I needed to man up and deal with my father, so I strode down the stairs toward the master suite, my heart pounding so hard against my ribs that it drowned out any possibility of music in my head.
Dad looked up at me as I stepped into his room, his eyes bloodshot, red-rimmed, and empty. At least he was clean now, his hair wet from his recent shower.
“I need some answers,” I said.
He turned to look out the window. When he turned back, his gaze locked on mine. “You think I’m to blame for all this. I know you do.”
I heard a gentle clearing of a throat and turned to see Steve on the other side of the room, near the door, like he couldn’t bring himself to get any closer. His mouth pressed in a thin, disapproving line.
“What?” Dad snapped. “Carolina’s father is going to shove me out on my ass anyway—we both know it. At least Nash deserves the truth.”
“Don’t—”
“Fuck off, Steve. This is as much your fault as it is mine.” Dad had tried to yell that, but his vocal cords seemed too shredded to get out more than a hoarse croak. He wheeled back to face me. “You aren’t my son.”
“Wha…?” Of course I was. We shared a love of music, the same color hair…and nothing else.
“Brad—” Steve moved farther into the room, his agitation clear.
“Blow me,” Dad replied. “You cuckolding bastard.” His gaze turned malicious. “Didn’t he tell you? Steve is part of the long list of boy-toys your mother screwed. Him showing up here was how I figured it all out.”
I couldn’t think. My head spun around like a top.
Brad choked out a laugh. “Ironic, huh? I’m the one known for my affairs when Carolina destroyed our marriage.”
“You were,” I yelled. “I saw you with—with all those women.”
Brad grinned, flashing those white, perfect teeth, but his eyes were dark, dank—deep pits of the ugly he’d lived. “To get even with Carolina,” he said as if it were the most rational thing in the world. “To make her feel the jealousy I did. It worked for a while, but after Lev died…”
He tugged at his hair, and pieces of it came away in his fingers. That horrified me as much as his words. Brad Porter was coming apart right in front of me. Fear slicked my insides, and my skin crawled.
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises,” Steve said, coming forward to tower over Brad. He refused to meet my seeking gaze.
“What’s he talking about?” I asked. My voice sounded high, thin—that of a child. “Steve, why did he say that about my mom?”
“Get up, Bradley,” Steve said, his tone hard. “You broke the contract with malice. You have to leave the premises right now.”
“What?” I cried. “Wait! You can’t just kick my dad—”
“I’m not your father, you stupid shit,” Brad growled, standing up. “Didn’t you hear me? You mother’s a—”
I lunged at him, gripping his shirt, and he laughed.
“You gonna take a swing at me, you pathetic little punk? Fine. Hit me. I’ll get more out of you for assault than I would from my control-freak father-in-law.” He shook himself loose from me. “Here’s a news flash: I never wanted another kid. Lev was more than enough for me. I loved him. You…you were good at writing music. That’s all. That’s the only reason I pretended to like you. But then you had to go and tell Carolina’s fuck-toy here all about it, ruining the one thing we could have had.”
Steve didn’t have to pull me away from Brad. I stepped back all on my own, shaking my head, my mouth hanging open, my world caving in on itself.
Brad laughed again, and I shivered, hating the way the sound accosted my ears. It was discordant, vicious.
Steve dragged Brad from the room, a meaty arm over his chest as he kicked.
I couldn’t see Steve’s face, but his shoulders were stiff.
Alone in the room, I saw black creeping in around the edges of my vision. My eyes burned and my head ached. I’d just collapsed in a chair when Steve returned, his phone in hand.
“Your grandfather would like to speak to you.”
I shook my head. “Just tell me… Is it true? What my da—what Brad said? Was that true? Did you have an affair with my mom?”
Steve’s face remained stoic, but his eyes gave him away. They were dark, filled with secrets. He held out the phone again. “You should really talk to your grandfather.”
“I asked you a question,” I said.
His jaw jutted forward. “Nash, it’s not that simple…”
I stepped back, my guts churning, my mind whirling. “That’s the thing. It is. You let this happen to me. You went along with it.”
“Nash.” His voice cracked. I’d never seen Steve lose his composure. But now his jaw trembled.
“No. I don’t want to talk to anyone. You’ve all lied to me.” I stabbed my finger toward Steve’s face. His eyes dimmed further. “You lied to me,” I screamed. “All of you. And my mom…” A sob erupted as I ran from the room, tore out the front door.
I’d go to Aya. She’d know what to do.
I ran, picking up the pace, ignoring the gravel and detritus that cut into my feet.
I needed this night to never have happened. I’d go back to Aya’s house, to her bed, and wrap myself around her.
I’d wake up in the morning, and this would all be a dream.
A terrible, terrible nightmare.
23
Aya
Sometime in the night I rolled over, and my hand settled on the cool sheet next to me. I sat up, my stomach roiling. “Nash?”
The room was dark and cool. Quiet. Too quiet for Nash to still be there—he snored, though he didn’t believe me when I said so. As I pulled the sheet up over my naked chest, the faint sound of something shifted across the linen. With a squeak, I dove for the nightstand light and flicked it on as I jumped from the bed. I darted across the room and shimmied into a nightshirt and panties before creeping back toward the mattress.
I sighed, relief making my limbs limp when I saw the folded piece of paper with my name on top. I rubbed my thumb over Nash’s messy scrawl. My chest tightened as I unfolded the paper with extra care.
* * *
I didn’t want to leave. My dad kept texting, asking where I was. If I could have stayed, I would have. I wanted to wake up next to you. I wanted to kiss you again. I always want to kiss you. I’ll never get enough of your time or kisses.
Yours,
Nash
* * *
I traced my fingers over the letters. See? He must love me; he just struggled with the words. And who could blame him? His parents were a hot bloody mess. He just needed more time. He’d tell me eventually.
Someone knocked on my door as I frowned at the paper, wishing the Yours said Love. He didn’t have to say the words for me to know how he felt…
“I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Aya, but we need to take your mother to the hospital.”
I set Nash’s paper on my nightstand. “What’s wrong?” I asked.