CHAPTER 10: Normal

I should’ve known, honestly. The second the car slowed down in front of that familiar brick building with the little brass plaque and the fake “laundry service” sign, a cold knot twisted in my chest.

A speakeasy bar??

The tires crunched over gravel as he parked, and before I could even reach for the handle, he was already stepping out, walking around the front of the car and opened my door.

The air hit me first when I stepped out—cool and faintly perfumed with that mix of smoke and citrus the place always had. Like the scent clinged to the walls and refused to leave, even when the staff scrubbed everything down at dawn.

I leaned a bit closer to him before I lost the courage.

“Hey, Noah…” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “You know your dad doesn’t like you coming here. You’ll get into trouble.”

He stopped. Just for a second. It was a tiny pause—so small that anyone else would have missed it. But I didn’t.

“That’s if he knows.”

His voice sounded almost bored. He turned his head toward me slowly, giving me that blank cold look that always scraped something deep inside me raw. “But he won’t, because we’re not going to tell him, right?”

I opened my mouth to say something but the only thing that came out was a small breath.

“Right.”

“Cool,” he said with a nod, like he’d known exactly what I’d say before I said it. Then his hand slid around my waist.

“Come on.” He guided me forward, steering me toward the entrance hidden behind the fake dryer units.

His friends walked ahead of us, laughing too loud, already hyped like nothing in the world could ever touch them. Like rules didn’t apply to them. Maybe they really didn’t. Maybe that was the difference between them and me—they crashed into consequences and somehow came out cleaner but if I did the same I would end up without a bone intact.

Inside, the lights were dim in that aesthetic way—warm amber glows bouncing off polished wood, old movie posters on the walls, and the hum of low music filling the spaces between conversations. I’d been here before, more times than I want to admit, and every time I walked in, a rush of memories stabbed at me. Good ones. Bad ones. Ones I pretended didn’t matter but absolutely did.

Noah’s hand tightened at my waist as he leaned in slightly, just enough for me to feel the possession in the gesture.

“You remember the routine,” he muttered, almost to himself.

I swallowed.

Yeah, I remembered it.

Walk in calm.

Smile so his friends don’t think anything is wrong.

Laugh at their jokes.

Don’t correct anyone.

Don’t complain.

Don’t say you’re tired.

Don’t say you’re uncomfortable.

Don’t draw attention.

Don’t embarrass him.

Always “don’t,” never “do.”

As we stepped further inside, the bartender gave Noah a nod of recognition. It made irritation prick up inside me, but I shoved it down. I was tired of looking dramatic.

“This place hasn’t changed,” Noah said, tugging me slightly closer like I was drifting. “Still looks good, right?”

I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure what I was agreeing to. The place? Him? Us?

Probably all of it.

Probably none of it.

We moved deeper into the bar, his friends scattering toward a booth like kids let loose in a candy store. I walked a little slower behind them, feeling the weight of the day press on me from every angle.

Noah’s fingers pressed into my hip as he guided me toward the booth his friends had claimed.

“Sit,” Noah murmured against my cheek, his lips brushing my skin in a quick kiss. I forced a smile and slid into the booth.

He sat beside me, thigh pressed against mine.

His other friends piled in next, their laughter bouncing off the walls as they squeezed into the booth. Someone pulled another chair from a nearby table. While another slapped the table and shouted something about shots. The same messy routine every time.

I let my hands rest in my lap, fingers twisting together, trying not to let the nerves show on my face.

Trying not to give out the fact I didn’t expect to belong.

Soon, they started talking and this time it wasn’t the usual light gossip or stupid jokes they used to throw around. No. This was different and it always started the same way, with someone lowering their voice just enough to make the conversation feel exclusive.

“Yo, Noah, did you bring the thing?” one of the guys—Leo, I think—asked, leaning forward with a grin.

I felt Noah shift beside me, the smallest movement, barely noticeable unless you were pressed up against him like I was.

“Relax,” Noah said. “It’s handled.”

Someone else snorted. “Man, last time you said that, we almost got…”

“Shut up,” Noah cut in, but there was a faint smirk tugging at his lip. “This time it’s clean.”

A girl with bright red braids leaned across the table, lowering her voice dramatically. “So… you guys really wanna try that new stuff tonight? Chris said it hits harder than the last batch.”

God, not this again!

Noah’s hand slid onto my thigh under the table, his fingers drumming lightly against my skin—a silent cue for me to soften my expression. So I did. I stared straight ahead, trying to look indifferent, like this was all perfectly normal.