Sweet Oblivion Read online

With each show, my father’s temper frayed further, and I started to understand the problem. When reporters asked Dad how many of his songs I’d helped write, he snapped out that I’d helped him with a few words, his eyes dark and daring me to contradict him.

  I kept my mouth shut, hoping he’d let me play again.

  More critics panned the new album and the tour, sending Dad into a rage. He smashed tables in the green room that night, and Steve whisked Aya and me out of there. We ended up at a barbecue joint before heading to the movies. While fun, it wasn’t what I’d expected. And as pissed as Dad was, I was equally as frustrated that he’d lied to me, and to the media.

  Instead of sold-out arenas, Quantum’s ticket sales had declined by the end of the first week as we moved on to Nashville.

  When I finally found a moment to tell my father what Beanie had said, he nodded. “Too right. Don’t be a shit, Nash.”

  I rocked back on my heels, gaping before I managed to say, “But—”

  “But nothing,” Dad snapped loud enough for everyone in the green room to hear.

  My ears burned, but I held his gaze. Why was he being such a dick? Dad sauntered in closer, using his additional thirty pounds to bump me back.

  “Remember, you had nothing to do with this album or this tour. Nothing. If you want to stay with me, you’d better treat the band and the rest of the staff with respect.”

  He turned and walked away—straight into the arms of a woman with red-slicked lips and thick eyeliner, giving her a cat-like look. She glanced at me briefly before pressing her body against my father’s.

  Aya inched closer to me, no doubt feeling my shudder of revulsion.

  Steve laid his hands on our shoulders. “Time to head to the hotel,” he said.

  Neither of us argued.

  Later that night, after the concert, Aya was in her room reading some thick, boring book about an astronaut that she claimed was fascinating. I’d left her to hang out with my dad in his suite—at his request. The July heat pressed against my skin as we stood on the balcony, making it itch a bit, but I wasn’t focused on the physical discomfort. Instead, I gaped up at my father, still unsteady from the bombshell he’d dropped.

  “You don’t want me on tour with you?” I asked.

  I couldn’t believe his words. No way! No way my father didn’t want me… I’d pretty much written Quantum’s previous album; my dad had promised to take me to the concerts, to let me hear the fans’ reactions to my songs. To let me play one of them, tell the world they were mine.

  “But you said…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. My ears rang as embarrassment crested over me in a huge wave.

  He refused to look at me, instead facing the Nashville skyline and clutching the thick, metal railing. “This tour’s based on the collaboration between Beanie and me because you wouldn’t write anything.”

  “Because I couldn’t—” I swallowed. “I’ve been busy with school…”

  “Anyway, there’s really no reason for you to join me on this next leg.”

  “But you said I could play my song—”

  Dad tossed his half-smoked cigarette off the balcony, not seeming to care where it landed below. Smoke rippled out of his nose. “Those are my songs. Mine. They’re on my album, and my band plays them.”

  “I wrote them, and you said I could play—”

  Dad narrowed his light brown eyes, and I felt a twinge of unease. “No. You’re not going to fuck with my music. My legacy.”

  “But…but…”

  Dad kicked at my lounger. “You’re fucking up my band. You need to go home in the morning. Get your mom to spend time with you.”

  “Mom’s in Paris.”

  “Like I give a fuck. Stay here, hang out with that little girl you brought along. I don’t care as long as you’re not with me.”

  Those words slammed hard into my chest, reverberating there, much as the metal lounger continued to vibrate from Dad’s kick. The thick, fluffy cushion couldn’t conceal the attack.

  If I hadn’t been sitting, I might have staggered backward under the onslaught of emotions. The physicality and the ugly, closed expression on Dad’s face combined with the words… I felt as if he’d hit me, not once but many times. My chest felt bruised and achy.

  I swallowed a deep sense of loss. I’d prided myself on my easy relationship with my father. But I realized now, that had been gone since Lev died.

  I had to try one more time. “Dad, I don’t understand…”

  His face twisted in a snarl, and I shrank from him, unsure if I should run or prepare for a blow.

