Miguel
Miguel Galindo entered his Malibu beach house with his face buried in his phone; the hour was late, but business rarely slept. He glanced up quickly, thanked the housekeeper for holding the towering glass door open, and asked for Rosalie's whereabouts.
"Ms Rosalie is down on the beach. She wished to be left alone, sir," Alba informed him.
"The children?" He asked, acknowledging one of the armed guards with a nod.
"Upstairs. Fast asleep. They were out playing in the water most of the day," Alba said, with a warm smile.
"Thank you, Alba," Miguel nodded, "please keep an eye on them. Be available for them."
"My pleasure, sir," Alba said, "if there's anything I can get for Ms Rosalie, you must let me know."
Rosalie was sat a short distance from the house, and had been ever since she returned from Charming; far enough to feel she had moment to herself, but close enough to appease her bodyguard's request to remain in sight at all times. She pulled her knees into her chest in response to the subtle breeze, and her eyes lost focus as she watched the waves sift in and out, up and down the beach. A myriad of memories overwhelmed her mind; she desperately tried to digest everything that had happened. Opie's voice echoed in her ears:
It's simple. You're not alone. You're family. Someone I have to look out for, and protect.
I don't think you're okay. I think you're pretending, too.
Please. Let me be happy. Just a little while longer.
Whatever happened back there, I'm still looking out for you. I don't want you to worry. I'm not going anywhere.
Opie was dead. She'd felt the cool steel of his black coffin against her palm. Opie's children were orphans. Lyla, a widow. She thought about Lyla having to tell Kenny and Ellie...she thought about the day she would have to tell Abel and Grace the same thing, and just like that, all her good work trying to compose herself enough to go back inside the house...disappeared in an instant, and she cried some more.
She tensed, wiped her cheeks, and glanced over her shoulder at the sound of someone approaching, assuming it was Alba's latest plea to come back inside, with perhaps a different treat as a bribe this time. She was surprised to see Miguel, dressed sharp in a steel grey suit. She smiled as he passed her down a beer, and parked himself down next to her.
"So...San Francisco, didn't work out?" he quipped with a little smirk.
"No. Burned that bridge...again," she said, vaguely, and took a long sip of her beer.
"That sounds like a story."
"It's not a very good one," she scoffed, shaking her head lightly.
He looked at her, waited for her eyes to meet his, and said, "I'll listen anyway."
So, Rosalie filled in the blanks from leaving Charming behind, moving back to San Francisco, back in with her aunt and uncle, and everything that imploded from there on out, right up until this exact moment, sat beneath the stars on a beautiful stretch of million-dollar beachfront homes, casually sipping a beer with the son of a cartel leader, a man she'd never heard of a few months back, a man she now counted as somewhat of a friend.
Gemma
Jenna Greene saw their latest unwelcome visitors to the door, and stalked her way back through to the kitchen. She clocked the little boy helping his mother tidy up, and insisted, "Abel. Leave that. Go on see your Uncle Arthur. I need to talk to your ma alone a minute."
"Go on, bud. Thank you for helping," Rosalie whispered and kissed her son on the top of the head.
Jenna waited for the little boy to toddle out of the room before unleashing her frustrations, "you said the last lot was just that...the last!"
"How the hell was I supposed to know?" Rosalie replied, flatly.
"Kind of a dumb statement that, but I guess that makes me even dumber for taking it on," Jenna said, and started picking up the slack on the clean up, tossing paper party plates into the trash, while Rosalie neatly folded away a birthday banner, "should just leave the front door open really, little sign on the door, come on, roll up, conduct your bullshit investigations inside. You too, Sheila! You press your beak against that glass any harder you'll be going through it, you nosy cow!"
"What do you want me to say?" Rosalie snapped back, "they're only doing their jobs. They have to investigate any whiff of an accusation. They piss off every time."
