Chapter 6: SOME KIND OF SIGN TO ME
"You wanted to see me?" Cane stands in front of her open door; Jarry motions for him to enter and have a seat while she finishes reading her texts.
"Yeah, thanks for coming…You worked pretty closely with Sheriff Roosevelt, right?" Sliding into the seat, Cane nods uncertainly, not sure where she's going with the question. "Did he ever talk to you about any cases involving Juan Carlos Ortiz?"
Cane's eyes grow cold with anger. "Juice? You looking at him for killing Eli and Dr. Knowles?"
Shaking her head, Jarry realizes she's got a potential hothead on her hands; although all the deputies seen to be chomping at the bit to find Eli's killer and mount his head on their wall. Although she can whole-heartedly agree with that sentiment, running around half-cocked won't help shit. "I'm looking at no one and everyone, Cane. Reese wants us to follow-up on all the bad guys listed on Eli's jacket, and yesterday we found a file on Juice that was pretty much empty. I'm just wondering if it's worth a follow-up."
The deputy's brows wrinkle as he searches his memory for anything significant. "Nothing recent; I mean there might've been some shit between the two of them right after Juice and a bunch of Sons got paroled from Stockton. Hell, Roosevelt had me and Martinez arrest the guy for owning part of a weed shop - parole violation."
"Seriously? No offense, but that sounds more like harassment than law enforcement. Did you submit an arrest report? I didn't see anything like that in the file."
Cane shakes his head. "No, Roosevelt decided to let him go; didn't want to send him back to Stockton for a non-violent offense. Which I thought was kind of weird at the time since it was his idea to arrest Juice in the first place." He leans forward in his chair, his gaze intent. "If you ask me, I think he was shaking Juice down for something about SAMCRO. It was about the same time that the US Attorney was here conducting some investigation that they kept all hushed up. But then nothing happened and the feds left so I forgot about it."
There's something there; Jarry can definitely feel it. She's worked with cops who've gotten their jollies by dogging new parolees, trying to trip them up and send them back inside. But Eli wasn't one of those assholes; if he'd been dogging Juice, he had a reason.
A text pops up on her phone that immediately draws her interest. "Well, I'm going to go talk to Juice right now. You should come with me. But keep it quiet for now; I don't want to take this to Reese or Patterson until we're sure there's something there." Rising, she picks up her phone and a file folder, which she hands to Cane. "And take a look at these follow-up reports, we can talk about them in the car."
"You look like shit, Jax." Gemma glares at him as he walks into her kitchen where she's feeding the boys their breakfast. He bites back a cutting retort, mainly because he doesn't want to get into it with her in front of his sons; they're going through enough shit without their father and grandmother adding to the pile. And because he recognizes the worry and sadness in her eyes; it's not her fault that's he feels so goddamn lost that anger and alcohol seem to be the only way he can fucking cope.
He greets his sons with forced cheerfulness, kissing Thomas' chubby cheek before ruffling Abel's hair. Pulling out the chair next to his oldest son, he sits down and braces himself for another round of silent treatment. Fortunately, Gemma hands him a large mug of black coffee; he'll need to down a gallon of this shit to lose the goddamn hangover pounding at his skull.
"What time are you taking them over to daycare?" he asks; Margaret had texted him that her husband could meet with Abel this afternoon. Despite feeling like complete shit, Jax can't help but smile as he watches Abel line up rows of milky Cheerios from his cereal bowl on to Thomas' highchair tray - which his baby boy promptly snatches up and shoves into his mouth. Gemma, Margaret and the daycare manager had all told him about their problems getting Thomas to eat; apparently big brother Abel's got no such trouble.
Gemma pours more coffee into his mug; shit he must look that bad. "You know, I don't have anything going on today so I thought about keeping them with me. Go to the park, make cookies, watch movies…Sound like fun, Abel?"
Jax frowns in irritation; he'd fucking told her he wanted the boys in daycare. However, he glances at Abel to gauge his son's interest; at this point, he'll agree to anything that'll put even the smallest smile on his little boy's face. But it's as if she hadn't spoken; Abel remains silent, continuing to feed his little brother the cereal from his bowl. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" Jax rises and leads her out of the room.
