— Chapter 27 —

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I woke up alone the next morning.

Furrowing my brows as I adjusted to the light filtering in through the windows, I realized that I was still on the couch—with Noah nowhere in sight. The nail polish and tablets were gone, too.

My figure had been moved, though, and instead of sleeping with my feet on the coffee table, I had been fully stretched out onto the couch.

Noah had layered a few blankets over me, encapsulating me in a comfortable warmth while I'd been passed out in the living room.

, the clock on the wall read.

After managing to get myself off the couch and into the bathroom, I spent some time getting myself presentable before finding my phone and checking my messages. Nothing much, but a text from Riven did get my attention.

Today at 11:21 am

Riven:

[12:24 pm] Elliot:

Riven:

I smiled at his message and thought, actually, you did ask, but I guess you don't remember that.

Elliot:

Riven:

Elliot:

Riven:

Elliot:

Riven:

A sudden voice snapped my attention away from the phone, nearly making me jump from my skin.

"What're you smiling about?"

Noah had just walked through the front door, though I hadn't heard him enter. Dressed in his work uniform and motorcycle boots, he had a backpack hanging loosely from one shoulder and a plastic bag of what looked like groceries in his free hand. His skin looked slightly stained from grease—I'd figured that he'd just finished his shift at the auto garage.

"Just Riven," I answered honestly. "There's a party tonight that he wants me to go to."

Noah furrowed his brows briefly. "Oh, the reunion thing, right?"

"You've heard about it?"

"Angela," he said, taking off his work jacket. A white t-shirt clothed him beneath it, briefly flashing his lower stomach before he adjusted it.

Noah answered my question with a dull tone, as if he didn't exactly want to go over it in depth.

"Oh."

Resting the groceries on the kitchen counter, he dusted his hands and tossed his backpack to the floor.

"Are you going to go?" He asked.

I nodded, scratching the back of my neck. "It doesn't look like I have much of a choice."

"So you don't want to?"

"It's not that," I sighed, "I just... I don't know. I don't exactly have great memories from my time in high school."

"How so?" He said, catching me slightly off-guard. "I mean, if you don't mind me asking."

I let out a sharp exhale. "I was an underweight music student with shitty grades, a conservative cop for a father, and basically no social life up until senior year. Teachers hated me for always skipping class and people in general didn't exactly want to be friends with me. I was kind of a nobody."

And when I sum it up like that... it sounds like nothing's really changed.

Noah didn't reply for a moment as he took in the words of my accidental rambling, which made me antsy. Way to overshare, Elliot.

I leaned back into the couch and murmured, "And I don't know why I just told you all that."

"That sounds like crap. I mean, you don't have to go to that party just because you're being pressured into it," he said. With a soft smile, he added, "And for the record... I think I would've been friends with you."

I couldn't help but scoff lightly at the idea.

"You?" I said. "I seriously doubt it."

"Why do you say that?"

"...Are you kidding?" I said. "Have you met yourself? You might be the most popular person I know."

He shrugged, "How do you figure?"

I furrowed my brows.

"Well... your dad was the owner of the biggest biker gang in Boston—no doubt you would've been the most popular person in your school," I began. "Well-off, too. An athlete from the looks of it, probably adored by the cheerleaders. You're incredibly smart on top of all that so your grades must've been great—enough to get into any decent college if you wanted to. I can also bet that you were the type to be invited to parties every weekend. We would have been friends? Please. You definitely wouldn't have noticed someone like me."

Silence was the only answer I got in return.

After a few moments, I bit my tongue.

That was too much, I thought to myself, resting a shy gaze on Noah. He fiddled with the chain around his neck, noticeably clenching his jaw. The air had shifted.

"Right. So you think you've got me all figured out, Taylor?"

I bit the side of my cheek.

"You think that just because my dad owned the Stray Dogs that I got everything handed to me on a silver platter?" He frowned. "You couldn't be more wrong. He passed when I was a kid. Left his legacy behind within the bikers, and you know how much pressure people put on me because of that? Try being mentally ill and heavily medicated on top of that."

