33. It Matters to Me
IT MATTERS TO ME
PARKER
The house is quiet when I step inside. Warm, but just so lived in. After years of coming home to an empty house, nothing feels better.
Anders is sitting in the recliner by the window with a notebook propped against his knee. He’s wearing one of my hoodies. Sleeves pulled over his hands. Bare legs tucked beneath him sideways in the chair. Pen tapping absently against the page while he stares down at whatever he’s writing.
Anders looks up the second he hears the door shut, his entire face changing. “Hey,” he says quietly.
The sound of his voice after a week away hits me square in the chest.
I drop my bag beside the door. “Come here,” I murmur automatically, but before he can even move, I’m already crossing the room toward him.
I crouch beside the recliner and take his hand before I can stop myself, pressing a kiss against his knuckles.
I rest my forehead lightly against his knee and close my eyes for half a second.
“Missed you,” I admit quietly. The words come out rougher than intended, like I’ve been holding them in too long.
Anders’ fingers slide into my hair. “Missed you too.”
There’s something careful about the way he says it.
Still, he leans down and kisses me before I can think too hard about it.
It starts soft and slow, but deepens with no problem.
His hand curls against the side of my neck while his mouth moves against mine with enough hunger to make my chest ache.
I grip the arm of the chair to steady myself as his tongue brushes mine.
Thank God I am fucking retiring soon. I can’t go a second without this.
He makes a tiny sound against my lips when I kiss him harder, and for a minute the exhaustion of travel completely disappears beneath the relief of finally touching him again.
When we finally separate, his nose brushes mine. “How was the trip?” he asks softly.
“Terrible,” I mutter honestly.
His mouth curls. “Because you had to have a stupid fucking sleepover?”
“Because I didn’t get to hold you.”
His expression flickers again. “Dinner’s in the oven,” he says lightly, like he’s redirecting the conversation on purpose. “I made food.”
“You cooked?” I grin, trying to ignore it. Maybe it’s just nerves getting to him.
“Don’t sound so shocked. I cook all the time.”
“You made me dinner.”
His smile widens a little, but it still doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “Steak and potatoes,” he says. “Very difficult culinary endeavor. Took me, like, two whole minutes.”
I stand slowly, sliding my hand along the side of his jaw as I rise. I grab his notebook off his lap and glance at the half-finished page before setting it gingerly on the coffee table. “What’re you writing?”
“Nothing good.”
“That’s never true. You’re my little writer.”
Neither of us moves for a second. We just stare at each other. I can tell he’s trying to pick something apart in the back of his head, but his expression is unreadable. I hold my hand out for him and pull him to stand. “Hey,” I say quietly. His gaze flicks away immediately. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” He says it too fast to be fully believable.
I give him a weary look. “Baby, c’mon.” “I said nothing.” He won’t fully meet my eyes anymore. And that’s how I know he’s ashamed of something. My stomach twists at the thought of it having to do with me. Somebody said something. I can feel it.
“Who pissed you off?” I ask softly.
Anders laughs once under his breath. “Why does someone have to piss me off?”
“Because you’re pretending to be fine and I know you’re not.”
That finally makes him look at me. There’s hurt there, but I almost wish it was anger.
“I just missed you,” he says quietly, making my chest ache. I pull him closer without thinking and he comes immediately, pressing himself against me hard enough that I nearly lose my balance.
Jesus Christ. He fucking needed this.
His face disappears into my chest while his arms wrap around my waist beneath my hoodie. I hold him tighter automatically. His entire body melts against mine little by little, tension draining slowly from his shoulders while I run my hand through his curls.
“You okay?” I murmur against the top of his head.
“Mm.”
“No lying.”
His lips brush absentmindedly against my chest through my hoodie, trailing lower.
“Sweetheart,” I say quietly.
“I missed you,” he whispers against me. There’s something almost desperate about it now, like he’s trying to prove something. Or reassure himself of something.
I tilt his face up gently. “Slow down a minute.”
His expression changes instantly, almost sharpening a little. “Are you serious?” he mutters.
“What?”
“You’ve been gone for over a week.”
My brows pull together. “Yeah. I know.”
“And you haven’t even let me touch you yet.”
For a minute, I just stare at him. “You think that’s all this is to me?” I ask a moment later.
Anders immediately looks away. His silence alone tells me everything. I cup his jaw again, forcing him gently back toward me. “Who said something to you?”
“No one.”
“Nuh-uh. Bullshit.”
He presses his lips together, then shrugs one shoulder like he suddenly regrets letting any emotion show at all. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Don’t care. It matters to me.”
That nearly cracks him. I can see it happen in real time. His eyes flick downward. “I just…” He exhales shakily. “I don’t know.”
“Talk to me, Anders.”
“I know this is weird,” he says quietly. “And complicated. And people are gonna have their opinions about it.”
“And?”
“And I know you’re not…” He swallows. “You’re not really the…relationship type.”
I stare at him. Actually stare, even blinking a few times. Because somehow this beautiful, impossible boy thinks I flew across the country thinking about him every waking second just to come home and treat him like a hookup.
My frustration must show on my face because he immediately backtracks. “I’m not saying that’s what this is,” he says quickly. “I know you care about me, Parker. I know that.”
I feel sick. “But?”
“But sometimes I don’t know how much.”
I grab his wrist and press his palm flat against my chest, right over my heartbeat.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out because the feeling is just too large for language.
Terrifying, because saying the wrong thing could mess this up.
I just hold his hand there harder instead.
“You feel that?” I ask quietly. Anders nods once. “Good. That’s yours.”
His breath catches.
“Anders,” I say carefully, forcing every word out slowly, “I don’t know how to do this right yet.
But this isn’t casual to me. You have never been casual.
” Even still, he’s full of uncertainty and disbelief.
