bedroom door, making my way to the front of the suite. Earphones plugged into my phone, I prop my feet up on the coffee table and submerge myself into Schumann. Chopin’s unconventional, whimsical compositions always creatively unstick me because he erased so many existing lines and drew his own. Schumann is for soul searching. He was a man divided, who literally created two personalities for himself, the dreamer and the rebel, and would sign his compositions based on which of the two helmed that particular piece. “Davidsbündlert?nze” soothes one side of me and incites the other. One faction wants to protect Kai and intervene at every turn, and the other cautions me to give her space, to simply be there when she needs me. I’m still not sure if either side knows best as the song on repeat lulls me to sleep.

A firm knock on the door startles me awake. I gather my bearings, disoriented. I’m not under my piano, but I spent most of our one night on the couch. I’m cursing the waste when I peer through the peephole.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

According to my watch it’s barely eight o’clock, and Dub stands outside Kai’s hotel room. My hand is on the knob and turning before I think twice about it. Kai’s going to tell him about us anyway, right? She said it last night. Not to mention I can’t wait to see his face when I open this door.

This may not have been the right call, but it’s so worth it to see the shock, followed quickly by displeasure, his expression gives away.

“Gray.” His eyes narrow at the edges, his face pinching into a scowl. “What are you doing here?”