Sweet Oblivion Read online

  She took it, and I felt that same weird, intense feeling bubble up in my belly. I didn’t like Cam looking at Aya. I didn’t like him holding her hand… What the hell was wrong with me?

  My world seemed to spin off axis a little as Steve’s words from the other day looped through my head, knocking out the melody. “You’re young, so you don’t see the dangers ahead. Just as you can’t see how much you mean to each other—how much you need each other.”

  I did need Aya. Besides Cam and Steve, she was the only true person in my life. The one constant I could count on, who’d be there for me. Why was that bad?

  Cam let go of Aya’s hand, which eased some of the tension in my chest, but they were now discussing horses.

  “Your sister might like the Jumli,” Aya said. “It’s the most prevalent horse in Nepal. It’s a bit small, though, and used for work—not unlike barrel racing, if your sister does that.”

  Cam shook his head. “Nah. Katie Rose likes to ride fast, but she never loved the routes. I heard about another breed… Marwari, is it?”

  Aya nodded. “Oh, yes, but they’re actually from India.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and frowned. “Sorry, that’s rather a technicality. Those horses are beautiful and fast.”

  Cam leaned in a little. “Tell me everything you know. I gotta make sure I have the intel to pass along to my mama and sister.”

  Aya smiled up at him—her shy one that blossomed slowly. Cam seemed as charmed as most of the boys at school. My hands fisted. Dammit. Bringing Aya along had been a bad idea. First Beanie was mean, and now…now Cam seemed to like her.

  I gritted my teeth, unsure what to do with the emotions tumbling through my middle like I’d hit class-five rapids without warning.

  Then Chuck asked Aya a question. She became more animated, using her hands as she spoke, and he leaned in, too.

  Good, she wasn’t star-struck. So maybe she wouldn’t crush on Cam like so many of the girls at Holyoke did. According to them, Cam was gorgeous and talented, and they always hoped the young, single singer would look their way.

  I settled back against the wall, watching Aya interact with the world’s biggest country star. Part of me was proud of her easy connection with Camden Grace, especially since the man intimidated me. But another part felt left out.

  Steve took up position next to me. “Chuck doesn’t talk to anyone.”

  I glanced over, eyebrow raised. “Evidently he talks to Aya. Why did you say we can’t see the trouble coming?”

  Steve rubbed his hand over his neck, seeming uncomfortable. “I was in love once,” he said.

  “All right…” Not what I expected, but I guessed he’d get somewhere interesting soon.

  “She was older. Incredibly beautiful. Charming, playful.” He smiled, but it was sad.

  My brows pinched. “What happened?”

  “She had other priorities, and I still had a few years left in the Army.” His eyes turned distant. “Didn’t matter how much I wanted to be part of her world, how willing I was to rearrange my life to suit hers.”

  “Is she a model?” I asked. “From what I’ve seen, they’re the most selfish.”

  “You thinking about your mom?” Steve asked.

  I shrugged.

  “Look, my point was, I met her when I was nineteen—too young to have a good sense of how I was messing up my life by trying to be what she wanted. I got…caught up in the romance, in the highs of spending time with her.” He hesitated. “Is that how you feel about Aya?”

  I placed my heel against the wall and stared at Aya, considering. “Not really. I met her for the first time when we were five. She was in trouble in the water.”

  Steve cursed low.

  “I pulled her out, and the way she looked at me…” No other event in my life had made me feel that way since. I cleared my throat. “But it was more than that. We…I don’t know. I didn’t even know her when we started corresponding. Not really. Just a vague sense of a little girl I’d met on vacation. But we connected. I know her. She gets me. It’s like…it’s like our lives have run parallel to each other from that moment.”

  “Seems kind of deep for a girlfriend.”

  I snorted, hoping I wasn’t blushing, though my face felt too hot not to be. “You know Aya’s not my girlfriend. It’s not like that.”

  This time Steve snorted.

