— Chapter 33 —

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The ride home with Noah last night had been filled with silence.

In fact, we spent the very walk back to the car at a constant six-feet distance of each other. Noah walked behind me with his head down and his hands in his pockets, likely too deep in his own thoughts. I walked up front and relished the silence—I was mortified enough to begin with.

Why'd I have to open my big mouth?

There was a point in the drive home where Noah's silence began to make me antsy, but I'd been too shy to break the quiet atmosphere first.

I couldn't help but wonder exactly what he thought of me now. Was he as frustrated that I'd unloaded my worries on him? Was he annoyed at having to deal with my words on his shoulders? Was he disgusted by the things I'd confessed to him? My failures?

The worry would drive me crazy.

By the time we'd walked through the front doors of the apartment, it was no earlier than five in the morning. My feet ached as if they could collapse beneath me at any moment. I could hardly keep my leaden eyelids open.

Despite the stresses and the grief weighing on my chest, I managed to find the surface of my pillow and shut my eyes for a few precious hours of rest.

I didn't bother to close the bedroom door or take off my boots. I hardly had the energy to move my limbs onto the bed. My brain was foggy and the only thing I wanted was to pass out.

I didn't dream. I had hardly dreamt lately as it was—perhaps that was a good thing. I wasn't sure if my thoughts could form anything pleasant in spite of the stress that had been a weight on my shoulders for the past few weeks.

James seemed to plague my mind for a few painful minutes before I went to bed.

It hurt. The idea of having him so close in proximity and accessible, but so far away from me emotionally. I hadn't seen him in so long that I couldn't find the words to express how I felt. He felt like nothing more than a stranger to me now—a stranger who knew all my deepest secrets. A stranger who'd once been a friend.

Perhaps... perhaps it was better to avoid confrontation with James altogether. Maybe it would be healthier for my spirit if I were to stay as far away from him as humanly possible... after all, nothing good could come from finally speaking to him now.

...Right?

It was three in the afternoon when I'd finally managed to crawl out of bed. I had creases in my arms from sleeping so deeply—the headache pounding away in my skull made it clear that I wasn't going to have a fun shift at the bar tonight.

But then again... when was the last time I'd ever had a fun shift at the bar, anyway?

It was only for a few hours, thankfully. Eve would be closing, giving me a few more valuable hours to catch up on the mess that was my sleep schedule.

Noah had been at work, saving me the awkward tension of having him give me a lift to the bar. We hadn't exactly spoken since last night and I didn't know what to say to him. Maybe I'd find myself lucky and he'll have forgotten all about it.

It really had nothing to do with him.

When I finally arrived at Joe's, a few bikers were already outside with cigarettes in hand and boisterous laughter coming from their dry lips. The night air seemed to pass along the distinct scent of fuel, cigarette smoke, and booze. The headlights of parked motorcycles cast my outstretched shadow as far as the buildings next door. It was almost like an embodiment of the gloom that seemed to perpetually follow behind me, no matter how much I tried to look ahead and wish it away. In comparison to it, I was just little. Fragile. Weak.

Aside from having drink requests thrown at me, I'd been used to being completely invisible around the bar. The only people who really noticed me were those ready to complain or women drunk enough to find me moderately attractive in their blurry eyes.

So now, as a few bikers lingered their icy stares on me walking across the parking lot, I couldn't help but feel exceedingly self-conscious.

I could pretty much suspect that a vast majority of Stray Dogs had heard about the 'special attention' their intimidating Vice President had been paying me lately. This exact reason was why I had wanted to avoid associating myself with Noah's reputation. People had a habit of jumping to conclusions and I didn't want to get up in any more trouble.

I hoped it would all die down in the next few days. I already had enough on my plate as it was.

A few hours later, the bar was running smoothly with Eve's gracious help. By the time the clock has struck ten on the wall, the bar was filled to the brim with rowdy bikers, chatty younger women, and perpetually grouchy retirees on their weekly night out. The bar was strangely busy. Tips were stacking up quickly.

