Page 62 of Play With Me

“Shh,” I soothe, rubbing her back. “You’re safe. Nothing is going to happen to you.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Brooks. I was told you chose to get in a fight, and that’s when she was grabbed,” Mick says disdainfully.

“I was protecting her! Why don’t you go out and have words with security and ask why so many people were let in tonight, huh? Or how about questioning Jace to see why people were drunk?” Rage flows through me at his accusation.

“If you think–”

“STOP! Just stop fighting!” Carmela interrupts. “Mick, can you just go? Please?”

Maybe it’s the way she pleads or the fact that she’s still crying, but after a pause, Mick nods sharply. “Sure, Mellie. I’ll go.” He turns awkwardly, before stopping with his back to us. “Maybe it’s best if you go, too. Get out of the city for a few days. Take Maya somewhere warm. Just until it’s safe again. I’m sure Sadie would love to see you.”

I don’t know who Sadie is, but Carmela seems to get the message and nods. The second the door latches behind him, she falls apart in my arms.

Later, once we clean up and make sure Lenni is alright keeping Maya overnight, we lay in bed on our sides facing each other. “So, where does this Sadie live?”

“Florida. But I don’t really feel like seeing them right now. It still feels too close.” Carmela’s voice is smaller than I’ve ever heard her speak. Not just the volume, but the tone. She feels violated. The club doesn’t feel safe to her anymore.

Her home was infiltrated, and she was powerless to stop it.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Carmela, it’s that she hates feeling helpless.

An idea hits me—a selfish one. I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t crossed my mind numerous times over the last few weeks.

Reaching over, I wipe a stray hair off her face. “What about if we went to California?”

Her eyes snap from the duvet to mine, shock registered in her dark irises. “California?”

“Yeah. Have you ever been? We could take Maya to Disneyland. Or Universal if she thinks she’s too old for Disney,” I lightly joke.

She mulls over the information, yawning while she thinks. Leaning over, I kiss her forehead and pullthe blanket up to her chin. “Think about it. For now, get some sleep.”

I love you.

The unspoken words come unbidden, taking me by surprise.

I lay awake for hours, contemplating the repercussions of the phrase. I’ve never uttered those words to a woman other than my mother and grandmother.

I never even said them to Mariana.

The ease with which they sprang to mind regarding Carmela only solidifies what I’ve been feeling for a while.

Does she feel the same way? Will telling her how I feel scare her?

As I watch her sleep, I make up my mind. If she agrees to go to California for a little while, I will tell her how I feel. I don’t want to waste any more time. If there’s one thing I learned from Mariana, it’s that no one is guaranteed a tomorrow.

And I want to spend as many tomorrows with Carmela as I can.

Carmela

Southern California is exactly how I’ve always pictured it: salty ocean air and warm temperate sunshine. The soft scent of native florals mixes with the delicious aroma of passing restaurants as we drive down the highway toward a suburban neighborhood just off the beach where Anders’ home is.

Even though the scenery is soothing, anxiety is like a heavy ball of lead between my lungs and rib cage. Images of the body at Désirer haunt my every waking thought. The coppery smell of the blood. The faint ache where I was cut. It’s like a nightmare I live every waking moment of every day.

Plus, the knowledge that I’m moments away from meeting the two most important women in Anders’ life sits in my throat in the form of a softball-sized lump.

“It smells funny here,” Maya says from the backseat of Anders’ Jeep. We took the top off before we left the airport. The breezy air whips through our hair, turning it into a mass of tangles.

“That’s because New York smells like shit.” Anders laughs.

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