— Chapter 35 —
Unexpected Visitors

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E L L I O T

I couldn't help but read over the text conversation on my phone again, a nervous feeling in my chest.

Riven McCallister
Today at 10:16 am

Riven:
Okay, something definitely got lost in translation.

Riven:
Do you maybe feel like filling me in on why you decided to give James a shiner, or...?

I hadn't stopped to think about how confused Riven would have been at the events of last night. He must've thought the three of us were just going to chat and catch up on the last few years... not get into an argument in the middle of a parking lot. But how on earth was I meant to explain this to him?

Elliot:
James and I ended on bad terms.

Elliot:
I'm sorry for not telling you about it earlier. But I don't think it's a good idea for me to be around him right now... that's all.

Riven:
Explain. Now.

So I spent the morning filling Riven in on what happened. Between James and I five years ago, and what happened last night. It was difficult to find the right words. Riven seemed to understand, for the most part, and even offered me advice at some point. It was nice to be able to talk to him about it. Until Noah, I'd never felt confident to open up about it to someone else. And Riven felt like the right person to tell.

Riven:
I was a total ass for bringing him over last night... I'm so sorry.

Elliot:
Don't worry about it. You couldn't have known.

Riven:
Well, thanks for telling me at least. I hope you guys find a way to work it out.

Elliot:
I'm not so sure on that one, to be honest.

I didn't know if James and I were even capable of righting the wrongs we'd done to each other. He wasn't the same person that I fell in love with all those years ago... because he betrayed me.

He abandoned me.

And I didn't know if I was strong enough to forgive him for that just yet.

Leaving my phone somewhere off to the side, I rubbed my tired eyes and pushed my hair out of my face.

It was late in the afternoon, and Noah had been out of the apartment all day. I hadn't gotten the chance to see him before he left, but the Kawasaki was still sitting outside. I figured he must have gone to work.

Sitting comfortably on the seat of the bay window in my room, I tapped anxiously against the lid of my black laptop and watched the trees swaying happily in the distance. Sunlight flittered in warmly through the translucent curtains. Fuckass had managed to find its way into my room, strangely curled up around my ankles at the other end of the bay.

I had my earphones in, randomly shuffling lo-fi music over the chirping of small birds outside.

As the laptop finally started up, I found myself tending up nervously.

I hadn't looked up the statuses of my college applications in a while. I figured it was about time to check—I figured that surely someone would have gotten back to me by now.

It was starting to get slightly unnerving. I'd been to a few admissions meetings for some small colleges in Boston, but I still hadn't been accepted anywhere yet. No college wanted to risk handing out a loan to a kid working part-time at a janky bar, regardless of how much I promised I could afford it. It was that simple.

I checked two of the three applications I had yet to hear from—only to see that they were both still in review. Great.

The last college of the three was NYU.

A bit of a long shot.

I know.

To be honest, I'd applied as a joke. There was no way someone like me was getting into NYU. Definitely not with my grades, IQ, or my money. It didn't hurt to dream, though, and I figured: why not?

The application website began to load as I found myself lost in thought, lo-fi music playing loudly in my eardrums.

I'd never been before, but I could imagine it now...New York City.

Standing in the very middle of Central Park, far away from any of the worries that had been plaguing me for decades. A breath of cold, fresh air in my lungs—I wondered if it would smell as comforting as I hoped. I could almost hear the sounds of the birds and the chattering of civilians in the street. Sunlight warming my cheeks and soothing my soul, and skyscrapers glittering like diamonds all around me.

What a dream.

Unfortunately, though, the dream was cut short as the application page crashed in front of me. The Dinosaur Game greeted me mockingly as a confused frown pulled on my face.

What the hell? I thought, refreshing the page a few times. The screen read: Internet Not Connected. Please reconnect and try again.

The Wi-Fi had cut out.

Yanking my earphones out, I almost had the shit scared out of me when a clamorous banging sound filled the apartment. It was a heavy sound, like metal hitting the floor. And apparently the website wasn't the only thing that was crashing in the apartment this morning.

But as I thought it through, a realization had come absurdly clear to me.

Noah wasn't meant to be home yet.

Fear settled quickly in my chest.

Fuckass was still at my feet—it was wide awake now—so it couldn't have been the cat messing around in the apartment. It couldn't have been Noah, either. So what on earth had—

My thoughts began jumping to the worst possible conclusions.

That's it. Dad's found me, I panicked, holding my breath so as to avoid making a sound. The bedroom door was still locked shut. I figured that would buy me some time. He's come to beat my sorry ass for living with a biker.

