— Chapter 6 —
Poor Old Ladies

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N O A H

"Where are you going so early in the morning?" I asked Angela after her hairbrush made a thud against the bathroom floor.

She almost jumped out of her skin at the sound of my voice. "Christ."

Looking at me through the mirror, she quickly relaxed and offered me a gummy smile. "Morning? It's one in the afternoon, Noah. I'm going to work."

Turning away as she pulled off her towel, I rubbed my heavy eyes and groaned.

"Afternoon? Damn."

"You should have called me when you got away from those idiots," she said. Tugging her shirt down, she added, "You're lucky you only got away with a nicked shoulder."

I shook my head. "You wouldn't have been able to do anything. Besides, I wasn't even that far from here."

"How is it, anyway?"

"The shoulder? Sore," I said. "Don't worry about it."

"I still don't get how you managed to topple your bike," she frowned, pulling up her skinny jeans. "I've seen you do some real stupid shit on that thing and you've never had problems with it before."

Breathing a heavy exhale, I stretched out my arm and kicked the heavy blankets off my body. The cold of the room immediately nipped at my bare chest. "It was raining and I was going too fast. Lesson learned."

"Hm."

Drying the last of her dark-brown hair with the white towel, she picked up her mascara and gave me a look. "There's leftovers in the fridge—keep your greasy fingers off my half, though."

"No promises."

Pointing at me with the spiky end of the makeup stick, she warned, "I'm not kidding, bucko. I am not afraid to put your ass in line."

I gave her an innocent grin.

As she did the rest of her simple makeup, I forced myself out of her queen-sized bed and picked my shirt up off the floor. It didn't smell great.

"Do you have a hoodie of mine somewhere around here?" I asked, scrunching the shirt up in my hand. "Who am I kidding, of course you do."

"Bottom shelf in the dresser," she answered simply, a guilty look in her smile. "Don't judge me."

"Uh-huh," I gave her a sarcastic look, pulling open the wooden draw by its gold handles.

Jackpot.

"Shit, how many of them did you take?" I mumbled in surprise, picking through all of them. There were at least a dozen, folded neatly into a weird little hoard. I settled for the simplest one I could find, a basic black with oversized sleeves. "This is basically half my closet."

"To be fair, some of those you forgot here."

"Uh-huh," I said, not entirely convinced. "Oh, before I forget—"

"What's up?"

"What do you know about that bartender? The one from Joe's," I asked. "You know... the guy with the tied-up hair and the earrings?"

"The pretty one?"

I gave her a sarcastic look. "Is there another one with long hair and earrings?"

She chuckled. "I remember him. Elliot, right?"

"Yeah. You know each other?"

"A little?" There was an awkward look on her face, probably confused as to why I'd ask about him so suddenly. "He went to the same high school as Lucille and I. We didn't really talk much, but he's alright, I guess. Why?"

"You went to his high school?"

"We had math together, I'm pretty sure. But he didn't have many friends," she explained. "I mean, James was around him a lot, but God knows what was going on there."

"Was he picked on?"

She frowned, trying to recall.

"Not really?" She said. "At least, not that I know of. I think he just chose to keep to himself? It's good that you reminded me, though. Some of the other graduates and I are supposed to be having a reunion party in a few weeks. I totally forgot."

"Reunion?" I said. "Isn't it a bit early for that?"

"It's not a big thing," she smiled. "A few of my friends are coming back to Boston for the first time in a few years and we're throwing a party for them. I figured I might as well invite a few more people from my old high school, too, so... reunion it is. I should invite Elliot, actually, now that I think about it."

"Right..." I trailed off. "Does Elliot work shifts often? At Joe's?"

She puckered her glossy lips in the mirror and shrugged. "Yep. He's there almost every night. I can get one of the girls to find out his schedule for you."

"You can do that?"

"They can, not me," she shook her head, raising her hands in surrender. "You'd be surprised how often they flirt with him—and to be honest, he's not that bad on the eyes... at all, actually..."

She noticed my amused look and stopped her admiring rant. "Never-mind. Why are you asking about him so suddenly, anyway? You never noticed him before."

"Just something I gotta deal with."

"Okay, well," she said, "I'm heading out now, then. See you tonight."

"Joe's?"

"Yep. Go easy on the shoulder, too," she coddled me, but I waved her off. Putting on her denim jacket, she added, "bye, Noah."

"Catch you later."

===

I'd arrived at Joe's an hour later than usual, having spent the day traveling around the damn city. My motorcycle was close to running out of gas, but it was almost worth it considering what I had inside the white bag in my hands.

Elliot wasn't set to arrive until eleven, according to the schedule that Angela had sent me earlier in the day... entirely unprompted. Perhaps the most surprising part about it was how long he worked his shifts. With at least forty hours a week, he spent most of his nights at Joe's, only leaving in the early mornings when the place closed.

I'd parked my motorcycle in its designated spot, which had just become reserved for me at this point. Though I'd managed to get out most of the dent from last night, the scratches still needed some work. I figured I'd spend most of my afternoon following work tomorrow trying to fix it.

