Page 71 of Manhattan Secret
I don’t have a curfew, haven’t had a curfew since I was sixteen when the parents expected me to be responsible with my time, not sure why he’s hunting me down.
“Keys,” It’s Ronan who speaks to his son first and though Kian looks like his head is gonna explode, he reaches into his jeans pocket and tosses the keys to his Rover. “How did you know?”
“I told you before, you little thug, you’d have to get up earlier than god to get one over on me. Been there, done that better.” I choke on a laugh at Ronan schooling his kid on the art of stealing. “Get inside.”
“When can I get my keys back?” Kian asks, walking off and as Ronan hooks an arm around his son’s shoulders, we hear him saying. “When hell freezes over and you start to shit out ice cubes. Now listen, this is what we’re gonna tell your mom, so she doesn’t kill us both…”
I face my dad. “Is it my turn for lectures and grounding?”
As I should have known, Noah Fierro chooses his words so very fucking carefully when he states. “You worried your mom.”
Fuck. Direct hit.
I frown and fish out my phone, hitting the number for her cell.
“My baby boy, are you dead?” Mom says promptly, with enough dramatic flair to be on Broadway. I half smile, sensing she isn’t too mad. I can picture her in the kitchen furiously baking while she plots my assault and battery.
No one pisses off our mom, none of us kids would ever hurt a hair on her head, no matter what color she dyes it that month. Sena Fierro is the family heartbeat.
I wholly believe dad will put us in a shallow grave if we truly make our mom cry.
He loves us,unconditionally.
But he worships his wife.
“Sorry, mom. I lost track of the time.”
After spending days at Laney’s, I promised mom I’d spent some time at home tonight.
They’ve given me free rein over my own life for a while now—let us do our own thinking, that responsible shit, but all mom asks of us two oldest boys was that we check in by bed-time if we’re staying out, just to let her know we’re fine.
I’ve fucked up.
After a minute she says to put dad on the phone. Before I can unlock my car, dad replies her, “Love you too, kitten. Be home in a few, just picking where I bury your son.” She must have said something funny because he smirks, and hands back my phone.
“Why am I only mom’s son when I do something you don’t like?”
“What have I always told you about this kind of shit?”
“Don’t worry mom.”
“Don’t worry your mom. One rule, Lachie. It’s not hard to follow. You haven’t been home in days, it worries her if you don’t check in when you say you’re gonna check in. That means I have to call around to find your ungrateful ass and then I have to leave my warm bed to wait for you.” He points to his Mercedes. “You’re coming with me.”
I guess I am going to my grave after all.
I slide into the passenger seat and wait for him to pull out of the MacNamara’s estate.
“You’re so close to going to MIT and you’re joyriding around in a stolen fucking car. Are you trying to fuck up your chances? Get kicked out? What?”
“None of the above.”
We’ve always been able to go to our parents about anything, nothing is off limits to talk about, even if we think we might get in trouble for it. But this… this is private, and my fucking heart is involved.
The heart that feels bruised in my chest. Tight andbruised, like it’s been walked all over by a five-foot sized mouse who doesn’t seem to care she’s throwing me away.
As though what we have means nothing to fight for.
“Just having some fun before school starts.”
