Page 61 of Twisted Needs

When he closes his laptop and slides off the barstool, I find myself dropping my travel bag without even realizing it. I cross the room before he does. My hand rises automatically as I cup his cheek, the relief lasting less than a second. Every muscle in my body locks. His skin feels like marble left outside during winter, and a sharp pulse of unease twists through my stomach before I immediately shove it away because that doesn’t make any sense. I’ve touched Anders a thousand times and he’s always been warm. He’s never felt cold like this.

His eyes flutter shut beneath my palm, and he releases a slow breath that sounds like sweet relief. “I don’t want you to leave again,” he murmurs, wrapping his fingers around my wrist. “Promise me you won’t ever leave me, Pet’ka.”

“I would never,” I tell him, my voice rougher than intended. “Never, sweetheart.”

“You sure?” he asks softly, fighting off a little skepticism.

I nod. “I’ll never leave.”

His expression changes, the warmth leaving his eyes first. Then the corners of his mouth curl down, shifting into something entirely different. “But you already have,” he whispers coldly.

And then the kitchen seems quieter, like the air’s gotten heavier all of a sudden.

“No,” I say immediately, blinking rapidly. “Sweetheart, I⁠—”

“It’s been so long.” The words cut straight through me like a blade. “I’ve tried staying away, but I don’t think I can anymore.” His voice trembles. “It’s too hard, Pet’ka. I don’t know why you’re making me do this.”

“You don’t have to stay away.” I step closer, the kitchen lights seem brighter now, harsh enough to sting my eyes. “You don’t have to,” I repeat, pressing my forehead against his, but he’s still freezing. “Look at me.” Anders closes his eyes. “I’m right here, baby. I won’t leave you. I’ll never leave you.”

His entire body goes rigid—every muscle, breath, inch. He’s almost stoic in the way he tenses.

“Anders?”

Slowly, he opens his eyes, then he looks past me. The change is immediate. A whirlwind of fear and anger and something darker. His fingers tighten painfully around my wrist. “Tell them to go.”

I frown. “Who?”

“They’re not supposed to be here.” The words come out strained, almost desperate. “Parker, please.”

I turn. Luca is leaning against the kitchen counter. Except something is wrong. It takes me a second to understand what, but when I do, my stomach churns, his arms are bare. No black ink winding over hard muscle and skin. Nothing…Just smooth forearms resting against the countertop. It’s uncanny in a way that makes my stomach churn. Emelie is right next to him with her arm now around Anders.

“What, did you forget we’re here?” Luca asks. His smile stretches wider than it should and it’s really creeping the fuck out of me.

“We came all this way,” Emelie says. And then the voice stops me cold. Every trace of France has vanished from her words, replaced by a flat American accent that sounds wrong coming from her mouth.

Wrong enough that my pulse immediately spikes, heating my entire body. “You didn’t⁠—”

“They’re not supposed to be here,” Anders says again. This time he’s shaking. “Tell them to leave.”

“I can’t just tell them to leave. Anders, they’re⁠—”

“Fuck you.” The words explode from him as he shoves me backward. It’s like the kitchen seems to lurch with the movement as the lights flicker and the room stretches wider. “You’re never going to change,” he mutters. “I don’t know why I keep convincing myself you will. You’ve never cared about me⁠—”

My stomach drops. “Hey,” I say quickly. “Just wait. You’re upset.”

“Because you fucking did this to me!” His voice echoes too loudly, as if the walls are repeating it back. His eyes are glassy…almost broken. “I’ll never be able to be put back together.”

“Stop.” My heartbeat pounds recklessly against my ribs. “I can help you.”

“You aren’t helping,” Luca says. I turn, immediately taken aback by his vanished smile and blank expression. His bare arms hang at his sides. “You always think you’re helping.” Now the words don’t even sound like Luca’s. They sound like mine. “Look what you did to him.” His gaze darkens. “Look what you did to my brother, Rogelio.”

“Rogelio? Luca⁠—”

“If you come anywhere near my kid again, I’ll kill you.”

The room tilts.

“All you do is hurt him,” Emelie says, “you hurt him.”