Page 36 of Sweet Oblivion

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.

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.

---