Page 72 of The Devil We Crave
I’m torn between the warmth of knowing my parents continue to have a great love life and the desire to vomit when I hear Mom giggling in the background.
“ARES!” she laughs. “I’m on the phone!!”
“Fuck ‘em,” Dad growls. “They can hang up or listen to me fuck my wife?—”
“It’s ourson.”
The kitchen goes awkwardly, deathly silent. I hear a throat clearing, then the view swings wildly as a hand grabs the phone off the kitchen floor. Suddenly, I’m face to face with a very sheepish-looking Ares Drakos.
“So…” His dark brows knit. “That’s…my bad.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Do you have any idea how many years of therapy just got added to the tally?”
Dad chuckles and rakes a hand over his chiseled jaw.
My father isn’t quite the immortal vampire my mom is, but he’s definitely “aging like fine wine”.
His dark hair has a few streaks of silver at the temples these days, which just makes him look even more distinguished than when he was younger. Same with the smile lines around his eyes and jaw: they don’t make him lookold, they make him look like a fucking stud.
He, like Mom, is ininsanelygood shape. Not just “for a guy his age”: he could probably go toe-to-toe with most of the guys on the football or hockey teams here at Knightsblood. Like my mother, he’s dressed like he just came back from a run, in a sweat-soaked gray t-shirt that clings to his ridiculously defined chest and shoulders.
He grins widely. “Fill me in, man! How’s school?”
The “needing therapy” line was just a joke. Okay,I dosee someone from time to time, and I should probably go more often But it’s self-care, not anythingat allto do with any childhood trauma or parental issues.
My parents are and always have been amazing. I wanted for nothing growing up materially or emotionally. They were supportive and pushed me to be my best. They were present. They provided an ear to talk to, and a comforting silence if need be.
Whatever that thing is inside me… That’s just part ofme, not any sort of baggage that got passed down to me by them. In fact, my parents are probably the reason that the “more” inside of me is not bigger or worse. I might be especially driven and wired a little differently, but I’m not a psychopath. And I thinkthat’s thanks to the two nauseatingly loving people I’m currently talking to.
“School’s fine,” I shrug. “I was just telling Mom that the Privateers are gearing up for a pretty solid season?—”
“He’s got a girlfriend.”
I groan as my mom butts back into the frame, smiling widely as she smooshes her face close to my father’s.
“Oh?” Dad grins at me. “When were you planning on telling me?”
This might sound corny as fuck, but my dad reallyismy best friend and the first guy I’d tell whenever I had a crush on a girl at school growing up.
God, thatdoessound corny.
“When it becomes reality,” I sigh. “Mom’s reaching again.”
“She just wants grandkids.”
Mom snorts. “Um, not yet I don’t. Jesus.” She elbows my dad. “Speak for yourself, old timer. Some of us are still in ourprime.”
“Mmm, you’re telling me,” Dad growls, turning to bury his face in her neck.
“THER-A-PY!” I groan. “Fuck, I’m just going to have them send you the bills.”
“Fine with me,” dad murmurs, making my mother giggle again as he grabs her. “Keep the meter running.”
I sigh loudly. “Where’s Iris while you two are playing grab-ass in the fucking kitchen?”
Mom disentangles herself from my dad with some difficulty. “She’s at Cillian and Una’s for the week, looking after the plants and cat-sitting.”
Cillian Kildare, my mom’s and Lochlan’s dad’s uncle, was the head of the Kildare mafia before Uncle Castle took over. He and his wife Una, my aunt—I guessgreat-aunt, but that feels weird because she’s my mom’s age—never had kids, due to them both coming from pretty fucked-up childhoods of their own. But they do have three cats and about a thousand plants in their incredibly cool clocktower loft penthouse across the river in Brooklyn.
