— Chapter 47 —

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I couldn't feel anything.

That was a lie.

Maybe I was just... feeling too many conflicting emotions at once, and couldn't keep up with them anymore. There was pain, the biggest—clawing through my nerves and stinging the bruises on my skin, pain overwhelmed any thoughts and dulled my senses. Then there was relief.

Relief sat beside pain, whispering in soft tones and stroking its hair in an effort to calm its unbridled rage. There were plenty of reasons for the relief I was feeling—I was back at the apartment, back with Noah, and any hopes I'd once had for reconciliation with my father had been crushed to dust with his own hands. Losing that hope broke something within me, my soul maybe—but the acceptance of it had slowly seeped in, bringing relief with it.

Because I didn't have to try anymore.

My father and I were severed. Strangers. He was just a fragment of my shattered past—a fragment that wouldn't fit back into place no matter how hard I tried to force it to. My energy was depleted. Gone. My father, the two of us... we were broken, and I'd finally learned to let him go.

There was sadness, too. A sense of grief for his absence. Sadness, because never before had I felt so alone in my head.

But... there was Noah.

He seemed to know. He held me in his arms all morning and comforted me whenever I began to cry. He traced his fingers through my hair. He cared for the wounds, wiped away my tears, and uttered soft words to distract me from the memories of the night before. It was a cycle we repeated over and over until I stopped crying altogether.

Noah was the feeling of comfort I'd needed so badly. He was a rope for me to hold onto, and that rope had kept me from falling down my own hopeless pits of despair. It wasn't like the other times, where I'd had to shoulder the pain alone—for once, I could... bear it. Noah helped me bear it.

Bad emotions, good emotions—they canceled each other out, leaving only emptiness behind. And just like that, I was numb.

I couldn't feel anything.

"What are your dreams, Alley Cat?"

Noah and I had been together for most of the day, laying in his bed and whispering sweet nothings while the sunlight filtered in through his curtains. Neither of us had slept. I was resting on his warm chest, making an effort to avoid grazing the bruises at the side of my face. His fingers weaved through my hair—he knew that I turned into putty whenever he did that.

I asked him, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, five years from now, if you could see yourself doing anything in the world," Noah asked, "what would it be?"

I picked the cut on my lip, in thought.

"Well... I hope to be out of Boston. It doesn't really matter where," I began, "but maybe somewhere cold."

"Russia?" He chuckled.

I quickly shook my head. "I don't think I have many relatives there. Maybe think more domestically."

"Right, of course," Noah said, twirling his fingers with my own. "So... Washington or something?"

"I'm not sure. I guess it depends on the college I get into."

Surprised crossed over Noah's golden eyes. "You didn't tell me you were thinking about college," he told me, though there was only encouragement in the way he was speaking. "Since when?"

"High school?" I said, shy. My voice was hoarse, so I was making the effort not to speak so loud. "I just... could never afford it until now. When my mom was sick, I used the money for college on her hospital bills and helping her get better. That's why I work so many hours at Joe's... to build up those savings again."

Noah nodded. I remembered that he'd studied pre-law for a while... if there was anyone who could give me advice on colleges, I figured it was him.

"Have you applied to any so far?" He asked me.

"A few," I mumbled. "I'm supposed to be meeting with an admissions officer for a college in Boston soon, but I haven't officially been accepted anywhere yet."

"In Boston?" Noah repeated, furrowing his brows slightly. "So... you'd be staying here if you got in, then?"

"I guess so."

"But that's not what you want, is it?"

I let out a soft exhale. "No. No, it's not. But it's better than nothing. And I can always move later, I guess."

"Where else have you applied?"

"Um," I paused, taking a bit to remember. "I still haven't heard from NYU and Berkeley, but both of those are a long shot. The smaller colleges are the ones I'm hopeful for."

I'd forgotten to check on my NYU application after Chains and Shooter had messed with the router the last time they were in the apartment.

"Berkeley. That's in California," Noah mentioned, unsure. "Quite a while away from here."

I gave him a shy glance. "Like I said, it was a bit of a long shot."

"NYU could be really good," he said. "It's not too far, and the campus is good. Have you thought of a major?"

I couldn't help but feel self-conscious at the question. I'd never really spoken to anyone about my major, but it was a subject that I spent a lot of time deliberating. Oh, god... what if he thinks it's stupid?

Scratching the cut on my lip, I eventually confessed, "Business."

But instead of finding it strange, a pleased look spread across Noah's face.

"Interesting choice," he smiled. "I wouldn't have placed you as being a business major—though I can't say it doesn't make sense. Why'd you pick it?"

