Down to My Soul (Soul Series Book 2)(63)

How could I not know? How could I have missed that? I knew something was wrong, but I never imagined it was more than a bug I couldn’t shake.

“How’s Rhyson?” I whisper, still not ready to wake him. I know his concern will smother me like a blanket once he’s up.

“How do you think he is?” Aunt Ruthie tilts her head to catch my eyes. “Worried and ornery. Making life difficult for everyone around here.”

“That sounds about right,” I mutter. “How long have I been out? How long have you been here?”

“You’ve been asleep for about a day. They sedated you. I got here a few hours ago.” She inclines her head toward the man still sleeping to my right. “He had a fancy plane come get me.”

“That was sweet of him. I—”

“Pep?” Rhyson’s voice, faint from fatigue, interrupts our conversation. He blinks away sleep, pushing his hands up over his face and through his hair. He’s swift to his feet, crossing over to the bed to grip my hand between his. “You’re up.”

He leans down, pressing his nose into my hair.

“God, I’ve been so worried, baby.” His kisses feather across my face, one landing like rain on my lips before he pulls back. He glances up to meet Aunt Ruthie’s curious eyes. Her mouth crooks into a small smile. “How long has she been awake?”

“Just now. You gonna yell at me for not letting you know sooner?” Aunt Ruthie turns amused eyes back to me. “This one seems to think yelling is how you get things done around here.”

“Thanks a lot,” he says. “That was supposed to be our little secret.”

“I would buzz the nurse,” Aunt Ruthie says. “But someone, I won’t call any names, has been abusing the buzzer.”

“I just buzzed her a couple times.” Rhyson rolls his eyes and grins, not quite meeting my eyes.

“Mmmmmm.” Aunt Ruthie walks over to the door, turning with her hand on the handle. “He’s the boy who cried wolf so she won’t come anymore when he buzzes. I’ll go get her myself.”

“You’ll be back, right?” She’s a balm to me. I didn’t realize how much I missed her warmth and care until I had it pressed against me again.

“I’ll be right back, honey.” Aunt Ruthie winks at me and points a warning finger at Rhyson. “And you behave while I’m gone.”

“The nurse would have come if she buzzed,” Rhyson says. “I think she’s just trying to give us a few minutes alone.”

“So you haven’t been making life hell for everyone being protective and unreasonable?” I rasp, struggling a little to get the words out. “’Cause that would be your MO.”

“Of course I have.” He grins even though his eyes are sober when he brings me water from the small refrigerator in the corner of the room. “I’ve had to be kind of forceful. They didn’t want me in here since I wasn’t down as an emergency contact or anything, and no one knew we were together. I didn’t have much of a leg to stand on. If San hadn’t vouched for me, I wouldn’t even be in here now.”

I know going through San to get to me always infuriates him. I watch his face while he tips water into the dry, narrow passageway of my throat.

“I’m sorry about that.” I cough a little, barely getting the words out. “I completed the paperwork a few months ago when the tour started. We weren’t even speaking, so of course I put San down and hadn’t thought about it since.”

“Yeah, of course. I get it.”

He doesn’t get it. It’s all over him, from the tight lips to the stiffly-held shoulders. I could apologize more, but I know that won’t ease the sting of feeling cut out.

“I was there.” Rhyson tunnels his hands into the pockets of his pants. He’s wearing Dickeys, which he never would under normal circumstances be caught dead in. So I assume he was at my concert in disguise.

“You were?”

The intensity of the look he gives me is almost too much. I don’t know if it’s what’s in his eyes stealing my breath, or the infection lingering in my lungs, but I can’t breathe until he looks away, down to the floor.

“Yeah, I was in the audience when you collapsed.” He clenches his eyes shut. “Worst moment of my life, Pep. Seeing you fall. Not knowing what the hell was wrong. Not able to get to you or knowing even where you were.”

“I’m so sorry.” I whisper as much as my voice will allow, grabbing his hand, dipping my head to catch his eyes even though he doesn’t want me to see the vulnerability there. “Rhys, I’m sorry.”

“I can’t believe I held you in my arms coughing, walking around with f*cking pneumonia and didn’t do anything about it. Didn’t even realize it.” He shakes his head, jaw clenched, and walks to the foot of the bed. “That’s never happening again. I’m never trusting someone else with you again. Not even you.”

“What’s that mean?” I frown even though every part of me aches so much even that action takes effort.

“Meaning I can’t even trust you to take care of yourself, much less think Malcolm would look after you.” His stare accuses me. “How could you let this happen?”

“Are you mad at me?” I inch myself upright in the bed. “I’m in the hospital, and you’re mad at me?”