  “Are you stupid?” he yelled. “I said no, you’re not performing. You’re not part of my tour. That’s the end of it.”

  Silence engulfed us. I felt…bereft, as I had when Lev died. I could hear Dad breathing in sharp pants. The door opened behind me, and my neck prickled as Steve came to stand next to me. He kept his gaze on my father, and something passed between them.

  “I don’t have time for this shit,” Dad said, pushing past Steve and striding through the suite.

  “Are you okay?” Steve asked. Worry clouded his eyes.

  I was contemplating how to form words when my phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket. Cam’s smiling face appeared on the screen for a video call, and I pressed the green Accept button, feeling wooden.

  Cam’s grin slid off his face. “What’s wrong?”

  I blinked back tears. “My dad just told me I can’t travel with him for the rest of the tour.”

  Cam turned his head away, jaw jutting. After a long pause, he turned back, anger in his eyes. “He give you a reason?”

  “He…he said…he said he didn’t care where I ended up as long as it wasn’t with him.” My lip quivered, and I felt tears in my eyes. I swiped at them, angry and embarrassed. They couldn’t fall—that would make my humiliation complete.

  “Because of the songs,” Cam muttered, so low I nearly missed his words. He cleared his throat as he popped a Werther’s into his mouth. “Your dad reminds me too much of my own old man. And that makes me sorry for us both.”

  I hadn’t gone over to the Graces’ ranch when Cam’s dad was around because I didn’t like the way Mr. Grace spoke to Cam. It was too much like how my dad spoke to me. He’d been angry since he realized I’d helped Cam with that song, reminding me that composing music was our thing and that “it’s all in the family.” I guess that meant I wasn’t supposed to tell other musicians or something. But it’s not like Cam went around blabbing about me. Though, come to think of it, Cam had been annoyed that my father hadn’t credited me on his albums.

  I didn’t know what to say to Cam’s comment. And I didn’t like having Steve witness my blubbering. Embarrassment scalded me yet again, and I shrugged. “Whatever.” I sniffled and turned my face away. I shouldn’t have accepted this call. But then I’d be talking to Steve, who still stood in the doorway, his face stiff and unhappy.

  “Where are you?” Cam asked.

  “We rolled into Nashville today.”

  “I’ll be there tomorrow. You can tour with me. I’ll talk to your mom—”

  “She’s in Europe,” I said, my voice sounding like someone else’s. “Are you stupid?” My father’s words swirled through my head.

  Cam grunted. “Well, then I guess it won’t be a problem for you to hang out with me.”

  I turned so I could watch the moonlight glisten over the river. It wasn’t too distant, and it reminded me a little of the lake back home. Aya said that was the prettiest time of night, right after moonrise. Tonight, though, it didn’t calm me. I wanted to rest my head on Aya’s shoulder. I wanted Steve or Cam to hug me.

  “Great,” I told him. “Sounds fabulous.” I shoved my foot along the expensive tile, liking the slick feel under my shoe. “But you have better things to do than hang out with me—”

  “Like I’ve said before, you remind me of me, but with more talent. Plus, the reason I called was to tell you Asher Smith wants to meet you. He saw yo
ur song that first night.” Cam cleared his throat. “Yeah, so he asked about you. He knows you helped me with ‘Sweet Baby Home’.”

  My eyes widened. “Asher Smith?”

  Cam grinned. “Isn’t he your hero?”

  A reluctant smile tugged at my lips. “You are if I can hang out with him.”

  Cam laughed. “Consider it done.”

  “Seriously?” My head felt light, my body giddy. Asher Smith and Camden Grace. Those guys were way bigger than Quantum. Holy hell.

  Take that, Dad.

  In that moment, I decided I’d never write another song for my father again. He wanted to call me stupid? Tell me he didn’t want me around? Fine. My songs would be mine. Or for people I chose to give them to, not someone who demanded them.

  Cam’s gaze darted up toward Steve, who stood over me like a damn Roman sentinel.

  “Tell you what, why don’t you see if your friend—what’s her name?” Cam asked.

