Down to My Soul (Soul Series Book 2)(80)

“You could still tell Rhys,” San says softly. “I think you should.”

I press my eyes closed, cupping my hand over my mouth in case the scream building inside of me escapes. Rhyson can’t ever see that—Drex pounding into me, grunting, holding my hips, grinning into the camera. It’s a horror show, and I don’t want him to have to get past it. I’ll fix this so he doesn’t see that every time he looks at me.

“We just got this breakthrough, San,” I finally say. “I have it under control.”

“And you say Rhyson has control issues.”

That stings. Considering I asked Rhyson to go to family counseling to understand his control issues. There is no easy route here for me. I’ve already lied to him for weeks. There’s no erasing that. Either I, at some point tell him about this tape, a mortification I can’t even wrap my heart around, or I live with it invisible but looming between us forever.

“I gotta go.” I hold my breath, silently begging San to recognize I can’t take anymore. “Keep me posted. Let me know as soon as you find him.”

“And you’ll do what?” San demands, voice hardening. “Confront him? If he is the one blackmailing you, Kai, have you considered he’s a criminal? That he’s dangerous? That he’ll stop at nothing to hurt Rhyson, and consequently you?”

“San, I . . . I don’t know.” I trap my trembling bottom lip between my teeth. “I’ll figure it out.”

There’s a pause on the other end, like San holds the words in his mouth, deciding if he should release them or not.

Don’t.

“Okay. Yeah,” he finally says. “I’ll keep you posted.”

Once he’s gone, I stare at the phone. I don’t know what makes me do it, but I flick through my message thread, thumbing over texts from Rhyson, from San, from Ella, people who care about me, until I reach that first dreaded message months ago, from someone who must hate me.

I haven’t looked at the clip since that first day. I tap it with my thumb, and the disgusting thing springs to life. A full color spectacle, loaded with grunts and pants and the lascivious looks Drex flashes at the camera every once in a while. For the first time, I make myself really study the girl being taken from behind by a stranger she just met in a house she’s never seen before. It was a lonely night. Mama’s first birthday since she passed. I wasn’t used to that much alcohol. What I really wasn’t used to was that much pain.

I toss the phone down hard to the work table, wishing it wasn’t encased in the tough Otter Box. Wishing it would shatter.

“Enough of this,” I mutter only to Mama’s Ball jars.

I inspect the elements I’ve assembled to make her soap and realize I’m missing cinnamon. Mama kept some on one of these shelves to add to the essential oils. I’m pushing jars and bottles around when the wind chimes tinkle, disturbed by someone or by the wind, I’m not sure, but I assume it’s Aunt Ruthie since no one else ever comes out here.

“Back already?” I ask without turning around. “That was quick.”

The silence at my back prompts me to check.

It’s not Aunt Ruthie. It’s a man. Handsome, older, but just beyond his prime. Dark hair silvered in places. The years have sketched new lines around his mouth and a few dips in the skin over his brow, but if he’s had hard times, he’s not wearing them on his face. And that’s just not fair since he caused the hardest times in my Mama’s life.

He doesn’t smile, and it’s obvious he’s not expecting one from me. He would never get one from me. His name stirs on my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to say it. It’s locked behind my teeth. The room tilts a little, and I wonder if I might pass out. I wonder if he is a figment of my imagination who will fade as soon as I say the name. I don’t know if I force myself to say it because I want him to fade away, or to stay, but before I can think better of it, his name is in the air.

“Daddy?”





WOULD I HAVE BEEN ANY MORE shocked if Mama had walked through that door, hailed by wind chimes? Alive and well? No, I don’t think so.

My father is just as I remembered, only older. That’s a stupid observation. Obviously he’s older. I haven’t seen him since I was eight, but he’s still handsome. I see traces of myself in his lips and eyes. He still looks at me like he loves me more than anything. It was a lie then, and surely it’s a lie now.

His name was all I could manage, that first startled breath of a word, and then nothing. All rational thought flees when you see a ghost. My fingers go numb, and the jar of cinnamon I’d just located drops and shatters on the floor.

I glance down at the pile of fragrant glass broken at my feet. I can’t move. I don’t bend to pick it up, clean it up. I just look from the mess at my feet back to my father. Neither of us makes a move toward the other.

“There was no one at the diner . . . the house.” He thumbs back in the direction of Glory Bee. “I just thought I’d check to see if there was someone out back.”

“What . . .” I have to stop for a moment, damming every emotion that would flood this room and drown us both. “Why are you here?”

He takes a cautious step into the shed, eyes exploring the shelves packed tight with jars and spices and all the things Mama needed. He scratches his eyebrow, which used to be a sure sign of nerves. Sometimes he’d do it right before he got up to preach. I don’t know what it’s a sign of anymore. Maybe now he just itches.