Page 32 of Craving Oblivion

“Well, a car just pulled onto your road. I expect them at the gate…”

The chime blared, and Steve scowled.

I strode past him into the kitchen alcove—what used to be the butler’s pantry—where I kept one of the monitors. I looked down into the face that stared back and gripped the edge of the counter as my knees buckled.

Unfortunately, my fingers slipped, too, thanks to the bloom of sweat that exploded on my palms and at the small of my back, temples, and upper lip. I landed hard on my ass. The air rushed out of my lungs, and my vision tunneled. At least the damn songs faded behind the ringing in my ears.

“Nash?” Steve’s severe features appeared in front of my face. Concern morphed into trepidation as he studied me. If I looked half as bad as I felt—pale, shaky, sweaty—then I was a total mess.

“You with me, son?”

“Aya,” I whispered.

“Whoa. You sure?” Steve turned toward the monitor.

My ass ached nearly as much as my lungs. I couldn’t draw a full breath. My vision still seemed narrowed. “I told you, I—”

“Are you going to let her in?” Steve asked, cutting me off. “Because she’s starting to look like she regrets pressing the button.”

I rose to my feet so fast my head seemed to float away from my body, and I pressed the gate release so hard I jammed my knuckle. I was a mess.

Sure, I’d been thinking about Ay—I always thought about her. But I wasn’t prepared to see her, talk to her...grovel at her feet. Not now, not when I was so recent from detox. Not when I was still trying to figure out how to be a real person.

Why was she here?

“Marry Me” by Thomas Rhett spilled through my head, followed by Lewis Capaldi’s “Before You Go.”

That second tune suited Aya and me better. I wanted to touch her.

I wanted to taste her mouth.

I just wanted to hold her, soaking in her scent, the softness of her hair and the warmth of her body.

Maybe, for the first time in years, I’d feel like I was home again.

Why was she here? She had to hate me. She’d told me she did.

“Get out of here,” I told Steve, making a waving motion with my arms.

“Knocked you flat on your ass,” he mumbled. Then he clapped me on the shoulder. “Are you okay with this, son?”

I shook him off. I’d showered recently, but I was wearing old jeans and a years-old T-shirt that had become a favorite simply because I’d had it so long. The logo was mostly faded to nothing, but it was soft, nearly threadbare in places. I looked…not my best. Not that I’d looked or felt that way in ages.

I’d wanted to dazzle Aya if I was going to see her again. I stared down at my bare feet. This outfit definitely wasn’t going to do it. I barely looked like I could dress myself.

“Nash? I’m worried about you.”

Right. Steve. I tried to remember what he’d said.

“You and me both. And my guess is I’m going to need you around to keep me sober when she leaves. So, enjoy your few hours or whatever with the Sherry chick.”

Steve muttered a curse. “There goes my only chance at sex.”

“Well, at least you have a chance at it.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “I keep telling you, it’s not healthy to repress—”

“Not interested,” I shot back.

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