— Chapter 81 —

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Something's buzzing.

Before, absolutely nothing. Pitch black. Darkness.

Then, buzz.

It was a grating sound that ripped through the calm, pounding into my skull and firing through my veins. A fucking noise that made me want to set my own brain on fire. Buzz, buzz, buzz. Like a corpse digging itself out of its own grave, I was consciously aware of my every limb as it stirred from sleep—consciously aware that I was still fucking exhausted.

"Crap." Elliot's voice, somewhere out in that darkness. A much less horrible sound to hear first thing in the morning.

Wait, thought a little person in the back of my head. Why is he here?

When did we fall asleep? And where?

"Shit!" Elliot's voice again, much louder this time. "Shit, shit, shit—Noah! Hey, wake up! We fell asleep!"

I dropped a dead arm over my face, annoyed by the notion of sunlight and the phone that was still ringing incessantly somewhere in the background.

That's right, I started to remember. Last night. We fell asleep on the hill last night. After... everything I said.

The buzzing ceased. A phone call, I quickly figured, one that Elliot decided to answer. The conversation itself didn't last long. With a few quiet yeses, a few uh-huhs, then a "Sure, see you soon" murmured towards the end, I wondered who was calling him this early in the morning and if they had a death wish.

After that, I caught the sound of the phone being tossed onto the grass somewhere. The brunette beside me quickly became impossible to ignore when his pair of tiny hands made their way to nudge my sides. I grumbled incoherently. There'd be no going back to sleep after this.

"Noah, it's nine in the morning!" Elliot urged in a rush, "We overslept!"

Only nine?

The two of us had very polarizing definitions of the word 'overslept'.

He started prodding my shoulders when I didn't react, kind of like how a cat would knead its paws into a wooly blanket.

I groaned. "Ten more minutes."

No dice. "Noah, seriously, get up. Pete needs me at Joe's for a staff meeting. He's thinking about reopening the bar next week and he's going to chew me out if I'm not there in like, forty-three seconds."

Staff meeting?

I frowned. That place still has staff left? After everything that happened? I hadn't even thought about the bar since that night. I figured it'd been closed since the police taped the doors off. I definitely wasn't in a rush to go back inside. Or even look at it.

Whatever. Fuck Pete.

Reaching out blindly, I pulled Elliot back down onto the grass and lumped the full extent of my weight on top of him. A labored huff escaped his lips. I almost smiled when I heard it, tucking my face into his shirt. With his waist pinned between my thighs and his chance of escaping me out of the picture, I immediately felt much more comfortable, especially as the sound of his heartbeat began to soothe my aching head.

"Ten more minutes."

It wasn't a request this time.

"Dammit. Fine," grumbled the Alley Cat. "But if he gets on my case for it, you owe me dinner. No—two dinners. And breakfast every day for the rest of the week."

"Uh-huh," I mumbled absently. "Cinnamon french toast with extra whipped cream. No crust, and easy on the syrup. I know. Would you like some tea with that too Your Highness, or...?"

He smacked my shoulder and chuckled. "Dick."

"I can arrange for that on the menu, yes."

The words slipped carelessly from my tired lips. Peeking through my lashes, I caught sight of the crimson stain that quickly flooded Elliot's cheeks. My amusement only grew.

"Wow," the handsome bartender stuttered, visibly flabbergasted. "I think you might still be dreaming. You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"I am a man with needs."

"What you need is to be baptized. Again. And maybe a third time for good measure."

I actually laughed at the suggestion.

"Don't worry, Darling." I didn't bother to hide my smirk as I bit down lightly on the side of his jaw. "You may act all sweet and innocent, but we both know the kind of sins those pretty lips of yours are capable of."

Elliot nudged me away.

"I change my mind," he said. "I liked you much better when you were asleep."

A yawn. "Uh-huh."

My head fell back onto his chest. A warm feeling, one I wasn't sure I'd ever recover from, settled into my core when his hands found their rightful place in my hair. My eyelids blinked shut. For a little while as the birds chirped around us and his heartbeat pattered in his chest, everything was calm. Like a cloudy daydream.