After walking into the bar and spotting a familiar head of stark-white hair, I headed to Chains's booth, motioning for the others with him to scram. They deserted the area without a hassle. I took the seat beside him and offered a short nod.

"You look exhausted," he joked, slapping my hand in welcome. I sighed, shaking out the back of my dark hair. The helmet always left it disheveled and messy. Damn helmet hair.

"Yeah. Feels like it, too," I said. "How've you been?"

As Chains and I got to talking, I settled in and got myself the first drink that came to mind. Two or so glasses and an extended conversation later, I was officially buzzed, with Chains going on about some kind of girl that Angela had introduced him to.

Eventually noticing the plastic in my hands, he asked eagerly, "what's in the bag?"

"Tampons," I lied quickly, watching as he immediately retracted his hands. "Piss off."

Chains eased up when he saw the amused look on my face. "Uh-huh," he said, rolling his eyes.

Though, as he opened his mouth to say something more, a deeper voice cut him off.

"Edge."

Passing a look up, my gaze landed on the leader of the Stray Dogs, standing over our booth with his hands stuffed in the old pockets of his muted-green bomber.

"Chief," I recognized, addressing him by his given nickname. "This is a surprise. You're out of the house for once."

Chief, whose real name was Christopher Black, was a gritty man in his late fifties. A perceptive guy with back problems and a critical personality, who chose to ride a classic Harley Davidson that he kept in pristine condition. Coincidentally, too, was the fact that he was my uncle.

"Don't patronize me, kid," he grumbled. Taking the empty seat beside Chains, he settled in and waved over at one of the staff. Eve, I remembered was her name.

As she walked over, Chief offered me a simple look and stated,  "I heard you got your ass handed to you by Marcus's buddies last night."

Chains snapped his gaze to me as the words left Chief's mouth. "Say what?"

Damn, I grumbled internally, watching Chief sit up straighter as Eve approached the booth. How the fuck did he find that out already?

"Well, look what the dog dragged in!" Eve announced as she arrived, placing heavy emphasis on the 'dog' in her statement. At least Chains seemed to find it funny.

"Eve," Chief replied. "Surprised you haven't retired yet. How long has it been? Thirty years?"

She offered him a friendly grin, resting a slim hand on his shoulder. "You say that same phrase every time you come in. Funny how the only thing that ever changes is our age, huh?"

"Please," he answered with a crooked smile. "At least it doesn't show on you. I'm on track to be walking with a cane soon."

Eve chuckled. "Feels like that sometimes, doesn't it?"

"Ahem," Chains stressed, shutting down their little chat before they managed to spiral down the reminiscent road. I smiled at the unamused look the both of them passed us.

"How can I help you, boys?" She sighed with a kind expression, resting her hands on her hips.

Chains shook his empty beer bottle and gestured to my dry glass. Politely, he requested, "Another round, please."

I shook my head. "I'm okay. Thanks, though."

Taking the empty bottle from Chains, she offered me a smile and turned to Chief. "And what about you, hm? Can I get you anything?"

"You know what? Surprise me," he said. She nodded warmly as he added, "Thank you, Eve."

As she walked off to go get the drinks, Chief got back to the matter at hand. He asked, "Well?"

I shook my head and exhaled heavily.

"Look, nothing happened, alright?" I said to him, hoping he would lay off. "And I didn't get my ass handed to me, either."

"Really? The rumors say otherwise," he shrugged. "They say you got a beating. And that you toppled your bike, too."

Truthfully, I was somewhat surprised at how quickly word had gotten to him about what had happened. Even if it was mostly wrong. Yet, the leader of the Stray Dogs, a grouchy guy who hardly left the house these days, somehow managed to hear about it.

It made sense, though. I was the VP. I couldn't go about getting my reputation damaged by attention-seeking idiots with colossal egos. And especially not when I was this close to taking over leadership.

Christ, I thought.

"You fell off your bike?" Chains frowned, clearly perplexed at Chief's revelations. "What, were you drunk or something?"

"No."

"Fuck, high?"

"No, look—" I snapped, "—I went to Marcus's to collect on his debt and he set his guard dogs on me. That's it. Nothing else happened. Those idiots just went around running their mouths, alright?"

It wasn't the entire truth, but it was the best I could give them. They didn't need to know that Elliot was there. They didn't need to know he was the reason I swerved my bike, and they didn't need to know that I'd helped him get away. What good would it do? Besides, he was hardly involved.

Chief analyzed me with striking brown eyes, contemplating the words I'd spoken. I sat back in my seat and met his gaze unyieldingly.

Eventually, he sighed. "I sure hope so, Noah. You don't need another charge against you. And you're already on thin ice with the cops as it is—you know that."

Annoyed, I said, "Yep. Can't go one damn day without someone reminding me."

"And whose fault is that?" He replied. Itching his stubble, Chief added, "Don't bitch, kid. And don't get caught doing stupid shit, either."

"Trust me," I muttered, as Eve made her way back to our booth with the drinks in hand. But my eyes caught on something else as I continued to speak. "I'm on my best behavior."

