Sweet Oblivion

by Alexa Padgett

  “Your father’s a cheater,” I snapped. “And you’re not even in a relationship.” Much to my continued disappointment. Well, as long as Nash chose me…but he hadn’t.

  He grunted.

  I laid my hand on his chest. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t helpful.” I sighed. “I don’t like you being sad either,” I whispered.

  “I’m not sad.” He kept my hand cupped against his chest. “But I am going to miss you.”

  Damn Nash and his raspy, whispery plea that shot straight to my heart. I bit my lip. I couldn’t tell him no.

  I managed to keep my mouth shut, and exhaustion weighed on me, trying to drag me under.

  “It’s not how long you know someone,” Nash murmured sometime later.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You said you hadn’t known your grandfather for very long. But I don’t think it’s how long you know someone that matters.”

  His voice was so quiet, barely more than the shape of his lips. I rolled toward him, resting my hand on his chest. He played with my hair’s ends before smoothing his hand down my head, cradling my nape. He pressed a kiss to my temple.

  This was the side of Nash few experienced. The one that made me melt and yearn.

  “It’s how well the other person sees you. And I see you, Aya Jane Aldringham.”

  11

  Aya

  I pressed my palms to my quivering belly. “I’m not sure I made the right choice,” I whispered.

  “What?” Nash asked.

  I turned to smile at him, but it likely appeared more as a grimace. “Just nervous is all.”

  Nash rolled his eyes even as he took a protective step closer to me, which caused my pulse to ratchet upward. “Everything will be fine.”

  I nibbled my lip, needing to change the subject. “What’s this room called?”

  Nash shrugged. “The green room, I guess. Just a place for the band and some of the staff to hang out before and after the show.”

  “And no one will be upset we’re here?” I asked, fidgeting.

  “Stop worrying, Ay. It’s all good. My dad’ll come in soon now that they’re done with the sound check.”

  But I couldn’t shake the worry that plagued me. My skin itched as I waited for the angry call from my mother. I’d let her know I planned to travel with Nash this week—but she thought I’d still head up to Boston for my course after that.

  Which I should. I would. I definitely would. Not just because of the cost—which was significant—but because the professors expected me. I just hadn’t been able to resist Nash’s sweetness last night, so here I was. This was the best of both worlds, really. I’d see what Nash was up to, and then go do what I needed to do.

  Nash leaned against the wall next to me and began to hum. It wasn’t loud enough for me to pick up the tune.

  “What are you humming?” I asked.

  He blinked, as if shocked I could hear him. “Nothing.”

  I raised an eyebrow, and he ducked his head, abashed. Tenderness welled up, and I pressed my hands harder against my stomach to keep from reaching for him.

  “It sounded pretty,” I said.

  He shrugged, bumping my arm. Shit. I’d inched closer to him. I was always doing that—seeking out his warmth.

  “It’s just a bit of a song.”

  “One I’ve heard?”

  I knew the answer to that before Nash shook his head. Suddenly he created music. No, that was the wrong word—he composed it. Over the past few weeks, music had seemed to pour out of him, and I was fascinated by his ability to hear not just different note and tones, but a variety of instruments.

  “Well, Mr. Superstar, if you ever decide to write it down, I’d love to hear it,” I said.

  He snorted. “Mr. Superstar? It’s a good thing you have that posh British accent, Ay, because the crap you spout is ridiculous.”

  I nudged him with my shoulder, ignoring the flutter in my chest as we touched. “You don’t seem to mind it.”

  His smile softened, as did his eyes. “Nah. I don’t mind. Hey, I’m glad your mom was so cool with you coming along.”

  My eyes prickled, and I swallowed hard. “She…ah…well… it wasn’t her favorite.”

  Nash stilled. “What aren’t you telling me?” He whipped out his phone and started typing. “She better not hate me for having you here.”

  “Unlikely, seeing as she seems to think you created and move the sun,” I said.

  He preened, casting me a side-eye, those soft lips turning up in a smile. I forced my gaze away.

