Chapter One
I was just guessing at numbers and figures, pulling the puzzles apart
Questions of science, science and progress
Do not speak as loud as my heart
But tell me you love me, come back and haunt me
Oh, and I rush to the start
-Coldplay
Dylan brought her coffee mug up to her lips and leaned back in her chair. Her eyes ran over the last few lines of her editorial piece, which was also due in her editor's inbox in about…three minutes. With one last scan, and a self-satisfied nod, she hit save one last time, and then sent the email off to Nick.
He was well-versed in the way she operated anyway, so it wasn't like he was sitting there, tapping his foot in impatience. She always delivered. The delivery just tended to come right at the last minute.
She was not, however, anticipating a response ten seconds later.
"Shaw!"
Dylan's head snapped up at the sound of Nick's voice, only to find him hovering outside his office with a smirk on his face. Her piece was done. It was done on time. And there was no way he'd even had a chance to open her email, so where the hell was the fire?
Nick sure didn't waste any time, and he waved her into his office now, like whatever he had to say to her, it literally couldn't wait another second. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling, but still obliged him, pushing out of her chair at her workstation and headed over to her editor's office. He gestured to his open door with a flourish, towering over her as that smirk on his face only deepened.
So damn impatient when he wanted something, just like he always was.
"What's up, Nick?"
She didn't even bother sitting down because there was still plenty of work to do at her desk, and hopefully, he wouldn't keep her too long with his not-so-subtle reprimand about cutting her deadlines close by a nose. And unfortunately for her, he pressed a tight smile on his face as he passed her a folded newspaper. She knew that smile - and it meant that whatever he had to say was something she really, really wasn't going to like.
Nick tipped his chin to the newspaper in her hand. "I'm sure you've seen that particular headline by now."
Dylan unfolded the paper, and glanced down at the headline of yesterday's Los Angeles Times. Her heart slid right into her stomach as her eyes drifted over the words: "Sons of Anarchy MC Vice President Arrested in Suspected Hit on President of Rival Gang."
When her gaze flitted over the suspected murderer's mugshot, with its grainy focus and even grimmer purpose, tears pricked her eyes. She sucked in a shaky breath, but then she swallowed all that down, focusing on the matter at hand, and the fact that she had a pretty good idea where Nick was going with this.
"Yeah," Dylan murmured, her voice sounding a little more foreign to her now than it did before. "I've seen it."
She'd seen it this morning over a cup of coffee as she skimmed her Google alerts, and then she immediately burst into tears at the sight of her former next-door neighbor's mugshot splattered across her iPad screen.
The tears had shocked her - they still shocked her, but he just looked so different, so adult, and all man with his long, scruffy beard and stick-straight brown hair that fell past his shoulders. He'd always been the tallest and the brawniest one of their group growing up, and that clearly hadn't changed. Underneath all that scruff and all that brawn, the baby face of her childhood friend was still in there somewhere, but it was his eyes that had really stunned her the most. She remembered soft, thoughtful brown eyes - the eyes staring back at her in that mugshot were hard and unfeeling, like the charges he faced were just trivial. Like he wasn't sorry about it at all.
She'd been dreading this current conversation ever since she'd skipped across that headline, which was also probably why she'd procrastinated on her latest assignment until the very last minute to put this off for as long as humanly possible. Obviously, to no great success.
"I'm sure you know what I'm gonna say next," Nick told her with a sympathetic smile. "But the chiefs upstairs want a profile on this guy, and I already told them nobody but you is flying over there to do it."
Dylan's lips parted to protest, but Nick held up a hand as he leaned back against his desk, kicking his feet out leisurely against the floor like they were just having a casual conversation here, and then he pushed up his sleeves like he was gearing up for a fight.
"Listen, Dee -"
Her eyebrows lifted at that, and he immediately held up both hands, his lips pulling apart in an apologetic grimace. He knew better than to throw that in her face right now, to stoop that low and play on a history that they'd more or less set behind them.
"Sorry, Shaw," Nick tried again, this time a little more cautious, and he pushed his glasses up on his nose as he spoke. "Alright. Alright. I know this isn't exactly an ideal assignment for you. And I know we typically don't care too much about what's going on in the West Coast unless it goes big, and this shit went big, Shaw. I saw it on CNN this morning. MSNBC too. This is bigger than just the LA Times over there. The chiefs upstairs want this story, and they don't just want a story, they want the story. They want this guy's life down on ink - the ups and the downs, what the hell went wrong in his life that he ended up with handcuffs around his wrists for the murder of rival MC's president. They're seeing this as a perfect opportunity to highlight not just organized crime in this country, but the culture that predicates it and nurtures it. Or, at least that's the bullshit they fed me this morning when they threw this my way."
Fine. The magazine was well within its rights to want a story like that. This could be a knockout assignment for someone too - as long as that someone wasn't her.
"Nick, you know I can't do it."
He nodded tersely, lifting his hands again before folding his arms around his chest. "I told Mark and Graham about your brother already -"
Dylan's lips parted yet again to protest, but he held up a hand in solidarity.
"I know, okay? I know you didn't want them, or anyone else for that matter, knowing about all that, but it is what it is. There was no way around it because when you write this profile, you gotta disclose that your brother's the - shit, what's that called again? The sergeant at call?"
She huffed out a tense laugh and shook her head. "Cash is the sergeant at arms."
"Right," Nick just shrugged. "So, like I said, when you write this profile, you gotta disclose that your brother's not just a member, but a high-ranking officer. But, I think, if you just focus on your subject and his life and his story, and not make it about your brother or the club - I mean, I know you'll have to talk about club culture, but you're smart enough to know how to skate around that grey area when it comes to that. But honestly, Shaw, it's gotta be you. There's no one else here that knows that town like you do, or knows anything at all about that club, and Jesus, you know him. You freakin' lived next-door to the guy for, what, ten years?"
"Seven," Dylan corrected with a heavy sigh.
"Exactly," Nick nodded. "Seven years. The thing that might make you the most biased to this guy, Shaw, is actually the thing that makes you the most credible reporter to do it. I mean, you really want me to send someone else who doesn't know him like you did? Who just sees his rap sheet and sees him as a biker gangster and a criminal? Is that what you really want?"
