“Is it cannoli?” Max asks.
She nods. “It is.”
“You rock, Mom!”
* * *
I spend my last night in what seems like an upside-down version of our annual end of summer Steel family vacations, in the bedroom all us boys have shared every summer as far back as I can remember.
We moved here quickly after Truth and Kiki got kicked out of our private Catholic school. We were all ecstatic at finally being able to leave the small-ass school, run by Nazi-ass nuns, surrounded by the same kids we’d known since preschool.
I remember Dad saying we lucked out that it wasn’t rented. But who rents oceanfront property in November on the Jersey Shore?
JT is quiet, almost like he’s contemplating something, Amias and Max aren’t asking a million questions anymore or doing stupid shit to make us all bitch and moan, and then laugh.
Lying in bed, I check my messenger app and see—gasp—I was left on read … again before tossing the phone on the charging pad beside my bed.
“It’s too fucking quiet.”
“Quiet’s not a bad thing,” JT says through a yawn.
“You’re going to the city tomorrow to work with Bella and Tags?” Max asks him.
“Yeah,” he yawns out again.
And then we all do, and Max and Amias bust up laughing like it’s hilarious.
Amias sits up. “I thought things would be hopping around here, that life was gonna change, and here we are, on a Friday night, having a slumber party, no ass in sight.”
“There’s a couple parties tonight. Got an invite on The Sound app,” Max says as he sits up.
“And you’re just telling us that because …?” Amias is pissed.
“Because it’s the asshole, Harrison Reeves, the one who gave Kiki shit.”
“Harrison Reeves invited you, then you don’t want to go, My,” Justice growls, using Amias’s nickname.
“Nah, it was his party. Nina invited me.” Max shrugs.
“Nina?” My asks.
Max shakes his head. “One of Gabrielle’s crew.”
“The one being a bitch to Kiki?” Amias asks.
“And Truth. Fuck. That,” JT says. “Stay away from bitches and hos.”
I see Max and Amias exchange a glance and make a mental note to ask what the hell that was about.
Amias chucks a pillow at him. “Not all of us get to head into the city to work with hot, tattooed babes who know how to fuck.”
“My”—JT throws the pillow back at him—“you’re a sophomore; Max is a junior—focus on sports.”
Amias looks up. “We’re all playing baseball in the spring again, right?”
“Nice try, dick.” Max flops down on his bed and chuckles. “You all play with your balls. I’m joining the surf team.”
I look at Justice, and we exchange wordlessly that we’ll divide up, one with each of them.
“I’ll join surf, too.”
“Looks like it’s you and me playing with our balls, My.” Justice chuckles.
Chapter 11
“Women, if the soul of the nation is to be saved,
I believe you must become its soul.”
~Coretta Scott King
Patrick
Dad and Mom are waiting on the front porch when I pull up. He points left, and I see a sign that says:
Reserved Parking for Patrick Steel.
All Others will be Towed.
I park my Jeep, grab my duffle bag, and seriously want to roll my eyes, but I can’t help getting sucked into his excitement. He’s emotions on zoom; it’s Mom who has the more logical brain. He knows it, and she loves it.
When I step out, he starts, “You’re standing in front of ten thousand square feet of mine.”
Mom elbows him.
“Fine, ours. But, Irish, you’re mine. You mentioned that a few times last—”
She shakes her head, but she’s still smiling. “Do you have to ruin a perfectly good family moment, Xavier?”
“Like I ruined you?” he whispers and, fuck yes, I pretend I don’t hear him.
“You do know I’ve seen it a few times, right?” I laugh as I’m walking toward them.
Dad shakes his head. “It was someone else’s then. Now it’s home.” He opens the door, and I see a banner hanging in the entryway that says, “Welcome Home.”
I follow him and Mom inside. “Nice.”
“Built in 1997, this pad is …”
Mom gives me a quick peck on the cheek. “Just go with it.”
And Dad keeps giving what sounds like a sales pitch. “It’s built with hosting family gatherings and entertainment in mind. Imagine the parties we can throw here.”
Mom laughs. “We’re rarely even home.”
“But when we are … Fuck, Irish, we did good. We did this.” He grabs her and spins her in a circle. “And we did Patrick. Stage or no stage, we’re fucking rock stars.”
Laughing, she says, “Okay, rock star, let’s show him his room.”
Setting her down, he grabs her face and kisses her. “And the—”
She kisses him back to shut him up. “Yes, and the.”
“The what?” I ask.
“Follow us.” Dad smiles big as hell, his eyes lit up like Christmas morning. “This view is ours, Tricks, ours.”
“It’s stunning, Dad.”
It is. The vacation house overlooks the same ocean, the same beach, but this place is much closer.
Dad opens the door leading out to the massive concrete stamped patio that leads to the pool and points to the pool house. “Epic shit, Tricks, epic.”
My head goes right to, This is mine, as he swings the door open.
“Home studio.”
Well … shit.
“Joking, little dude. That’s inside. This is for when you come home from college, need a break, feel like—”
“What he means is he doesn’t want you to go away to ‘find yourself’ like he did and avoid being part of the family business, also like he did.” Mom nudges him. “Until graduation, you want your cousins and friends to come crash, it’s yours, as long as you follow the rules. No one drinks and drives, no one does drugs and drives. No trashing the place. We trust you, always have. It’s—”
“Others you don’t trust,” I finish for her.
“It’s like your treehouse, but cooler.” Dad looks around. “Pool table, old-school video games—”
“I love it. Thanks.”
“Still gotta hang with us, though, Tricks.” Dad nods once, his eyes narrowed a bit. “You’re our favorite Steel.”
Mom rubs his back.
“Of course.”
* *
