— Chapter 78 —

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I stepped out into the night air to overhear the sounds of quiet sniffling.

"Oh, you know how they are," a voice chuckled weakly from behind the corner of the walkway. It was Mariella, sitting to the left of the stairwell, a phone pressed up to her ear. She had a crumpled tissue in her spare hand. "Barely a day in and they're already at each other's throats."

I stopped a few paces beside her, leaning awkwardly against the wall. I didn't want to interrupt her call, but I'd come too far to go back into the apartment now.

"Yeah, I'm okay," she replied, to a voice I couldn't hear. She wasn't fine though—not really. Her eyelids were red, puffy, glistening with the residue of fallen tears. "How's Emma? Hope she didn't drive you too crazy today."

She must be talking to her husband.

Mariella managed a small smile. "Okay. Did you remember to give her goodnight kisses from me?" An answer of some kind, then, "Alright, alright. I love you too. Bye."

She tucked her phone back in her pocket and sighed, forehead falling to her knees. Strands of her dark hair were gently tousled by a passing breeze.

My footsteps must've been too heavy as I approached her at that moment. "I want to be alone, Noah," she grumbled.

"Um... not Noah."

Sitting up at the sound of my voice, Mariella pushed the hair out of her face and let her gaze narrow in my direction. Her expression didn't harbor any resentment. At least none that I could decipher.

"Oh," she uttered. "It's you."

I scratched the back of my neck. "Sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I just wanted to see if you were okay."

Her fingers delved into the pocket of her sweatpants and emerged with a small packet of cigarettes. She picked one out of the box, burnt up the end with a lighter, sucked in a breath of smoke and left the packet to sit by her foot.

"I'm fine," said Mariella. "Sorry you had to see that nightmare of a dinner."

I took that as my cue to sit, shifting to occupy the empty space beside her on the set of stairs. "Believe it or not—not the worst dinner I've been to."

"Really?"

"I didn't have any siblings, so after my mom died, my dad was the only other person at the table. Most of our family dinners ended up with cutlery being thrown across the table. Usually at my head." I almost laughed at my own candor. But Mariella didn't seem to share in the comedic nature of what I was saying, her blank stare compelling me to hear the weight of my own words. "Uh, sorry. That was really dark. I don't know why I said that."

She waved a hand. "No, no—it's fine. I suppose I find it comforting to know that my family isn't the only disaster out there."

"Those two," I asked, "have they always been like that?"

She exhaled smoke, thankfully in the opposite direction of where I was sitting. "I suppose it only gets worse the longer they're apart. Noah's always been protective of Jasper, and Jasper really looked up to his brother, but... I don't know anymore. I think their age difference coupled with the long distance really chewed holes into their relationship. I thought bringing Jasper along would help fix that, but I see now that maybe I was wrong."

"I'm sure that's not true. They might have their differences, but that's normal between brothers, isn't it?" As if you would know, a little voice belittled me. "I never had one myself, but... it's obvious to me that they both just want the best for each other. Sure, their way of communicating could probably use a little work, but... baby steps."

Her cheek tucked into her hand. I could feel her attention on me, analyzing me, contemplating my very presence.

She mused, "My son really cares for you, doesn't he?"

"What makes you say that?"

Flicking her cigarette, Mariella shrugged. "Well... it might sound unusual to say," she told me, "but his eyes. When he's off in his own head, or talking to someone else... your reflection is always there, even if only in the corners. I didn't think much of it at first, but then I saw you both messing around in that kitchen earlier." Her soft-hearted expression brightened with the memory. "Noah was smiling. Today of all days, someone managed to make my son smile—even if it was only for a few seconds. And I think that takes a special kind of miracle."

My cheeks surely tinted shades of scarlet. "Oh. You um, you saw that?"

Jeez. I could still recall my little panic earlier tonight. What else did she see? Shit—what did she hear?

"The two of you looked like you were having a moment," she admitted. "I didn't want to interrupt."

A small smile dared to reveal itself on my lips.