Dylan pushed out a sigh, her heart already tightening in hopeless resignation. No, that wasn't what she wanted. Anyone else would just paint him as a monster and a killer, no real questions asked. He wasn't a monster. Maybe he really was a killer, if anything in those articles she'd read was true, but he wasn't a monster.
His eyes in that mugshot told a different story, and that was what both terrified her and spurred her to get on that plane. If he had turned into a monster, if the club had done that, if life had done that, it was hard to imagine any of that was really what he'd wanted. And if that was really the case, he had a story that needed to be told.
But going back to Charming for any length of time felt a little bit like a punishment all on its own.
"I know you don't wanna go back there, but I think you have to. I mean, I'm telling you you're going, but you know what I mean. This might be the only chance you're ever gonna get, and I think you should take it."
Dylan swallowed back the mounting dread and the soul-crushing panic threatening to take hold of her throat. "I can't imagine he's even gonna agree to talk to me. Or anyone else in town. And no one even remotely connected to the club is gonna talk to me, Nick. You have to know that."
And the reasons why no one even remotely connected to the club would want to talk to her were just multiplying exponentially by the second.
"Well, I guess you just gotta start at the source and work your way through it, like you always do. You've got plenty to start with anyway from what's already been reported - and you used to be friends with his wife, right? Maybe that's another place you gotta start."
"Right," Dylan huffed. "I'm sure Donna's just gonna love me showing up outta nowhere, after all this time, poking around and asking questions about what her husband was doing at an escort service's main house in the middle of the afternoon."
"Well, that's where he was, right? What he was doing there earlier in the day is pretty damn obvious, too, and I suppose I can see why his wife might not appreciate those kinds of questions…and the kind of questions it would just bring up about their marriage and how long he'd been making house calls at that place, but I want you to tell his story, Shaw. His marriage is part of that story too."
Dylan's eyes flicked up to him in annoyance. "Some things should be off-limits."
He just shrugged again. "Maybe that's true. But starting at Diosa might be as good a place to start as any if you run into interference from his wife or anyone in the club."
From the little bit Cash had told her in the last few years about the club's business dealings, the club had a 50/50 cut of Diosa's earnings, so it was likely that showing up at that escort service's "office" of operations would just lead to another door slammed in her face. After all, it was technically the scene of the crime.
"I will say, though, just focus on Winston. Talk to his wife if you can - maybe see if you can get one of the girls at Diosa to spill on how often he'd been going there before all that went down with the guy he killed, but that's it. You're right - no one else in the MC is gonna talk to you, and you don't need a quote from any of them anyway. I don't want you putting yourself in a tight spot if you don't need to. But if you talk to any of them about anything not related to this assignment…I guess that's up to you, isn't it?"
Now, Dylan's chest heaved heavily as her eyes pinned Nick to his desk. Nick's hands shot up in the air in defense.
"Hey, I'm just stating the obvious here, okay? And before you ask, yes, I did disclose to Mark and Graham that you used to -"
"Nick," Dylan bit out. "That was completely out of line. You had no business telling them that without talking to me first."
He just threw his hand up in the air in frustration. "What do you want me to do here? You're going over there to write this profile. There's no question about it, Shaw. You have to do it, and we both know that. All I did was cover our asses ahead of time and get all the okays and check off all the boxes before you hop on that plane. You're connected to three of the highest-ranked members of that MC, whether you like it or not, and whether you wanna admit it or not. The chiefs needed to know that you lived next-door to the subject of your profile, and they also really needed to know about your brother, and about you and -"
"Nick," she growled. "I understand what you're saying. I really do. You win, okay? I'm going. But I have to draw a line somewhere, and that's where I'm drawing the line. And you're right. I am going to get on that plane and go to Charming because I just can't let anyone else write about him and give them a chance to make him look like some kind of evil, bloodthirsty monster."
"And if he is an evil, bloodthirsty monster?"
Dylan blew out a heavy sigh. "No matter what the truth is, I'll get it, and that's what will go to print. You know that."
"I know," Nick allowed with a tight smile. "And I'm sorry if you feel pushed into this or like I'm not giving you a choice here, but well…I don't think you really have a choice."
Nick, of all people, knew what had happened. He knew how her heart had been shattered, with its broken shards scattered all across the country from Charming to Boston. He knew that Charming was the last place on earth she ever wanted to step foot in again. It didn't matter if her brother still lived there and had the kind of roots in that town that ran deeper than blood. She'd never wanted to go back, at least not since she was 17. But now, 13 years later, there was just no getting around it.
She had to go back.
If anyone was going to write about Opie, and give him the chance to tell his own story the way he wanted to, it was going to be her. They'd start with the fact that he'd murdered Marcus Alvarez in the middle of the afternoon when Alvarez was alone in a room with some escort at Diosa, and then they'd just have to work their way backwards.
If he even wanted to talk to her.
But she'd try. Even if those old ghosts that trailed after her every single day decided to rear their ugly heads.
And she had questions…lots of questions, just based on what had already been reported. Like, if Samcro and the Mayans were really still rivals, like all the news outlets implied, what was the Mayans' president doing at a Samcro owned and operated establishmentlike that? And if they weren't rivals, what reason did Opie even have to murder Alvarez in the first place? She could only imagine the upheaval both clubs were wading through right now, and the imminent and certainly inevitable war that had to be coming, if it wasn't already underway.
On second thought, maybe going back to Charming right now really wasn't the smartest idea. But she'd also navigated her entire journalism career on a healthy mix of both smarts and instinct. And instinct told her there was a story here. A story that needed to be told. Even if it meant going back to a town that held so much pain and so much heartbreak.
"Look, Shaw," Nick started again. "Any of these potential conflicts of interest are only gonna be an issue if you make them one. Mark and Graham are good with it, as long as everything that needs to be disclosed is disclosed, because you haven't had any contact with those guys in years except for your brother, and your brother's not the subject of this piece. You can do this, Shaw, because you're the only one who can. You're the best fit. You know the town. You've got history with that MC. You've got history with your subject. And you wanna know what else?"
Dylan pushed out a heavy sigh. She almost didn't want to know, but he'd just tell her anyway. "What?"