Getting to my feet, I felt a trembling in my legs as I looked around the room for anything I could use to defend myself. There wasn't much, just a lamp, a business textbook, and Jasper's guitar—which I'd been practicing on lately.

The lamp was too heavy of an option. The textbook had some weight, and could leave a pretty bad bruise—I'd hit my forehead on it enough times while studying to know that. Honestly, I'd hoped it would've knocked some knowledge into my brain.

Apparently not.

I chose the guitar and figured that I'd just have to pay Noah back for breaking it later.

Another bang made me jump out of my own skin. Cursing myself repeatedly in vulgar profanities, I took a grip on the neck of the guitar and swallowed anxiously.

Stepping to the bedroom door, I took in a deep breath.

Twisting the lock, I opened it as quietly as I possibly could. The fear in me was enough to break me out into a cold sweat.

"Where does he keep his—?"

I registered the sound of the voice before I processed the two figures standing in the apartment. Clutching my startled chest, I lost my filter entirely.

"Son of a bitch!" I yelled, lowering the guitar. "Christ on a fucking stick!"

Lord, please forgive me.

Chains looked up from his place by the flatscreen in the living room, giving me some sense of shock in his eyes. The TV beside him was playing static.

He yelled back, "Jesus! Elliot! What the hell are you doing?"

Shooter, who was standing in the kitchen, stuck his head out of the cupboard he was digging through.

"Hey!" He called out at both of us. "Watch your mouths. Christ is pissed at me enough as it is, don't go invoking his name in vain. Fuck me. Bringing all that sacred energy around here—you heathens."

"What the hell are you two doing?!" I asked, still holding the guitar tightly.

"What are we doing?" Chains asked. "You're the one holding the fucking guitar like a lunatic! What are you doing?"

"I thought someone broke in!"

Shooter laughed from the kitchen. "So you were going to hit them with a guitar?"

"What the fuck are you holding a guitar for?" Chains added quickly.

"It was this or a lamp and I didn't exactly feel like swinging that arou—never mind, what you two doing here?"

Chain shook his head and drew in a breath, still startled. "You scared the shit out of me."

"I scared the shit out of you?" I rasped. "You two are the big bad bikers here—I'm half a foot shorter than both of you, with basically no muscle strength and very fragile bones. And there's only one of me! The two of you are much more terrifying."

"Yeah, we could probably take you," Shooter admitted casually, staring at the snacks in the cupboard.

"We were going to get buzzed and watch the playoffs—Edge is the only one with a 4K flatscreen and it starts in any second," Chains explained, still fiddling with the power outlet by the TV. "Except we can't figure out how to work this shit."

That's why the Wi-Fi cut out, I thought, noticing that the router was starting up again.

"Yeah, it's the remote—it's tricky," I muttered. "I'll do it for you."

Chains tossed me the remote while Shooter asked, "Where does Edge keep his good snacks?"

"Hiding behind whatever's on the bottom shelf," I told him, "so he doesn't feel tempted to reach for them."

Chains chuckled to himself. "Of course he does. That gym freak."

Shooter finally found the snacks he was after and grinned, "Bingo."

I shook my head.

Finally getting the TV to work, I put it on the right channel and handed the remote back to Chains. "Awesome," he grinned.

"What was all that banging earlier?" I inquired, remembering the clamoring that had scared me half to death.

Shooter scratched the back of his neck, laughing awkwardly. "I uh... I dropped a frying pan on the floor."

"Twice," Chains pointed out.

Shooter gave him a ridiculing look and rolled his eyes. Even I couldn't help the tiny—very tiny—smile on my lips.

"And how did you guys even get in here?" I asked them, watching as Shooter scooped up an armful of snacks and a six-pack of beer. He brought them down to the coffee table, plopping himself down on the couch.

Chains dangled his set of keys for me to see. "Edge gave me a spare key a while back."

I gave them a dumbfounded look. "So you can just... walk in whenever you feel like it? Noah doesn't care?"

Chains shrugged. "Pretty much."

"Oh," I spoke shyly. "And... nobody sees the issue with that?"

Shooter gave me a smirk. "What issue?"

"Well, uh," I mumbled, hoping I wasn't overstepping. "It's just that there's two of us living here now, so I don't think you guys should just be able to come and go whenever y—"

"Relax, dude," Shooter made an attempt to reassure me. "It's not like we caught you jerking off or anything."

"And we're not here all the time," Chains laughed with his friend, plopping down on the couch. "You don't really have anything to worry about."

"I could've been indecent."

Shooter chuckled, popping open the cap of a beer bottle cleanly.

