When the club roared back into Charming after their run, Clay took them down the main drag. From a long way down the street, Chibs spotted Aoife outside the coffee shop, sweeping the porch steps. When she heard the motorcycle engines, her entire body tensed, and she flew back inside the coffee shop, leaving the door swinging in her wake. Chibs felt a stab of disappointment pierce his heart. He tried to convince himself that it was a coincidence, that their arrival just coincided with her remembering something important she had to do. But he couldn't do the same when he cruised by the coffee shop the next morning while she was standing in the window. Chibs' eyes met hers, and his heart broke as she drew back from the window with fear written on her face.
Things were suddenly heating up with the Sons' gun running, and Chibs was out of town on runs nearly as much as he was in, frequently alone or with just one other Son. Normally he took great pride in being chosen for these jobs because it was a sign of the great trust that Clay put in him – not just that he could keep secrets, but that he could think on his feet and not fly off the handle at the slightest hitch in a plan. But right now, with Aoife obviously upset, it was nothing but a pain in his ass. He wanted time to think about how to fix what had gone wrong, but after working on cars all day, Clay informed him that he and Juice were going out again tonight. One of the other chapters needed Juice's hacking expertise, so Chibs' primary role was protection for the younger Son.
Chibs was positively exhausted when he and Juice rode back into town again the next morning. Juice had been able to the do the job in record time, meaning that Chibs only got a few hours of sleep before they headed back. Juicey was still going strong, but he was younger and could go for a few days before he collapsed with exhaustion. Chibs was on autopilot when he rolled his bike into a parking space in front of the coffee shop, desperate for food and caffeine to keep him vertical. If he'd been more awake, his better judgment would have told him to give her space. But he was a sleep-deprived zombie.
Chibs saw the panicked look on Aoife's face when he walked in. She disappeared into the kitchen and then another woman took her place at the counter. Based on the dusting of flour on her clothes, Chibs assumed she was the seldom-seen Della, Aoife's baker and only employee. Aoife clearly didn't want to see him, not even long enough to sell him coffee. Dejected, Chibs paid for his coffee and a bag of muffins for the clubhouse and rode back.
Chibs could tell that Half-Sack and Juice were exchanging looks behind his back as he grumpily showed them the ins and outs of tuning up the rare vintage motorcycle that a rich guy from Lodi had brought in. He'd already lost his temper twice that morning. When he first got back to the clubhouse, he'd punched the wall of his dorm room hard enough that items in the adjoining rooms crashed to the floor. And then, just a few minutes ago when he was working on a car and simply could not get a lug nut off, he had slammed the wrench down so hard on the workbench that it made a dent. -
Chibs was just plain frustrated. Things with Aoife had been going well. That day in the coffee shop where she put his arms around him, he knew that she had broken down the brick walls and barbed wire he had erected to protect his heart. Had she not gotten that call from her mother, he had planned to invite her to take another ride on his bike and find out just how sweet her lips were. But now she was terrified of him, and the only clue he had as to why was an ancient tattoo, inked almost twenty years ago in a smoky room in Belfast while talk of bombs and guns filled the air around him. He was sure that the bloody fucking IRA was at the root of her fear, and he didn't have a clue what he could do about it.
"Chibs?" Juice finally said, and Chibs realized that he had been standing in the middle of the garage, a wrench in one hand and a bolt in the other, staring into space.
"Sorry, lads." He took a deep breath and then slammed the wrench onto the workbench again. "I need a smoke break."
The work day ended with Chibs still in a foul mood, and he stomped into the clubhouse to grab a beer. The only person inside was Piney. "Grab me another beer, Chibs?" the older man asked as Chibs stepped behind the bar.
Chibs slid open the beer cooler behind the bar and made a noise of disgust. "Nothing but weak American piss. Me and the prospect need to have a come-to-Jesus meeting about stocking the beer fridge." He put a cold Budweiser in front of Piney. "I'm going to go check in the back. I'm sure we at least have some cider."
