Author's Note: Something I just wanted to mention, as it kinda came up in this chapter with a character I decided to include - I have a tendancy to melt my own head trying to get details as right as I can and I've discovered it's actually impossible to work out accurate ages for SOA characters. Mostly because using the kids as a marker really throws the whole thing off - Abel goes from baby to school child, but Thomas seems to never get much older than a baby!
So I guess what I'm saying is, when it does come up, I've taken liberties lol, but I've tried to keep it plausible. Therefore Charlie is twenty-one here, as I figured you'd have to be to prospect.
Three
"Move yer fucking feet, ya wee gobshite," Chibs roared, wiping a hand over his face in frustration as he watched his supposed protégé from outside the ring. "Not like that! Jesus, lad, am I teaching you boxing or the bloody foxtrot?"
"I'm trying!" one of the club's two prospects lamented, breathing heavily as he too wiped a hand over his face, but in his case, it was to wipe sweat from his stinging eyes. And in the moment that his focus was distracted, his faux-opponent – Tig wielding training pads – clipped him squarely round the ear.
"Pay attention!" the VP barked, although the glint in his sharp blue eyes suggested he was enjoying participating in proceedings, maybe even a little too much.
"Ow!" the prospect yelped, only to get another clip round the other ear for his troubles. "Stop it!"
"Stop it? Stop it? That gonna be your approach if the club needs you to step up, cry for the big bad man to stop hurting you? Don't make me give you something to cry about," Tig warned darkly, before taunting him again with the pads while the helpless young man simply tried to cover up and protect himself from the blows.
"Mother o' Christ …" Chibs sighed in despair, climbing into the ring to confiscate the pads from his disappointed VP and rescue their prospect before they really did send him running for the hills. Because, as much as taking on the youngster had caused a serious stir within the club, they needed the numbers. And because, after everything, Chibs wasn't prepared to punish someone for the sins of their father.
There would be no more second chances for Kyle Hobart – but his son Charlie would not be turned away.
Not unless he royally fucked up his opportunity, and the jury was still out on that.
He reminded Chibs a little of Kip Epps. The Scotsman still couldn't decide if that went in his favour or not. It was hard to deal with those memories of the naïve young man who had gone on to earn his place and their respect. A little pocket-rocket in the ring, he'd been a sweet boy who had sometimes seemed like he'd never fully fit in their world, despite his unlikely military background. But they had under-estimated him. It was just a hell of a pity it had taken the bravery of his death trying to protect Tara and Abel to prove that.
Charlie had yet to prove himself, in the ring or out of it. But he wasn't without promise. He was keen to impress, although sometimes a little too keen – maybe as a result of trying to shake off his father's legacy – and he'd jumped at the chance to train with Chibs when the club had started frequenting the Scrapyard Boxing Gym, given that they hadn't yet stretched to fully kitting out their refurbished clubhouse in that respect.
Chibs himself had been reluctant to serve as anyone's sponsor though. Of the three prospects he had sponsored in Charming – Juice, Jax and Kip – all three were now dead. Not exactly a great track record.
But no one else would take on Charlie and he wanted to give the boy a chance after hearing him out.
"I'm NOT my dad," Charlie had all but seethed, a fist clenched, during their first proper meeting in the office of the garage. It had been a glimpse of the steel Chibs would otherwise have doubted the young man had.
Now, he reached out to ruffle his messy brown hair – as he would have Kip's fair curls – and then stopped himself, slapping him on the shoulder instead. They weren't there yet. "Go get cleaned up."
Rolling his eyes as Tig smacked the exhausted prospect on the ass to get him moving, Chibs was left by himself in the centre of the ring, wondering – not for the first time – if he was mad to be trying to hold things together like this. Did he really want to start another cycle of the club that had become so steeped in toxicity, its ideals twisted almost beyond recognition? Maybe they should have let Samcro die with Jax, let the Teller legacy truly come full circle …
"You'll get there."
The reluctant president looked up at the intrusion on his restless thoughts and spotted the gym's burly owner by the door of his office, a meaty shoulder cocked against the frame.
"The kid," Seth added, by way of explanation. "It'll come. He's not a lost cause."
"I hope you're right, mate," Chibs muttered.
"Well, I was purely talking as a boxer, but I get the feeling you had the bigger picture in mind."
"Prospecting ain't for everyone."
"I'll bet. Club's had it rough these last few years."
"Ain't ever had it too easy," Chibs sighed, climbing out of the ring and jumping easily down from the apron to join his unexpected companion. "But you ain't exactly had the smoothest ride yerself, way I hear it …"
"That your way of finally getting round to sussing me out, man?" Seth asked wryly.
"Knox says you're sound," came the shrug and a reference to Seth's acquaintance with Rogue River's sergeant during their incarceration. "Good enough for me. Although the details are hazy and I find it pays to know what's what, if ya catch my drift."
"Oh, I do. And believe me when I say I've had less tactful enquiries. I ain't been into anything that'd blow back on your club from being associated. I got banged up for attempted murder. Charge got downgraded to aggravated assault on appeal."
"You gonna tell me you're an innocent man, that they got the wrong bloke?"
