Sultry Oblivion by Alexa Padgett
Aya
It would have been lovely to disappear to my grandfather’s home on the lake, lie in my mother’s bed, and ignore the world. But my father had sold it last year.
He’d sold Jeddi’s place in Paris, too, around the same time, and squirreled those funds into an account without my knowledge. My solicitor had informed me of this during one of our meetings a few weeks ago, and he’d apologized profusely for assuming I’d consented to the sales, seeing as my father had been on my bank account at the time. My father had been my guardian and my legal advisor, because of my youth—something he’d finagled though I remembered, vaguely, my solicitor telling me I was of age and didn’t need to add him.
Thankfully, I had a plan B, and my early-morning return to the Graces had allowed me to avoid any cameras. Mama Grace had welcomed me back with a warm embrace and a good, strong cup of breakfast tea. She didn’t mention the time nor my weird state of dress.
Before she opened her mouth, I held up my hand. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
Mama’s mouth thinned as I left the cup of tea on the table and trudged my way up the stairs toward my bedroom. When I woke, I spent the day worrying that Nash would fall back into the old comforts of booze or drugs, and hoping that he’d call.
He didn’t call.
Not that I could blame him for being upset. He’d suffered a nasty shock—perpetrated by my father, yes—but ultimately courtesy of my mother and Jeddi, who’d claimed to care for him. But Nash hadn’t handled his feelings well. It was as if we’d made no progress at all these months, and that left me angry—so angry my insides wanted to curdle and fling themselves up my throat. He’d promised to love me, but because our grandparents had conspired years ago, Nash would now throw us away. Like we no longer mattered, like he didn’t even know me. We must’ve been engineered like one of those K-Pop groups—groomed for years to hit just the right note while dancing. Did that make our feelings for each other not real?
Steve showed up late that morning with my clothes.
“Thanks,” I said.
He set the case down and hesitated. “He’s hurting, too.”
I turned away.
Steve sighed. “Cam’s the only one who stuck around for him. I’m blood, and I failed him before I even had a chance to prove myself. That’s on me.”
I stood still, feeling like a deer in a hunter’s sights.
“Nash has been let down repeatedly. Even by you. I know you two talked about this, but that thing in high school was terrible for him, too. He was hurting, and he was alone. He’d just been abused by his father. He’d just learned I was more to him than I let on. That’s some betrayal. And then you disappeared. He needed you, too. He needed you so much, and you walked away. I know you’re sorry for that, but to him, it feels like you did it again last night.”
I settled on the edge of the bed, feeling dejected. “Love isn’t supposed to be this hard,” I whispered. “It’s supposed to fill me with confidence and happiness. At least that’s how it looks with Jenna and Kate.” I peeked up at Steve.
“I don’t know enough about love, so it’s hard for me to answer that one. But I will say this: you only get to that place of acceptance and happiness when you trust each other. When you stay and work through the hard things.”
I looked down again. Right. I hadn’t trusted Nash enough to tell him about my mother’s will. And I’d just shown up in Austin, giving him no warning, no chance to prepare. I hadn’t even known what I wanted when I arrived. At first, I’d thought I wanted closure, but as soon as I saw Nash again, I’d wanted him. I’d wanted us…even though everything else felt murky. I still did, so I needed to find a way to let Nash know that, once and for all.
Someone must have tuckedme in because I woke up the next morning to the fading of night into dawn.
I’d already completed my project for my first class today, so I didn’t need to go to campus. Instead, I finished my paper for the afternoon final.
Then I managed to summon the gumption to leave the room.
No one was in the kitchen—or in the house. Good.
I ate a piece of toast and drank a cup of tea before heading back to my room where I holed up for the rest of the day.
The next day I headed up to campus to take my last final. I expected Mama, Jenna, and Kate to demand I talk to them when I returned, but they weren’t here. My summer semester was over, and I had no one to talk to.
Listless, I rummaged through Mama’s pantry for some chocolate. On the counter was a tabloid with a story about Nash purchasing Clean Water. Nash hadn’t told me; he’d just done it. Mmm… yes. The pillar of honesty, that one. That must have been why he’d spoken with my father. I grabbed the magazine and returned to my room.
