Page 85 of Twisted Needs

Seth looks disappointed. Vandy looks relieved. Neither reaction surprises me. “You sure?” Seth asks.

I nod. “Yeah. I think I’d rather sleep in my own bed.”

“Fair.”

I lean over and kiss him chastely. “Night, Sethie. I’ll call you.”

“Looking forward to it.” He smiles gently and kisses me back. “Night, babe.”

Then I turn toward Vandy, who is still smiling suspiciously.

“What?” I mutter.

“Do I get a kiss?”

I give him a smug look. “Are you gay or something?”

His grin widens. “For the right person, maybe.”

I shake my head. “Hope you find him. Goodnight, Vandy.”

As I head toward the exit, I pull out my phone. Shamelessly, I call him. And of course, the fucker immediately picks up.

I don’t even give him a chance to speak. “Are you fucking happy?” I demand. “Does it make you oh, so happy that your little goon cockblocked me?”

“Come home,” Parker says softly, but I can sense the desperation beneath it. “Just come home. Please.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, his words hitting me exactly where they shouldn’t. I think I finally understand what it’s like for addicts. How they’re able to get hooked on something so toxic that it destroys every other part of their life. Addiction runs in my family. I’ve spent years wondering how people can keep going back to the thing that’s hurting them. Turns out it’s easy. All it takes is one thing that makes the rest of the world go quiet for a minute. One thing that convinces you the damage might be worth it.

“I’m not coming home,” I mutter sharply. “I don’t want to see you.”

“Sweetheart. Please. Will you just come home?”

And then he has the audacity to sweetheart me. What the hell is wrong with him? “Fuck you, Parker. I’m moving the fuck out.”

The silence on the other end is immediate. For a second, I think the call dropped. Then I hear him inhale sharply, like I’ve punched him. “Where are you?”

Finally. He cracks.

“None of your fucking business.” I hear sudden movement from his end of the call. A door opening. His keys jangling. “Don’t do that,” I tell him. “I know what you’re doing. Just stop it.”

“You’re drunk and you aren’t thinking right,” he argues. “I’m coming to get you.”

“No you’re not. I told you I’m not coming home.”

He’s quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice cracks. “Where are you?” There’s actual pain in his voice now. “Let me come get you, sweetheart.”

“No.” The word comes out thin and weak, not nearly as convincing as I wish it did.

“Please.”

“No.”

“Anderson. Angel.” The way he says my name makes my stomach twist. “Do I have to say it?” My breath catches, because I know exactly what he means. I know. I’ve known all fucking night. Maybe I’ve known for weeks. “Say what, Park?”

“I was wrong,” he murmurs. Soft and careful, like he’s handling something fragile. “I was so fucking wrong, Anders. I…staying away was the wrong thing to do. I know that now.” Instantly, my breath hitches. “I mean it,” Parker continues. “Baby boy,” he murmurs beneath his breath, almost regrettably. “Let me fix things.”

No. No.