Page 5 of Craving Oblivion

“Aya…”

“You can see the girl after we bury your mother.”

The final conversation I’d had with my mom spun through my mind, making my chest ache and my palms clammy. My heart sped up as I settled back against the velvet cushion. I couldn’t relax, didn’t hear much of anything during the service. I’d become accustomed to retreating from pain, from any kind of feelings, really.

I squeezed my eyes tight, wishing I could go back, take back what I’d said—find a way to fix our broken relationship so it didn’t end with her tears and my anger.

To appease Pop Syad, I managed to wait until the pallbearers carried my mother’s coffin from the sanctuary before I charged toward the back of the church, Aya’s name on my lips.

“Why are you here?” I growled even as I yanked her into my arms. A sob built in my throat as I pressed my nose into my spot where her neck met her shoulder. I needed this, just as I needed to tell her why this ragged hurt and the guilt would never leave me.

She rose on her tiptoes, cradling my head in her slender arms. After a long moment, reality intruded, and I heard people shuffling out of their seats, some speculating about who I was hugging.

I miss you. So fucking much. But this hurts too much. How can this feel worse than burying my mother?

Before I managed to say words, I felt a hand on my arm. Aya stiffened as she stepped back.

“Who’s this?” demanded Tatum, the newest member of Oblivion.

Aya’s eyes shuttered, and I watched, horrified, as the girl I’d known slid behind a façade of etiquette. “Aya Aldringham,” she began politely. “Nash and I—”

Tatum smirked. “Right. The infamous ex. I’m impressed you showed up today. Says a lot about your ability to move on.”

I stepped in front of Tatum, a low growl in my chest. “Tatum’s our bassist.”

Aya dropped her gaze to where Tatum had laid her hand on my biceps, her fingers spread wide to cover as much of my black suitcoat as possible.

Then Pop Syad joined us, jamming his walker between Tatum and Aya. “Aya, my girl. I’ve missed you.”

Tatum winced as Pop Syad stepped on her toes. Bridger and Jax came to flank my sides, both of them glaring at Tatum, who now stared fixedly at a spot on the cathedral’s farthest wall, her jaw locked.

Aya shook her head at Pop Syad’s murmured words. “I couldn’t. This…” The old Aya rose into her eyes, and her face warmed as she took Pop’s hand in hers. She spoke in French, keeping her gaze on him. Then, before I realized her intent, she’d turned and melted into the crowd exiting through the massive wooden doors.

I stepped toward her, but Pop Syad angled in front of me. “Don’t embarrass her further,” he said, turning his glare toward Tatum. “And you…” He curled his lip, disgust evident in his tone and expression, his accent heavier than usual. “You are not invited into my home.”

Tatum drew in a sharp breath as Pop Syad moved forward, his bodyguards parting the flow of mourners and paparazzi.

I started after him, but Tatum gripped my suitcoat again. “What do you want?” I snapped.

“Why was she here?” Tatum whined.

“I couldn’t say.”

Hugh stepped forward. “She came to see you. Check in. Make sure you’re all right, what with your mom’s death and all.” His eyes narrowed. “You know, all those things you should have done for her when her mom died.”

Bridger gaped. “You left the girl to deal with her mom’s death alone? Fuck, Nash, that’s some cold shit.”

I gritted my teeth. “Not because I wanted to,” I said. “I was in the hospital.”

“Aya didn’t know that,” Hugh noted helpfully.

I pulled back. “Does she know now? What Lindsay did?”

He shrugged. “She wasn’t in a good place, and she left with her dad right after the funeral. I have no idea if she heard anything I told her when I visited her. She was…I’ve never seen her like that. She was wrecked.”

“Who cares?” Tatum groaned. “Why are we still talking about the snooty bitch?”

Hugh rounded on her, his glare hotter than the midday sun.

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