Page 4 of Hold Me Closer

Nadia

" Y ou look beautiful, Nadia," Zoya says, grinning at me in the mirror as she finishes my hair. "The crowd out there is going to love you."

"Thanks," I mutter, eyeing myself critically.

My jeans are practically painted on, lifting my round ass.

My shirt skims my curves, highlighting my full breasts instead of my round belly.

The flowy sleeves hide the size of my arms. I don't have a problem with them.

I happen to love my body, scars and all.

But I learned quickly that it's easier to carefully conceal parts of it from the world than it is to listen to the whole world critique it.

And in this business, everyone has an opinion.

One day, I'm too fat. The next, I look like I've lost weight, and I'm no longer an advocate for body positivity. It's exhausting. Hell, everything about this is exhausting. But with my hair and makeup done, you can't even tell that I've barely slept all week.

My manager, Olive Mumsen, has me burning the candle at both ends. When I'm not on stage, I'm in the studio. When I'm not in the studio, I'm doing interviews, photoshoots, or one of the nine thousand other things that come with being a pop star. The list is never-ending.

I can't remember the last time I had a day off. I don't mind so much, though. The more I have to do, the less time I have to think. Thinking hasn't ever been kind to me. Not since…well, that doesn't matter. The point is I stay busy, and I prefer it that way. Even when it's exhausting.

"Do you know what you're opening with yet?" my sister asks, pinning a wayward strand of hair down with a bobby pin.

"We're doing Getaway first."

Her lips compress into a line. "I hate that song."

"So you've said. Loudly and often," I tease her.

She doesn't laugh. Instead, her hazel eyes search mine. "It's about Teo."

My heart trembles at the mention of his name…

just like it always does. It's been six years, and my damn heart still aches every single time someone mentions him to me.

Hearing his name hurts far more than it should.

Thinking about him hurts more than I'd like to admit.

I should be over him by now. He's not even the same boy I knew.

Back then, he was sweet and loving. He was gentle. The man people talk about now—the one who gets into fights on and off the field, drinks heavily and has his face splashed all over the news—well, I don't even know that man. He's a stranger wearing my former best friend's face.

And yet, I've never been able to move on from the boy he used to be, either.

I still dream about him. I still miss him.

And I'm still mad as hell. Part of me—a big part—believes he chose football over me and just didn't have the nerve to tell me.

Had he said that was his choice, I could respect it.

But he didn't say that. He tried to act like he was doing it for me, like leaving me behind was for my own good.

He left me and claimed he did it for me.

You don't quit on people you love. But he quit on me.

Before he ever gave us a chance, he ran.

And I just had to accept it. He didn't even tell me until he'd already made his choice.

There was no changing his mind. There was no talking it out.

He just…left. After seventeen years by my side, he walked away like it was so freaking easy for him.

And when I needed him most, he didn't even care enough to show up. I was drowning, and the only person I needed couldn't even pick up the phone. That's the part I can't forgive or forget.

I was never his first choice. I was just something to do until he had better options. As soon as they materialized, he dropped me and never looked back. I should be over that. I should be over him. I hate that I'm not.

"He got into another fight during his game tonight," Zoya says quietly.

"Don't," I warn her. "I don't want to hear it."

"Nadia, you can't ignore his existence forever."

"Just stop," I growl, spinning away from her. "Why can't you guys ever just leave it alone? This is why I never come home. Every single time I do, all I hear about is him!"

"That's not true," she says quietly.

"Yeah, it is." If it's not her talking about him, it's Mom and Dad, or Innessa, or his parents and siblings.

He's freaking everywhere back home, steeped in every memory I have of the place.

He haunts me. At least here, he isn't everywhere I look.

At least, he wasn't until a few months ago when he was traded to the Sabres.

Now, my safe place feels a lot less safe. Los Angeles is plenty big enough for the both of us, but it feels miniscule with his face all over the place.

I'm mad as hell about it.

"If you came to talk about him, you can go," I mutter to my sister.

"You know that isn't why I came. I came because I miss you," she says.