Chibs went in the storeroom behind the bar. While he was in there with the door slightly ajar, he heard Tig walk by, whistling to himself. Then the clubhouse door slammed and Clay barked impatiently, "Where's Chibs?"
Tig snickered. "Probably down at the coffee shop trying to get himself that fine Irish pussy. He's really taken with that gash."
Chibs stepped out with a case of Harp. Tig had settled in on the other side of the corner of the bar so that he and Piney were catty-corner to one another. "Hey, Chibsy," Tig grinned. "You get a chance to see if the curtains match the drapes on that pussy you've been chasing?
Chibs dropped the case of beer on the bar and clenched his fists. He knew he'd been equally crude when they'd talked about crow eaters in the past, but every time Tig referred to Aoife as just pussy, Chibs ground his teeth. No matter where Aoife and Chibs did or didn't go, he was certain she would never be a sweetbutt, hanging around the club fetching, sucking and fucking for anyone with a cut. "Don't call her that," Chibs growled.
"Call her what? Pussy?" Tig's eyes were wild, a sure sign he was itching for a fight. "Ok. How about gash? No, I know, cunt!"
Chibs yanked the sergeant at arms off his bar stool by the front of his shirt. "Say that shit about her one more fucking time, Tig, and I swear I'll –"
"You'll what, Chibs?" Tig taunted him. "What are you going to do? Come on, take a swing! Defend the honor of that fine Irish pussy!"
Chibs' first punch landed square on Tig's cheek. Tig retaliated with a pair of punches to Chibs' chin.
"You two, cut that shit out! NOW!" Clay's voice boomed. Chibs hesitated at the President's order, giving Tig the perfect opportunity to knock him to the ground. Then there were running footsteps, and Jax, Juice, and Bobby were all hauling Tig backwards while the Prospect helped Chibs up. Clay was pissed. "That's enough of this shit. I'd take you out to the ring, but we've got business. Church, everyone, now."
Chibs was almost grateful when Clay announced they had been asked to do another job that night, because it meant he would be busy. One of their other chapters needed the squeeze put on a judge to rule a questionably conducted search inadmissible and therefore ensure that there was no case against one of their guys, but they were under surveillance. The plan was for the chapter under surveillance to throw a giant party and invite as many other chapters as possible. The home chapter's members would all stay clearly visible outside, and law enforcement would be helpless to keep track of all the bikers in the area. As the mother chapter, SAMCRO would complete the intimidation job.
After the club had agreed to do the job, Clay said, "Now because we will need the van, two of you won't get to ride. And I want to thank Chibs and Tig for volunteering themselves for that duty by brawling in the clubhouse. You two have the entire drive to Oregon and back to work shit out."
Tig and Chibs sniped at each other the entire ride up and during the entire job. Chibs knew they were pissing Clay off but they just couldn't seem to stop. Tig was brooding over a call he'd gotten from his daughters' mother and ready to fight at the drop of a hat, and Chibs' anger and frustration overrode his normal tendency to let Tig's trash talking roll off his back.
When they made it back to the brother chapter's clubhouse, Clay's frown was deep, but all he did was cross his arms and glare at Tig and Chibs before curtly instructing them all to get some sleep in the guest dorm rooms. Chibs knew Clay's look – it was predatory. He would wait for his moment to confront them. That moment came after they'd all slept.
Chibs was sitting alone at the bar when Clay approached. Around them, the sweetbutts and hangarounds for the chapter were prepping for that night's welcome back party for the club brother Tig and Chibs' mission had gotten released. The SAMCRO crew was staying for that party, as Clay had some business to conduct. Clay took the cigar out of his mouth and put his hand on Chibs' shoulder. 'So do you want to explain to me why the fuck you are acting like a hormonal teenage girl? The shit that happened today – I expect that from Tig. Not from you." Clay puffed on his cigar. "So Gemma told me that there's this Irish chick and I'm guessing that's what has you all fucked up. That right?"
