“Uh, yeah, might need enough food for four. I, umm, well, I haven’t told you, but I have a new roommate.”
“You didn’t tell me you had a … male friend.” Ah, good ol’ Dad, dancing around the subject of my love life.
“He’s just a friend staying with me for a while until he gets on his feet.”
I almost say “it’s not what you think,” but I don’t want to flat-out lie.
Rule number one of being a lawyer: omitting the truth isn’t the same as lying.
Dad scrutinises me the way he did when I was a kid but doesn’t push.
With him getting dinner, I have a chance to get home before him and at least warn Anders but keep my sister from escaping.
I find them where they were this morning—laughing on the couch at who knows what. Though it looks like Anders hasn’t been home long. He’s in his business shirt and pants. It must be the first time I’ve seen him in his professional clothes, because the difference is insane. He’s more corporate-looking and less hipster-like.
Anders stands when he sees me, and we meet halfway. His lips ghost my cheek, his soft beard tickling my skin.
“My father’s on his way,” I blurt.
His eyes widen.
“It’s okay. I told him you were my roommate, but he wanted to see Rach, and—”
“You sold me out?” my sister yells from her spot on the couch.
“Uh, no, you told me to tell him you were home.”
“I didn’t tell you to say where. Australia is a big enough place to generalise.”
Anders laughs.
Rachel narrows her eyes. “You’re lucky I like Anders more than you right now, because I’d have no trouble selling you two out to Dad as ‘naked roommates.’ Payback, Brody. It’s a thing.”
Anders blinks innocently. “But you won’t, right? Because you like me.”
She grunts. “Fine, but you owe me. Like, I’m thinking free rent and a bed until I get a job.”
Beside me, Anders tenses, no doubt realising that means he’ll need to share my bed. I’ve already told her that won’t be happening, but he doesn’t know that.
“Haven’t had a chance to bring that up with Anders yet, Rach.”
Before we can straighten any of that out, the door to the apartment clicks open and my dad steps through.
He bypasses Anders and me though and goes straight for Rachel.
They hug, because even though she doesn’t like our dad, she knows arguing with him is futile.
While Dad starts his lecture, I turn to Anders.
He stares at my dad wide-eyed, his skin pale and bottom lip trembling.
“Hey,” I say softly.
No response.
“Anders?”
His head slowly turns to meet my gaze. “Huh?”
“Are you okay?”
Anders glances at my dad again and then back at me. The fake smile makes its return. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, fine. Good. Uh … yeah, good.”
I want to find it cute that he’s nervous about meeting my dad, but something tells me this isn’t just parental nerves.
“He doesn’t know about us,” I say, my voice low.
The nod he gives is subtle.
I eye him closer and notice his chest heaving, his hands fisted into balls, and his mouth moving ever so slightly.
“You need a minute?” I ask.
His eyes stare through me, as if my Anders isn’t there. All that’s in front of me is the blank face of someone I don’t know.
“I’m staying here,” Rachel says, her voice cutting through the apartment like a siren.
I’m forced to turn away from Anders. “We’re still discussing that.”
My sister glares at me.
“Anders lives here too. He gets a say.”
Anders sucks in a sharp breath as Dad turns his attention to him. I want to reach for Anders’ hand, give him support, but that would be too suspicious. Dad approaches, tall and domineering, but his face is the relaxed calm it always is. Cool under pressure, he’s known for his stoic demeanour during court. He’s firm but approachable, intimidating but can put on the nice act.
“John Davenport.” He holds out his hand for Anders.
Anders doesn’t move. He doesn’t blink.
Dad looks at me with a furrowed brow and then back to Anders.
I nudge Anders with my elbow, and he snaps out of whatever trance he’s in.
He shakes hands with my dad but remains silent. A shudder runs through him, and I’m two seconds away from blowing our secret.
“A-Anderson Steele.” There’s a tremble in Anders’ voice.
Dad cocks his head. “Have we met?”
“I … I …”
I grab Anders’ arm gently, and he flinches. I’m brought back to the first few months after I met him where he was too scared to be even near me.
What the fuck is going on?
“Dad, can you give us a minute? We need to have a chat.”
I don’t give my father a chance to respond before I push Anders in the direction of his room.
Once behind the closed door, Anders stumbles and reaches for the bed to steady himself. It doesn’t work. He sinks to the floor, his back resting against the side of the bed with his head up, eyes closed, and a pained expression that breaks my heart.