Down to My Soul (Soul Series Book 2)(52)

“Okay,” she says softly. “I’ll tell Malcolm we need to find someone new.”

There is so much inner fist pumping going on, but I keep a cool front, just nodding like I haven’t won this round.

“I overslept.” She climbs up on the bed, knees on either side of my legs, her ass in my lap. “I need to shower and get to this production meeting. I guess you have to go?”

“Yeah.” I press her back until we’re heart to heart. “Supposed to meet Kaos at his place around eleven.”

“I can’t believe you came all this way for one night.” She peers at me, a small smile on her lips. “Was it worth it?”

“You mean were you worth it?” I whisper into her hair.

After a second’s hesitation, she pulls back to study my face and nods.

“I’ll always move heaven and earth to be with you,” I assure her. “When it makes no sense. When it wastes time. When it’s hard. Doesn’t matter. If you ever wonder if you’re worth it, the answer’s always yes.”

Maybe every time I’ve said that before, it hasn’t gone much further than her ears. It hasn’t made it past her head to her heart. For some reason today I think it sinks in that I mean it. That there’s nothing in my life I wouldn’t forfeit to be with her. As crazy as it sounds, as quickly as it happened, it’s just there. It’s just true. And there’s nothing I would do to change it. Maybe it’s that realization that makes her mean it, too, because for the first time I believe her when she answers.

“And there’s nothing I wouldn’t give up for you.” She rests her forehead against mine, her eyes sober and set. “I live you.”

I didn’t know what it would mean to me when she said it that way for the first time again, our way, but it unlocks something inside of me. A certainty that I didn’t imagine our love the way it was before. No matter what Dub or Jimmi or the media or damn Instagram would lead me to believe, I never lost her. What’s between us won’t be destroyed by one fight or two months apart or anything else that’s thrown at us.

“I live you, too, Pep.” I flatten the words between our lips. “God, so much.”

And that’s all that counts.





AMERICAN SOIL NEVER FELT SO GOOD beneath my feet. Tonight is the last show, and we’re back in LA. We blazed a trail through Europe over the last three weeks. I’ve visited cities I never thought I would, though I didn’t get to see much of them, and seen and done all the things I only dreamt of doing, at least onstage. It would truly feel like a dream if it weren’t such hard work. Malcolm wanted me to leave a mark with this tour, to take full advantage of Luke’s audience with my opening act, and he seems pleased. At the beginning of the tour, I was a footnote.

Isn’t that the girl Rhyson Gray was dating? What’s she doing on Luke Foster’s tour?

I sang background vocals, danced in the centerpiece of Luke’s set, created my own opening act, and went on the grind to build my own following. I’ve worked my ass off to prove I’m no one’s footnote; no one’s afterthought. I’m satisfied with what I’ve accomplished so far. Heck, I think I may even be proud.

We’re just wrapping my sound check for tonight when Dub enters the arena, making his way toward the stage. I’m removing my in-ears and handing them over to the sound tech when Dub leaps onstage, grabbing me by my waist and lifting me up. My head swims a little and not just from the motion. Nothing I’ve taken for this cold has helped. My cough has only worsened. I’m slightly lightheaded, and if I’m not mistaken, sporting a low-grade fever. But you won’t hear me complaining. Not the last night of the tour. I’ll get through this final show with no one the wiser and no one disappointed, especially not all the people who paid top dollar for tonight’s tickets. But Dub spinning me around isn’t helping.

“Put me down.” My voice sounds weak to me, so I try to find a bright smile.

I was completely honest with Dub after Rhyson left Berlin. I told him that Rhyson and I were together, but just keeping it under the radar until after the tour. He said he understood, but every once in a while, I think he’s holding out hope.

“Sorry about that.” Dub sets me down. “You ready for tonight?”

I just nod because I need to rest my voice as much as I can. It feels withered in my throat. I’m surprised every night when it comes out strong for the show.

“I’m gonna let you get through this last show,” Dub says, grinning. “But I can’t stop thinking about that idea we had for your first video. Dancing in the tunnels. It’ll be fire.”

That’s one thing I haven’t done. I haven’t told him he won’t be choreographing for me going forward. I didn’t see the need yet. It would only have made things unnecessarily tense, and I wanted the last leg of the tour to be drama-free. But now we’re at the end, and he should know.

“Dub, I know we talked about a few preliminary ideas for my project,” I say, walking beside him off the stage and pausing at the front row. “But I think I need to explore some other options for choreography.”

His brows bunch together, confusion on his face for a moment before a wry grin quirks his mouth.

“Let me guess,” he says. “Your boyfriend doesn’t want us working together.”