TW: conversation regarding suicide, mental health, depression.

— Chapter 77 —

=||=||=

"Edge's mom has a bit of a reputation," Chains had obliged me at some point after the funeral, as the two of us walked alone through the coffered halls of the church.

The lowest point of the sun was mere moments away from touching the horizon beyond the windows. We'd just come from the burial. Chief and his Stray Dogs vest had been laid to rest six feet beneath the same ground which the rest of us were now forced to wander in his absence, in a plot hardly two feet away from the grave of his brother—Noah's father.

Noah never once turned to face his father's headstone.

He hadn't spoken a word since being interrupted at the eulogy. Noah may have stood at the forefront of the many mourners during his uncle's burial, but one look at him told me that his mind was far, far away. He never lifted his head from its hung position. He stood at the foot of his uncle's plot, hardly moving, refusing to give in to the barrage of everyone's stares digging wounds into his back. Not even Mariella's comforting hand on his shoulder was enough to ease his disposition.

The Noah we all knew wasn't there anymore. For now, he'd turned himself to stone.

It made my heart bleed.

Afterward, once the soil had all been packed over and the crowd had begun to disperse for the evening, it'd been Mariella's idea for the few of us to return to the church. Herself, Noah, Jasper and Chains, specifically. She thought it wise for them all to speak in private, particularly to catch up with her son somewhere they wouldn't be interrupted. I didn't intend to join at first, but there was a brief moment in my hesitation when Noah turned his stare up to look at me. For the first time that day, his hardened gaze had softened. As if he needed me by his side. Come with us.

Against my better judgment, I did—dreading the moment I'd have to confront his mother again. She'd already caught me out in one lie, and I'd barely even given myself the chance to find her good side.

So I'd asked Chains, "What do you mean?"

Still awkward on his crutches, the biker explained, "She's notoriously protective of what's important to her. Especially family. She doesn't trust easily, and she's damn near impossible to please. If you wanna stand any chance at getting on that woman's good side, first impressions are everything."

I groaned internally. Great. So I've already made a monumental fuck-up.

"And Jasper?" I'd wondered.

"Jasper's fine." Chains barely shrugged. "Quiet kid. Keeps to himself and doesn't like people, so you're already starting at rock bottom. The only way to go with him is up."

Somehow he'd made that sound a lot easier than it actually was.

Mariella, Jasper and Noah were already waiting for us when Chains and I entered the room. It was a small chapel separate from the main hall. The walls were bare in this space, bone white, and six rows of mahogany pews were packed closely together at either side of the room.

The silence between the family hit me like a blast wave. Mariella stood in the aisle with her arms crossed. Jasper sat in the second row of pews, furthest away from his brother, with his attention on the screen of his phone. Noah sat on a long bench by the door and absently messed around with the excited old Doberman at his feet.

Relief washed over Mariella the moment she caught Chains in her line of sight.

"Chains, my darling!" she greeted with a big smile, going to shake the biker's hands. "How are you? How's your leg?" She gave him a once-over. "Oh, poor boy. It's wonderful to see you."

Chains returned her kind expression and lied through his teeth. "I'm fine, Mrs. B. Up and walking. The leg doesn't hurt too bad—hardly even feel the pain anymore."

Noah scoffed under his breath but said nothing. I knew what he intended, though—Chains was busy wailing our ears off about the pain in his leg hardly a day ago. The only reason he was putting on the brave face now was to impress Noah's mom. It almost made me smile. Almost.

While the other two were distracted by their own conversation, I turned my attention to Noah. He was cupping Nero's snout in his palm, scratching the dog behind its shiny ears and running a hand over the fur on his back. Nero gave a noiseless huff, licking strokes up Noah's hands.

"It's nice to see you too," he murmured, squishing the dog's cheeks. "How are things back home? You've been taking care of them for me, right?"

A quiet bark.

Noah patted its head. "Good girl."

"You're a total dog person," I pointed out, as if it wasn't obvious already.

"This is Nero," he said, and I didn't know how to tell him that I already knew that. "We've got more dogs at home, but this one is mine. I got her for my twelfth birthday. She was a rescue."

"Let me guess—you named it?"