"Some guys were graffitiing Stray Dogs badges all over downtown. You guys haven't heard?" I overheard one of the bikers asking his friends sometime during my shift.

Another asked, "Who do you think did it?"

"Surely one of the younger guys. Jax just turned twenty-one but he's already got a criminal record longer than half the bikers in here."

His friend disagreed. "Nah. Not his style—I bet it's just some kind of poser doing it for attention. Besides, I've never heard of anyone here doing graffiti."

It had been going on all night. Word had already spread about the graffiti that Noah and I had done the night before. Everyone was speculating over who'd done it and why—as far as I knew, nobody suspected Noah to have actually been involved.

"Do you think Edge knows?"

"Knows? Of course he knows. I bet he's furious. He's already got the cops up his ass as it is, I doubt he wants them finding more reasons to chastise him."

If only you knew.

I was drawn out of my thoughts by someone's loud laughter from a corner booth as I'd been finishing up with a customer.

"No Angela, eh?" The biker said. "Does that mean you're finally a free man, Edge? Ha!"

I found myself snapping my gaze to the doors of the bar at the sound of the name.

Surely enough, Noah's tall figure was standing there, radiating authority. He seemed to be able to control the room with only a glance, effortlessly attracting the attention of those around him without having even uttered a word.

Wavy, dark locks fell down the sides of his stoic face, with his piercing eyes shadowed behind the stray hairs fanning over his forehead. Clad in leather and ripped, black jeans, his silver chain dangled freely from around his neck. All in all, he seemed like a stark comparison to Chains, who was standing beside him with ivory-white hair, dark-blue denim, and a single steel chain hanging down the side of his belt.

Chains gave the biker an amused look. "Why don't you mind your own business, Splitter?"

Splitter? I thought to myself. What kind of nickname was that?

"So it's true then?" Another biker asked from beside Splitter. I knew his name—Leo. "Edge is single again? Fuck. What was that, like nine months since the two of you last got back together?"

It was Shooter who inquired, "Why is this important to either of you?"

Splitter grinned at Leo, a silver-capped tooth gleaming in his smile. "Suck shit."

"What do I owe you now?" Leo grumbled to himself, pulling out his wallet. The beer made him stumble a few syllables. "Can't believe this shit. You really couldn't hang on another three more months?"

Noah didn't look amused.

Shooter couldn't help a smile. "You two bet on how long his relationship was gonna last?"

"You people will bet on anything," Chains said.

"I bet it would last seven months at best. He fucking said twelve. I was closer," Splitter shrugged. Looking at Leo, who was still searching through his wallet, Splitter said, "Forty. You owe me a forty—no, let me count—fuck's sakes, you're too drunk to do the math right now. Give it to me."

"I can't do maths as it is," Leo snapped. "Why does being drunk matter?"

As his table let out a cacophony of laughter, Noah clenched his jaw and finally gave them some kind of response.

"Don't you have anything fucking better to do?" He rolled his eyes, tone cold enough to send shivers down my spine.

He hadn't looked at me once since he'd walked in.

"It's easy money, Edge," Splitter laughed, swatting his forty bucks proudly against the edge of his table. "No offense, but your relationship with Angela was har—"

Noah cut him short with a scowl that could kill someone.

Splitter hesitated. Though, once he saw the expression on Noah's face, he clamped his jaw shut and sunk back into his seat without another word.

"Oh, come on, Edge—we're just having a bit of fun!" Leo joked, too drunk to read the room.

Noah didn't even need to stand up to address the bar. Clenching his jaw, he stared dead ahead and spoke coldly enough to silence most of his bikers.

"Tell you all what—I'll break the nose of the next person to who decides to stick theirs in my business," he stated. "How does that sound?"

The bar didn't answer him. Shooter had his head down. Chains, as usual, was unbothered. Leo and Splitter looked like they could crap their pants.

Noah's warning hadn't even been addressed to me, but I felt frightened to the bone.

