7. Soon, Sweetheart
SOON, SWEETHEART
PARKER
Two Years Back
I don’t normally get calls this late unless it’s one of the younger guys on the team asking for a ride or my mother deciding two in the morning is the perfect time to discuss whatever true crime documentary she just watched.
When my phone lights up with Anders’ name, though, I answer before the second ring.
“Hey.” I sit up and reach for the lamp. “What happened?”
For a second, all I hear is breathing, and my stomach immediately drops.
“Hey,” Anders says quietly. “Sorry. I know it’s late—”
I already know. His dad got out a few days ago. Luca got a call from Anders’ old social worker and passed it along. I’ve been waiting for this call.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I tell him, already grabbing my keys. “I’m gonna come get you.”
He’s silent for a minute, then sighs. “Fast please.”
“Soon, sweetheart.”
Ten minutes later, I pull into the parking lot outside his dorm where Anders is already waiting.
Normally I’d have to call him twice, or he’d spend ten fucking minutes insisting he didn’t actually need anything.
But tonight he’s standing on the sidewalk with his hands shoved into his hoodie pocket and it’s fucking devastating.
The drive back to my place is quiet and Anders keeps his eyes closed for most of it. Every time we stop at a light, he rubs at his temple.
By the time we get home, I already know the routine. I dim the kitchen lights before he even sits down. He drops onto one of the stools and immediately lowers his head into his hands, sighing softly.
“Did you take anything?”
“Ibuprofen.”
“How much?”
“Uhh. Eight hundred I think.”
“Okay. Sumatriptan?”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
“Like an hour ago.”
That makes me frown. Usually he’d be feeling at least a little better by now.
“I’ll update your chart.”
All he does in turn is laugh weakly, not having the energy for anything more it seems.
I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and set it in front of him. “Oh wait…you eat something today?”
Anders gives me a look.
“That’s a big fat no.”
“I haven’t had much of an appetite, doctor.”
I suck in a breath and shake my head. “Doctor says that’s not gonna cut it.”
He rolls his eyes, which is honestly reassuring. If he’s still annoyed by me, he’s still somewhat functioning. “You nauseous?”
“A little.”
“Need some Zofran?”
“Bruh.” He shakes his head. “Patient is going to lay down on the couch.”
I grab the cold compress from the freezer while he disappears into the living room. By the time I get there, he’s already curled up on the couch. The room is dark, but he still has one arm covering his eyes.
When I have the compress in my hand I walk over and hand it to him.
He rests it against his forehead and lets out a breath.
Some of the tension eases out of his shoulders, which is reassuring enough that I sit down on the floor beside the couch instead of hovering over him.
I’ve learned that’s usually the sweet spot.
Anders likes company when things get bad, but he hates being fussed over.
“Rogo sent me a letter.”
I lean my head back against the couch, my head brushing against his. “How the hell did he get your school address?”
“I don’t know.”
I rub a hand across my jaw. “I don’t like that he has access to you like that.”
When I turn to face him, he pales. “It’s not like he’s gonna…drive up here or anything,” Anders mutters.
“No.” I reach up and move a curl off his forehead, feeling his damp skin on my fingers. When my thumb brushes his cheek, he squeezes his eyes shut, but for some reason I don’t immediately retract my hand.
The thought skirts my mind that maybe I might be enjoying this. Taking care of him. Touching him…I know I shouldn’t, but I do.
We sit there for another minute, then he says, “You know what bothers me?”
“Talk to me.” My voice is soft, encouraging him, coaxing his worries out of him.
“I don’t know what happened.” His voice sounds smaller than usual. “I don’t even know why I care anymore. I just…” he swallows. “I hate not knowing.”
The room feels very quiet.
“He was my entire world when I was a kid.”
I’ve learned that when Anders is actually talking, interrupting him is the fastest way to make him stop. More than anything, he just needs someone to listen.
“Luca was basically a stranger. I didn’t know anybody else.”
His hand disappears into his hair. I catch his wrist before he can start yanking, the movement being automatic at this point. His fingers relax immediately, though, and settles his hand in mine.
“And the fact that the one person who was supposed to protect me was, like, the reason I needed protection in the first place…” His voice cracks a little, followed by an uneven breath. He presses his lips into a hard line and looks at me like he’s trying to restrain himself.
“What do you need?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” His eyes lift to mine, then he reaches over and presses his hand against my cheek. “Just be here, maybe.”
“Yeah.” I nod solemnly. “Always.”
“I hate feeling like this,” Anders confesses, lowering his voice as fear crosses his face. “I feel weak.”
I shake my head and frown. “You’re not. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”
He nods like he’s about to say something else, but he never opens his mouth to speak. Instead, he just settles again. After a few minutes pass, his breathing finally starts slowing down.
“You should try to sleep.”
Anders lets out a quiet groan. “I hate sleeping when I have migraines.”
“I know you do.”
“You know what happens when I close my eyes?”
I know exactly what happens. “Nightmares,” I murmur sadly.
He’s grown out of them as far as I know, but anytime his father gets brought up, it sends Anders down this spiral.
Every attempt at reaching out or sending him a birthday card in the mail is just a reminder for him that Rogelio is still out there.
It’s devastating and I hate that there isn’t anything I can do to stop it.
He sighs, nodding. “Fucking nightmares.”
I nod toward the compress. “That’s why I gave you the ice pack. It’ll freeze them out.”
His mouth twitches, the tiniest smile pulling at his lips. “Pretty sure that’s not how that works.”
“Well, it’s too late. Medical treatment has already been administered, and you should never question my methods as a physician.”
He huffs out of his nose, wearing a crooked smile. “You’re an idiot.”
“Aaand the treatment is already working, I see.”
That earns me an eye roll, and I think he’s finally starting to look like himself again.
The conversation fades after that. At some point, I replace the old compress with a cold one from the freezer.
He doesn’t even open his eyes when I do it.
Just lifts his head slightly so I can slide it underneath.
The familiarity of it should feel normal.
Instead, something about it catches me off guard.
“Thank you, Pet’ka,” he murmurs, clearing his throat. “Sorry for reverse kidnapping you.” He pauses for a second before he speaks again. “I just…needed you,” he admits.
The simple confession steals my breath away, but it also makes me think of what happened a few days ago.
One second we were laughing and the next, I was mauling him half to death.
I told myself it was the alcohol. Then I tried convincing myself it was because I hate blizzards.
My papa died in a blizzard, so the sight of all that snow brings back a lot of memories from when he was living.
I think a part of me was reaching out to Anders and chasing the pure feeling I get when I’m with him.
Those explanations worked a lot better before tonight, because now I’m sitting on the floor beside him at three in the morning while he sleeps on my couch, and I’m fucking noticing things…
like the way his hair falls into his face, and the faint crease between his eyebrows that never completely disappears when he’s stressed.
I think it’s the fact that he finds me safe that really does me in.
I shouldn’t be thinking twice about helping him like this, but every time I glance back toward the couch, my attention catches on him again.
And when he finally falls asleep for real, he shifts slightly toward where I’m sitting, like some part of him knows I’m still right here.
I stare at the fireplace, then the wall. Literally anything that isn’t Anders, but it still doesn’t work. I can feel him. The room is just filled with Anders.
The kiss had been easy to explain away. This isn’t.
The plain, naked truth is the fact that being needed by him makes me feel so fucking good. And if I’m being completely honest with myself, I like having him here a little more than I should.
That thought sends a bolt of panic straight through me, and I have absolutely no idea what I’m supposed to do with that.