Sweet Oblivion Read online

  I gripped my phone tighter, needing it to tether me to the now. Shock and something warm settled in the angry swamp of my belly. For some reason, I didn’t hate the thought of Aya being my girl as much as I probably should’ve.

  Aya bent down now, along with Naomi and Hugh, to collect the papers strewn across the hallway. Hugh, the asshole that he was, stared down Aya’s V-neck shirt, his mouth gaping like a freaking fish out of water, until Naomi elbowed him hard, right in the thigh.

  I smirked, deciding I might actually like Naomi after all.

  Lord stood up, his stance menacing. He raised his fists and launched himself at me. I managed to duck the first attempt—a right hook, but his left fist caught me in the ribs. I grunted. Over Lord’s shoulder I caught a glimpse of two armed security guards running toward us, followed by the head of school and Steve.

  “Get the Prescott shit off him now,” Steve snapped to the guards. “Or I’ll do it. And I won’t be nice.”

  The guards each gripped one of Lord’s arms, dragging him backward. Steve cast the bully a furious look.

  “You okay?” he asked me.

  I nodded, refusing to wince. But, holy hell, my ribs smarted. Lord had put a lot of effort into that punch.

  “We’ll need you to come to my office, Nash,” the head of school said, a harried expression on his face.

  “Sure.”

  Steve gave me a long look, his gaze landing on Aya, who was still helping collect papers. He frowned and gave me a nod. He laid his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Proud of you.”

  Well, he’d be less proud when he found out I’d nailed Lord in the throat, but whatever. Aya was safe.

  “Give me a minute,” I said.

  Steve nodded, his gaze flashing back to Aya before he steered the head of school back down the hallway after a much-subdued Lord.

  Aya rose and grabbed her bag from my arm.

  “I’m heading to the loo,” she said.

  “You okay?” I asked her. “Your butt—”

  “Is fine,” she said. She glanced around at the dispersing crowd. “That was way too much excitement for my first day.”

  “Meet me at the school office,” I said. I looked behind her at Hugh. He’d done his best to protect Aya, so I’d give him another chance. “You, too.”

  He fell into step beside me as Aya trotted off toward the bathroom.

  “You stay away from her,” I grunted as soon as Aya was out of earshot.

  Hugh blinked to focus on me. “She invited me to sit with her at lunch,” he said. “Me and Naomi—you know, my girlfriend.”

  “I don’t want you near Aya,” I said. “And do not look down her shirt again, you skeez.”

  “That just…they were right…” He cleared his throat. “I love Naomi. But Aya is nice, both in personality and to look at.”

  “That’s the problem. She’s new and she’s nice, and I…”

  I stopped. Never, never admit when you want something, Nash. That was my mother’s best advice. Or at least the mantra she liked to drape over me. If you do, people will use it as leverage, use it against you.

  “You what?” Hugh asked.

  “That’s why I invited her to sit with me,” I muttered, avoiding his eyes. I’d nearly broken the rule for a girl.

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you and Aya at your table.”

  Hugh entered the office while I gritted my teeth, cupping my aching side. Suddenly nothing was going right today. I yanked the door wide and stomped inside.

  Steve and the staff assumed my bad attitude was because of the fight Lord started, and I didn’t bother to correct them. Nor did I register Lord’s dismissal from Holyoke. From what I remembered, in a vague, underwater-type of way, Lord never said anything. The punk just disappeared from the school, whisked away like the filth he was. Instead, I focused on listing all the reasons I couldn’t give in to the attraction between Aya and me. Why I didn’t want it.

  Then she walked into the headmaster’s office, and the tension drained from my muscles and my head.

  I was so totally fucked.

  As we walked back to class, late, I asked Aya to sit with me at lunch. She blushed and dropped her eyes.

  “I said I’d sit with Hugh since he tried to keep me from hitting the floor when the ‘Prescott shit’ started causing problems.”

  I smiled. Her imitation of Steve was spot on.

  “Plus,” Aya said, no longer meeting my gaze, “I thought maybe we could hit pause.”

