Read Online Neck & Neck by Elizabeth Bevarly - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Elizabeth Bevarly
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names had enough X s and Z s in them to qualify for an obscure Eastern European language. Yep, it was going to be a loooooong night.
“And who’s going with you?” he asked further.
“Stoller and Franklin,” Russell replied obediently.
Finn nodded. Between the two of them, they ought to be able to keep Russell both safe and in line. “And what are Max’s plans for the evening?”
“I believe he said something about checking out an extreme sports park not far from here,” Russell told him. “It’s supposed to be one of the best in the country. He left about an hour ago with Hernandez and Moseby, who both looked equally delighted to be spending the evening shredding. Whatever the hell that is.”
Finn had already known about Max’s interest in the park, so he’d sent Moseby over earlier to scope out the location. It wasn’t the most secure place in the world, but Max ought to be okay with his entourage. It helped that the kid wasn’t highly recognized, because he was almost never photographed by the media, thanks to everyone who worked security. And puberty had hit him so hard over the past year and a half that the fourteen-year-old Max bore little resemblance to the twelve-year-old who had been on the podium with his father on the much-publicized night Mulholland Games had announced the development of the GameViper. Max had shot up six inches in the past year alone and had dropped about ten pounds of leftover baby fat. His outdoor and beach life had bleached his hair from the dark brown he’d inherited from his mother to a sun-streaked chestnut that was nothing like his dad’s. There was little chance anyone would peg Max as Russell Mulholland’s kid. Still, Finn wasn’t taking any chances. And neither would Russell.
“I told him he has to be back by ten,” Russell said. “That tutor from his school who came with us isn’t lightening up on the homework load just because Max is missing class for two weeks. So he still has to abide by his usual weekend bedtime.”
“And what about you?” Finn asked. “Do you have a curfew, too?”
Russell tossed him a disgusted look. “I don’t know, Mom, do I?”
“Just try to be home before dawn this time, okay?”
For the first time during their exchange, Russell grew serious. “With Max here? You know better than to even ask.”
True enough, Finn thought. Russell only stayed out all night if Max was spending the night with a friend or his grandparents. And he never brought women home with him. Russell might stay out ’til the wee hours, but if Max woke up when he came in and saw how late it was, his father would tell him he’d just been having so much fun he’d lost track of time. Which would be true. He just wouldn’t tell Max that the fun had been sexual in nature. Not that Max probably wouldn’t be able to figure that out for himself. But at least Russell was trying.
Okay, okay, Finn thought. So Russell wasn’t exactly in the running for the Father of the Year Award, and he was moving farther and farther away from it—and his son—every year. It was a defense mechanism on his part, Finn told himself. And anyway, now that Max was growing up and becoming more independent, he’d started to pull away from Russell, too, the way a healthy adolescent kid should. Of course, Russell had probably made that easier on the kid by never allowing him to get too close in the first place, but . . .
Well, hell, Finn thought. Suffice it to say that, these days, both Mulhollands were acting like adolescents. Which was weird on Russell’s part, since Finn could remember plenty of nights when they were stuck in that group home where they had lain in their bunk beds—Finn on top, Russell on the bottom—talking about how much better their lives would be once they were grown-ups. How they couldn’t wait to not be teenagers anymore, because no one took you seriously when you were a teenager, and the whole world was out to get you.
Then again, in some ways,
“And who’s going with you?” he asked further.
“Stoller and Franklin,” Russell replied obediently.
Finn nodded. Between the two of them, they ought to be able to keep Russell both safe and in line. “And what are Max’s plans for the evening?”
“I believe he said something about checking out an extreme sports park not far from here,” Russell told him. “It’s supposed to be one of the best in the country. He left about an hour ago with Hernandez and Moseby, who both looked equally delighted to be spending the evening shredding. Whatever the hell that is.”
Finn had already known about Max’s interest in the park, so he’d sent Moseby over earlier to scope out the location. It wasn’t the most secure place in the world, but Max ought to be okay with his entourage. It helped that the kid wasn’t highly recognized, because he was almost never photographed by the media, thanks to everyone who worked security. And puberty had hit him so hard over the past year and a half that the fourteen-year-old Max bore little resemblance to the twelve-year-old who had been on the podium with his father on the much-publicized night Mulholland Games had announced the development of the GameViper. Max had shot up six inches in the past year alone and had dropped about ten pounds of leftover baby fat. His outdoor and beach life had bleached his hair from the dark brown he’d inherited from his mother to a sun-streaked chestnut that was nothing like his dad’s. There was little chance anyone would peg Max as Russell Mulholland’s kid. Still, Finn wasn’t taking any chances. And neither would Russell.
“I told him he has to be back by ten,” Russell said. “That tutor from his school who came with us isn’t lightening up on the homework load just because Max is missing class for two weeks. So he still has to abide by his usual weekend bedtime.”
“And what about you?” Finn asked. “Do you have a curfew, too?”
Russell tossed him a disgusted look. “I don’t know, Mom, do I?”
“Just try to be home before dawn this time, okay?”
For the first time during their exchange, Russell grew serious. “With Max here? You know better than to even ask.”
True enough, Finn thought. Russell only stayed out all night if Max was spending the night with a friend or his grandparents. And he never brought women home with him. Russell might stay out ’til the wee hours, but if Max woke up when he came in and saw how late it was, his father would tell him he’d just been having so much fun he’d lost track of time. Which would be true. He just wouldn’t tell Max that the fun had been sexual in nature. Not that Max probably wouldn’t be able to figure that out for himself. But at least Russell was trying.
Okay, okay, Finn thought. So Russell wasn’t exactly in the running for the Father of the Year Award, and he was moving farther and farther away from it—and his son—every year. It was a defense mechanism on his part, Finn told himself. And anyway, now that Max was growing up and becoming more independent, he’d started to pull away from Russell, too, the way a healthy adolescent kid should. Of course, Russell had probably made that easier on the kid by never allowing him to get too close in the first place, but . . .
Well, hell, Finn thought. Suffice it to say that, these days, both Mulhollands were acting like adolescents. Which was weird on Russell’s part, since Finn could remember plenty of nights when they were stuck in that group home where they had lain in their bunk beds—Finn on top, Russell on the bottom—talking about how much better their lives would be once they were grown-ups. How they couldn’t wait to not be teenagers anymore, because no one took you seriously when you were a teenager, and the whole world was out to get you.
Then again, in some ways,
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