  “Aya.”

  “Cool. Ask her if she wants to come, and you’ll both join my entourage tomorrow. Steve, can you get the kids to the venue tomorrow afternoon? Say three o’clock?”

  “Of course. As long as it’s okay with Aya’s mother.”

  “Can’t imagine I’m a worse role model than Brad’s been,” Cam muttered.

  I had to agree with him. Dad seemed to go out of his way to make Aya uncomfortable.

  “Maybe we can collaborate on another song,” Cam said. “And you can sing it onstage.”

  The swell of excitement in my belly crashed as I realized what Cam was doing. “I don’t want your pity. That’s what this is. You feel sorry for me.”

  He shook his head. “You know we released ‘Sweet Baby Home’ first. The song you wrote. And do you know why?”

  Warmth rippled over my skin like a caress. “Nope.”

  “Because it’s the best song on the album, Nash. That’s saying something, because I’m a hella good songwriter. But your song is better, and it’s going to blow me into the stratosphere.”

  “All right. If you really think the song’s good enough…”

  “It definitely is,” Cam said, his tone warm. “Asher thinks so, too. So, we’ll need to get you two together. We’ll talk more about that tomorrow.”

  I nodded, and as I ended the call, I felt calmer, almost happy.

  Until I remembered my dad’s comments.

  “Do you…hear music in your head?” Steve asked after a moment.

  I shrugged. “Sometimes.”

  “New melodies or other people’s songs?” he asked, his tone a bit urgent.

  Weird change of topic. I felt a strange flutter in my belly. It was a tangled mix of dark emotions I couldn’t quite tease apart.

  I frowned. “Some of both, I guess.”

  “Let’s…ah, let’s get you back to your room,” he said. “We’ll get everything sorted out tomorrow.” He cleared his throat and patted my shoulder in an awkward show of affection.

  “You don’t have to feel bad for me,” I muttered as I stood.

  “I don’t feel bad. I, uh, I think what you can do is a gift. You’re…you’re one in a million, kid.”

  I stared up at the stars for a moment, wishing my father had said those words to me. Then I followed Steve back through the suite and out the door.

  13

  Aya

  When Nash returned to the suite and told me about the change of plans, I felt my entire body unclench, and I breathed a sigh I hadn’t realized I’d been holding in.

  “Okay.” I studied him. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I mean…you want to do this?”

  Nash nodded, some of the disappointment clearing from his features. “Oh, yeah. Cam said I could collaborate with him, perform.”

  His excitement caused me to smile, even as my stomach tightened again. I hated the idea of going out onstage, and I couldn’t imagine a worse experience than having thousands of eyes trained on me, expecting musical perfection. I suppressed a shudder.

  Nash stood from his chair and stretched. “Want to watch something?”

  I smiled and scooted over on the bed, my belly flipping as a thin slice of his tanned stomach flashed into view. I patted the space next to me, my mouth too dry to speak.

  “Ay?”

  “You pick.” I smiled as I handed him the remote from the bedside table, trying to regulate my breathing.

  He plopped onto the bed and shoved another pillow behind his back. Just then Steve poked his head through the connecting door, a frown on his face. He opened his mouth and I tensed, ready for him to tell Nash to come back to their room.

  But his gaze softened as he watched Nash wiggle into a comfortable position, toeing off his shoes. Steve’s gaze met mine, and I read the concern there, as well as a stern demand to behave. I nodded and settled back against the pillows, keeping space between Nash and me.

  “I’ll leave the door open so you can come to bed when you finish your show,” Steve said.

  “Sure.” Nash nodded, never taking his eyes from the screen as he flicked through the options. “Oooh, look, Ay, they got the new horror flick.”

  I shuddered even as I sighed in acquiescence. It wasn’t that horror films terrified me—they didn’t—but I wasn’t big into gore, and that was Nash’s preference. Still, something about him seemed off tonight, and he needed this. I’d just have to close my eyes against all the blood.

  Steve sent me a sympathetic look as he leaned against the door frame, and my concern for Nash ratcheted up. But then Nash pressed play, so I settled in.