Nick's lips lifted at the corners in a sly grin. "You mentioned you didn't think Winston would wanna talk to you. Well, you should know that after I talked to the chiefs upstairs this morning, I made a few calls, and was very surprised to learn that Winston's actually been in holding for at least a week - Charming PD was able to keep his arrest under wraps, but when it hit the news, it caught on like wildfire. And wouldn't you know it, all I had to do was drop your name with one of the nice officers I spoke with in Charming, and that got Winston's attention pretty quickly. Seems like you're not quite as forgotten over there as you think you are. Now, you still have to jump through all the right hoops, but he's gonna put you on his visitation list, Shaw. All you gotta do is fill out the paperwork and you're in."
It was that last part that carried her all the way back to her desk in a daze. There was a mountain-high to-do list just starting to take shape in her mind, but for now, she just stared absentmindedly at her computer screen, which was now flooded with all the emails she'd missed in the time she'd just spent in her editor's, and ex-husband's, office.
She drummed her fingers over her mouth anxiously as her mind skipped over the laundry list of people she'd soon be face to face with when she went back to Charming, each face that flashed through her mind more painful than the last. Of course, there was one face she couldn't linger on for too long. That was pain incarnate, and a heartbreak that had left an aching, jagged scar right across her chest.
Cash hadn't told her much about him over the years, mainly because he knew how much it would wound her, but the little bit he'd told her was too much. Sooner or later, she'd have to reconcile that heartbreak because she'd have to look him in the eye, literally, and probably as soon as her plane landed.
Nobody in Charming, save for Cash, was going to be happy to see her after all this time. And nobody, especially him, was going to be happy about her reason for coming back. She'd be surprised if they didn't get their pitchforks ready to go as soon as they found out she was back and what she was doing there.
But if Opie wanted to talk to her, if he was willing to at least answer some of her questions and cooperate enough to give her some rope to write this profile in a way that was fair and balanced, then she needed to give him that chance. She owed him that much.
And maybe she owed it to the kids they'd all used to be. To their hopes and to their dreams and to their futures, that had been mostly crushed by life and circumstance. Those hopes and dreams and futures had been real to them then, when the whole world was a promise, not a disappointment. When they were just kids, messing around on the basketball court, driving around in Opie's dad's truck and getting high because they were all just so badass and cool back then, just living each day like it was both the best and the last they might ever have together.
She'd gotten everything she'd ever wanted, when she was just a stupid kid, with a hope and a dream that had actually become a reality, and that hope and that dream and that reality had been taken from her just as quickly.
Life had been sweet back then, until it wasn't.
But, regardless of what had happened in between the time when they were 10, to where they all sat now, 20 years later, Opie still held a place in her history, even if that hardened, stoic man in the mugshot was lightyears away from the sweet boy who'd been her next-door neighbor and childhood friend.
Somewhere along the way, everything had spiralled out of control. Had life really jaded them all so much that Opie was sitting in jail for murder and just the thought of having to go back to town nearly made her break out in hives? What had happened to them? Where had everything gone so wrong?
It would be a miracle if anyone besides her subject was going to want to talk to her, or even see her, for that matter.
But one person in Charming did still want to talk to her.
And one was enough.
1995
Ten Years Old
Dylan hitched both hands on her tiny hips, surveying her new bedroom with scrutinizing dark eyes, and she huffed.
Pink.
The whole stupid thing was covered in pink paint.
What was her dad thinking, giving her this stupid, pink room? It was bad enough he'd made them leave Houston so fast they'd barely had time to even pack all their stuff, and now, he was forcing this room on her that looked like a Barbie had thrown up all over it.
It's okay, he'd told them, we just need a fresh start. That's all this is, guys. We need a change of scenery. An adventure. How's that sound?
Well, it had sounded pretty dumb to her then, and it was looking really dumb now.
"Hey, Dylan?" her brother's voice called out to her from across the hall. "Did you hear that?"
She just shrugged, even though he couldn't see her. Sometimes, he seemed to feel her reactions and her thoughts without her needing to say them out loud. There were plenty of times when they didn't even need to talk to know what the other one was saying, and that always drove their dad nuts. Their mom usually thought it was pretty funny, but that didn't matter now anyway.
"Did you hear that?" Cash called out again.
Dylan shrugged again, but this time, she stilled long enough to listen. It was pretty faint and muffled, but it was there. That familiar, comforting sound of a basketball bouncing up and down on cement. And then, there were voices mingled in between the sharp bouncing sounds too. Those were definitely boy voices, but beggars couldn't be choosers.
Her dad, in his obvious stupidity and just general dumbness, bought them a house that didn't have a basketball hoop. That was a horrific offense if she'd ever seen one, and it just made all this worse. If they had to just pack up and leave because he said they had to, then he could've at least found them a house that had a basketball hoop. Would that have really been so freaking hard?
Still, the bouncing hadn't stopped. In fact, it just got louder, the closer she got to Cash's window, and he flashed her an excited grin as he pointed to the two figures running and jumping around in the driveway next door.
"We can just go play with them!" Cash announced, like that was suddenly the answer to all her problems.
"Yeah, but we don't know them."
"So what?" Cash just shrugged, his eyes following the two boys out in the driveway. "I bet they're in our grade. We might as well go over there and say hi. Maybe they'll let us play with them. Two on two or something. Maybe we could just play horse if they don't wanna do that - oh! Or maybe school?"
"I don't wanna play horse with you again," Dylan groused. "Not if you're gonna be a big jerkface about it."
Cash just batted a hand at her. Of course, he'd been a big jerkface about it because he'd gotten mad at her for beating him for, like, the millionth time in a row, but that was no big deal if he had new friends to play with now. A little flicker of jealousy flashed through her - he'd go over there and play with those boys, and then they'd be playing together all the time, and she'd have no one to play with then.
Fat chance of that happening.
"Okay, fine," Dylan changed her tune pretty quickly as those thoughts churned through her. "Let's go. But I wanna play two on two. Not horse."
"Why?" Cash nudged her. When she just scrunched up her nose at him, he lifted his eyebrows playfully.
"'Cuz you're a sore loser, and when you get an H, an O, and an R, all you do is yell, whore! It's really annoying, Cash."