In comparison to some of the other things I'd heard, it wasn't even that horrible of a threat. But threats weren't the same when they came from him. Noah's authority had such a deep impact on those around him that he didn't even need to raise his voice, or get physically violent to get his point across. When Noah got to the point of threatening someone, he did it with a calm tone of voice that I could only describe as absolutely chilling.

You didn't need a display of violence to know that someone like him could do a lot of damage.

When he felt he'd made himself clear to the bar that was still silent around him, Noah nodded curtly and stole Shooter's glass of bourbon.

"Good," he said simply. "I'm glad we're all on the same page."

As the bar slowly went back to its lively chatter, I finished handing a cocktail to one of my regulars and caught Noah glancing at me from the corner of his eyes.

The people around him seemed to be in a lively conversation, but he sat with his body leaning away from them and his leg sticking out of the booth. He looked as if he couldn't be less interested in being here tonight.

He didn't seem to care that I'd caught him staring, either.

In fact, he continued to stare, pausing only briefly to take a sip from the polished glass of neat bourbon in his ringed hand. And he sat like that for a few more minutes, paying next to zero attention to anyone else around him while I felt nervous to the core.

Just as I'd reached the point of wanting the earth to swallow me whole, he turned away from me, muttered something to Chains, and abruptly stood up out of his booth.

It was me staring this time, watching as his shadowy figure merged into the crowd and eventually disappeared out the front doors of the bar.

Chains followed behind him, though from the fact that he'd left his phone and keys with Shooter on the booth table, I figured he'd be back eventually.

I didn't see Noah at all for the rest of my shift.

Part of me had been anxious the entire time, wondering if I'd done anything or said anything to piss Noah off—or at least cause him to be annoyed with me.

I'd just been clocking out for the end of my shift when one of my regulars burst through the front doors to the bar.

As I was getting into my beat-up jacket, she caught my attention and laughed in my direction.

"Jesus, Taylor!" She laughed, taking the toothpick out from between her thin lips. "You didn't tell me you had such an attractive friend!"

A deeply confused frown settled on my face as a blonde girl spoke up from behind her.

"There's some guy asking for you outside," she cleared up for me. "Don't know his name, but he seems pretty desperate to see you."

"He's so hot!" The first girl giggled, toothpick messing with her speech.

That was the last of it as the two of them left for the bar counter. Confusion and curiosity simmering away in my head, I tugged my backpack over my shoulders and trudged out of the bar into the cold night air.

The first thing that caught me off guard was how disruptive it was outside—there seemed to be as many bikers standing among the motorcycles as there were in the bar itself. Beer bottles littered the ground, accompanying the little flecks of cigarette butts and thin layers of snow.

The next thing that threw me off was the crowd hanging around in a group at one corner of the parking lot. The entire scene was entirely out of the ordinary.

But despite all that, I searched for Noah first.

He was standing with Chains by their motorcycles, smoke seeping from their lips and cigarettes between their fingers. They both had their attention on something else across from them in the parking lot.

Following their gazes, I quickly spotted the cause for commotion.

It was a black sports car—the kind with only two doors, streamlined for aerodynamics, with a shiny cat-back exhaust and windows so tinted that they blended with the car's onyx paint. Most obviously was the steel logo shining proudly at the front of the car, signposting excessive wealth meant for the world to see. It was the kind of car that carried the same price tag as a house.

What the hell is a car like that doing in a rundown place like Joe's?

I didn't get much of a chance to linger on the thought. Someone's familiar voice had called out above the chattering of the crowd.

"There he is!" The person announced with a wide grin. Riven. "Elliot! Hey!"

At first, I was more than happy to see his friendly face. But as the crowd began to split for me to see clearly, the joy was immediately cut short.

I was entirely winded by the sight of who I saw standing beside him.

Pitch-black hair, deep obsidian eyes, a painfully soulless expression...

James.

There was a soft tug on the side of his lips when he finally saw me. Dark eyes rested on me, and just like that—everything around me went up in smoke. I could only see him.

A deer in headlights.

