She rolled her eyes and got up, following him down to the formal living room. She passed Player on the stairs. He touched her hand but kept going, disappearing into the bedroom. She caught a glimpse of his face, even though it was averted. He looked tired. She could feel pain beating at his head again.
“He’s overdoing it again,” she hissed to Maestro. “When I’m not here, you have to sit on him. He’s recovering, but seriously, he isn’t sleeping, and his migraines are getting worse. Hasn’t Steele explained that to you? He needs to rest, Maestro.”
“Yeah, he explained that to us. Someone forgot to explain it to Player,” Maestro said.
Zyah knew Player was pushing himself so he could leave. He barely spoke to her during the day. It was only when they were together at night that he responded to her, and then she was afraid it was because he thought she might give in to suggestions of her remaining in bed with him. She knew he wanted to have sex. Sometimes she lay next to him to ensure his nightmare stayed away. They just held hands while he drifted off, both afraid of his nightmares.
Savage and Destroyer were in the hall, back in the shadows. Both made her aware of their presence but remained where they were. They were the other two members of Torpedo Ink, aside from Maestro, who occasionally and unexpectedly made her laugh. She waited with the three club members until Player returned. He had put on his Torpedo Ink vest. When he walked past her, he gripped her hand and tugged, taking her with him. Once in the living room, he nodded his head at the two men standing near the window and took the love seat.
Zyah had no choice but to take the empty space beside Player, as he refused to relinquish her hand. She sat straight, trying not to look at Player, feeling the pain crashing through his head beating at her. She was a little shocked that no one else in the room could feel it. He looked almost gray to her. Still, his thumb slid over her knuckles, rubbing back and forth as if she were his lifeline. With his other hand he tapped a rhythm on his thigh, never a good sign with him.
Her grandmother sat in her wheelchair looking regal, a thick pink blanket covering her legs. She inclined her head toward the two men as if bestowing benevolent gifts upon them as she waved them to the chairs opposite them.
“Do sit down, Jonas. You’re so tall I’m going to get a kink in my neck if I have to keep looking up at you,” Anat said, her warm smile in place. “There’s fresh tea and cookies.”
Jonas Harrington was the local sheriff and lived in Sea Haven, so when a call came in, it wasn’t unusual for him to answer in person. Beside him was Jackson Deveau, his deputy. He also resided in Sea Haven. He was married to the youngest Drake sister, and lived with her in the famous Drake home overlooking the sea. Jonas always looked pleasant and friendly. Jackson was just the opposite. Zyah hadn’t ever seen him look friendly.
“You have a beautiful home, Ms. Gamal,” Jonas said as he sank into the armchair. “I could use a little pick-me-up about now.” He reached for the teapot as if he’d been pouring tea all his life. “Would you like some as well?”
Anat nodded. “Call me Anat, please, Mr. Harrington. And I take it with milk.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” He grinned at her. “Jonas, then. What about you, Player? Tea? And you, Ms. Gamal?”
“Zyah,” she corrected, keeping her voice soft and open when she felt completely closed off.
She glanced at Player. Worried. He was the one feeling so closed off. He had shut down and gathered everything he was, burying himself deep. He was surrounding himself with barbed-wire fences and the intricate bombs he was building in his head, even the new one he was so intrigued with. He did that when he was uncomfortable or the migraine was too severe. She knew him so well. His hand was on his thigh, hers pressed deep to his muscle, almost as if he didn’t realize he was holding her hand now. He tapped that rhythm he’d been tapping since his childhood while he built his mythical bombs, which weren’t always so mythical, in order to take away the pain roaring through his head.
“I’d love a cup of tea, thank you.” Zyah tried not to be distracted. Even as she smiled at the sheriff, she felt a little desperate inside.
Maestro and Savage were in the room, and the two members of law enforcement had nodded a greeting to both. Savage seemed to just fade into the background. She always had a hard time remembering whether he was in the room or not once a conversation got started. She had no idea where Destroyer had gone. Maestro was always quiet, but he made his presence known, one hip resting on the sideboard, his gaze fixed on Jackson Deveau as if the deputy was a threat to them. Neither man seemed aware that Player was creating a situation where all of them could be in danger. They never seemed aware of it.
As Jonas poured the milk into the tea, Zyah shifted her body closer to Player until their thighs were pressed tight. Deliberately and very slowly, she ran the pads of her fingers down his arm, feeling every muscle along the way. His gaze jumped to her face.
She smiled at him. Fluttered her eyelashes. “When I got home from work today, you forgot to say hello to me.” She kept her voice soft. Intimate. Between the two of them, as if they were the only ones in the room.
It was difficult to look at him and not remember what it was like to kiss him. To feel his body moving in hers. To want to run her hands over his shoulders and down his back. To belong to him. To have him belong to her. She wanted to trace every line in his face with her fingers and rub the frown away, kissing him until he couldn’t do anything but kiss her back and remember how good it was between them. She pressed those feelings into his mind.
She had to save him from himself. She was not only desperate to stop him from building the images that would cause illusions and then turn those illusions into an alternate deadly reality, but she couldn’t stand for him to be in such pain. What was causing this terrible fracture of his mind? It wasn’t the brain injury. Steele had healed that. For a moment, just as the sheriff set her tea on the little table beside the love seat, she was afraid she might cry, right there in front of everyone. She had to figure out how to help him. Nothing was making sense.
“What the hell is making that ticking noise?” Maestro demanded, his gaze swinging suspiciously toward Player. “I hear it every once in a while, mostly in the middle of the night, a clock ticking so damn loud I can’t think. I want to smash the damn thing. Tell me I’m not crazy and everyone else can hear it.”
Zyah blinked rapidly, trying to rid herself of the shimmering sight of the large White Rabbit thumping his foot on the top of a table behind Maestro. The rabbit was dressed in a suit, and he pulled out a gold pocket watch, shaking his head and glaring at Player. She was fairly sure that rabbit was still an illusion in Player’s mind, but in another minute, it would escape into the room with the others.
Her grandmother spoke softly to Maestro, reassuring him he hadn’t suddenly gone insane; she heard the sound of the clock as well but she had no idea where the timepiece was. He was welcome to look for it. Jonas chimed in and said maybe a battery was low, and the clock went off now and then somewhere in the house.
In sheer desperation, Zyah put one hand around the nape of Player’s neck and with the other turned his head so he had no choice but to look at her again.
“Baby,” she whispered softly, using her most intimate voice, opening her mind to his, allowing her healing warmth to flow into him. “I said you forgot to say hello to me. I missed you while I was at work.” She framed his face with both hands and brought her lips to his, just rubbing gently. Exchanging breath. Breathing herself into him.