Noah managed only half of a breathy laugh. "Yeah. Nero—black in Italian. Thought it was funny."

"Right, right." I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the wall. "Did you curse the other dogs with terrible names, too?"

"My mom beat me to it," he said, shaking his head. "We've got another Doberman called Chickpea and a pomeranian named Minnie. My uh—my mom has very little impulse control when it comes to dogs."

Three dogs. How stressful.

"I'll stick with Fuckass," I joked. "Thanks."

A humored shimmer graced Noah's caramel eyes. "Don't listen to him," he told Nero, scratching the greying scruff at its neck. "He's a cat person."

I opened my mouth to say some witty remark, but Mariella didn't give me a chance.

"And you!" she called to Noah, turning away from Chains to place a newfound focus on her son. "I have half a mind to knock you upside the head!"

Noah sighed.

Waving Nero away, he got to his feet and said, "Hello to you too, Ma. You should've called to tell me you were coming."

"I should've called?" Outrage creased her expression. "Hmph! I tried every day and you didn't answer! Radio silence! Why did I have to find out about your uncle through the TV, hm? Not even a phone call! I wouldn't have known about the funeral if Chains' hadn't sent me a message. What, you don't need your mother anymore? Is that it?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't—"

She cupped his cheeks. "And your face! What on earth happened? Let me see." Mariella gasped, hand covering her mouth. She smacked his arm. "Oddio. You watch Rocky one time and all of a sudden you think you're The Italian Stallion, huh? How many times did I tell you to stop picking fights? Look what you've done to your beautiful face."

She was right. The marks of Noah's battle with James were still present, in the form of a busted lip, bruised eyebrow and cut cheekbone. He hadn't gotten the chance to heal in time for this encounter. There was no hiding it.

"Ma, please," Noah pleaded, pulling his mother's vice grip off his ear. "Give it a rest."

"Give it a rest. Give it a rest, he says!"

Noah looked over her shoulder to Jasper. His brother's back was to the rest of us, chin low, eyes still focused on his phone. Out of everyone, he seemed the least excited by this family reunion.

"You're not going to say hi to me?" asked Noah.

Mariella echoed the sentiment. "Jasper, get off that damn phone and come say hello to your brother."

Jasper couldn't have cared less. I watched him turn down the dial on his hearing aids, sinking deeper into the pew. The silent treatment. His mother frowned. Noah sighed and muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

Mariella shook her head and let her youngest son be. Her frustrations seemed to melt away. Shoulders softening, she went over Noah's arms to give him a tight hug.

"Oh, Tesoro," she said by his ear, "I worry about you. All the time. We haven't seen each other in two Christmases, you know. How are you, dear? How are you feeling? Are you okay?"

Noah's brows pressed together, face sinking into the crook of her neck. Tender. When he spoke, the crack in his voice seemed to carry.

"I'm really glad you're here."

"Me too, baby."

"How long are you in Boston for?" he asked her, slowly pulling away from the embrace.

A smile. "That depends," said Mariella. "How long will it take me to sort out this mess of yours?"

Her words flicked some kind of switch. Noah's lips pursed. That tenderness from earlier, for reasons I couldn't decipher, disappeared. His expression dried up. His eyes conveyed nothing.

"This is Elliot," he spoke, stepping aside to introduce us. "Elliot—this is my mom, Mariella, and my brother Jasper."

Here we go.

"Speaking of messes," Mariella murmured, trailing her gaze over the sight of my frame. She extended her hand. "Lovely to see you again, Elliot."

Somehow I didn't think she meant it, but I shook her hand anyway. Her hands were soft like buttercream, and comfortably warm. It wasn't a sensation I was entirely used to.

Noah's frown set deep. "You've met before?"

"Oh, we did more than that," his mother answered. "The two of us sat down at Joe's Bar and had... a very insightful conversation." The next bit she spoke in Italian. From the tone of her voice, it didn't sound good. I just stood there with my mouth shut as Noah took in her words, feeling kind of stupid and frustratingly out of place.

He then turned to me, with the tone of his voice darkened.

