A dust covered desk sat neglected in the office of Teller-Morrow Auto Repair. John Teller had avoided the book work for weeks, knowing that the numbers held no good news. Only one of two garages in the small town of Charming, business had slumped along with their reputation in recent years.
"Bobby, do you think you can help me with some numbers this afternoon?" John asked as he walked into the dimly lit clubhouse which resided on the same lot as the shop. The clubhouse was home to Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club, and a beloved refuge for its members. The mismatched decor and smell of smoky liquor surely reflected that the space was utilized by a group of blue collar men approaching middle age.
A bushel of wild dark hair raised itself from behind the bar in response, "Sorry John" Bobby's words slurred "tomorrow might be a better day." He set a bottle of whiskey on the bar, knowing he needed more sobriety to accurately cook the books.
"Jesus buddy, it's ten thirty in the morning. Did you drink that all yourself?" John asked, noting that the bottle was nearly empty. A familiar baritone heavy laugh from the floor answered his question. He leaned over the bar to see his business partner and best friend Clay Morrow slumped by Bobby's feet. His salt and pepper hair was unwashed and greasy and a visible amount of stubble had grown across his face, covering his prominent chin and strong cheeks. Clay's red tired eyes gave away his drunken state and yesterday's clothes indicated that he'd spent another night at the club.
While their failing business had driven John to a state of constant stress, Clay seemed to be unperturbed and indulgent. Clay was a carefree bachelor, childless and happy with pure independence at 39. John, the same age had a wife with expensive taste and a recently licensed son with eyes on a used motorcycle of his own. It was no wonder that the weight of the shop and the club were heavier on John's shoulders. In the past their roles were very different. It had been Clay's idea for them to start the repair shop. It was he who put together a business plan and acquired the necessary loans while John was absent in favor of long rides and empty bottles. Twenty years young, idealistic Clay and John had happy days in the garage, gathering friends and customers, particularly popular among the motorcycle crowd. After a year customers turned into casual friends who became brothers once John had the idea for SAMCRO.
"It's been a long night for me and Bobby boy here. Should've seen this redhead, she might still be in the back if you want a peek." Clay's offer didn't interest his partner. John bit his tongue and left Clay and Bobby pouring themselves more drinks and laughing over things the redhead had done the night before.
Out in the garage the clubs prospect, Juice, awaited work with John. Juice was only eighteen and given the chance to prospect because he'd been good friends with John's son throughout high school. With a lot of heart, and no diploma Juice reminded John of himself at that age, except he'd had slightly more sense. Most recently Juice had stolen a 1967 Impala in an attempt to impress the club and be involved in insurance scams they'd been running through the shop. What Juice failed to understand was that the scams were done in participation with car owners who later split the claims with the Sons who later stripped the cars and reused the parts they needed.
"Boss I fixed the steering column in the Impala and brought it around to the back lot. It's under the blue tarp for now." Juice had been eager to fix his mistake, now aware that the beautifully restored classic was sure to bring heat. "What do you want me working on for today?"
John punished Juice with menial tasks most of the afternoon, and let him help out with a couple of big jobs. The day was uneventful, neither Clay nor Bobby made it out to the garage even once. At 5 pm, John dismissed Juice and hopped on his own motorcycle. The sun was high and the black leather seat of his soft tail was warm. He longed for the freedom of a long ride and curving asphalt but instead went straight home.
Their three bedroom house looked quaint and pleasant on the corner of Oxley Ave. The neighborhood was comfortable but not particularly flashy or rich, occupants of the ranch style homes ranged from retiree's to newlyweds. John rumbled into the driveway and walked in the door where he was greeted by yet another battle between Jackson and Gemma. Before John could catch their argument Jackson slammed his bedroom door and Gemma stormed into the kitchen. Her eyes flashed at John with an accusing glare.
"It's about time you got home." As if he'd specifically delayed himself to avoid them. "You need to tell Jax he's staying here. He's had dinner with his little girlfriend and her family three nights this week and just asked to go to the cottage with them. Can you imagine that? A weekend in the mountains with those bible-thumping hippies."
John could understand Jax's need to escape. Their house was small and thick with hostility for the past few months. John could also hear the rejection in Gemma's strong voice, scared to be losing her son who was only a couple years away from adulthood.
"Gem, he likes Tara. That's it. He's a sixteen year old boy, can't you let him have his fun?" His words were meant to be casual and persuasive but only infuriated Gemma more. "Besides if he's gone for the weekend we have some time for ourselves." She crossed her arms and avoided his touch. The only way to soften her would be to do as she asked.
John walked down the carpeted hallway and knocked lightly on Jax's door before letting himself in. He intended to compromise with the boy, possibly bribe him, anything for an evening of peace. Looking into his son's bedroom, John knew that was a lost cause, as the window was open with the screen popped out and Jackson was gone.
"Goddamnit!" John's shout resonated through the house as he slammed the window shut.
"He ran out again didn't he?" Gemma asked as John returned to the kitchen. "Damn kid." She didn't wait for his answer.
"Yeah well I wonder where he gets it." John's retort dug at his wife. They both knew that while Jax had inherited his father's shaggy blonde hair and light blue eyes, his boldness and headstrong attitude was all Gemma.
"Oh right. Great. Everything that kid does is my fault these days isn't it? Maybe if you were around more you could take a little responsibility." The edge in her voice dared John to fight with her. Gemma valued kinship above all else. Not just within the Teller home but extending to the club as her immediate family. She often cooked elaborate meals for its many members and hosted barbecues and parties for them all. But lately John had withdrawn, coming home late and leaving early. She didn't like being cut off from her husband and the club in this way. His secrets meant she was losing control as a guide in the decisions he was making.
John didn't take the bait Gemma dangled in front of him. Instead he quietly sat at the table and began sorting through the mail that awaited him. She too retreated, finishing the dinner she'd begun to cook during her argument with Jackson. Plating the meal, she set a dish in front of John as a silent apology for her harshness. John accepted by throwing a small smile her way.
The years may have aged John with a few crow's feet and his once sunny hair was now darkened to a dirty blonde with sparse greys, but his smile remained unchanged. Boyish and intoxicating, John's smile and laugh had been what first drew Gemma to him. Twenty years later it was rarer to see but still just as infatuating.
"Baby," she sat across from him "Did you talk to Clay about Chibb's offer yet?" Chibbs was one of the clubs newer members, a Scottish man who'd only moved to California a couple years before. John was unsure of how he'd ended up in Charming but he liked Chibbs. He had some shady contacts and yet was a witty and warm guy. John felt he was trustworthy. It was he who pushed for Chibbs membership at the end of his prospect year.
"No." His tone was that of warning.
"You've got to do what's best for everyone, John." Gemma pushed on "Luanne was by today, told me Otto hasn't gotten his cut yet from last weeks jobs. The cars aren't cutting it. That's small time stuff." This was why John had stopped telling her club business. She'd been pushing for John to let Clay move forward with Chibbs suggestion. The Scotsman still had contacts from Belfast, rich men dealing in dirty business. He'd offered to put his name on the line and set up a meeting with these men to discuss the Sons future.
John left Gemma's comments unacknowledged, finishing his dinner and silence before tossing his plate in the sink. From the table she heard him walk out the front door and felt the thunder as he started his engine. She walked to the window just into to catch a glimpse of his back as he rode away.