Sweet Oblivion Page 13

  “Well, I guess you two are glad to see each other.” Cam’s amused voice drifted across the room.

  I lifted my head, arms still wrapped around my girl. “Yeah. I’m ecstatic.”

  He smiled, wider and brighter than I’d seen before. “Good. Glad to have you back with us, Aya. And Steve will be here in ten minutes.”

  Cam winked before ambling off.

  “Cam knew you were coming,” I said, shuffling back enough so I could see her face.

  She nodded. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “The best.”

  She rose on her tiptoes and kissed me again. I moaned as her tongue brushed against mine. I yanked my head back and stared down at her, breathing hard. “Steve’ll be here soon.” That sounded more like a groan than words, but I didn’t want to stop.

  I also wouldn’t embarrass Aya. No way would I have Steve see any part of her beautiful, sleek body, but I needed her naked. I needed to be inside her.

  Her cool fingers touched my cheek, slipped down to the corner of my mouth. They trembled slightly, so I turned and kissed them.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”

  “You most definitely should have.”

  “But now we’re both…” She blushed but held my gaze.

  I leaned forward, inhaling her soft scent. “I’m going to get you alone, to myself, soon,” I murmured before I nipped her ear. She yelped just as the suite door slammed shut.

  “Hey, Nash, Cam said he wants to leave for the stadium in an hour.” Steve stopped in the doorway. He smiled as he took in Aya. I did, too. She wore a long sundress that left her shoulders bare. Low-heeled sandals showed off her bright green toenails. They matched the leaves in her floral-print dress. Her long hair was loose, waving over her shoulders and down her back.

  Her makeup was light, soft, natural, and most of her lip gloss had rubbed off—on my mouth no doubt. I smiled, satisfaction blooming at the plump pinkness of her lips. She was so beautiful.

  “Good to see you, Aya. How was MIT?”

  A faint shudder rippled down from her shoulders. “Okay. I’m glad to be finished.”

  Steve nodded.

  I grabbed her hand and tugged her toward my bed. “Why just okay? What didn’t you tell me? Was that girl mean again?”

  “We’re leaving in an hour,” Steve reminded me. “Want something sent up before we have to go?”

  I looked at Aya, who shook her head. There’d be plenty to eat at the stadium, all part of the standard contract, so I shook my head, too.

  “Tell me everything,” I said.

  She dropped her gaze to her hands, which were now clasped in her lap. “I missed you, “ she blurted.

  “I missed you, too,” I said. I lay down on the unmade bed and pulled her to my chest. She snuggled close.

  “No, I mean I really missed you. And, yeah, Li was a problem, but I dealt with it.”

  She caught me up on the camp, and I filled her in on our more recent shows. “I’ve been trying to write a few songs for the album Asher wants me to make.”

  She drew patterns on my chest, causing goose bumps to ripple over my arms and my nipples to tighten. Fuck. This girl owned my body.

  “How’s that going?” she asked.

  I grunted. She lifted her head and stacked her palms, resting her chin on them. Her violet eyes held mine. “Your songs give me chills. I’ve seen you perform. I have no doubt that you’re going to make something amazing.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat, unable to tell her how much those words meant to me.

  As I performed that night, knowing Aya stood in the wings amped me up. Each show that week was better than the last. I loved looking over and seeing her there.

  But I was glad when we returned to Austin the following week. Eight weeks of new cities, the late nights, all of it had caught up with me, and I planned to crash hard when we arrived at Cam’s ranch. And Monday was the first day of school. Jeez. Might have cut that a little close…

  Cam invited Aya and me to stay the night with him, but she politely declined, explaining that she wanted to see her mother. Mama Grace insisted on feeding us before she allowed Steve to drive us back to Aya’s house, but once he did, Mrs. Didri-Aldringham met us at the door. The smell of chai, butter, and sugar wafted from the kitchen as she hugged us both.

  “Mrs. Ombly and I made Madeleines,” Mrs. Didri-Aldringham said, her hand smoothing back Aya’s hair. Her smile was blinding, but her face was thinner, paler than I remembered. Her eyes were bright with happiness. “They’re Aya’s favorite.”

