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But she liked Nikki, Sabine, and Sunshine. Good. They were good people.
“Mandy and Logan slept together,” Zara said.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Asa’s gaze bounced from Zara to Bianca to Oscar, trying to figure out who he should be paying attention to.
“I’m gonna kill her,” Bianca said so quietly that it sounded like it was a promise meant only for her own benefit.
Zara shrugged one shoulder, pretending like it didn’t still hurt when he knew her well enough to know that it did.
“How has Logan made it this far without completely imploding his career?” he asked into the stillness.
“His team is really good at their job,” Zara replied.
“How do you…?” he started asking without thinking about who was around. “Copewith all that shit? I had one bad experience and it completely wrecked me.”
She lifted those amber gold eyes to his and gave a slow blink with her dark lashes. “I use music to process the world. It keeps me sane. It keeps me happy.”
Asa’s eyebrows dipped at her words. Something about them sounded like a trumpet through the caverns of his soul.
From the moment they’d met she’d been showing him the way out of his own self-imposed prison.
He thought about the song he’d written while he’d been living there. The words that had started to float through his mind again like they used to. No. Not like they used to. It was different this time. The words were changed now. Stronger, more sincere, better.
He owed her.
He owed her everything.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHINATOWN
ZARA
As always, time with her family went by too fast. They spent the day making tamales. And just like she’d suspected, it was to stuff her freezer.
She would never be hungry again.
She would also be taking a bunch of tamales to the studio.
Asa impressed her by staying the entire day with her family. He didn’t try to escape or find something else more important to do.
Instead, he’d shown up and manned his station with ease. He’d laughed at her dad’s jokes, listened to Renata talk about how they’d met, heard way too many stories about her when she was little, showed Oscar some stuff on guitar that she didn’t even know how to do, and he hadn’t murdered Bianca. That last one was the most impressive.
Bianca hadn’t let up on him the entire visit. Not once.
If he was fatigued by her endless interrogation, he didn’t show it.
They left the next afternoon. Asa had gone to work that morning so she was alone when they departed.
She cried.
She always cried right after they left. She’d be fine, it was just hard to always be so far apart.
She was sitting at the kitchen island eating cookies and feeling pretty sorry for herself when Asa came home.
“Hey, killer,” he said, sliding onto the stool next to her.
