𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐲

Chapter 68

— Chapter 68 —
The Other Kind of Gun

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E L L I O T

Spending my mornings at Jesse's store and back-to-back nights working the bar at Joe's, I was never not on my feet. Jesse trusted me at the store on my own now. Taking her tasks on top of mine meant that I was responsible for getting everything done before she came to take over in the afternoons. I didn't mind; didn't complain. All the tasks kept me too busy to lose myself in my own head, and that was always a good thing.

Joe's, on the other hand, wasn't entirely business-as-usual. Even though the Stray Dogs were disbanded, and nothing was stopping them from coming by, it was clear that most of them were veering on the side of caution. Those who showed up didn't show up in vests, or in groups large enough to draw the attention of the police. All in all, things were going slow.

The only moments I could cut myself a break came with Noah's presence.

He'd been... different lately.

When Han held a gun to my head that night at the races, there was a look in Noah's eyes that I'd never seen before. Pure dread. That time, instead of being indifferent to dying altogether—I was horrified. I feared that I'd die and the last thing I'd see would be Noah's terror-ridden expression staring back at me. I was terrified that Noah would have to see me shot to death in front of him. I was terrified at the idea of having to lose him.

Then he went to New York. And I thought the distance would be good—that it would somehow help me figure out why I cared so much. Why Noah's terror-ridden expression kept haunting me; why the idea of having him ripped away from me felt so suffocating.

I didn't like the answer I was getting.

Love.

I couldn't feel love for him.

I couldn't allow myself to feel love for him.

I couldn't allow myself to admit feeling love for him.

But after talking to Noah and spending the night with him back at the apartment, I noticed a shift in his behavior over the next few days.

He insisted on driving me everywhere, to and from work. He never sat more than a few feet away from me at the bar—even when the bikers around him were lost in conversation, his shadowy eyes would always linger on me, as if he were making sure that I was still there. He'd give me his jacket if it were cold. He'd sit with me on my breaks, ignoring his friends when they called him over to smoke in favor of giving me company. And when I asked him why he was doing all of this, he'd shrug off the question—or insist that it was nothing out of the ordinary.

Convincing Noah to keep letting me take my shifts at the convenience store was the trickiest part. He didn't have to say it out loud, but I knew he didn't want to run the risk of having me run into Han again.

I told him he didn't have to worry. Han had fallen off the map—he'd been gone for so long that I'd already begun to forget his face.

At the end of my shifts at Joe's, once the bikers were gone and the bar was shut, Noah drove me home. Not back to my father, but back to the apartment—because even an apartment in the throes of renovation felt more like a home than anything my father had to offer right now.

Noah cooked me dinner every night. Something new, every night. Ravioli, steak, fried rice, soup. I fed Fuckass with whatever cat food we could find in the fridge while Noah plated up a warm dinner, never letting me go to bed on an empty stomach.