Cyrus
Chapter twenty-one
Bruised Ego
I step into Mom’s living room, boots squelching from the rain, leaving a faint trail of mud behind me.
Jonah and Liam are locked in an epic Mario Kart battle on the couch.
Liam’s little hands are a blur over the controller, sticking his tongue out in concentration, while Jonah leans back, smirking. He’s about to crush him. My lips tug.
“Dad, you’re too late! I won the first three races!” Liam yells, eyes glued to the screen.
“Three? That’s it? Back in my day, your old man had a perfect record,” I tease, plopping onto the edge of the couch.
Jonah snorts. “Careful, Cyrus. He’s lost the last two. One more and he’s tossing the controller out the window.”
“Bring it on,” I say, nudging Liam’s shoulder. “But don’t cry when I pass you, champ.”
Liam sticks his tongue out, and Jonah laughs. I watch the screen, letting the noise wash over me, the familiar comfort of home giving me a momentary reprieve.
Liam laughs, “Hey, Dad. Come crush him for me!”
Jonah’s voice cuts in. “Who invited him to the Mario Kart championships?”
“I’m gonna crack these thumbs and wreak some havoc.”
“Dad! Uncle Jonah was telling me you had to run some errands, who beat you up? Was it a bad guy?” I pause before lowering myself into the spot between Liam and Jonah.
“No, buddy. Daddy said some pretty mean stuff to Uncle Jonah and a friend. They reminded me to have manners.”
“Oh.”
“Hey, man. Interestingly enough, I think we’d give Jerry Springer a run for his money on messed-up entertainment,” Jonah replies, grinning.
“It’s all this karma I’ve earned,” I mutter, because I know I’m the architect of my own mess.
Owning it comes with its own kind of hell—a slow, grinding self-reflection.
Pride, ego…they’ve cost me more than I want to admit.
The past can’t be undone. All that’s left to do now is face the wreckage I’ve left behind and put the pieces back together.
Jonah smirks, leaning over me, ruffling Liam’s hair. “Yeah, chap, your father has that kind of charm.”
I grab a spare controller, Jonah nods me over, I lean closer to hear Jonah’s lowered voice. “And what about… ya know, the other one? The pint size one. Is she?”
I nod, giving Jonah the smile this news deserves. “Positive.”
“No shit, Sherlock. Anyone with two working eyeballs can see. What’s the plan?” he asks.
“I’m telling this one later. We’re going to have them meet.” His brows arch, thumb running over the dipstick of the controller.
“How big is that pension of yours?”
“Why do you ask?”
His eyes crinkle at the corners, “Because, now you have two college funds to pay for.”
“Are you always an asshole?”
“Some things never change,” he replies, lifting the controller back up he returns his attention back to the game. I chew on the words, letting them roll through me, then he adds quietly: “And some things do.”
I want my family—our second chance is worth every messy, complicated second.