  “She does, doesn’t she?” he asked.

  I made a noncommittal sound, unwilling to share what my mother had said about Nash the first time I’d brought him home. I was still shocked by her response to him. Every time she saw him, she beamed as brightly as the aforementioned star, seeming to bask in his presence. Sure, Nash was good-looking…fine, he was gorgeous. Not just his facial structure, which was divine—but then, with Carolina Syad for a mom, it would be hard not to be beautiful. No, Nash’s body was also well-proportioned if a bit skinny. In the time I’d known him, he’d already begun to fill out, turning him into a devastating assault on women of all ages. Me, especially.

  But he was also polite, solicitous, and poised—an unusual combination in teen boys. And when Nash felt comfortable, he was funny. Sure, he used sarcasm and dry wit to diffuse conversations and deflect unwanted attention, but there was a silliness to him that he rarely let people see. My mum and I saw it, often now.

  “Hmm. Good. She said she’s not mad,” Nash said, beaming.

  “She who?”

  “Your mom.”

  I scowled, clenching my fists. “Omigod! Stop meddling in my life.”

  “No can do, pretty girl,” he said, still on his phone.

  That was good because he didn’t see me biting my lip and trying hard not to smile. The nickname was silly, but I adored it.

  “She said you better call her later, though, because you have some logistics to work through.” He raised an eyebrow and looked at me. “I told her I’d make sure you did.”

  Nash could be so annoyingly responsible when he took the notion. Typically, he saved those moments for my life.

  “I’ll deal with my mum when I’m ready.” And I wasn’t ready. Seriously, what was I doing here? “When do we see this Camden Grace fellow you talk about?”

  “Early next week. In Nashville.”

  “Great. I’ll get to meet him, then.” His lashes were as sun-kissed as the hair on his head. My gaze traced the sharp lines of his cheekbones.

  “Why wouldn’t you?” he asked. His eyes widened. “You’re going to the thing at MIT. How long is this course anyway?”

  “Six weeks.”

  He scowled. “Fuck, Ay. That’s most of the summer.”

  I shrugged, pretending his disappointment didn’t bother me. It shouldn’t. We aren’t a couple. He didn’t want to be. “I’m still shocked I was accepted.”

  “You shouldn’t be. I told you, you’re really smart.” He clenched his jaw. “I won’t ask you to stay with me again. But I want to.”

  “Because your dad’s been all weird?”

  Nash shrugged. “I don’t know what’s up his ass. His album isn’t doing as well as he’d hoped.”

  I nudged his shoulder. “Probably because you didn’t write the songs.”

  He shot me a shy smile that made me a bit woozy. Once Nash realized his impact on me, I’d be totally screwed. “You think the last album was better?” he asked, his tone hopeful.

  “Far superior,” I said in a haughty tone, using my most precise British enunciation.

  Nash chuckled. “Yeah, me too.” His smile slipped. “Dad’s not much of a songwriter.”

  “Why didn’t he ask you to write any of the songs?”

  Nash shrugged. “He did, but nothing was clicking for me. Then he holed up with Beanie back in February. Once they started, he never even invited me to the studio.”

  Nash wasn’
t a fan of Quantum’s drummer. I hadn’t met the guy yet, but from Nash’s stories, he sounded condescending. And that was his best quality.

  “That’s okay. You said you’ve been hanging out with Cam, right? Didn’t his last album go gold or something?”

  Nash laughed. “Platinum. His first single broke the daily download record for a week straight.”

  “And you wouldn’t have had anything to do with that song, would you?”

  His blush was adorable. I wanted to press my cheek to his, have his embarrassment warm me.

  “A little,” he mumbled.

  “Well, I can see who has the talent in the family,” I teased.

  Steve walked back into the room and Nash straightened away from me, eyeing his bodyguard.

  “Nash, my boy!”

  I turned to find a tall, lithe man—probably about twenty-five years older than Nash and me—striding forward, a huge smile on his face.

