She took it, and I felt that same weird, intense feeling bubble up in my belly. I didn’t like Cam looking at Aya. I didn’t like him holding her hand… What the hell was wrong with me?
My world seemed to spin off axis a little as Steve’s words from the other day looped through my head, knocking out the melody. “You’re young, so you don’t see the dangers ahead. Just as you can’t see how much you mean to each other—how much you need each other.”
I did need Aya. Besides Cam and Steve, she was the only true person in my life. The one constant I could count on, who’d be there for me. Why was that bad?
Cam let go of Aya’s hand, which eased some of the tension in my chest, but they were now discussing horses.
“Your sister might like the Jumli,” Aya said. “It’s the most prevalent horse in Nepal. It’s a bit small, though, and used for work—not unlike barrel racing, if your sister does that.”
Cam shook his head. “Nah. Katie Rose likes to ride fast, but she never loved the routes. I heard about another breed… Marwari, is it?”
Aya nodded. “Oh, yes, but they’re actually from India.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and frowned. “Sorry, that’s rather a technicality. Those horses are beautiful and fast.”
Cam leaned in a little. “Tell me everything you know. I gotta make sure I have the intel to pass along to my mama and sister.”
Aya smiled up at him—her shy one that blossomed slowly. Cam seemed as charmed as most of the boys at school. My hands fisted. Dammit. Bringing Aya along had been a bad idea. First Beanie was mean, and now…now Cam seemed to like her.
I gritted my teeth, unsure what to do with the emotions tumbling through my middle like I’d hit class-five rapids without warning.
Then Chuck asked Aya a question. She became more animated, using her hands as she spoke, and he leaned in, too.
Good, she wasn’t star-struck. So maybe she wouldn’t crush on Cam like so many of the girls at Holyoke did. According to them, Cam was gorgeous and talented, and they always hoped the young, single singer would look their way.
I settled back against the wall, watching Aya interact with the world’s biggest country star. Part of me was proud of her easy connection with Camden Grace, especially since the man intimidated me. But another part felt left out.
Steve took up position next to me. “Chuck doesn’t talk to anyone.”
I glanced over, eyebrow raised. “Evidently he talks to Aya. Why did you say we can’t see the trouble coming?”
Steve rubbed his hand over his neck, seeming uncomfortable. “I was in love once,” he said.
“All right…” Not what I expected, but I guessed he’d get somewhere interesting soon.
“She was older. Incredibly beautiful. Charming, playful.” He smiled, but it was sad.
My brows pinched. “What happened?”
“She had other priorities, and I still had a few years left in the Army.” His eyes turned distant. “Didn’t matter how much I wanted to be part of her world, how willing I was to rearrange my life to suit hers.”
“Is she a model?” I asked. “From what I’ve seen, they’re the most selfish.”
“You thinking about your mom?” Steve asked.
I shrugged.
“Look, my point was, I met her when I was nineteen—too young to have a good sense of how I was messing up my life by trying to be what she wanted. I got…caught up in the romance, in the highs of spending time with her.” He hesitated. “Is that how you feel about Aya?”
I placed my heel against the wall and stared at Aya, considering. “Not really. I met her for the first time when we were five. She was in trouble in the water.”
Steve cursed low.
“I pulled her out, and the way she looked at me…” No other event in my life had made me feel that way since. I cleared my throat. “But it was more than that. We…I don’t know. I didn’t even know her when we started corresponding. Not really. Just a vague sense of a little girl I’d met on vacation. But we connected. I know her. She gets me. It’s like…it’s like our lives have run parallel to each other from that moment.”
“Seems kind of deep for a girlfriend.”
I snorted, hoping I wasn’t blushing, though my face felt too hot not to be. “You know Aya’s not my girlfriend. It’s not like that.”
This time Steve snorted.
“She understands about drowning,” I tried to explain. “Lev drowned. Her dad is a shit bag, and so is mine. She’s losing control of her life—mine’s been out of control since Lev…”
Steve’s hand came down on my shoulder, and he squeezed. “I get it,” he said, his voice soft. “She’s more than a girlfriend.”
I nodded, but I also struggled to swallow. Because I’d realized something as I spoke. Aya was more than a girlfriend could ever be. She looked over at me, making sure I was here, making sure I was okay.
That’s why I’d connected with her so seamlessly. That’s why I felt best in her presence.
She was my other half.
15
Aya
I’d thought Quantum put on an amazing show. But now, after watching Cam and his band power through three days of performances in a sold-out venue, one of the country’s largest stadiums, I understood greatness. I waited in the wings, breath bated, along with the tens of thousands of people packed into the stadium as Cam stood—clad in his typical attire of a black button-up, faded but crisp jeans, and motorcycle boots—in front of his mic.
He stood there…waiting, waiting, waiting. The collective tension rose. And then, when it reached fever pitch, Cam leaned closer to the mic and began to croon “Sweet Baby Home”—the song he and Nash had collaborated on. The lyrics were filled with need and anguish for a woman thousands of miles from the soldier. It made my chest ache each time I heard it, but hearing it live—Cam’s strong, deep voice low, sultry, and a cappella—made the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand on end. All the air rushed from my lungs as he eased into the chorus.
Lights flashed as he and his band began to play, the first strum of the guitar and beat of the snare a relief from the building tension. I sagged against Nash, who practically vibrated with energy. When he turned, his eyes were huge as they met mine.
“That was unreal,” he yelled as the crowd burst into applause.
He turned back to face the stage, which was now lit with a variety of lights. They cast shadows over Nash’s features as Cam waved him onto the stage. Tonight, it was time. Cam had kept his promise.
“This is Nash Porter. He co-wrote this song with me,” Cam told the crowd. “I wanted y’all to meet him cuz he’s a superstar.”
Cam winked, and Nash rocked back on his heels, flashing his gaze toward me. I giggled even as my heart cracked a little. That had been my private joke with Nash, but now others would call him that. Still, it was worth it to watch him light up so brightly as he stepped out into the glow of the stage. He belonged there.
Nash accepted the guitar a roadie offered him and stepped up to the microphone. “Hey, Nashville. Like your name.”