"Goddammit, Mom," he whispers furiously. "I told you I want Abel to meet Margaret's husband. My son's hurting and maybe this guy can help." At her skeptical look, he loses his weak-ass control over his temper. "I'm fucking serious about this. Tara wanted them in daycare, that's where they go. If I find out they miss even one goddamn day, I won't trust you with them again…"
"Okay, okay…" Gemma throws up her hands in mock surrender. "Jesus Christ, Jackson. You don't need to threaten me. I'm their grandmother, I want what's best for them, too. And if you think that's some total stranger poking around in Abel's head then…Well, that's what we'll do."
Exhaling as his anger fades, he squeezes her arm. "Thank you."
She glances towards the kitchen before turning her gaze on him. "I talked to Unser this morning. He's been trying to use his connections with the sheriffs to find out where they are with the investigation, but so far no one will tell him a goddamn thing. I don't know if they're just keeping quiet or because they don't know shit - with those fucking clowns, it's probably that last thing."
She must've seen something in his face because her eyes narrow as she grips his cut. "What is it…Jackson, what do you know?" There's a strange desperation in her eyes that he's not seen before, but chalks up to the same rage-filled determination that's driving him.
"We're going to see Alvarez today. Word is that he wasn't too happy about us giving the guns to Marks and took out a few Niners to make his point. Happened the same day Tara died so we got to find out exactly how pissed he was at me…"
Sheer horror spreads across her face as her mouth drops open in shock. "What makes you think that this was some kind of revenge on you? It could've been some bad shit with a crazy patient from the hospital or it could've been some random attack. You can't start up a street war with the Mayans…"
"You've got to be fucking kidding me, Mom. Ever since Tara moved back home, pretty much every bad fucking thing that's happened to her was because of me, because of the Club. And this…" He closes his eyes as horrific images invade his mind - her blood soaked body in his arms, the autopsy photo of the multiple stab wounds puncturing the back of her head, the x-ray of her cracked skull... "Whoever did this knew exactly what to do to hurt me the most. And if it turns out to be Alvarez, well…I'm going to do more than just kill him. He knows me, he knew Tara. If he made her suffer to teach me some fucking lesson, I'm going to wipe out everything in his goddamn world."
"Jax, please." She grabs his arm as he turns to leave, her eyes wet and worried. "Don't do anything rash; you've got to think about your sons - they can't lose their father. Nero…"
"...will have to choose sides. Although I'm pretty sure where he'll land. He and Alvarez go way back. Look Mom, don't freak out over this. I'm just going over there to talk. For now."
Returning to the kitchen, he crouches between his boys. He squeezes Thomas' foot then swallows hard at the sight of Tara's beautiful green eyes staring back at him. Brushing away a piece of cereal sticking to his baby son's plump cheek, Jax plants a lingering kiss atop his head.
Then turning to Abel, he cups his oldest son's face and kisses forehead. "Hey buddy, I need you to do me a favor today. Margaret wants you to meet a friend of hers and Mommy's. It would be really great if you could talk to him because I know that when I'm really sad, I can talk to my friends - like Uncle Bobby and Uncle Chibs. Maybe Margaret and Mommy's friend can be your friend, too."
Something flickers in Abel's blue eyes and, for a split-second, Jax thinks he might've broken through, but then Abel turns his attention back to his cereal bowl and starts lining more Cheerios on to Thomas' tray. Containing his disappointment, Jax gazes at both his boys as he rises to his feet. "Daddy loves you both so much." Then nodding grimly at his mother, he walks out the door to start the rest of his day.
If Jax needed a reminder about the Mayans setting up a charter in Stockton, he gets it loud and clear as they ride to the designated meeting site; it's not as if Alvarez chose the Comstock location to save SAMCRO the travel time to Oakland.
Although Alvarez said it would be a couple of weeks before his new charter would be live in the port city, judging from the dozens of bikers wearing Mayan cuts riding the streets, Stockton already looks like home sweet home. Arriving at their destination - a run-down looking cantina swarming with Mayans - Jax orders Quinn, West and Montez to keep watch outside and for Tig, Happy and Ratboy to stay alert at the bar. Then Bobby and Chibs follow him to the private back room where the bartender said Alvarez's waiting for him.
