16. Nash
16
NASH
A s my car crawls to a stop in the driveway, my hands ache from their grip on the steering wheel. I have an intense urge to tug at my hair to redirect the pain in my chest to another part of my body. This shit hurts . And I’m so mad at myself that I could scream until my lungs go raw.
I can’t believe I nearly had a fucking panic attack in front of Kinsley while trying to tell her about being bullied in high school. At that moment, with her pretty blue eyes watching me struggle to breathe and form a goddamn sentence, I have never felt more fucking pathetic.
What is it about the little devil and her soft, innocent voice that makes me want to open up to her like a goddamn flower blooming in the spring? It frustrates the fuck out of me, and yet, I’m helpless to do anything about it when my mind clearly works on its own accord.
My knuckle collides with the leather steering wheel repeatedly until they sting from the worn skin around the bones ripping open. Years of getting into fistfights will do that to you. Beads of blood drip down my knuckle and onto my pants, but I don’t care to stop. The burn in my chest only starts to subside when my hand aches so bad I’m reminded I’m sitting in my car in the dark, beating the shit out of the steering wheel.
Exhaling a sharp breath, I inspect the knuckle on my right hand under the dim lighting of the streetlamps. The skin is torn to shit and blood coats my hand, dripping down my wrist.
“ Fuck ,” I breathe, and run my left hand through my hair, tugging at the roots harshly. “That little devil is going to be the fucking death of me.”
Now that the ache in my chest has seemingly gone away and it feels like my head is clear and I can breathe again, my attention turns to the music blasting from inside my house and the multiple cars parked in the driveway I hadn’t noticed when I first arrived.
Looking around at the cars, I frown.
What the fuck?
When I left the house earlier, it was empty because I wanted to be alone after the bomb Mandy dropped on us today. And now, through the windows to the living room, I see multiple men I don’t recognize grinding against women I also haven’t seen before. The rock music is slightly muffled inside the car, and all the frustration I felt moments ago comes rushing back like a tidal wave.
This is the last thing I wanted to come home to.
Flinging the car door open, I step out into the cool April air and slam the door closed behind me. The sound is barely audible above the music filtering out through the open front door. Is there a fucking open-door policy or something? Not in my goddamn house there isn’t.
Nobody glances in my direction when I walk through the front door. People are strewn throughout the foyer with cans of beer in their hands or in the living room, dancing and grinding on each other to the rhythm of the music. Anger licks at my sides as I march through the room, my gaze hard as I try to locate the person behind this fucking party.
A cold hand stops me in my tracks. I turn my attention to the petite blonde woman a whole foot shorter than me, wearing nothing but a bright pink leotard and an oversized denim jacket. Her fingers dance up my chest until they’re wrapped around the back of my neck.
“Nash, baby, you’re back,” the woman drawls, her words slightly slurred. She is on her way to being drunk off her ass very soon if the beer can in her hand is any indication.
I slap her hand away, ignoring the disappointment that passes through her pale brown eyes. “Who the fuck invited you here?”
She frowns, licking her red-painted lips. “I think it was some guy named Johnny. He told us that you said?—”
I don’t wait to hear the rest of her sentence before I continue walking through the room. With how red my face feels, I wouldn’t be surprised if steam were coming out of my ears.
Of fucking course Johnny is the one who threw this party. I’m not surprised since it’s not the first time something like this has happened.
But it is a first that I’m fucking pissed about. After the rough day I’ve had, and the fact I have blood all over my hand from a split knuckle, I just want to crawl into bed and forget about what happened with Kinsley. Just the panic attack part, not the rest of the night. I happened to enjoy spending time with the little blondie until she tried to worm her way into the depths of my soul.
God, she’s infuriating but fucking beautiful at the same time.
After scanning the room, I locate Johnny in the second living room around the corner, a bottle of Budweiser in hand. He’s lounging on the black leather couch with Hudson and the blue- haired woman he was with the other day. Is her name Iris? I can’t fucking remember.
My fists clench at my sides. Hudson’s red shirt blurs in with my vision, my mind seemingly consuming me with the memories of my dad sitting on the couch drinking those same fucking beers.
As I enter the room, I feel all eyes on me, but I don’t care. I march toward Johnny, his eyes finding me at the last minute when I grab him by the collar of his shirt and hoist him to his feet. He’s nowhere near my height, so he has to tilt his head back to look me in the eye, which I’m sure reflects the depths of Hell right now.
