Fathers & sons

Aurora Morrow.

That was my full name, and it was very strange to say it, even if it was only inside my mind.

My mother had insisted on calling me Aurora for some hippy roll she'd kept intact from her crazy years of commune (and apparently from passionate, short relationships with bikers whose existence she'd then decided to forget). Well, to be honest, my mother was never the type of woman who preached that peace and love, she liked the comfort of her home too much to live outdoors, without a good hair conditioner or exfoliating mask.

But she came back pregnant from Indian Hills, and there was something she had to do to make herself believe that the fruit of that romance was worth it. That I meant more than a mistake. So she called me Author, the first light of day, the most beautiful and dazzling moment of light, which took place precisely after the greatest darkness. A kind of cry to the sky, a "this is my daughter and her arrival makes a lot of sense to me"

If you ask me my opinion, a big jerk.

It is worthless to have a deep and meaningful name if it is given to you for a woman without maternal instinct. Anyway, and as it were, now the surname box was finally complete, and I had before me, even if he did not know, the direct person in charge of my conception.

Clay Morrow, the president of the Sons of Anarchy, was my biological father. The guy who had made my respectable, stretched-out mother a bad girl long enough to lower her panties and then back up and out of Charming as fast as her legs would.

It did not seem like a very promising start to life for me, right? But that did not matter anymore. I had achieved my goal, my male parent already had face, profession and even hobbies known to me. In theory, my curiosity was satisfied, I could turn around and go home without remorse. What he had gone to do to Charming was done.

And yet ...

—Maybe some new business-man in the area is looking for employees, —I said to Tig, because apparently the conversation about my lack of work had gone ahead while I rambled on. —Who's in the cafeteria, or that little store of ice cream and trinkets… what was his name?

"It's been months closed." Clay touched her chin, and a ray of sun shone her rings. "I'm not very up to date on the progress of local businesses, but I know who we can commission him to find out.

I was going to stop him at that point, claiming the first thing that occurred to me so that I would not involve anyone else in the matter. I needed work, yes, but if I chose to stay in Charming my aspirations were to stay as close as possible to Clay, to know who he was, to know him better, to try to understand why my mother had not told me of him more than a couple of unflattering words . I did not aspire to make a career, and to employ was just a practical excuse. For the moment, Morrow seemed kind, willing to help the one who came to his door asking for it and, of course, respected by those who followed him.

As far as I could tell, those wearing a vest were under Clay. I remembered then that the patch of Jax put vice-president, and even cables at full speed, looking for a sense to all that subject. Did that mean Jax was the second on board? Did he respond to my father, made decisions?

I was sure that the Sons had a hierarchy, because nobody bothered to sew so many badges at all. The question was, why would Harley fans want rules and regulations?

I would soon know that the subject of SAMCRO was much more complicated than that, and I would come to understand, in my own flesh, how seriously all those men, and women, would take on the biker club. But everything in its time.

—You do not have to ask anyone, really, I do not want to waste your time, —I said quickly, since he seemed much more interested in what Tig said than in me. Something not at all flattering. —I thought maybe you might need someone to take the bills or hand over the keys ...

—My old lady lends a hand to us with that, but do not worry girl, we sure have something for you somewhere. —He smiled at me, showing a large, uneven denture. —Charming people would not respect me or come to me, if I could not give them solutions.

—And ... do you help ... anyone who has any ... problem?

This time it was Tig who answered me. He had some chocolate on his lip, for the chocolate he had been eating. His gesture seemed sympathetic, although he could not see the expression on his sunglasses. He waved his hands, curling his curly hair with feigned unconcern.

—That's what the Sons do.

Clay whistled and gestured toward the south side of the shop. A young man in a work shirt was getting off a crane. He dragged a car with the front moon shattered after a very brutal frontal crash against what looked like ...

—Oh my God, —I exclaimed, putting my hands to my mouth with an impression. —Is that a deer?

—Shit. —Clay rolled up, rubbing his forehead tiredly, as if he had been carrying a great weight for a long time.

Tig rested his hands on his jeans, looking with blatant pleasure as the young man who had carried the crane turned green as more and more looked at the broken body of the deer. Another man approached him, handing him a chain saw with clear intentions. They exchanged a few words, but I could not hear them. Apparently, the young clerk tried to resist the task, but without success.

—I'll bet you twenty that the rookie throws up before he pulls it out. —Tig pointed his finger at the crane, where the poor clerk was beginning to have arcades. —And another ten, he vomits again when he has to clean all the mixed. What do you say Clay?

But Morrow merely denied, surpassed by that. He approached the horrible car slowly, and raised his arms, trying to make himself heard above the sound of the saw.