  I nodded. “I remember. I like them, too.”

  She smiled and went to get us both mugs of tea and a plateful of cookies. I wanted to stay there, in that kitchen, for the rest of the night—mainly because I dreaded going home. Steve had told me earlier that my dad was there and in a foul mood. I hadn’t asked for details because I’d read enough of the press to know critics continued to pan his album and the band had canceled the second half of their tour.

  As we nibbled, we caught Aya’s mom up on the tour. She already knew about my record deal.

  “Mrs. Ombly and I made up the guestrooms,” Mrs. Didri-Aldringham said, “in case you wanted to stay here tonight. I know you have to collect your school items before class on Monday. I can’t believe it’s the first day of your senior year.”

  I reached under the table and squeezed Aya’s hand.

  “Thanks, Mom,” she said, smiling. “We’ve spent so much time together that it’s going to be weird not seeing Nash all the time. And now we can all have breakfast together before Nash and I hit the mall.” She beamed at me, and I realized she’d set this up. She knew I would have stayed at the ranch to buy more time away from my father. Gratitude filled me.

  Mrs. Didri-Aldringham smiled, her thumb brushing a crumb from Aya’s cheek before she cradled it in her palm. “Mind if I tag along? I’ve missed seeing you.”

  “I’d like that,” I said.

  I couldn’t remember the last time my mother took me shopping. She sent me gifts, often, and she called, but I wasn’t sure the last time I actually saw her. I hated that she preferred to live in Europe than with me, but I wasn’t willing to leave Aya or Cam—even though I craved the closeness Mom and I had once had.

  I smiled as I looked over at Aya. The next year spread out before me, like a movie, and I liked what I saw. Asher had insisted I take this year, my senior year, as part of the deal—he wouldn’t let me begin recording until next summer. That meant I had nine months with Aya. Our classmates would find out about my touring with Cam and my record deal, and that would keep me at the top of our social hierarchy—not that I cared that much.

  Sure, we’d have schoolwork, and I’d write a million terrible tunes with only a few that were good enough to show Asher next summer, but I also knew I’d spend hours in this kitchen, in this house, in Aya.

  “Thanks,” I murmured. I wiped my fingers on a napkin and tucked some of Aya’s hair behind her ear.

  She nuzzled into my hand, her eyes bright and filled with so much emotion. “Anything to make you happy.”

  Contentment washed over me. For the first time in years, I was happy.

  21

  Aya

  Nine Months Later

  * * *

  Loving Nash was easy, like breathing. No, easier. I’d done it for so long, unknowingly, that it was simply a part of who I was. However, the reality of being his girlfriend and attending Holyoke was more complicated. Every once in a while these days, I’d get a call from a reporter who wanted a story on Nash, Asher Smith’s newest star. I always declined to comment, jealously guarding his secrets. But the girls at school had been another matter.

  They’d fawned, they’d rubbed against Nash while sliding their phone numbers into his pocket, and they’d talked about me. I was aware of the online groups where girls discussed the many ways I wasn’t pretty or sexy enough to date Nash. They made fun of my college goals, wondering why I would bother with a
n education when I could simply tour with him. They debated why he wanted to have sex with me.

  It felt awful to know that was out there, but I had done my best to ignore those comments, blatant or insidious, and just focus on my life, on Nash. We’d spent every lunch together, and he’d often come to my house after school. The situation with his father had nose-dived, and while Nash didn’t speak of it much, each time he went home, he returned quieter.

  Mum had agreed that Nash’s home life wasn’t the best, so she never questioned him staying over. Steve often stayed with us, too, which my mother seemed to enjoy. She beamed over the dining table, pleased to have it filled.

  During our senior year, Nash and I went to homecoming, to the Valentine’s dance, and to prom. My mother and Steve took tons of pictures before each, and I’d framed my favorites, setting them on a shelf in my room next to my bureau.