"Two on two it is. Let's go!"
He waved her out of his bedroom, and they trekked down the hall, narrowly sidestepping around one of the movers just in time to miss a headboard swinging around the side of the stairs. Then they were out the door, yelling to no one in particular that they were going next door to play some basketball.
The driveway next door was just a few yards to their left, and right beyond their own driveway, and the closer they got, the clearer those two boys came into view. One of them, the bigger one with brown hair, was trying a jump shot from too far beyond the paint to really have a chance of making it, and just like Dylan predicted, he missed. Then the smaller boy with blonde hair, who looked to be about the same size as Dylan - which was really saying something because she was pretty small - jumped up real high, and grabbed the rebound, bringing it down with his elbows pointed out to keep the bigger boy from knocking it out of his hands.
Huh. He actually looked like he was pretty good.
By the time they crossed their yard and headed for this new, other driveway, Cash was already waving to them. The boys in the driveway stopped what they were doing, the basketball in mid-bounce as the smaller blonde snatched it up and twirled it around his index finger.
"Hey," Cash called out to them with another wave. "We just moved in next door."
The two boys just glanced at each other and then shrugged.
"Hey," the bigger one said as he lifted a hand, signalling for the smaller, blonde one to toss him the ball. "I'm Opie Winston," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, "I live here."
Opie, Dylan laughed to herself. That was a weird name.
The smaller blonde boy lifted a hand to them. "Jax Teller. I live, like, two blocks away."
"I'm Cash Shaw," her brother pointed to himself with a grin, and then he gestured to her, "and this is my sister, Dylan. We're twins. We're gonna be in Mr. Sampson's class at Fairview on Monday."
Jax just shrugged, spinning the ball around on his index finger again. "Cool. That's our class too. Where you guys from? You got a weird accent."
"We used to live in Houston," Dylan informed him, eyeing him carefully. "And we don't have weird accents. You should hear yourself from our end."
That nabbed Jax's attention pretty quickly, and he stopped spinning the ball around his finger to glance her way, as if he'd momentarily forgotten she was even standing there until she spoke. Even from a distance, the blue in his eyes reminded her of the time they'd driven all the way to Daytona Beach and she'd stood out on the farthest end of the boardwalk, and climbed up on the highest railing just so she could look down at the ocean. It'd been so deep and so blue, she hadn't been able to see the bottom - and she'd wondered what was hiding down on the ocean floor, what was down there that she couldn't know and couldn't see.
His eyes were like that.
"Our dad is a doctor. He plays Operation on people in emergency rooms," Cash told the boys easily, venturing a little bit closer to them as he spoke. "Our mom died. She had cancer."
Dylan's eyes flew to her brother in a flash, widening with horror that he would just share something like that with boys they didn't even know. Besides, he knew she didn't like hearing that word - that c-word. But he'd said it anyway just to, what? Get those stupid boys to play basketball with them?
That was pretty dumb.
But then Jax and Opie just glanced at each other, both of them shifting a little uncomfortably against the cement at their feet. So, Dylan opened her big mouth:
"Can we play with you?"
Jax and Opie glanced at each other again, silently communicating whether they really wanted to invite the two new kids into the fold like this, and then, when Opie lifted a shoulder, Jax tossed Cash the ball, who caught it easily and dribbled it in between his legs just to show off.
"Sure, you can play," Jax called out to them as he backpedalled toward the hoop, and then he gestured to Dylan, "but you can't."
"Why?" she frowned.
Jax flashed her a wide, toothy grin. "'Cuz you're a girl. And girls can't play basketball."
Opie just made a clucking sound, shaking his head at his friend like he was a little embarrassed for him right now. Cash, for his part, glanced nervously at his sister.
And Dylan fumed.
"Oh, yeah?" she challenged, stepping onto the driveway defiantly. "And why's that?"
"What?" Jax cocked an eyebrow at her and held his hands out to catch the ball that Cash tossed back to him. "Why girls can't play basketball? Well, for starters, just because you've got a boy name doesn't mean you can hang with the boys. And besides, you're too small. You'll just get hurt and then you'll cry and then you'll get us in trouble. I just got my Nintendo back - I don't wanna get grounded again anytime soon."
"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you egg Mr. Sampson's car and get caught, you dummy," Opie chided him, ribbing Jax in the side with his elbow.
"Yeah, well, Mr. Sampson is an asshole," Jax retorted.
Dylan's eyes widened - they weren't supposed to say words like that. Asshole. They'd get grounded for sure if their dad heard them saying something like that. No wonder Jax got grounded. He probably never got to play Nintendo he was grounded so much.
Still, she had a point to prove, and she wasn't letting up until she won.
"Our teacher?" Cash was asking now.
"Yep, that's the one," Opie filled him in, holding his hands out so Jax could pass him the ball. Opie took two dribbles, with long, practiced strides, and pulled an easy right hand lay-up. "He doesn't like Jax, and Jax doesn't like him, if you hadn't figured that out yet."
"He told me that Samcro was just a biker gang of criminals and delinquents and that I was just gonna be one of them when I grew up. So I egged his car."
Dylan took a second to sift through all that. She didn't know what Samcro was, or what a biker gang was, or what a delinquent was, but she knew what a criminal was. Teachers shouldn't tell their students they were going to grow up to be criminals. That wasn't very fair, and she wasn't so sure she was going to like their new teacher now. So, maybe she kinda got where Jax was coming from, even if egging the teacher's car wouldn't have been what she would've done. She probably would've just told her dad.
Still, she had a point to prove, and she wasn't letting up until she won.
"Girls can too play basketball," Dylan threw out, holding her hands out for the ball. Opie hesitated for a second, and then tossed her the ball. She lifted the ball up to her index finger, spinning it around with a practiced flourish, lifting her eyebrows right at Jax in challenge. "See?"
Just to drive it home, she took a few dribbles, making sure to pass the ball in between her legs, just like Cash had done before. The only difference, of course, was that she could dribble in between her legs all the way up and down the court if she wanted to. Cash couldn't do that, and he'd been practicing for weeks.
Then she picked up the ball and lobbed at Jax, who caught it with his eyes widening in surprise.
"And I'm not that small," she informed him. "I'm bigger than you."