Chibs sipped his beer and nodded. "That about sums it up."
"You fucking her?" Clay asked gruffly.
Chibs shook his head. "I think I'm fallin' in love with her." Clay raised his eyebrows.
"We've all been there, man. You think Gemma didn't fuck with my head when we first got together? But it's time for you to either fuck her or fuck someone else until you forget about her. I got you these. Consider them my contribution to the cause. Get your shit together." Clay put a brown bag on the bar and walked away. Chibs opened it and found a box of condoms. He bit his lip. Maybe Clay was right. Whatever Aoife had felt for him a few days ago, she had made it very clear that she wanted no more to do with him, and he had spent the past few days feeling like shit thinking of her. Fuck it. He was going to get wasted and forget that Aoife McIntyre ever walked into his life. Chibs tilted his bottle of beer back and poured the rest of it down his throat.
"You want something else, baby?" A woman with tight-laced corset style top and black curly hair leaned across the bar, giving Chibs a look at her generous cleavage.
"Aye. Something strong, lass. I want to drink until I forget my own name."
The sweetbutt sauntered around the bar with a tray holding two shot glasses, salt shaker, lime slices, and a bottle of tequila. Chibs was doing three or four shots for every one she did, and soon he was licking the salt off the top of her breasts before tossing back the shot.
"What's your name, there, lass?" Chibs growled after about a dozen shots. The room was getting delightfully fuzzy, and he felt warm and happy. Chibs could hold a lot of liquor, and his brain stopped functioning long before his body did.
"Reba," she purred, pouring him another shot, brushing her tight ass against his hand.
"You're a damn fine looking woman," he informed her. "And you sure know how to take care of a man."
"Thanks, baby." She planted herself between his legs. "Is there anything else you need taken care of tonight?" She whispered seductively as her fingers danced up his thigh, and he instantly went hard. Then her long nails pulled down his zipper. She pulled him to the edge of the barstool so that she could pull him out of his jeans.
"I'm not much for an audience, lass. Let's find somewhere private to finish this up." Five minutes later, Chibs had her up against the wall of the guest dorm room that the club had put him up in. She was screaming and scratching like a wildcat, which only spurred Chibs on. When he finally came, he grunted a name and shuddered. He held her there, both panting for a moment before he put her back down on unsteady legs. "That was just what I needed, lass," he told her appreciatively, but Reba turned her eyes from his. He felt her put her feet on the ground and start to pull her skirt back down, but she still kept her eyes averted. Even drunk as he was, her sudden discomfort with him was palpable. He buckled up his jeans before he picked up his hand and tipped her chin up so he could look into her eyes. "I didn't hurt ya, did I?" Chibs sometimes liked things rough, but he prided himself that there was never a sweetbutt who was afraid of him – unlike some of his brothers (Tig).
"No, you didn't hurt me." Reba assured him. She stared at him for a long minute. "If you don't want me anymore, I'd best get out to the bar and check on the party."
"For Christ's sake, lass, what's gotten into you?" Chibs asked. "What did I do?" He realized that the tequila was making him louder than usual. His voice softened. "I don't like to hurt women."
Reba looked down at her hands. "I've just never had a guy call me by his old lady's name while we were doing it. It reminded me of my ex – he used to wait until we were getting down and dirty and then yell out the name of whatever whore he was screwing behind my back."
"Then your ex is a right bastard," Chibs told her. "But, honey, I don't have an old lady."
Reba smiled faintly. "The name Aoife mean anything to you? Cause that's the name you were screaming."
"Oh, Mother of Christ," Chibs cursed, his buzz evaporating. "Bloody fucking hell." He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and turned a wry smile on Reba. "Apologies, lass. I'm figuring some shit out. But none of it has anything to do with you. You were still fucking amazing."