Less than an hour ago, Jax'd told Gemma that any conflict between him and Alvarez would require Nero to choose sides. Walking into the dimly-lit room, he spots the Mayan President sitting at a large circular booth; it's more than clear who's sitting at his right.
Jax greets them with a nod as he slides into the booth while Chibs and Bobby sit down at a small table; their eyes trained on the Mayan soldiers standing by the door. "Looks like your Stockton charter's live." He accepts the shot glass of tequila that Alvarez slides in his direction. "Welcome to the neighborhood."
"I'll always be an Oaktown boy." Alvarez sips his Reposado. "I've already picked someone else to lead this charter."
Jax's gaze immediately rests on Nero; angry bitterness filling him that his "friend" wouldn't have fucking told him something as massively troubling like taking over the Mayan's Stockton charter. Especially after Jax had trusted him with his plans for his family; plans he's told no one else.
"It's not me, Mano," Nero tells him quietly; his dark eyes sad, as if disappointed that Jax would leap to the conclusion that he had.
Alvarez darts glances at both men. "I met the new Sanwa Sheriff yesterday. Apparently she thinks that my past issues with that dead cop and with SAMCRO make me a 'person of interest' in a double murder. Usually, I don't give a shit about what people think I've done…I don't explain myself to fucking anybody."
He rubs his shoulder as if it pains him - or as if remembering the brilliant surgeon who'd diligently extracted the bullet that'd torn through muscle and bone, setting aside her own worry for Jax and terror over the death threat she'd received just that morning. "The Sheriff asked me where I was that afternoon; I didn't tell her a fucking thing because she hasn't got shit on me. But Nero thinks you should know - so for him and for the doctor, I'll tell you. Me and my crew were at a meet with Lin and his guys. You can take a guess on what we talked about."
Jax narrows his eyes, as he throws back the tequila, welcoming the burn as it slides down his throat. "Sorry but you got to understand that I'd have a hard time believing a goddamn thing coming from Lin. Given our recent history and all."
"He's not asking you to talk to Lin." Nero interjects quietly. "I was there, too. And that's why I'm here now…hoping that you'll believe me when I tell you it's the truth."
Alvarez picks up the bottle of tequila and refills Jax's glass. "You know how I feel about Marks getting control of the guns. Fucks up the balance; gives Black too much power and hurts me and my crew. Our business issues still need to be worked out…But whatever my troubles are with Marks and with you, I'll settle those with him and with you - with the Niners and with SAMCRO. No one else…not the cops and, sure as fuck, not an innocent mother of two little boys."
Jax frowns at Alvarez's words stir something at the back of his memory. He stares hard at the two men; despite the differences they've had, he knows that he can trust their word on this. Slowly, he nods.
Apparently Alvarez takes that as his cue to leave; rising, he clamps a hand on Jax's shoulder. "I'm sorry about Tara, Jax. I really am." He nods at Chibs and Bobby before leaving the room with the Mayan soldiers following in his wake.
But instead of leaving, Jax sits rooted to his seat as Alvarez's words bounce around his brain summoning the memory of another darkly lit bar, another potentially dangerous confrontation, another brutally murdered mother of two young children…
"Someone went after one of my guys. Killed his wife by mistake…"
"Wasn't us." LaRoy replies simply. But Piney's on a mission; spewing his rage and his accusations that the Niners must've killed Donna because someone saw their "gangster SUV."
Despite the Niners' leader's cool demeanor through the old man's rants, Jax can tell LaRoy's patience's at an end. "Our business issues still need to be worked out…But if my need to hurt SAMCRO took me to Charming, had me killin' women... Do you think we'd be sittin' here talkin'? I'm tellin' you the truth. Niners didn't kill your daughter…"
Searching for Donna's killer launched a bloody street war between the Mayans and the Niners. Shit, he'd helped pin it on one of the Mayans in order to give Opie some closure; then framed the Niners to keep SAMCRO out of it because, in reality, the murderer was much closer to home.