I remembered the night before. The relief I felt when I told him the truth, and he didn't push me away for it. He knew the worst of me now. All the dark horrors I'd stomached on my own for so many years were out in the open, and maybe I thought it would've been enough to push him away for good. Because I loved him too much to let him love someone like me.

He should be looking at me differently, I thought. Like the rest of them.

But Elliot had chosen to stay. He'd listened. He'd told me it was okay, and that it wasn't my fault. All of it was so unbelievable that I couldn't decide whether or not it was real... or just some elaborate fantasy I'd constructed in my sleep. After all, why else would he still be here?

I murmured, "Hey... Alley Cat?"

"Mm?"

"Did last night really happen?" I whispered. "Everything I told you... I didn't dream that, right?" My fingers gripped his jacket. "Sometimes I just... I can't tell."

Perhaps he'd been surprised by the question, or maybe he didn't know what I was asking him at all. Either way, Elliot stayed frustratingly silent. One moment, then two, until a gnawing sensation made me wonder if all of this was just me being stupid.

But then his hands wrapped around my shoulders. His warm cheek pressed into my forehead, and he held me so tightly as if he were trying to hold together a broken vase.

"It wasn't a dream," Elliot promised so softly, "and it took a lot of courage."

I felt it. My heart—whatever was left of it—clenched somewhere deep in my ribcage. The waves of relief that washed over me with his words stole all my worries away with it. This was real. Elliot was still here. He hadn't let me go.

That relief brought along a strange sensation that I could only define as some sort of peace. Letting it possess me completely, I kissed the crook of Elliot's neck and wrapped my arms around him, keeping him locked beneath me like a cushion. Joe's could wait. The whole world could wait.

"Twenty minutes," I mumbled before he started to fuss. "We can make it twenty minutes."

I headed back to the apartment after dropping Elliot off at Joe's.

I needed a shower. I needed fresh clothes. Most importantly, I needed to make sure my mother hadn't taken it upon herself to do any re-decorating while we'd been out. She'd never really understood my tastes—where I craved order and simplicity in my surroundings, she loved her home doused in colors, florals, and elaborate patterns. The kind of stuff that would make me nauseous if I stared at it for too long.

When I walked through the front door though, I was thankful to find that everything had gone largely untouched.

But there was another problem.

It reeked.

An overpowering stench was wafting through the apartment. I knew what it was the moment I open the door. Hell, I knew the scent better than I knew my own name. It was the magical, filthy, mind-fucking fragrance of good marijuana.

Someone was smoking in my apartment.

The new locks we'd had installed hadn't been tampered with, so my suspicions weren't resting on an intruder. My mother had never been able to stand the smell either, so unless she'd become a dope-loving stoner overnight, she definitely wasn't the one responsible for the odor assaulting my senses. Considering how quiet the place was, I didn't even think she was home. Nero wasn't around either, and the dog usually followed her everywhere she went.

I left my shadow-black helmet to rest on the kitchen island and went to find the source of the smell. It didn't take long. With one look towards the crack in my bedroom door, I was already walking over to catch the idiot red-handed.

My hunch became reality when I finally caught sight of the situation in my room.

Jasper. The little dimwit had a fresh joint smoldering between his fingers—one of many, if the Ziploc bag of bud on my nightstand was any indication. Clothes littered the floor. My disheveled bedsheets sat in a heap on the mattress, and I could barely see colors over all the smoke in front of my face. He'd clearly been digging through the belongings in my room, and right now he was sitting on the ground, elbows-deep in my dresser.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Spooked by the sound of my voice, the dumbass hit his head coming out of the dresser. He barked in pain and cupped the back of his head like a wounded child. "Ow!"

I watched him slam the drawer shut and fall back on his ass.

Oh, he's fucking faded.

"Jesus," Jasper slurred. He scrambled to adjust the volume on his hearing aids. "Why're you home so early?" The question was accusatory, like somehow I was the one at fault here.

I ignored him in favor of pulling open the window, damn near sticking my head through it for the fresh air. My brother at least had the decency to start waving a wet rag around. It did very little to abate my disintegrating nose hairs.

While he fanned away the smell, I said, "You didn't answer my question."