  “Why?” I stopped walking and leaned against a row of blue lockers. She wanted to talk, so we’d talk.

  She stared down at the ends of her hair, as if mesmerized by them. “I’m not sure about what you did back there…to Lord. Was that necessary?”

  “So necessary,” I said on a sigh.

  She looked up and met my gaze.

  “And long overdue.” I waved my hand. “Everyone is going to be happy about Lord leaving. Except maybe Lindsay.”

  She glanced around, but no one was out here in the hallway. Her shoulders slowly relaxed. “Well, I’m still sitting with Hugh and Naomi. I promised.”

  That seemed to be the end of the conversation, though I still wanted to argue. Aya must have seen the gleam in my eye because she narrowed hers and put her hands on her hips.

  “I promised, Nash.”

  She turned and marched down the hall. I caught up to her and grabbed her hand, leading her back to the right door. She muttered thanks but seemed unwilling to meet my gaze.

  Whatever.

  I settled into my normal seat, scowling when I noted Aya was across the room. That wouldn’t fly. But I’d fix the seating situation tomorrow. I listened with half an ear while the teacher talked about the STEM interdisciplinary project we’d be working on for the rest of the semester. Instead of finals, half the teachers planned to use the project as a large chunk of our grade.

  I noted that Aya perked up, her eyes alight with interest.

  Right. She loved math and science. Her goal was acceptance at a top-tier engineering school. I had no doubt she’d achieve it…and leave me behind.

  I settled back in my desk, arms crossed, and spaced out.

  A new melody drifted through my head, and I opened my notebook, writing down the notes, then the lyrics.

  The snippet was angsty—perfect for a country tune or an indie rock ballad, depending on which direction I went with the strings. Banjo would be more bluegrass or country…but cello—yes! The deep, melancholy thrum of a cello overlaid with two different guitars. I scribbled the notes through the bell, ignoring everyone in the room.

  I finally stood, stretched, winced, and noted Aya hovering near the door.

  She was as drawn to me as I was to her.

  “He hit you hard,” she said. “Do you need a doctor?”

  I shook my head as I packed my backpack. Since we’d missed one class and entered this one late, it was now lunchtime.

  I considered switching tables and refusing to sit with Aya. I wasn’t sure I liked her exerting power over me. Not sure at all. But I wasn’t willing to let her out of my sight, which meant…

  “Let’s go eat,” I muttered.

  9

  Nash

  I met Aya’s mother and grandfather that afternoon when she invited me back to her house after school. I rather liked them both, and since then we’d been hanging out at her place after school every day. We’d settled into a nice routine. Yesterday, I’d spent an hour or so with her mother while Aya used power tools in the workshop near the garage. The noise gave me a headache, so I’d begged off. Mrs. Didri-Aldringham made me a cup of chai and offered me a couple of Madeleines—as if I’d pass on cookies.

  That’s what Aya’s mom went by—Didri-Aldringham—a hyphenated version of her life. “Bifurcated by divorce,” she’d told me. “I refuse to give up my daughter’s last name to please my ex-husband.” Her dark eyes had sparkled with mischief as she munched her cookie. “He can deal.”

  Yeah, I liked Ay
’s mom a lot. And Mr. Didri was cool, too. He sat in his lush garden and smoked some weird tobacco. His wild stories were way more fun than sitting at home, waiting for Aya to text or Cam to call. So, I spent more and more of my time at the Didri mansion, enjoying their close-knit family.

  It wasn’t like my own parents cared. My mom hopped a plane after embarrassing herself in front of Aya and me, and my dad finally showed up yesterday to offer me the chance to perform the song I’d written over the past few days—a tune he’d found in my room. One I hadn’t planned to share with him. He said if I let him record it, playing with him on tour could be my birthday present.

  That meant my gift would be months late and only if I let him use the song on his album. Some deal. I’d considered talking to Cam about that, but I wanted to perform. The itch had grown, but I needed my own material to create an album. Or I needed recognition for the songs I’d already written, which made Dad’s offer perfect, since I still seemed to have a barely functioning muse.