"Every single time, aye? That is the point, Rosalie. It won't end. That woman will not stop!" Jenna ranted, "she's thrown everything against the wall, and nothing's stuck. Missing person's reports. Rocking up to their daycare and kicking off. And what's this latest bullshit? Missing medications from the righteous Teller-Morrow Household. Aye?! Let's pin it on the woman her husband tried to murder! Like losing a fucking baby wasn't torture enough-"
Rosalie dropped what she was doing and made her way over to her emotional aunt, she caressed her arms and pulled her into an embrace, and whispered, "hey, hey, it's okay."
"It's not fucking okay," Jenna said, "I should be the one cradling you. You should be off your tits on stolen meds!"
Rosalie laugh a little and picked at the bowl of smarties.
"And she picks today of all fucking days!" Jenna scorned, "happy birthday, baby girl, don't mind the strangers taking up all your mother's time."
Rosalie took a deep breath, and she said, "I can handle Gemma. I can handle bullshit CPS visits. I can jump through whatever hoop they need me to-"
"I cannot handle what she does next, Rosalie," Jenna said, starkly, "there is no end. There is no line. She knows exactly where you are, and that shit keeps me up at night, kid. She's like a fucking shark circling."
"I'm not afraid of her," Rosalie replied, "Jackson doesn't want his family anywhere near Charming until he...is finished doing what he has to do-"
"His daddy tried to kill you," Jenna reminded her, "you survived because you fought like hell. Not because of Jackson Teller. You take shit into your own hands. You don't wait for no man to save you. I raised you better than that."
Wendy
"I thoroughly enjoyed my time at the firm...increased billing by 40% in the first quarter...time for a new challenge..." Rosalie mumbled to herself and tapped her pen against her interview notes, pensively; her heart was only half in it, barely that; an administrative position that she was overly-qualified for didn't exactly get her juices flowing. She craned her neck to check on her daughter, still sleeping soundly in her stroller, and her son happily playing in the sand box with a new friend. Her heart thumped into the pit of her stomach when she noticed who was walking across the park, making a beeline straight for her, and her children. She stood up, sharply, and intercepted her.
"Please. Don't flip out. I'm not here to start any drama," Wendy insisted.
"Say your piece and fuck off," Rosalie hissed back.
"Okay," Wendy said, slowly, stunned for a moment by her semi-civil response, "I uh...I went by your aunt's house."
"That can't have been pretty."
"She threatened to back her car over me if I didn't get off her driveway."
"Sentiment's awful similar here, Wendy. Get to it."
Wendy reached into her bag and pulled out a thick packet of documents. She passed them over to Rosalie and informed her, "my lawyer has built a solid case for joint custody of Abel. Judges love a good comeback story. And your pristine holier-than-thou image is a little muddier now. Your shotgun marriage is now estranged. You had a documented meltdown at St Thomas' after I spoke with you, required bones be reset-"
"This is Gemma, right?" Rosalie interrupted her, wholly unimpressed with her presentation, "her next move?"
"This is me, Rosalie. A mother who desperately wants to see her son again. I didn't want to do things this way, I still don't. I told you as much before."
"She's using you, Wendy. Come on! You're nothing more than a pawn for her. Do you honestly believe she ever does anything for anyone other than herself? And do you honestly think, given what I do for a living, I'd forget to plug all these holes, and ensure that no one crawls through them? My children are protected. You have nothing."
Wendy's shoulders dropped and she threw her opponent a total curve ball, opting for complete heartfelt honesty, "I am so grateful to you. Okay? I'm not doing this to hurt you. Thank you, sincerely, for looking after my son, for getting him out of there, for putting him first, for loving him this much, so much you don't want to share him with anyone. I will always be grateful to you, but everything you are feeling right now, I have been feeling for three years. You can shut me out easy when he's three. What about when he's a teenager, and he wants to know who his real mom is? You can stop me getting to him. You can't stop Abel from finding me. Think about that. Think about him."