Do not ask me why ... but I followed. Maybe the feeling of being close to my father became intoxicating, or maybe it had more to do with the fact that being alone with Tig did not give me confidence, in any case, I followed Clay, attracted by the macabre scene. I felt like those people who can not help but stare at the head of the poor deer, stuck between the glass wreckage of the windshield, with horns and everything, and whose eyes were already empty and lifeless.

A young man with pale hair and a very weak look, he would pull the saw's strap while he half-body inside the car, ready to cut the corpse to be able to start it from the inside. Clay continued to signal, and fearing to interfere, I moved a few steps to the right at the worst possible time.

The rookie saw his president and immediately stood up, losing control of where the saw fell. As a result, a stream of animal fluids flew through the air, going straight to my shirt.

In a second I saw myself covered with blood of dead deer. Fuck.

—Shit, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!

—Half Sack, stop that fucking machine right now!

The metallic sound ceased. I felt Clay's hand on my shoulder and I tensed. He looked at my clothes in a mess and then denied. The expression he gave the boy was enough to make the yellow color of the nausea lose even more tones.

Respect for the president, no doubt.

—Look what you've done, —he growled at me. —When a person just arrived in my town comes to me to ask for help, the least expected is that the shit splatter.

—It's all right, I really ...

But what was I going to say? That was the worst reunion father and daughter in history. That… Halk Sack, did not stop apologizing, but Clay did not seem willing to hear anything he had to say. He released a pair of threats that did not ring to anything coherent that one could hear between two civilized people, and then, practically, forced him to remain missing until there were remains of the destruction.

—You'd better not leave a trace of that animal — snapped, glaring at him that was icy cold even under the sunglasses. — And don't ever come up to the clubhouse with him.

The blood was starting to stink and I feared that the smell would never leave my car. I was about to announce that I was about to go into the washing machine, when Clay's arm came around me again, taking me away from the disaster, to a half-open gray door that, according to what I saw, overlooked the administrative area of the TM.

—Let's get something you can change, okay? I would not be a good neighbor if I let you out of my workshop covered in blood. —With an enigmatic smile, he opened the door, motioning for me to pass. —That asshole, believe it or not, controlled the new businesses that have opened in the village, if there are vacancies, he will find them.

—I think I'd rather avoid leaving anything in his hands.

Clay let out a hoarse laugh, watching the blood spreading all over my blouse. It smelled like a dead animal. This was humiliating on all levels.

—Yeah ... we don't let him have too many responsibilities around here. —He nodded, indicating a location unknown to me. —Someone will find you something clean to put on. Wait. And don't touch anything.

I frowned, but it did not matter. Clay walked away, closing the door behind her, leaving me alone in an office full of light clothing catalogs, motorcycle posters, and office supplies in a serious state of disarray.

I resisted for a few seconds, telling myself that I would wait without removing a single garment, but that room was closed, it was hot and the smell of blood began to make me dizzy. In the background there was only the sound of hydraulic jacks and the roar of the saw. In a moment, it seemed to me that Tig screamed something and then burst out laughing as the revealing noise of the vomit became perfectly clear. I grimaced in disgust, sympathizing with the poor Half Egg.

I was very close to vomit too.

I wandered around the small space in the office. Filing cabinets, a table with an old computer, an old rather colorless sofa ... little else. There were several tagged keys hanging from a panel, probably belonging to cars that were being fixed at the time. Although Clay had already closed the office before he left, I guessed that he would have gone to the dark door on the left, the building adorned with parchment symbols and serigraphs relating to the Sons.

Maybe a kind of meeting room, or a store for motorcycle parts.

When I got tired of turning, and waiting, I seriously considered sneaking out of the car and getting out of there, but somehow ... I thought it was wrong. Clay looked like a decent guy, overshadowed in making a good impression. Perhaps his insistence would come to something, and he would end up leaving me there with work, but even if he had only been marking a bluff, it had been pleasant to show such interest in helping me. That one of my two parents got so involved was a breath of fresh air.

Clay did not know who I was, and though I was not convinced to tell him yet, I began to wonder if his manner of being with me would change as soon as I knew the reality of our kinship. Perhaps she would react well, rejoicing in recovering a lost daughter whose existence she knew nothing about.

But perhaps the idea would repudiate him. With all his supposed good faith, Clay Morrow did not seem, with that lifestyle, very inclined to fatherhood.

The blood was still clogging, and I could already feel it wetting my skin. Disgust did more than shyness or decency, and I finally decided to remove my t-shirt.

