Cam smirked. “Because I can be.”
I began to frown.
“No,” he said. “You’re not here out of pity.” He popped a Werther’s into his mouth, his eyes burning with intensity. “I told you before, your father reminds me of mine.” He glanced away, his jaw clenching. “Maybe if my old man had spent some of his time helping me instead of disparaging me, things would have been different.” His sentence ended softly, as if he were admitting that to himself for the first time.
“I’m just a kid—”
“With talent. And kindness. My mama likes you. Once I told her about you, back when I lived next door, she tasked me to look out for you because she worried about your influences, since your parents…”
I stared at my Converse sneakers. “Since my parents pretty much abandoned me.”
Fuck. I hated that I was like Lord Prescott in any way. But…truth was, whether it hurt or not. And this truth cut deep. My parents had given up on me when Lev died. And my subconscious had known long before I was willing to admit my family had shattered. There was no fixing it. I hated Dad for that, almost as much as I hated myself. Because my father might be selfish, but I’d been the one who didn’t fulfill my role, didn’t write songs when he needed them. And now, my family would never heal. So fuck it.
I clutched the music I’d just written. I’d wanted this—the ability to create something perfect—for so long. And now that passion flared brighter because these songs were for me. My father had made his point the other night. There was no going back. I was done.
“Look, Nash. You’ve had some hard knocks,” Cam said, interrupting my thoughts. “I get that. Also think you’re talented. And a good man.” He smirked at my scoff. “You’re ready to fly. I got the connections and ability to make that happen. Plus, I happen to like you.”
“Don’t forget your pay-it-forward theory,” Chuck rumbled.
I glanced over at Cam’s head of security, frowning.
Cam nodded. “Right. I help you now; you help someone else when the time’s right. Maybe multiple someones. One thing I learned in the Army—we do a lot of damage, but we rarely try to fix underlying issues. In your case, I can give you the opportunities your father should be giving you. It’s a song, an introduction. It’s hanging out with you. And it’s nothing hard since I’m more than glad to do all that.”
I smoothed the pages over my lap. “Like…a mentor?” I asked, still wrapping my mind around Cam’s kindness.
“Yep. Like that. And one day, I’ll be begging you to take my calls.” He laughed.
I clenched my hands into fists. “That’ll never happen.”
Cam sobered. “Back to the song. You down?”
I considered it a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that. Can…can we time it so I play close to Boston?”
“Damn straight. How about Madison Square Garden? That’s in a little over a month. Call up your girl. Get her to fly out for the show.”
I swallowed, all my emotions about Aya bombarding me once again. “What about you? Have you—”
He waved his hand. “I don’t talk about my past. Because that’s all it is.”
I nodded, unsure how to respond.
“Well, go on, then,” he said.
But his face didn’t seem as relaxed as his voice. I’d struck a nerve with my attempted question.
He pulled another Werther’s from his pocket and popped it in his mouth. “Pick out your favorite and get to practicing.”
When Aya called that night, her tension and sadness permeated the screen. This morning, she’d looked nervous as we left, but excited. Tonight—so late it was already morning again—she was different.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
Her lower lip quivered, and she looked away. “Nothing.”
“Aya…”
She closed her eyes. “It’s just… I’m not sure I made the right choice, coming here. Li’s been…” She blew out a breath, opened her eyes, and smiled. But I could see the strain. “I miss you.”
“Yeah. Today sucked without you here,” I said. I flopped down on the bed, shifting pillows to get comfortable. “Tell me about your day.”
And then she did, eyes alight with purpose. Fuck. How could I have missed how important this was to her? Like she’d said, STEM for her was like music to me. A solid weight pressed against my chest.
“What did you do?” she asked when she finished telling me about Li and their project and came up for air.
“We’re getting ready for the show tomorrow.”
“Right.” She bathed that lower lip with her tongue. That drove me nuts. “That’s all?”