  Nash had held me in his arms on more than one occasion as I worried over my mum’s weight loss, which she always chalked up to exhaustion, though neither Nash nor I bought that story.

  He’d asked her point-blank one night if she was sick.

  She didn’t answer.

  But at least he’d asked. At least he’d tried.

  When I looked back over the year, I guessed loving Nash had held me together with the weirdness that was both the perfect romance and occasionally a source of inner turmoil for me. But we had each other, we hung together, and that was all I could ask for. He was my safe place, my home.

  However, while loving Nash came naturally to me, sometimes getting along with him was a whole other issue.

  Like now. He was in a foul mood, brought about by his dad’s sex-with-a-groupie video making the rounds on the internet. That press had his mother smiling impossibly wider, her eyes empty as she hit each of the clubs on Milan’s strip, and even as she called Nash to tell him she’d sent divorce papers to Brad.

  “I just can’t anymore,” she said.

  I could hear her through his phone speaker, so I shifted away. But Nash pulled me down onto his lap, tucking my head under his chin as he leaned back into the pillows on my bed. I sought out my UT pennant on the opposite wall.

  MIT hadn’t accepted me, so I’d decided to stay here, close to my mother and Nash.

  I couldn’t wait to start classes at UT in August. Now that our high school graduation was behind us, Nash and I could focus on our goals: he would fly to Seattle June 1 to finish the album he’d started here, with Cam, at Asher’s studio, and I’d spend the summer there with him.

  We had an apartment near Pike Place already chosen. Part of me couldn’t believe we were doing this. But I was giddy with excitement.

  “Fine. I get it. He’s a total douche,” Nash said. I could hear the deep rumbles of his chest. I pressed my cheek against the soft cotton of his T-shirt. “But you’re still coming back, right?”

  She was supposed to be here, in Austin, for Nash’s graduation party at Cam’s family ranch next weekend. The end-of-May event had been planned for months.

  “No, honey. I can’t… I just can’t face it. Face him.” Tears lined her voice. “Please don’t hate me,” she sobbed. “I can’t stand for you to hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you, Mom.” Nash sighed.

  And he didn’t, but that didn’t mean he understood her choices—or liked them.

  “You can come visit me,” she said, perking up. “I’ll meet you in Paris—”

  “I have to finish my album.”

  He didn’t add remember? to it this time. She didn’t, probably because she was on too many substances to think much at all.

  “Oh. Well. After, then. I can’t wait to see you, Nash.”

  She sounded like a small child, unable or unwilling to be reasoned with.

  “I’ll be starting my tour after that,” he said, his voice patient.

  “Oh. Well, then…Christmas.”

  “Sure,” he said. “I’ll see you then. Bye, Mom.”

  He slammed the phone down onto my bed with enough force to cause us to bounce.

  “What the fuck does she think she’s doing?” he growled.

  I slid off him, and he rose to prowl around my room.

  Prior to last summer, Nash rarely came into my room, but my mother had grown too enamored with him during our almost year of dating to enforce the rules. This meant we did pretty much as we pleased. And we’d experimented. A lot. I flushed as I remembered last night.

  “Stop thinking about sex,” he snapped.

  “I wasn’t,” I said, though we both knew I lied. I raised my gaze to his as I licked my lips. “Fine. I was. I really enjoyed last night.”

  The anger melted from his face. “Did you now?”

  “Mmm... I’m glad you talked me into trying…that.”

  My face flushed as my gaze dropped to his jeans. The soft fabric cupped him like my hand, caressing the package there. My breath hitched. Oh, how I wanted him.

  He loomed over me, his eyes stormy, but his lips soft, parted in invitation. I leaned forward and pressed mine against them.

  He settled back on his heels, his hand at the nape of my neck, tugging me upward so my chest rested against his.

  Eventually we came up for air, and Nash flopped onto my queen-size bed, looking out of place on the pale pink, ruched comforter. Yet, at the same time, his big, rangy body looked just right.