"Okay," I mumbled, "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"Then try dealing with people whispering about your criminal of a father wherever you go and calling you a freak because of your episodes," he snapped, cutting me off with a glare. "I wasn't athletic, I wasn't popular with cheerleaders, I wasn't invited to parties. The grades I got, I got busting my ass studying for, all while struggling to keep together a barely functioning household in a piss-poor neighborhood. So no. You don't exactly know me enough to make those kinds of assumptions."

I felt frozen to my spot as I took in his words.

That's what you get for running your mouth, I thought, scolding myself with a sick feeling in my stomach.

His words echoed in my head.

It felt like an intrusion, having Noah confess such private things to me in an argument instead of being comfortable to talk about it willingly with me. His words felt like a slap to the face—one that I'd unknowingly needed.

My lower lip trembled slightly as I tried to find something to say.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled shamefully. "I didn't know, I just thought—"

Noah cut me off. "I know what you thought."

I wanted to crawl into a hole and be buried alive.

He picked up his cigarettes after putting on his Stray Dogs jacket, during which I didn't have the guts to speak up again, fearing that I'd manage to make the situation worse. Finding his biker gloves and helmet, he avoided meeting my gaze.

"I have somewhere to be," he said emotionlessly. "Have fun at your party."

And that was the last thing he said before I watched him walk back out of the apartment.

My thoughts hadn't strayed from Noah's words once throughout the entire afternoon.

I was so stupid.

This is exactly why I keep my damn mouth shut, I pointed out to myself. Every time I speak, I end up rambling things like an idiot. Things I don't always mean.

"Why did you say all that?" I mumbled softly to myself, glancing out the window.

It was just past six in the evening. I hadn't put too much effort into my clothing, opting for some casual black jeans and trainers to go with a navy flannel and white t-shirt. My hair went into its usual half-up-half-down style, with stray hairs fanning down the side of my temples.

Riven looked to me and turned down the Elton John playing on his car radio. "Hm?" He asked, pulling the strawberry-flavored sucker from his lips as he drove with one hand on the wheel.

I'd blurted my thoughts out loud.

"Uh, nothing," I said. Passing a look to the large collection of lollipops he had in his cupholder, I smiled, "Why on earth do you have so many of these?"

He let the engine to his old Subaru roar as the light turned green in the distance. "I've been hooked on the damn things since I quit vaping. Got wrappers all over my apartment."

"You quit vaping?" I repeated, raising a brow in pleasant surprise. "That's... big. Good for you."

"Mhm," he nodded. "This stuff helps with my low blood sugar anyway. You can have one if you want."

"Do you have the cherry flavor?" I asked, taking the chance to pick a sucker from his collection.

He chuckled, scrunching his nose slightly. "Ew, you like the cherry ones?"

"The cherry ones are the best."

"They taste like medicine!"

I shrugged, "Still better than strawberry."

Riven pouted for a moment before sticking his lollipop back in his mouth.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that," he said dramatically, holding his hand to his chest. I laughed lightly at his reaction. "Oh, and cola is the best flavor, by the way. People of taste would know that."

"Cola, huh?"

Seeing that there was no cherry anyway, I disregarded the cola flavor and picked up a purple sucker. "Grape it is."

"Disappointing."

"Shuddup."

It was a few moments before we finally turned onto the road where our old high school was. To be honest, the drive around all the familiar streets tended to make me reminisce. I hadn't been in this area of Boston for a while.

The school itself was lit up by spotlights outside the buildings. It wasn't a massive place, but its facilities were quite modern and from the looks of it, new buildings with classrooms had been constructed in recent years.

Pulling into the large parking lot, Riven pointed out beside me, "This place is packed. There's so many cars."

He was right—the parking lot, which was crawling with people holding red solo cups, was packed with cars. Some people had even parked on the grass just to get a space.