  His blond hair appeared disheveled, as if someone had been running their fingers through it. His eyes twinkled with mischief, and the dimples in his cheeks hinted at a sweetness I was sure he used to his advantage with the ladies, which probably accounted for the crazy hair.

  “Beanie,” Nash said.

  Nash pocketed his phone and fist bumped the other guy, who studied me like my father did—as if wondering if I had any worth. I blinked up at him, straightening my spine.

  “Ay, this is Quantum’s drummer, Beanie. Beanie, this is Aya.”

  “Welcome, Aya,” Beanie said. His eyes remained cool, assessing, as they slid over my body. He turned back to Nash. “Your girlfriend?”

  “Thanks,” I said before Nash could respond. No need to tell the world he didn’t find me attractive enough to date. “I’ve never been to a concert before,” I added, feeling heat rush to my cheeks.

  “Kinda hard when you’ve spent most of the past couple of years scaling the Himalayas,” Nash said, turning toward me.

  “The Himalayas, huh?” Beanie asked, eyebrows raised. He considered me for a long moment. “Sounds daring.”

  A small group of other people soon surrounded us, including Brad Porter, Nash’s dad. He had a beer in his hand and a glint of anger in his eye.

  “My mother runs a nonprofit, and we spent time there, helping the local tribes build wells and improve their medical care,” I said.

  “A veritable Mother Teresa,” Beanie noted.

  I licked my lips, the excitement I’d felt moments before fizzling. I blinked back tears. The very world seemed to weigh on my shoulders. Nash eased closer to me, his body angled forward as if ready to spring into action against any threat. “That’s no way to talk to my friend.”

  I reached out, my fingers wrapping around his wrist, tugging him backward.

  Steve stepped forward, his eyes narrowed at Beanie. “I’d say she’s more like Susan LaFlesche Picotte—” He dropped his gaze, taking in my hand wrapped around Nash’s wrist before his eyes flashed up to mine with a soft smile. “The first female Native American doctor,” he added. “Why don’t we get you kids a drink? Excuse us, Beanie, Brad.”

  Beanie shuffled out of the way, seeming to realize his misstep as Nash continued to glare at him. My excitement faded as Steve cast another look at Nash and me, his gaze troubled. Had I ruined Nash’s time here with his father?

  Would the rest of the band find me as nerdy and weird as this Beanie fellow?

  Nash seemed so at home in this room, with these people. But I wasn’t comfortable, and I realized I’d been right to worry. I would never be comfortable with these people—in this room.

  What had I gotten myself into?

  It was just a week. I could do anything for a week… Then I’d be in Boston, with like-minded teens preparing for the next phase of their life.

  And Nash… He fit here. This was his world.

  But it would never be mine.

  12

  Nash

  I didn’t like Aya’s silence or her attempts to fade into the background. So I came out swinging, like I always did in these situations.

  I stormed up to Beanie. “Why did you upset Aya?”

  Beanie sneered. “Why do you even care? She’s just some chick. I hope you’re banging that at least.”

  “She’s my friend,” I stressed. “I invited her…”

  Beanie narrowed his eyes. “And this is my band. If you’re going to continue to be a little shit, I’ll be sure you get sent home.”

  I clenched my fists but kept my mouth shut. No way my dad would let Beanie talk to me like that. After their show, I’d tell him. He’d deal with Beanie.

  He’d better.

  Steve settled into the space nearby, waiting for me to calm down.

  “What?” I snapped at him.

  “Maybe Aya doesn’t belong here,” Steve said. “Maybe this simply won’t be her scene.”

  “Bullshit,” I spat. “She likes hanging out with me.”

  Steve rocked his head back, almost as if he couldn’t believe I’d yelled at him. I couldn’t believe it either, but I kept the concern that Beanie might throw us out locked down tight. Steve might be one of the few adults I could trust, but that didn’t give him the right to pick on Aya.

  He sighed. “You really like her.”

  “I do.”

  Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “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. That girl… I get it, Nash. She’s special. Smart, caring, and beautiful.”