Mariella took a drag from her cigarette and ruminated to herself for a few moments. "It's almost as if Noah's tethered to you," she confessed. "Like his soul is lighter when he knows you're nearby. And you'll need to forgive me for saying this, but... I can't help wondering if that connection is truly what he needs right now."

My brows furrowed into each other as I read between her words.

"I'd never hurt him, Mariella."

"Maybe not intentionally," she exhaled, "but you already are. Noah is easy to read. You aren't. You're... restrained. Conflicted. I know my boy cares for you in some way, but I'm willing to bet you don't feel the same." Her finger tapped my chest, just over my heart. "Something here is troubled. Broken, perhaps. So, for his sake and yours, I suggest you figure out exactly what it is you want. My boy has already been through enough. He needs a clear head."

A defensive part of me wanted to tell her that she had nothing to worry about. That Noah and I had a transactional relationship, and that being his roommate was as far as it would ever go between us. And a few months ago, I would have. In a heartbeat.

But right now, I was at a war with my head. My thoughts were a fraying rope, with the side of me so terrified of falling victim to another heartbreak desperately trying to cut off the dead weight of my affections for Noah. I couldn't fathom the idea of what would happen if that same rope were to finally snap.

"It's not that simple," I muttered. Noah's feelings won't last. One day something better will come along, and... he'll forget all about me.

"Of course it is," she countered, shrugging her shoulders. "It's as simple as me asking whether or not you love him." Her attention deepened. "So? Do you love my son?"

I was carving crescents in the palms of my hands.

No. No, I don't. No. Yes. No.

I promised I wouldn't do this. Love was for the weak. Love tortured me, broke me, killed the old me. I promised I wouldn't put myself through that again. I can't—I can't do that. I can't do that again.

Her head tilted, finding answers in my silence. "You love someone... else?"

"Loved," I quickly corrected. Past tense. "Loved."

"I see. Did it hurt?"

Not at first. Love never hurt, at first. It just felt like someone had finally seen me. Like someone had opened their eyes to the misfortune of my existence and had chosen to embrace it. It was a touch of comfort. It felt like long hugs, the kind that held you together. It felt like chaste kisses, uncontrollable laughter, violent screaming. It felt like James.

And if love was being abandoned for five years, left behind without a heart, then yes. It hurt like hell. James had ripped that bleeding heart right out of my chest. He'd torn it apart and thrown the shredded pieces away like they were nothing. I never got that heart back. I'd never gotten the chance to stitch it back up.

I let go of a long breath. One I'd been holding in for years.

"It scarred."

Mariella nodded slowly. "Do you regret it?"

"Sometimes." But the more I thought about my answer, the less right it sounded. "I mean—no, I don't. Maybe I do. I don't... I don't know."

A feathery scoff of smoke left her vivid lips. "You doubt yourself. That alone makes me think it wasn't love at all. At least, not in the manner you deserved." She leaned back on her palms, putting the butt of her cigarette out on the concrete. "True love doesn't leave room for uncertainty, and it certainly doesn't leave room for regret."

Even so, those kinds of feelings are just a fool's fairytale. How could she know so much about love? After losing Noah's father, how could she stay so hopeful in a notion like that? What James had put me through was torture, but losing him altogether... well, it didn't matter what I felt for him. The very idea of that could very well destroy me.

I murmured, "Can I ask you a personal question?"

Mariella blinked approvingly.

"Well, um..." I had no clue how to phrase it. "I mean, after Noah's father passed away, how—" I shook my head. No, that's not right. "What I'm trying to say is, why did... well, you got remarried, so how come—"

She simplified, "You want to know how I found the courage to fall in love again."

"Uh, yes," I said shyly. "That."

Silence invaded the space between us for a few tense moments.

"Noah's father was as good as they came," she finally began. "Back then, I'd never really given much thought to a relationship—but knew he was the one for me the moment I laid eyes on him. A military boy; dreamy eyes, a good heart, and a fighter's spirit. But if there was one thing he loved more than all of us, his family, it was righting wrongs. Even ones that didn't belong to him. Eventually, he spent so much time trying to save everyone that in the end... he lost himself. And losing him broke me in ways that I cannot even describe."