Jackson
Piney Winston's funeral was a quiet affair, conducted in a manner the man would've approved; Piney wouldn't have wanted a big fuss, any fuss at all; he would've been content with a raised glass, or two, or seven. Opie stood blankly before the small wooden box containing his father's ashes, and an empty hole in the ground. The Sons approached Opie's lonesome stance, and then hung back a little, granting their President a private moment with his best friend; a quietly heated, pained moment. Opie eventually stalked away from Jackson, unable to stifle his hatred and play his part; not today. Jackson watched his best friend leave, and he stewed in their heated words alone a moment longer. His cellphone buzzed.
"I'm a little busy," Jackson informed the caller.
"I'm a little busy too, Jax," Rosalie replied, shortly, "real busy dealing with these cops, and the people from CPS that keep knocking at my door."
"What the hell are you talking about?" he scorned, his attention snapped solely onto her.
"Oh, it's news to you that your mother is a vindictive psychopath? Or is this you?" she ranted, "change of heart? Go easy, Rosalie, but don't go far! You knew I wouldn't let Abel go without a fight so you did absolutely nothing to stop the shower of shit hurled my way, hoping it would all work out in the end, hoping we'd all get dragged back to Charming?"
"Bullshit," he scorned back, "I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm at Piney's fucking funeral right now! I am up to my neck here, Ro, burying lies, betraying my best friend, trying to keep everyone's head above water."
"Something had to give right?" Rosalie hit back, "might as well be your children."
"I will fix it," Jackson seethed, "Gemma will not bother you again."
Rosalie paused, and swallowed her spiteful response for a second, her attention was caught another way. He could hear his children babbling away to each other in the background. A small huff of laughter escaped her, and she told him, "she loves the tiger, by the way. Best present she got."
Jackson pressed his eyes closed at what felt like a shot to the heart, and he turned his back on his brothers. He took a steadying breath, started walking away, aimlessly, and he rasped, "oh yeah?"
"Oh yeah. She takes it everywhere. He's fallen in the bath a few times."
"What's she called it?"
"Blue."
"Blue?" he laughed, "she need her eyes tested?"
Rosalie laughed and told him, "no, it's Abel's favourite colour. She's sweet like that."
"Where'd she get that from?" Jackson joked.
"Oh, shut up," Rosalie scoffed.
Jackson's aimless amble through the cemetery concluded at a poignant headstone; a place where they'd both stood before, in what now felt like a completely different time, and believed they could trust each other the most.
I get it. Okay? All of it. And...I'm with you.
I need you, Jax. YOU! Not your mom. Not your guys. YOU!
Ever since I met you, Jax...I have felt everything for you.
I love you, Jackson. I'm putting my all into this, into you...into a future I want so bad.
A future he wanted more than anything, too. Jackson wavered and he told her, "Opie said...if it was you going into that hole, instead of Piney, if Clay had gotten his way and taken my family out...I wouldn't be seeing things so tactically."
She told him what he needed to hear, "you don't have a choice, Jack."
"I've always had a choice, Rosie. I just never made the right ones."
"Stop," Rosalie said, tearfully, as though this line had brought her back to reality, back to the point of this conversation, "nothing makes sense anymore, not like it used to. You know, if you told me right now, you're done...I would drop everything. I'd go on the lam. I'd go anywhere with you. I would drive our goddamn getaway car, Jack, but...you're a good man. You will never say that to me. You will never be done. So…I have to be. For our kids. I have to be. Please don't let anything drag me back there, Jack."
Chibs
Rosalie parked outside her father's house for a while, ducked low in her rental car, waiting for his return; every single flicker of activity down the street caught her eye. His bike was outside. No lights were on. No one answered the door. She could barely sit still. Eventually, she heard the sound of a tow-truck approaching and she got out of her car preemptively. Chibs got out of the passenger side, noticed she was there, and turned back to tell Chucky he'd never seen her. Chucky nodded back, profusely, declared that he accepted that, and then nodded happily at Rosalie, giving her a little wave.