  I growled, and Steve smirked. “She’s also seventeen, and I’m old enough to be her father.” He blanched.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. What did that have to do with anything?

  A little while later, I settled next to Aya as Quantum took the stage. She clasped her hands under her chin, and her eyes shone with excitement. When my dad started the opening chords for one of his most popular songs, Aya gasped, her eyes going wide.

  I smiled, loving that I shared this first with her.

  When my dad gave me the cue, Aya threw her arms around me and whispered good luck in my ear. I turned my head and pressed my lips to hers. The moment seemed to slow, then stop. Her lips were soft, plump, perfect. She pulled back, a shy smile teasing her mouth.

  “Get out there,” she said.

  I nearly stumbled as I made my way onto the stage. A roadie handed me my guitar, and I settled in next to my dad.

  “Hey, Dallas. This is my son, Nash.”

  Dad squeezed my shoulder and grinned as the crowd went wild. “He’s going to play this next song with me since he had a hand in crafting it.”

  Dad continued the chords, and I kept up, just like we’d practiced. He began the song but backed off after the first chorus, letting me sing the last two verses. The crowd went nuts, their screams filling my head with joy.

  This high—it was amazing. I glanced over at Aya and winked.

  She stood there, mesmerized. She didn’t move or even seem to blink. But she clapped and cheered with the rest of the audience when I took my bow. I ran off the stage to people screaming my name. I lifted her from the ground and spun her around, nearly tripping over the various cords on the floor.

  “You were awesome,” she squealed, which turned into a laugh.

  I laughed too, loving that she’d been here to see me.

  Still onstage, Dad segued into another tune as the roadie took my guitar.

  Aya turned to me, swaying, eyes wide. “I can see why you’re into live music.”

  I grimaced. “Not so much this song.”

  “Not one of yours?”

  I shook my head. “No, thank fuck.”

  She giggled.

  We listened to another couple of songs, but the magical moment was gone. The band played hard, but they’d lost the crowd. Dad shot me an angry look, so I leaned over toward Aya.

  “Want to head back to the hotel?”

  She nodded.

  We walked out of the venu
e, followed by Steve, and I sighed out some of the tension I’d been carrying in my shoulders since the run-in earlier with Beanie.

  “So what did you think about the concert?” I asked. “Better than climbing the side of a mountain?”

  She scrunched her brow as Steve opened the car door and motioned us in. “Better…” She shrugged. “At least the first part. Your songs are exhilarating.”

  I smiled. “Yeah, there’s nothing like being part of a live concert.”

  She shook her head. “No, I meant your songs, Nash. It’s easy to tell which ones you wrote.”

  I caught Steve’s look in the rearview mirror and sucked in my lips to keep from smiling like a damn fool.

  “Thanks.”

  Aya shrugged. “It’s the truth.” She sighed as she turned toward the window. “You’ll be up there with millions of fans screaming for you soon.”

  I gripped her hand. “And you’ll be backstage, ready to tell me how awesome I am.”

  She smiled as she rested her head on my shoulder. “I’m glad I got to see this.”

  Something in her voice worried me. But before I could ask her about it, we arrived at the hotel. Instead of hanging out in the suite’s living room with Steve and me, Aya excused herself, claiming she needed to call her mom.

  I stared at her closed bedroom door, dread creeping up my spine. “You’re right,” I said.

  “I’m always right,” Steve said with a grin. But at my worried look, his face smoothed out. “What’s wrong?”

  “She doesn’t like touring.”

  Steve’s expression turned pensive. He cleared his throat. “Could be she doesn’t like Beanie.”

  “Neither do I.”

  Steve hesitated for a moment. “Say the word, and I’ll get you home.”

  “Not happening,” I said, tone flat. “I’m supposed to keep performing with Dad.”

  Except I didn’t.

  “The roadies lost your guitar,” Dad said at the next show.

  “I’ll just borrow—”

  “No. You’re not playing tonight.” He turned away.