Sweet Oblivion

by Alexa Padgett

  “See?” Lev had sneered. “He uses the words, but he doesn’t mean them.”

  I’d watched him swallow another handful of pills—this time brazenly, almost begging our parents to see him, stop him.

  “Because love shouldn’t involve other women!” Mom had shrieked back.

  Dad had stood then, his phone falling from this lap to the flagstones below.

  Lev had grunted, reaching his limit. “I’ll show that stupid fucker.” He’d darted out toward Dad’s phone. He’d grabbed it, shaking it over his head. I could still see his thin, pale arm stark against the black sky and his dark T-shirt.

  “Maybe if you turned off the notifications for your fuck buddies, Mom would believe you,” he’d taunted.

  Dad had whirled, eyes and mouth wide before he lunged. Lev darted away, nimble despite the drugs that caused him to sway.

  “Choose,” Lev called, running down the stairs. “Do you love Mom or do you love banging lots of women? Huh? What’s it going to be, asshole?”

  I’d shoved open the door Lev had slammed behind him, screaming his name. Dad’s anger had blurred the air around him as he snarled at Lev to give him back his phone. And then everything moved in slow motion…

  Lev running to the end of the dock.

  Lev throwing the phone.

  Lev teetering.

  Lev falling.

  Lev gone.

  “Nash?” Aya’s cool hand settled on my cheek, tugging me back to the present. “It’s okay,” she said, her mouth trembling. “I shouldn’t have pushed. I’m just glad you’re here with me.”

  She kissed me, and I responded, desperate. Love was stupid, futile. It hurt. But this…what Aya and I had, it was more than love could ever be.

  I just needed her to understand. But I tasted the saltiness of tears at the corners of her lips. Tears I’d made her cry.

  “Are you going to find another girl on the tour?” she whispered.

  I pulled back and settled her head against my chest. “I’m here with you. That’s all that matters.”

  “Is it?” she asked.

  “Yeah, it is.” I held her, feeling like an asshole. Why couldn’t I just say what she needed to hear?

  But I couldn’t get the words to come out. I just couldn’t.

  She sniffled for a while before she relaxed into sleep. I stared down at her, wishing I’d done a better job reassuring her tonight.

  My phone beeped a text, then another and another.

  I grabbed it, turning it to silent mode as I looked back at Aya. I sighed, my shoulders relaxing, as she slept on. I wanted to curl around her and sleep, too. It was late, and I was exhausted, but I couldn’t relax. Not here, not after what I’d done to Aya—or hadn’t done, actually.

  Dried tear tracks had crusted white on her cheeks. I frowned, hovering there, wanting to do something to ease her concern, to explain. But how could I explain? Then I’d have to share the whole story, and I didn’t want that. Didn’t want to think about that.

  My phone vibrated, then again and again.

  With a curse, I pulled on my clothes and headed out her bedroom door.

  I slammed through my front door, annoyance and fear jockeying for dominance after the sheer number of texts my father had sent me. I felt keyed up and restless until the moment I found my father face down in his own vomit in the marble-tiled atrium. Then everything in me went still.

  “Dad!”

  My knees slammed to the ground, and I gritted my teeth against the pain as I rolled him to his side. He let out a low moan.

  He isn’t dead. I couldn’t lose someone else.

  He met my gaze, and tears filled his bloodshot eyes.

  “She’s leaving me,” he murmured. His voice cracked. “Carolina…she’s really leaving me.”

  He screamed the last so loudly that I fell on my ass, right in a puddle of my father’s sick.

  He curled up in a fetal position and sobbed. “I loved her,” he rasped, his voice shredded. Then he sprung up and gripped my shirt, his eyes wild, tears streaming down his face. “You gotta believe me. I loved her so much. I never wanted this—I never wanted her to leave me.”

  I stared, unsure what to do, how to manage this crazed version of my father.

  Then Steve hauled me off the floor.

  “What’s happening?” I asked. Confusion pummeled me, but Steve was a steadying presence. Yet even as I was grateful for him, my mother’s long-held insistence on discretion and privacy told me Steve shouldn’t witness this. Still, I clutched his sleeve as I stared at my father’s huddled form.