“What the fuck is all this,” I growl through my teeth, my grip on his shirt tightening.
Johnny’s eyes widen, fear passing through them for a split second before an unconvincing smile turns up the corner of his lips. “H-hey, Nash. How was your night?”
“Don’t fuck with me right now, Johnny. I’m not in the mood.”
He holds his hands up in defense, the smile slipping from his face. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I know you said you wanted to be alone today, but I thought maybe you might want to come back to a little party since I know you’re always down for a good time.”
With a grunt, I toss Johnny backward until he falls onto the couch. “Get everyone out of my fucking house now . Including you. I want everyone out. And get those bottles of Budweiser out of my fucking fridge.”
“Come on, Nash, let’s talk about—” His gaze snaps to my bloody hands fisted in his shirt. A tremble vibrates throughout his body as his eyes widen.
“Now!” I shout, my eyes boring into his. “My patience is waning fucking thin, so if every single goddamn person isn’t out that door in the next sixty seconds, you won’t want to find out what happens next.”
That seems to do the trick. Johnny is up on his feet and rushing past me as fast as lightning. All I can do is stare at Hudson sitting on the couch, concern etched across his features. His gray eyes regard me from behind his messy hair. The music stops mid-song and Johnny’s voice sounds throughout the lower floor of the house, instructing people to leave immediately.
Hudson slowly stands from the couch and reaches out his hand to rest on my shoulder. “Nash, are you okay?”
I shrug his hand off with a grunt. “I’m fine. I just want to be alone.”
He nods. “Okay, we’ll leave. But if you need anything, please call me, okay?”
I don’t say anything because I’m not going to call him. I’m not going to call anyone. All I want is for there to be silence in my house and my fucking head for just one goddamn night. Is that too much to ask for?
Iris stands and wraps her hand around Hudson’s bicep. “Come on, Hud. Nash needs to be alone, so let’s give him that.” Her voice is as soft as butter.
I could kiss the woman on the forehead for saying that. At least someone in this fucking house understands what I want.
Hudson doesn’t utter a word as he pats me on the back and follows Iris out of the house with the rest of the crowd. Protests over leaving so soon and voices of displeasure follow me as I wander into the kitchen. There is trash all over the kitchen bench—empty beer cans, food wrappings, articles of clothing, and worst of all, a fucking used condom.
As much as I want to beat the shit out of Johnny for going behind my back to throw a party and then leaving me with the clean-up, all I have the strength to do is grab a bottle of Jack Daniels from the cupboard and walk upstairs to my bedroom.
The room is cold and dark when I enter. Flipping on the light switch, I flick the cap off the top of the bottle and bring the warm glass to my lips. The burn of the brown liquor flowing down my throat is a welcome sensation—one I have been craving all night when the little devil chewed me out for asking the waitress for a bottle of Jack at dinner.
My eyes find the nightstand beside my bed littered with half-empty cigarette packs and a bag of cocaine I have yet to touch. The usual itch in my stomach returns upon seeing the white powder. It’s a bad fucking habit, I know. But it’s one I can’t break, no matter how many times I tell myself I’ll fight harder next time. When next time rolls around, I repeat the same words until it’s a never-ending fucking cycle.
You’re weak, Nash .
Drinking and taking drugs is the only escape I can turn to right now because I can’t bury myself deep inside a woman due to the contract with the little devil. Not that I want to right now anyway. All I want is to drink the rest of the contents in this bottle and snort so much blow it knocks me out until tomorrow when I have to live this fucking life all over again.
Without an escape, I’m worried for my mind and the dark places it could try to lead me to.
You’ll never be good enough .
Dropping onto the edge of the bed, I set the bottle of Jack down on the nightstand, the dark wood starting to chip away at the edges. I grab the bag of cocaine and dump out enough of the powder to form a few lines. I’m going to need a little extra kick to get the image of ocean-blue eyes filled with concern out of my goddamn head.
Before I can grab the credit card lying next to a cigarette packet, my phone begins to ring loudly in my pocket. I consider not answering it since it’s 10 pm, but it could be James calling me with information regarding Dark Angel or my individual schedule. It wouldn’t be the first time.