  He’d turned eighteen nearly three months ago, and I’d had my birthday ten days after. He’d had Steve take us to the Hill Country, and then he’d surprised me by renting out one of my favorite restaurants. He’d invited my mother, Hugh, and Hugh’s new girlfriend, Lindsay Herrington-Smythe.

  Yes, that mean girl Lindsay. But Naomi had dumped Hugh, and he’d become enamored with Lindsay. And Hugh was my friend, so we’d included her in my celebration. I’d gritted my teeth each time Lindsay leered at Nash—nothing new, really, as most girls looked at Nash that way. But Lindsay’s gaze held something more, a calculation and coldness. When she caught me looking, she’d smirk, and I’d shiver.

  My mother hadn’t attended. Her health had declined over the last few months, and each time I looked at her once-lively eyes—which seemed to sink deeper into her skull every night as she slept—I feared she wouldn’t be with me much longer. And she wouldn’t be able to keep her promise to limit my father’s involvement in my life.

  Her body wanted to give out, but her will remained strong. Unfortunately, I wasn’t sure her will could win this battle.

  Nash’s flop of sun-kissed hair tangled with his eyelashes and his T-shirt had ridden up, giving me a glimpse of the warm, honey skin of his belly. He was taller now—over six feet—and he’d bulked up, especially during this past school year, thanks to the personal trainer he’d hired to teach him about boxing.

  “Hugh is thinking about breaking up with Lindsay.” Nash shifted on the bed, finding a more comfortable position. He tossed his phone to the side. “He says she’s clingy.”

  I wrinkled my nose but didn’t say anything.

  “Maybe she’ll end up back in England with her dear old dad,” Nash mused. “She’s miserable here, so that makes the most sense.”

  I shrugged. I knew Lindsay’s father was British, like mine, and her mother had taken a position at one of the tech firms here, handling their PR. I also knew Lindsay wanted very much to have Nash for herself. That’s why she’d started dating Hugh and wore her shortest skirts and figure-hugging jeans or halter tops.

  I lay against his side, enjoying the warmth from his body.

  “I’m going to miss you,” I murmured, hating the idea of him going to Seattle before me.

  My mother asked me to spend this next week with her, and I couldn’t tell her no, nor had Nash wanted me to. He longed for that sort of closeness with his mother, but she’d become even more distant this past year. And that had made it difficult for me to like her. Her son needed her, and she preferred to pretend her life was one big party.

  “And I don’t like the idea of you bei
ng sad or angry at your parents,” I added.

  “I’ll call you every day.” He pulled me down onto the bed, and I sprawled over him, my dark hair a curtain that blocked out most of the light. “This is the first time we’ll be apart since that tour with Cam.” He tucked hair behind my ear.

  I nodded. A lot of things were changing, coming to an end. While I was excited to travel to Seattle with him, I knew I would miss this time, this closeness. His record deal would change his life—and mine. I wondered what things would be like in a year... Nash needed to travel, to explore, to perform. I needed the stability of my mother, my home, which was why I’d opted out of the dorms. Too many pieces of my life were shifting because of Nash’s growing fame.

  This year, he’d been content to spend time with me, but with the move to Seattle, I doubted that would remain true.

  “I know this is important,” I told him. “You have your album to work on. You need to finish that and continue to build your audience.”

  He stared into my eyes, his grip becoming firmer, more electric. My breath quickened. He stared at me, hunger in his eyes. “I need you more.”

  22

  Nash

  Just like every other time I’d been with Aya, this time had been perfect. Paul Simon crooned over his guitar, the riffs to “Kodachrome” drifting through my head.

  “I love you,” Aya whispered, completing the ritual I’d come to need. But then she did something different. She raised her head and met my gaze. “Do you love me, Nash?”

  She tried to keep her face relaxed, but fear darkened those beautiful violet eyes as she searched mine. I did, of course, but as I opened my mouth, the words stuck in my throat. Memories I’d never shared with Aya rushed to consume me.

  “I love you, Carolina. Why can’t you just leave it at that?” Dad had growled at Mom.

  Lev and I had huddled close, just inside the large glass wall, peering out onto the deck, straining to catch every word of their fight.