I'd even seen a few people in Stray Dogs vests, though it was too dark to comprehend anyone's faces.

Just how big was this party?

"It's... really busy," I murmured, suddenly feeling nervous. I wasn't the biggest fan of crowded spaces. "Are we late or something?"

Riven frowned beside me and shook his head briefly, finally parking the Subaru in a free space that had opened up. "It can't be past six-thirty. Angela did say plus-ones were okay—I guess people went overboard?"

"...Maybe," I hummed back.

We left the car locked in its parking space and turned in the direction of the large doors to the building. Staying close behind Riven's tall figure as he guided us in, I fiddled with my fingers nervously in the pockets of my jacket and found myself keeping my head down as I passed people.

"I can't imagine how long it's going to take to clean this place up afterward," Riven joked as we walked down the short hallway, heading into the main convention area.

"Neither," I answered. "This is crazy."

Finally reaching the glass doors, the two of us were stopped by a dark-haired brunette in a royal blue cocktail dress. Greeting us with a wave and a bright grin, I quickly recognized Angela's familiar face.

It wasn't until she turned her attention to me that I found my stomach jumping up into my throat.

The fact that I'd kissed Noah only hours after the two of them had broken up had entirely escaped my mind until now.

Oh, god—Angela.

"Elliot! I'm so glad you could make it!" She greeted me, easy enough to hear over the music.

I murmured awkwardly, "Thanks for inviting me."

"Of course!"

The hall was absolutely full of people. Colored spotlights meshed with white lighting, reflecting off the honey-colored flooring of the basketball court. The old stands that I remembered once lining the walls had been put away, a corner of the hall now designated a drinks area of kegs and already empty bottles of liquor. Music played at a comfortable volume through large speakers at each wall, a song by Frank Ocean being danced to by people confident enough to do so.

Angela turned her smile to Riven and immediately embraced him in a comfortable hug. "I can't believe it's been so long since we've seen each other. Welcome back to Boston, Riv."

"Angela," he grinned, pulling away from her embrace after a few moments. "It's been way too long. How've you been?"

"Good, good!" She said. "I hate to cut the moment short but I've got to run over and check on the drinks. Uh, I think I saw Lucille by the stage a few minutes ago—we'll catch up in a bit though, yeah?"

He nodded, waving her off. "Absolutely. Go do your thing, Ange."

Leaving us with a kind look, her black heels made a clicking sound against the polished flooring as she rushed away. Riven turned to me and flashed his teeth in a smile.

"Let's go find Lucille," he decided, nodding for me to come with him.

Pulling me by the wrist, I couldn't help the smile that tugged on my cheeks as I did my best to keep up with him. Riven had always managed to be a ball of energy—nothing could slow him down when he was excited.

"Look! There they are!" He pointed out, gesturing to two people by the stage. I furrowed my brows.

That's not—is that—?

"No way. No fucking way!" Riven remarked, surprise creasing his forehead as a stunned smile flashed over his lips. "Son of a bitch!"

"Nate?" I breathed.

A chestnut-haired man flicked his gaze away from the young woman speaking beside him. Their conversation immediately ceased when they saw us coming.

Nate Woods. One of my only friends from high school—an ex-swimmer with a slim build and famously broad shoulders. The several beauty spots that speckled his cheeks were what made him so instantly recognizable. He'd always been popular for being kind and down-to-earth.

Nate had been in the band with me, Riven, and James back in senior year, and was a skilled player of his electric guitar. The guy pulled off some of the meanest riffs I'd ever heard like it was no problem.

"Riven?" He squinted, recognizing us under the blaring lights. There was an expensive bottle of scotch in his left hand. "Elliot? Jesus Christ!"

Enveloping each other in a bear hug, Riven asked him, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"What the hell am I doing here?" Nate answered, a big grin on his face. "What the hell are you doing here? Didn't you move back to Sydney?"

