Page 115 of Heartless Game

His eyes, dark, were wet with pain, regret, and gratitude. “You don’t have to forgive me. You only need to know how sorry I am. I don’t blame you for my mother’s death, or for keeping it and your mom a secret from me, Tovah. I understand. I was just afraid, and angry, and being a dick.”

He slowly unwrapped the blanket. I let it fall.

Lifting the sweatshirts he’d put me in, he placed gentle kisses on my rounded stomach and the dimples on my hips.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” he murmured against my skin. “You just need to love me, bashert.”

“I do,” I said. “I do love you, bashert.”

And then he was rising to his feet, and lifting me in his arms, and kissing me, and I was kissing him back, and even though the world outside still threatened to destroy us, for now, we felt strong enough together.

We felt invincible.

If only that were true.

48

Tovah

Isaac stood by the kitchen counter, keys in hand.

“You’ll be at the game?” he asked. “I know it’s a few hours away, but I need you there.”

There was worry in his eyes. I’d never thought it was possible that Isaac Silver could be insecure, but right now he seemed more like a boy than a man.

“I’ll be at the game,” I assured him. “I can’t promise not to chirp though.”

“As long as you wear my jersey.”

I smiled. “I’ll wear your jersey.”

He grabbed my hand. “And you’ll?—”

“I’ll be at the game, Isaac. I mean it. I’m in this with you. You don’t have to throw me in your trunk again, promise.” I scratched my head. “Although now that I think about it, I’ve spent more time in the trunk than in the cab.”

“I should apologize for that, but if I hadn’t kidnapped you that day, you wouldn’t be here.” He glanced at his phone. “Fuck, I’m already late. Call me if you have any issues, okay?”

I nodded.

That must not have been enough for him, because he said, “promise me.”

“I promise.”

With one last kiss, and one last look, he left me in the kitchen.

I grabbed my phone to text Aviva to ask if she could pick me up on her way to the game.

My phone rang. I glanced at it.

LOML.

I swiped it open and lifted it to my ear.

“Mom? Why?—”

But it wasn’t my mom who answered. Instead, a man’s deep, scratchy voice, one I sometimes heard in my nightmares, responded.

“Oh, Tovah. Just the person I was hoping to speak to,” said Abe Silver.

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