Page 21 of Craving Oblivion

But still, I hadn’t called.

“I hate you.”

I knew Nash created songs both for himself and other performers. He toured almost constantly. He’d just bought a house in Austin’s Barton Creek neighborhood. He remained estranged from his father, Brad. Recently, more stories had emerged citing his erratic behavior. He’d recently fired his long-time head of security, Steve Lincoln.

A pretty blonde slid into the green velvet seat next to me at the table set for six. “You must be Aya.” She smiled as she arranged her voluminous, cherry red, satin gown, which undulated to the floor. “I recognized you from photos, though they don’t do you justice. I’m Jenna Grace.”

“I am. A pleasure. Do I know you?”

“I’m Camden Grace’s wife,” she said, her tone cheery but her eyes watchful.

“Oh.” My pulse pounded against my neck. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks. We’ve been married long enough now that I don’t get those much anymore.” She smiled again. “You look just like the picture Nash keeps on his nightstand.”

My tongue felt heavy in my mouth, like it wouldn’t unglue enough to let all the raging thoughts in my head pour out. Probably for the best because I wasn’t sure what this woman wanted from me.

“Mama Grace speaks fondly of you,” she continued.

I smiled at my memories of Camden’s mother: soft hands, gentle voice. Crispy fried chicken and sweet tea that slid down my throat with refreshing coolness on a hot summer day. She’d been kind but preferred the background. She’d smiled down at her pies as Cam and Chuck needled each other or Cam and Nash jammed on their guitars.

“She’s lovely,” I offered.

“She said she’s starting to feel her age.” Jenna shook her head. “I think it’s to guilt us into having more kids.” She patted her belly. “But I’m not sure I can handle more than one, especially if it’s a little hellraiser like Cam.” Affection laced her words. She blinked up at me, all innocence. “Was Nash mischievous?”

My upper lip stiffened, but I managed to say, “I don’t want to talk about Nash.”

“Didn’t figure you would.” Jenna shifted her weight. “Anyway, being pregnant is wreaking havoc on my insides. You’d think a bean couldn’t do so much damage, but it’s bouncing around worse than a bad mosh pitter.” Her eyes glowed with happiness as she placed her hand on the small bump there. She leaned in close. “I wasn’t sure I wanted Cam.”

I blinked, trying to keep track of her ping-ponging topics. “Okay.”

“He’s intense. A lot to handle.”

“O-kay.”

“And he’s been hurt. Deeply.” She shook her head. “Not unlike Nash. He’s a mess, you know.”

I raised my eyebrows, ignoring my clammy palms. “Cam?”

“Well, Cam, too. But he’s gotten so much better since he made peace with his past. He and Carter are close again, which helps immensely.” Jenna studied me. “Cam called Nash the night after he saw you at the coffee shop. I don’t think Nash remembers, though. He drank himself into a stupor.”

I clenched my hands into fists, but kept my mouth shut.

“He never reached out again, did he?” Jenna sighed.“So that’s why you don’t know…”

I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to calm my racing pulse, suppress my need to ask. Jenna could continue to play whatever game she wanted, but finally, after all these years, I was moving past Nash’s rejection, his betrayal, and the pettiness of high schoolers. Progress, I supposed. Though I didn’t feel much better for it.

I refused to close my eyes, knowing the image of Nash on the stairs—swaying, screaming at me, his eyes hot and angry—was there. Just there, if I let it out.

And the avalanche of hurt that came with it would bury me, yet again.

I hated how easily I fell back into those shame-filled memories. Hadn’t I just said I was making progress? Clearly not.

The image of Nash clasping Lindsay’s hand, of her walking him up the stairs to the sex palace, as the other teens had deemed any bedroom in any of our houses, caused a fresh slice through my pounding heart. The shame and embarrassment never left. In some ways, it was even more a part of me than the grief I felt surrounding my mother’s death.

“I was hurt like that—like you were—once,” Jenna said. “Around the same age as you, too. I needed a year away from those kids to find my footing enough to move forward.”

She knew. Of course she did. Anyone could find the video from that night. No doubt it was still plastered all over the Holyoke crowd’s social media, still there for people to see—to laugh at. Humiliation rolled over me again, each wave larger and more painful than the last.

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