  Hugh and Naomi were excited when I told them and Aya the next day at lunch. They’d joined Aya and me every day for over two weeks now. Honestly, I was kind of over spending time with them.

  “I promised,” Aya said when I brought up the lunch arrangement on our walk home from school. “We’ve been doing it for weeks now. What’s the big deal?”

  Part of the reason I’d waited this long was because I liked Hugh. His wicked sense of humor made me smile, and I hadn’t done much of that since Lev died. And even though we’d had that falling out freshman year, he’d invited me to his parties and stood next to me when Lord had been a dick. Hugh had been a friend to me even when I’d refused to reciprocate. So, yeah, I liked this new arrangement better.

  But I didn’t like sharing Aya’s attention. Besides school, she spent a few hours each day on her STEM project, which did allow me to jot down more bits of music. But still…we were busy. And I didn’t want to share her, especially not with my father’s tour coming so soon.

  I narrowed my eyes at Aya. “You promised,” I said, my tone dry.

  “Yes, Nash. And when you promise, you have to follow through.”

  I should have known. Aya treated promises like sacred objects. Clearly, she wasn’t from the same culture as me. If she were, she’d understand promises were empty, made to be crumpled, trampled, kicked out of the way the moment they became inconvenient. Not unlike me.

  I shut that thought down quick. So what if my parents weren’t around? I had Steve at home. I had friends in Cam and Ay.

  “Fine,” I conceded to Aya’s lunch negotiation. “But you have to admit Hugh can be obnoxious.”

  Aya hesitated. “He’s not, really. He’s nervous around you. He told me how you quit hanging out with him because of Naomi.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Good. He deserved it.”

  “Oh, come on, Nash. Give the guy a chance. He loves her.”

  I growled in frustration as I walked on, ignoring Steve, who inched forward on the street next to us in some fancy-fuck car I couldn’t care less about. Yeah, most kids would give anything to live my life, but I’d rather have my parents around. My dad hadn’t been home in a week, and I was starting to feel…

  I wasn’t sure.

  Scared, maybe. Like I had when I’d seen Aya wading into the water that day when we were little. A feeling of inevitability had caused me to pay closer attention to the situation. My mom had been absent off and on for years now, thanks to her career. And, sure, my dad screwed around, but since Lev died, I’d realized I felt…I felt more and more like my family didn’t care what happened to me.

  Like I didn’t matter.

  That was a difficult pill to swallow—one that hurt an awful lot as it slid down into my churning gut.

  “What?” Aya raised her gaze to mine, and I stumbled over my feet.

  Those eyes were liquid violets. And her skin glowed angel-soft, smoother than velvet. I’d do just about anything for her—even walk in this heat like she’d asked me to. Sit with Hugh. Fuck. Be buddies with Hugh. Whatever. I just…I needed Aya to be happy.

  Admitting I wanted her happy was easier than admitting I needed her. Wanted her, hell to the yes.

  “N-nothing,” I stammered. No way I could tell her what I was thinking. She could hurt me with those secrets. But I wanted to tell her. I wanted to so badly I could taste the words on my tongue.

  Aya’s long hair pressed against her neck before shifting to tumble down her arm. She had thirteen freckles on her nose. I knew because I’d counted them. Every day.

  “My grandfather went to see a specialist yesterday,” Aya said. “The one in Houston.”

  “Oh?”

  Aya hadn’t mentioned his illness since the first day, and I hadn’t pushed.

  She dropped her gaze to the ground. “He’s down to weeks, he said.” Aya swallowed what sounded like an entire ball of yarn. “Yeah. His cancer metastasized.”

  “Shit, Ay. That’s…” I fisted my hands as rage and…something else…something I couldn’t identify…swept over me, creating a tidal wave of anger. “How’s your mom holding up?”

  “She’s a bit of a mess. I think she expected to have more time with Jeddi.”

  Aya called Mr. Didri Jeddi. It meant grandpa in Arabic, which, like French, Aya spoke well.

  “Why Jeddi and not Grandpère?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure, but if I had to guess, it’s because his connection to Tunisia made him different. Jeddi likes to stand out.”