Jasper huffed at the words. "I've been packing," he clarified. "Adrian called—Emma's sick. Said she's been throwing up all morning. It's probably just the flu, but Mom's anxious. She wants us to leave back for New York tomorrow."

What?

"But you guys just got here."

"Yeah," said Jasper, "and now we're leaving. Ciao."

Pressing the points of my brows, I tried my best to relax my jaw and make sense of the situation. I knew they weren't here to stay, but I didn't think they'd be leaving so soon, either. it's safer this way, the logical side of my brain thought. It was a failed attempt at making me feel better.

Shaking my head, I inquired, "Where's Ma?"

"Dunno. Out," Jasper replied, still puffing smoke like a steam train. "Said she had an errand to run."

"You didn't think to go with her?"

That earned me a raised brow. "To run errands?"

An all-knowing expression took over his face—the same insinuating look he got when he wasn't buying into my bullshit. And my brother was nothing if not intelligent. He never took anything at face value, which meant he could always tell when I was hiding something.

Like right now, when the last thing I needed was my mother running around Boston alone for any fucker to grab. The streets were shark-infested waters for anyone with our family name. She was more than capable of handling herself, of course, especially with Nero around... but that didn't make me less unsettled.

"Right," I said firmly, and nodded over to his joint. "You'd much rather stink up my whole apartment with this shit. How long have you been off your face?"

He offered up the signature stoner grin. I was expecting his reply to fall within the timeframe of one or two hours. Definitely not:

"I've been cruising since we got here."

What?

"Four days? You've been high for four days?" Hot annoyance bubbled through my veins. "Jesus Christ, Jasper. You drove mom home last night."

He shrugged, taking a seat at the foot of my bed.

"No," I snapped. "Don't give me that. I couldn't care less if you want to fry your brain for a bit, but don't gamble away someone else's life in the process. Pull something stupid like that again and you'll have me to answer to, understand?"

"Wow." He scoffed lightly. "You almost sound like a brother who cares."

I tried not to let his words get under my skin, but goddamn it. They kind of fucking sucked.

"When the hell did you become a high-functioning stoner?" I asked him.

"Last year."

"Last year?" My cheeks creased into a frown. "Didn't you turn sixteen a few weeks ago?"

Jasper's glare settled at half-mast.

"I've been seventeen for three months."

Guilt quickly consumed my insides. Seventeen? My thoughts turned through the wheel of time, trying to figure out how that was even possible. Everything in my life had been so chaotic lately that I hadn't felt time as more than a passing blur. He's seventeen already?

"Yeah," he murmured curtly. "Thanks for the birthday wishes by the way, asshole."

I'd completely forgotten.

Jasper did look older. In the silence that fell between us, I finally took a few moments to really see it.

He stood taller these days. The baby weight was completely gone. It'd been replaced by the lean muscle of a basketballer, slimmed down and toned. His hair had grown in length, too—it was sharp, layered, and darker than it used to be. He'd bleached the underside of it, the dirty blond color matching the prominent freckles over his nose and cheeks. Age had darkened the hollows of his fierce eyes, with his caramel stare prowling behind thick lashes like a lion hidden in tall grass.

He looked... too much like me, actually.

I sighed.

Gesturing to the halfway-burned joint he was still smoking through, I asked, "Does Ma know you smoke?"

He shrugged again. "Think she suspects, but she's never said anything. You know... beyond the usual 'don't do drugs' or whatever."

Wow, I thought. I used to get my ass beat for this kind of thing.

She'd clearly loosened the reigns in recent years. I suppose it made sense. Jasper was an academic genius, and much less of a troublemaker than I ever was. As long it stayed that way, I suppose she couldn't fight him when it came to the occasional high or two.

Taking the last of the joint off him, I took a seat on the bed and inspected the burning cylinder. I almost laughed.

"You can't roll for shit."

He huffed in offense, trying to swipe it off me. "It gets the job done."

"Yeah. I bet it does." Bringing the joint to my lips, I inhaled the smooth vapors and instantly felt the familiar tingle beginning to take my edge off. It wasn't the best stuff in the world—definitely not as good as the stuff in Chains' stash—but decent nonetheless. I exhaled with a slow breath.

