She Used to Be Mine
"I take it from that hang-dog look on your face - no luck?"
Jax glares at Opie before hopping back on his bike; their newly mended friendship still feels a bit wobbly given that he's still fucking pissed that Opie and Tara had kept their break-up secret from him just to keep Piney from blowing a gasket and Donna's dad from shipping her off to a convent. If one of them would've just told him the truth, he wouldn't have fucked everything up so spectacularly.
And it doesn't help that he can't even find her to apologize. No one in this shithole town - not her old lady neighbor, not the half-senile owner of the bookstore where she'd worked, not the half-drunk idiot who now runs her dad's bar - could tell him a goddamn thing other than that she'd gone to "a really good school for smart kids." Great.
What's got him scratching his head - when he wasn't punching walls or people - over her abrupt departure is that Tara hasn't even graduated from high school yet; she's still got at least a month left in her senior year - what college would admit a student without a high school diploma? So after wasting a few days drinking and smoking himself into a bad-tempered stupor, he decided to ride over to Tara's high school to talk to anyone who might've known her plans.
When Opie had offered to ride with him, Jax almost told him to fuck off but then realized that Tara's long-time boyfriend might be able to point out any of her friends - mystery people, it dawned on him, that he knew jack-shit about. After all these years, it's crazy that he knows so little about her world away from him; none of it had mattered, not when he knew who she was deep down - nothing mattered except for when she was with him.
But she's gone now, and he'll do any and every fucking thing to find her and convince her that they belong together - including accepting Opie's help and stalking a bunch of redneck high school kids, who collectively didn't have enough brain cells to screw on a fucking light bulb. After over an hour of working his charm on every chick in sight, he realized there's no way any of those brainless morons could keep up with someone as brilliant as Tara, much less be privy to any of her plans.
"Well while you were flirting with the bumpkins, I called Mary," Opie drawls nonchalantly as Jax straps on his helmet. "Turns out mom ran into Tara not long before she left town."
Freezing in place, Jax stares hard at his friend. "Well…What'd she say? Did Tara tell her where she was going?" he demands hoarsely, mentally kicking himself for not thinking of Mary Winston first. Even though Tara's never been as close to Opie's mom as she was to Piney, apparently there was enough of a relationship there for Tara to talk to her before leaving town - which is more than he can fucking say.
"Mom said Tara got her diploma early - tested out of the rest of her classes. Tara told her it was too hard to stay in that school knowing that the kids who killed her dad got off and are back in class. I guess the school felt bad enough to give her an out."
Although that explains how she got to leave school early, it doesn't answer what Jax really wants to know. "But did Mary say where Tara went?" He can feel his chest tighten with anticipation, but the tiny hope that'd been bubbling to the surface sinks into a pile of shit as Opie shakes his head.
"Sorry, man. Tara didn't tell her. Just said she got accepted to a lot of schools and was trying to decide by visiting a bunch of different campuses…Hell, she could even move out of state."
Gritting his teeth as fear and bitter disappointment rip through him, Jax guns his engine then speeds out of the parking lot, not giving a shit whether Opie's ready to go or not.
"…I'm thinking about applying to a few schools in New York and New England. If I can get into an Ivy League university on a scholarship, I'd be crazy not to go."
"So I took your advice…I applied to a few colleges close to here. If I can get a scholarship, then I won't be far away. Isn't that great?"
Fuck. Her voice rings through his ears as memories with her shoot through his brain
…that stolen afternoon lying on the picnic blanket, basking in the sun-drenched vision of her…
…the night he patched in, sitting on the rooftop, her green eyes gleaming in the moonlight as she presses her soft lips against his for the first time…
Christ! Jax tries to shove aside the swarm of images that've been torturing him for weeks now. But no matter how recklessly fast he darts between cars and trucks or how dangerously close he skirts the edges of steep embankments, neither flirting with danger nor Opie's outraged shouts does shit to distract him from her face in his head or the enormity of his loss.