She smiled back at him, as best she could, and then embraced her father, tightly. He let her go, prematurely, and gestured to follow him inside, wary of prying eyes. He closed the front door behind them, and prepared to get this over with, then and there, but she wandered through to the living room. He asked her where the kids were. Not here. He asked who had told her. Rosalie put her jacket down on the arm of the couch and told him, flatly, Rosen. Chibs watched her do so, and told her, definitively, that she was not staying. It was a risk...her coming down here, not part of the deal. Severed ties. Not cherry-picking the ones that suit. Not calling for chinwags whenever she fancied it. You're in or you're out. No half-measures.
"How did he die?" Rosalie asked him, emotionally, ignoring his snark, "there's a story there. Something bigger. Something you're not saying."
His jaw clenched, and then he told her, truthfully, brutally, "Pope needed a dead Son to placate his partners. If that didn't suit? He said...he didn't want another man to know the pain he felt...but if that was to be our choice, he'd take another daughter instead. Said...whose? Jax's? Mine? So...Opie stepped up. He took it. Opie...right in front of us...I wouldn't be standing here if it wasn't for him."
"Why was...why was he even in there?" Rosalie asked him, quietly, again by-passing a chunk of what he'd said: if Opie wasn't there, Chibs would have taken it. Her father would be dead. She whined, "it had nothing to do with him. He shouldn't have even been in jail!"
"I reckon Opie's been looking for a way out since Donna died. He's not been right since," Chibs said, plainly.
Rosalie blinked back at him, and scoffed, "that's it? That's all you got?"
"I gotta head out, get sorted for the wake. You need to leave."
Leave she did not. She watched Jackson open the back of the hearse, and the Sons slide their brother's coffin inside. Opie Winston did not need her to be there. No. Opie wouldn't have given a shit about his wake, he was reunited with the woman he loved. Chibs scowled and nudged Jackson, gesturing behind him. Rosalie was walking towards them. She didn't say anything. No one did. Not today. Jackson nodded and stepped back to give her a moment, signalling the others do so, too.
She tentatively stepped towards the black box in the back of the hearse. She placed a trembling hand on Opie's coffin, and exhaled slowly. It was real. She searched for something...anything to say, but all the words got stuck in her throat. She wanted to say that she couldn't waffle on for him, even if she wanted to...there was no digesting this. She felt Jackson's supportive hand on her back, and she managed to whisper, "thank you, Opie."
She stood back, and Jackson closed the door strongly. They all stood back and watched Opie's coffin leave the forecourt. One by one the Sons filtered off, back to the bar, back home to hug their loved ones a little tighter, until it was only Jackson and Rosalie frozen in place.
"I didn't think you'd come," Jackson rasped.
"I'm not here, Jack. I never will be again," she said, flatly.
"Yeah, you say that a lot."
She looked up at him, and said, sadly, "so did you, once upon a time."
"Right. Tell me one more time...everything's gonna be okay."
Her expression softened, and she said, "I believe in you, Jackson. We will all be okay."
"Yeah...Grace definitely gets it from you," he scoffed, and slid his hands into his pockets, tiredly.
Rosalie reached up and kissed him goodbye sweetly on the cheek, and caressed his face. He fought every impulse to take her hand into his, and instead smiled back at her.
"So glad you could make it," Gemma's sour tone pierced the air as she sauntered outside, a few wary Sons in tow.
"I came to pay my respects to Opie. I'm leaving," Rosalie replied.
"And running for the hills with your tail between your legs, again...that's respecting Opie? That's respecting the man who died for you?"
"You actually think I'm gonna take that on?!" Rosalie snapped back, smacking into Jackson's barricading grip, "the reason those kids are officially orphans, Lyla lost her husband, he lost his best friend? ME? I'M THE REASON?"
"Get back inside," Jackson demanded of his mother.
