Once the Cadillac was safely tucked away in its home in the garage at the Johnson home, she gave the keys to Lizz at the door, trying her best to pretend not to see the tears as she hugged her. Francine had clearly taken the car without permission, although Lizz didn’t admit it. Her shock was enough to give the truth away. Zyah debated for a moment whether or not to mention the jewelry, but she didn’t want Lizz to have a heart attack if she discovered it missing. She casually brought it up, saying she thought Francine looked gorgeous on her date with Perry, wearing the blue diamond star necklace and earrings. Lizz paled visibly. She gripped her bathrobe tightly and then nodded, thanking Zyah, kissing her on both cheeks and telling her to give Anat her love.
Zyah had barely registered the sound of the approaching motorcycle during her conversation with Lizz, her heart was so heavy. She turned and he was there. Just standing there. Tall. Broad shoulders. Wild hair. Those blue eyes focused completely on her. She took one step into him, and he wrapped his arms around her. Home. Player felt like home to her. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the feeling because she desperately needed comfort.
“Something’s wrong, Player.”
His hand cupped the back of her head, holding her to him, fingers massaging her scalp. “Let’s get you home, baby. Hot bath. Relax. We’ll talk it out. Figure out what’s wrong together. We’re getting good at that. Or you can sleep for a while. I’ll stay awake and watch over you so nothing can go wrong. Either way, we’ll figure it out.”
His voice was magic. Soothing. He was so tuned to her. She wanted to just stay there in his arms, feeling safe, although her feet hurt. Maybe he could pick her up.
“Let’s get you home. I brought you a jacket and gloves to wear.” Player brushed a kiss on top of her head and then tucked her under his shoulder as they walked together to his motorcycle.
“Keys or Destroyer called you.” She looked up at him. At his jaw. So strong. She needed him to be strong when she felt everything was dark and wrong. She touched his jaw, ran the pads of her fingers over the strong bones.
“They were worried about you. They worry, I worry. You should have called me, Zyah. I would have come to you.”
“What would I have said? ‘I have this bad feeling’? ‘Francine upset me’? ‘She brought this dark cloud and I can’t shrug it off’?” She pressed her face against his chest again, borrowing his strength, because the lurching inside her made her physically ill. “Something is really wrong, and I should know what it is. It was right there in front of me, Player. Right there. I had it and it slipped away from me. Francine slipped away too. For one moment I saw her. The girl she was back when we were children and her mother was alive. Her mother was so awful.”
Player tipped her face up and brushed her eyes with kisses, her nose and then the corners of her mouth. “You’re so beautiful, Zyah. Inside, where it counts. You hurt because you see the good in people. You see it in us the way Blythe does. You see with different eyes than most. I love you for that. One of the million things I love about you, but that particular trait stands out. I love you. I do. You don’t have to accept that. Or hear that. But I don’t think there’s another woman on this earth that can measure up to you.”
His voice was soft. A mere whisper of sound. Barely there. That declaration. She almost thought he hadn’t said it. I love you for that. I love you. I do. He’d said it. His voice might have been low and tender, but it held honesty. She didn’t have to be barefoot.
He terrified her. After pushing her away for so long, he’d just capitulated and wanted to be with her. Accepted her. He thought he loved her, but his reasons weren’t really the right ones. Were they? She was so confused and mixed up. But right now she didn’t care, she just wanted to be near him. And she wanted to go home, where she could see her grandmother was safe, because she felt edgy and a little scared.
“Who’s with Mama Anat?”
Player shook out a heavy jacket, holding it so that she could put her arms in it. He zipped it up and handed her gloves. “Savage and Maestro. Trust me, no one will get near her with those two in the house, and you know there’s always someone outside, unseen.”
He swung onto the motorcycle with his casual, fluid grace. Every time she saw him do that, her stomach did a slow somersault. She put her hand on his shoulder and knew he could feel her trembling. She hadn’t acknowledged his declaration. Had she hurt him? If she had, he hadn’t showed it. He hadn’t changed expression or treated her differently. When she put her arms around him, he locked her even tighter to him. She wanted to melt into him. She pressed her hands against his abdomen, all those muscles she knew were beneath his jacket and shirt. She knew if she took her glove off and slid her bare hand under his clothes, he wouldn’t object. He’d probably just press her palm closer to his skin.