The very sight of him shook the earth between my feet. As I tried to find some balance on the legs that were buckling beneath me, I sucked in a seemingly useless breath and was drawn out of my nightmare by the sound of Riven's voice.

"What're you just standing there for, Taylor? Get a move on!" He laughed.

My fingernails were digging deep into the palm of my hand, so much so that I could feel blood. I'd never been able to feel blood before.

It took all my focus not to trip on the small step that led up to the bar doors. I trudged slowly across the parking lot, feeling the air being choked out of me with every step I took willingly in James's direction. I was ready for the passing breeze to knock my flimsy frame right onto the frosted gravel.

By the time I came up to the two of them, I'd fully convinced myself to focus on Riven.

"You brought him here?" I cracked, searching Riven's eyes as if I could find the universe's reason for perpetually tormenting in his inky pupils. Strangely enough, I felt offended. Not because Riven had told him where I worked, but because James actually had the audacity to show up.

Riven smiled, "You left so abruptly at the party so I figured it couldn't hurt for the three of us to catch up over a drink. That's alright, right?"

I snapped back. "It's not."

There's nothing here that can be fixed over a drink.

James finally addressed me, but I couldn't listen to him over the fury that was bubbling in the depths of my soul. "I just want to talk, Tiny—"

That nickname. That god-forsaken nickname. I wanted to write it on a piece of paper, douse it in gasoline and set it on fire.

"Fuck you," I enunciated profusely, only because I couldn't form a string of words that could accurately portray all the thoughts in my head.

I hardly ever cussed out loud without reason. When I did let an expletive go, it was with my entire chest and filled with feeling. And I had plenty of reason to swear at that moment.

"I just want to talk to you, Elliot. Give me the chance to explain myself," he said, brown-black eyes shimmering with some sort of desperate emotion.

I stepped back. "Don't. I don't want to listen to anything you have to say."

Everything around me felt like too much to take in. The people around me, their shadows, the wind freezing my cheeks, the aching in my legs... it felt like everything was falling apart again.

Like the walls were closing in around me.

I wanted to escape, but I didn't know how. There wasn't anywhere for me to run. I couldn't hide. And I didn't trust myself enough not to go into a panic attack if I didn't get away from James soon as possible. I was stuck.

Riven looked entirely confused as James continued speaking. My fists remained clenched tightly by my side—I couldn't even focus on the pain.

"Elliot, stop being unreasonable," James spoke in a quiet, strong tone. "I just want to talk, that's all. You deserve to hear my side of the story."

"I don't care," I said, shaking my head. When James took a step closer to me, I jerked back, narrowly avoiding tripping on my own heels. "Get the hell away from me."

"You're making a scene," James muttered to me.

My face went red with the fiery heat of rage and despair. It felt like I was being backed into a corner. I just wanted to escape.

"How dare you show up at my work?" I said, trying to keep it together as I took another step back. "You knew I wouldn't have a choice but to listen to you if—if you came here, and, I..."

I can't breathe.

"Elliot, stop."

No, wait.

Tugging open the zipper to my worn backpack, I searched around in desperate frustration until my fingers grazed over exactly what I was looking for.

James's carnation. It was wilted, its stem and petals both wrinkled and weak. The vibrant honey-orange color it had been a few days ago was now nothing more than a desolate brown.

I forced myself to meet his gaze.

"She always hated carnations," I told him, shoving the flower to his chest. "So take this and fuck off."

His gaze lingered on the flower in his hands, and I watched speechlessly as an emotion finally broke through the lifeless pits that were James's eyes.

I can't breathe.

I need to get out of here.

"Stay away from me," I mumbled, eyes darting around for a means to escape as I turned my back to him.

I can't breathe.

I used James's surprise to my advantage, taking the opportunity to get as far away from him as I could. The weight on my shoulders was threatening to take me out at any second.

I didn't know where to go. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to see James, I didn't want to think of him, I didn't want to talk to him, I just wanted out of the box that was getting smaller and smaller around me.

I'd already taken a few strides away from the two of them. It didn't sit well with James—he closed the gap quickly and pulled me back by my wrist.