Now, his ocean blue eyes narrowed as Opie snickered next to him, and he tossed it back to her with enough force to sting her hands a little bit. "No, you're not."
"Am too," Dylan shot back, tossing the ball back to him with as much force as he'd given her. "Why don't you put your money where your mouth is? If you're bigger than me, you should be able to beat me, right?"
Jax's eyebrows lifted, his lips curling into a little snarl, and then he pushed the ball back to her so hard it would've hit her right in the face if she hadn't been paying attention. "A'ight. Let's play then. Me and Ope against you and Cash Money over there."
Dylan just rolled her eyes at him, but she followed Cash deeper into the driveway and stepped up to the three-point line that looked like it'd been drawn on the cement with a Sharpie marker.
"Home team's ball, Smalls," Jax smirked at her, holding a hand out for the ball.
She rolled her eyes again, but threw him the ball. This was all just fine - let him think he had some kind of advantage because soon enough, he'd learn that he didn't have an advantage at all. Being a boy didn't mean anything on the basketball court anyway.
With her dark eyes locked right onto his blue ones, she stood in between Jax and the hoop, crouching down into a defense stance, arms outstretched and ready for anything he might try to pull on her. From the corner of her eye, she could see Cash positioning himself next to Opie to guard him, and then, the game was on.
The first play was an easy one. She just wanted to see what he would do, if he'd try some kinda fancy move on her right away or hold out on showing off until later in the game when he still thought he could beat her. Jax tossed the ball to Opie, who juked around Cash and sprinted out to the middle of the driveway, right in front of the hoop, with his hands open and waiting for the ball. Once he had the ball in between his hands, Opie dribbled once with a long stride, and lifted the ball easily, bouncing it off the backboard and into the net.
Opie caught the ball from the net, and tossed it to Cash, who knew from experience to just give the ball to Dylan right away. She took a few dribbles as Jax crouched down in front of her with his hands out to try to deflect a pass, then she faked a pass to Cash, making both Opie and Jax lunge for the fake pass at the same time in the same direction, and she flew down the length of the driveway on the opposite side, needing a lot more dribbles than Opie to get there, but she also got there a lot faster than he did.
Then it was just an easy lay-up. No big deal. Easy as pie.
Jax huffed, holding his hands out for the ball, and Dylan shot him a wide grin as she passed it to him. From there, he learned pretty quickly, and with mounting frustration and annoyance, that she was just faster and better than he was. Every time he thought he was one step ahead, she caught up to him easily because she was quicker. Every time he thought he had an easy jump shot, she was right there, in his face, and making it that much harder. Every time he thought they were ahead, she dribbled right around him and tossed the ball through the net.
Now, Jax dribbled the ball into the corner of the driveway, making some room for Opie to cut across for an easy lay-up, and just as he was about to pass the ball, Dylan swatted it right out of his hands.
"Shit," Jax muttered under his breath.
Dylan ignored that, and dribbled around him and back over to the three-point line to change the possession. She almost made it too, until a pair of hands pushed her from behind and sent her flying knees-first into the cement.
Her knees collided with the driveway, scraping across the surface until her skin burned and stung.
"Ow!" she cried out and grabbed her knee. "What was that for, you lil' jerk!"
"I'm not little!" Jax shouted. He pointed a finger her way like that would somehow prove it, like that would somehow make it true, when it wasn't. "And you can't play with us anymore!"
"Why?" Dylan shot back, even as Cash bent down with his hand outstretched to help her up. "'Cuz I'm better than you? 'Cuz I'm beating you?"
"You're just a stupid girl!" Jax yelled again, and he didn't waste a second when Cash pulled her back up to her feet, lunging forward to push her back down to the ground.
"Hey!" Cash called out. "What are you doing?"
Somehow through her red fury, Dylan thought she heard Opie protesting and trying to keep the peace, and maybe Cash was doing a little of that too, but none of that really mattered. Because she pushed herself back to her feet, wound up, and punched that little jerk right in the face.
Jax's head reared back on impact, and he squeezed his eyes shut as his hands flew up to cover his nose. About two seconds later, two things happened all at once: blood poured out of Jax's nose, and Jax burst into tears.
"Ow! My nose!" he cried as spurts of red liquid seeped from in between his fingers. "Ow! What the hell is your problem?"
Cash looked on in horror. Opie stood frozen to the cement, his hands still raised in the air to play referee. Dylan just stared back at Jax smugly, even though the scrape on her knee stung and burned.
"My problem is you being a lil' jerk," she sneered. "Maybe if you hadn't been such a jerk, this wouldn't have happened."
Jax stared at her in disbelief, blood still pouring out of his nose and tears still streaming down his face, and then he took off, still crying, still bleeding, as he hopped onto his bike and pedalled out of the driveway and down the street. She glanced at Cash, who was still staring at her in shock, as she shook out her throbbing fist, and then his lips parted.
"I'm telling Dad!"
Her dad marched her right up to the Tellers' house about 10 minutes later. He'd made Cash find out where Jax lived from Opie, and then after a brief, fiery lecture, he dragged her into the car so they could get there that much faster, leaving Cash behind with the movers, despite his protests that he wanted to come along too. Cash just wanted to come to see her get yelled at some more, but that was fine.
She'd find a way to get back at him. It was only a matter of time.
"Now, Dylan, you're going to be on your best behavior, right?" her dad told her sternly as he hit the doorbell.
"Yes," she mumbled under her breath.
"And you're going to be sincere?"
Dylan pushed out a heavy sigh. "I guess."
About two seconds later, the door flew open to reveal one of the prettiest women Dylan had ever seen. The woman had long dark hair with light streaks in it, and she was wearing a really tight T-shirt with a motorcycle on it, but she was really, really pretty.
"Yeah?" the woman exhaled, her dark eyes flickering between them. "Can I help you?"
Dylan's dad stepped closer to the front door, with one hand on Dylan's shoulder and the other hand extending toward the woman. "Hi there. I'm Carter Shaw, and this is my daughter, Dylan. We just moved in today - right next door to Opie Winston, and -"
"Oh, right," the woman nodded with a laugh, and then her eyes sliced down to Dylan with a little smile on her lips. "You must be the girl who punched my son."