I couldn't help but think of my own father as she spoke.

He wasn't anything like Mariella—the two of them balanced grief like polar opposites. Where Mariella was so determined to mend herself after her husband's death, my father had let his own grief eviscerate all the best parts of him. He'd turned to hatred and misery and self-loathing... and when that wasn't enough, he tried to destroy me too.

Mariella continued, "I spent a lot of time blaming myself for his death. For failing to see the signs, which now... which now I think were so plain to see. But I never regretted falling in love with him. At the same time, I knew I'd never be able to process my grief if I stayed in this city. I wanted to take the boys and leave, but Noah... Noah fought. I still remember him kicking and crying and holding onto the front door because he didn't want to throw his life here away. So I left him behind." Tears glistened at her waterline. "I left him with his uncle, where I knew he'd be safe, and I ran away. Because I wasn't like Noah's father. I was a coward. I was selfish. And leaving my boy behind was a choice I've had to live with every single day."

She shifted in her place beside me and turned to meet my eyes. "But the point I'm trying to make is that... I needed to be selfish if I wanted to keep going. And when I met Adrian, Noah's stepfather, it was as if the smoke had finally cleared. I realized that my life wasn't over just because Cillian's was. I realized that I needed to be selfish with my happiness—otherwise I would've let the grief put me in the same place as Noah's father. And I couldn't do that to my boys. They've endured enough."

The sheer amount of strength and willpower it must have taken—for her to keep fighting, to keep persevering—I almost couldn't fathom it.

Mariella wasn't something to be afraid of. Her callousness was a mask she wore well, but in a moment like this, it wasn't hard to see over the walls she'd constructed around herself. She was a woman capable of so much resilience, of course, but also so much compassion. Her intimidating and mistrusting reputation wasn't so unfounded. In the end, it was just a shield to protect her kids from the pain she went through.

"Falling in love with Adrian didn't mean that I loved Cillian any less," she continued. "If anything, it helped me understand just how much I still had left in me to give. There will always be a part of my heart with Cillian in it, no matter what—but at the end of the day, there still needs to be a part of me that loves myself enough to love others. My life—my kids depend on it."

Her hand rested gently on my shoulder.

"You're not scared of love, Elliot. You're scared of heartbreak. But you cannot live the rest of your life expecting the worst of everyone, and you certainly shouldn't depend on others to fill the void. You have to be selfish enough to put loving yourself—trusting yourself—over anything else. After all... your heart can't truly break if the only person there to break it is you."

I huffed lightly. "You make it sound so easy."

"It won't be," she said. "But you'll fall in love again. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but one day it'll hit you hard enough to make all the pain you've been through feel like a bad dream. Trust me on that."

She let go of my shoulder, picked up her box of cigarettes, and got to her feet.

"You're going back in?" I asked.

Already walking away from me, Mariella said, "Of course. No use hiding out here. It's quite cold." A shrug. "Besides, someone has to berate them into apologizing to each other."

I chuckled. "Right." But before she could get out of earshot, I quickly called, "Oh, uh—Mariella."

She paused in her place, looking over her shoulder to offer a gentle glance my way.

"Thank you," I mentioned.

With a nod of her head, she affirmed, "Just Maria, dear." Her hands found her pockets. "Actually... would you like to join me? I could always use a good cop."

The corners of my lips widened into a smile that not even I could contain.

"I'd be happy to."

"Did you tune my guitar?" was the only thing Jasper said to his brother the following day. Reclined in his usual spot on the couch, the younger one's reserved and distant nature was suppressed only by the notes he strummed absently on his instrument.

Noah had been out all morning—he'd left the apartment before any of us had woken up and hadn't come back until sometime in the mid-afternoon, his usual early-morning gym bag slung over his shoulder. Dressed in a black t-shirt, the top half of his work jumpsuit hung loosely in a bundle around his waist and was stained with grease marks and inexplicable stains. I didn't think he'd be returning to work at the garage so soon.

He dropped his duffle bag by the front door. Glancing briefly in the hallway mirror as he walked in, he wiped the black smudge off his pointed cheekbone and passed a half-lidded look to his brother.

