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Friday nights used to be date night. I miss those days. Tonight, instead of a date, I got a text from Anderson. “Meet at your place at seven.”
How romantic.
But I can’t give him crap for the brevity of the text. Whatever has happened today, it can’t have been good. He’s been silent most of the day. No texts, no calls. Today was the day he was going to get the money from his dad, and since he’s been quiet all day, I assume it went badly. What if Elliot figured out our scheme and refused to give him the money? Or maybe something else went wrong. I won’t know until Anderson gets here.
He knocks on my door, and I leap to my feet. Anxiety has ridden me hard today, and I need answers. When I open the door, though, all urge to grill Anderson evaporates. He looks awful. Handsome but awful. Anderson is drenched. Dark smudges sit atop his cheeks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. His lips are tight. His eyes take the cake, though. Almost hollow-looking.
I know guys hate talking about their feelings, but I can’t help but blurt, “What’s wrong?” as I close the door behind him.
He sets a bowling bag on my table. “You have your money.”
“In cash? I thought it would be a wire transfer or something?—"
“Cash.”
He kicks off his shoes and takes off his coat before wandering into my bedroom. My doorway frames him when he turns to me. “Can we talk?”
I race to be at his side, and he motions for me to follow him to the bed. We arrange ourselves until I’m on my back, and he’s on his side, facing me. It’s how we lay for so many days in my bed while I was pretending to be kidnapped. We would talk for hours like this until we couldn’t take it anymore and had to get naked. I hope that’s where this is heading, but I doubt it. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Today … things went bad.”
“Do you want to tell me?”
He shakes his head. “Can’t. Won’t.”
“Can I kiss you?”
Tension breaks on his face as he smiles sadly at me. Then he leans down for a kiss. It’s brief and chaste, but god, I needed it. “Sorry, I didn’t kiss you when I came in.”
“It’s fine, Anderson. You’re sort of freaking me out.”
“Sorry. I don’t mean to.”
“What can you tell me? Start there.”
He sighs and lies back, so I crawl onto his shoulder and cram myself into the nook there. It’s nice to just lay and listen to his heartbeat and breaths. Sets my mind at ease better than Xanax. He says, “I need to get away from my family, June.”
Well. Anxiety is back. “What? Why?”
But he shakes his head. “Without getting into details, they are not good people.”
“But everyone I met was perfectly nice and?—"
“My dad. It’s him. He’s the problem.” His jaw is tight when he says this, and I get the impression things are worse than I thought.
“Oh.”
He takes a deep breath to calm himself. “Dad is a monster. He is just as bad as Andre Moeller. Maybe worse. I don’t know enough about Andre to say for sure. But Dad is … in a similar line of work, I think. I want no part of it.”
“But how would you extricate yourself from him, Anderson? He’s your father. You work for him?—"
“The company pays for my apartment, my life … I don’t know. I’ve built a reputation as a decent attorney, but I’ve done that on the back of West Media. Everything I am is tied to him, and I hate it. So, maybe I’ll try a different industry. I don’t know. But I have to get out.”
He’s panicking. I feel it coming off of him in waves, and he’s threatening to make me panic, too. So, I take a different course of action. “Anderson?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Whatever you choose to do, I support you.”