Dylan's eyes dropped to her feet as she nodded.
"And, we're here because Dylan wanted to apologize to him for her behavior," her dad looked to her pointedly, "Didn't you, Dylan?"
She nodded again but still kept her eyes on her feet. The woman's light laugh bounced in between them as she reached out to shake her dad's hand.
"Gemma Teller, Jax's mom," the woman told him, gesturing with her head toward the front door. "Why don't you two come in?"
Dylan gingerly followed her dad through the entryway and down the hall, careful to stay behind him and suddenly feeling like maybe she really had done something wrong. Her hand was still throbbing too, but her dad said she could ice her hand after she apologized for punching someone in the face. They followed Gemma down the hallway and into a kitchen that was a little smaller than the one they had now, and it seemed like there were just motorcycles everywhere in this house. On the walls, on the kitchen table, on the clock, on the blanket she saw in their living room. She wondered if they had motorcycles on their dinner plates too.
Then she winced at what she saw in the kitchen. Jax was seated at the table, holding his head back with a bunch of bloodied, clumped up kleenexes pushed against his nose. A tall, older man was hunched over him, helping Jax keep his head propped back with a hand on his shoulder. The man turned his head, and Dylan was immediately struck by the man's face. He had the exact same eyes as Jax, with an ocean's worth of deep blue swimming around in them. And then his lips broke apart into a knowing smile, a smile that wasn't that different from Jax's either.
The man stepped forward with his hand outstretched to her dad as he tucked some long, dark hair behind his ear. "How's it goin'? My name's John."
Her dad grinned goodnaturedly at Jax's dad, and after introducing himself, he glanced down at her with a smile, "And this is Dylan. She's here to see Jax."
The same Jax, who up until now, stayed huddled behind his dad.
"Ah," John grinned, holding out his hand to her too. "Nice to meet you, Dylan. That's a very pretty name for a very pretty little girl."
"Thanks," Dylan told him shyly. She glanced at Jax, who was peeking around his dad's side to get a look at her, and when he realized she was onto him, his eyes widened and he jumped behind his dad again.
Then, John glanced up at her dad. "Dylan, huh? Your favorite song 'Blowin' in the Wind' or 'Like a Rolling Stone?'"
"'Mr. Tambourine Man,' actually," her dad laughed. "She's got a twin brother at home named Cash."
John chuckled heartily with a nod and clapped her dad on the shoulder. "Dylan and Cash. I like that, brother."
"Thanks," her dad grinned, and then he tipped his chin to Dylan to prompt her. "What did you need to say, Dylan?"
She pushed out a heavy sigh, finally lifting her eyes up from the floor to find Jax watching her with solemn eyes, and those bloody kleenexes still pressed into his nose.
"I'm sorry," Dylan mumbled.
Her dad leaned in playfully, cupping a hand around his ear. "What was that?"
"I said I'm sorry."
His eyes lifted up to the ceiling and then they dropped to her exasperatedly. "Say it to him."
Dylan's gaze flicked back up to Jax. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry."
Then Jax's face flashed with fresh anger as he leapt around his dad to point at her, "I didn't cry!"
"Did too!" she shot back.
By now, her dad held up his hands to referee between them, trying to intervene the way Opie and Cash had about 15 minutes before, and he lifted his eyes up to the other two adults in the room with some amusement flickering across his face.
"Alright, Dylan," he chided, gesturing back to Jax, who was tucked into his dad's side again with his hands curled into tight fists at his thighs. "What else didn't you mean to do?"
Dylan blew some dark hair out of her face, rolling her eyes at her dad, but still, she did as she was told. She'd already been grounded and had gotten her TV privileges taken away for a whole week, and she did not want to make that worse.
"I shouldn't have punched you," she pushed out, and then she mumbled, "I wouldn't have if you hadn't been such a jerk though."
"Hey, now," her dad murmured in warning. "Watch that mouth. Unless you want me to tack on another week with no TV?"
Her shoulders sagged in defeat. Well, when he put it like that…
But now, that had gotten John's attention, and he leaned forward with narrowed eyes. "How was my son bein' a jerk to you, lil' darlin'?"
She just shrugged, glancing back at Jax, whose eyes had widened the size of saucers. "He told me girls can't play basketball, and then he pushed me," she gestured to her knee, drawing John's attention down to the angry red scrape on her kneecap, "and he said I can't play with them anymore because I'm a stupid girl, but I think he really did it because I was beating him."
John's eyebrows lifted in surprise, but then they pulled down into a tight frown just as quickly. He crouched down a little in front of her with his hands resting on his knees as he glanced up at Gemma, who was watching the whole thing with amusement flickering across her pretty face.
"So lemme get this straight," John smirked. That also looked just like the smirk Jax had shot her on the driveway before, when he thought he was going to beat her. "You were playing against Jax in basketball, and you were winning," he paused there to cock an amused eyebrow at his son before turning his attention back to her, "and then Jax pushed you because you were winning and made you scrape up your little knee, and told you you couldn't play with them anymore because you're a girl, and then you clocked him in the face?"
Dylan swallowed hard, not sure if she was in more trouble or less trouble right now, and then she nodded.
John shifted on his heel so he could lift an eyebrow at his son, "It sounds to me like Jax got exactly what he deserved."
Jax just hung his head, his shoulders sagging with some new shame and humility that hadn't been there before.
"Well," her dad intervened lightly. "I think it's safe to say Dylan didn't exactly handle herself the right way either," then he glanced at his daughter, "because why?"
"Because fighting isn't the way to solve my problems," Dylan mumbled under her breath, her eyes flicking back up to Jax when she heard him snicker behind his dad.
John promptly swatted him on the back of his blonde head and jabbed a finger at him. "Mind your own business, son. And now it's your turn to apologize. That is not the way you treat a woman, Jackson. You never, ever put your hands on a woman. Ever. I don't care what she does or what she says or how bad she's beating you in basketball. Do you understand me?"
Jax's eyes dropped down the linoleum floor at his feet, and he muttered, "Yes."
"And?" John lifted an eyebrow expectantly.
Jax shifted his gaze up to Dylan, and then jerked his eyes back down to the floor again. "I'm sorry I pushed you. I didn't mean to hurt your knee."