If he's to believe the two men - which he does - then neither the Mayans nor Lin's crew could've killed Tara and Roosevelt. And Marks and the Niners have no motive; August Marks is smart enough to know that murdering Tara would enrage SAMCRO and destroy his new deal with the Irish (as fucked up as those Irish pricks are, they'd never countenance the savage murder of an innocent young mother).
Donna's death had been a mistake - a tragic case of wrong pace, wrong time; however, there's no fucking way Tara's death was any kind of an accident - the killer definitely knew who she was and what he was doing to her. Jax's blood freezes in his veins at the thought someone closer to home could be responsible.
"Jax…" He looks up to find Bobby and Chibs hovering above him then meets Nero's concerned eyes.
"I'm fine," he tells them all, sliding out of the booth.
"Do you still need me to meet you later?" Nero calls after him. Jax turns and faces the man who just prevented what could've been another bloody street war. "Yeah," he replies softly. "And thanks."
"What was that in there?" Bobby pulls him aside as his other Brothers strap on their helmets and start their bikes. "From where I'm standing it's pretty clear that it wasn't the Mayans or the Chinese who killed Tara. But you got this look…You think they're lying?"
Jax shakes his head; he really doesn't want to talk about this right now, he needs time to fucking think. "No…Just got some other shit on my mind…When we first hooked up with Galindo, I told Tara to get a safe deposit box for the cash. Gemma said that they talked to a friend of yours about cleaning it. Marco something…
"Marco DeNotti…Shit that was a while ago. You don't think…" Bobby wrinkles his brows in disbelief. "Dude's an old man Jax. Besides, the old geezer was crazy about Tara. There's no fucking way he could've or would've done that to her."
"I want to meet him." If anything, he's counting on the old guy to shed some light about the stacks of cash in Tara's safe deposit box, in case Rosen doesn't know or claims not to know. He's got no fucking clue what to expect or believe when it comes to his own lawyer.
Bobby eyes him questioningly then nods slowly. "He lives in an old folks' home in Lodi. I'll give him a call; we can swing by on our way home."
"Thanks, but I got some shit to deal with right now. Can you ask him if he can see me this afternoon? No offense, but I got to handle this personally." Bobby nods and steps aside to make the call.
Jax turns to Chibs and tells his VP to take over for the day - the guys have a lot of shit to do - and to keep an eye on Juice; they'd deliberately left the guy behind so he could continue collecting intel on Nick Reese and because Jax doesn't want the rat knowing more about their business than he already does.
After Bobby tells him the time and place for the meet with DeNotti this afternoon, Jax watches them all ride away. Ever since earning his Prospect patch, he's loved the thrill of riding in a pack with his Brothers, loved the oneness of the Sons of Anarchy. But now, like sitting at the head of the table, holding the gavel, wearing his President's cut - everything he'd ever wanted, or thought he wanted - he dreads it, maybe even hates it. The price was too fucking high.
He feels his cel phone buzz as a text pops onto the screen. His lawyer's ready to see him now.
"Something you forgot to tell me?" Jax tosses the stack of documents he pulled from Tara's safe deposit box on to Rosen's desk.
The lawyer picks up the papers, scanning the contents before staring at blankly at Jax. "Looks like Tara left you quite a bit of money. Congratulations."
"Cut the bullshit, Rosie. You walked away from SAMCRO years ago to chase bigger fish. It must've been a big fucking whale of a payday for you to come back now. The Club didn't hire you; neither did my mother. Who the fuck's holding your leash now?"
A tiny smirk tugs at Rosen's mouth as he leans back in his chair. "And if I don't tell you, are you going to fire me? Although, as you so astutely pointed out, I don't technically work for your Club, you mother or you. I guess you could always beat the shit out of me, but what'll that get you besides some temporary satisfaction?"
"Not that temporary," Jax snarls, a heartbeat away from shoving his fist into the asshole's smug face.
"Teller, believe me when I say this - I'm not out to screw you; actually, it's quite the opposite - the person who hired me, my real client, only wanted the best for you. And I'm committed to that." Rosen hands the documents back to him. "You can choose not to work with me anymore - that's your right, but you won't find anyone better…and I get paid either way."
