“I love you,” Aya whispered, completing the ritual I’d come to need. But then she did something different. She raised her head and met my gaze. “Do you love me, Nash?”
She tried to keep her face relaxed, but fear darkened those beautiful violet eyes as she searched mine. I did, of course, but as I opened my mouth, the words stuck in my throat. Memories I’d never shared with Aya rushed to consume me.
“I love you, Carolina. Why can’t you just leave it at that?” Dad had growled at Mom.
Lev and I had huddled close, just inside the large glass wall, peering out onto the deck, straining to catch every word of their fight.
“See?” Lev had sneered. “He uses the words, but he doesn’t mean them.”
I’d watched him swallow another handful of pills—this time brazenly, almost begging our parents to see him, stop him.
“Because love shouldn’t involve other women!” Mom had shrieked back.
Dad had stood then, his phone falling from this lap to the flagstones below.
Lev had grunted, reaching his limit. “I’ll show that stupid fucker.” He’d darted out toward Dad’s phone. He’d grabbed it, shaking it over his head. I could still see his thin, pale arm stark against the black sky and his dark T-shirt.
“Maybe if you turned off the notifications for your fuck buddies, Mom would believe you,” he’d taunted.
Dad had whirled, eyes and mouth wide before he lunged. Lev darted away, nimble despite the drugs that caused him to sway.
“Choose,” Lev called, running down the stairs. “Do you love Mom or do you love banging lots of women? Huh? What’s it going to be, asshole?”
I’d shoved open the door Lev had slammed behind him, screaming his name. Dad’s anger had blurred the air around him as he snarled at Lev to give him back his phone. And then everything moved in slow motion…
Lev running to the end of the dock.
Lev throwing the phone.
Lev teetering.
Lev falling.
Lev gone.
“Nash?” Aya’s cool hand settled on my cheek, tugging me back to the present. “It’s okay,” she said, her mouth trembling. “I shouldn’t have pushed. I’m just glad you’re here with me.”
She kissed me, and I responded, desperate. Love was stupid, futile. It hurt. But this…what Aya and I had, it was more than love could ever be.
I just needed her to understand. But I tasted the saltiness of tears at the corners of her lips. Tears I’d made her cry.
“Are you going to find another girl on the tour?” she whispered.
I pulled back and settled her head against my chest. “I’m here with you. That’s all that matters.”
“Is it?” she asked.
“Yeah, it is.” I held her, feeling like an asshole. Why couldn’t I just say what she needed to hear?
But I couldn’t get the words to come out. I just couldn’t.
She sniffled for a while before she relaxed into sleep. I stared down at her, wishing I’d done a better job reassuring her tonight.
My phone beeped a text, then another and another.
I grabbed it, turning it to silent mode as I looked back at Aya. I sighed, my shoulders relaxing, as she slept on. I wanted to curl around her and sleep, too. It was late, and I was exhausted, but I couldn’t relax. Not here, not after what I’d done to Aya—or hadn’t done, actually.
Dried tear tracks had crusted white on her cheeks. I frowned, hovering there, wanting to do something to ease her concern, to explain. But how could I explain? Then I’d have to share the whole story, and I didn’t want that. Didn’t want to think about that.
My phone vibrated, then again and again.
With a curse, I pulled on my clothes and headed out her bedroom door.
I slammed through my front door, annoyance and fear jockeying for dominance after the sheer number of texts my father had sent me. I felt keyed up and restless until the moment I found my father face down in his own vomit in the marble-tiled atrium. Then everything in me went still.
“Dad!”
My knees slammed to the ground, and I gritted my teeth against the pain as I rolled him to his side. He let out a low moan.
He isn’t dead. I couldn’t lose someone else.
He met my gaze, and tears filled his bloodshot eyes.
“She’s leaving me,” he murmured. His voice cracked. “Carolina…she’s really leaving me.”
He screamed the last so loudly that I fell on my ass, right in a puddle of my father’s sick.
He curled up in a fetal position and sobbed. “I loved her,” he rasped, his voice shredded. Then he sprung up and gripped my shirt, his eyes wild, tears streaming down his face. “You gotta believe me. I loved her so much. I never wanted this—I never wanted her to leave me.”
I stared, unsure what to do, how to manage this crazed version of my father.
Then Steve hauled me off the floor.
“What’s happening?” I asked. Confusion pummeled me, but Steve was a steadying presence. Yet even as I was grateful for him, my mother’s long-held insistence on discretion and privacy told me Steve shouldn’t witness this. Still, I clutched his sleeve as I stared at my father’s huddled form.
“He’s not supposed to be here.”
“What?”
With a look of disgust, Steve said, “He’s clearly having some kind of a breakdown.”
“Is my mom…?” I felt like a little boy again, begging for attention. Please, please let her just be hurt. We could survive hurt.
Steve shook his head. “Your mom’s fine. She’s still in Paris. Brad here just received his divorce papers.”
“As in today?”
Steve nodded. “Why don’t you go on upstairs and get in the shower? I’ll do my best to get him cleaned up.” His lip curled in disgust as he bent down to haul my dad off the floor. “And get him out of here.”
“No,” I said. I licked my lower lip. “I need to talk to him.”
Steve narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Nash.”
I straightened my spine and met my bodyguard’s gaze. “I didn’t ask.”
Steve’s jaw ticked, but he dipped his head once. I hoped that meant he agreed.
I made it into my shower on autopilot and stood there, hot water pounding against my skin and “Carry on My Wayward Son” pounding through my brain.
My dad was a disaster.
But nothing about this situation made sense. He had to know Mom would eventually reach her breaking point. How could he not know that?
I scrubbed my face. I wished I hadn’t come home. If only I’d stayed in Aya’s bed. We’d been happy. My chest ached. No, we hadn’t. I’d hurt her. I’d need to figure out how to fix that, too.
After a good, long soak that did very little to make me feel any cleaner, I dressed and tried to pull myself together in my room. Still, I hesitated before heading back downstairs. I considered calling Pop Syad, but I wasn’t sure he was in good enough health to help me. And what would I ask him to do from Paris, anyway?
But there was something about finding my dad tonight, how unhinged he’d become… Fear crept up the back of my neck, and I struggled against the need to run.