Page 49 of Finding Him
Maxwell sighs heavily, shaking his head, and walks toward the front hall without another word.
I swear under my breath and began my own treacherous climb down into the basement. I have to make sure he’s actually in bed and not choking on his own vomit on the floor.
People can call me a lot of things if they want to. A drunk. An arrogant prick. A broken mess pretending to be a captain.
But no one can ever say I’m a bad friend.
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I'M ON MINUTEnumber thirteen of my mother’s lecture, and it doesn’t look like she’s going to be running out of steam anytime soon.
I had made the fatal mistake of ‘resting my eyes’ on the old couch in Finn’s room after finally wrestling him into bed. I’d then been woken up by Ailbhe Marshall jumping directly onto my stomach, thrilled to find that I’d stayed over.
The problem was that I was supposed to be home before midnight last night. I hadn't rolled into my own house—which was literally across the street—until dawn was creeping over the horizon. I hadn't even thought ahead about Mam waiting up, or the fact that my Nokia was dead in my pocket, or the other fact that Finn’s little sisters, Ailbhe and Aisling, would inevitably find me come morning and treat me like their own personal bouncy castle.
Hindsight is a hell of a drug.
Ailbhe had landed knees-first, her tiny fists gripping my shirt as she screamed, “Niall’s here!” loud enough to wake the dead. Aisling had followed, launching herself onto my legs. Finn had just groaned into his pillow, disturbed by the noise.
“Christ,” he’d muttered. “Make them stop.”
“Not my circus,” I’d mumbled back, shielding my face from a stray foot. “Your monkeys.”
The real horror show had started when I walked upstairs. Maxwell was eating cereal, looking smug. Bobby Marshall was standing by the stove, holding the landline phone to his ear, his eyes locked onto me like a sniper.
“Ah,” he’d said into the phone. “There he is.”
I was given a plate of eggs that felt like a final meal, while Finn’s parents cheerfully pretended we didn’t have hangovers, and then I was sent across the street to face the firing squad.
Ergo: the thirteen-minute mark of Mam’s rant in our kitchen.
“...disrespectful, thoughtless, and completely out of order,” she’s saying, pacing in front of the sink. She stops, fixing me with a look that makes me want to shrink into the floorboards. “Give me your phone.”
I blink, my sluggish, throbbing brain catching up too slowly. “What?”
“You heard me.” She holds out her expectant palm. “Phone. Hand it over.”
“But, Mam—” I scramble for an excuse, any excuse.
“Right this instant, Niall Patrick Blue,” she snaps, her voice leaving absolutely zero room for argument. “I am not messing with you today.”
I hesitate, gripping the chunky Nokia in my pocket like it’s my last lifeline to the outside world and we’re in a Zombie Apocalypse or something. She wiggles her fingers expectantly.
“I’m sorry—” I start, pulling the phone out.
“You can show me how sorry you are by handing it over. And your keys, while you’re at it.”
That’s marginally worse. No phone, no car. She might as well be sending me away to a monastery on the Aran Islands. I’m the captain. I drive the lads. I drive Molly. Who the hell was goingto drive Molly to the game today? And besides, I only ever get time alone with her when I’m driving her home—and losing that is punishment enough.
Mam doesn’t look mad anymore; she just looks bone-tired. Which, somehow, makes it all feel infinitely worse. The anger I can handle easily. The disappointment is suffocating.
“You’re lucky your father isn’t here to see this,” she mutters, turning away to put the phone and keys in the high cupboard. My stomach drops into my shoes. The air in the kitchen suddenly feels too thin to breathe. She shakes her head immediately, her shoulders slumping as if she wishes she could swallow the words back down, but it was already too late.
That’s just the problem, isn’t it? He isn’t here. He would never be here again. The ocean had swallowed him whole, and I was apparently trying to drown myself in alcohol to match him.
But Mam doesn’t know it’s a problem. She just thinks I was being reckless and acting the maggot, like any other teenager.
I can’t imagine how disappointed she would be if she really knew.