"Alright," John nodded, his gaze lifting up to Gemma then. "That's more like it. I never, ever wanna hear somethin' like that again. We clear, son?"
Jax swallowed hard, but nodded immediately. "We're clear, Pop."
"Good," his dad nodded to him again with just a touch of a smile. "So, no Nintendo for a week."
"What?" Jax's mouth dropped open in horror. "That's not fair! I just got it back! Come on!"
"Well," John just lifted a shoulder at him. "You shoulda thought about that before you pushed this nice little girl over here."
"She's not that nice," Jax grumbled under his breath.
John just huffed out a laugh, while Gemma shook her head at her son, but Dylan eyed him carefully, taking stock of the whole situation and their corresponding punishments. And then she had an idea. It was worth a shot - what was the worst that could happen? Their parents would just tack on another week of no TV and no Nintendo?
"Hey, Mr. Teller -"
"You can call me JT if ya want, lil' darlin'," he smiled down at her.
"Okay," Dylan shrugged. "Well, I was going to say that I don't think Jax should get his Nintendo taken away."
Now, John lifted an eyebrow her way as Jax's eyes widened behind him in surprise. "Oh really? And why's that?"
"Because he pushed me, and I punched him, so that makes us even. I think we both learned our lesson, didn't we?"
She looked to Jax now for confirmation and crossed her fingers he would be smart enough to catch on to her game quick enough for them to both come out the winners in this.
"Yeah, we did," Jax nodded, a little bit of mischief twinkling in his eyes. "We won't do it again."
John glanced between the two of them, and now it was his turn to take stock of the circumstances and how they'd shifted right out from under him. He glanced over his shoulder at Gemma in some kind of silent communication - the same kind her parents had used to do - and Gemma just shrugged.
"Alright," John allowed with some amusement playing on his lips. "If you two agree," and then he glanced at Dylan's dad, "then I guess we have a deal."
"Deal," they both said in unison, sharing a sly grin.
"So, Dr. Shaw," Jax started, more confidence flooding back into his voice when he glanced at his dad. "I don't think Dylan should lose TV for a week then either. I mean, we apologized, right? We're not gonna do it again. And I pushed her first, so she was just defending herself anyway. I deserved to get clocked in the face for the way I treated her."
Her dad took his turn appraising the situation now, tilting his head to the side as he regarded his daughter carefully before shifting his focus to the boy who'd pushed his daughter down and belittled her in front of her brother and his friend. But he was just a stupid boy anyway, and sooner or later, stupid boys learned their lessons too.
"Oh, alright," her dad finally allowed. "I suppose you two kids worked it out, and we should just leave it at that, huh?"
Jax grinned brightly. "I think that sounds about right. It won't happen again, Dr. Shaw. I swear."
Her dad wagged a finger at him. "It better not. I don't want to hear about anymore fighting between the two of you either. You two are gonna be at the same school on Monday, so y'all have to find a way to get along now."
"Yes, sir," Jax nodded with a solemn smile.
With that officially resolved, the adults turned their attention back to each other as her dad asked John about the motorcycle he saw parked in the Tellers' driveway. After about a minute of sitting through boring adult talk, Jax gestured with his head toward another hallway on the other side of the house.
"You wanna go play Nintendo?" he whispered to her.
She just shrugged, following him out of the kitchen and down the hall, pausing long enough so he could make a pitstop at the freezer to grab two ice packs, and then stopped in front of a door with a big white and orange Harley-Davidson sticker stuck right in the middle of it.
"This is my room," Jax nodded to the door a little sheepishly. When he noticed her taking stock of all the doors in the hallway, he gestured toward the one across the hall from where they stood. "That was my brother Tommy's room. We don't go in there though."
"Oh, okay."
She didn't really know what else to say. Tommy was obviously in the same place as her mom, if people even went to a place when they died, and sometimes it was better not to talk about it.
So, it was just better, too, when Jax pushed the door open to his bedroom and gestured for her to walk through the door, still holding some kleenex to his nose. His room definitely wasn't any cleaner than Cash's room ever was, with T-shirts and shorts strewn all over the place - which he kicked out of their way as they moved closer to the TV on the other end of the wall. There was a long American flag hanging right behind the TV, and another black flag on the opposite wall, with a scary-looking grim reaper on it, and the words Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club Redwood Original wrapped around it.
"What's that?" Dylan asked, jerking a thumb over her shoulder at that black flag.
Jax's eyebrows lifted at her question as he glanced at the flag behind her, but then he also seemed to remember that she was new here in town, and probably didn't even know where her school was, let alone what that flag meant.
"That's my dad's club," he informed her with a bright smile. The pride in his voice was unmistakable too, like just saying the words out loud sent a rush through him. "He's the president. Ope's dad is his VP."
Dylan was just about to ask what kind of club it was, but then she remembered what he'd said before about egging his teacher's car. That must be Samcro, the biker gang of criminals and delinquents. And now all those motorcycles around the Teller house made sense.
"Someday," Jax went on, that pride in his voice now on full display. "I'm gonna be president, and Ope's gonna be my VP. Just you wait, Smalls."
Dylan's eyes narrowed at his second use of that nickname, and she decided she didn't particularly care for it either. Sure, she was small for her age. A lot smaller than all the other girls on her basketball team in Houston, that was for sure. But she liked to think she made up for it in other ways too.
"I'm not that small," she tossed out, hitching a hand on her tiny hip. "And I am just as tall as you, ya know."
Jax just scoffed at that, cocking an eyebrow at her as he tucked some of his chin-length blonde hair behind an ear. Then he stepped right up to her so they were eye to eye, lifting a hand to the top of his head, and then moving it out between them until the side of his hand skimmed right over the top of her head.
"Nope," he clucked. "I got at least an inch on you, Smalls."
"Maybe a half an inch."
His lips slipped to the side in a cocky smirk. "Okay, fine. Maybe a half an inch."
Dylan just rolled her eyes to the ceiling again. "Are we gonna play Nintendo or what? My clothes are going outta style over here."
His gaze swept over her then, as if he'd just noticed the black Nike basketball shorts she was wearing, and the Michael Jordan T-shirt that went along with it, and his gaze lifted right up to her hair, making her subconsciously tug on her short, dark ponytail.
