Twisted Needs (Painted Hearts #1)

Prologue

PARKER

THIRTEEN YEARS AGO

“I swear to God, man, I’m about to fucking sell him…”

There’s some violent action movie playing that rattles through the entire apartment with excessive gunfire and people screaming. Luca’s kid brother sits cross-legged on the couch with his eyes glued to the screen.

It’s haunting to see my best friend in this condition.

The dark circles beneath his eyes look deep enough to swallow him whole, and his usually perfect hair looks like it’s been yanked on all night long.

The man is fucking resilient. I’ve watched him play an entire game through broken ribs.

Hell, I’ve watched him take a puck to the face and skate another shift before even admitting to himself he was bleeding.

How the hell is parenting the one thing that knocks him down?

“After all that money you spent on lawyers…” I laugh weakly, dragging a hand down my face. “Why’s he so mad?”

My mind lands on the memory of Luca calling me an hour ago, telling me to come work my magic. Anders was screaming in the background…spewing a string of slurs no eight-year-old should be allowed to say.

Luca exhales painfully slow as he grabs my arm and leads me toward the kitchen, putting a little more distance between us and Anders. “I’ve been letting him check the mail on his own. His new therapist thinks he needs a stronger sense of independence.”

“Right.” I purse my lips.

“When he opened the mailbox, there was a birthday card in there from his father.”

My stomach immediately drops. “Fuck, man. Did he read it?”

“No.” Luca shakes his head. “Thank fuck. I took it away and hid it from him.”

“Well, that should do it,” I chuckle wryly. “You read it?” I add carefully, not wanting to upset him more than he already is but still wanting to check if he was okay.

“The fucker can’t even speak English. Wrote the whole thing in fuckin’ Spanish.”

“I thought you knew Spanish.”

“Just Portuguese,” Luca corrects. “But whatever. That’s not the point…

” The anger in his voice is immediate. Anytime he sounds like this, it’s painfully obvious that Luca loves his brother more than life itself.

He wants to protect him with all his heart, but things just seem to keep popping up.

“I’m so sick and tired of him trying to mess with my kid. ”

His words hit me harder than they should. Every time he calls Anders his kid, it makes my chest tighten. It’s true, though. Anders has been his kid for years now. He fought for that, even when that meant having to take a season off to help his little brother adjust to an entirely different life.

Luca glances toward the couch. The second he looks at Anders, his entire demeanor softens. “I don’t know,” he sighs. “Em keeps offering to fly home early, but I don’t want to burden her.”

“Anders is her kid, too,” I remind him.

Something like defeat flashes across his face. “I just wish he could see how hard I’m trying.” He scratches the back of his neck and blinks. “I’m at my breaking point,” Luca confesses. “Between him and hockey and trying to make things work with Em…it’s killing me, Park.”

What happened to Anders would make anybody angry. Eight-year-olds just aren’t supposed to carry around this much hurt all the time.

For a second, I just stare at him. Luca never admits things like that. He’s the kind of guy who bottles everything up and puts everyone else’s problems before his own.

I pull him into a hug, and he immediately hugs me back like he’s needed it all night. I think that’s the moment he finally breaks, shaking in my arms in a way that reminds me he’s still just a guy in his twenties who’s dealing with something none of his friends can relate to.

“I’ll talk to him.” It's the only thing that I can think of to help him. To put at least some of his worries at ease, for him to know that he isn’t on his own.

“I’m sorry,” Luca chokes, sniffling. “I just didn’t know who else to call.”

The couch dips beneath my weight when I plop down beside Anders, who immediately glares straight at me like I’ve personally offended him.

“You look like the hot mess express,” I tell him softly, hiding my amusement.

One of my favorite things about him is the fact that he tries to act like a little adult.

There’s something about being raised by your older brother that really gives you a hardshell exterior.

He’s got thick skin, so I don’t even bother talking to him like he’s made of sugar.

Like a tiny carbon copy of his older brother, Anders’ messy blond hair looks more like a lion’s mane. His hair is slightly curlier than Luca’s, so it’s always a little messy.

“Luca pisst me off,” is the first thing he mutters, biting each word. “So that’s why I’m mad.”

“No shit, Sherlock. Why else would I drive over here in my jammies to come beat him up for you?”

A smile twitches at the corner of Anders’s mouth.

“Let’s cut the shit,” I say. “You’re eight now. Talk to me man-to-man.”

The kid lets out an exhausted sigh. “He took my birthday card from Rogo. He stole it from me.”

I glance toward the kitchen where Luca is pretending not to listen, but I feel like I can breathe a little when he gives me a nod of approval. I’ve always had a way with Anders, but I still wait for Luca to give me a green light before I work my family-healing magic.

Turning back to Anders, I scratch my jaw. “You really wanna read a card from that old smelly fool? I bet it smelled like cigarettes.”

“No.” Anders folds his arms across his chest, trying to make himself look bigger. “I just wanted to rip it up and throw it in the mud.”

My throat tightens. “What if we burned it?” I suggest. “That way it’ll be like it never existed.”

Anders immediately looks interested. “Yeah?”

I nod. “Absolutely.”

His eyes narrow skeptically. “Don’t lie to me, Pet’ka.”

“We’re best friends,” I say solemnly, holding up my pinky. “We never lie.” Hooking his tiny pink around mine, he studies me for a minute, trying to decide if he believes me.

Finally, after a short beat of silence, but careful deliberation, he slides off the couch. Without another word, he walks across the apartment. Luca barely has time to straighten before Anders throws his arms around him.

Just like that, everything inside the room seems to stop.

Luca looks down at his brother like someone just handed him oxygen after spending hours beneath the surface, and the expression on his face destroys me. He drops to his knees and wraps both arms around Anders, holding him almost frantically.

“Don’t cry,” Anders mutters to his brother, patting his back a little too rough to be considered consoling.

I bite back a grin.

“I’m not,” Luca sniffles, swiping a hand across his face. “I just…I love you, mano.”

Lifting his shoulders and dropping them, Anders sighs in a way kids do when they can’t fully understand. “Okay. I love you, too.”

A few moments later, Luca hoists Anders onto the kitchen counter beside the sink before producing an enormous lighter from the junk drawer. I start laughing immediately when Anders lets out a tiny, but menacing laugh.

“Don’t tell Emelie we’re setting fires,” Luca jokes. “She’ll take you away from me.” adding a bit of seriousness, so Anders knows this should just be between them.

“M’kay,” Anders giggles, his mouth curling into an excited grin. He flicks the lighter once, but misses. A second time he tries a tiny flame ignites and the envelope catches instantly. The bright orange flames start to engulf the paper, the edges folding inward.

Anders drops the burning envelope into the sink. Together, he and Luca watch it burn, completely captivated by the light and the warmth. The smoke alarm starts comically screeching overhead, but neither of them go to move.

I started to laugh so hard my stomach hurt. Luca doesn’t even blink, living completely in that moment with his brother.

For a moment, nobody says anything. But then Anders yawns like he’s finally ready to put this night to a close.

Luca stares at him. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. Is this all it took for you to forgive me?”

“Yeah.” Anders rubs his eyes and sleep finally wins the battle. “I won’t tell Emelie. You can keep me.”

I stand from the couch. “Congratulations,” I tell Luca. “Your brother is a little pyro.”

Luca snorts.

Anders leans against his shoulder, half asleep already. He brushes a hand through Anders’s messy hair, while the kid practically melts against him.

“What’s a pyro?” he asks his brother, mumbling it.

And then, as the hours of restlessness grab hold and refuse to falter, Anders falls asleep in his arms before Luca can even find an appropriate answer to give him.