I opened my mouth, but she was so into her program… Was it fair of me to pull her attention away from her passion? Just to get her to share mine?
“Not much else to tell,” I said, managing a smile. “You’re well aware that tours aren’t as glamorous as people think.”
We clicked off soon after, and I felt restless, unhappy. Steve was in his room, so I sought out Cam.
Chuck intercepted me on the way to Cam’s suite and shook his head. “Cam’s entertaining.”
I rolled my eyes. Sure, sex was easy, and I’d jerked myself into nirvana enough to know orgasms felt good. But Cam, like my father, used sex to cover other pain.
“Let’s head downstairs,” Chuck said, probably watching the play of emotions across my face. “To the gym. You can punch the bag or run on the treadmill. Get rid of the pent-up emotion Aya brought out in you.”
I reared back, away from the heavy hand on my shoulder. “Why does everyone think Aya’s bad for me?”
Chuck resettled his large paw on my neck and steered me toward the elevator. “I like Aya just fine—better than I’ve liked any of the gals you boys bring around.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and shot daggers into the silver elevator doors, making sure Chuck caught my look. “But?”
“But nothing.” He shrugged.
“My dad fucks around instead of dealing with his grief about my brother. That’s caused his marriage to fall apart.” I frowned, knowing that wasn’t quite right even as I said it. There had been women during the last tour, before Lev was gone. That’s when Lev had pulled away from Dad, from me.
Chuck grunted. “And you’re getting an altogether different lesson, aren’t you, son?”
Steve, Cam, and Chuck all called me son, something my own father didn’t. That realization left me unsettled.
When the doors opened, Chuck led me into the large gym and slid boxing gloves over my hands. “Punch it out if you don’t want to talk any more.”
I eyed the gloves, then him. “Is that what you do?”
He stuck his tongue between his teeth and considered. “Yeah. I got more of your lesson about sex and love. I prefer to pound my muscles into submission than screw my way to oblivion.”
I tapped the gloves together and started hitting.
Definitely cathartic. Kendrick Lamar’s lyrics pounded through my mind as sweat began to slide from my temples, then popped out over my whole body. I grunted and slammed my fists harder. I segued from straight-up rap to Beyonce’s “Freedom,” feeling totally jacked on the adrenaline high of boxing.
“All right, now. You’re going to pay for that tomorrow.” Chuck eased me back from the bag, tugging the gloves from my throbbing hands.
I looked at the clock and realized forty minutes had passed.
“Ready to talk about it?” he asked.
“I like Aya,” I announced, stepping to the side.
“Shows you got taste.” Chuck nodded. He tugged off his suit coat and rolled up his sleeves before he pulled on a pair of much larger gloves. He pounded at the punching bag, going harder than I thought possible.
Since he wasn’t looking at me, I said, “Everyone calls her mine, and I even told her that’s what I wanted, but I’ve seen what sex does to relationships. I don’t think my parents like each other, let alone love one another, and—”
A fir
m hand slid onto my shoulder. I turned. Cam stared at me, a solemn look on his face.
“And you’re worried about what that means for you and Aya,” he said. He glanced at Chuck, seeming to make sure the bigger man was okay.
I didn’t understand the bond between them, but I knew it was deep and important. Maybe like my connection with Cam…or with Steve.
“You guys and Steve are more like dads to me than my actual dad,” I muttered. “I mean, here you are, keeping an eye on me. You care what I’m thinking. My dad…” I swallowed, unsure how to voice my emotions about either of my parents.
Chuck quit swinging. He wasn’t even out of breath. “You got good instincts,” he said. He removed the gloves and grabbed his suitcoat. He walked over to the other side of the deserted space and grabbed a water from the fridge.
“You’re all wound up about Aya—what she means to you and what she should mean to you,” Cam said.
I continued staring at Chuck, but nodded.
“I met my wife when I was about your age.”
I looked over, eyes wide.
“She’s dead. Has been for a while.” Cam waved his hand. “Story for another day, but it’s part of why I don’t like talking about my past.”