"I was thinking of opening a bar someday," I admitted. "Bartending is one of the only things I've ever been good at, and I enjoy it, so I thought a business major would be a good idea. Does... does that sound dumb?"

"No," he frowned. "It doesn't sound dumb at all. Actually, it's kind of impressive. If there's anyone who can do it, it's you."

"You really think so?"

"Absolutely," he said, a reassuring look in his eyes. "You'll be great, Elliot."

I couldn't help the small smile that spread on my cheeks. Noah's support meant more to me than I could ever explain to him. It was nice to be able to talk to someone about these kinds of things.

He ruffled my hair softly while I gave him a small pout.

"Can I take the ice pack off my face now?" I pleaded, moving the packet of icy gel away from my bruised eye. Noah had forced me to cover it a few minutes ago and my face was starting to feel numb.

Noah chuckled and pressed the ice pack back to my face.

"Give it five more minutes."

I groaned at his words and sunk further into his arms. Picking at my lips, I held the ice to my eye and tiredly nuzzled my head to his shirt.

"Stop that," Noah muttered.

"What?"

"Your lip's busted," he clarified for me. "So stop picking it."

I instinctively found the scab on the side of my bottom lip. The bruise there was painful and tender—but I hadn't even realized that I'd been picking it. Of course Noah had to be around to catch me, I thought to myself, biting anxiously on the dried scab.

"Hey, hey—" he said softly, taking a gentle hold of my chin—"Don't do that. You'll just tear it open and make it worse."

The sudden closeness of his face made my breath hitch in my throat. Letting go of my bottom lip, I was hyperaware of the intensity with which he stared at my mouth.

Then, without realizing it, my focus was trained on his. Noah's smooth, full lips, tinted a pretty shade of pale crimson. A thought crept into my head—memories of his lips fitting with mine, that cold piercing of his sending shivers down my neck, and the sensations of his tongue against my own. And I wondered what it would be like to feel that all again. To tempt fate, and kiss him once more.

"U-Um..." I panicked, trying to avoid the striking eyes which had now focused entirely on me.

Noah pulled back immediately, moving his hand away. The same, gentle hand which held my face so carefully only moments earlier. His head dropped on the pillow, dark tresses of hair fanning the fabric.

Under his breath, he murmured, "You're fucking killing me, you know."

The minuscule part of me that had any confidence was slightly entertained by his response.

The bruises were beginning to fade away a few nights later. Pete wasn't happy that I'd called in sick for the last two days—only I blamed that on Noah, who'd grumbled, "For God's sake, you're hurt and tired. If I see you move out of this bed, I'm chaining you to it." That statement was retracted a little while later for... obvious reasons, but his good intentions were there nonetheless.

I had my first shift at Jesse's convenience store tonight, and I hoped that I didn't look rough enough to cause concern in the case of her noticing.

It was sometime in the early afternoon when I finally arrived. The store wasn't too busy considering that it was only a weekday, and I noticed Jesse's shadow talking to someone in the backroom once I walked through the front doors.

The conversation echoed through the empty store, forcing me to overhear whatever was being said.

"That's what I'm trying to tell you," a male's voice argued. "There's no reason to hire a stranger we hardly know. Zhang could've just as easily given you a helping hand if you needed him."

I frowned at the topic, somewhat confused. Are they... talking about me?

Jesse's voice answered.

"You're being outrageous," she said. "Zhang was sticking his fingers in the cigarette draw not two days ago, when you brought your foolish friends here. I wouldn't trust him with the cash register, much less helping me run the store."

"Then why would you not at least ask me before hiring this person?" The male snapped. His voice sounded... overwhelmingly familiar. "You know that my office is here—I don't need an outsider sticking his nose in my business. Just get rid of him. I'll find you someone ten times better. Someone who can be trusted."

Oh. He was definitely talking about me.

"Elliot is trustworthy," Jesse answered. "This is my store, not yours. I'll hire damn well who I want and it's not up to you to make the decision. That's final. So you might as well be polite and help him get the hang of things around here. Is that too much to ask?"

I figured that was my cue to make my presence known, knocking softly against the ajar door to the back room. "Um, Jesse?"

"Oh—Elliot!" She gasped, quickly opening the door for me to step inside. "Great, you're here. How long have you been standing there?"

I decided to tell a little white lie and save herself some of the awkwardness. "I just got here. I hope I'm not late."

"Oh, no, absolutely not," she said, giving me a reassuring smile. "Have you met my grandson? This is Han—he usually takes care of the finances around here, but he's offered to give you a hand today."