With a huff, I reach into my pocket and pull out the device. Pressing it to my ear, I say, “What do you want?”
A breath of silence follows my words and I almost end the call because I’m not in the mood to deal with this shit when a familiar gruff voice filters down the line.
“Nash… it’s me.”
No. No, no, no . This can’t be happening right now. It can’t be.
“I was hoping that you had given my request some more thought?—”
“You can go to hell, asshole,” I seethe into the phone, my anger now reaching boiling point. “I have told you multiple times not to contact me and here you are still fucking doing it.”
“But Nash, I’m sorry for all?—”
“No, you’re not,” I interject sharply, the plastic phone creaking under the weight of my grip bearing down on the pathetic device. “You’re not sorry for anything. You don’t care about me. You never have.”
Is this fucker serious right now? The audacity to continue calling me after all these years, seeking something from me now that I’m famous and have access to anything I want is pathetic. I should’ve known he would come crawling back to my feet the moment he saw my face in the news when Dark Angel became a household name. It’s just who he is—a fucking leech.
He sighs heavily. “I just… I really need your help right now. I made a terrible mistake and now some bad men are after me?—”
“Not my fucking problem,” I snap. Any ounce of sympathy I felt for this man left my body the day her coffin was lowered into the ground. Now, I hope he gets what’s coming to him because he deserves it for everything he’s done to me. He’s a terrible human being, so I don’t give a flying fuck what happens to him. “If you call this number again, I will have no problem tracking you down and taking care of you myself, Liam.”
He doesn’t have a chance to respond before I launch the phone across the room, the plastic crumpling against the wall from impact and landing in a heap on the floor.
How dare that fucker call me to ask for money after I’ve told him repeatedly to fuck off and never contact me again? Did he not understand me the first time I cut him out of my life when I left home to live with Hudson at sixteen?
The man I once called my father is now a fucking stranger to me. No more important than the dirt beneath my shoe. For many years, I looked up to that man because he was my dad—someone I thought would take care of me and help me navigate life. Instead, he was a fucking drunk who beat me and my mom whenever he came home angry.
And now he thinks he has the right to ask me for money to support his gambling and drinking habits? I don’t fucking think so.
My mind is a cluster fuck of emotions as I hurriedly divide the white powder on the nightstand into five equal rows with my credit card, ready for me to snort.
It has been one thing after the other today, piling on top of my already tense shoulders, desperate for me to crumble beneath the weight.
First, it was the news of the surprise show at the largest venue Dark Angel has ever played with a week’s notice, then it was the sudden panic attack in front of Kinsley, followed by the unplanned party at my house, and to top off the already shit sandwich is my sperm donor calling to ask for money again . I can’t fucking take any more shit today.
The tightness in my chest only worsens as my thoughts run wild and the pain returns, squeezing my chest painfully. Even though I’m struggling to inhale air into my lungs, I lean down and snort the white powder up my right nostril. A familiar burn consumes my senses, making my eyes roll back as I digest the drug. Not wanting to have to think anymore, I grab the bottle of Jack and chug the rest of the brown liquor like it’s fucking water.
I gasp for air when the last drop touches my lips, my head spinning and my vision blurry. Now that’s more like it . I close my eyes and try to slow my breathing. All thoughts seep from my mind, leaving me in complete darkness. Not a fucking sound is heard as I drift into my quiet space that has become a comfort I seek in the darkest of times.
I hate that this is what my life has come to, but how else can I possibly cope with the all-consuming pain and demons that are constantly fighting with me?
Is this why my father started drinking? To escape whatever demons he was running from?
Am I turning into my father?
I refuse to be anything like him... but is it the path I’m destined to take? Is my willpower not enough?
My muscles loosen as I flop backward onto the unmade bed that still smells like sex from weeks ago before I signed the contract. When was the last time I washed the bed sheets? My closed eyes flutter as peace and calmness weave through every bone in my body, making me feel like I’m melting into the soft mattress.
Even in the darkness of my mind, ocean eyes are all I see. A piercing blue that feels like I’m drifting into the light at the end of the tunnel.
I remember the feeling of nearly choking on my words and struggling to breathe when her soft lips found mine, calming me instantly. Even now, as I lie here getting lost in the abyss, all I can think about is how much I want to kiss the little devil again, and not just for the cameras.