He really should let her sleep…after all those screaming orgasms, there's no doubt she's got to be completely wiped out. And so should he - given how relentlessly and explosively she'd fucked him dry; shit, he'd come so hard, it's a wonder he hadn't passed out each time. But no, every inch of him's still buzzing from the realization that he's actually with her, inside of her - that she loves him. Him. It's everything he's fucking wanted since the day he laid eyes on her.
Jax smirks to himself as he glances quickly around her bedroom; when they'd stumbled in here last night, he'd insisted on keeping her lamp on - there was no way in hell he'd be denied the sight of Tara completely naked, open and eager for him. His smug smile broadens as he admires her smooth, pale limbs entwined with his.
His dick swells harder as his eyes linger appreciatively on her plump, luscious breasts. Christ, she's so fucking perfect - more so than any of the hundreds of fantasies he's had of her over the years. Unable to resist, he leans over and licks a soft pink nipple - again and again until it's nearly as stiff as his cock, pressing insistently against her silky thigh. Stifling a moan, he buries his face between those lush mounds. Shit, he might just come from sucking on her nipples while she's still asleep.
But that thought and all others vaporize as he feels her fingers sifting through his hair. Pressing his lips against the wet and puckered tip, he stares into her melting green gaze while his whole body jolts with excitement.
"Hey there." She flashes him a drowsy smile, stroking his cheek as he suckles her breast - never once breaking away from her hypnotic gaze. Moaning softly, she tugs at his head until their lips meet for a long, wet kiss.
Jesus, his heart's practically beating out his chest. She's always been able to make his pulse race like nothing and no one else ever, but now - caressing her silky-soft skin, drinking in her intoxicating taste, gazing at her beautiful face - he's never felt such soaring highs. All because - after all the years of wanting - Tara Knowles finally belongs to him.
"I love you," she sighs, pressing her forehead against his.
"I love you, too." He pulls her closer, sucking in a breath as their legs tangle; his swollen cock rubbing between her thighs where's she's wet and ready for him once more.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she angles her hips - spreading herself wider in welcome for his eager dick. "Then fuck me again, Baby. Now."
A hungry growl rips from his throat as he devours her mouth and thrusts deep inside her - again and again - staking his indelible, bone-deep claim on the girl who'll always own him. "Mine," he hisses in her ear. "You're mine."
"If you got a death wish that's your fucking problem, just leave me the hell out of it," Opie snarls at him after they park their bikes in the TM lot. "I get it that you're pissed at yourself and pissed at me, but getting us pulverized into bloody roadkill won't help you find her. Any dumb shit can figure that out."
Ripping off his helmet, Jax returns Opie's glare. "Obviously," he snaps before stomping towards the Clubhouse. He and Opie may still be friends - the ties of Brotherhood run too deep for anything to sever them - but right now, Jax can barely stand the sight of him; it's too much of a reminder of his own blinding stupidity.
But Opie's not one to be shoved aside; he catches up with Jax, blocking his path like ominous tattooed tree. Despite whatever guilt he might feel over this cluster-fuck, Opie's clearly done bending over and taking Jax's shit. "Listen, asshole, did it ever occur to you that maybe I should be the one pissed off over all of this? How long have you been sporting wood for my now-ex-girlfriend? If Tara and I hadn't broken up, would I have been the one trying to beat the shit out of you?"
Clamping his jaw shut, Jax turns away from his Opie's probing stare. It's not the first time his friend's lobbed those questions at him; since their brawl at the cabin, Opie's tried to ferret out the truth about Jax's closeted feelings for her. But he refused to say shit; it's nobody's goddamn business what happened between him and Tara - especially after Opie tossed away his claim by choosing Donna.
Jax lights a cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke as his eyes fixate on the dark spot not far from the Clubhouse door where he saw Tara for the last time. Fuck, there's not a goddamn thing he wouldn't give to be able to take back all the shit he did and said to her. If only he could push some cosmic rewind button to that magical night they'd spent together; he'd wake up in the morning and stay in bed with her all day - just like he'd wanted - instead of running off like a goddamn pussy. And then they'd face the future together, come what may.