My heart feels like it’s cracking into pieces just thinking about it.
I pull him against me again and hold him tight enough that he lets out a tiny breath.
“This is real,” I murmur into his hair. “Okay?”
He nods slowly against my chest, but I can tell he’s trying to believe me instead of actually believing me. And suddenly I know exactly what I need to do. I grab his hand. “C’mon.”
“What?”
“Let’s go.”
“Parker—”
“Anders. Humor me.”
He gives me a weary look but lets me pull him toward the front door. I open it and cool spring air immediately rushes inside. The sidewalk outside is busy enough to matter—people walking dogs, couples passing by, someone jogging across the street.
Normally, I’d hesitate. Normally, I’d think about headlines.
What if someone recognizes me? What if they take photos or ask questions?
But right now all I can think about is the fact that Anders is standing beside me wondering if I’m ashamed of him, and I can’t fucking stand it.
I refuse to let those thoughts live in his head, because I could never feel ashamed of him.
“What are we doing?” he asks cautiously.
I step onto the porch and tug him with me. The evening sky stretches gold and blue overhead, sunlight still hanging stubbornly above the buildings. I point upward. “The sun’s still out.”
Anders stares at me for a second. Then realization hits him all at once, his entire face changing. “Oh my God,” he mutters, immediately trying to hide a smile. “Okay. Shut up.”
“It’s still out,” I repeat.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“It’s real.”
His throat bobs. People are walking twenty feet away. Cars pass. Anyone could see us. And I don’t care enough to stop.
Anders steps closer slowly. “Okay,” he says softly.
“No,” I murmur. “I mean it.”
“I know.”
“I’ll kiss you right here if I have to.”
That finally makes him laugh for real. A real smile. “You’re serious?” he asks quietly.
I slide my hand around his waist. “Very.”
“You’d survive the scandal?”
“I might. Can’t be too sure. TMZ is just swarming the suburbs of D.C.”
He snorts, then looks at me like he’s waiting to see if I’ll actually do it. So I do. I lean down and kiss him right there on the front steps with the entire street still alive around us. This kiss doesn’t need desperation. Just confidence.
Anders makes a tiny surprised sound before immediately kissing me back, fingers curling tightly into the front of my hoodie. His body presses into mine as I pull him closer, lifting him slightly off the ground just to hear him laugh against my mouth.
When we finally pull apart, he’s smiling so openly it almost knocks the breath out of me.
“There,” I murmur, brushing my forehead against his. “Better?”
Anders looks at me for a long moment, then nods once. “Better.”
“Sit still,” I laugh, wrapping my arm around Anders.
He squirms around in my lap. There’s plenty of space on the couch for the both of us, but something about holding Anders in my lap while we eat dinner just seemed way too appetizing…
“I’m trying to get more steak,” he groans, reaching out for the plate. “I need to get my protein in. Lee kicked my ass this morning when we worked out.”
“Protein you ask—”
“I’m actually gonna hit you,” Anders threatens.
I spear my fork through a piece of steak and hold it in front of his mouth. “Peace offering.”
“No, I think you should feed it to me Lady and the Tramp style,” he snorts before biting the steak off the fork anyway.
This is so nice. Just sitting on the couch with him and having such a private moment like this…
it feels familiar and intimate, kind of like we’re finding our balance again.
There’s no more insanity that’s keeping us apart, which, I fully admit, is my fault.
But I never could have imagined Anders would be the one who could fill this void in my life.
Not only on account of just being so lonely, but also because I had never seen myself finding love.
I mean—yes, I love him. I’ve loved him for twenty years.
But this is different. It’s growing off a completely different vine.
This isn’t the love that grew out of bedtime stories and scraped knees and watching him become himself.
I just…I think I might really fucking love him.
The scary kind of love that makes you do stupid shit all the fucking time. Maybe that’s what this has always been.
“So explain this whole sleepover thing to me again,” Anders says in between bites. He laughs softly when I lean in and kiss him on the neck.
“Long story,” is all I say before another kiss.
“You know—I wanna start a rumor,” Anders murmurs a moment later. “Vandy and Seth. I think they did it, but I can’t prove it.”
“On what grounds?” I snort.
“The night we went out. Pretty sure Seth went home with Vandy.”
Fucking hell. Vandy heard “make sure Anders comes home alone” and fucking ran with it…
“Good for them,” I say, my voice pitching slightly. “As long as that short fuck stays away from my boy.”
Vandy did what had to be done. I could probably give him a million dollars right now.
Anders rolls his eyes, melting back against me after stealing another piece of steak, completely at ease in a way I haven’t seen in months. “You’re a fucking lunatic.”
“I’m possessive,” I murmur softly, brushing my nose against his cheek and squeezing him tighter. “You’re my baby. I did what I had to do.”
He sighs. “I hate how good it made me feel to know you would do something like that,” he confesses.
The words settle between us. I wish they didn’t make me so fucking happy either. I wish I didn’t love hearing that he’d wanted me to fight for him. But I do.
“I’m sorry.” I kiss him gently on the cheek, letting my lips linger for a moment. “I’m sorry,” I whisper this time. “For everything.”
He turns his head and gives me a tender look, sliding his hand up my jaw and tilting my head up. “I’ll forgive you,” he whispers into my ear. A brief pause, but then I can tell he’s holding back a smirk. “I’ll forgive you if you’ll let me do something.”
“Do what?” I gulp. From the way he’s looking at me, I’m genuinely horrified.
Instead of answering, Anders hops off my lap and immediately holds his hand out. “Shower.”
The look he gives me sends heat crawling straight down my spine.
Well. That’s fucking new…
“To kill me?” I ask.
“It might,” is all he says, giving me a terrifying grin. “Davai, Petchka.”