I read the sparse details while sitting with my back against the wall, my legs stretched out across my unmade bed. I stared out the window, not really seeing the softly undulating hills brightened by the sun’s rays. Nash had bought my mother’s nonprofit—the last of her legacy.
That warmed me, but he hadn’t told me he was going to. And I’d specifically asked him to let me handle my father. That left me cold. I tossed the magazine aside, trying to tease out my emotions. My father had hired Lindsay to spearhead development for the organization when I left London. Fucking Lindsay. He’d done that to upset me, I was sure. To try to lure me back.
I ran my finger over the wrinkle in the sheet next to my hip. I had to face a choice: I could shift gears and return to Clean Water, or I could give up my mother’s legacy to Lindsay, and fulfill the dream to become an engineer—someone with an office job who couldn’t sneak out to her boyfriend’s concerts. Who couldn’t tour.
But that decision didn’t even seem to top the list right now, as instead of finishing school so I could spend a couple of weeks touring with Nash as we’d planned, I was back at the big house on the ranch, with Nash off in an angry huff.
In some ways, we’d come full circle. We’d made so many plans for this trip, just as we had when I was supposed to join him in Seattle after high school. And once again, it had all fallen apart.
I grabbed one of the dark chocolate bars I’d found—eighty-five percent cacao, so basically vitamins—and bit into it as I opened my phone. I’d need to head to Nash’s house to get the rest of my stuff. I wanted to see the kittens… My mouth fell open as I blinked at a photo of Nash seated at a table at an outdoor cafe, talking to Lindsay Herrington-Smythe, almost Seymore.
Really?
“What the hell, Nash? What are you playing at?”
My shoulders bunched so hard, my temples pounded with the strain. Seeing them together brought back every terrible feeling I’d had after high school. This was different… Obviously it was. Nash had just bought the nonprofit Lindsay worked for. But why did they have to look so chummy? Why did they have to be photographed together so the paps could have a field day? Tears pricked my eyes as my hope for an easy reconciliation after our fight vanished like vapor.
My phone rang, and I ignored it, not even bothering to see who was calling.
I crawled back into my bed, buried my head under my pillow, and screamed until I was hoarse.
I tensed,startled awake, when the knock rapped on my door.
“It’s me,” Steve said, poking his head through the crack between the door and the frame.
“Why are you here?” I lifted my head and shoved my hair out of my face.
His eyes burned. “We need to talk.”
“He was out in public with Lindsay, and I’m so mad at him that I’ll take it out on you.” I rose from the bed and strode into the en suite bath.
A thud hit the door then a second one hit the floor. Had he slid down to sit outside my bathroom? Well, I’d get clean and wait him out. I had water in here. I wouldn’t die.
“He wasn’t with Lindsay,” Steve said through the wood. “He met with her to discuss her role at your mother’s…no, your nonprofit.”
I stepped into the shower, slamming the door so hard I expected a million shards of glass.
Didn’t happen.
I took my time washing my hair before using the deep conditioner that required fifteen minutes to soak in. I shaved and then exfoliated—everything I could think of to prolong the time before talking to Steve. Yes, what he’d told me was probably correct, but that didn’t stop my jangling nerves or reflexive heartbreak. I didn’t know how to make that stop, and Steve wasn’t going to let it slide. He and Nash shared a stubborn streak wider than the state of Texas.
Finally, the warm water ran out, and I was forced to shut off the taps. I wrapped another towel around my head and turned on the ancient blow dryer I found under the sink. I didn’t use it on my hair—no need to get split ends. Instead, I turned it on and left it next to me on the counter while I moisturized my swollen, raw face. Crying so much had really messed with my skin.
Then I brushed my teeth. I undid my hair from the towel and began to comb it slowly, from the ends, the way I was supposed to. I scrunched it a few times when I finished, hoping to add some body. Might as well put on a full face since I had nothing else to do.
