An unexpected marriage proposal leaves Aya second-guessing her life choices—including what she wants and who she desires.
Nash never recovered from that night, and he has a big chip on his shoulder thanks to Aya’s ghosting.
Drugs and alcohol fill the hole Aya left … but playing to sold-out crowds no longer holds much appeal. Fame ripped them apart, but maybe an old enemy can give them a second chance because…
While crowds might clamor for just one touch, one look…
He only wants hers.
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31
Sneak Peek of CRAVING OBLIVION
Nash
* * *
I headed back into the house my band had rented for the weekend in San Francisco, the latest stop on our tour. Restless energy sizzled over me, as it always did, leaving me unsettled. I hated crowds and hated parties as they reminded me of Lindsay, the drugs, losing Aya.
Dammit. I had to let that go. I had to because Aya had ghosted.
I still couldn’t believe she’d left me.
Our album had taken longer to write and record than I’d originally planned, in large part because I was such a fucking mess when I’d arrived in Seattle last summer.
But Asher Smith had remained patient, and in time the album took shape—with a more melancholy tone for the final three songs, the last ones I’d written. We’d kicked off our tour in Seattle two months ago—just after our album’s launch in February. It was an early birthday present to me. Since then, we’d worked our way through the Pacific Northwest before circling back to end our tour here. Already we were in discussions to add more dates. Asher wanted another album. Fans clamored for our songs, our merch, us. Everyone said we were the hottest new band, and we had platinum sales to back that up.
I should’ve been happy. Ecstatic. I’d achieved more than Brad ever had. I had complete creative control over my next EP, and we could add a month or a year or whatever we wanted to our tour—we sat right at the top of the music world.
This was where I’d wanted to be.
I just never thought it would feel so fucking hollow.
The first song I’d written for myself—the one I wrote for Aya after dropping her off in Boston while touring with Cam—remained our most popular hit, and I sang it every night. And every time, I hated what it represented. There’d been so much hope in that song, but Aya had ditched me, unwilling to hear the truth—both in the song and in my actions.
I mean, the lawyers had finally managed to get that video of Lindsay and me down, along with the many others that popped up, but they weren’t able to get all the shares removed, and Holyoke students had commented on my breakup with Aya for weeks afterward.
The whole time I was in Seattle last summer, trying to get my shit together and record an album, I kept expecting Aya to return to Austin—at least to start at UT. But she didn’t. And her housekeeper finally told me she’d left her cell phone at her mom’s house. She deleted all her social media accounts and seemed to slide off the Earth.
Like Hugh had said: Aya was gone.
“Nash,” Jax, my rhythm guitarist, called as I made it to the French doors.
“What?” I asked as I looked over my shoulder, pleased to see Steve wasn’t following me.
Finally, in the last few weeks he seemed to have gotten the message that I wasn’t going to talk to him or forgive him. I wouldn’t even have kept him around, but that was part of the deal I’d made with Asher—that Steve would keep an eye on me.
Steve could do that, but it didn’t mean I’d listen to a word he said. In fact, since losing Aya, fighting with Steve had given me a purpose—a person to hate. And I did hate him. I blamed him for letting Brad treat me so terribly, and I blamed him for sleeping with my mother. I blamed him for letting Aya walk away, too, even though that made no sense. She’d left because she wanted to.
Except…she’d left because she was hurt and humiliated. I’d just never expected Aya to believe Lindsay—fucking Lindsay—over me.
But Chuck had told me again and again that the photos had been damning. The social media responses from people we’d gone to school with, who’d known Aya, were merciless—many of them saying she never should have been with me in the first place, either because she was smart, or worse, because of her heritage. Both pissed me off because both were so damn wrong. Problem was, I’d never been able to get in touch with Aya to tell her that.
Her lack of trust slashed through me again, as it always did. But it also fueled my anger. She, of all people, should have known how I felt about her. So what if I couldn’t use the precise words she wanted? I should have, but she knew me. She’d known me for years.
That’s why I’d stopped trying to reach out. I finally figured maybe I didn’t know her. I’d certainly been wrong about lots of other things in my life.
“Take a look at the email Hugh sent you,” Jax called. “Then come back outside. I have a surprise for you.”
I grunted. But I did look at the email. I nearly cracked my phone case as rage settled over me. Hugh had sent me a photo. Aya. With a guy. She stared straight ahead, but he had his hands on her. He was leaning down, whispering in her ear.
Her eyes called to me. But they were different. A shiver ran up my spine as I realized they were cold. Empty. Just like they’d been the last time I saw her, when I’d watched them drain of love and hope.
“You see it?” Jax called again after a moment. “Hugh said for me to tell you, and I quote, ‘She’s moved on, man.’” He appeared in the doorway, wearing swim trunks and no shirt. He was happy to show off his tanned, toned chest and abs. The girls here loved him. “I have to agree with your buddy,” he continued. “You need to, too. It’s been months of you dragging your ass. You never partied with us in Seattle, and you hardly ever go out with us now. We head back to Austin tomorrow, and—”
I clenched my jaw and groaned. “I’m not going back.” No way in fuck I was going to live in the house where Lev had died, where I’d lost Aya, where I’d found out what giant liars my parents were.
“Do you love me, Nash?” I gripped my hand into a fist, gnashing my teeth. Aya had fucking dropped me like a chipped guitar pick.
“What?” I asked, turning to the sink to get a glass of water.
Jax frowned, aware I’d zoned out.
I did that often these days—fell into my own world. It had gotten me through the first month or so of the tour. But that numbness had begun to wear thin. I needed something else. No way I was ready to deal with all the emotions bubbling up.
Jax took a little step back before he held up his hands in supplication. “I just said I get that Austin’s hard for you. Still, you should let loose.” He smiled. “That surprise?” He turned and looked over his shoulder toward the pool. “Nadia,” he called.