"Pretty sure Nike's never gonna go outta style, Smalls."
"Whatever you say, Jackson," she sassed back, adding the icing on the cake by sticking her tongue out at him.
He eyed her carefully, his own tongue darting out to his bottom lip to draw it underneath his teeth. And then, a moment later, he gestured with his head toward the TV. They settled on the carpet, with their backs to his bed, as Jax turned on his TV and switched on his Nintendo before passing her one of the controllers and then one of the ice packs.
"It's cool you have a TV in your room," Dylan told him, pressing the ice into her throbbing knuckles. "My dad won't let me get one."
Jax just shrugged as he toggled through a few screens to get them to the level he was on in Super Mario Brothers. "Yeah, I guess. I think my parents just got me a TV so I can turn something noisy on in my room so I can't hear them as much whenever they fight."
"Oh."
Again, Dylan really didn't know what to say. So, she just shifted her focus on the game - it had been a little while since she'd played this. They didn't have Nintendo at their house, and instead had to depend on some of the neighborhood kids back in Houston, just like right now, to get their gaming fix in.
When she shouted out in victory after beating a level, she turned her head to find Jax observing her from a careful distance away.
"What?"
"Nothin'," Jax shrugged. "Hey, next time we play ball at Ope's, can I be on your team?"
She lifted her eyebrows at him. "Why?"
"'Cuz you're the best player," he just shrugged again. "Seems like the smart thing to do."
"Hmm," Dylan mused, regarding him with a sly grin. "I thought girls couldn't play basketball?"
Jax didn't respond, choosing instead to turn his attention back to the game, where he proceeded to lose yet another level, leaving Dylan to pick up his slack so they could finally advance to the next level. And when she caught him looking at her again, she huffed in frustration.
"What?"
Jax's eyes widened when he realized he'd been caught, but he recovered quickly, lifting a nonchalant shoulder like this was all really no big deal. "I was just thinkin' that you kinda remind me of a china doll."
Dylan's forehead furrowed into a deep frown. "Is that…bad?"
His deep blue eyes seemed to look right through her, seeing everything all at once, knowing her all at once, and she found herself staring right back. "No. It's not bad. Maybe you're not exactly like a china doll. I mean, you didn't break when I pushed you, right? I think you just look like one though."
"Huh," Dylan was still frowning back at him.
She still wasn't convinced this was actually a good thing. At least he wasn't comparing her to a Barbie. And at least china dolls were mostly pretty and dainty and…her thoughts trailed off right there, not really wanting to delve any further into china dolls. So, she shifted her focus back to Super Mario Brothers, balancing the controller as best as she could between the ice pack and her aching knuckles.
Finally, Jax tossed his controller on the ground with a defeated sigh. He'd just died again, losing the level again after about the fifth try, and once again, he'd demonstrated just how sore a loser he was.
"It's not that big a deal," Dylan murmured to him as he pushed off the carpet and moved toward the TV to switch off the game console. "So you suck at Super Mario and basketball. There's gotta be something you're good at, right?"
Jax turned his head to her, lifting his eyebrows in exasperation with his hands still on his hips. "I'm good at board games. What's your favorite game? I bet you two Snickers bars I can beat you at it."
She just huffed out a laugh, pushing up to her feet to meet his challenge. "I like Snickers. I wouldn't mind having a couple today."
"Well, then," he smirked, stretching his arms out in front of him with his hands laced together to crack his knuckles. "Your favorite game? What is it?"
That was an easy answer. "Clue."
His shoulders sagged again. "We don't have Clue here. How 'bout Monopoly? I'm pretty good at that one, and we got the Harley-Davidson version too. It's pretty sweet."
"Hmm," Dylan scrunched her nose up in thought. "Nope. I wanna play Clue. We have it at my house and I know which box it's in. You wanna come over and play it?"
Jax just shrugged, tossing his bloodied kleenexes in a trash can next to his TV stand. "Sure."
"Hey, you know what? We could watch a movie after that if you wanted. I know where the box of all our movies is too."
He took a moment to mull that over, as if he was trying to decide just how much time he really wanted to spend with her today. "You got Jaws in that box?"
If he was testing her somehow, she was about to pass that test with flying colors.
"I sure do," Dylan grinned. "It's one of my favorites."
Now, a bright, albeit pretty cocky, smirk slipped across his face. "They're in the yahd -"
She joined in, immediately catching his reference with a smile. "Not too fah from the cah."
They laughed together just long enough to solidify the rest of the day's plans. Then, in a flash, they were out of the room and down the hallway, as Jax yelled to the adults still congregating in the kitchen, "Ma, Pop, I'm goin' to Smalls' house to play Clue and watch Jaws."
They didn't wait to hear any of the adults' responses, choosing instead to push out the front door of the Tellers' house and sprint down the lawn until Jax skidded to a stop on the sidewalk. He turned to her with an evil glint in his ocean blue eyes, and gestured with his head toward the street.
"Wanna race?"
Dylan rolled her eyes even as she strode right over to him, where he'd gotten into a runner's stance on the side of the street. "Like you could beat me, Jackson."
"Only one way to find out, doll."
"Fine," she snarked. "Ready, set -"
Jax took off like a bat out of hell, laughing his head off as he took full advantage of his cheat, sprinting down the street with the kind of speed that would've been impressive if she wasn't faster and quicker and smarter.
His head start was just that.
She still won.
A/N - As promised, and Happy Sunday! The next few chapters are going to be flashbacks of their younger years, all the way up to when they were 17, and then this story will pick back up again in the present. I've never written characters as kids before, and it has been so much fun, especially all the teenage angst that starts in chapter three ;)
Just as an FYI - Tara, Wendy, and Ima aren't going to be making any appearances in this story at any point. With Tara, I'd rather pretend she just didn't exist, lol, and Wendy and Ima just weren't necessary to include. I still get asked where Tara is in Fly By Night, so I figured it was best to mention this now and hopefully clear up any confusion right away!
I've got 11 more chapters ready to post, and I plan on keeping this Sunday posting schedule, with Fly By Night still getting updated on Wednesdays. I'm so excited to share this new story with you! Please let me know what you think!