Page 7 of Twisted Needs

Giving up, I aggressively slump back down on the couch and lower the volume on the TV. He takes a seat next to me, leaving a respectable amount of distance between the two of us.

“So, what happened between the two of you now?” I mutter dryly after he lets out a dramatic sigh.

“Today he told me he spoke to the Dean of Admissions at Carleton College,” Anders tells me finally.

“In Minnesota?”

He gives me a frustrated look and sighs. “Less than an hour away from Minneapolis. A little over an hour from the house he’s building.”

I nod, pursing my lips. “He doesn’t want you going to Georgetown.”

He’s talked about Georgetown for years. Luca of all people should know how hard he’s worked for this.

Anders absentmindedly reaches for a coaster and slides it beneath his bottle. “Like—he doesn’t even think I can handle it. Being far away from him and my family and shit.”

“You wanna know what he told me today?” he asks derisively. “He told me,” immediately interrupting himself with a wry chuckle, “he’s worried I don’t have the emotional maturity to live so far away.” Anders turns and looks at me. “He actually fucking said that to me.”

I’m imagining it, and yeah, I can definitely see Luca saying that to him. The fucker has a short fuse. It’s not some crazy new thing.

“So you’re here to borrow a shovel, or…”

Anders laughs weakly. “Mr. Second Amendment over here and he’s offering to lend me a shovel.” He’s silent for a moment, sipping on his beer and sitting cross-legged on the couch. “Okay, but…sometimes when he’s really mad at me,” he murmurs quietly, staring down the nose of the bottle and twisting it back and forth a little. “Like really mad at me, y’know—” Anders shakes his head. “He tells me I’m acting just like Rogelio.”

It crushes me to hear that. I know this kid…turning out like his father is one of his biggest fears. And I know Luca, who says the wrong shit when he’s pissed off even though he always means well.

“Well, you’re not,” I assure him. “Luca just says shit. You know that.”

When he takes another sip of his beer, I think it’s the first time I don’t see a child when I look at him. He understands things that before he didn’t and carries himself with a lot more confidence these days.

“I should probably call him and tell him you’re here, though,” I mutter, adjusting my shirt that’s awkwardly been pulled up by the movement of my arm.

“I don’t think you should,” Anders protests. It comes out so soft that it almost works. “I want him to suffer for a night.”

I give him a skeptical look. “No you don’t.”

“Okay, fine. You win,” he rolls his eyes.

I grab my phone and send a quick message to Luca.

Me

Anders is here. He’s staying the night

Luca immediately responds:

Luc

Good. Keep him forever

Me

He’s ordering a hitman on you FYI

Luc

I’ve been waiting for this day for 18 years

Anders stands up and walks past me, gunning it for the freezer. He drops his wallet and keys down on the counter before yanking open the freezer door. A bag of frozen peas immediately tumbles out, but he’s quick enough to catch it before it even hits the ground.