  “She understands about drowning,” I tried to explain. “Lev drowned. Her dad is a shit bag, and so is mine. She’s losing control of her life—mine’s been out of control since Lev…”

  Steve’s hand came down on my shoulder, and he squeezed. “I get it,” he said, his voice soft. “She’s more than a girlfriend.”

  I nodded, but I also struggled to swallow. Because I’d realized something as I spoke. Aya was more than a girlfriend could ever be. She looked over at me, making sure I was here, making sure I was okay.

  That’s why I’d connected with her so seamlessly. That’s why I felt best in her presence.

  She was my other half.

  15

  Aya

  I’d thought Quantum put on an amazing show. But now, after watching Cam and his band power through three days of performances in a sold-out venue, one of the country’s largest stadiums, I understood greatness. I waited in the wings, breath bated, along with the tens of thousands of people packed into the stadium as Cam stood—clad in his typical attire of a black button-up, faded but crisp jeans, and motorcycle boots—in front of his mic.

  He stood there…waiting, waiting, waiting. The collective tension rose. And then, when it reached fever pitch, Cam leaned closer to the mic and began to croon “Sweet Baby Home”—the song he and Nash had collaborated on. The lyrics were filled with need and anguish for a woman thousands of miles from the soldier. It made my chest ache each time I heard it, but hearing it live—Cam’s strong, deep voice low, sultry, and a cappella—made the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand on end. All the air rushed from my lungs as he eased into the chorus.

  Lights flashed as he and his band began to play, the first strum of the guitar and beat of the snare a relief from the building tension. I sagged against Nash, who practically vibrated with energy. When he turned, his eyes were huge as they met mine.

  “That was unreal,” he yelled as the crowd burst into applause.

  He turned back to face the stage, which was now lit with a variety of lights. They cast shadows over Nash’s features as Cam waved him onto the stage. Tonight, it was time. Cam had kept his promise.

  “This is Nash Porter. He co-wrote this song with me,” Cam told the crowd. “I wanted y’all to meet him cuz he’s a superstar.”

  Cam winked, and Nash rocked back on his heels, flashing his gaze toward me. I giggled even as my heart cracked a little. That had been my private joke with Nash, but now others would call him that. Still, it was worth it to watch him light up so brightly as he stepped out into the glow of the stage. He belonged there.

  Nash accepted the guitar a roadie offered him and stepped up to the microphone. “Hey, Nashville. Like your name.”

  The crowd screamed its approval.

  “Y’all wanna see what this guy can do?” Cam asked. He began to play a complicated series of licks, which Nash matched with a smirk. That told me they’d done this before.

  Cam began to sing and dipped his head toward the mic. Nash harmonized, and my jaw dropped. Steve’s typical implacable expression shifted to one of awe as Nash balanced and emphasized Cam’s voice, the two of them feeding off each other. By the end, the crowd’s screams were so loud, I covered my ears.

  Nash took his bow, waving and smiling as the raucous cheers continued. He walked toward me, grin bigger than the Cheshire cat, and swung me into his arms and then around.

  “You were amazing,” I said, clasping his cheeks. “Really, Superstar.”

  His smile turned shy. “I like it better when you say that.”

  He set me on my feet, and I rose up on my tiptoes to kiss him. I looked in
to his eyes, not even caring that Steve was probably staring at us. “And I’m so glad I was here to see you perform, Nash Porter. My superstar.”

  He beamed as he wrapped an arm around my waist and tugged me back against his chest. I was cocooned—warm, protected. Loved.

  He might not admit it, but Nash cared about me, about my approval. Too bad I had to leave. I bit my lip, wondering if I’d made a mistake. My mother had left the final decision in my hands, surprising me.

  “You live once, Aya. I don’t want you to have regrets,” she’d told me when I spoke with her earlier.

  “I’m glad you were here,” Nash murmured against my cheek. I leaned against his chest and he braced his feet on the outsides of mine. His arms wrapped around my waist and his breath tickled the hairs around my ear.

