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“And too-early mornings,” I concurred. “But we do this to ourselves because how long can we expect the public to find our music interesting and relevant? I don’t want to become that guy—the one where people say, ‘Remember him?’”
Brandon’s face remained solemn as we walked. “You’ve been playing in the big leagues for years, so I don’t see that happening. But if it did, what you said is the worst that’ll come from it. Is that really so bad?”
No, I thought. It wasn’t. Because I’d have more time to spend with Aya and my cats. To write songs. To build a relationship with my father and to strengthen my roots with the Grace family. And Aya would be in my bed, in my arms, every night.
“I’m not sure why I tour,” I muttered.
Brandon chuckled. “Loses its luster pretty damn quick.”
I snorted. “This is a mini tour. Just twelve days. Wait until we do the seven-month extravaganza.”
Both Brandon and I frowned into the glossy wood panel inside the elevator. Yeah, moving from place to place held no appeal.
I trudged down the hotel hallway, my feet barely able to lift. I’d spent the last few days fighting sleep because I didn’t want to relive my fight with Aya in my dreams. Now, though, I had something sweet and precious to carry me through those hours: the image of our kid. The one I wanted to tell Aya about.
I fell into the bed, not even bothering to unlace my boots. And I dreamed of the little girl with butterscotch skin, a tinkling laugh, and bright violet eyes.
The sun was shining when I opened my eyes, and George Harrison’s dulcet voice crooned “Something” in my mind. I stiffened.
Aya. I only heard that song when she was nearby.
I lifted my head, scenting the air like a predator. Aya.
“Something in the way…”
Aya.
She appeared in the doorway.
“I’ve missed you,” I croaked. George Harrison continued to belt out his ode in my head. “Wait. What the hell are you wearing?”
“Steve’s shirt.”
“That’s all?”
“No. I have on shorts.”
She flipped up the bottom of the long shirt and flashed me a pair of black linen shorts that showed off most of her toned legs.
George quit singing. “Wait, if you and Steve are here in Charleston, who’s with the kittens?”
“Ike’s watching them, and Kate said he’s over the moon. Rye said if they have to get a pet because of this, I’m paying for it.” She shrugged. “Seemed fair.”
I relaxed into the bed. I should have known Aya would look after our babies. Babies…my thoughts drifted back to the sweet image I’d created of our daughter. My chest warmed, causing my pulse to leap.
“I don’t like you wearing another man’s shirt,” I growled.
“I don’t like you talking to Lindsay,” she snapped back, eyes narrowed, tone angrier than mine. “You’re supposed to be mine. You promised.”
Damn. My woman was hot.
“And I definitely don’t like you being this low.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Brandon told me.”
“What was the point?” I asked, even as I drifted closer to her, needing to be near her. “You weren’t here, and it was my fault because I’m a moron who couldn’t let go of the past.”
“Oh, Nash.” Her eyes softened and the tightness around her mouth faded. “You really do manage to self-destruct.”
I pressed my forehead to hers and growled. “You smell like my dad’s aftershave. Do you know how gross that is?”