—Fuck… —said to myself, using the wrecked cloth to cleanse my stomach and the beginning of my chest. Fortunately, I had decided to wear my burgundy bra, and what little I had put on it looked like a dark shadow, rather than a reddish stain. But it was possible that he would end up throwing it anyway. —I do not think anything worse could happen to me this morning ...

I did not hear the bike, nor did the greetings and voices. Distracted trying to remove the debris of dead deer blood from my body, I only noticed that someone had just arrived when the office door opened wide, revealing the tall figure of a blond, leather-clad man who He looked at me with wide eyes.

—Holly shit.

And I know it came from the deepest of his heart.

Jax held the unlit cigarette in her jeans pocket. He gave me a thorough look, taking his time and attending to all the details. The blouse stained with blood, the semi-naked body and the bra with lace on the straps. I would have wanted to die, for the earth to open, to swallow me, and to spit me somewhere far away from those blue eyes so that I would not have to endure ... would I judge myself? Would she laugh? Why did not he stop looking at me like he was making an invitation?

I gave an awkward step back, and although I did not scream, I was about to do it: I had nailed the office table on my hip. Shit. How ridiculous can a person do in a single day?

—Normally I burn several stages before start with the body fluids, —said Jax, who folded her arms as if she were. —But for a bra like that, I'm willing to pass from the typical initial postures.

—Very funny ... really, it's ... hysterical.

—What can I say, darlin'? I don't see a show like that every day.

—This has an explanation. —Jax smiled even more. Son of a bitch, he was enjoying it while I blushed more every minute. —Very good and reasonable.

—I did not ask you. —He walked slowly, only a few steps. —Whatever have done with you half naked in this office, it's fine for me.

I crossed my arms, to balance his posture facing mine, but it was not one of my best ideas. The breasts lifted me, creating the fantasy of an even more pronounced neckline. Jax's eyes flashed dangerously and ... I got deeper. I was not sure if I wanted to cover myself or to keep coming and discover for myself what I had left to teach.

The atmosphere warmed very fast, I felt a kind of fire surrounding us, like a sacred circle where no one else could penetrate us. Ridiculous. Absurd, and yet ... when he looked at me the way he was doing it, as if nothing could catch his interest more than I, that was just what he felt.

—Even if you suck, I'm glad to see you again, Aurora. —He reached out and his fingers brushed a strand of hair. When had he come so close? —All of you.

He had classy. Somehow strange and nasty… but classy anyway.

—You know, Jax? A gentleman would opt for two options, or he would respectfully turn around ...

—A man who turns his back on a naked woman gets another name around here, sweetheart. And it's not exactly a gentleman.

I let it pass, as I also overlooked that the posture of his body marked certain elements in his jeans in what I did not want to think.

—Or ... he would offer to give me a clean shirt to cover. —I raised my eyebrows, challenging him. He seemed to debate himself for a second, until at last he nodded.

—You're right. And I apologize for giving you the impression that I have no manners.

Jax's smile ceased to be kind or dangerous. It became predatory. Unbelieving, I saw him take off his vest and lay it on the back of the nearest chair. Then he tugged at the shirt, pulling it off his pants, and began to climb up her body, revealing a firm, flat belly, with clear skin and tight muscles.

She was undressing. Without prior notice or prior consent. And of course, without a blush showing him that hard face that was worn.

—What ... what are you doing, Jax?

—Give you a shirt, is not that what you asked me?

—I ... I wanted to say ...

—I know what you meant, Aurora, but this way is more fun.

He came closer until I could fully appreciate his blond eyelashes. He took my hand and led it slowly to me, whispering to me that maybe I wanted to help him take it away.

—I may have grease on my hands, —he said, with an innocent pout that no one would ever have believed. —We don't want to keep getting dirty, do we?

—Something tells me you're not a gentleman at all, Jax.

In response, he just nodded, lowering his head until part of his long strands blocked my vision.

—Looks like you're finally getting it.

I could smell the cigarettes in his breath. And maybe some coffee, but that was all. He did not kiss me, because Clay chose that precise moment to return. He had in his hands a work shirt that was covered with stains, which, of course, had seen better times. He looked at the scene, Jax and me, as if it were his daily bread.

He handed me the garment, which I gripped tightly as I stepped aside and then gave Jax a nod, which could have been from pride to disbelief.

—Really, son? Have you given her any time to tell you what's her name is?

—And what am I supposed to do? —With much practice, Jax picked up the vest and put it on her shoulders. —I came in here and he was like waiting for me. I do not usually reject gifts if they come from undressed. Besides, I already knew her.

With my shamelessness, I was ready to say a few things to that ... cocky biker, but it all lost meaning as Clay's words plunged, drop by drop, into my brain. How had he called Jax? Had he said ... son?