"Do I look like I know shit about guitars?" he spoke. "That was all Elliot."

That earned me a raised brow from Maria, who was leaning against the wall not three feet from me. The three of us had gone out for breakfast this morning in Noah's absence. Jasper seemed to be on speaking terms with me since then—however much he did speak, at least—and I hoped the stack of waffles I'd gotten him had something to do with that.

Guarded, Jasper asked me from the couch, "You play?"

"Just a little," I shied, watching him fiddle with the strings of the wooden Yamaha under his arm. "Sorry for messing with it."

Noah shot his brother a warning look, going to meet Maria's embrace. "Don't forget to take it home with you this time. I don't need the clutter." He gave his mother a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Maria scrunched her nose teasingly and mouthed at him, "Shower." He waved her off.

"Clutter?" Jasper scoffed, appalled by the idea. "Not like this place is can get any more bare."

"Clean," Noah pointed out. "Not bare. Clean. There's a difference."

He pulled his shirt off and disappeared into his room after that. Jasper continued strumming a soft tune until the sounds of dribbling water rang out into the air, more than likely the shower that Noah's mother thought he so desperately needed. When he finally came out again, he was in a fresh set of black clothes—cargo pants, a tight-fitting tank top, and a lustrous silver chain dangling from around his neck. I was starting to think that he was intolerant to colored fabric.

"Where do you think you're going?" Maria questioned, watching him dress into one of his many jackets. This one was oversized, its vintage leather gleaming in the sunlight that poured in from a nearby window.

"Out."

"Out?" She frowned. "Out where? You just got home."

Noah let out a breath. "There was an accident not far from Crave last night," he explained, and it felt like he was only answering the question for my sake. "Someone wrapped their motorcycle around a pole and killed two people in the process."

My eyes widened. Maria covered her mouth with her hands, unsettled by the mental image.

"Street racing?" I asked quietly.

"More than likely. Chains and I are meeting there to check it out. I'll be back in time for dinner." He brushed his hair back, shoulders sinking as he tugged on a pair of chunky ankle boots. "We'll uh—we'll go eat somewhere nice."

His mother argued, "Can't we come with you?"

Noah paused. For a moment it seemed as if he were actually considering it. But as he picked up his keys and pulled open the front door, the chance of that reality coming to fruition quickly fell to zero.

"Better if you don't," he said. "See you tonight."

And just like that, the beloved Vice President of the Stray Dogs was gone again. Walled up completely, dealing with problems that he didn't care to share with anyone. At least he had Chains with him to watch his back—the same person I knew would be able to keep Noah's head clear.

He still hadn't spoken to me about his uncle's death. I hadn't heard him mention the Chief's name at all since the funeral, not even once. I knew Noah was bottling that grief away, keeping those emotions tied down somewhere they wouldn't escape. But he'd already tried falling off a roof once. What exactly was he holding onto now to keep himself going, if not grief?

Justice? Hatred? Retribution? Or something else entirely?

It'd taken a little bit of time after he'd left before Maria finally popped the question. "What is a Crave, anyway?"

Finding humor in her choice of words, I replied, "A nightclub. It re-opened fairly recently, I think. Everything's renovated. It's pretty popular."

"But that sounds delightful!" she complained. "Can't we go?"

"I don't think Noah would want us around all of that right now. Besides, um... Jasper wouldn't be able to come with us."

The younger brother looked up from his guitar to turn me an incredulous glance. "That's supposed to be a negative?"

Maria rested her chin on her hands, looming over the armchair I was sitting in. "I've been cooped up in this apartment for ages. Can you blame me for wanting to stretch my legs? Don't get me wrong, this place is lovely, but I didn't come here to stay home all day."

"I'm really not sure..."

She chuckled. "Oh, Elliot. I sure hope you're not falling into the misconception of thinking you can stop me."

"Well no, but..."

"Come on. Wouldn't it be nice to have a little break after all the gloom this week? I don't think Noah would blame us for taking a breather." She fluttered her eyelashes. "Please?"