She grins. “But you surprised me by showing it.”
I surprised myself. Ask any one of my brothers how I’ve been over the past few years, and they’d probably say the same thing: bitter and grumpy. And they wouldn’t be wrong. I wake up and stare in the mirror most mornings while I brush my teeth, wondering where the fuck I’m headed. What point is there to any of this?
People work to retire, and they retire to enjoy the fruits of their labors.
Me? I work to survive, and I hope that I get to retire, simultaneously afraid that if I do, I’ll be depressed as fuck when I no longer have purpose.
Like my old man.
“I guess you draw it out of me.”
She makes an intrigued type of hum and lets the conversation lie for a while before asking, “If you could have one thing in life, anything at all, what would it be?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sure you do.” She gives my hand a little squeeze.
“No, I don’t.” I squeeze hers back.
“What did you want to be when you were little?”
“My dad.”
Her brow furrows. “What do you want to be now?”
“Anything but my dad.”
She sighs out her button nose. “You’re complicated in your simplicity.”
“I know.”
Kyra leans her head against my shoulder as we walk. “I’ll unravel you,” she murmurs. “Even if it takes a whole damn year.”
“Only a year?”
“A decade, then. A lifetime. I’m putting it at the top of my bucket list: figure out the puzzle that is Matthew McGuire.”
My chest warms. “I like it when you say that.”
“Say what?” She tilts her head to look up at me.
“My name. My real name.”
“Why?” Her question is soft, confused.
“Because it reminds me I can be something else.”
“You really don’t like being a biker, do you?”
“I like being a biker.” I love my family. “I don’t like what I have to do to protect that way of life, though.”
“That’s a bit of a contradiction, don’t you think?” She wraps my hand in both of hers.
“The worst.” Not being able to escape one because you’re addicted to the other.
“That was an edge piece,” Kyra mutters.
“Pardon?” We round the corner into her parents’ street.
