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Seamus peered over at us. “He can’t make us go, can he, Mom?”
I shrugged. “Your grandfather likes to get his own way,” was all I said.
“Then he needs to learn he can’t always.” His brow furrowed. “Isn’t that something you learn as a kid?”
“It is, but I think your great-grandmother skipped that lesson.”
“Or four,” Declan muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face.
And again, he endeared me to him more than he could ever know by not trying to sway me into agreeing with him.
He didn’t say a goddamn word, just looked miserable at the prospect of the conversation that was in all our futures. I couldn’t say I blamed him.
The last couple times I’d met Aidan Sr. were a couple too many.
As we headed over to Dec’s SUV, a shiny Porsche that gleamed in the sunlight, George straightened up. He’d stayed outside to watch over the vehicles. Either this was new, something the upper ranks necessitated, or it was because of the war.
It pissed me off that I knew why too.
Not because they thought some punk kids were going to take off with one of the classic sports cars here, but because they were making sure that no other faction could plant a car bomb while they were otherwise engaged.
That was the lofty world I lived in now.
When I climbed into the SUV after Dec opened the door for me, I watched as he rounded the fender at the same time as Seamus leaped in behind me.
He was relatively quiet as Declan got behind the wheel and started the ignition, but he’d been quiet since Conor and Brennan had come around for dinner.
Used to his moods, I left him in peace, and Declan was relatively quiet, too, on the drive out of the center of Hell’s Kitchen and toward the highway that would take us off Manhattan and lead us into the city itself.
Was I surprised the leaders no longer lived in the epicenter of their territory?
Sure, but I got it. They weren’t exactly figureheads. Anyone who was anyone knew to fear where angels wouldn’t tread where Aidan Sr. was concerned, and he was probably as much of a prime target now as he’d ever been.
I turned to watch the scenery go by. Expensive stores, landmarks that I’d visited a time or ten in my years here, the busy roads that were crammed with cars even on a Sunday. We passed fancy restaurants and skyscrapers that were engineering feats.
The energy here, the vibe, was something that couldn’t be replicated, and I had to admit it was inspiring as hell. I hadn’t anticipated that, but I considered it a boon, especially with all the external crap I was having to deal with. My muse should have left the building, but instead she was here, alive and kicking, and loving the chaos into which we’d fallen.
I was having a hard time settling down on my next project, that was how heavy the barricade of inspiration was, but I’d know, when the time came, what I needed to do.
“You doing okay, Mom?”
My brows rose at the question, but I turned around to look at Shay. “Takes more than a crotchety old priest to get under my skin, butt face.” When I let my gaze drift over him, his sheepish grin revealed a multitude of things. Most of them being that he was nervous.
Not that I could blame him.
I’d tried to keep this Sunday ritual low angst, teasing him as I bribed him to come to church, stuff like that. But it had to be intense. He was about to meet a set of grandparents for the first time ever. They might love him, they might loathe him—he didn’t know, did he?
I mean,I did. I knew. He could be a little bastard and the O’Donnellys would still bring him into the fold. That was how they worked.
I actually kind of liked that about them.
Family went deeper than personality.
It was bone deep,blooddeep. You could be a prick as a person, could be going through a rough patch that made you a pain in the ass, and you’d never stop being blood.
Every time I met them, that was rammed home to me.
“I didn’t like what he was calling you,” Shay admitted, and he shot his father a glare under his lashes. “I should have said something.”