The hurt in her voice makes me feel like a jerk. Hell, maybe I am one. I've been hurting the people I love for years, all because I can't move on from the boy I loved. It's messed up. I'm messed up. And I can't even blame him for that because I did it to myself.

He broke us, but he tried to fix it. And I wouldn't let him.

I was too damn hurt to be fixed. And then I had my accident, and everything fell apart.

When he didn't show up, I was just…too far gone to reel myself back in.

I've been drifting ever since, unanchored and unmoored.

He was my anchor, my lighthouse. I never realized exactly how much he grounded me until he wasn't there to do it anymore.

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. Between the nightmares and anxiety and the flashbacks, I just…crumbled. I should have been packing for college. Instead, I was checking myself into an inpatient facility for PTSD treatment because I couldn't even get in a car without panicking.

He didn't show up then, either. And I've never been able to move past it.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, wheeling around to face Zoya as guilt pricks at me. "I'm a jerk."

She holds her thumb and forefinger an inch apart, giving me a tiny smile. "Maybe a little bit, but I love you anyway."

I fling my arms around her, squeezing her tightly. "You're my favorite slightly younger sister, you know that, right?"

"Damn straight I am," she laughs, resting her head against mine. "Now, please do me a favor and don't sing that damn song first? I want to dance out there. I can't dance if you make me remember that I'm mad at him, too."

"You're allowed to forgive him, you know," I whisper.

"So are you."

I swallow hard, glancing away when her eyes lock with mine. "He doesn't want my forgiveness, Zoya. He forgot about me a long damn time ago." I'm the only one still clinging to the past.

I doubt he ever even thinks of it at all.

A n hour and a half later, beads of sweat roll down my back from the hot lights beating down on me as I shimmy across the stage, belting out the last few notes to Goodbye, Gone . The crowd is electric, their energy thrumming through the nightclub. Everyone is on their feet, dancing along.

My guitarist, Jareth Grayson, plays along as I hold the last note, slowly letting it fade. His note fades with mine, leaving an eerie moment of complete silence in the club before the crowd erupts into cheers.

I exhale a relieved breath, grinning from ear to ear. It's been a good night, better than I anticipated, given that most of what I gave them tonight was brand-new material. If their response is anything to go by, the new album is going to fly off the shelves.

"Thank y'all so much," I say when the crowd finally settles down. "I'll see you on tour in a few months, right?"

They immediately start cheering again, making me laugh. I blow a kiss and then hop down offthe stage, waving.

Zoya beams at me. "You did amazing!" she cries, shoving a bottle of water into my hands. "They love the new stuff."

"Thank God," I groan, pausing to inhale half the bottle. Performing always leaves me dying of thirst. "It'll be a bad tour if they don't."

"Please." She rolls her eyes. "You've never written a bad song a day in your life."

I grin at her, really glad she flew out for the weekend. I've missed her like crazy. Now that she's in her final year of college and I'm here, we don't get nearly enough sister time. I don't get nearly enough with Innessa, either. She's in her first year at UT.

The band troops down the steps, joining us off to the side of the stage.

"You were on fire tonight, Nadia," Lemmy, my drummer, says, holding his fist out for me to bump. "They fucking loved you, kid."

"Thanks." I grin at him, popping the cap back on the water bottle. "You guys did great tonight." I nod at a group of women dressed in tiny shorts and crop tops waiting a few feet away. "Pretty sure they aren't here to meet me."

Lemmy grins, waggling his brows. The man is a little wild. The rest of the band is a lot more mellow and chill. If they sleep around after shows, they're discrete about it.

Not Lemmy.

He doesn't care if the whole damn world sees him leaving shows with a new girl every night.

It's kind of gross, but it's not my business.

I learned a long time ago that there are a lot worse things you can be in this world than someone who enjoys sex with random women.

His partners are willing and eager, and he's a good guy who treats them well.

I won't infantilize them by pretending they can't make their own choices.

"You need help breaking everything down?" I ask Jareth, who just shakes his head at Lemmy, his lip curled like he finds the whole thing distasteful. I have a feeling he probably does.