  “He’s not supposed to be here.”

  “What?”

  With a look of disgust, Steve said, “He’s clearly having some kind of a breakdown.”

  “Is my mom…?” I felt like a little boy again, begging for attention. Please, please let her just be hurt. We could survive hurt.

  Steve shook his head. “Your mom’s fine. She’s still in Paris. Brad here just received his divorce papers.”

  “As in today?”

  Steve nodded. “Why don’t you go on upstairs and get in the shower? I’ll do my best to get him cleaned up.” His lip curled in disgust as he bent down to haul my dad off the floor. “And get him out of here.”

  “No,” I said. I licked my lower lip. “I need to talk to him.”

  Steve narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Nash.”

  I straightened my spine and met my bodyguard’s gaze. “I didn’t ask.”

  Steve’s jaw ticked, but he dipped his head once. I hoped that meant he agreed.

  I made it into my shower on autopilot and stood there, hot water pounding against my skin and “Carry on My Wayward Son” pounding through my brain.

  My dad was a disaster.

  But nothing about this situation made sense. He had to know Mom would eventually reach her breaking point. How could he not know that?

  I scrubbed my face. I wished I hadn’t come home. If only I’d stayed in Aya’s bed. We’d been happy. My chest ached. No, we hadn’t. I’d hurt her. I’d need to figure out how to fix that, too.

  After a good, long soak that did very little to make me feel any cleaner, I dressed and tried to pull myself together in my room. Still, I hesitated before heading back downstairs. I considered calling Pop Syad, but I wasn’t sure he was in good enough health to help me. And what would I ask him to do from Paris, anyway?

  But there was something about finding my dad tonight, how unhinged he’d become… Fear crept up the back of my neck, and I struggled against the need to run.

  I needed to man up and deal with my father, so I strode down the stairs toward the master suite, my heart pounding so hard against my ribs that it drowned out any possibility of music in my head.

  Dad looked up at me as I stepped into his room, his eyes bloodshot, red-rimmed, and empty. At least he was clean now, his hair wet from his recent shower.

  “I need some answers,” I said.

  He turned to look out the window. When he turned back, his gaze locked on mine. “You think I’m to blame for all this. I know you do.”

  I heard a gentle clearing of a throat and turned to see Steve on the other side of the room, near the door, like he couldn’t bring himself to get any closer. His mouth pressed in a thin, disapproving line.

  “What?” Dad snapped. “Carolina’s father is going to shove me out on my ass anyway—we both know it. At least Nash deserves the truth.”

  “Don’t—”

  “Fuck off, Steve. This is as much your fault as it is mine.” Dad had tried to yell that, but his vocal cords seemed too shredded to get out more than a hoarse croak. He wheeled back to face me. “You aren’t my son.”

  “Wha…?” Of course I was. We shared a love of music, the same color hair…and nothing else.

  “Brad—” Steve moved farther into the room, his agitation clear.

  “Blow me,” Dad replied. “You cuckolding bastard.” His gaze turned malicious. “Didn’t he tell y
ou? Steve is part of the long list of boy-toys your mother screwed. Him showing up here was how I figured it all out.”

  I couldn’t think. My head spun around like a top.

  Brad choked out a laugh. “Ironic, huh? I’m the one known for my affairs when Carolina destroyed our marriage.”

  “You were,” I yelled. “I saw you with—with all those women.”

  Brad grinned, flashing those white, perfect teeth, but his eyes were dark, dank—deep pits of the ugly he’d lived. “To get even with Carolina,” he said as if it were the most rational thing in the world. “To make her feel the jealousy I did. It worked for a while, but after Lev died…”

  He tugged at his hair, and pieces of it came away in his fingers. That horrified me as much as his words. Brad Porter was coming apart right in front of me. Fear slicked my insides, and my skin crawled.

  “I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises,” Steve said, coming forward to tower over Brad. He refused to meet my seeking gaze.