Jax stares at the man he's known for most of his life; a man he's never been able to fucking stand but has always trusted when it came to helping him and SAMCRO. The asshole's right that Jax isn't going to find anyone better to help him navigate whatever shit the DA's office might throw in his path.
And, in truth, Rosen's the only lawyer he can trust with the shit he needs to do for his family. "Okay," he concedes. "But if you fuck with me, beating the shit out of you will be the nicest thing I'll do." Pulling another piece of paper out of his pocket, he slides it across the desk to Rosen. "How are you at family law?"
Rosen studies the instructions that Jax had written last night (before the Jack Daniels knocked him out) and nods. "Piece of cake. And I won't even charge you for it…except for the filing fees."
"You're a fucking peach, man. Call me when it's done." Rising out of his chair, Jax leans forward and extends a hand to his lawyer, who shakes it firmly. He's almost out the door when Rosen's voice stops him dead in his tracks.
"If you want to know who hired me…take some time to think about it, really think about it. Then you'll know."
Throughout the years, SAMCRO's done a lot of business with the Italians so Jax's familiar with the ruthless dons and vicious enforcers, but no one he's ever met would've prepared him for Marco DeNotti. Jax's not sure what he expected a guy who cleaned cash for the mob to look like but it wasn't the tiny, stick-figured man in an over-sized Chicago Bears jersey sitting alone at a long table covered by newspapers and magazines.
A huge smile spreads across the old man's face as he leaps out of his chair to greet Jax. "Bobby said you're Tara's husband. She talked about you A LOT," DeNotti gushes, clasping Jax's hand with both of his and pumping vigorously. "You're a lucky, lucky man."
Then as suddenly as it appeared, the man's smile and excitement vanish, his face crumpling with grief. "I heard what happened on the news." Motioning for Jax to sit down, DeNotti pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his eyes. "Who could have done such a thing? She was such a pretty girl. All she ever did was try to help people…She helped me with my arthritis. Even bought me this jersey, you see?" He pokes at it proudly. "We both used to live in Chicago, you know. Although not at the same time…I was born there; she went there for medical school. But you know that…" He dabs his eyes again. "Who could've done this?"
"We're looking into it," Jax replies simply, wondering how much time Tara spent alone with a goddamn Italian mobster for him to know so much about her. And evidently she did so without Bobby or Gemma knowing about it. "Look, the reason I'm here…"
"I know why you're here." The old man settles back in his chair, fixing his dark gaze on Jax. "I know what you found…"
After an hour spent with the mob's money man, Jax's head's spinning. On the surface, the old guy seems a little out his fucking mind - rambling back and forth about random topics - but Jax can tell the man's actually as sharp as a brand new switchblade. DeNotti may be known mostly for his creativity at cleaning cash, but apparently the old man's real talent lay in his ability to work the stock market like an ATM machine (legally, too, which was the real mindblower).
So in addition to laundering the cartel money for Tara, he'd invested some of it for her as well (under the radar to avert any attention from SAMCRO). He'd kept her investment profits in a blind brokerage account until she'd asked to cash it out for their family's move to Oregon, where she'd have the opportunity of a lifetime - neonatal specialist at one of the best medical practices in the country.
But of course, they never made it to Oregon. Jax grits his teeth, desperately trying not to get sucked in by the grief and guilt that'll be plaguing him for the rest of his life. Focusing on the old man's words, replaying them over in his head, he realizes there's something strange about the timeline. According to DeNotti, the day he gave Tara the cash was the last day he ever saw her; a couple of weeks later he'd read in his many newspapers that she'd been murdered.
When he and Tara had their fateful confrontation at the park, she'd been planning to take the DA's deal and go into WitPro. But why didn't she have the money with her? According to DeNotti, the cash's untraceable, she could've easily brought it with her; hell, she probably would've needed it since there's no way she would've been allowed to practice medicine. Yet all the cash and the savings account were still in the safe deposit box - and Rosen had the key.