I swallowed, digesting this new piece of information. “Fair enough.”
He smiled. “Chuck’s got his own story. One he prolly won’t share. But it’s why he’s the way he is. Steve, too, I’m sure. Our choices before inform our decisions now—for better or worse. For a while now, mine have been for the worse.”
I ingested his words, feeling their weight. “Can you come back from those decisions? Get on the right track?”
Cam scratched the side of his face, just above the dark scruff dusting his cheeks. I eyed it with a bit of envy. I shaved, sure, but I wasn’t close to growing an actual beard.
“I don’t rightly know. But I guess I should try, huh?”
Chuck came back and offered me a bottle of water. “Leaving the fan was a good start,” he said to Cam.
Cam raised his eyebrow, his lips quirked in a sardonic grin. “She can’t be worse than the crazy I lived through.”
“Doesn’t mean she’s better.”
“About Aya…” I said loudly.
Chuck tapped his fresh bottle of water against mine. “To pretty ladies with pure hearts.”
I shook my head, not really understanding the comment. Oh. Aya. My eyes widened.
Cam laughed, turning me back toward the elevators. We rode down to the lobby, and when we exited, Chuck helped us ignore the crush of photographers and screaming women who begged for Cam’s attention.
“Where are we going?”
“To grab a bite. I’m starving,” Cam said.
I smiled. I was, too, and I liked getting out of the hotel. I also liked that Cam didn’t fill his suite or floor with fans and partiers.
“What did you think about boxing?” Cam asked once we were settled in the vehicle.
“I like it.”
“Chuck thought you might.”
I smiled, feeling warmth in my chest. Cam liked me for me. I wasn’t simply a tool to be used. He was like having a much older brother.
My chest ached. I’d always miss Lev, but Cam helped fill that gaping, ragged hole. And he seemed happy to do it. Just like Aya. She was a part of me—a deeper, more integral part, than Cam could be—which was why I wanted to share my successes with her. I remembered how good she felt in my arms, her soft hair tickling my skin, her fresh scent teasing my nose.
I’d already claimed a relationship with her. Now I had to make sure we could be close and not break apart, chip away at each other like my parents had.
“I’m definitely going to invite Aya to hang out again,” I said. The decision was obvious now that my head was clear.
“All right,” Cam said. “Just don’t push for more’n you’re ready to take on.”
“Is that what you did?” I asked.
Chuck growled from the driver’s seat, and Cam got a far-off look in his eyes. He pulled a candy from his ever-present stash and sighed a little when it hit his tongue.
“Oh yeah.”
17
Aya
As Nash appeared backstage with Cam at Madison Square Garden, my pulse raced and my mouth dried out. He wore his favorite red Chucks, dark wash jeans, and a soft gray T-shirt with an Austin logo I’d bought him for the occasion.
“My good-luck shirt,” he’d said with a grin and a wink. “From my pretty girl.”
He shoved his guitar back and pulled me into a tight embrace. His mouth sought mine, and I held still, one breath, two… His tongue caressed my lip, and I opened for him with a throaty gasp. I gripped his biceps, my head spinning. I whimpered as his tongue slid over mine in a long, slow swipe. I shivered, needing to be closer.
He pulled back, his hand on my chin, his gaze firm and filled with desire. “I could kiss you all night.”
“After you kick ass on stage,” I said.
He pressed a kiss to my temple. “Also for good luck,” he murmured. Then he stepped back, leaving me shivering, missing his heat.
I huddled in my jacket, arms wrapped tight around my waist as he followed Cam toward the stage. My gaze slid down his broad back to the taut muscle under the soft denim. Damn, he looked good.
Nash settled into the spot next to Cam with an assurance that came from consistent rehearsals and performances since he’d left me in Boston a little over a month ago. In that time, his charisma had grown, and now he, like Cam, could carry the audience.
