Abigail pulled the lid off the plastic container and shoved the contents of the plate in. Hopefully it tasted just as good after being frozen. Juice always loved the new dishes she tried, but often a bit of the taste got lost when it was being reheated. Tonight wasn't the first time he didn't show up for dinner – it was just part of the club life. Actually if Abigail was being honest, she didn't know any better: it hadn't been any different with her father. Usually Juice called her to let her know he was going to be late, but sometimes he was just too busy. Like today.

She put the container into the freezer and started to wash the dishes. They had a dishwasher too, but she didn't mind to do it by hand. Juice often got frantic when she left too many things in the dishwasher, which she only turned on once every few days, and he rinsed the dishes off so thoroughly that they could be put in the cabinets just as easily.

After cleaning up, she opened a window to get rid of the smell of the baked onion, flopped down on the couch and started an episode of Teen Wolf while getting comfortable in the cushions. She loved to watch Netflix, but Juice was bored by everything that was supernatural and unless it had some horror or gun fights. Usually she didn't mind to being home alone, but she knew her boyfriend wasn't feeling well. He looked pale, had been having trouble sleeping – just like her – and he barely talked to her over the past couple of weeks. Every day she saw the shame in his eyes because he couldn't bring himself to talk about the things that were bothering him and any time she had pressed him to talk it only made things worse.

When she heard the rumbling of a bike coming down the street halfway through the second episode, she paused the show and stood up. Although they had been together for three years and had shared an apartment for almost a year, the prospect of seeing him still made her heart beat faster. Especially now that his worries were consuming him, she wanted to have him close, so they could sit together on the balcony, or cuddle on the couch, in a warm embrace making them both feel safe.

She swung open the door, her smile slipping from her face as she took in her father standing before her.

"Aye, love." He kissed her cheek.

The expression on his face was grim; this wasn't a friendly visit.

"What's going on?" Her voice was shaking.

Her father heaved a sigh. "Let's take a seat."

A sharp pain shot through her chest, her heart skipped a beat. "Did something happen to Juice?"

"C'mon, take a seat, Abigail." His voice compelled.

Quietly, she did as she was told. He took her hand and squeezed. Abigail could barely breath; tears stinging her eyes. He was about to tell her something horrible. Images of her nightmares shot through her head. He couldn't be in jail, right?

"We found Tara."

The relief was so enormous that a tear glided down her cheek. Juice was fine.

Tara had left a few days ago, taking her sons with her. She couldn't handle all the violence surrounding the club and had wanted something better for her children. If Abigail had had a little one herself, she might have done the same.

She noticed that her father was holding her glance. "What – what happened?"

"She was murdered. They found her in her house."

"W-what?" Her voice cracked.

Would it ever stop? Only a few weeks ago they had buried Opie... Her stomach cramped as she thought back to his funeral. It was one of the reasons why Tara had wanted to leave, but maybe there really was no way out of this mess.

"I'm sorry, my love. Maybe – maybe it's time you go to Ireland. To Fiona."

She snorted. Her stepmom was the last person she wanted to go to. "And leave Juice?" she muttered. "I'd never do that. You know that."

"You know where he is?"

She looked at him, confused. "I figured he was handling club shit..."

For a moment he seemed on the verge of saying something, but in the end he decided to keep silent.

Abigail bent over and thought about Tara.

She was dead.

It was beyond comprehension.

She hadn't been one of her closest friends, but since they were both Old Ladies there had always been a connection between them. And now she was gone.

"Who did it?" she muttered, wiping her eyes. There however weren't many tears; since Opie had died she felt numb. Only when Juice was with her, when she looked into his eyes, felt his warmth, did she remember what she was fighting for, what made her heart pound.

"We're still workin' on it. Probably Lin or Marks' men."

Abigail stared at her feet. Who else?

Her father wrapped an arm around her shoulder and kissed her temple. "It'll pass, this shite."

His voice however lacked it's usual conviction. She felt that he was keeping something from her, but she couldn't find the courage to ask the question.

In the end he stood up, muttering that he had to get back to the clubhouse.

"Lemme know when Juice gets home. I'm... I'm worried about him."

He didn't look at her.

Absent-minded, Abigail nodded.

But Juice never came home.