Chapter 16: WHAT'S RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU
Hanging up the phone, Jarry exhales loudly then stares down at her notes - a grim smile of satisfaction and determination spreading across her face. She's so close to confirming the suspicions that'd been gnawing at her since she discovered the connection between Eli and Juice Ortiz. So close…she can feel it.
US Attorney Lincoln Potter, now working in Miami, hadn't heard about the brutal double murders that had rocked San Joaquin County; after his case to nail the Irish Kings and SAMCRO turned into a big pile of shit, he'd left California and never looked back. That said, she could sense from the protracted silence and the subsequent roughness to his voice that the news of Eli's death hit him hard.
However - a lawyer to the core - Potter did question her focus on Eli's death when clearly the intended victim had been Tara Knowles; wasn't the late Sheriff just "collateral damage" in the doctor's brutal murder? "And maybe I'm a suspicious son-of-a-bitch to think this…but could it be possible that there's some political motivations at work here? To exploit the murder of a decorated law enforcement veteran in order to bring the death penalty back to California?"
No shit… The curt response sat on the tip of her tongue, but Jarry had remained silent; it was always about the politics with these assholes. But not for her. Eli had been a trusted mentor…and friend; she wanted his killer's head on a spike.
Potter had responded to her silence with a rueful chuckle - as if nothing politicians did could ever surprise him. Then he told her everything that they'd done to force Juice to rat on his MC Brothers - the entrapment, the harassment, the blackmail - and it'd worked perfectly to Potter's plan; the weak link broke and gave them everything they wanted. But not without a price.
"Eli wanted to bring down SAMCRO but, like all good men, he didn't like preying on the weak. He wanted to stop…but I pushed him, threatened him…just like he was doing to Juice. But it wasn't until Juice attacked Eli in the war room that I saw how bad it'd gotten between them, but I didn't care. We had a case to win, bad guys to take off the streets…
So there was bad blood between Eli and the young biker beyond the usual cops vs. scumbags animosity. Eli had some extremely dangerous shit to hold over Juice's head, but was it all worth killing for?
"To succeed at this job, we must do whatever's necessary…no matter how ugly or unfair our tactics may seem to others. I've tried never to beat myself up over anything I've done, Sheriff. But this…if Ortiz had anything to do with this…I can't help but feel my hand in what happened…If that sniveling coward killed Eli, I'm counting on you to make it right. Fry his ass."
And now she's a little bit closer to that goal. Motive for Eli, but what about Tara Knowles? Did the twitchy young biker hate Teller's wife, or Teller himself, with that much vicious intensity? Or…was there a reason why Gemma Teller-Morrow had given Juice an alibi besides protecting one of her own? Maybe they had been together…just not at SAMCRO's cabin preparing it for guests, as they both claimed.
Maybe it's time for another go at Margaret Murphy, who'd been on vacation when her friend had been murdered; the woman had been too grief-stricken, and probably too terrified, to give them a truthful answer when questioned about who might want Tara dead.
Walking out of her office, she texts Cane to meet at her car for a trip to Charming. Only to find Nick Reese leaning against the wall next to her office door. Fuck, what had he heard? Jarry wasn't ready to share her theories yet; in her experience, these lawyers needed bullet-proof evidence laid out perfectly for them so they don't look like dipshits to the public. Hell, Patterson's still pissed about getting her ass handed to her by Rosen when she'd tried to railroad Teller into violating parole.
Straightening, Reese pins her with those icy blue eyes. Even battered and bruised - with a Batman band-aid covering the cut on his cheek - the state's golden boy still exudes cool arrogance better than anyone. "So you think someone from SAMCRO killed Sheriff Roosevelt and Dr. Knowles?"
"What the hell happened?" Jax barges into the hospital waiting room, where a mixed group of SAMCRO and Mayans mill around in nervous agitation. He'd been on his way to Gemma's when he got the anxious call from Alvarez; Nero had taken a turn for the worse. Making the turn for St. Thomas, he'd called Gemma and told her to move the come-to-Jesus lunch with Unser to dinner and then get her ass to the hospital; retaliation could wait a few more hours.
Pedro, the Mayan pretending to be Nero's cousin glances at Alvarez before responding. "The doctors missed a bullet. It didn't show up on the x-rays, and because of it Nero had a pul…pul…something." Wrinkling his brow, he turns to his Mayan Brothers. "What the fuck did the doc call it?"
"Pulmonary embolism…a massive blot clot in his lung." Mateo, the Mayan doc and former military medic, tells them. "Apparently it'd been growing even after his surgery."
