Page 63 of Sweet Oblivion

“It’s not just alcohol, though, is it?” I asked.

He sighed. “No, it isn’t. She struggles with all substances.”

“And sex,” I said, hating the words.

My head swam. I didn’t know what to think, what to do. So much had changed. In less than a day, I’d learned sordid, terrible truths about my mother, lost my father… My grandfather’s illness loomed large. This was how Aya felt every day, I realized—a sick fear that everything she understood and knew would soon be gone, that everything she wanted would be ripped from her.

“I need you to go with Steve, no matter your current anger with him,” Pop Syad insisted.

“I don’t want—”

“I know that. I know you’re an adult. I know I can’t force you to do anything. But you’re also the heir to my fortune, and your parents just dropped one of the biggest stories to hit the media this decade. Their divorce is going to be a shitshow. Brad will make sure of it. So please, until this settles down, please stay with Steve.”

I heard the door downstairs click open. If Mrs. Didri-Aldringham was sleeping, I didn’t want to wake her.

“Fine, but I don’t want to see you or my mother.”

Not that I expected her to come home. Why now, after all this time? I needed to process this. Fuck, I needed Aya.

I didn’t bother to say goodbye as I hung up and headed down the stairs toward Steve’s hulking form. He latched his large paw around my biceps, letting me know I wasn’t leaving his sight anytime soon.

Just fucking great.

25

Aya

When Mrs. Ombly returned, she led me to the closest waiting room and wrapped my fingers around a Styrofoam cup of tea. I held it, staring at the ill-fitted tiles on the floor as I sank into a chair.

“Would you like your phone, Miss Aya? Maybe Nash could come sit with you.”

“Sure,” I murmured, my voice hoarse. My throat ached with unshed tears. I took the device from her, clicked on the screen, and gasped. The tea fell from my hand, splattering my sandals and foot with hot liquid. But I didn’t feel it. Not then. Not as my gaze roamed over the many lines of text Nash had sent me—begging me to respond, saying he needed me.

I read all the way to the last one.

My father told me some serious shit. I really, really fucking need you right now.

But before I could reply, the doctor strode into the waiting room. I rose, slipping a little in the spilled tea. Mrs. Ombly bent down to clean it up with the thin tissues from the table.

“She had a massive heart attack,” he said. “We had to go in for emergency bypass.”

“Is she…” I couldn’t form the word.

He scrubbed a hand through his messy hair. “She pulled through the surgery, but it’s going to be touch and go for a while. This was a major event. She’s very sick.”

“With what?” I asked.

Mrs. Ombly made a noise.

He frowned. “She didn’t tell you?”

I shook my head.

He settled into the chair beside me. “Your mother has coronary artery disease.”

“What does that mean?” I fiddled with my fingers. “That’s why she…she had a heart attack?”

He nodded. “It’s genetic. We don’t understand why, but that connection can cause more serious health issues for women.”

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