"You went to Joe's?" he asked. My mouth felt like sandpaper. "When did you go to Joe's? Why?" He shook his head. "Actually, forget that—why didn't you tell me my mom was in town?"

Embarrassment sunk deep in my belly. I managed to whisper-yell, "I didn't know she was your mother."

"The accent wasn't a slap in the face for you?" Chains laughed from off to the side, his face reading 'yikes' from all angles. "Oh boy."

Noah rubbed his temples. Mariella raised an unimpressed brow.

A profuse apology, I stammered, "I'm so sorry."

But she didn't seem to care.

"And what's this I hear about you disbanding the Stray Dogs?" she snapped, looking to interrogate Noah further. "They were your father's legacy, you know. Who said you could do that? What made you think you could do that? Especially without consulting me first."

"We all voted on it." Noah gestured to Chains as he spoke. "What's done is done."

"No," she countered. "I already lost your father, and now your uncle's about to be buried. Murdered! He was murdered, and nobody's bothered to tell me anything! All of you have some serious explaining to do, and I'm not leaving until somebody starts giving me answ—"

"There you guys are."

Mariella whirled around on her two-inch heels. All five of us moved like a collective entity at the sound of a new voice, craning our heads to see the woman standing in the doorway to the chapel. Angela strolled in, high-tops squeaking against the floors, her smile pointed Noah's way.

Just like that, Mariella's stern attitude withered into smoke. A beaming smile took its place.

"Angela!" she caroled. "Just the girl I've been wanting to see."

"Maria," Angela breathed. "How lovely to see you! How've you been? How are the kids?"

"Oh, you know how they are. A handful." The two women chuckled amongst each other. Mariella continued, "I'm just glad to be meeting you again. It's been too long. How are you? How's the nursing?"

Angela puffed out her cheeks, trying not to trip over the Doberman that was curiously sniffing around her ankles. "Fun. Stressful. But I'm getting there, don't worry about me." She caught sight of Jasper, who must've found her more interesting than whatever had been playing on his phone up until this point, because even he'd gotten up to say hello. "No way. If it isn't little Blackjack. How've you been, kid?"

Jasper gave her a familiar nod, stringing together the longest set of words he'd spoken to anybody so far. "You gotta come around The City again sometime. It's boring without you around."

"I'll think about it," Angela chuckled, meeting his fistbump. "No promises."

God, she made it look so easy. Here she was, pounding fists with Jasper, the same intimidating brother who hadn't been half as interested in offering a second glance my way. Hell, she even had a good relationship with Noah's mother—which until now, I'd been led to believe was unachievable. How was I supposed to compete with that?

I wanted to hide. I wanted to crawl into bed and pull the covers so far over my head that even the sun would forget my name. Noah's family had only been in Boston for a few days, and I'd already humiliated myself beyond redemption.

"Noah's been treating you good, I hope?" Mariella asked Angela, with a sideways glimpse towards her son.

Out of everyone in the room, Noah looked the most reluctant to be a part of this conversation. Maybe even more than me. He had his stare trained on the floor, as if he were praying for it to swallow him up whole.

Angela chuckled awkwardly and tilted her head over.

"Uh..." she trailed, "you didn't tell your mom?"

Dread was a poison quickly filling my veins. And it must've been showing on my face, because Noah hesitated when he finally made the mistake of looking up to see my expression. He didn't tell his mom they broke up?

Chains sucked his teeth. "Sheesh, dude."

"Look," snapped Noah, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It wasn't exactly high up on my list of priorities."

"What are you talking about?" Mariella's thin brows quickly pressed together, glancing expectantly at her son. "Tell me what?"

Noah deflected the question.

"What did you need, Angela?" he asked.

She scratched the back of her neck. "Um, Rusty sent me to come get you and Chains." Gesturing to the doors, she explained, "The sun's getting low—they're ready to leave when you guys are."

"Alright. We'll be out there in a minute."

Angela left without another word. I blinked twice at the windows to see the burnt orange sun sinking into the horizon.

According to Noah, it was an old tradition for Stray Dogs to cruise a lap through the city after a member of the club died. Sometimes, if there were ashes, and the biker had specifically requested it, they'd sprinkle the remains over the roads as they passed through the city. And sometimes, if the deceased was the reigning king of the Stray Dogs—like the Chief—they'd set off black flares for the entire city to see. The billowing smoke would mark the end of an era... and the start of a new one.