And then suddenly the truth hits him with the force of an iron fist. "If you want to know who hired me…take some time to think about it, really think about it. Then you'll know." Holy Shit. Holy Fucking Shit.
"You'll find who did this to her right?" Jax feels DeNotti's black eyes boring a hole into him, a chilling expression on the old man's face. "Do what needs to be done?"
Jax nods grimly, still reeling from his stunning realization; he needs to get the fuck out of there so he can process all the thoughts bombarding his brain. But before he leaves, he wants the answer to something that's been poking at him since meeting the man who's clearly more dangerous than he looks. "I guess I'm just a little surprised you didn't suspect me."
DeNotti chuckles and shakes his head. "Nah, Tara loved you, kid; lit up like sunshine every time she talked about you. I've never seen anything like it in my whole life. And I knew when I saw you that you were just as crazy about her. Which is a good thing because if I thought for a second that you might've done this…" The old man, pushes aside the pile of papers next to him to reveal a wicked looking dagger. "I would've cut your fucking heart out where you stood."
"I hear you, old man." Jax squeezes DeNotti's shoulder on his way out the door. "I hear you…"
"This one's from Tara…and Tommy." His mom hands him a neatly wrapped box, shooting a surprised look at his little brother perched on Tara's lap.
"Happy Birthday, Jax." Tara watches anxiously as he tears open the gift, squeezing Tommy's shoulder as the four-year-old grins proudly.
"Wow! Holy shit…" Jax's eyes nearly fall out of his head at the sight of the scale model of his dad's Harley-Davidson FL Knucklehead housed in the small glass case. "Where'd you guys get this?"
"We made it!" Tommy pipes up, barely able to contain his excitement as he bounces up and down on Tara's lap.
"Piney helped us find a model kit and we put it together for you," Tara explains, finger-combing Tommy's blond hair.
Jax grins as he lifts the model out of the case and admires the perfect details; shit, she knows him well. If they'd given him just the kit, he would've loved it but most likely the parts would've stayed unassembled in the box; he's got more exciting things to do with his time. "I love it," he raves beaming at both his old friend and his little brother.
He's not the only one who loves the gift; after he finishes opening all of his presents, Opie and a few other guys rush over to marvel at the perfectly constructed model – chattering about the day when they each can own a real Harley and be able to ride all over the country.
It's the need for the bathroom that finally separates him from his prize, which he leaves in Opie's trusted hands. On his way back, he runs into Tara coming out of Tommy's bedroom; apparently all the excitement tired out his little brother. He talks her into going with him to get another piece of cake, but heading into the kitchen, they hear the spiteful voices.
"I heard she ran around for months collecting cans like a homeless person to get the money for that stupid present…"
"Well she should've used the cash to buy some new clothes. I swear she wore the same thing to school every day…"
"Tara Knowles has never owned new clothes. Her mom bought everything at the Salvation Army…
"Yeah, once I think I saw her wearing one of my old sweaters…"
"Well, now that her mom's dead, she'll probably be searching dumpsters for cans and clothes…"
He's about to tell the nasty bitches to shut up and get the hell out of his house, when Tara charges through the kitchen door to fight her own battle. Green eyes blazing, she spears them with a look that would've made him squirm. "You know, if you bitches used your feeble brainpower on school instead of checking me out every day, then maybe you wouldn't have to cheat so much." Whirling around to Jax, she forces an apologetic smile. "I forgot I have to leave early. Please tell your mom that I said thank you, I had a great time."
"Tara wait!" he calls out as she marches out the door. Glaring at the three red-faced skanks, he makes a mental note where to put the family of spiders he and Opie discovered the other day before running out to chase after his friend. "Tara you don't have to go. I'll tell them to leave; can't stand those bitches anyway. Mom made me invite them."
"It's okay, Jax." She stops and smiles at him - which always, always makes his stomach flip-flop and his heart beat faster. "It's almost time for my dad to get home from work; I have to make dinner."
He nods reluctantly, wishing he could talk her into staying, but he doesn't want to get her in trouble with Old Man Knowles (who's a total asshole). "Thanks for the Harley model, it's the best present I got today." He swallows hard as her smile nearly blinds him. "I know you usually don't like going to these things, but I'm really glad you were here." For years, Tara's avoided going to birthday parties - even for her pal, David Hale - to the point most of their classmates stopped inviting her.