They started with “Sweet Baby Home,” their harmonizing bringing tears to my eyes. After the song finished, Nash ribbed Cam about the intricacy of the guitar picking, even as he showed off his ability with an easy flourish that caused the crowd to hoot and holler in appreciation.
“Y’all wanna hear more from this guy?” Cam asked.
The crowd grumbled a little, but Nash picked and plucked his guitar faster as he hummed—that mesmerizing hum that made my knees weak and my body warm. He hummed a bit louder, the melody to the song he planned to play.
The crowd wavered, and the women began to holler and scream for more, more, more! Then Nash played in earnest. Cam stepped back, taking the rhythm-guitar role. When Nash leaned into the microphone, I would have sworn he’d been performing for years. He wasn’t just a natural; he had an innate instinct for how to lift the crowd, how to create a fever pitch of emotion, and how to soothe them back into harmony. I pressed my clasped hands to my chest, tears pooling in my eyes.
Nash Porter, superstar, was born tonight, and I couldn’t have been prouder. While I was the first one Nash hugged when he strode off stage, sweaty from the stage lights and clearly high on adrenaline, Steve was there, too, pulling him into a hard embrace. He thumped Nash on the back.
“Damn, you’re someone a man can be proud of,” Steve said, his voice wobbly.
Nash cast him a questioning look just as he was caught up by Chuck in a bone-crushing hug.
The night turned into a whirl of people congratulating Nash, of girls yelling his name, of reporters shoving closer to us as they called out questions, trying to scoop everyone else with the story of the new rock god—and get the real story behind Nash and Quantum’s success.
Nash and I had talked about that over the past few weeks, and Nash had also spoken with Cam. Nash had chosen not to comment on his father or his father’s band with the press, but Cam and some other stars, including Asher Smith, had questioned Brad Porter’s composition skills—and whether he’d stolen his son’s work.
Nash had blocked his father from his phone and social media, a bold but necessary step. While it made things more peaceful now, I wasn’t sure what would happen when we returned to Austin—how Brad would handle the fallout from his ailing tour in combination with Nash’s rising stardom. My guess was not well.
Nash handled his new fame with an ease I found disconcerting. Even now my skin itched, and I wanted to shrink away—except Nash
had his arm around my shoulders, snuggling me against his side.
“Who’s the girl?” a reporter yelled.
I cringed, and Nash looked down at me, his gleaming eyes dimming as he took in my uncertainty.
“Is that your girlfriend?”
“What’s your name?”
“Smile for us, sweetheart.”
“Why don’t you give him a kiss?”
“Ignore them,” Nash whispered.
I nodded, but unease crept through me because I knew the reporters would find their answers eventually—and I knew Nash’s new fan base would work to tear me apart.
18
Nash
My adrenaline high lasted through the rest of the evening, even as I tried to fully appreciate the iconic venue. Madison Square Garden—I’d just performed my own song here. Holy hell. Life was amazing. But the best part was Aya. She never left my side, and I liked her there. I held her hand on the way out of the building to the tour bus parked in the lot.
The song I’d shared tonight was a piece of me, one Aya held safe and close, inside herself. She understood the longing, the fear, the joy of whatever this was we were doing. And because she shared it, she made me feel brave enough to offer it out to the world.
Tonight I’d shared something, and it had proved magical, but I’d need to guard against the desire to offer up too much more. I could hear my mother’s voice in my head. No need to leave myself vulnerable.
Cam had been saying he’d introduce me to Asher Smith for a while now, but our timing had always been off—until now. Reality hit hard as I watched him approach. I gripped Aya’s hand, unable to slow my breathing.
She wiggled her fingers enough to return circulation and then leaned against me, her head on my shoulder, giving me the comfort I needed to calm down.
“You just faced down a crowd of how many thousand people?” she asked.
“They didn’t matter. Not like this.”
She sighed. “This is one on one, not all those fans you have to convince. This is easy.”
Sweet Oblivion Page 11