Clenching his fists, Jax swallows hard. "Holy shit. Can they fix it?" The grim look on the man's face - on all their faces - gives him the answer he doesn't want.
"I want to see him!" Gemma screeches, lurching towards in the direction of ICU until Jax grabs her elbow and pulls her into his arms, holding tight. "Let me go, Jackson! I need to see him now!" She collapses against him, shrieking and sobbing uncontrollably.
Stroking his mom's back in a futile attempt to calm her, he glares at Pedro. "Make it happen." He knows that the ICU policy dictates family only - but family members could request exceptions in some cases, especially if the patient's terminal. Fuck, he can't go there - can't think about anyone else he loves getting wiped out because of this life.
But the speed at which the on-call doctor approved the visitation exacerbated his worry; as if the man's granting Nero's friends this last chance to say goodbye. As they walk into the room, Gemma tightens her grip on his arm, nearly cutting off circulation. Not that he can blame her; they've got some hideous memories of ICU - Tommy and JT, now this.
Jesus Christ…there's no fucking way that this old and frail-looking man covered by tubes and bandages could be strong, strapping Nero. It's only been two days since the shoot-out with the Niners; how could he have deteriorated this much, this fast? Cameron Hayes, may that bastard rot in hell, had been shot-up worse than Nero, but somehow Tara had saved his worthless ass. But then Tara had been an "exceptional talent" - or so he'd overheard Dr. Namid say the night she and the others had saved Abel's life.
They approach Nero's bed gingerly, torn between not wanting to disturb his rest and jarring him so that he'd spring up and assure them that nothing's wrong.
"Hi, Baby…" Gemma carefully picks up Nero's hand and gazes tearfully into his waxy, shrunken face. "It's me, Gemma." But it's as if she hadn't said a word - he doesn't stir at all; fuck, Nero's so still, if it wasn't for the monitor registering a weak, yet discernible heartbeat, Jax would've thought his friend was already gone.
He's not sure how long they stand there staring helplessly at the man who'd pretty much been a father figure for him and husband to his mother before Gemma finally loses her shit; sobbing loudly, she claws at his arms. "Wake up! You've got to pull out of this! Goddamn it, Nero…Please! I can't lose you, too. Please…"
To their surprise and relief, Nero's eyes open slowly - although it's short-lived comfort as he doesn't seem to notice either of them, focusing his glazed gaze on something in the distance only he could see. "You…were right…" Nero gasps weakly to his phantom guest. "…she kills…But I love…her…should've…married her…all her husbands die…least she didn't…kill me…"
What the fuck? Jax darts a confused glance at his mother, whose face crumples with horror - but before he can ask her anything, the jarring sound from Nero's heart monitor stops him cold. Rooted to the spot, he gapes at the flat lines spreading across the screen in crushed disbelief as the room erupts into chaos.
Although the roaring in his head grows louder, he can still hear his mother wailing as he watches the doctors try everything to bring Nero back. But to no avail - several minutes later, the room fades to quiet except for Gemma's choked sobs; Nero was gone.
Everyone has their own way of coping with grief - some choose to wear their sorrow like a big-ass neon sign, howling at the top of their lungs, intent on letting the world know and share in their pain; others prefer to tuck it away and go about their business as if nothing happened, determined to prove their fucking fortitude to all. And then there's the Teller Way, exemplified in fucking pathetic fashion by Jax and both his parents - pretending everything's so goddamn peachy while openly drowning in a shit-filled quagmire of booze, drugs and worthless sex.
So many times Tara had saved him from tumbling into that hell; as his friend, his Old Lady, his wife - she'd chased away the inner demons that threatened to consume him. One look into those beautiful green eyes glowing with love for him, one moment spent in her warm embrace - and he'd believe there's nothing in this fucking world that could bring him down.
But now that Tara's gone, he's barely coping as it is - fueled solely by the driving need to avenge her then get his sons clear of this toxic life that'd killed their mother. In the past couple of days, he'd found some solace in the time spent with his boys…not to mention exterminating the bitch that killed Tara. But losing Nero threatens to rip apart his fragile control; it was so goddamn senseless - Nero wasn't a soldier in the battle for the Oakland streets; he'd just been trying to help a friend. And now a good man's gone and a poor little boy - who life's already fucked over - has lost his father. Christ.
