MIT hadn’t accepted me, so I’d decided to stay here, close to my mother and Nash.
I couldn’t wait to start classes at UT in August. Now that our high school graduation was behind us, Nash and I could focus on our goals: he would fly to Seattle June 1 to finish the album he’d started here, with Cam, at Asher’s studio, and I’d spend the summer there with him.
We had an apartment near Pike Place already chosen. Part of me couldn’t believe we were doing this. But I was giddy with excitement.
“Fine. I get it. He’s a total douche,” Nash said. I could hear the deep rumbles of his chest. I pressed my cheek against the soft cotton of his T-shirt. “But you’re still coming back, right?”
She was supposed to be here, in Austin, for Nash’s graduation party at Cam’s family ranch next weekend. The end-of-May event had been planned for months.
“No, honey. I can’t… I just can’t face it. Face him.” Tears lined her voice. “Please don’t hate me,” she sobbed. “I can’t stand for you to hate me.”
“I don’t hate you, Mom.” Nash sighed.
And he didn’t, but that didn’t mean he understood her choices—or liked them.
“You can come visit me,” she said, perking up. “I’ll meet you in Paris—”
“I have to finish my album.”
He didn’t add remember? to it this time. She didn’t, probably because she was on too many substances to think much at all.
“Oh. Well. After, then. I can’t wait to see you, Nash.”
She sounded like a small child, unable or unwilling to be reasoned with.
“I’ll be starting my tour after that,” he said, his voice patient.
“Oh. Well, then…Christmas.”
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll see you then. Bye, Mom.”
He slammed the phone down onto my bed with enough force to cause us to bounce.
“What the fuck does she think she’s doing?” he growled.
I slid off him, and he rose to prowl around my room.
Prior to last summer, Nash rarely came into my room, but my mother had grown too enamored with him during our almost year of dating to enforce the rules. This meant we did pretty much as we pleased. And we’d experimented. A lot. I flushed as I remembered last night.
“Stop thinking about sex,” he snapped.
“I wasn’t,” I said, though we both knew I lied. I raised my gaze to his as I licked my lips. “Fine. I was. I really enjoyed last night.”
The anger melted from his face. “Did you now?”
“Mmm... I’m glad you talked me into trying…that.”
My face flushed as my gaze dropped to his jeans. The soft fabric cupped him like my hand, caressing the package there. My breath hitched. Oh, how I wanted him.
He loomed over me, his eyes stormy, but his lips soft, parted in invitation. I leaned forward and pressed mine against them.
He settled back on his heels, his hand at the nape of my neck, tugging me upward so my chest rested against his.
Eventually we came up for air, and Nash flopped onto my queen-size bed, looking out of place on the pale pink, ruched comforter. Yet, at the same time, his big, rangy body looked just right.
He’d turned eighteen nearly three months ago, and I’d had my birthday ten days after. He’d had Steve take us to the Hill Country, and then he’d surprised me by renting out one of my favorite restaurants. He’d invited my mother, Hugh, and Hugh’s new girlfriend, Lindsay Herrington-Smythe.
Yes, that mean girl Lindsay. But Naomi had dumped Hugh, and he’d become enamored with Lindsay. And Hugh was my friend, so we’d included her in my celebration. I’d gritted my teeth each time Lindsay leered at Nash—nothing new, really, as most girls looked at Nash that way. But Lindsay’s gaze held something more, a calculation and coldness. When she caught me looking, she’d smirk, and I’d shiver.
My mother hadn’t attended. Her health had declined over the last few months, and each time I looked at her once-lively eyes—which seemed to sink deeper into her skull every night as she slept—I feared she wouldn’t be with me much longer. And she wouldn’t be able to keep her promise to limit my father’s involvement in my life.
Her body wanted to give out, but her will remained strong. Unfortunately, I wasn’t sure her will could win this battle.
Nash’s flop of sun-kissed hair tangled with his eyelashes and his T-shirt had ridden up, giving me a glimpse of the warm, honey skin of his belly. He was taller now—over six feet—and he’d bulked up, especially during this past school year, thanks to the personal trainer he’d hired to teach him about boxing.
“Hugh is thinking about breaking up with Lindsay.” Nash shifted on the bed, finding a more comfortable position. He tossed his phone to the side. “He says she’s clingy.”
I wrinkled my nose but didn’t say anything.
“Maybe she’ll end up back in England with her dear old dad,” Nash mused. “She’s miserable here, so that makes the most sense.”
I shrugged. I knew Lindsay’s father was British, like mine, and her mother had taken a position at one of the tech firms here, handling their PR. I also knew Lindsay wanted very much to have Nash for herself. That’s why she’d started dating Hugh and wore her shortest skirts and figure-hugging jeans or halter tops.
I lay against his side, enjoying the warmth from his body.
“I’m going to miss you,” I murmured, hating the idea of him going to Seattle before me.
My mother asked me to spend this next week with her, and I couldn’t tell her no, nor had Nash wanted me to. He longed for that sort of closeness with his mother, but she’d become even more distant this past year. And that had made it difficult for me to like her. Her son needed her, and she preferred to pretend her life was one big party.
“And I don’t like the idea of you being sad or angry at your parents,” I added.
“I’ll call you every day.” He pulled me down onto the bed, and I sprawled over him, my dark hair a curtain that blocked out most of the light. “This is the first time we’ll be apart since that tour with Cam.” He tucked hair behind my ear.
I nodded. A lot of things were changing, coming to an end. While I was excited to travel to Seattle with him, I knew I would miss this time, this closeness. His record deal would change his life—and mine. I wondered what things would be like in a year... Nash needed to travel, to explore, to perform. I needed the stability of my mother, my home, which was why I’d opted out of the dorms. Too many pieces of my life were shifting because of Nash’s growing fame.
This year, he’d been content to spend time with me, but with the move to Seattle, I doubted that would remain true.
“I know this is important,” I told him. “You have your album to work on. You need to finish that and continue to build your audience.”
He stared into my eyes, his grip becoming firmer, more electric. My breath quickened. He stared at me, hunger in his eyes. “I need you more.”
22
Nash
Just like every other time I’d been with Aya, this time had been perfect. Paul Simon crooned over his guitar, the riffs to “Kodachrome” drifting through my head.