I touched the blow dryer, wincing at the heated plastic barrel. With a sigh, I turned it off.
“He knows he upset you, Aya,” Steve said immediately. “But you shouldn’t have run away. I’m worried he’s going to slide back into drugs or booze. He already did the booze.”
My heart squeezed, tears threatened, but I refused to open the door. I would not be tricked by Steve. If Nash wanted to see me, he could bloody well do it himself. I couldn’t repair all of this on my own.
“He’s drowning in emotions,” Steve continued. “He doesn’t know how to handle them. And now he’s off on this stupid tour. I’m concerned.”
I glared at the door. Steve might sound like my friend, but he was Nash’s father—a man trying to make up for years of poor decision-making. No way I was opening the door.
“Didn’t you see the videos? Didn’t you hear him? Listen.”
“Can you dish on your lunch date in D.C. with the heiress Lindsay Herrington-Smythe?” someone asked.
“That was a business meeting, nothing more.”
My breath caught at Nash’s voice.
“Hmm… You two were linked together just after your original split from Aya Aldringham, right?”
“I was never with Lindsay. We’re not friends. She’s currently running a nonprofit that Aya and I have dealings with.”
“Seems like a messy love square between—”
“Don’t even say that, Tim. It’s ridiculous. Aya’s the love of my life. I’ve loved her since I set eyes on her the first time just about twenty years ago. We were on a beach in Turks and Caicos, vacationing with our parents. She wore a lime green and white striped bathing suit and a huge floppy hat. She’d built this amazing sandcastle—remember, we were like…five, maybe—and it had all these turrets and parapets. I was fascinated by it. She’d been creating links out of sand for her drawbridge when I walked by with my mother. I kept an eye on her the rest of the morning.”
I hadn’t known that. He’d told me he didn’t remember anything from that trip. I pressed my hand to my heart. My fingers grasped the edge of the counter.
Nash said he loved me. Nash just admitted he’d always loved me.
He’d remembered my swimsuit. And my sandcastle. I vaguely remembered creating it. I’d been sad to leave it because I’d spent most of the day fixated on the structure.
“Then why isn’t Aya with you on this tour?”
“She has courses for her engineering degree. And she has every right to her own life, her own interests,” Nash snapped.
I leaned against the door, waiting for more. Nothing. Silence. I swallowed, annoyed that Steve was manipulating me. Oh, hell. No he wasn’t. He was offering me the truth, even if it contradicted my deeply engrained feelings and reactions. He was showing me how Nash felt when he’d heard about the will, why he’d reacted the way he had.
I leaned my forehead against the wooden door. Dammit, I was tired of being timid, of waiting in the background for Nash to step back into a place where I was comfortable, waiting for either of us to get everything right. I needed to step up and fight, be a forceful advocate for the things I wanted, the life I wanted.
Humiliation had left me unsure. But Nash hadn’t humiliated me, intentionally or otherwise. Yet my reactions to anything similar remained unpredictable and unmanageable. I needed to actually move forward, leave the past behind.
I also needed to get used to the presence of the media and learn to ignore it. Fame had frightened me before Nash even signed his first contract, and after that night in high school, any kind of scrutiny left me in a heightened state of terror. But I’d given interviews in London, and some of them resulted in terrible things being written about me—not because of Nash but because of my wealth and heritage, or my style or myriad other reasons. I’d shrugged most of those off, not necessarily with ease, but I’d managed. It was only with Nash that I had this terror.
Steve was right. I needed to get past my own fears to consider how Nash was feeling, put myself in his situation. I’d been too nervous about our relationship to be open to that. But wasn’t that what love was? Thoughtfulness. Caring. Openness. Trust.
It was time for me to step forward. Into his light, into his world, and trust that he’d still want me, still work with me to avoid as much of the petty meanness as possible, to create a life that worked for both of us.
But that would be after I made him listen to reason about my mum’s thrice-damned will.
I opened the door to the bathroom. I met Steve’s gaze. “Let’s go to the hotel. I’m not prepared to hash out our issues at the venue.”