Jax'd told Bobby to take Gemma home then he'd run out of St. Thomas as if the ghosts of his dad and little brother were biting at his heels. Jumping on his bike, he'd thought fleetingly of heading to Diosa and revert to the Teller Way of coping with grief - another bottle of Jack, a dime bag of weed and the first available whore he saw, preferably one with dark brown hair and sparkling green eyes. But he'd dismissed the idea even before it left his head; the thought of fucking anyone else made him physically sick. No, there was only one place for him to go right now.
"I can't believe you're doing homework…It's spring break!" Jax tugs at a silky strand of dark hair as Tara leans against him, pillowing her head on his bare stomach.
They'd spent the first couple of hours here at their special place, a private lake side park at the base of Mount Walker, skinny-dipping in the unseasonably warm water. After holding him off for most of the week because she had to study for a big test, Tara had a lot to make up for - to him and his hungry dick. Which she did…and, holy fuck, then some. Shit, the first time, he'd come so hard that the Wahewas probably heard him screaming his pleasure from a mile away.
Completely wrung dry (literally), he'd spread out a blanket under a big tree so that they could rest up for another round later; but Tara, being Tara, had pulled out a massive book from her backpack.
"It's not homework; I'm done for the week." Stripping the jacket cover off the book, she waves it in his face - causing him to burst out laughing as he reads the title.
"'Of Human Bondage'?" he hoots. "You're reading about S&M? Babe, if you want to experiment…I got a rope with me; you can tie me up any time you want."
Rolling her eyes, she swats him on the arm with the book jacket. "Teller, you really shouldn't let your dick do all your thinking...It's a classic, written by a literary genius. We won't be reading it in English class so Mrs. Conroy suggested I check it out."
Jax's teasing grin fades instantly at the thought of dried up, crabby old Mrs. Conroy; the long time town librarian - who happened to be the Winston's other next door neighbor - hated his ass (even though he once spent a hot summer afternoon cleaning up her backyard - mainly because he and Opie blew up her prize watermelons with their prize fireworks, but she didn't fucking know that). He didn't like the idea of that mean old hag telling Tara what books to read - no doubt the list would include some shit about how the smartest, most beautiful girl in town could do way better than a high school drop-out who belonged to an outlaw MC.
As if reading his thoughts (which Tara always seemed to do with scary fucking accuracy), she rolls towards him and brushes her soft lips against his. "Actually Baby, I think you might like it…"
Tara always says that when she talks about books with him; weird enough, she's rarely every wrong. Since they were little kids, she'd tell him about what she'd read or was currently reading or planned to read - and each time he'd get sucked in and wind up reading all the books himself. His Brothers were forever giving him shit about the books he'd bring on their runs - paperbacks that Tara would slip in his bag with little post-notes…"Think you might like this. I love you…come back to me safe and soon."
Even before the Wahewas won their claim to take back this land, Jax's never seen anyone here; in all the times he'd come here, first with his dad and Tommy and then with Tara, he'd never see anyone else. It's surprising given the perfect terrain for camping, the cool shade trees and access to a small lake - but most people around here always flocked to Lake Camanche or Lodi Lake Park; when he wanted to hit the lake with his friends, that's where he went too. He reserved this place for Tara.
Now, anyone who wanted access had to get special permission from Chief Charlie Horse; the man's been more than a little crazed about protecting their borders since those Russian pricks invaded the reservation and killed one of the Chief's young cousins then held some women (not to mention Jax and Opie) hostage in exchange for guns. Lucky for Jax, JT had been good friends with the Chief's brother so Charlie had told him that he was welcome any time - especially once he got a look at Tara; the Chief had grinned knowingly and virtually high-fived Jax with his amused eyes.
Sitting under the tree, Jax lights a cigarette and takes in the breathtaking view - the lush green grass, the rolling hills with Mt. Walker in the backdrop, the crystal blue waters…it's been a while since he'd been here; not since he'd taken the gavel. Ironically, even though this would always be his and Tara's place, they never made here as husband and wife.
Despite Charlie's diligence in protecting the Wahewa land, Jax no longer felt safe sleeping out here in the open without his Brothers around; as SAMCRO's President, he had too many enemies - no fucking way he'd ever let Tara be vulnerable to them again, especially not after what happened with her hand.
She's here…he can see her stretched out on a blanket, reading a book; he loves how her brow wrinkles in concentration, loves the faint sprinkle of freckles across her nose, loves the soft smile and the pink flush that would spread across her face when she'd catch him staring at her like a lovesick puppy.
He can hear her laughing as he tries, with varying degrees of success, to spear a fish with his knife or attempts to copy some of her hard as fuck yoga positions and winds up falling flat on his ass. Since he was a little kid, he loved the sound of her giggles; it always made him happy.