  I tipped my head back, noting how close his lips were to mine. I wanted them on mine. I wanted him to admit his feelings. I wanted…more than Nash was ready to give—maybe more than he would ever give me.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because as much as I like performing, it’s personal. Well, not so much this song because Cam already had the lyrics written, but other ones. My songs. They’re…” He clutched me tighter. “I’m just glad you’re here. It’s easier to sing with you nearby.”

  Not a declaration of love, but still an opening. Nash was more truthful with me than he was with just about anyone else. And still I struggled to know what he thought, how he felt.

  Part of that was being the son of famous parents, but a larger part was due to the trauma inflicted by his parents’ choices. They’d abandoned him right when he needed them most. No one overcame that type of pain with ease or without it changing something fundamental inside. I knew this from experience.

  But I refused to think of my own father. This was Nash’s night, and I’d bask in the connection between us.

  We watched the rest of Cam’s show like that. Afterward, Cam insisted on taking us out for a celebratory milkshake, and then he packed up his bus while Steve waited nearby in the SUV we’d used to get our drinks.

  “See you in Atlanta,” Cam said, giving Nash a fist bump. He turned and wrapped me in a hug. “And give those Boston boys hell.”

  Nash scowled.

  “Thank you for having me—” I began.

  “None of that,” Cam said. “You’re welcome on my tour anytime, Aya. Plus, you make that sad sack over there smile.” He leaned in closer and murmured, “I like that boy happy.”

  “Me, too.”

  Nash and Steve then drove me to the airport. When we arrived, Steve pulled around to a private hangar at the back and up to a sleek white jet with the logo for Syad Hotel Group on the side.

  “We’re flying private?” I asked.

  “Of course,” Nash said. “It just sits in the hangar in Austin most of the time. I figured this was a good use of it. We can get you up to Boston and then meet Cam in Atlanta—and we can all catch some sleep.”

  “That’s so thoughtful,” I said, my shock morphing into warmth.

  He tucked a tendril of hair behind my ear, rubbing the strands. “I’m glad you stayed tonight, Aya. It meant a lot to me. So, yeah, I’m going to make sure you get to your nerd class as rested as possible.”

  I laughed even as I smacked his arm. “I thought I was smart and badass.”

  “You are. The rest…” Nash trailed off, scowling.

  “Let’s get you on board,” Steve said. “The pilot’s gone through his flight check and is ready to go.”

  The flight felt short, mainly because I fell asleep within moments of take-off. I woke to find Nash’s head atop mine and his hand over mine, which rested on his upper thigh. Another few inches and I’d…

  Nash snorted, and I giggled. He lifted his head, eyes bleary. I sat up and noted Steve’s gaze on us. I hoped I didn’t blush. Thank goodness I hadn’t acted on my impulse. Then I sighed, realizing I didn’t even know what I was to Nash—and that he was going to be with all the pretty girls along the East Coast for the next few weeks.

  “Why don’t you two go clean up and change?” Steve suggested. His hair was damp, so he must have already used the facilities. “We have some time before Aya’s check-in.”

  Nash took my hand and led me out the door of the plane. I blinked, still fuzzy from sleep, surprised to see the sun was up. He smiled. “The flight was only a couple of hours, so Steve had the pilot take the scenic route.”

  I shook my head. “The amount of fuel—”

  “Leave it, Aya. It’s done. You needed rest. So did I.” He cleared his throat. “Steve said he’d record the concerts. I could send those to you.”

  I grabbed his hand, tugging him against my chest. I noted the way his pupils expanded and his nostrils flared. Nash liked my chest. A lot. “I’d be happy to watch your performances,” I said as we climbed into the waiting SUV.

  “Breakfast, then to MIT,” Steve said, sliding into the driver’s seat.

  “Any place you want to go?” Nash asked.

  I shrugged. “Not sure.”

  “Steve did some research,” Nash said.

  We ate at a little diner not far from the main campus, and Nash insisted I take a chai to go. After we arrived, he walked me to the registration table, his gaze keen as he took in the old trees and towering white buildings.

  Steve stood to the side while I checked in.

  The woman at the desk smiled at me, a polite show of teeth. “And who’s this?”