My heart sank at the name, and I hoped at first that it was just a coincidence. But when I rested my gaze on the figure standing off to the side, all my hairs stood on end.

Han. The man that had been watching me back at Sage's place—the one with the neck tattoo and scar. He was standing beside Jesse, his hands in his pockets, staring at me with shock in his icy glare.

He was Jesse's grandson?

Oh, this is not going to end well.

"Han, this is Elliot," Jesse said kindly, going to the wasted effort of introducing me.

But Han wasn't paying attention. Instead, he blurted out with a pissed-off tone, "It's you?"

Jesse's perplexed glance flicked between the two of us. She asked, "Have you two met before?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but Han spoke first.

"No, we haven't," he said quickly, the tone of his voice firm and commanding. "He's just been in the store so often that I recognized his face—that's all."

He's... lying? I thought to myself as he was speaking. It didn't make sense. Why would he lie?

Han turned to me, a warning look in his eyes that told me not to diverge from the story he'd concocted. "Isn't that right, Elliot?"

I stammered, "Um... yes, that's right."

Jesse nodded, buying into the lie. "Okay, well, why don't I get you started and show you what needs to be done. We got a delivery last night, and I'd really appreciate some help getting it out on show..."

While Jesse moved to go tell us what needed to be done, I couldn't help but look up at Han. His piercing scowl turned down and met my eyes. Quietly, he hissed, "Keep your mouth shut."

No arguments here.

I did my best to put our differences aside while Jesse explained the tasks to me. She spent a bit of time telling me how to break down the deliveries and set them up for stocking onto the shelves. That, and making sure stock from past deliveries—whatever want able to fit before—was checked again and put on show.

Han didn't add much to the conversation. Instead, he chose to keep a cold stare on me at all times. I figured he was just watching me so that he could catch if I slipped up, which would only give him more reasons to convince Jesse to get rid of me. I wasn't about to let him get the chance.

It was a little while before Jesse felt that it was okay for her to go home, having been in the store since the early morning.

"That should be all of it," she announced, dusting off her hands. "Han will stay back to help, but if you run into any problems feel free to give me a call."

"That sounds good," I said warmly. "Thank you for taking the time for me today. I really appreciate it."

Jesse waved me off with a thoughtful look in her eyes. "Oh, don't worry about it, youngster. I'm just grateful you're here. You've been a massive help."

"You should get going," Han said to his grandmother while helping her put on her jacket. "It's going to be dark out soon."

"You're right." Taking a look at the sun that was beginning to set outside, Jesse said, "Well, I'll be off then. Thank you again, both of you."

The most Han offered was a brisk nod while I waved her away politely. It wasn't until she walked out and disappeared around the corner that either of us made any movements to speak.

Han cut the silence first.

"So," he said, taking a threatening step closer to me. "Care to explain to me why the fuck I have a Stray Dog standing in my store?"

I swallowed nervously.

"Actually, I'm not a Stray Dog," I corrected, choosing my tone carefully. "And the store belongs to your grandmother, not you."

"Are you trying to be smart?"

I mumbled, "No, not really."

You'd think that spending time with so many bikers in one bar would have given me more of a backbone. Apparently not.

"Here's how this is going to go down," he sighed, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "You're going to explain to my grandmother that you can't take the job. We're going to go our separate ways and I'll never see you step foot in here again. Matter of fact, I'll forget I ever laid eyes on your face. Is that clear enough for you? Am I understood?"

I tilted my head and sucked in a breath.

"Does your grandmother know?" I asked, "That you work for a drug boss?"

He clenched his jaw, brows furrowing as a deep scowl settled on his face yet again. I wondered how his face wasn't permanently stuck that way.

"I'll take that as a no," I said, putting my hands in my pockets. "I'm not going to quit my job here just because you have a problem with it. I'd prefer it if you and I could be civil so, uh.. so that I don't have to tell your grandmother just what it is you do in your free time. Am I understood? Or do I have to be clearer for you?"

His lips pulled into a thin line. When he spoke, it was as if his voice was laced with glass. "Did you just try to blackmail me?"

"Not really?"

Han paused for a spare moment. Something in his demeanor changed—my words must have had carried some influence.

Then, he scoffed, "You won't last long here, mǔ gǒu."

He said the last part in Chinese, and though it was more so under his breath, I figured it was an insult of some kind.

I know some insults of my own, asshole. But before I could start getting colorfully inventive with my Russian, Han drew me from my thoughts.

"Try to make yourself invisible, and maybe we can make some use of this situation," he told me. "But the less I see of you, the better."

"Likewise."

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Apologies in advance :')