"You want to play what?" Snorting with laughter, he watches in amused disbelief as she opens her backpack and pulls out a small box labeled Travel Chess.
She ignores his mocking skepticism and lays out the board on their blanket. "Come on Jax…I don't feel like reading right now; I want to do something together, and it's a little too cold for swimming."
Wagging his eyebrows, he shoots her his best panty-dropping leer. "I can think of better things we can do together…" He tugs her on to his lap then slides a hand up her shirt; loving her squeals of delighted protest, he squeezes a plump breast, rubbing a hardening nipple with his thumb. Amazing, they'd just fucked each other senseless half an hour ago, yet his cock's brick hard and ready for yet another round.
"Oh, Baby, we'll get to that for sure…" She tweaks his goatee before sliding off his lap and starts to set up the board. "We can play Strip Chess…any time you knock out once of my pieces, I take something off." Smiling, she reaches over to rub the zipper on his tented fly. "…and vice versa. You want to play my game, Baby?"
Holy shit…how the fuck did he ever think he could live the rest of his life without this woman? He sends a million silent, heartfelt thanks to the powers-that-be in the universe for bringing her back to him. "Yeah," he croaks hoarsely. "I want to play…"
Pulling out his flask, Jax gulps down the whiskey - welcoming the burn in his throat and his gut. He can feel her arms around him; he loves the soft strength of her hands sliding up and down his back, the delicious floral scent of her, the feel of those lush lips brushing against his ear. "I love you, Jax. More than anything…"
He's got to admit it scares him a little - the idea of finally leaving SAMCRO, the only life he's ever known and the only future he'd ever planned (with Tara, of course). But he no longer wants to be part of what the Club's become under Clay's poisonous leadership, not any more. Granted all this shit with the cartel's partly his fault; he'd made the deal with the devil in exchange for his out because, after fourteen months in Stockton, he didn't want to risk getting torn apart from Tara and his boys ever again. And that's where staying with SAMCRO would lead, back in prison or death.
So earlier today he'd told Clay that he's done; that after they come up with an exit strategy to get the Club clear of Galindo, he's taking his family out of this shithole - and finally give Tara the life he'd promised her, one where she didn't have to be afraid anymore.
"What is it?" Wise green eyes peer up at him as a soft hand strokes his beard. "Not having second thoughts, I hope."
She'd been packing for her and the boys' trip tomorrow when he got home and surprised her with the double-shot of good news: he'd be going to Oregon with them and that he was out of SAMCRO. Ecstatic, Tara had rewarded him in mind-blowing fashion - as only she could.
He presses a lingering kiss to that luscious mouth, ignoring the stirrings south-of-the-border. "Not a chance." Definitely no second thoughts, he wants the fairy tale too.
But without his cut, without his VP patch - could he really take care of his family? Yeah, Tara's a surgeon now and could support them all with her eyes closed, but he needs to be the one to take care of her for a change - the little girl who'd raised herself into this amazing woman, despite her fucked-up parents. And while he was in prison, it'd killed him to know how hard she had to work to keep their family afloat on her small resident's salary. Never again - he wants more for her, more for their sons and all the other kids they'll have some day. He just needs to find the non-outlaw way of doing it.
"Babe, when did you know you wanted to be a doctor?" He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear then runs his hand up and down her bare arm. "I mean, when did you know you'd be good at it?" Shit, could he sound more like an insecure pussy?
Her brows arch questioningly. "Wow, I didn't see that coming…Well, what I usually tell everyone is that I'd always liked the idea of helping people, and I was always really good at science and math in school…"
"You were good at everything in school," he reminds her. They've never really talked about it in-depth, but he knows why she chose to be a doctor, specifically a pediatric cardiologist - just not sure how long it took before she found her life's calling. How long would it take him? "We were twelve when Tommy died; did you know then?"
She looks away, as she always does when she needs to gather her thoughts - especially the ones that troubled her. "I didn't know anything about neo-natal specialty back then." She smiles sadly. "But afterwards I checked out every book in the library about CHD to see if there was anything I could've seen or done to…"
"Tara, there was no fucking way you could've prevented what happened to him. You were just a kid. Not even the doctors could save him." It horrifies him to think that she might've been carrying such guilt all this time; he knows his little brother would feel the same way - Tommy had adored her.
