Jax

"What's goin' on, Jackie Boy?" Chibs said to me that afternoon, emerging from the clubhouse doors and making his way to sit next to me on the picnic table top. I was smoking vigorously, furiously, attempting to reel in the part of me that wanted to explode. I wanted to split my knuckles open on something solid, bloody bones crushing down the Teller tidal wave of fire within me. I wanted to fight, I wanted to scream, I wanted to ruin something beautiful.

Everything was deteriorating at my feet, mocking me.

"He's going to go inside," I said through another smoky exhale. "Clay. They'll lock him up."

Chibs took a beat for a heavy sigh, nodding solemnly. "Aye. They will, Jackie."

Hearing it confirmed was like sprinkling gasoline onto the burn inside of me. I'd been waiting, for hours it seemed, to hear it said. They had their chapel, where Prospects had no admittance, and I had to let the torturous minutes tick by, just to hear it was all fucking hopeless.

"First my dad. Now the only thing I have closest to him." I spat, hatred of whatever outlying force kept fucking ass screwing me. Fate. Whatever I called family kept getting snatched away from me, like a sick game of cat and mouse. "Fuck this."

Chibs rested a hand on my shoulder, squeezing the tissue firmly. "Ah, now, it's alright. He'll get short time, from the looks of it," He reassured me in his thick, Irish way. "We all have to pay our dues sometime."

"What about SamCro?"

Chibs slapped my back affectionately, hopping down from the picnic table. "We hold down the fort for our pres," He gave me a grin, accentuating the deep, roguish scars on either side of his cheeks. "Come on, kid."

I took one last drag and tossed the bud, confused. "Where?"

"Play a few Irish drinking games."

Stumbling, slurring, laughing at purely nothing, so hard that my ribs began to hurt, I was piss drunk. Opie and Juice flanked me on either side, pretending to be supporting me, though they were just as drunk as I was. I knew it was late evening; we were walking down town through the streets of Charming, leaving our bikes in the sake of our limbs still being attached the next day. But I couldn't tell how long we had been, I was running on drunk time. Neither could I tell where we were headed.

"Get me a fucking burger!" I loudly proclaimed.

Opie and Juice began cackling again, making their stumbles collide into mine. "We heard you, fucker. That's where we're going, we're going to the diner." Juice slapped my back, making me lose my balance for a moment.

Oh, so that's where we were going.

When I recovered, I put Juice in a messy headlock, fist rubbing against his buzzed head.

"Ow, Jax! Fucking bitch!" He half laughed half screeched, struggling against my grip until he slid out. He connected a fist to my shoulder at a weird angle, hitting me hard. I barely felt it, but I knew it would be likely to be a nasty bruise tomorrow. I always woke up with drunken battle scars.

"We're here!" Opie announced, side slamming me and causing a ripple effect, getting Juice and I to veer to the right into Joe's diner. When we made it inside, we grabbed the attention of the few occupants with our rambunctiousness, but they quickly went about their own business. Charming townsfolk liked to keep their heads down when the Sons were involved, and the three of us sporting our new Prospect cuts was enough to keep them quiet. We wanted it that way; it made it easier for us to be benevolent, outlawed dictators.

The three of us sat at the bar, and Old Louie came to tend to us. "Burgers, fries, chocolate milkshakes tonight, fellas?"

"Hell yes." The three of us said in synchronization, sliding more than enough cash on the counter.

Old Louie chuckled at us, shaking his head like a grandpa would to a toddler. "Coming up."

I barely remembered consuming our food, just that it was the best burger I'd ever had and somehow, I'd gotten ketchup in my hair during the drunken ravaging. When nothing was left but three empty plates, the three of us headed out in another rowdy tussle, teasingly throwing fists and nudging through the threshold. As soon as we hit the streets, we collided into another group of people who were making to head inside.

Two guys and a girl. I recognized David Hale immediately, the pain-in-the-ass sheriff's son, who glared at me like it was his fucking job. My fists were already tightening at his hostile glance. The other guy was the football team's quarterback, arrogant and a jackass, both of his arms draped over the two girls' shoulders in a suggestive way. And one of those girls was a tiny brunette that I knew well.

Tara.

Immediately, my body went rigid. Hurt. Anger. Betrayal. Was she on a fucking double date? What the fuck was this?

Wasn't she mine?