"The kid can't even say naked," he teased.

My cheeks grew red.

"Fine, we'll knock next time. That better?" Chains asked, though not without smiling at Shooter's comment.

I said, "That's not... exactly the point."

Chains pondered the topic, then shrugged.

"Alright, alright, fair enough," he told me, raising his hands in surrender. "I guess you'll just have to talk to Edge about it when he gets back."

I thought about it for a moment, feeling shy at the idea. I didn't want to start telling Noah what to do. I was blessed enough that he'd agreed to let me stay here as it was. I wasn't about to go pushing my luck.

A heavy sigh left my lips.

===

"Thanks for putting up with these two," Noah told me once he'd walked through the front door to the apartment.

Chains and Shooter called out gleefully at the TV from their spots on the couch. Someone must have scored a point, goal, whatever—I wasn't really one for basketball, to be honest. Or any sport that wasn't walking from my bed to the fridge.

Shaking myself from my thoughts, I scratched the back of my neck and gave Noah a look. He'd left his black helmet on the shelf by the door with his keys, kicking off his work boots and shaking out the back of his dark hair.

"A little heads up would've been nice," I said.

"Sorry," he nodded. "They didn't bother to text me about it until they were already here."

Shooter laughed, flinging his arm over in our direction. "The kid tried to swing at us with a guitar!"

Chains and Shooter had finished the beers off a few minutes ago—they had tried to save a bottle for Noah, but the two couldn't restrain themselves and ended up splitting it amongst each other. Needless to say, both of them were pretty buzzed at this point.

Noah turned to me with a quizzical look on his face. Shooter's comment had definitely surprised him.

"You swung at them with a guitar?" He repeated, stunned.

"I thought someone had broken in!" I said quickly in embarrassment. Fiddling with the hems of my sweater's sleeves, I added, "They were making a racket."

His brows furrowed.

"Well did you miss?"

Chains and Shooter heard the joke and took it upon themselves to flip Noah off. I smiled softly.

"Shooter dropped the same frying pan twice," Chains said, shamelessly ratting out his buddy Shooter while nudging him teasingly with his elbow.

The other biker pushed him off and sighed. "Did you really have to tell him that?"

"Of course," Chains answered. "It's hilarious. And you're an idiot."

A confused frown graced Noah's face as he leaned over the side of the couch. "What did you need the frying pan for?"

"I just wanted to make grilled cheese," Shooter admitted. "Clearly I changed my mind."

Noah paused for a moment and looked down at the mess of food on the coffee table.

"...So you stole all my snacks."

Chains shrugged. "Elliot told us where they were, so it's really his fault."

There was a strange gleam in Noah's eyes as he turned a disapproving look to me.

"Hey!" I panicked, darting my gaze to the two bikers on the couch. "You're bringing me into this now?"

Noah interrogated me first and asked, "You told them where my snacks were?"

I stammered for a second. "You didn't tell me they were coming over, so... I guess that makes us even?"

Noah grumbled at me, "They ate all my Skittles."

"They broke into the apartment!" I said in defense. "This whole thing is your fault if you really think about it."

Shooter butted in, "We didn't break in! We literally had a key to the front door."

"Shut up, Shooter," Noah and I snapped in unison.

Chains burst out in laughter, sticking his pointer finger in Shooter's face as he struggled to breathe. Shooter rolled his eyes.

"Shit," Chains grinned. "If I wanted to listen to two people arguing I'd go sit with my problematic grandparents at thanksgiving dinner."

"When was the last time you even went to one of those dinners?" Noah joked. "You spent your last thanksgiving with a turkey sandwich, hotboxing a car with two Colombian girls."

Chains laughed, "Fun times."

"How are your grandparents?" Shooter added. "Terry still got that pacemaker in?"

"Uh-huh," Chains nodded. "She thought it stopped working the other day. Had to sit in the waiting room for six hours just so the doctors could come and tell me it was heartburn."

And... there it was. The feeling that I didn't belong in the conversation.

God, hadn't felt that one in a while.

I thought it would be rude to leave the room, but at the same time, I didn't want to interrupt the topic at hand. Leaning against the wall, I crossed my arms around my chest and opted for making myself look as small as possible.

It was a few more moments before the three of them turned their attention back to the playoffs on the flatscreen.

Reclining himself on the spare couch, Noah scolded Shooter for getting crumbs on the couch before asking, "How's the game going?"

"Awesome. We're up by—"

Alright. Now I definitely didn't belong in the conversation.

Though just as I turned to leave, Noah nodded over to me. "Sit," he said, confusion in his eyes as to why I was still looming awkwardly by the door.