Shaking her head, she presses a finger against his lips. "I know…it just took me a while to realize it. But I didn't read those books just for him…you had CHD, too." Her hand slides down to his chest to rest on top of his "Abel" tattoo. "I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you…So I wanted to be ready to see any signs that you were sick, just in case. I guess I was just lucky that I really liked all the medical stuff."
His eyes sting as he stares at the love of his life; to hell with feeling like an insecure pussy. "No, Babe, I'm the lucky one. I'm leaving SAMCRO without any regrets, but - to tell the truth - I'm a little anxious about what I'll do for the rest of my life."
She props herself up on an elbow and narrows her green gaze at him. "Jax, you're smarter than anyone I know. You always have been - just never gave yourself the credit…You can do anything, Baby."
Pulling her into his arms, he squeezes tight and buries his face into her silky hair. "With you, Tara. I can do anything when I'm with you."
Stubbing out his cigarette, Jax stares at the lush green and blue landscape in front of him - where he'd spent some of the happiest hours in his life. Although, aside from the short bursts of joy he felt around his sons, he doubts he'll ever feel that blissful contentment ever again.
Now that he's finally avenged Tara, all he's got left to do is convince Unser to admit his role in killing Roosevelt in some dumbfuck attempt to protect Wendy; that'll blow to hell Reese's batshit crazy plan to pin the former Sheriff's death on him.
And then he'll tell his Club and his mother that he's done.
He'll stay long enough for Nero's funeral a couple of days from now, make sure that poor little Lucius Padilla is taken care of (although Alvarez had vowed that same thing) - then he's finally taking his family out of Charming for good. But without Tara by his side, could he actually make it through the day-to-day and be the father his boys need? He takes another long pull from the whiskey bottle and closes his eyes.
Before heading back to town, Jax texts Gemma and tells her to cancel dinner with Unser; she's been through enough today, he can question the old family friend alone.
Riding to Unser's place, he wracks his brain to figure out how the man had gotten so close to Wendy that he'd disrespect Tara like this? Even if he hadn't murdered Tara himself, didn't Charming's ex-police chief realize that covering up what Wendy did - protecting that worthless junkie bitch - makes him almost as guilty? Jax grits his teeth as he speeds up; fuck, if he didn't need that stupid shit to fry for Roosevelt's death…
He parks his bike next to Unser's truck and tries not to remember the last time he was here, crazed with fury and betrayal. Seems like a million years ago; he certainly feels as if he's aged that much.
"Hey, Wayne, open up!" Jax shouts after his first couple of knocks go unanswered; the man's got to be home, his truck's here and there's nothing around this goddamn place for miles. "I got to talk to you!"
There's no fucking way that Unser couldn't hear him knocking and yelling; even if he'd been asleep, he would've woken up by now. The asshole must be ignoring him, hoping he'd give up and go away. Not fucking likely. Jax tries the door, surprised that it's unlocked; shit, even as remotely as this trailer's located, the old cop's usually too paranoid to leave himself that open.
Stepping into the tiny trailer, Jax immediately spots Unser's crumpled body on the floor; blood seeping out from two holes in the man's chest. "Holy shit!" He pulls out his phone and calls Bobby, barking that the guys need to get to Unser's place now, fucking now.
Jesus Christ…who could've done this? Aside from shooting Roosevelt in a misguided attempt to protect a friend, the old bastard was harmless; hadn't put a criminal away since Hale became mayor and got rid of CPD in favor of using the Sanwa sheriffs. Fuck, the only one with a beef against the man had been Clay, and that son-of-a-bitch's getting ass-raped in hell. Bending over Unser's body, Jax checks the man's neck for a pulse while trying not get any blood on his clothes; no doubt Reese and Patterson would love to pin this shit on him.
His pulse's weak but still there, Unser's still alive. Jax grabs a blanket from the small bed and presses it tight against the man's chest to slow the bleeding. "Wayne…" He squeezes the man's shoulder, hoping to get a response - any response. The old bastard can't die…at least without admitting what he'd done. "Wayne, it's me…Jax."
Slowly the man's eyes flutter open. "Jax…," he gasps, coughing as blood spatters his lips. "…so sorry about JT…didn't know they were…going to kill him…" Christ, why was he bringing that shit up? Clay killed his Old Man, and Jax made him pay…for everything.
"It's okay, Wayne." Jax assures him, patting his shoulder. "Clay's worm food now, him and Lowell Sr."
