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The first thing Juice notices when a silver Toyota RAV4 pulls into the Teller-Morrow lot, is the girl sitting in the driver's seat. She looks young and inexperienced, her face scrunched up with concentration as she tries to park her car without hitting any other vehicles in close proximity. After completing this very difficult task, she hops out of the car like a child would hop off a chair that's way too high. When the girl pushes back her sunglasses, revealing a set of big, innocent-looking brown eyes, Juice is convinced she's a sixteen-year-old who just stole her parents' car.
Juice walks up to her, taking off his sunglasses, as well. He looks at her more carefully this time, takes in her pristine white dress and her dainty little shoes, her long and wavy hair elegantly falling past her shoulders, her wide-eyed expression which makes her resemble a deer in headlights. This girl couldn't look more out of place if she tried.
Without warning, Tig materialises next to him, looking like a Rottweiler who's just been given a new toy to play with.
"Church is that way, miss," he says, a shit-eating grin on his face. If he hadn't been so damn fast for a man his age, Juice would've elbowed him in the side.
The girl, who was looking around her intently, absorbing everything as if she'd just stepped through a portal into a new dimension, realises Tig's making fun of her, her cheeks flushing red.
"What can we help you with?" Juice asks, ignoring Tig, and trying his best to be as polite as he can. The girl looks unusually nervous, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wide, and if Juice is correct, it looks like her hands are trembling.
"Nothing big," she says, her voice sounding wobbly. "Just a broken tail light."
Tig grunts at the mention of the word tail and looks the girl up and down, "And some damn fine tail it is."
"Dude," Juice mutters, "She's like sixteen, man."
Tig smirks, winks at the girl, and says, "Age is just a number, brother."
If the girl didn't look uncomfortable before, she now looks about ready to run for dear life, her face as red as chili sauce. She clears her throat and tries to force a smile, "Actually, I'm twenty-six."
Juice finds this hard to believe, but he imagines that if a girl would lie about her age, she'd pick a more believable number, plus, he doesn't really have a clue why a girl like her would lie about her age to begin with, it doesn't look she's into drinking or fooling around with older guys, so he just rolls with it, "Are you all right?" he asks.
"I was at my parents' house," she says, her voice still shaky, but it sounds like a giggle is forming at the back of her throat, "I ran over their mailbox," and now she smiles, though nervously, as if she's proud of what she did.
She sure is a strange one, Juice thinks, but he enjoys looking at the dimples forming in her cheeks when she smiles.
Before he can ask the girl more about what happened or why on earth she ran over her parents' mailbox, Juice hears Jax booming voice behind him. "Shit," he says, a smile spreading on his face, "You have gotta be kidding me."
The expression on the girl's face changes from dread to something more like embarrassment, her eyes darting left to right, as if she's scared looking at Jax for too long might make her go blind, which, in all honesty, Juice thinks might actually happen to innocent girls like her.
"I remember you," Jax says, which intrigues Juice. He has no idea how daddy's little girl who looks like she grew up having three horses and a swimming pool could be part of Jax's group of acquaintances. "Didn't we go to high school together?" Jax asks.
"I can't believe you remember me," the girl says, and she sounds genuinely surprised.
"Yeah, of course," Jax starts, "You were a myth, you know. Frankie who never spoke a word. Frankie who never left the house. Frankie who'd never get laid," he smiles, his voice teasing, "Like our own Loch Ness monster."
Surprisingly, the girl, Frankie, returns his smile, though Juice can't be sure it's a genuine one. She looks uneasy with all of the attention she's getting, uneasy with the amount of men surrounding her, uneasy with Jax's presence.
"There were so many rumours about you," Jax continues, looking at the girl intently. Jax is really good at looking at girls and making them believe they're the only girl in the world, Juice thinks, and he envies him for it.
Quietly, Frankie asks, "Cat got my tongue and the like?"
Jax shakes his head, "More like daddy got you locked up in the basement."
"Not too far from the truth, let me tell you," Frankie huffs, her eyes averted to the ground, as if she's embarrassed.
It's a statement that makes the tension in the air shift. Jax's smile falters for a split second. It's a good thing Juice knows him well or he wouldn't have even noticed. He's seen it happen often, usually in similar situations like this one. If Jax finds out about children getting harmed by their parents or women beaten by their boyfriends, Jax's vision turns red, and he can't think of anything else until justice is served.
Tig glances at Juice before casually saying, "We can take care of your daddy for you. We're good at that kind of stuff."
"I was only kidding," Frankie retorts quickly, but it doesn't sound like she means it, and Juice notices by the way Jax looks at her, he doesn't believe much of it either.
"Tig," Jax warns, his eyes still on the girl, "Why don't you go fix Frankie's," he looks at Juice now, waiting for him to finish his sentence.
"Broken tail light," Juice replies.
"Broken tail light," Jax repeats, "While Juice shows Frankie where she can wait 'til you're done."
Tig looks at Jax, clearly displeased, and doesn't break eye contact with him when he asks Frankie, "Keys, please."
Juice can feel the girl's eyes burning in his back as he guides her to Gemma's office. He figures it'd be a good place for her to wait, and he imagines Gemma might be familiar with Frankie and her seemingly weird as fuck parents, as well. He's sure the two of them will have something to talk about.
When he knocks on the door of the office – if you can really call it an office – and opens it, Gemma doesn't avert her eyes from the enormous pile of files in front of her. She's wearing her glasses which, in this setting, is code for 'leave me the fuck alone'.
"Gemma," Juice says, a little scared she might snap at him.
"What's wrong," she replies, sounding irritated. She looks up from whatever important record she was working on, and before Juice can say anything else, Gemma mutters, "Dear God," and removes her glasses.
Gemma looks at Frankie who looks as scared as a convict who's just been put to trial.
"I haven't seen you since your momma insulted me in front of the school gate back when Jax was in tenth grade," Gemma says, which does little to make Frankie look more at ease.
Juice is scared he's made a mistake by bringing the girl here, but then Gemma gets up and walks towards the girl, puts her hands on the girl's cheeks, looks into her eyes, and says, "It's good to see you, sweetheart." Juice releases a breath he didn't know he was holding.
"Hi, Miss Teller," Frankie says, smiling.
"Enough of that," Gemma replies, "You're a big girl now, you can call me Gemma."
"I'm sorry," Frankie says quietly, "I'll try, Gemma," and Gemma seems pleased, looking at her in a proud sort of way.
"How've you been, Frankie?" Gemma asks, "Saw your old man a few weeks ago, didn't seem too happy when I asked about you."
Juice notices how Frankie shifts uncomfortable from foot to foot, touching her hands frantically. He's not sure what she's so nervous for, but it seems to be really bothering her.
"Yeah," Frankie starts, "His plans for me didn't work out too well in New York," she adds, "I quit dancing, quit the entire music thing, too, and studied literature instead. Became a teacher. But that's nothing to be too proud of, I guess."
Gemma huffs and places her hands on her hips, "That's some bullshit," she says, "I would've been damn proud of you."
It's clearly not what Frankie expected Gemma to say, but it was undoubtedly the right thing to say, because the girl smiles so brightly her dimples are out of control. Juice can't help but smile, too.
A few minutes later, Jax bursts into the office unannounced with news about Frankie's car.
"You did a little more than break a tail light, Frankie," he says, sounding like he's almost impressed by her mailbox-breaking skills, "We're gonna have to keep your car here for a few days."
Frankie nods and replies, "That's fine. I'll need it back by Monday morning, though. Have to get to work and all."
"Sure thing," Jax smiles his panty-dropping smile, "Let me give you a ride home, okay?"