  “Oh, Nash is my friend,” I said. I clutched the welcome packet she handed me as another couple of girls and six teenaged boys broke off from the back.

  “Are you Aya?” one of the girls asked.

  I nodded, stepping closer to Nash.

  “I’m Li. You’re on our team. We’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Oh. Well, hi—”

  “We need to start looking at plans for our robotics entry,” Li said.

  “I need to head to the dorms. I haven’t dropped my luggage—”

  “No, we need to start now,” Li said. “All the other teams are already brainstorming.” She waved her hand at the clusters of teenagers sprawled around the large room.

  I turned to face Nash, not ready to let him go.

  He slid a lanyard with my name tag over my head. “Steve and I will get your luggage to your room,” he said. Then he sighed. “I’m going to miss you.”

  “Is this your boyfriend?” Li asked.

  For the first time, she didn’t sound bossy. She sounded envious.

  “Yeah, I am,” Nash said, eyeing the boys in the group. “Be sure to tell the others she’s taken.”

  I looked up, a question on my lips, but Nash bent down and kissed me. He wrapped me tightly in his arms, just as he had last night and sealed his mouth over mine. I parted my lips, needing more, but he pulled back, clearly aware of our audience. Right. My cheeks flamed.

  “I’m going to hold you to your promise about the shows. And I mean it—I want you to be mine,” he murmured in my ear.

  I tipped my head back, holding his gaze. My worry about the girls he’d meet over the next weeks faded as I noted his proprietary glare around the room. Nash had just staked his claim. In front of my entire summer cohort.

  Instead of being frustrated with his high-handedness, I melted. Because he was jealous. Because he couldn’t stand the idea of me hooking up with an MIT boy any more than I could handle him with one of the beautiful fans.

  Nash glowered for a moment longer, and then he smiled at me—the devastating one that made me hot and bothered—before he walked over to Steve.

  Another girl in our group sidled up to me. “Your boyfriend’s hot.”

  “He is.” I nodded, my gaze still trailing Nash.

  “He seemed to want to make sure no one here bothered you,” she said.

  I finally turned to look at her. “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Sarai,” she said.

  I offered her my hand. “Aya.”

  “Oh, w
e all know who you are now,” she said with a laugh. “You’re the girl with the hot boyfriend.”

  Well, there were worse ways to be known.

  16

  Nash

  As I returned to Atlanta and Cam’s tour without Aya, I moped. Having Aya with me had reminded me of my days touring with Lev. We were a team, together, sharing experiences. Now, once again, I was alone.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed for more than friendship with her. I wanted her—wanted the MIT nerds to know she was mine—but I’d watched my parents’ relationship shatter many times. What if I’d pushed the friendship I cherished into a place where it was doomed to fail?

  Still, despite my second-guessing, I missed her, no matter how much Cam tried to cheer me up. I had used the plane ride from Boston to Atlanta and then the hours at the venue to compose three tunes, though—the first I’d managed in years.

  Cam whistled as he read them, his head bobbing to the melody. “These’re damn fine.” He settled back in his chair in this newest suite in yet another fancy hotel. “Why don’t you work one of these tunes up real good and you can sing it in a couple of weeks all by yourself? That’s after we do ‘Sweet Baby Home’, though.”

  I gasped. “You’d let me do that? Take over part of your set?”

  “Sure. My fans are gonna love you.”

  Excitement caused me to twitch in my spot on the couch, but I frowned. “I, uh… I’m not sure I’m country-music material.”

  Cam smirked. “You do have a bit of an edge to you.”

  “So…wouldn’t one of these songs dilute your brand?”

  He leaned back. “Nope. My fans like me because I got an edge to me, too. Think about what music is doing, Nash. It’s evolving, right? Pushing boundaries, blending.” He leaned forward and flicked the music still clutched in my hands. “These walk a line between rock and country, and there seems to be an appetite for that. I mean, I’m there a lot of the time.”

  I stared down at the lined paper in my lap, then swallowed and looked up. “Why are you so nice to me?”