Unser shakes his head, which brings on another coughing spell and more blood. "No…she…she made mistake…trusted wrong…" What the fuck was the man talking about? Jax doesn't have time for this; he needs Unser to admit to killing Roosevelt,
"Wayne, we know who killed my Old Man. I avenged JT…It's done. Now I need to know about Tara…Why did you let Wendy kill her? Why?!" Jax realizes he's clutching the old man's shirt and lets go. "How could you let her hurt Tara like that? You killed Roosevelt to protect Wendy…why? WHY?!"
The old family friend stares back at him before opening his mouth to respond; hopefully with the answer that Jax needs. But then suddenly, just like Nero this morning, Unser's gaze glazes over as he stares at something beyond Jax, who whirls around to look behind him - but nothing's there.
"Sorry sweetheart…" Unser wheezes, more blood gushing out of his mouth. "It's…all my fault…didn't know that she would…so…sorry…" The old man's body seizes violently then stills; his eyes open and sightless, but no longer fixed on some phantom guest - just like Nero.
Jesus Christ, for the second time today, Jax's watched someone die; the second time he'd seen someone talking to something only they could see. Although Nero's words had made no goddamn sense to Jax, Unser's seemed perfectly clear; he'd been apologizing to Tara for letting Wendy kill her. Which means he'd been at the scene - so either Wendy or Unser killed Roosevelt.
He can hear the roar of motorcycles approaching in the distance; his Brothers were here. Together they'll work out an iron-clad story that will convince Reese, Patterson and Jarry. It's almost over.
It took him and his Brothers a couple of hours to work the scene at Unser's, planting enough evidence to lead everyone to the right conclusion: that Wendy had murdered Tara, that Unser had shot Roosevelt to protect her - only to be killed later by his treacherous partner-in-crime, who'd wanted to tie up loose ends before skipping town. So the cops would look for Wendy - but they'd never find her.
Chucky and Rat had picked up the boys from daycare and fed them dinner; Jax had come home to find Thomas in the living room, laughing uproariously over some game Rat had devised involving Chucky's fake fingers and a plastic hammer. Abel had wanted to play alone in his room.
But Abel wasn't there when Jax checked, instead he finds the little boy in his and Tara's bedroom - holding the small redwood box where she'd kept her jewelry and all the letters Jax'd written her; he smiles as Abel slowly opens the top and peeks inside.
Walking into the room, he notices Abel's ever-present, ever-growing backpack on the bed. "You looking for something, Little Man?" Reaching into his pocket, he strokes the platinum disk from one of those necklaces; Abel's not the only one who feels the need to cart his memories around.
Startled, Abel drops the box, spilling the contents to the floor. Yelping in distress, he drops to the ground - pawing desperately through the necklaces, checking for damage.
"It's okay, Son. Nothing's broken…" Jax assures the distraught little boy, rubbing his shoulder. "Mommy wouldn't be mad, don't worry." Not that Tara ever got mad at her perfect little boy. "You know…" He picks up a jade pendant that he remembers giving her way back in high school. "I gave your Mommy all these...she kept them all."
Abel nods slowly then pops up to grab his backpack from the bed, plopping back down next to Jax with a thud. Opening one of the pockets, he pulls out another necklace - one that looks vaguely familiar.
"Wow, that's new." Jax grins broadly after greeting his wife and sons with hugs and kisses, his eyes trained on the rather unusual piece of jewelry adorning Tara's slender neck. "You letting other men buy you jewelry now?"
Tara caresses the strand of green macaroni noodles lovingly. "Well, you know how much I love beautiful things." Ruffling Abel's hair with her free hand, she smiles down at the little boy, who beams proudly. "Especially from beautiful men."
She'd worn the green macaroni necklace every day for a few weeks until Thomas accidently tore it in his usual exuberant, take-no-prisoners play mode; it'd been the only time he'd seen Abel upset at his little brother. But Tara had assured him that they'd make another one soon…although they never did. Something Abel apparently felt the need to correct.
"Did you make that in pre-school today?" Swallowing hard, Jax watches Abel carefully position the necklace in the velvet-lined box as if he's handling priceless emeralds; he's sure, for Tara, that macaroni necklace would be worth more than every piece of jewelry in the world.
Nodding, Abel helps him put the other necklaces in the box as well. "Mommy might want to wear it in heaven. She told me it was her fav'rite." Holy shit, how could he possibly respond to that? Fortunately, he doesn't have to as Chucky pops his head into the room to tell them that the cookies he's baking for dessert are ready. The news sends Abel - backpack in hand - racing for the kitchen; the kid loves chocolate chip cookies.