Son ... how would he be his father? Was Clay Jax's father?

So, Jax and I ...?

I denied it slowly, remembering the exact moment our mouths had almost touched. Jax was saying something about what we'd met the day before, just after the others had left and he'd lagged behind to talk to Hale. I did not pay attention to what Clay was asking, but he seemed very interested in the terms the sheriff's assistant had been employing.

—They have nothing, —Jax said in a whisper, shaking her head. —As far as they know, the explosion has been an unfortunate accident they can not relate to anyone.

Clay nodded, apparently satisfied with the sparse evolution of the fire in the warehouse.

—How is my grandson? —He asked, ignoring my presence and the look of astonishment I had left. —What did the doctor say?

—He will recover with time —And though Clay smiled, Jax did not seem inclined to let go of his excitement so quickly. —Need to spend several weeks in the toaster, until he's strong . He's endured the surgery but… it's still complicated.

—That boy will come out of this — Clay's fist touched her shoulder fondly, giving him a truly paternal smile. —He has good DNA, and he has shown that he knows how to fight for his life. He will continue to do so.

—I hope so. —Jax sighed, and his face showed a totally different halo, more serious and deep. Remembering me, he turned his body in my direction, smiling at me as an apology for having escaped me from a conversation he really should not be witnessing. —My yonky ex-wife consumed heroin throughout her pregnancy. My son was born premature, with a genetic problem of heart and guts twisted because of the shit his mother got into. He pass for a couple of surgerys last week.

At that moment, Jax's ease in telling me things left me blocked. That he would have punched me in the stomach would have been less shocking than a confession like that. Later, when things were different, that attitude, his ability to tell me everything, even what I did not really want to know, would be decisive for our relationship.

Jax never dropped things with me, because as he himself confessed to me at the time, he freed him to have someone before whom to justify his actions. Both those he carried out of his own volition, and those he made on behalf of the club. Putting words to what he was doing served him as payment and penance when he was repentant, or as a reaffirmation when he was convinced that he had made the right decision.

—Jesus Christ... I'm so sorry. —He was a father. Jax had a son, a newborn baby. And apparently, he was married too, or at least, had been recently separated. So? Why that attitude with me? By unhappiness? Infidelity? —You must be so worried... Is the baby okay?

—He will be. —Jax retrieved his cigar and lit it. He took a deep breath, exhaling the smoke, which filled the office. —At least until he leave the hospital and have to go home with an inept man like me playing father without having a clue.

Dressed in an immense work shirt on whose front was read "Opie", I did not think it appropriate to get involved in those matters. Jax's personal life had nothing to do with me, but something in his words touched me, touching my soul deeply. The need to comfort him became almost overwhelming inside me, and though I wanted to, I could not keep quiet.

There was much more under the body and the floors of bad village boy. Jax had a sensitive background ... and knowing it drew me even more. And it filled me with remorse.

—You'll learn, like all first-time parents. —I smiled, but barely returned the gesture. — You make several mistakes and after all, you learn. Or you could hire someone to help you at first.

Clay looked up, staring at us both intently. He pointed at me with his index finger and I felt his hand shake a little.

—That's not a bad idea, son. Someone to help you with the house and Abel. It's just what you need —Clay's gesture revealed a palpable sense of triumph, though I was not yet aware of the many reasons why the plan seemed so good to me. —Why not? An honest single parent who pays whit clean money of his job to a nanny to take care of his newborn baby. It's normal in these cases, don't you think?

Jax held the butt between her fingers thoughtfully. Whether or not he had taken a second reading of Clay's words, I was not clear, I was only aware of how he nodded, letting himself be seduced by the prospect. Of course, I would find out very soon that hiring a caregiver for a newborn child was a great way to wash away the money that came from the arms trade.

At that moment, however, Jax put her incredibly blue eyes on me, smiling at me and getting in the process that all the hair on my body had erected.

—Aurora ... are you still looking for a job?

And I, with all my being shouting the opposite, I nodded, letting myself be led by a strange and immoral desire that was going to take me directly, to spend many hours under the same roof as the man who, apparently, was my brother.

N.A. Hello again! Here I am back, the girl finally has a name and her kinship with Clay is clear ... at least for her. It is to see how the other members react to the truth ... and how long it takes to discover the truth about Jax.

Thanks for following me, for making history as a favorite, I did not expect such a good reception! I apologize again for all the mistakes, English is not my mother tongue and I do what I can to give the right meaning.

I would like to read your opinions, ideas and everything, I encourage you to leave some review, please! Thanks, I'll be back soon.