"That's alright," I confessed shyly. "I don't get basketball."

Chains asked simply, "What's not to get?"

"It's just... two hoops and a ball," I frowned. "But there are so many terms for all these different things. I don't get any of it."

"Your old man didn't bother to teach you?" Shooter looked up at me.

I bit the side of my cheek. "He's more of a hockey person."

"Never too late to learn about it, Alle—" Noah began, only to cough and cut himself off. "Just sit. Here, you can have the Cheetos."

Giving him a look, I hesitated, "Puffs or crunchy?"

"Puffs."

Like a mouse tempted by cheese, I gave in and found my way to the couch. Taking a seat on the floor, I watched as Noah smirked at me in triumph and passed me the bag of puffs.

And just like that, the four of us sat around the flatscreen, scarfing down snacks and paying all our attention to the game. I'd never actually been around the three of them when Noah invited Chains and Shooter over, so it was somewhat surreal to be involved.

Noah took it upon himself to explain things to me whenever something exciting happened.

So while Chains and Shooter were busy laughing in victory, Noah nodded to the screen and told me, "That's Williams. He just shot from outside the three-point line—it's the blue arc in front of the hoop."

"So... we made three points?" I asked, widening my eyes up at him.

"Yep," Noah said, ruffling my hair. "We're winning."

It continued on like that for a few hours, and by the time it had hit eight in the afternoon, Chains and Shooter had sobered up entirely. The moon was shining clearly from the window once the basketball game had come to an end.

Noah, Chains, and Shooter basically had the most intense bro-hug when their team won.

"Let's hit Joe's," Shooter decided loudly. "After a game like that, drinks are on me."

"Did I hear that right? Boston's biggest cheapskate is offering to shout drinks?" Chains teased him with a shocked face. Noah laughed. "The world must be ending."

"Alright, boys!" Shooter said with a mean smirk, "Drinks on me for everyone except Chains."

"Yeah, whatever," Chains scoffed. "You'd never do that to me."

While the two of them basically leaped out the front door, I turned to Noah, who was busy strapping on his boots.

"Can I come with you guys?" I asked him nervously.

Noah looked up at me. "You're working tonight?"

I shook my head and scratched the back of my neck. "Definitely not. I've pulled back-to-back shifts at the bar for the last three days. I just figured I could come and get a drink... if that's alright with you."

"Of course it's alright," he said assuringly, putting on his black cap. "We're all going on our bikes though."

Oh, damn it.

Noah saw the look on my face and gave me an amused smile. He asked teasingly, "Feel like taking a ride on the motorcycle again?"

I sighed.

"...Absolutely."

Noah grinned at my less-than-excited answer.

===

I'd made a major breakthrough on the ride to the bar. While Noah kept his focus on driving, I'd finally managed to convince myself to open my eyes.

An incredible achievement, in my opinion.

Noah had found a spare helmet for me, so thankfully neither of us was forced to ride without one. I could even see Chains and Shooter on their motorcycles just ahead of us, weaving cleanly through traffic with Noah and me right on their tails.

One thing I couldn't help but admit was how much nicer driving felt on a motorcycle. Sure, there weren't any fancy seats or radio like there would be in a car, but you could really appreciate the wind flowing through your clothes and the sense of unison with the gravel beneath your feet.

Regardless, I still yelped whenever Noah's motorcycle suddenly lurched forward in acceleration. The thing had enough torque in it to give me whiplash.

Leaving the bikes resting in the parking lot of Joe's Bar, the first thing that caught my attention after I tore the helmet off was the lack of people standing outside.

Bikes were parked all over the place—but there wasn't a soul in sight.

Shooter must've noticed as well, because he asked Noah, "Do ya' think they're all in already?"

Chains tore off his helmet, and as the four of us got off the bikes, the eerily quiet atmosphere gave me chills.

Maybe Shooter was right, and they were all inside, but... it didn't make sense.

I frowned to myself and spoke quietly, "There isn't even enough space in the bar to hold that many people."

...Right?

Eve would've called me in if it was busy.

Noah shrugged as he put on his black baseball cap. "Let's just go in."

I followed behind the three of them quietly, listening to the crunching of snow beneath my boots as we made our way across the lot. Ascending the short step to the bar, Noah pushed open the door to Joe's... with some effort.

As we all stepped inside, everything suddenly became clear.

The bar was packed.

'Sardines in a can' was an understatement. People were everywhere—in booths, at the bar counter, even crowding the bar floor. Never before had I seen so many bikers inside at once. I couldn't even spot Eve over all the heads blocking the view.