Exhaling loudly, Jax debates pulling out his flask once again. Every time he thinks each day might hurt less, he's totally fucking wrong. Rising to his feet, he notices the letters still scattered on the floor - apparently, they'd slipped out of the hair band Tara'd used to bind them together. Torn, part of him thinks he should toss them - would he ever be fucking able to read about all the hopes and plans he'd written to her while locked up in Stockton? How much he loved and missed her; how he couldn't wait until their family was together again…
Picking up each opened envelop, he tables that decision; Tara had loved the letters enough to keep them, he couldn't bear to throw them away for that reason alone. Frowning, he notices one of the envelopes that's so much different than the others - smaller, and marked with the unmistakable Air Mail stamp. His eyes widen as he recognizes his dad's handwriting and Maureen Ashby's name and address on the envelope. Holy shit; it's one of JT's letters to Maureen that Tara felt the need to keep; had he read this one? Had Gemma?
With slightly shaking hands, he extracts the letter from the envelope…did he even want to fucking read this? The letters that Gemma had given him were crushing enough, but Tara had kept this one tucked away with the rest of her prized keepsakes. He had to find out why. Scanning his dad's writing, Jax skips over all the declarations of undying love and devotion for her and Trinity; even though he's made peace with JT's memory and accepted his dad's other life, his other family - that didn't mean he wanted to dwell over any details. He's about to put the letter away when his eyes skid to a stop.
Every day it becomes more clear that I don't belong here. I'm certain now that Clay and Gemma are together. They barely try to hide it from me. Gemma hates my apathy. She hates all of me. Her chill is terrifying. I know my days are numbered Mo, and when these letters stop you can be certain my death will come at the hands of my wife and best friend. At least my sweet Thomas will never suffer my life. I miss him so much. I only pray that Jackson finds a different path. He already reminds me so much of myself.
Jax feels his blood pressure spiking to the sun. Holy fucking shit! This was definitely not in the pile of letters his mother had given him - and for good fucking reason on her part. "…you can be certain my death will come at the hands of my wife and best friend."
All of the sudden, both Nero and Unser's haunting and confusing last words pummel his already throbbing head.
"…she kills…But I love…her…should've…married her…all her husbands die…at least she didn't…kill me…"
"…so sorry about JT…didn't know they were…going to kill him…"
Jesus Christ…Had Nero and Unser known that Gemma helped Clay kill his Old Man? Sure fucking sounds that way, he seethes bitterly; Jax wonders what other letters may not have made it to the pile his mother had given him. Rage swells inside him, boiling the blood in his veins. That bitch, that fucking bitch; she'd tried to use those letters to manipulate him - to exploit the explosive temper that's plagued him since childhood to get what she wanted from him.
"…I know how dangerous secrets can be. And it's time we all knew the truth. Clay Morrow killed your father. Stole that seat away from this family. Gunned down your father's best friend. And he tried to kill your wife. He's a murderous traitor. And there's only one thing to do now, Jackson. For your father, your family and your Club. It's in you. It's who you are. Clay has to die. Read 'em. See him in your father's own hand. And then you kill him, Jax…And when it's done... you take your place at the head of this table... where a Teller belongs. Where you belong."
But not once did that treacherous bitch mention her own hand in JT's grisly death. It makes him fucking sick to think about all the hours they'd sat by his dad's hospital bed; how Gemma had clutched his hand and sobbed hysterically when John Teller gasped his last breath and his heart monitor flatlined…
He needs that fucking drink…but not here, not in front of his boys; no matter what, he'll never turn into that bastard Frank Knowles. Rising to his feet, he jams the letter into his pocket and stalks out of his bedroom, ready to tell Rat and Chucky he's headed out. But the doorbell rings, stopping him in his tracks; who the fuck could be coming over now?
"I got it," he tells Rat, who'd emerged from the kitchen ready to put himself between some stranger at the door and his Brothers and two precious little boys.
To his shock, he finds himself face to face with Nick Reese; this time without a posse of Sanwa sheriffs. "What the hell do you want?" Jax growls; he's got no fucking patience for the man's bullshit right now. Tomorrow morning, once Unser's body's found, he'll fill the prick in on the details. But now, he needs a bottle of Jack. Two.
The asshole prick opens his mouth to answer, only to slam it shut just as Jax feels a tug on his jeans from Thomas (a champion speed crawler) trying to pull himself up by clinging to his Daddy's leg.
"Cookie!" Thomas chirps happily, shoving the half-gnawed remains of a chocolate chip cookie into his sticky, chocolate smeared and crumb covered mouth. Despite himself, Jax can't help but smile back; just like his Mommy, Thomas seems gifted with the ability to diffuse Jax's explosive fury, even for a little while.