  “What’s he talking about?” I asked. My voice sounded high, thin—that of a child. “Steve, why did he say that about my mom?”

  “Get up, Bradley,” Steve said, his tone hard. “You broke the contract with malice. You have to leave the premises right now.”

  “What?” I cried. “Wait! You can’t just kick my dad—”

  “I’m not your father, you stupid shit,” Brad growled, standing up. “Didn’t you hear me? You mother’s a—”

  I lunged at him, gripping his shirt, and he laughed.

  “You gonna take a swing at me, you pathetic little punk? Fine. Hit me. I’ll get more out of you for assault than I would from my control-freak father-in-law.” He shook himself loose from me. “Here’s a news flash: I never wanted another kid. Lev was more than enough for me. I loved him. You…you were good at writing music. That’s all. That’s the only reason I pretended to like you. But then you had to go and tell Carolina’s fuck-toy here all about it, ruining the one thing we could have had.”

  Steve didn’t have to pull me away from Brad. I stepped back all on my own, shaking my head, my mouth hanging open, my world caving in on itself.

  Brad laughed again, and I shivered, hating the way the sound accosted my ears. It was discordant, vicious.

  Steve dragged Brad from the room, a meaty arm over his chest as he kicked.

  I couldn’t see Steve’s face, but his shoulders were stiff.

  Alone in the room, I saw black creeping in around the edges of my vision. My eyes burned and my head ached. I’d just collapsed in a chair when Steve returned, his phone in hand.

  “Your grandfather would like to speak to you.”

  I shook my head. “Just tell me… Is it true? What my da—what Brad said? Was that true? Did you have an affair with my mom?”

  Steve’s face remained stoic, but his eyes gave him away. They were dark, filled with secrets. He held out the phone again. “You should really talk to your grandfather.”

  “I asked you a question,” I said.

  His jaw jutted forward. “Nash, it’s not that simple…”

  I stepped back, my guts churning, my mind whirling. “That’s the thing. It is. You let this happen to me. You went along with it.”

  “Nash.” His voice cracked. I’d never seen Steve lose his composure. But now his jaw trembled.

  “No. I don’t want to talk to anyone. You’ve all lied to me.” I stabbed my finger toward Steve’s face. His eyes dimmed further. “You lied to me,” I screamed. “All of you. And my mom…” A sob erupted as I ran from the room, tore out the front door.

  I’d go to Aya. She’d know what to do.

  I ran, picking up the pace, ignoring the gravel and detritus that cut into my feet.

  I needed this night to never have happened. I’d go back to Aya’s house, to her bed, and wrap myself around her.

  I’d wake up in the morning, and this would all be a dream.

  A terrible, terrible nightmare.

  23

  Aya

  Sometime in the night I rolled over, and my hand settled on the cool sheet next to me. I sat up, my stomach roiling. “Nash?”

  The room was dark and cool. Quiet. Too quiet for Nash to still be there—he snored, though he didn’t believe me when I said so. As I pulled the sheet up over my naked chest, the faint sound of something shifted across the linen. With a squeak, I dove for the nightstand light and flicked it on as I jumped from the bed. I darted across the room and shimmied into a nightshirt and panties before creeping back toward the mattress.

  I sighed, relief making my limbs limp when I saw the folded piece of paper with my name on top. I rubbed my thumb over Nash’s messy scrawl. My chest tightened as I unfolded the paper with extra care.

  * * *

  I didn’t want to leave. My dad kept texting, asking where I was. If I could have stayed, I would have. I wanted to wake up next to you. I wanted to kiss you again. I always want to kiss you. I’ll never get enough of your time or kisses.

  Yours,

  Nash

  * * *

  I traced my fingers over the letters. See? He must love me; he just struggled with the words. And who could blame him? His parents were a hot bloody mess. He just needed more time. He’d tell me eventually.

  Someone knocked on my door as I frowned at the paper, wishing the Yours said Love. He didn’t have to say the words for me to know how he felt…

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Aya, but we need to take your mother to the hospital.”