"Jax! Hey," She slid out of the douchebag's arm, giving me a friendly smile as she stepped closer. What, was she going to fucking mock me now? Make me look like a god damned fool? I thought we were something else, progressing to something more. Apparently, I'd misread her, and everything I felt meant nothing. She was treating me like an acquaintance and it bothered me. Really bothered me.

I didn't say anything. I barely even acknowledged her, because I felt the fury build up like legos, waiting to give me the chance I'd been praying for back at the clubhouse. Beating someone until my knuckles were nothing but bone.

"Excuse you." Hale sarcastically droned, referring to the way that Opie, Juice and I were blocking the diner's entrance.

I began to darkly laugh, nudging past Tara to put my face in Hale's. "What did you fucking say?"

"Jax," Opie warned, tense, edging close to me. "He's the sheriff's son."

"I don't give a fuck what he is." I said this in Hale's face, challenging him like a bull. He glared back at me with a snarl, but I saw the tinge of fear in his bugging eyes. He wasn't trained to fight like a Son, and he would never beat a Son. Especially me, the one marked with near insanity anytime the rage returned.

"Jax, stop." Tara anxiously ringed out, reaching out and putting her hand on my forearm. I jerked away, like she'd branded me with her touch.

I looked over to her with distaste. She recoiled, small and afraid, and inwardly I hated that I'd made her feel like that. "What is this? Did you come here with him?"

"It's not like –"

Hale cut her off, growling, making my eyes snap back to his pinched face. "Stay away from her, Teller."

"David –" Tara was cut off again, by me.

"Or what? What the fuck will you do about it?" I evilly grinned in his face, so close that our noses were almost touching. My chest shoved out into his weaker one, working him up. I wanted this. I wanted to fight.

Hale swung, I ducked, and jived my fist into his ribs.

It all erupted very quickly then. The quarterback tried to intervene but was taken on by Opie and Juice, while Hale and I rolled on the pavement, sharing reckless, ceaseless poundings, Tara and her female companion screaming for us to stop over everything. When I'd finally pinned Hale down, the bloody thrashing to his face began, right as soon as we heard the police sirens.

"STOP! EVERYBODY GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!"

They had to drag me off of Hale and handcuff me before I let up the beating. Opie, Juice, Hale, the football fuck, and I were placed in the back of cruisers, and I saw Tara's horror stricken face as she stood on the sidewalk, watching as they drove me away.

"What the hell were you thinking, Jackson?" My mother smacked me upside the head as we walked out of the police station. Piney was dragging Opie by his ear and Juice's mother was wailing stuff in Spanish, while the baby she held cried and wailed with her.

"I wasn't, really." I couldn't help but chuckle a little bit, warranting another smack from my mom. "Jesus, could you please stop bitch slapping me?"

Gemma narrowed her eyes, scowling. "He's a Hale, Jackson. We don't need more shit on our plates right now, not with Clay..." She trailed off, that worry wrinkling her face again.

I sighed, guilty, knowing that she was already distraught about the bullshit charges Clay would be slammed inside for. Whatever was going on between them was serious, and it had bothered me when it began so closely to my father's death, but now it just felt like both of us were holding on to whatever shred of family we had left to claim. Ironic that, as soon as I'd accepted it, the father figure I'd approved would be MIA for the next year.

"I get it, mom." I deadpanned, wiping some blood off the cut on my lip. Hale had socked me a few good ones, but it was nothing compared to his face.

"Just get in the god damned car." She snapped, getting into the driver's side of our SUV. I slid into the passenger side, rolling down my window to let the fresh air in.

"I have to get my bike."

My mom shook her head immediately. "No, you'll get it tomorrow."

I groaned, sliding down into my seat, annoyed with her. I hated being parted from my bike, my pride and joy. The car ride was dead silent, Gemma fuming on me adding more shit to her plate, or thinking about Clay's inevitable conviction – I couldn't tell which was more prevalent. When we got to our house, she pulled over on the side of the road.

"Go straight to bed, Jackson. I'll be at Clay's." The conviction was winning. I could tell by the way her voice dropped off at the end; she wanted to spend whatever time he had left, together. I didn't want to push it, so I just nodded, sliding out of the car and heading up the walk to our house.

I turned around to watch my mom drive off, and when I turned back to the house, I saw her. Sitting on my porch, knees hugged to her chest. Tara. Waiting for me.

