“Nothing is that simple.”
“Of course it isn’t, and yet it really is, Player. Life is very short. You have the choice to decide whether or not you’re going to blame your past for refusing to take chances. You have to push yourself to become different, to change with the years and grow and learn. No one says it’s easy, but it’s what people do. That’s what we all do. At least most of us. We try. We work at it. We’re never perfect and we make mistakes, but they’re our mistakes and we own those mistakes, and then we have to let them go so we can move on and grow more. That’s just life.”
Player forced a smile even as he shook his head. “People have these maps their parents gave them. Or grandparents. Or someone. I don’t have anything like that. I don’t know the first thing about a relationship. Not one damn thing, Anat. That would be letting her in for a lifetime of hurt.”
Anat sighed again. “Perhaps, Player, but then my Zyah knows quite a bit about relationships. She knows what love is, even if you don’t. She is open to learning all the time. You’ve closed yourself off. Where you could have learned from her, you have shut yourself off from happiness. She should back away from the relationship, Player, and I was wrong to push to save it. I see something in you, just as she did. That matters little when you don’t see it in yourself. Using your past as an excuse to stand still is still an excuse to be a coward, Player. I never would have believed that of you. No one can change your life but you. No one can save you but you.”
Had anyone else called him a coward, Player might have resorted to violence, but he just stood there in shock, wincing at her condemnation. Absorbing every word.
The door between the garage and the kitchen opened and closed. “Mama Anat? I’m home, safe and sound. Savage and Destroyer escorted me home and scared everyone off just by looking at them.” There was genuine amusement in Zyah’s voice.
The sound of her laughter always opened up something soft and unexpected in Player he hadn’t realized was in him. He’d thought every part of him was hard, completely closed off to anything human, but somehow Zyah had found a way into that one little piece that was still vulnerable.
“We’re in here, Zyah. In the bedroom,” Anat called, joy in her voice. “Perhaps you’re right, Player. My Zyah deserves a man willing to fight for her. If you don’t think she’s worth fighting for, then you certainly are not that man.”
Player opened his mouth to protest. Anat was deliberately misunderstanding him. Zyah was worth fighting for. He had never, not once, implied she wasn’t. Zyah rushed into the room, graceful, her dancer’s body flowing with energy, dark eyes bright, her hair thick and shiny even in the dimmer lights Anat had by the bedside.
“Did you have a good day, Mama Anat? It was so beautiful outside, I hope you were able to go out. Player, did you take her outside on the back patio?”
It was one of the few times Zyah addressed him directly unless they were sitting in bed with the lights off. The moment she did speak, the moment she looked at him, her eyes meeting his, he tasted her in his mouth. That perfect blend of subtle jasmine and a rich green floral mimosa. His tongue would forever know that very distinctive cinnamic-honey flavor edged with a cassis-raspberry facet. He wouldn’t have even known what those flavors were had it not been for Alena’s cooking abilities. She had schooled them all in various spices.
“We spent a couple of hours in the sun, although I made certain we were careful. She wanted to lie out in her bathing suit,” Player said. “I told her it was too soon for that. And there was this man coming around, a Dwayne River. He showed up with an armload of flowers and suddenly she was all about suntanning in her altogether.”
“Player!” Two spots of color appeared on Anat’s cheeks. “I did not. I just said I didn’t like tan lines. I wanted to put on a bathing suit. And only for an hour. We were out there longer, but I didn’t stay in my suit the entire time.”
“Mama Anat! You did go in your altogether.” Zyah deliberately misunderstood, her eyes wide with laughter. “A few flowers from that man and you’re back to being a cat woman. I told you sunbathing in the nude was out for a while.”
Anat made her trilling sound, the one Zyah loved from her childhood.
“Wait,” Savage said, crowding into the bedroom behind her. He stuck his head in the room, keeping his body behind the door frame. “You really went out sunbathing in the nude because of some man named Dwayne River? Has Code looked into him? We need to have him investigated. He could be a total con man. Or a serial killer. Anat, you’re too trusting. Beautiful women are always too trusting. Look at your granddaughter.”
“That’s true,” Maestro agreed. “Zyah’s way too trusting.”
Anat laughed. “All of you are awful. Leave poor Dwayne alone. He’s very nice. He visited me for a little while, but not while I was sunbathing. He makes me laugh. Not nearly the way all of you do. Serial killer?” She rolled her eyes.
“You never know,” Savage said. “The nicest-looking men usually are the ones that fool you. The ones with bald heads and scars usually are good ones. They come around, and you should just feed them, Anat.”
Zyah watched her grandmother’s face light up again as she continued laughing. She really loved hearing that laugh. These men. Torpedo Ink. They charmed her. They should be the last ones to be charming, but they were. Both women could see past the dark, swirling violence surrounding them. Sometimes, as in Savage’s case, it was so dark it was nearly impenetrable, but then suddenly, like now, there would be that small little path that led straight to his soul and they both could see the beauty of the man. It ran deep. No one else could see it. He couldn’t see it. But they could. Zyah had come to care for the men. Anat had as well.
She looked up at Player’s face, and her entire body stilled. Every cell in her body responded to him. His blue eyes were fixed on her. Piercing. Speculative. He was looking at her in a way he hadn’t for the last few weeks. It was both exhilarating and frightening.
She forced her attention back to her grandmother and Savage. She couldn’t let herself think about Player. Even if he changed his mind. What would be the point? He wanted sex. Off-the-charts sex, but that never lasted long, and she wanted to be loved. And he needed her. That wasn’t the same thing as loving her. She knew what real love was. Player didn’t.
“Did you really sunbathe, Anat? That might have been too long for you, all joking aside,” Savage said. “I don’t like the idea of you getting a sunburn or hurting your leg.”
He sounded protective. That was one trait the members of Torpedo Ink—including Player—seemed to have in common. Zyah liked them for that as well.
“I did sunbathe for an hour. The sun is very healing. Player made certain I didn’t jar my leg. He’s very strong.”
Savage made a perfect replica of Anat’s trilling sound. Perfect. It didn’t sound like a mocking mimic. It sounded as if he had been born and bred in her village. “Don’t tell him he’s strong. He already thinks he’s good-looking.”
Anat sent Player her lovely grandmother smile. “He is good- looking.”
Maestro groaned. “Now you’ve gone and done it. We won’t hear the end of it.”