Gemma did no such thing. She kept barreling towards Rosalie, and scorned, "where the fuck are my grandchildren?"
"Safe," she spat back, "that's all you need to know. Back the fuck up!"
Had Gemma continued slinging her slew of bile purely at Rosalie, this might have gone a different way, but Gemma happened to mention Angel in a rather derogatory manner, assuming that was who she'd disappeared off into the sunset with. Rosalie elbowed Jackson in the gut, momentarily freeing herself from his grasp, and went for Gemma. Their fight brought everyone back outside. Long black talons scratched Rosalie's face and she retaliated with a swift punch to the boob. Both parties had to be pulled away from each other; Tig surrounded Gemma, pining her arms down to her sides; Jackson picked up Rosalie around the middle, kicking and screaming, and physically carried her away.
"She's not Abel's mother!" Gemma hollered, "you can't keep them from us, you uppity bitch! We will not lose anyone else!"
Rosalie
"Figured that wasn't Jenna," Miguel said, gesturing to the tender bruising and scratches on Rosalie's cheek, after she'd recounted the fight.
She paused, realised she'd zoned out on him, and stopped picking at the label on her beer bottle. She shook her head, and said, "no. I couldn't stay in San Francisco; it caused too much heartache. It has to be somewhere my kids and I can move on...cleanly. It wasn't just Gemma tugging us back in all this time...it was me...I was still half-in, half-out. Fed them tips. Had contacts listening out for APB's. Jenna...she told me to go, gave me a couple ideas where, and she told me if I ever step foot inside Charming County...ever again, we're done."
"Maybe she just needs time-" Miguel suggested, kindly.
Rosalie cleared her throat, and said, "Jenna speaks plainly. She never bullshits, never beats around the bush. She means it. There's no room for excuses or technicalities. She's black and white. Always has been."
"A funeral should give you pass," Miguel said, and draped his jacket around Rosalie's shoulders after she shivered for the second time.
She took her time before she surmised, "you know, this whole thing started with me wanting to find my dad, wanting my family. And...I got what I wanted. I had people promising me that they would never leave me. I believed them. I've learned real slow, like painfully, stupidly slow, that I'm the only person I can really count on. I will always be second to that fucking club." She wiped her eyes, and inhaled slowly to compose herself. She gestured weakly around and said, "thank you for this...again. I won't take the piss. We'll be gone before you know it, and I will never light the Bat Signal ever again. I swear."
"It's fine. There's no rush. I'm never here, anyway," he said, adding thoughtfully, "you've made Alba's year. She hates an empty house."
"Um...why are you here, Miguel?" Rosalie asked him.
"Potential investments, just passing through on my way back down south," Miguel replied, vaguely, "you should take your time, figure out your next move."
Rosalie sighed heavily, and quipped, "right...what plan am I on now, D? E?"
Miguel laughed, and suggested, "well, if you'd like, I have a few connections in Los Angeles, and San Diego. I could introduce you to some of them. Helena Smart down at Dunmore and Benning was particularly interested in-"
"Miguel."
"Yes."
Rosalie turned to face him fully and she assured him, "I'm fine. It was an accident. It wasn't supposed to happen. It happened. Your kindness, to date, has more than made up for it. And I am grateful, truly. But this mess, my totally uncertain, what the hell happens next...that's my own doing. You don't owe me anything. I officially release you from your burden."
He took her hand into his, and traced the scar with his thumb, and stated, "you are not a burden. You are strong, and loyal, and brilliant. You shouldn't have to start from scratch. You don't deserve to." She smiled and squeezed his hand back, as he declared, "the place is yours for as long as you need it. No expiration date."
She looked back at the empty beach once more time, and admitted, "I..I feel like I'm using you."
"Use me."
When she turned back to him, she noticed that his gaze had never left her. Another beat passed them by, and then he leant over and he kissed her. His hand brushed her cheek, found the nape of her neck and pulled her in deeper.
