It wasn’t like my own parents cared. My mom hopped a plane after embarrassing herself in front of Aya and me, and my dad finally showed up yesterday to offer me the chance to perform the song I’d written over the past few days—a tune he’d found in my room. One I hadn’t planned to share with him. He said if I let him record it, playing with him on tour could be my birthday present.
That meant my gift would be months late and only if I let him use the song on his album. Some deal. I’d considered talking to Cam about that, but I wanted to perform. The itch had grown, but I needed my own material to create an album. Or I needed recognition for the songs I’d already written, which made Dad’s offer perfect, since I still seemed to have a barely functioning muse.
Hugh and Naomi were excited when I told them and Aya the next day at lunch. They’d joined Aya and me every day for over two weeks now. Honestly, I was kind of over spending time with them.
“I promised,” Aya said when I brought up the lunch arrangement on our walk home from school. “We’ve been doing it for weeks now. What’s the big deal?”
Part of the reason I’d waited this long was because I liked Hugh. His wicked sense of humor made me smile, and I hadn’t done much of that since Lev died. And even though we’d had that falling out freshman year, he’d invited me to his parties and stood next to me when Lord had been a dick. Hugh had been a friend to me even when I’d refused to reciprocate. So, yeah, I liked this new arrangement better.
But I didn’t like sharing Aya’s attention. Besides school, she spent a few hours each day on her STEM project, which did allow me to jot down more bits of music. But still…we were busy. And I didn’t want to share her, especially not with my father’s tour coming so soon.
I narrowed my eyes at Aya. “You promised,” I said, my tone dry.
“Yes, Nash. And when you promise, you have to follow through.”
I should have known. Aya treated promises like sacred objects. Clearly, she wasn’t from the same culture as me. If she were, she’d understand promises were empty, made to be crumpled, trampled, kicked out of the way the moment they became inconvenient. Not unlike me.
I shut that thought down quick. So what if my parents weren’t around? I had Steve at home. I had friends in Cam and Ay.
“Fine,” I conceded to Aya’s lunch negotiation. “But you have to admit Hugh can be obnoxious.”
Aya hesitated. “He’s not, really. He’s nervous around you. He told me how you quit hanging out with him because of Naomi.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Good. He deserved it.”
“Oh, come on, Nash. Give the guy a chance. He loves her.”
I growled in frustration as I walked on, ignoring Steve, who inched forward on the street next to us in some fancy-fuck car I couldn’t care less about. Yeah, most kids would give anything to live my life, but I’d rather have my parents around. My dad hadn’t been home in a week, and I was starting to feel…
I wasn’t sure.
Scared, maybe. Like I had when I’d seen Aya wading into the water that day when we were little. A feeling of inevitability had caused me to pay closer attention to the situation. My mom had been absent off and on for years now, thanks to her career. And, sure, my dad screwed around, but since Lev died, I’d realized I felt…I felt more and more like my family didn’t care what happened to me.
Like I didn’t matter.
That was a difficult pill to swallow—one that hurt an awful lot as it slid down into my churning gut.
“What?” Aya raised her gaze to mine, and I stumbled over my feet.
Those eyes were liquid violets. And her skin glowed angel-soft, smoother than velvet. I’d do just about anything for her—even walk in this heat like she’d asked me to. Sit with Hugh. Fuck. Be buddies with Hugh. Whatever. I just…I needed Aya to be happy.
Admitting I wanted her happy was easier than admitting I needed her. Wanted her, hell to the yes.
“N-nothing,” I stammered. No way I could tell her what I was thinking. She could hurt me with those secrets. But I wanted to tell her. I wanted to so badly I could taste the words on my tongue.
Aya’s long hair pressed against her neck before shifting to tumble down her arm. She had thirteen freckles on her nose. I knew because I’d counted them. Every day.
“My grandfather went to see a specialist yesterday,” Aya said. “The one in Houston.”
“Oh?”
Aya hadn’t mentioned his illness since the first day, and I hadn’t pushed.
She dropped her gaze to the ground. “He’s down to weeks, he said.” Aya swallowed what sounded like an entire ball of yarn. “Yeah. His cancer metastasized.”
“Shit, Ay. That’s…” I fisted my hands as rage and…something else…something I couldn’t identify…swept over me, creating a tidal wave of anger. “How’s your mom holding up?”
“She’s a bit of a mess. I think she expected to have more time with Jeddi.”
Aya called Mr. Didri Jeddi. It meant grandpa in Arabic, which, like French, Aya spoke well.
“Why Jeddi and not Grandpère?” I asked.
“I’m not sure, but if I had to guess, it’s because his connection to Tunisia made him different. Jeddi likes to stand out.”
I smiled at that, totally getting the dude’s thinking.
“He really doesn’t like my dad. I think that’s because he and my mum are fighting a lot. Last time I talked to Dad, he told me I’d need proper schooling if I ever wanted to be accepted in the peerage.” Aya cleared her throat, keeping her gaze forward. “I told him I was going to get my degree in aeronautical engineering and work at the JPL. He doesn’t think I’m smart enough.”
I frowned. “That’s…weird. Who gives a crap about a bunch of wigged-up old dudes, anyway?”
Aya laughed, but it sounded bitter, like she was all edges inside and trying not to be cut by them.
“My father. He married my mother because she was so rich. He didn’t understand the depth of the British obsession with their own—and how much of an outsider my mum would always remain. Americans aren’t impressed much by titles. Wealth wins the day here, and my grandfather has that in spades.”
“He told me he and my Pop Syad used to hang out, were even business partners for a while. And I bet they were hellraisers in their day.”
“I bet you’re right.” We walked in silence but from the corner of my eye, I saw Aya searching my face. “What were you thinking about in the hall? That day you fought with Lord?”
I blew out a breath before I answered her with a partial truth. “My brother.”
She blinked at me. “Lev,” she murmured.
I wasn’t surprised she remembered. Aya was like that—able to remember all the important details I shared, and many of the unimportant ones, too.
“Was he younger or older?” she asked.
I shoved my hands into my pockets, justifying my telling her because everyone else already knew the sordid truth.
“He was a year and a half older.” I blinked back the burning sensation.
“What happened?” she asked, tears already swimming in her eyes.