Page 17 of Craving Oblivion

She pursed her lips, but she tipped her head up and met my gaze. “I do.”

“Then I guess you’re starting to know how it feels to have someone not give enough of a shit to step in. Oh, wait. You did step in. You fucked everything up.”

Though I roared the last words, she stood firm before me, her gaze resolute. “I deserve that. Every bit. Look, Nash, I’m not here because I want to be.”

I turned away, my throat working. My stomach threatened to heave again.

“Aya still cares about you. Her eyes never stop moving. She’s been doing it for years, and she spends every soiree, every party, searching. Searching for you.”

I laughed, but it cut off just before a sob burst from my throat. “That’s where you’re wrong, Lindsay. She hates me. Told me so herself.”

Lindsay shook her head, eyes gleaming. “I don’t believe it. You’re wrong.”

I took in her silk dress and expensive heels. Her hair was smooth and shiny, falling just past her shoulders. But her eyes were desperate. It was the first time I’d seen anything other than calculation in her gaze. For a moment, I connected with her fear and pain, but then I pulled back, remembering that Lindsay was a large part of the reason for my situation.

“What you want is for me to save a doomed love affair. Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but you can’t save those.” I pushed off the bed, shaky from my late night and the amount of booze I’d consumed during my shower ritual. I bit back a groan as I shuffled toward the bathroom. Everything hurt, with my eyes and my chest aching the most. Why was everyone so damn intent on bringing Aya back into my life?

Over four years had passed since Hugh’s party. Four years since I’d lost her.

“Get her out of here.” I thrust my thumb at Steve. “You, too.”

Never again would I drink so much that I blacked out, I vowed. Never again would I look at Lindsay’s face. Never, never again would I touch so much as a glass of liquor.

I headed for the bathroom.

My life was shit. I’d turned it to shit, just like my mother. I had wealth, I had fame, I had talent. But soon, I’d have none of those—at least if I followed my parents’ playbook.

Brad was so broke, he was doing a reality TV show in Brazil. And my mother had sequestered herself away from the world in Pop Syad’s mausoleum in Paris until her death. I had only visited her once because neither of us could handle more time together than that. The ghosts and recriminations between us had loomed too large. At least on my end. Her death hadn’t changed that.

I struggled to align the toothpaste to my toothbrush before I raised my gaze and stared at my bloodshot eyes, my haggard face in the mirror.

“You’re a fucking mess, Nash,” I breathed at the man I didn’t recognize. “Christ. You probably let Lindsay touch you. How would you know? You don’t even know how you got to bed last night.”

I shook my head, repulsion rippling over me. I brushed my teeth. After that, I stripped out of my boxers and got into the shower.

Cold water slammed over me, pelting my brain, but I stood there, jaw as tense as my body. Each drop hurt, yet I welcomed the sensations. For what seemed like the first time since Aya had breathed out those words, I felt.

It was horrible.

The water warmed and cascaded over me. I turned around and shoved my face into the now-scalding spray.

I was a mess.

I leaned over and retched into the drain one last time.

That was it—I’d reached the absolute bottom.

This couldn’t stand.

I needed help.

I got out of the shower and wrapped my still overly sensitized skin in the robe. My head ached, and I desperately wanted a drink.

I ignored the urge and tried to stay focused, knowing I wouldn’t last too long against it.

I walked out into the living space of the suite where Rod, my second-in-command, jumped from the couch. He seemed nervous.

Well, he should be.

---