"Lay off the weed," I said, crushing the rest of the joint on a nearby ashtray that I kept lying around. "Trust me, you don't need it."

"Hypocrite."

I blinked toward the mess around us. To the clothes scattered at our feet, the travel bags packed haphazardly by the dresser, and the small mountain of empty snacks by the trashcan.

"Any reason you were looking through my shit?" I wondered aloud.

He scratched the back of his neck. "Boredom?"

"Huh. Find anything interesting?"

Lower lip caught between his teeth, Jasper looked blankly around the room, internally debating whether or not to answer. He'd mostly been giving me the silent treatment since dinner two nights ago. Maybe it was the high, or maybe he just didn't care anymore, but he wasn't completely ignoring this morning.

He finally pointed out, "You keep a gun in your nightstand."

My focus bolted instinctively to the drawer I kept it in. I almost never used the damn thing. It'd been collecting dust in there for the past few months.

"You weren't supposed to see that," I admitted.

"It was literally sitting in a cardboard box. Like a freaking Christmas present."

"It's just there for peace of mind. Can't be too safe." My memories reminded me of the wreckage that'd been made of the apartment and the burn that'd marred Elliot's shoulder. It still enraged me as much as it made me sick. "We've... had a few break-ins."

Jasper nodded. "You ever use it?"

"Once. And before you jump to conclusions—no. I didn't kill anyone."

"Would you?" he asked me, with his eyes glued to the floor. "I mean... if it came down to it?"

I passed him a look. "Where did that come from?"

"You know where it came from."

Of course I did. It was no secret that Jasper despised my way of living. The bikers, the guns, the violence. He'd had enough of it with our old man. And though he never said it out loud, I always figured his hatred for it all stemmed from our father in the first place. Jasper thought that I was following in his footsteps, living a life that would inevitably get me killed. Just like our father.

And maybe he was right.

Jasper's question was like throwing a rope down a well. He wanted me to say no. He wanted me to reject that life in the way our old man should have. He wanted me to grab onto that lifeline and pull myself to the light—to save myself—knowing full well that I couldn't be saved.

"Then I think you know my answer," I murmured, quietly severing that rope for good.

Jasper clenched his jaw.

"You're just like him," he laughed dryly, "choosing those bikers—that life—over us. Always choosing them."

I tried not to get so frustrated. "You hate that I didn't go to live with you in New York. I get it, okay? If I could go back and change my decision, I would. In a heartbeat. But it's too late for that now, Jasper. My life is here. I have people here that I need to keep safe. You can hate me for my choices all you want, sure—but don't for a second think that I loved you guys less by leaving you all behind. You're my family. That means more to me than anything."

"Sure as shit doesn't feel like it."

"You're right. I haven't made the effort to talk to you guys as much as I should have. I know that, okay? And I can't give you excuses for it. If I'd known it'd get this bad between us, I never would've..." I trailed off aimlessly. "My point here is that I'm going to try. I'll try to be better. Whether or not that's what you want to hear."

He didn't seem fully convinced. I sighed and wrapped an arm over his shoulders, ruffling up that shitty hair of his.

"Damn it, Jasper." While he tried his best to pry me off, I assured him, "I fucking missed you, alright?"

He wheezed. "Get off me, asshat."

"Yeah." I smiled and let him go. "You definitely missed me."

He scoffed. "Like snow misses the sun."

The two of us settled down again. As the comfortable silence settled in, I started to realize just how good it felt to hear my brother's voice again. Time had a cruel habit of stealing away my favorite memories, and the more I learned, the more I seemed to forget. I never wanted to forget his voice like I nearly did.

Jasper was a quiet kid. Independent. He had plenty of friends—or rather, people who'd forced friendship on him—yet he favored his solitude over the popularity. He was distant to those he didn't know well enough. Reserved, and a little intimidating at the best of times. But he had a good heart. Whether or not he chose to wear it on his sleeve.

"So... did you find anything else in here?" I asked, breaking the silence. "Or is that it?"

He contemplated for a moment.