  Steve finally stopped hovering in the doorway about halfway through the movie. The next scene proved even grosser than the previous ones, and I buried my face in Nash’s chest. His arm came around my shoulder, and he patted me in an absent way that told me he was deeply engrossed. I sighed and closed my eyes, relaxing against his side.

  I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, the credits were rolling. Nash shifted, trying to reach the lamp, which was on the other side of me.

  He glanced down and noted my opened eyes. His seemed stormy, his unguarded face filled with anguish.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  His jaw clenched so hard, I heard his teeth clack together. Maybe I lifted my palm and cupped his cheek because I was still half asleep. Or maybe not… I rubbed my thumb over his lip. His breath puffed against my skin, and I shivered as the tension eased from his body.

  He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me flush against him. His hands splayed wider, covering more of me as he rolled over, pressing me into the mattress. My hips cradled his, my arms twining around his neck, slithering into his hair.

  “Nash,” I whispered. “What is it?

  “My dad doesn’t want me here,” he said.

  “Well, your father is a jealous idiot.”

  “You told me that months ago.”

  I nodded. “I remember.”

  Brad’s comments must have cut deep. I understood that all too well. I leaned up and kissed him, pulling back quickly, though I didn’t want to. “I’m sorry.”

  He rested his forehead against the side of my neck, and I shivered as his lips brushed the sensitive skin there. I cuddled closer. He pressed his hips forward, bumping against my leggings and the soft flesh beneath—a question. I opened my legs wider, wanting him, wanting this.

  “Aya…” he murmured. He rose up on his elbows, brushing the hair from my forehead. I tipped my head in invitation, and he leaned down, our breath mingling.

  We tensed at the sound of footfalls coming toward the open doorway. Nash flopped onto his back next to me, turning his head on the pillow. I lay there, sprawled, heart thumping, cursing Steve.

  Nash’s gaze cut to the door. “I’m coming to bed in a sec.”

  “All right,” Steve said. “Goodnight, Aya.”

  My smile trembled but I managed, “Goodnight.”

  Nash cleared his throat. “When do you leave?”

  I bit my lip. “I can
stay through Sunday.” That was three days from now. “There’s a flight out Sunday evening. It’s a red-eye…”

  “So after the show?” he asked, hopeful.

  “I...”

  He rose up on his elbow and used his free hand to press his finger to my lips. “Trust me, Ay. If you stay for the show, I’ll get you to Boston.”

  14

  Nash

  The next afternoon, Camden Grace strode into the green room at Bridgestone Arena after his sound check, his dark hair messy and a bit damp. He’d played the Grand Ole Opry the night before, but tonight was a much larger show—in terms of both seats and tech—than the intimate version. His eyes flitted around, taking in not just the people in the room, but the furniture, the exits…everything. He pulled a Werther’s from his pocket and popped it in his mouth. Cam’s longtime head of security, Chuck, followed a step behind. A deep scowl settled on Chuck’s face, causing him to look even burlier.

  Their gazes turned to Aya and me, and Aya shrank back a couple of inches, easing behind me. No doubt she worried this reception would be like what she’d gotten from Beanie last week. But I felt myself shaking with excitement.

  Cam held out his hand as he walked toward me, smiling, some of the darkness lifting from his eyes. “Nash. It’s good to have you ’round again.”

  His voice was low, smoky but smooth. A new tune popped into my head, and I struggled not to hum it aloud as we shook. Excitement licked over my skin as more of the melody flowed, smooth as glass, through my head.

  “We missed you at the recording sessions for the rest of the album,” he noted. “You’ll have to give me your opinion now, though I could have used it then.”

  “I was hanging out with Aya,” I said with a shrug.

  Cam’s gaze slid over my shoulder. His smile turned gentle. “And you’re Aya?”

  She squeaked a little as she stepped forward. “Yes, sir.”

  Cam chuckled. “None of that sir business, now. I decommissioned a while back and plan to keep it that way.” He winked as he offered his hand.