I didn't expect to see her, but something about it exasperated me. I didn't have the energy for that conversation right now, especially given what just happened. I didn't want to dance around the misunderstanding between us, or whatever defense she would be giving for that Hale fucker. I sighed, meeting her on the porch stairs. She stood then, looking up at me with this petrified expression, like she was seeing something horrible for the first time in her life. Like she was seeing me, John Teller's son. The misfit in the biker gang.

"Your face..." Tara whispered, her eyes circling my head.

"Not so bad." I shrugged, giving her a disinterested glance. "You should see the other guy."

Her expression turned angry then, her arms curling and folding across her chest. "What was that about, Jax? You should've walked away."

I challenged her, a sarcastic, nonchalant air about my response. I wouldn't let her have power over me again. "SamCro doesn't walk away from pansy ass little bitches." I spat on the step below us, emphasizing just how much I cared about David Hale and his smug ass face. "I could ask you the same question."

"Ask me what? Why I tried to prove I was a tough guy by beating up the sheriff's son?" She snapped back, giving me wide, judgmental eyes.

"Oh, give me a god damned break. I don't have to prove shit."

"Then ask me what, Jax?"

I felt a little stab of anger, but not enough to tip me. "What were you doing with him? You his girl?"

"What?" Tara was affronted, eyebrows furrowing in puzzlement. "No. After you left with Opie, I went to the library to study. They were there, we formed a group, and decided to get food after we finished." She explained, understanding starting to dawn on her. She knew what I'd been thinking, she had to, because her expression began to soften and her eyes were back to looking at me with worry. "David's just a friend. With a big mouth, but just a friend, Jax. I'm not... his girl."

"Oh." The anger disappeared, because now, it wasn't meaningless. The way I felt for her still mattered, especially in the way she specified his. It changed everything.

"You thought..." She trailed off, letting it stay unspoken.

I sighed again, the rigidness in my spine relaxing, like a weight had been lifted. "I saw you with him, and I just... snapped."

Tara seemed to understand because she nodded then, looking down at her shoes while she tucked hair behind her ears – a nervous habit I'd noticed.

"You were scary." She whispered.

I stepped closer to her, trying to find the line. How close was I allowed to be now? "I'm sorry, Tara. It gets the best of me sometimes." I apologized softly.

"It's okay. I..." She took a long pause, still looking away from me. "I feel it, too, Jax."

I didn't hesitate now. I stepped even closer then, cupping her face with my calloused hands and guiding her to look back at me again. Her eyes were brilliant, afraid, entranced. She was blushing like she had before, laying on my living room floor. I'd wanted her then, so badly that it twisted in my gut and coursed through all of my limbs. I felt the same way now, her beauty clasped between each of my palms, lips parted in want. God, I wanted her.

"Are you mine?" I roughly mumbled, drawing her closer to me, my body aching. Had I ever wanted someone this much before? It was almost frightening, the urgency of it.

Her breathing deepened as she settled each hand on my hips, letting the distance close. It was like I felt it from the top of my head, to the ends of my toes, just that small gesture.

"Yes. I am."

I kissed her then, slowly and gently.

Her lips felt shocked against mine, unmoving and still, but I kept kissing them, coaxing out her innocent hesitation with each brush. She followed then, deepening the kiss, letting her mouth move with mine at the most tortuously easy pace – torturous because I wanted her so fucking badly. Her lips were so full, smooth, and desiring, and each entrapment of them between mine drove me closer to so much painful want. I kissed her harder, moving my hands to her waist as hers tangled into my hair, our bodies collapsed together perfectly. When my tongue found hers, she quietly moaned into my mouth.

I didn't know how far I could take this. I wanted her now, more than ever, but something about Tara made me want to be patient and gentle, something so innocent and untouched about these parts of her, bringing me to stop myself.

With a heavy breath, I used as much effort as I could muster to pull away from her mouth. "Fuck." I sighed, loosening my grip on her. "I have to stop." My lip was sore from the fight, and I needed to take things at the pace that felt right with her. Slow. Easy. Patient.

She panted, giving me a small nod as her hands settled on my shoulders. "Okay."

I kissed her once more, lightly, and then regretfully let her go completely. "I'll walk you home."

Tara took my hand in hers, lacing our fingers together. It felt like the confirmation that we were just beginning, a new chapter.