Page 12 of Craving Oblivion

I ended up nose-to-chest with Steve.

He smiled down at me. “I’m glad you came,” he yelled. “Nash will be thrilled.”

“I’m leaving,” I said. “I don’t want to see him.”

He frowned, confusion in his eyes. We both turned to watch as Nash returned to the stage. The bass player pulled his head down, and he wrapped his arm around her waist. My chest ached. I whirled away.

“Aya,” Steve called.

I dashed at the damn tears. What had I been thinking?

Nash Porter still owned my heart. No matter how much time had passed. And each time I came into his orbit, all he did was break more of it.

7

Nash

I pushed through the door of the coffee shop, trying to ignore the pounding in my head. I’d performed most of Oblivion’s brand-new third album, along with some of the classics from the first two, to a huge crowd at Wembley Stadium last night, the second of two back-to-back concerts in a jam-packed summer tour. Despite this, I didn’t have the luxury of sleeping the day away as the rest of my band did. Today, instead of nursing the hangover that lurked behind my eyes, my responsibilities to the Syad empire called. They weighed me down, actually, and I barely managed to push back a groan of defeat.

At least my bandmates had known better than to drag me to the after-party. I preferred to do my unwinding separately and with a bottle of whatever liquor I could get my hands on. I felt like crap, but I knew it would’ve been worse with them.

I had to make more decisions about Pop’s businesses—the ones he hadn’t divested of prior to his death, which was a dizzying array of companies. Today, I’d meet with three separate boards of directors, none of whom were excited to talk to a twenty-two-year-old without a degree but with more money than any of them would ever accumulate.

I settled into line with Steve trailing a step behind me, as he always did, along with the other two men who now made up my service detail. Apparently, as one of the richest men in the world, I was considered a potential target for ransom or some stupid shit.

Honestly, I thought it more likely a rabid fan would jump out and try to wrestle me to the ground than I become the central figure in an abduction plot. But what the hell did I know?

I still mostly refused to talk to Steve, and I refused to consider our potential blood relationship. When Pop Syad had asked me to have a buccal swab a few years ago, when all the shit went down, I’d declined. That would’ve made the connection too real. Still, whether I liked it or not, he was something of a lifeline—more so since my mom and Pop Syad were gone.

I fiddled with my cufflinks, disliking my suit. Not only did I have to go to meetings today, but I had to do it dressed like a Wall Street douche.

Still, even in this outfit, I couldn’t imagine needing a team of security on a quiet street in Kensington, but I’m sure John Lennon wasn’t expecting a gunshot to the chest that nice day in New York, either. So I’d let Steve worry about that. I had other things on my mind—like the fact that I’d nearly managed to see Aya last night.

I’d sent Steve out to find her, but she’d rejected his invitation to come backstage. Tatum had waylaid me with a kiss—and I’d had to play along for the crowd’s sake. Steve said Aya had slipped away after that. Before I could talk to her. At least I knew she was in London.

That was important to me in a way it hadn’t been for a long time. Somewhere in the last few months, seeing Cam settled into married bliss, I’d begun to question my theory about love. I’d decided Aya and I had to talk about that night—what really happened—because it wasn’t going away, and whatever we were to each other now, she remained a formative part of my life. I wasn’t sure how to cut her loose, or if I really wanted to.

Hugh had made his point when he’d showed me the video again after my mother’s funeral, though even then I’d refused to acknowledge how badly I’d appeared to behave. It wasn’t until I actually met Cam’s wife, saw how perfect they were for each other, that I realized how much I missed having Aya in my life. Jenna was a hot mess of anxiety at times, but she and Cam loved deeply, to the soul. Cam protected her, but she supported him just as much—quietly, from the wings.

Like Aya used to do for me.

I missed Aya. I missed our closeness, knowing someone cared that much for me—like Jenna did for Cam. I was devastated that I’d lost her. That’s why I shrugged everyone off. That’s why I took my next drink of whiskey.

But I didn’t get to see Aya, to tell her any of that, likely thanks to Tatum. Oblivion’s bassist sat officially at the top of my shit list, and no amount of pleading or pouting would change that. Her constant touching, the screams, the need to answer another round of her inane questions—it all grated my nerves.

As Cam had tried to tell me years ago, touring wasn’t the flashy adrenaline high I’d expected. This was work—a constant grind. But the alternative was to stay in the condo in Austin and brood. I’d gotten really damn good at that and couldn’t stand to do anymore.

So, I’d recorded another album and hit the road again. This was the life I knew, and the life I now realized my mother had found more comfortable than staying close to home. To me.

As I continued to wait, I turned and shook the damp condensation from my suit coat. Then, I straightened as a teasing, tantalizing scent reached my nose. No way. But even as I thought it, my gaze swept the room and…my breath caught. There. Aya.

For the first time in years, George Harrison’s “Something” spun through my mind, soothing me.

She stood in front of me in the line at the coffee shop, about three people from the counter. She wore a lightweight, pale rose coat that fit her closely, showing off her slender waist. She stood with her shoulders back, more regal than I’d ever seen her. She seemed aloof, disinterested in her surroundings.

Based on her clothing, she appeared to be preparing for life as a debutante. My chest ached as I considered the brilliant mind behind those stunning eyes, forced to discuss trivialities and weather.

At that moment, she raised her head, nostrils quivering, as if she, too, had realized I was close. Her gaze slid toward me, unerring, and the smack of connection hit me hard, nearly robbing me of my balance.

---