But Noah didn't have the Stray Dogs tonight. He had Chains, and Rusty, and only a handful of bikers whose loyalty to Noah had persevered despite Shooter taking over control. They were the only ones left to carry on the tradition. And it was time for them to go.

"I can't believe it," cried Mariella, once Angela was too far down the hall to hear anything. Noah's gaze flicked her way. "You broke up with her, didn't you?" She smacked his arm again—three, four, five times. "You did! Unbelievable! What was wrong with Angela, hm? She was such a smart girl! Must you sabotage every good thing that comes your way?"

Noah shrugged. "There are better things."

"Idiot," his mother realized, putting a palm to her forehead. "I've raised an idiot."

After a heavy exhale, her son decided, "We can discuss all of this over dinner tonight. Where are the two of you staying?"

Jasper refused to speak and turned his attention away. Mariella had to answer instead, crossing her arms over her chest. "We've been hopping between hotels for the last few days. Nice of you to take an interest."

If the sarcasm stung him, Noah didn't let it show.

Shaking his head, he muttered, "That's not going to work." His caramel eyes found mine again, and suddenly my heart was melting butter. "Elliot, you drove the truck here, right?"

"Yes, but—"

"Great." He turned to his family. "Elliot's going to take you both back to the hotel to pick up your stuff—then he'll give you a ride to the apartment. You can stay with the two of us for now."

Wait, what.

"The two of us?" Jasper echoed, perplexed, the dissatisfaction making itself apparent in his unyielding stare.

Noah didn't wait up to offer them an explanation, much less an opportunity for me to dissect the idea. His mother was already topping the leaderboard of the most intimidating people I'd ever met, and I was convinced that Jasper had been glaring knives at society since the day of his birth. Putting me in the same car with the two of them for an hour? Hell, they'd eat me up alive.

Mom, please lend me your strength.

"Let's go, Chains."

With that, the two bikers headed out the doors to the chapel. I gave an apologetic look to Mariella before turning to follow behind them, catching Noah by his sleeve before he could stray any further down the hall.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" I hissed.

Noah nodded, yet managed to show compassion for the situation I was in.

"I'm sorry to spring this on you out of nowhere," he said. "But I don't have any other options. It's not safe for those two out there. As it stands, with my uncle gone and the Stray Dogs in pieces... Boston is no man's land." His voice lowered. "My mom just announced her presence to a church hall full of bikers—any one of them could be selling that information to Midas as we speak. The last thing I want is to give him something else he can use against me."

I hadn't considered that.

Shit.

Noah mussed the front of my hair, and his voice was a slow symphony that somehow managed to soothe my uneasiness. "Don't worry about them, Alley Cat. They'll adore you."

Chains called out to us from further down the hall, peering over his propped-up shoulder.

"Alright, lovebirds, break it up!" He waved one of his crutches. "If I'm over here moving faster than him with a crippled leg, then he's not moving fast enough. We've got to go."

Noah shook his head, and for a sweet millisecond of precious time, there was a pull on the seams of his lips. "See you," he told me.

He then left to follow his friend, but not before waving me goodbye.

"Ride safe," I murmured. But he was too far from me to hear it.

If sitting in silence had been a competitive sport, Mariella and Jasper would've been crowned the reigning champions in the time it took us to get home from their hotel.

Not. A single. Word. We'd spent the entire trip seated together in utter silence, with enough tension weighing down on the truck to put a strain on its wheels. Jasper never looked up from his phone in the back seat, Nero's head tucked comfortably in his lap. Mariella stared out the window with her chin in her hand. And thank god for that— otherwise she would've caught me fidgeting in my seat like a wet rat in an industrial freezer.

"This is it," I managed to squeak as we got through the front door. "Make yourselves at home."

"Which one is my son's room?" asked Mariella. She took back the bags I'd carried in for her whilst weaving expertly around the Doberman at her heels. It seemed that wherever she went, her dog did too. "We'll sleep there tonight."