“Once you say yes.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I’ll think about it.”
He smirked as he hugged me closer. “That basically means yes.”
My chest was smashed to his, and my nipples definitely took note. So did my lady parts. Before I could lift my thigh over his, Nash started, seeming to realize how close we were.
He rolled off the lounger and picked up his guitar. “Want to hear what I’ve been working on?”
I wanted to weep but instead I nodded. “Sure.”
He played a beautiful tune. I closed my eyes and pretended the girl the boy was in love with was me.
Jeddi died in his sleep at the end of June, just a couple of days before Nash had planned to head out on tour with his father. Instead he postponed his trip to hang out at my house. I remained listless no matter how much he tried to cheer me up. Yes, part of the issue was my grandfather’s death, but most of my worry stemmed from the fear that Nash would find a girlfriend—or simply hook up with multiple girls throughout the tour. Of course, I couldn’t tell him that, and he didn’t push me, even when my mother bought my ticket to Boston for the program at MIT.
The day before the funeral, Steve and my mother chatted in the kitchen while Nash and I drifted down toward the covered dock on the lake.
“What’s wrong?” His lovely brown eyes beseeched me. “Can I help?”
I bit my lip, unsure how to bring up my fears.
“You’re gorgeous and talented. I’m sure you won’t lack for company,” I managed to choke out. My head ached from keeping tears at bay. But I wouldn’t cry for the end of my time with Nash—that seemed to cheapen my grief over my grandfather’s death.
Nash stopped swinging his feet above the water. I kept my gaze outward, thankful for my sunglasses.
“Is that why you don’t want to come on tour?”
I squinted, trying to make out whether the bird in the distance was a pelican or an egret. The sun’s glare off the water made my eyes water, further blurring my vision. That was my story, anyway.
“You’re the one who sent me pictures of the last tour,” I finally said. “I told you, I’m a book nerd—”
He grabbed my hand. “You’re my best friend. You’re smart and funny and—”
“I don’t belong on a rock tour,” I said, shaking off his hand. “I’m going inside.”
“Aya…” Nash trailed off, but I kept walking.
The next day, I wept at Jeddi’s funeral, and my mum held one of my hands while Nash sat on my other side, stone-faced, holding the other. Much as I’d planned to push him away, I found myself burrowing tighter against him after I said my final goodbye.
“That sucked,” he said after the service, tugging his tie loose as he flopped back on my bed.
We’d retreated to my bedroom, but we could hear the murmur of the crowd downstairs. Many had come to pay their respects to Irwan Didri, medical engineering pioneer and self-made billionaire. This was my last night with Nash, and I didn’t want to miss any of it.
I kicked off my heels and set them in my closet while Nash sprawled horizontally across my bed, staring up at the high ceiling. He looked at home against the ruched comforter and pile of pillows. Perfect really.
And he was leaving me.
“Holding my hand was terrible for you?” I asked, attempting a joke. My tears threatened to fall, and I tried to turn away before Nash saw them.
He sat up on his elbow and tugged me close, tumbling me against him so he was once more lying on the bed, while I lay on his chest. He brushed the wetness from my cheeks. “No. Seeing you sad. Watching you grieve. I don’t want you to do that again, Aya.”
“This is life.”
“I don’t remember my dad’s parents,” he said into the thickening void.
“I’m sorry you don’t have memories.”
Nash sighed. “I’m not. Everyone says they were selfish. They were always coming to my dad with their hands out.”
I squeezed his hand tighter in mine. “I don’t have any grandparents left.” I tried to smile. “It’s not like I knew him all that long.”
Nash shifted me to his side, his gaze intense as he studied my face. I lowered my eyes. Talking about feelings between us was a definite no-go for Nash. Sure, part of me was hurt by that, but I also understood. We’d both been through so much. Changing our relationship when we’d somehow become each other’s emotional center seemed foolhardy.
That didn’t stop me from yearning, though. And I did with everything inside me.
“When do you go to Boston?” Nash asked.
I tensed. “Next week.”
“I’m going to miss you,” he said. He let out a long sigh.
“It’ll be like it was when I was in Nepal.” It wouldn’t. Our relationship had changed when we met in person. My attraction to him strengthened, but evidently Nash didn’t return those feelings.
That’s why I had to put distance between us. I couldn’t let him do all that work. So that’s why I had to reject his request for me to go on tour. I had my courses, my future in aeronautical engineering. I’d been fascinated by the topic for years and had taken apart many of the well pumps my mother’s nonprofit had brought to villages. Mum had sighed and asked me to put them back together. Then she’d praised me for how well the wells drew water.
She loved me for what and who I was. Nash liked me, too, as a friend. Dread washed over me as I worried about the photos he’d soon send me—of him and his gorgeous girlfriend.
My stomach ached as we lay there, side by side.
“What are you worried about, really?” he asked. “I’ll fix it.”
My stomach erupted in butterflies. “You hooking up with girls,” I blurted. I blushed so hard it felt as if my face had flash-burned.
His gaze turned solemn as he drew my hand to his chest. “I don’t want to hook up with other girls.”
I held my breath. Did that mean…?
“I’ve seen what sex does to relationships, Aya. It complicates things, hurts people. My dad bangs all those women, and now my mom won’t even live in the same house.”
His parents had legally separated the previous week, and Carolina was keeping a low profile in Europe. Nash said she was staying with Pop Syad and making noise for him to join her in Paris. Neither of us was looking forward to that further separation—and it was another reason he kept pushing me to join him on tour.
“Your father’s a cheater,” I snapped. “And you’re not even in a relationship.” Much to my continued disappointment. Well, as long as Nash chose me…but he hadn’t.
He grunted.
I laid my hand on his chest. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t helpful.” I sighed. “I don’t like you being sad either,” I whispered.
“I’m not sad.” He kept my hand cupped against his chest. “But I am going to miss you.”
Damn Nash and his raspy, whispery plea that shot straight to my heart. I bit my lip. I couldn’t tell him no.
I managed to keep my mouth shut, and exhaustion weighed on me, trying to drag me under.
“It’s not how long you know someone,” Nash murmured sometime later.