The mouthwatering aroma of lasagna fills our kitchen. Pops puts two plates on the round wooden table and tells me to sit. I waste no time and serve myself a generous helping.

My dad glances at me and digs into his dinner. Famished, we keep quiet at first. When the food’s halfway gone, I ask Pops the big question, “Has the haunted house been rented?”

He huffs out a chuckle. “Haunted, my ass. It’s a dump. I’m surprised someone decided to live there, but I heard the rent’s cheap.”

“Who lives there now, then?”

My dad chews for a moment. Then, he answers, “A woman named Grace and her daughter. I don’t know what the girl’s name is. They moved here in September, but it’s as if they didn’t.”

I raise my eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

Pops shrugs. “They don’t talk to anyone, don’t go out much. Grace isn’t too friendly. If looks could kill, I’d be dead. She must be afraid of my tattoos.”

I boom with laughter. “Afraid of you?”

Pops is over six feet tall, and yeah, his arms are covered in ink, and he rocks his chin-length hair, but he’s one friendly dude. My dad’s famous for his barbecues and the bikes, which propels me to ask, “So, what’s up with the business?”

Dad’s eyes sparkle. “The paperwork’s ready, but there’s a shitton of stuff to do. You ain’t gonna be lazing around, boy. We’ll start conditioning the garage first thing in the morning. Then, we have to sit and plan how we’re gonna work. You remember how to hold a wrench, don’t you?”

“Sure thing. Any clients yet?”

Pops nods with a proud smile. “Bill’s gonna bring his sweetheart tomorrow; he says the engine sounds funny. It might be nothing, but we’re gonna look anyway.”

“Fuck,” I mutter. “Tomorrow? The tools Jimmy bought are still in boxes.”

“That’s why I told you not to get smashed tonight, little fucker. A couple of Buds, and that’s it. We’ve got shit to do.”

I nod and go on eating. Pops has been dreaming about his bike repair shop for years. Jimmy bought a garage and gave it to Pops, which made Dad lose his shit and yell that he ain’t the dude to take his kid’s money. Jim said if Pops didn’t want it, he’d give it to my dad’s ex-boss so he could expand the business. That was enough for Dad to cave in.

Jim’s the most generous guy I know, but we don’t want his money. He worked his ass off to get it, and I have my savings from working. I don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna spend it on; it’s not like I have an idea about what I wanna do.

Well, I do have plans for tonight - see the guys, have some beers, and get laid if I’m lucky.

I glance at the clock and finish my lasagna. Then, I take our plates to the dishwasher and wipe the table off.

“I’m gonna take the keys,” I say to Pops. He’s sprawled on the couch with some papers in his hands while AC/DC plays in the background.

“Okay, but if you ride that bike drunk, I’ll whip your ass so hard you won’t be able to sit for a month.”

“Gotcha,” I say as I yank my leather jacket off the hanger and throw it on. Pops ain’t kidding. My ass still remembers what my old man did after the fender bender I caused when I was sixteen.

“Later, gator,” I yell, exiting the house, and Pops mutters, ‘Smart ass’ under his breath.

I stride to the garage, hop on Fat Boy, and make sure the engine’s loud enough for Grace to hear. If she’s afraid of Pops, I’ll scare her shitless. I have a tattoo as well, and my dick’s pierced, but ain’t no way in hell she’s gonna see it. Her daughter will if she’s pretty enough. It’s not like I let any chick look at the boy. I have standards.

***

The party at the Temple is in full swing. The smoke from the bonfire fills the air, and snippets of conversations reach my ears as I ride into the woods.

I shut the throttle to tamp down the roar of the engine when I approach our meeting spot. When the clearing comes into view, I apply the front brake and let go of it. Then, I speed up and pull the handlebars up. Fat boy’s standing on its rear wheel, and that’s how I ride into The Temple.

“‘Sup, bitches!” I yell. Some dudes drop their beers, and some girls squeal.

“The legend’s back!” Mac jumps to his feet and rushes toward Fat Boy. I kill the engine and get off my bike.

In less than a minute, I’m surrounded by my friends, who hug me and slap my back. Mac’s first, grinning as he whispers, "Welcome home, whore," in my ear.

“Thanks, asshat,” I say and embrace the fucker tightly.

Lenny thrusts a cold beer in my hand. I nod in thanks and saunter toward one of the logs, where I sit with the guys.

My eyes scan the area for the girl I want to see. My lips curve upright when I spot a blond head, except now Annie has a couple of hot pink strands in there. They suit her.

She runs to me and squeals as I hop off the log, lift her off the ground, and spin her around.

“Brian!” She laughs. Mac fakes a scowl, but he’s thrilled I’m back, even though I’m hugging the hell outta his girl.

Annie’s like my little sister. She’s still in high school, senior year, while Mac’s almost nineteen like me. Annie and Mac have been dating forever. They’re cute together, like Kennedy and his girl I met while visiting Jim.

I’m almost sure Mac’s gonna pop the question and marry Annie after she graduates. They come from shitty families, but having each other helped them cope. None of us single fuckers talk shit about those two.

When you’ve only known poverty and abuse, a bit of love can be a lifesaver. We want them to be happy.

Annie pecks my cheek and flops down on Mac’s lap. He kisses her straight away and faces me. “Are you back for real, or just visiting?”

“For real.” I nod.

My words make someone smile as she licks her lip and raises her bottle of beer in greeting. Bella and I used to fuck, and she’s a good lay. Her eyes tell me she’s thinking about doing it tonight, but I’m tired as fuck.

I watch her, anyway. That cleavage is something else. Maybe she’s gonna convince me.

Lenny snaps his fingers in front of my face, and just like that, I’m back to talking shit with the boys, laughing and remembering all the crap we, stupid fuckers, have done over the years.

It feels as if I never left at all. I feel at home. I am at home.

***

It’s after midnight when Fat Boy and I make it back to my Pops’ house. Well, my house again, as of today.

I only had three beers. Getting smashed won't help me work, and I need to lend Dad a hand tomorrow. It’s not hard work because I love bikes. That shit runs in my blood like music runs in Jimmy’s.

In my room, I strip down to my boxers and pull a pack of cigarettes out of my bag. As I open the window, I put a cigarette between my lips and light it, taking the first drag.

I’m not alone. One window in the house opposite ours is open, and a chick’s in there, sitting on the windowsill and hugging her knees. It’s too dark to see her face, but the butt looks okay — more than okay.

“Hey, you!” I yell.

She jumps in surprise and presses a palm to her chest. Her eyes flick over to me, but she ain’t saying shit.

“Yes, you. What’s your name?”

The chick pretends not to hear me and looks away.

“Your momma hasn’t taught you manners, I see,” I say and go on smoking.

“I’m Leah,” she says. Her tone screams entitlement, and I hate that shit.

“That’s a shitty name. It doesn’t suit you.”

The chick whips her head around and stares at me. Fuck, she’s cute. Cute, but has a stick up her ass. Not my type.

However, I forge on. “I’m Brian O’Brien. Guess it’s nice to meet you.”

Finally, the mute chick speaks. “Can’t say the same.”

“Too bad, so sad, Kitten,” I say with a smirk.

She looks angry now, lips pursed, hands balled into fists, and all that shit. “I’m Leah!”

“Nah.” I shake my head. “From now on, your name’s Kitten. Come on, Kitten, show ‘em claws.”

The chick, Kitten, hops off the windowsill and draws the curtain.

I laugh, watching the ash fall off the tip of my cigarette. Before she closes the window for good, I yell, “Meow!”