  I smiled at that, totally getting the dude’s thinking.

  “He really doesn’t like my dad. I think that’s because he and my mum are fighting a lot. Last time I talked to Dad, he told me I’d need proper schooling if I ever wanted to be accepted in the peerage.” Aya cleared her throat, keeping her gaze forward. “I told him I was going to get my degree in aeronautical engineering and work at the JPL. He doesn’t think I’m smart enough.”

  I frowned. “That’s…weird. Who gives a crap about a bunch of wigged-up old dudes, anyway?”

  Aya laughed, but it sounded bitter, like she was all edges inside and trying not to be cut by them.

  “My father. He married my mother because she was so rich. He didn’t understand the depth of the British obsession with their own—and how much of an outsider my mum would always remain. Americans aren’t impressed much by titles. Wealth wins the day here, and my grandfather has that in spades.”

  “He told me he and my Pop Syad used to hang out, were even business partners for a while. And I bet they were hellraisers in their day.”

  “I bet you’re right.” We walked in silence but from the corner of my eye, I saw Aya searching my face. “What were you thinking about in the hall? That day you fought with Lord?”

  I blew out a breath before I answered her with a partial truth. “My brother.”

  She blinked at me. “Lev,” she murmured.

  I wasn’t surprised she remembered. Aya was like that—able to remember all the important details I shared, and many of the unimportant ones, too.

  “Was he younger or older?” she asked.

  I shoved my hands into my pockets, justifying my telling her because everyone else already knew the sordid truth.

  “He was a year and a half older.” I blinked back the burning sensation.

  “What happened?” she asked, tears already swimming in her eyes.

  “He died.” The words, even though years had passed now, hurt to speak.

  “I know that. How?”

  I continued to walk, my Chucks pattering across the straight, perfect sidewalk. I’d never told the whole story, never shared the details with anyone. Never intended to.

  “My parents were fighting.” The words tumbled from my mouth, desperate to break free from the prison I’d shoved them into as soon as I realized Lev wasn’t going to wake up.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” Aya said, her voice soft.

  I felt her palm slip into place against mine, felt her fingers
squeeze.

  “I’ve never told anyone,” I said.

  Her eyes held patience and understanding. “I kind of figured that.”

  I turned and stared straight ahead, trying not to enjoy the feel of Aya’s hand in mine, the warmth of her body radiating against my arm. I tried to ignore the soft brush of her hair, the sweet scent that emanated from her body.

  I failed.

  I inhaled hard. Did I want to talk about this?

  No way.

  Was I going to?

  Apparently.

  “My brother caught my dad with a groupie—at our house. That was the beginning of the end of their relationship. When Lev’s anger started spiraling…he was a mess. Anyway, Mom put Lev in therapy. And I guess the therapist told her about Dad having sex with women in our house.”

  Aya leaned in closer. Her luscious tit pressed against my biceps. That felt good. She felt good. Perfect, really. That’s what allowed me to continue.

  “Your mother is a beautiful woman. What more could your father want?”

  I shrugged, immediately regretting the action because it bumped Aya’s soft flesh away from me.

  “I don’t know. Mom used to be so fun, so present, but even before Lev died, when he was so angry and acting out, everything just kind of fell apart. Now? She’s…empty. And a drunk—high most of the time. Maybe Dad wants a woman who can have an actual conversation, not just an ornament.”

  Aya made a squeaky noise but managed to keep her mouth shut.

  My father knew the Carolina of my youth was gone. Maybe he had known it for years and just didn’t care. Or—and this worried me more—Dad cared too much to sever the link, which was why they kept spiraling back into alcoholism and loud fights and the pain of losing Lev.

  “We’d just come back from touring with my dad. Lev wanted to get out of the house, get away from their constant fighting. He said he’d heard them—it had something to do with us.” With me.

  But I swallowed that back, unwilling to share that piece of information. I worried it was why my mom had become so emotionally distant and my dad refused to be near me. I hated where those thoughts led, to the place where it was my fault Lev was dead, that my family was broken.