Page 28 of Sweet Oblivion

“Yeah. Cam. Camden Grace.”

She hummed deep in her chest. “Tell him thank you for me—thank you for saving your life.”

“He did, didn’t he?” I muttered. “I hadn’t realized. I should thank him myself.”

Aya nuzzled her nose against my cheek. “I bet he doesn’t want it,” she whispered into my ear. “I bet he’s glad you’re here, and that’s enough for him. I know that’s how I’d feel in his position.”

Eventually, I pulled back, my eyes downcast, embarrassment swirling through me.

Part of me wanted to dive into the fancy car idling at the curb. Part of me wanted to lash out at Aya for making me talk about Lev, for making me remember and feel.

But instead Aya cupped my cheek, lifted up on her tiptoes, and kissed me. It was a soft, simple brush of her lips across mine.

This touch of lips seemed to say: I see your grief, and I want to make it better. You mean something to me. You are special.

I let my mouth respond: You mean something to me, too. You see me, and you being here with me makes my life better.

The kiss was perfect. Like Aya.

Just what I needed.

We stood, mouths meshed, tasting each other in small sips as our bodies inched closer. When I started to shift, planning to deepen the kiss, she cupped my cheeks. I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her flush against me. We held on, eyes closed, lips touching, blending under the dubious shade of the live oaks. Finally, Aya shifted, gasping for breath. Her eyes were wide and full of emotion.

We stared at each other until she gripped my shirt and pressed her nose into my pec. I tightened my hold, never wanting to let her go.

10

Aya

My grandfather wobbled on through the sultry month of May. “Holding on tight,” he said, to have more time with me.

I loved spending time with him, even as I worried about my mother’s health. My entire life seemed to be veering off in a direction that would alter me substantially.

Nash understood because his parents’ relationship was more messed up each day. They seemed to be communicating by one-upping each other with parties and alcohol, always seen in the company of a beautiful person who wasn’t their spouse—and rarely in Austin.

In fact, neither of his parents had been home in weeks. The tension between them skyrocketed when Brad once again tried to fire Steve. This time, it was Nash’s mom who refused Brad’s request.

Neither Nash nor I knew what to make of that mess, and Carolina hadn’t wanted to talk about Steve when Nash called her. I sat with him as he tried.

“He seems to be taking care of you,” Carolina had said in response to Nash’s question about Steve.

“I guess. But I’d prefer you were around,” Nash told her.

She sighed. “It’s just so hard, Nash, being there right now.”

I wanted to ask her if she’d considered her son, but I managed to bite my tongue.

Nash hated the media and his mother’s tearful reasons for staying away, but there wasn’t much he could do. He deflected comments at school like a pro, and I tried hard to make sure few people bothered him, just like Hugh did. While I wouldn’t call the guys close, Nash had thawed toward Hugh and included him in some of our weekend activities.

Not tonight, though. Tonight, Nash and I were outside on the deck behind my house. The temperature was dropping, and I shivered a little, but I wasn’t going to suggest we head inside. I liked the sound of the lake lapping against the dock below and the soft strum of Nash’s fingers over the strings of his guitar. He’d grown taller again, and his light brown hair was shaggier, hanging in his eyes and down the back of his neck, much to Steve’s clear annoyance. Darkness descended slowly as the sun finished setting, the last faint hints of red dissipating over the water, leaving it a thick, opaque void. I shivered and refocused on Nash.

He lay on his back in one of the teakwood loungers while I lay on my side in the one next to his, watching him play. The white cushions were thick and downy, and I snuggled deeper as I ran my fingertip over my malas.

Nash stared up into the sky as he strummed idly, humming a tune. I liked watching him step more and more out of his shell. I loved that here with me, he was just Nash.

“My mom’s upset that I’m going to tour with my dad,” he said.

I wasn’t surprised, just as I wasn’t surprised that Carolina had chosen to stay in Europe instead of returning to visit her son. I’d read on a French gossip site that she was actually in a rehabilitation center—very discreet—and this wasn’t the first time. I’d considered telling Nash, but I didn’t want to stress him out more.

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