  I set Nash’s paper on my nightstand. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Get dressed. I’ve called the ambulance as I think that’s better than me transporting her.”

  I chewed on my lip as I pulled on a pair of leggings and a long tunic. I hurried down the hall, my head spinning, and burst into my mother’s room. It was light, airy, with sheer curtains at the large windows that overlooked the lake. Her large, balsawood bed had the sheers tied back. She lay huddled in the middle of them.

  “Mum,” I cried, rushing toward her.

  “Didn’t want to worry you, mon mignon,” Mum said, gasping and wheezing.

  She seemed to shrink before my eyes. The wheezing grew louder. Her hand was cold, her fingers like frail, brittle twigs between my palms.

  “You’ll be fine,” I said with a smile. “Everything will be fine. I love you.”

  “Ah, ma petite belle. I love you too—to the moon and back again.”

  “What is it? I asked.

  “Heart…chest pains…” She began to cough, hacking grunts that shook her frame.

  My whole body shook—maybe from the shock, I wasn’t sure. I’d been sitting here, in this spot, mere hours before, and my mother was fine. She’d laughed with me.

  Moments later, the housekeeper, Mrs. Ombly, pushed open the solid pine door, admitting paramedics. I was shunted to the side as they spoke in their medical shorthand.

  Mrs. Ombly drove me to the hospital. I sat at my mother’s bedside in the ICU. My mother’s nurse had disappeared some time ago, her face haggard, after saying she couldn’t do anything more.

  Mrs. Ombly suggested I call my father, and that’s when I realized I didn’t have my phone. She promised to collect it and a change of clothes for me. I must have fallen asleep after she left, because the next time I woke, the machines were screaming and people rushed into the room, moving me out.

  I waited in the hall outside my mother’s room as more medical personnel sprinted inside. But I didn’t need them to tell me what I’d seen in my mother’s eyes.

  24

  Nash

  Aya still hadn’t responded to my messages, which was unlike her. And she hadn’t been home when I’d run here. Dark, clamorous instruments clashed in my head—a heavy, angry hiss of noise that flared with fear and worry.

  The house was open, though, so I’d come in to wait for her. That’s when I found her phone in her room. I’d laid down on her bed and stared up at the ceiling, inhaling her scent. It ha
d calmed me, and I’d sighed just before the sob caught me by surprise. Then I turned my head into her pillow and cried. My dad—Brad… He hated me.

  All the while my phone had kept buzzing in my pocket. I ignored it as long as I could, but finally, I yanked it out in irritation. Pop Syad had called me fifty-three times.

  He called me a fifty-fourth while I was checking, so I pressed the green button.

  “What?” I snapped.

  “I’m worried about you, my boy.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No, Nash, you’re not. And it’s because of that…that…”

  I rose from Aya’s bed and moved toward her dresser. My eyes traveled over her phone and the note I’d written her next to it, and then found her malas. My fingers wrapped around the beads, and I ran my thumb over the tassel, enjoying the tickling sensation across my skin. She’d taken them off to shower earlier, I remembered. She didn’t like the tassel to get wet.

  Where is she? I should go check on her mother, make sure everything’s okay.

  I shoved my hand into my pocket and moved back across Aya’s room.

  “Your mother is a beautiful woman,” Pop Syad added after a moment. “So vivacious and full of life. But she needed a firm hand. Rules. Brad broke all the rules. He broke her.”

  I headed toward Mrs. Didri-Aldringham’s room.

  “Steve is in front of the Didri estate. Please join him, Nash. There is much I need to tell you.”

  I huffed out a breath. “I don’t want to see him. Or you. I don’t want to talk to either of you.”

  “Brad Porter is in debt,” Pop Syad said quickly, pressing into the silence before I managed to turn off my phone. I put it back to my ear. “Large amounts of debt. That’s why he took money from me to stay with you while your mother spent time during the last years in and out of various rehabilitation facilities.” He sighed. “I feel as though I’ve tried every one in Europe.”

  I stopped walking, my mouth dropping open. “But her partying, I saw her…”