But this year, she'd surprised him when she said she'd be at his party - unlike his dad, who's still in Ireland doing things more important than celebrating Jax's birthday. The sting of that disappointment must've shown up on his face because Tara surprises him again by pulling him into a bear hug. "Thanks, Jax," she whispers in his ear. He doesn't know how long he lets her hug him (and he hugs her back), but when she finally pulls away, it's actually hard to let go.
"I'm sure he wishes he was here, too." She squeezes his hand and beams him one last smile before turning to walk home.
The scale model of his dad's Harley that Tara gave him for his birthday still sits in its original case - perched on the dresser in his childhood bedroom at Gemma's house; the perfect gift from the little girl who knew how much his dad's constant absences had devastated him.
And even when Tara planned to disappear into WitPro with the boys, she'd left behind enough cash for him to start fresh once he got out of prison. Provided he even went to prison…Not long after Tara got out of Stockton, he'd overheard Lowen telling her about Rosen's successful new practice, how he's not lost a case in years. He doesn't know how or when Tara managed to do it, but somehow when he needed it most, he's got one of the state's most successful criminal lawyer on his side.
It's ironic that, given all the promises he'd made to take care of her, she's always been the one who's taken care of him - ever since they were little kids. Even now.
Sitting on his bed, Jax open the drawer to his nightstand and pulls out a rectangle redwood case he'd found in Tara's bags last night; it's a smaller version of the redwood strongbox where he'd stored hundreds of photos of her for years. After gulping down another long swig of burning whiskey, he opens the box - unaware that he's holding his breath until his lungs start to hurt.
The first velvet lined layer contains all the necklaces that he'd given her throughout the years; he finds the one he's looking for - the golden circle pendant he'd bought her when they got back together not long after she returned to Charming. He traces the warm gold metal with his thumb, remembering the beautiful night he'd given it to his beautiful girl - then his eyes catch the gleam of another bright pendant he must've overlooked last night in his drunken stupor. Missing its chain, the small platinum disc might've been easy to overlook, but Jax recognizes the necklace immediately even though it's been well over a decade since he saw it last.
"It's beautiful, Baby. I absolutely love it." He'd been searching the craft booths in Eureka for something special to give her when he saw the perfect necklace – simple yet incomparable, just like Tara. It cost him nearly every dime he made on the run plus all the weed he'd had on him, but at least the guy had thrown in the engraving.
Pulling out the silver chain, tears well in her eyes when she reads the inscriptions on the flat platinum disk. "Together," she whispers reading the engraving while he strokes her hair. "We're meant to be together, Babe." He drops a kiss on the top of her head. "That's what we've always said."
Nodding, she flips the disk around. "JT loves TKT?" She raises her eyebrows questioningly. "Tara Knowles Teller," he explains, lifting her hand to kiss her palm. "I told you that I'm going to marry you one day. That's a promise." Taking the necklace from her, he drapes it around her neck and locks the clasp.
The day she left Charming for college, she'd given him the gold bullet necklace that he's almost never removed; it'd been his link to her. He loves knowing that she'd kept the necklace he'd given her in a desperate attempt to keep her from leaving Charming, from leaving him. Lifting the pendant to his lips, he presses a soft kiss to the cool disc before slipping it into his shirt pocket with the golden circle pendant.
The contents of the box's second layer are equally devastating: a thick stack of opened mail held together with one of her hair bands - all of them sent from Stockton State Penitentiary; she'd kept all the letters he'd written to her during his fourteen months inside. Jax downs another long gulp of whiskey as he stares at the pile. There's no fucking way he can bear to read the words of his younger self gushing hopeful promises to Tara about the beautiful life he'd planned to give her and their family. Not now, probably not ever.
He shoves the box back into the drawer and tosses the half-empty bottle of Jack into the trashcan, not caring that it splashes whiskey on to the floor. Rising, he takes a deep breath, pats his pocket nestling her necklaces and walks out the door. It's time to say goodbye.