Riven nodded, pulling away. "I did, but you went to college in New York! What happened to 'never stepping foot in Boston again,' huh? That didn't last long."

Nate laughed, cringing slightly. "Shut up."

"You're back in Boston?" I asked him from beside Riven.

"I'm just visiting for a bit, but—" he cut himself off and embraced me in a hug. The feeling of it was foreign, but I found myself slowly returning his gesture. "Tell you what, dude, you're a sight for sore eyes! Look at your hair!"

Riven agreed, slapping Nate's forearm in agreement. "That's what I said!"

"You really haven't changed it after all these years?" Nate asked. "I mean, you dyed it brown, but you can clearly pull it off—I might like this better than blonde, to be honest."

"Uh, hello?" The blonde laughed from beside him. "Just forget all about me then, hm?"

"Lucille," Riven laughed, pulling her in for a brief hug. "You're telling me you've been a natural blonde this whole time? I almost didn't recognize you."

Riven was right—I hadn't even recognized Lucille until he'd pointed her out to me. Out of everyone, she looked the most different.

Her hair wasn't the half-shaved head of black locks like it had been in senior year. Instead, it had grown out into shoulder-length waves, light brown at the roots and lightened into a pale yellow down to the ends. The black piercings she used to have in her nose and ears were gone, too, along with the black lipstick I'd never seen her without. She'd grown out of her punk rock days, outfitted elegantly in a yellow dress and white heels.

"Lucille?" I repeated, still trying to believe it.

Her eyes smiled first when she saw me, quickly enveloping me in a tight hug around my torso. She was just slightly taller than me, though I figured that was mostly due to the height of her shoes.

"Hey, Elliot!" She said cheerily, bumping me in the ribs as she pulled away. "You're still in Boston? Gosh. I missed you."

"It's nice to see you again," I smiled warmly. "You look... really different."

I couldn't shake an itch in the back of my mind. I felt off—like I'd forgotten something important.

"I got rhinoplasty," she cleared up for me, tapping the middle of her nose proudly with her fingernail. Talking with a light laugh, she explained, "Finally fixed up that mess. Been hitting the gym, too, though I guess you're probably referring to the lack of black makeup and combat boots. Do I really look that weird?"

"I think you look nice," I said, waving off her thoughts.

"Great! You look great," Riven repeated in addition, scratching the back of his neck as Lucille laughed at his words. Glancing to the bottle of liquor in Nate's hands, he grinned, "Where the hell did you get the scotch? They're serving that here?"

"God no," Nate chuckled, unscrewing the cap and passing it to Riven. "No, I had to wrestle that out of the hands of some nineteen year-old-idiot outside. Probably thought this was a frat party or something."

Riven took a swig and winced, even passing it to me as he finished. "What was a kid doing with an eighty-dollar bottle of scotch? This is good stuff."

"Beats me," Nate shrugged. "Just doing my part as a responsible adult—you know, correcting the 'misguided youths' and whatnot."

"Responsible my round ass," Riven joked.

I took a sip and cringed slightly at the taste, but Nate was right. It was the good stuff, smooth single malt with a rich, toffee-brown color and a somewhat smokey scent to it. It wasn't exactly my kind of drink, but I could respect a nice liquor.

I murmured, "Kid knows his drinks."

I passed the bottle to Lucille as she asked eagerly, "Gimme some."

"So?" Riven asked them. "What the hell have you guys been doing for all this time? I feel like we haven't seen each other in ages. Nate?"

Nate blinked a few times. "Oh—well, I graduated from college two years ago. Got hired in marketing, but I've kinda just been hopping between jobs to be honest. Going eight months strong with my girlfriend, though, so that's nice."

"How the hell did you get a girlfriend before me?" Riven teased, nudging his shoulder. "Hell must be freezing over. "

"Don't flatter yourself, Riv," Nate deadpanned, "I'm pretty sure women bolt when they see you coming. With that cheap cologne, too? Heh, you're walking chick repellent."