But he can't go back in time, can't erase what happened. Closing his eyes, he tries to clear his head of the burning anger and self-loathing; Opie's right, he'll never get her back by trying to punish himself and everyone else who isn't her. A loud blast of motorcycle engines announces the arrival of the rest of his Brothers - and by the grim looks on their faces when they approach the Clubhouse, something's certainly fucked up.
Straightening, Jax nods at Opie as they move to join the others. Looks like shit's starting to percolate with SAMCRO's enemies, and he owes it to his Club to pull his head out of his ass and get his shit together. But that means he's got to get Tara back, or nothing will ever be right again
"You're wasting your goddamn time," Gemma barks at him as he stomps into the Clubhouse after yet another fucking day wasted searching for a girl who seems to have disappeared into thin air.
Worried shitless that Tara had made good on her earlier goal to enroll at an Ivy League school on the East Coast, Jax had dispatched the Club's designated computer hacker to try and find her. Surely, there couldn't be that many eighteen-year-old college students named Tara Grace Knowles. He'd pounced when Juice's hacking intel revealed that a Tara Knowles had enrolled at UC Berkeley, California's answer to the Ivy League - it made sense that she'd choose it given all the time she'd spent there attending science camps and other brainiac-fests.
Unfortunately, no one in the registrar's office or in the science departments or any of the student dorms would tell him shit about her or any damn thing, and trying to find her in the massive student population was fucking impossible. You'd think that just one of those geniuses he talked to would've known the smartest, most beautiful girl in the world. But no…It was like beating his head against the wall again and again.
Ignoring his mother, Jax stalks to the bar and pulls out a full bottle of Wild Turkey. Clay better not have anything planned for them tonight because he's got big plans to get completely shit-faced. Again.
But Gemma's nothing if not fucking persistent. Marching up to the bar, she snatches the bottle from his hand and slams it down on the counter. "Look Jackson, you need to stop this shit right now. Tara is gone! It's time to pull your head out of your ass and remember your first priority - this Club, your father's legacy. Don't you ever forget that."
"Mom…"
Skewering him with a menacing glare, she smacks her hand against the patches on his cut. "Your life is here, Jax. Your future is here - at the head of that table." She points towards the chapel where one day he would sit in his dad's old chair, gavel in hand. "But you can't ever lead this Club if the men don't respect you. And they won't respect you if you keep making an ass of yourself chasing after Opie's used pussy…"
Hot rage blasts through him as he grabs the bottle and hurls it against the wall, startling his Brothers who'd been playing pool a few feet away. Ignoring their confused and angry shouts, Jax turns on his startled mother. "Don't you EVER talk like that about Tara again," he hisses through clenched teeth. "Or it's the last conversation we have."
Unable to deal with the hurt bleeding into the fury on her face, Jax grabs a full bottle of scotch and storms out the door, intent on heading up to the rooftop to drink himself unconscious. But as he slams the door behind him, an all-too-familiar crusty voice freezes him in his tracks.
"Are my old ears playing tricks on me or did you just threaten to take out your own mother?" Puffing on a cigarette, Piney steps out of the shadows. Judging from the knowing look on his face, the old guy heard every word of Jax and Gemma's not-so-loving mother-son talk and had something to say about it.
Jax rolls his eyes as his dad's best friend strolls towards him. "'Old ears' my ass," he mutters; the wily Vietnam vet could hear shit happening a mile away. "Nah, just a little family spat. It'll pass."
"I take it Gemma doesn't approve of you chasing after my son's girlfriend." Piney takes a long drag then blows the smoke into Jax's face.
"EX girlfriend," Jax snaps before he can stop himself. Shit, he's tried to avoid this confrontation. It's bad enough that Opie and the rest of SAMCRO found out about Jax's love for Tara; but unlike Opie, who really didn't give a shit because of Donna, Piney hasn't said dick to him since that fateful day at the cabin.
At first, Piney had directed his bellowing wrath at his son; he'd been beyond pissed to find out about Opie and Tara's break-up, almost disowning his only child after learning that Opie had torpedoed the relationship by cheating with Donna. But eventually blood ties won out, and Piney's stopped frothing at the mouth at the sight of Opie with his new Old Lady.