Picking up his baby boy, Jax nods at Reese, who's once again transfixed by the giggling green-eyed cookie monster. "You'd better come in."
"Sorry, Jax." Chucky shuffles into the room sheepishly. "I was trying to clean him up, and he got away from me…He's really fast. Oh, hi again," he greets Reese, recognizing him from this morning. "You want a cookie? They're freshly baked…"
Reese just gapes at him, obviously not expecting to encounter such a domestic scene at the SAMCRO President's house. "Um, no…but thanks."
"Are you here 'cause you need 'nother band-aid?" Standing in the kitchen doorway, Abel peers up at Reese. "I got lots."
Nodding, Reese beams a smile at the little doctor-to-be, touching the Batman covered adhesive on his cheek. "Yeah, that would be great. You were absolutely right this morning, I wouldn't want to get infected."
Grinning hugely, Abel whirls around to fetch more band-aids from his backpack as Jax starts to hand Thomas to Chucky to get cleaned up.
"Do you mind if I hold him?" Jax stiffens at Reese's request, Rat's eyebrows disappear into his hairline and Chucky's jaw drops open as he glances between the man's zillion dollar suit and Thomas' sticky, chocolate covered fingers.
Jax squeezes his baby tighter; if not for a few quirks of fate, this man might've been the father of Tara's children. It's enough to make him want to shoot the fucker right here in his living room. Then staring at Thomas, it hits him again how much his son looks like him - with Tara's eyes. Reese would never have that. Ever.
Nodding, Jax hands the sturdy toddler to Reese, who lights up with the smile he'd beamed at Abel twice today. "Hi Buddy. My name's Nick." Taking the wet towel from Chucky's outstretched hand, he starts wiping up Thomas' face then stopping to thank Abel profusely for the band-aids.
"You're a lucky man, Teller." Reese watches as Chucky finally herds the boys down the hall for bath and bed-time. "Those are two great kids…"
"Yeah." Jax crosses his arms, and glares at the asshole who'd promised him a lethal injection. "So you'll understand why I won't let your railroad me to death row. Tara wouldn't have wanted me to raise them from there."
Reese flinches but recovers quickly, stepping closer so he won't be overheard. "I'll cut to the chase…Jarry's got a warrant for one of your boys, Juan Carlos Ortiz. She's looking to pick him up on suspicion in Roosevelt's death. You got to tell me now, what you found out from that whore…is this guy involved?"
Jax narrows his eyes at the man he hates and distrusts more than anyone on the fucking planet; then it dawns on him that Reese may be spilling this intel so that SAMCRO would hunt down Juice before the Sheriff does. Jax hadn't told him about Wendy yet, so Reese must think if Juice's knows anything about Tara's murder, they needed a jump start interrogating the guy before Jarry finds him.
"Sheriff's going after Juice?" Jax's brow knits in confused surprise. "What's her evidence?" Although he's pretty sure what Reese will say; Roosevelt had fucked with Juice's mind for months, using Juice's black father to blackmail him into ratting on the Club. Shit, it'd screwed him up so much that he wound up murdering Miles to cover up stealing a brick then tried to kill himself. Yeah, if anyone would have a beef with the late Sheriff, it'd be Juice. But then he couldn't see Juice in cahoots with Wendy nor would he have had access to Unser's truck, which Colette had seen in the driveway right before Tara died.
Shrugging, Reese shakes his head. "Bad blood with Roosevelt. She talked to some former US Attorney today who convinced her that Ortiz might've had a stronger motive than the average street thug. So are you going to answer my question? What that whore told you…about the truck in your driveway, what does that have to do with Ortiz?"
"Nothing," Jax mutters. "Juice wouldn't have been driving Unser's truck. That day, the only people with access would've been Unser and my ex-wife Wendy." He could probably tell Reese about Wendy now, but he still doesn't trust the prick not to railroad him to the needle; he's got to stick with the plan. "My mother sometimes drives it, but not that day."
Reese's ears perk up as he searches Jax's face. "Ortiz has an alibi…Jarry doesn't believe it so they're looking to pick her up and question her again."
"Who is it?" Jax's not sure how to read the strange look on Reese's face; normally the man's so arrogantly poker-faced, except for the anger and hate he seems to reserve exclusively for Jax or the warm fondness for Abel and Thomas. He's never seen this look from the man before.
Exhaling loudly, Reese stares at him. Hard. "It's your mother. Gemma Teller-Morrow."