Elliot had walked in for his shift and was heading our way. I hardly paid attention as the people in our booth cracked up another conversation, resting my gaze on an aloof Elliot. Clutching the strap of his backpack in one hand and hiding the other in the pocket of his knee-length coat, he quietly approached Eve to notify her of his arrival.

She gave him a smile when she spotted him, after which he departed behind the bar counter. I found myself gripping tightly on the handle of the plastic bag I'd brought in with me.

Jeez, this is so stupid, I grumbled, suddenly feeling tense. My fingers grazed the packet of cigarettes in my jacket pocket on instinct.

For whatever reason, I couldn't take my eyes off him. His slim build, that he hid behind loose-fitting clothes. The deep hazel of his eyes, which seemed to change colors in different lighting. The shine of his silver earrings—studs, rings, and small chains, though the chain on his left ear was made purposefully longer.

As well as that, his very light brown hair—so light that it was bordering on pale blonde. Considering the darker shadow of the roots, too, I figured he'd dyed it to be that way. It reached just to the bottom of his neck, with the top half loosely tied back. There were quite a few short locks at the front, too, creating a soft fringe that ended just by his eyebrows.

Shit, I thought embarrassingly to myself. Is pretty the wrong word?

He matched his looks with an expression that hardly changed—with the exception of an occasional half-smile that rarely felt genuine. Part of me wondered what he'd look like with a real one plastered on his face... and what it would take for that to happen.

It was a minute or two before he returned from the back room. With his backpack and coat stashed away, he got to work, sharing a small conversation with Eve who'd already returned to the bar.

"Are you even paying attention?"

My gaze snapped back to Chains, who was looking at me expectantly. Instead of apologizing, I decided, "I'll be back."

He objected. "Wait, what? Where are you—"

Ignoring him, I moved out of the booth and got to my feet. Heading over to the bar, which wasn't that busy tonight, I managed to catch Elliot's attention. For a brief moment, he looked surprised at my presence.

Leaning against the counter, I tried for friendly. "Hey."

"Uh..." he paused, talking softly, "hi."

I chuckled at his nervousness, noticing the way in which he kept his head down and how he fiddled with his fingers. "Come on. Am I really that intimidating?"

"I don't know," he mumbled.

"Well, that's reassuring," I joked, scratching the back of my neck. I was prepared to say something else but he cut me off before I could do so.

"Is this about last night?" He blurted. "Did you need something?"

I smiled, shaking my head. "Can't I just start up a conversation?"

"You can," he said quietly, "I just don't see why you would."

Well, how do I reply to that?

"I think you're interesting, that's all," I admitted. Grazing my tongue piercing against the back of my teeth, my gaze lingered on his frame for a moment. "It's not about last night. Well, it is, but—alright. Here."

I pulled the small bag up onto the counter and gave it to him, noticing how his hazel eyes tinged with subtle confusion.

Nervously, I told him, "I felt bad about what happened so I went out and got it for you. We're even now."

The last part came out a little more serious than I intended. Elliot didn't seem to notice, though, hesitantly reaching out a hand to see the contents.

I watched his brows crease together as he recognized what it was. The emerald-green, velvet box seemed much larger in his small hands. "The tea?"

"Yeah. That's the right one, right?"

"Yes, but..." he trailed off, and I watched as his demeanor slowly soften. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to."

I could've sworn something sparkled in his eyes just then. His grip on the bag tightened, a gentle pull on the sides of his lips. "Thank you."

"No problem," I smiled.

He had a small habit of hiding his gaze behind the strands of pale hair that framed his face. Almost like a curtain, protecting him, keeping him invisible to others. Or was only this shy around me?

"Christ, though," I complained jokingly. "That's stuff isn't cheap. I mean, it's tea. What, is it laced?"

He chuckled softly. "Where did you even find this?"

"A while from here–and Boston traffic sucks."

He didn't need to know I'd traveled for an hour to find the only store that stocked the stuff. He also didn't need to know that I stood another twenty minutes in line at an Asian market to buy it. He definitely didn't need to know about the weird looks I got from the confused grandmas behind me, either.

A guy like me, walking around with a scuffed helmet, biker patches, and a tongue piercing? Needless to say, I stuck out like a sore thumb this morning—and that was with my tattoos covered up. Those poor old ladies.

Finally looking me in the eyes, Elliot said, "you really didn't have to do that. I'll pay you back for it."

"You're not doing that," I answered. "It was my fault you lost the other one in the first place, anyway."

He sighed, finally showing me his signature half-smile. All the trouble of finding his tea today finally felt worth it, I decided, as I watched the way his expression gently conveyed his gratitude. It was small, but it mattered to me.

Though, just as he moved his head to the side, the happy mood suddenly felt short-lived. Something dark peaked out through the cracks of the hair framing his forehead. Something that wasn't there last night—something I definitely would've noticed.

And it looked freaking painful.

"That bruise on your forehead," I spoke lowly. "How'd you get it?"

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Little cliffhanger for you there >:3
Long chapter for Noah's first POV! I hope you liked it and thanks for reading! If you guys have any feedback on the story so far I'd love to hear it <3