However, he's only extended that clemency to Opie; Jax's remained the shit under his shoes - as if the old guy knew about the awful things he said to Tara that sent her running from Charming and all of them.
Piney eyes him impassively until Jax feels himself starting to squirm like he's a kid again in trouble for doing some stupid shit. "What?" he finally barks out; it's been another bitch of a day, and he wants to be left the fuck alone.
"So you think if you find Tara, she'll drop everything and spread her legs for you," Piney scoffs, disdain dripping from every word. "Just like all the others, huh?"
The fury simmering in his gut ignites once again, and it takes every ounce of Jax's self-control not to drive his fists into the old man's sneering face. "It's not like that," he grits out instead, glaring murderously at the man who's pretty much been his father since JT's death. "She's not like that."
"You got that right," Piney growls, flicking cigarette ash at Jax's feet. "She's not one of your disposable whores. Maybe you need to leave her alone - let her be happy."
Leave her alone - let her be happy…Piney's words echo some of the rogue thoughts that've plagued him as well. Maybe Tara would be better off without him, a bad-tempered biker with zero prospects aside from inheriting a run-down garage and a criminal MC. But those doubts get blown to hell when he remembers his time with her…how radiantly she smiled at him, how tightly she held him, how fervently she said she loved him - again and again. No, he can never leave Tara alone; they belong together.
Closing his eyes for a moment, Jax can see her grinning at him on the day they met. "I can make her happy," he declares quietly, staring intently at the other man despite Piney's snorts of disbelief. "I will make her happy." He turns to leave, only to stop once again when Piney grabs his arm.
"Not so fast, Kid." Piney snatches the bottle of scotch. "I need you to do something for me - right now." Smirking as Jax scowls in annoyance, he opens the bottle and takes a swig. "Go to my house, there's some papers I need you to bring to me. They're in my den, top desk drawer."
"You got to be fucking kidding me, tell the Prospect…"
"I'm telling YOU, Boy! This ain't a request. Get your lazy goddamn ass on your bike and be back here with my shit in fifteen minutes or it'll be you - not the Prospect - who'll be scrubbing the shitter for a month. Got it?"
Rooted to the spot, Jax watches in disbelief as the other man stomps into the Clubhouse. What the fuck just happened? For a brief moment, he considers telling Piney to fuck off and ride to Lodi to get hammered in peace. But that would be a dumbass move that could earn him Prospect duty for longer than a month or worse; Piney's the Club VP, and insubordination is serious shit - no matter how fucking stupid, Jax had to follow the old man's orders.
"Jesus…" Walking into Piney's den, Jax shakes his head in disgust at all the shit thrown everywhere. He's no model of good housekeeping, but shit, this place's fucking gross. "Goddamn it!" he yelps in pain after nearly tripping on an empty tequila bottle then stubbing his toe against a metal ammo box sitting in the middle of the floor.
Tara would've never let Piney get away with this shit. Every time she set foot in this house, she ruled over the Winston men like a relentless drill sergeant; Jax had to had to fight like hell not to burst out laughing every time he caught Piney washing dishes or actually putting clothes in a hamper instead of just tossing them wherever. Sighing, he picks up the empty bottle and a half a dozen empty beer cans and tosses them in the trash. Apparently Jax's not the only one who misses her.
It takes him a couple of tries to open the top drawer, it's so crammed full of papers. Finally tugging the drawer out, he makes a mental note to have the Prospect come over here to oil the rails. "Fuck," he grouses as a bunch of papers fall to the floor.
Jax leans over to pick them up, only to freeze as he recognizes the neat handwriting on a small envelope. Holy fucking shit, he grabs the envelope and stares intently at the precise script - Piney's name and address in the center, and in the top left corner…
Stuffing the letter in his pocket, he picks up the phone and calls the Clubhouse. As if by design, a familiar gravely voice growls a not-so-welcoming greeting on the other side.
"You need to cover for me," Jax skips any pretense; the old man knew what he'd find in the desk. "I'm going to San Diego."