The weirdest thing was how quiet it was. 

I'd never seen the Stray Dogs so silent before. Aside from some worried whispering and quiet gossip, nobody was making a sound. It felt like everyone was holding their breath, and I figured out quickly why that was.

They were all paying attention to the TV playing loudly above the counter.

"What the fuck is going on in here?" Chains asked, being the first to break the silence.

Someone shushed him from a corner booth.

"News is on!" Another answered from somewhere in the middle of the mob. "We're trying to listen. Edge, you might wanna see this."

Turning his head up to the screen, Noah asked, "Well, what is it?"

"The police are chasing some bikers not far from here," Chief explained to Noah, emerging from the crowd. "Some idiots have decided to go street racing through the city. It's been going on for an hour."

"Street-racers?" Chains asked in disbelief.

Nobody had noticed that Noah had tensed up completely.

But it got worse.

"That's not all," Chief added, his tone one of frustration. "Someone's already been killed."

Shooter snapped his gaze to Chief and crossed his arms. "What, during the race?"

Chief nodded. "Slammed his bike into a car."

Someone pointed up at the screen, cutting off the conversation. "They've hit one-forty!"

I felt shock drop in my chest. Miles per hour? A hundred and forty miles an hour? Had I heard that right?

The helicopter footage playing on the screen displayed only three motorcycles weaving dangerously through city streets. Police cars and motorcycles were in pursuit, but nowhere near close enough to be apprehending anybody just yet.

"It has just been confirmed by state police that the individuals have reached a speed of one hundred and forty miles per hour," the newscaster's voice announced from the television. "With the forecasted downpour already beginning to hit the streets of Boston, police are concerned fo—"

Noah, who had been silent so far, passed a heavy scowl to Chief.

"Anyone in a vest?" He asked.

"Just one," Chief told him. "A Mayhem biker."

Noah opened his mouth to answer, but the doors to the bar slammed open before he could. A familiar redhead burst through the doorway.

Marcus.

He didn't waste any time, quickly drawing the eyes of everyone in the bar with his booming voice. "Where the fuck is Edge?"

Noah turned on his heel at the sound of him. Without speaking a word, the two of them locked eyes and seemed to understand each other's thoughts immediately.

The two turned to leave abruptly. Chains stopped them. "Edge, what the hell is goi—"

Noah ignored him, clearly too preoccupied in his own head. Taking a forceful grip on Marcus's shoulder, he shoved him outside through the open doors and followed quickly behind.

Shooter looked to Chains. "Where does he think he's fucking going?"

I let my concern and my curiosity get the best of me.

Fuck.

Leaving through the bar doors while everyone was busy staring up at the screen, I made my way into the cold and heard the thunder in the distance. It was going to rain at any second.

Marcus was jogging to his old dirt bike, pulling a silver can from his oversized jacket. I only realized that it was a can of spray paint when he began to spray black ink all over their plates. Noah got to his shiny Kawasaki and picked up the obsidian helmet hanging off its handlebar.

I quickly caught his attention, jogging down to the parking lot behind him. "Noah, wait—"

He paused at the sound of my voice, turning to face me with panic and anger raging in his piercing eyes. I couldn't understand what was happening—what on earth was he planning to do?

I watched in confusion as Noah hesitated for a moment, clearly lost in his own thoughts.

"Okay," he said. "Fuck, just let me think."

Noah took off his baseball cap and shook out his hair.  He pulled off his Stray Dogs jacket, too—the one that only he and Chief had. Standing in his white sweater, he passed the jacket over to me and gave me a serious look.

"I'll be back for this," he promised, referring to the jacket in my hands.

"Noah, I don't understand."

Ignoring me, he took his black baseball cap and hid my hair beneath it, resting it comfortably on my head. "Put the jacket on."

Choosing to do as he said, I hesitated for a moment before slowly sliding my arms into the leather sleeves.

His eyes softened as he looked at me.

"What's happening?" I asked him, still confused and incredibly worried.

"Nothing," he promised me, though I knew he was lying. "Listen to me carefully. Keep the jacket and the cap on. Go back into the bar. You're going to take a seat at the counter and order yourself a drink, alright?"

"Noah, seriously—"

"Listen to me, Elliot. Keep the jacket on," Noah repeated carefully. "And whatever happens... don't take your eyes off that TV."

Too stunned to answer, I watched as he turned away, following Marcus into the night.

With the roar of their motorcycles and the faint echo of thunder in the distance, the two of them were gone.

=||A/N||=

The next chapter will be from Noah's POV <3