"No," Seth said evenly. "I did it. And I'd do it again."
"You would, huh? Maybe don't mention that part in polite company. So what was it? Business gone bad? Some old rivalry from your ring days?"
Seth's face hardened, his fists clenching involuntarily at the memory. "Bastard hurt my sister."
"Your sister? The wee paramedic?"
A nod was all Chibs got. "The rest ain't my story to tell, man."
The Samcro president nodded like he understood, and he did, but he couldn't deny he was definitely intrigued.
"Speak of the devil …" Seth broke off, spotting his sister walking in from the street with two take-away coffees – a peace offering, no doubt, even though she hadn't been at fault. "Hey, you good?"
She nodded sheepishly. "Sorry about earlier. Guess lack of sleep makes me kind of a bitch. Brought you a latte though – didn't realise we had company …"
"Actually," Seth started, seeing a chance to make up for his part in their earlier row. "I'm behind with getting a shitload of paperwork sorted, so why don't you give mine to Chibs here? You could tell him about your idea …"
Chibs watched as the young woman's eyes lit up and she rounded on him, pushing a steaming cardboard cup of coffee into his hand before he had a chance to respond. "You've got five minutes, right?" she demanded, without waiting for an answer. "Come on, we can go out to the yard and leave Seth to it. Come on!"
He wasn't hard to persuade.
"How's the war wound, by the way?" she asked over her shoulder, leading the way out through a heavy fire door and into a small enclosed yard full of potted trees and cacti and other assorted plants.
"Grand," he replied, as she perched on top of an old wooden picnic table and he took a seat beside her. "Ya did a fine job, lass."
"Whew," she smiled. "Good to know I'm not already on the back foot when I'm looking to ask a favour."
"A favour?" Now he was definitely intrigued, though he tried not to show it, fishing in the pocket of his cut for his smokes and a lighter. "Mind if I …?"
She shook her head, giving him the green light to spark up and he took a long drag before considering her curiously, a slight smile on his lips.
"What kind o' favour?"
"So I've signed Charlie-Boy up for fight night," Chibs finished, looking round the table at the collected Sons gathered for church.
Tig's eyebrows shot up into his curly hair. "Charlie?!" he spluttered, before shock turned to laughter. "Oh, I get it – good one, you nearly had me there!"
"I'm deadly serious, my brother. It'll be good for the lad. Bit o' healthy competition and all that. Better than you slapping him round the head all day."
"I hit him with love," Tig explained patiently. "Put him in the ring for real and we're gonna be picking the kid's teeth out of the mat. He ain't ready."
"Well, he's got three weeks to get ready. Cos it's happening. I've already promised Eden."
"Eden? Who the fuck's … Ah. Now it all falls into place. You dirty old bastard."
Chibs feigned outrage. "Bit fucking harsh, Tigger. Less of the old. And my motives are pure, I'll have you know."
"Pure filth," Tig retorted, leaning back in his chair with a knowing grin. "Rather you than me, buddy – not that she's not a tight little piece of ass, but her brother's built like a brick shithouse and he literally just told you he did jail over the last guy to fuck with his sister!"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, let's all hold on here a minute," TO Cross spoke up from where he'd been watching the exchange with amusement. "You tellin' me we're making club decisions with our dicks now?"
"Hey, I know my dick has never failed me," Tig objected.
"Really?" Chibs countered. "Let's count the ways …"
"Irrelevant," the VP said, dismissing him with a casual wave of his hand. "It's not my dick making this decision, it's yours – and seeing as the last known place you stuck it was in law enforcement, I don't think you're in any position to judge, Pres."
Chibs pointed a warning finger at Tig, growing exasperated by his teasing. "Shut yer face. That's an order. Now, no one's dick is getting stuck anywhere. Not at the boxing anyway. This is a smart move for Samcro. We ain't in a position yet to be back doing toy runs and shite like we used to, but this, this we can do. Seth's gonna use the fight night to relaunch the gym and he's said he'll make a donation to the hospital as well. So Samcro positions itself back at the heart of the community by being involved – supporting local business and a good cause."
"Tara would like that we're helping the hospital," came a gruff voice. "Jax too, after Abel."
An unexpected glimpse of Happy's rare softer side never failed to catch them all off-guard and they all stared in his direction as they considered that addition to the argument.
Chibs recovered first, clearing his throat as he nodded. "Aye, that they would. So how about it, Hap? You fancy joining Charlie in signing up? Mind you, it's proper boxing – you're not getting in that ring to try to kill anyone."
Their enforcer looked almost disappointed for a second, but then he nodded. "I'm in."
The president grinned. "Then we vote. All in favour of Happy and Charlie representing Samcro at the Scrapyard, say aye."
"Aye!" came the almost unanimous chorus.
Chibs looked at Tig. "I'll let you keep helping with training."
The VP smiled dangerously. "Can I be the one to tell Charlie?"
The Scotsman nodded, before throwing caution to the wind as far as the good-natured abuse he was opening himself up to from his brothers was concerned. "As long as I can be the one to tell Eden …"
It had been a long time since the clubhouse had heard laughter like that ring through it.
