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Steve tipped his head. “You did. I’ve never seen two young people so in tune.” He cleared his throat. “He either ignored me or lashed out once he discovered Brad wasn’t his father. You leaving made it worse, I think.”
I bit my lip. “Blaming me for your shortcomings isn’t fair.”
“Just as blaming me for life decisions you don’t understand isn’t fair,” he shot back. After a moment, he sighed. “I don’t want to fight with you, Aya. Honestly, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.”
“And now?” I asked. “If I’m back for good?”
“I hope you’ll be good for him again. Ground him. Get him to see the whole picture. He and I have made some progress, but he needs more than just me.”
I considered Steve’s words as I exited the pantry, aware of Nash’s gaze on me. I smiled at him, letting him know I was fine. As I rounded the table, the kittens scampered across the large porcelain tiles, tails straight up. They looked so cute in their funky collars Nash had picked out—somewhere between Joan Jett and sparkling princess vibe for Mayet and bad-ass biker for Jigsaw. I smiled, loving their names, loving Nash for allowing his inner child to peek through the years of cynicism and heartache.
My phone jangled as I pulled it from my pocket and set it on the counter. With an internal sigh, I glanced down. But it wasn’t my father calling as I’d expected. This time, the name that flashed was Alistair. My stomach swooped, and my face drained of color.
Thankfully, I had my back to Nash so he didn’t witness my momentary freak-out. I steeled myself and pressed the green button.
“Hell—”
A spew of invective flew from the speaker, loud and nasty. I held it farther from my ear, a dull roar forming in my head, no doubt attempting to protect me from the worst of the epithets.
Nash plucked my phone from my hand.
“This is Nash Porter, and if you ever call and speak to Aya like that again, I will make it my personal mission to destroy your reputation, your finances, and your future.”
He clicked it off and tossed the phone to the counter before wrapping his arm around me and tugging me tight to his chest. I laid my cheek there, listening to the dull thud of his heartbeat. I closed my eyes, drinking in the warmth of his body and the scent of his body wash.
Slowly, my muscles released, unclenching enough for me to take a full, if shaky, breath.
“Want to tell me who I just threatened?” he asked.
I tipped my chin up and smiled. It was wobbly, but it felt real. It felt good.
“Alistair.”
“Right. Well, he’s nasty.”
“He really is. No wonder Lindsay’s in love with him.” We shared a brief smile. “He’s not going to take your threat well.”
Nash shrugged. It was such a Nash thing to do, and I couldn’t help but smile again. He did have the funds and the capability to ruin the Seymour family, and Alistair would’ve known it as soon as he heard his name. That was part of why I’d never mentioned Nash to them.
“I’m glad you’re willing to fight my battles,” I told him.
“Always.”
I grinned. “Like with Lord?”
Nash grunted. “He’s on some reality TV show on the WB. Can you imagine what a shitshow that must be?”
“Well, yes. You went out of your way to ruin him in middle school. No one recovers from a Nash Porter knockdown.”
He rubbed his knuckles down my cheek. “I hope they don’t, because they don’t deserve to. Just like Brad Porter.”
I raised my eyebrows, but he shook his head. “Forget I said that. I don’t want to talk about Brad.”
“Some people never learn,” I said.
“Their mistake.”
9
