Sydney and Tig continue to stumble their way through all of the truths that neither of them want to face, meanwhile Zobelle and his crew ramp up their tactics to takedown SAMCRO by proposing a tempting offer to the one man who wants them gone the most.
General trigger warnings for this story: Language, smut, mentions of rape, abuse, drug use/overdose, violence/death, racism/gang activity.
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CHAPTER 15: LOW HANGING FRUIT
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Tig sighed as he brought the cigarette to his lips as he rolled up to the red light in Sydney's car, stopping behind an old truck where he was surprised to find anybody else out this late at night - or rather, this early in the morning. But he felt something tick in his brain as he stared at the hauntingly familiar scene, and that regretful recollection only continued to build the longer that the light refused to change as his neck began to ache, and his vision began to blur.
"No." He growled, driving the back of his head against the leather headrest as he cranked the volume on the stereo, doing what he could to drown out what he realized he was being forced to relive, but the twisting of the knob only seemed to amplify the high-pitched ringing between his ears as everything around him melted away, except for the truck. That damned truck.
"No…" He whispered as he watched the rusty door swing open. "Please, no…" But his merciful pleas did nothing in the face of their consequential counterpart as the little brunette stepped out onto the pavement where blood dripped from the wound in the back of her head.
"It's all your fault." She growled as she stalked towards him.
"Donna..." Tig shook his head as he tried the door handle that refused to let him get to her in time; just as the scene had played out, over and over - a chilling metaphor that, for some reason, he couldn't allow himself to chase away.
"You've ruined us all!" She screamed.
But this time, Tig didn't cry, or try to plead his case, because this time, he knew that it was true. He had ruined them. Allof them.
"I'm so so-"
He jolted awake at the sound of his alarm - a sound that he had become blissfully ignorant to in the time since he and Sydney had started dating where he would awake to the sweet smell of her perfume, or the gentle lull of her raspy voice so early in the morning, or the heavenly feeling of her lips on his coc-
But those were all sensations of the past - sensations that he had taken too great advantage of when he'd so carelessly had the chance. He sighed as he lifted his head from the armrest of the couch, rubbing his neck that was already sore after only a couple of hours in the uncomfortable position that had still managed to produce a nightmare; although, these days, his nightmares didn't seem to differ all that much from his dismal reality.
He dragged his hands down his face, glad that he'd had the foresight to gather what he needed in order to ready himself for the day when he'd brought Sydney her food, leaving her the entire second floor where he hoped she'd at least been able to get some of the sleep that he had missed out on, once again.
He made his way into the much less spacious guest bathroom where he stared into the mirror at the deep exhaustion that had sunk itself into the worn crevasses of his weathered complexion after what he could hardly call the joyride that he'd taken in her car - the only way he could've been sure that she wouldn't drive, even after the whole ordeal. He tore his eyes away from the first of what he knew would be many sore sights today, listening for any indication that Sydney was awake above him, but he heard nothing.
He spent the next thirty minutes toeing the line between taking enough time to satisfy his sluggish brain, and moving swiftly enough that he wouldn't catch too many regretful glimpses at himself before he was finally finished, gathering his spent clothing and bringing it to the laundry room where his eyes widened as a minefield of overflowing baskets came into view. But it was a panic that he welcomed this time - the prospect of doing housework incorrectly; not knowing what was clean, what was dirty, what was his, or what was hers.
"Okay…" He blew out a breath as he tossed his clothes into the basin, rummaging through a few of the baskets until recognized one of the outfits that he'd seen her wearing recently - an all black, combat-style number that she'd so perfectly adorned for an apocalyptic shoot that he wished he would've been able to appreciate, because he would have appreciated it, had it been on her sinful reminder of a body, three months earlier.
The snap of the front-loading machine helped to properly wake him up as he forced his glossy eyes to focus on the array of dials, buttons, and settings that he didn't understand. He blinked as he looked for the right one to jump out at him, but it didn't - trying his hardest to think back to what any woman had ever told him about doing laundry, but that was a mistake in itself as the gut-wrenching voices of Colleen, Juliet, and his mother began to flood his already overloaded conscience.
He shook his head as a growl of frustration rumbled in his throat, following his instincts and twisting the dial to cold when he finally heard one of his memories uttering something useful.
"It's fine together."
Sydney's gentle voice glided over his conscience, momentarily cutting off the urge to gouge out his eardrums. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to conjure up the memory, painting the second sorrowful sight today as he was brought back to the day that her face had been shattered by that cop. Lemmings, his jaw clenched, but he refocused himself.
"It's fine together."
What was fine together? He exhaled as he braced himself on the machine, drumming his ringed fingers over the metal surface until the harsh reverberation finally did its job, and it hit him. Her stuff was fine to be washed with his. No fragile, no delicate. He smiled victoriously as he twisted the dial back to hot and pressed the button for a normal cycle before heading into the kitchen to make some coffee, pleased that he was able to do at least some things to help lift the weight that was crushing her.
He sat himself at the bar where he sipped his coffee, ignoring the rumbling in his stomach that he knew he never would have experienced this early in the morning, had it not been for the breakfast that her cooking had conditioned him to eat over the last six months. He ignored the pang, a familiar action as he waited for her for what felt like hours, dreading the impending reality of having to wake her up as the minutes before they had to leave for work ticked by. He felt his grip tightening around the handle of his mug, bringing it to his lips where he drained the remaining caffeine before glancing up at the clock on the microwave where the digital time indicated the final minute of grace that they had left before they would be late, when she suddenly appeared at the end of the hallway, strutting towards him with a perfectly curated image that gave away absolutely nothing about the night before - her speciality.
"Let's go." She snipped as she stuffed the bag of food that she hadn't even been able to stomach, into the trash can underneath the sink before turning right back around and heading to the front door, forgoing the coffee that he'd made as the pounding of her stilettos echoing through the silence mimicked the pounding in her head, and drowned out the sound of the washing machine.
Tig felt his jaw clenching as he got to his feet, looking over her where suddenly, all at once, she had become a spitting image of his ex-wife. Not in a physical way, Colleen was frail, frumpy, and strung out - not healthy, well kept, and put together like Sydney was. But she was also hateful, malicious, and resentful, and that was where the similarities became blinding as he ambled down the hallway where she did little to apologize, or even acknowledge the previous night - just as she had for the last three months.
He blinked as he watched her look down at the keys - those damned keys - that he had placed back into the crystal bowl, just minutes earlier. But something about the mundane scene before him began to change. The symptoms were the same as in his recurring nightmare; the pit in his heart, the ringing of his ears. But the effects were the same as what had driven a wedge between their intimacy; the guilt in his heart, and the deception of his mind. And the cause was a can of worms that he had no desire to even consider opening as her face began to morph into the one face that he had done his damnedest to never have to lay his hateful eyes on, ever again.
"You can drive." She mumbled, the words wiping away the fatal illusion as she pulled the door open and made her way down the steps, tackling them much easier this time in the more manageable height of her Loubotins.
Tig exhaled as he swiped the keys, clutching the bundle of jagged metal tightly in his hand as a reminder that she wasn'tColleen. Colleen would've chained those keys to her fucking neck just to spite him, would've drained a forty each time that she drove somewhere, just to worry him sick. Sydney would never do anything that low.
He climbed into the car wordlessly, settling into what seemed to have become his seat these days, while she laid out across the passenger seat with her head against the center console in an apparent attempt to get a few more minutes of rest on the short drive to TM.
Sydney tried to ignore the tingling that she felt beneath her skin as the taunt of the jiggling keys permeated the dead air between them. She ground her teeth as she tried to fight off the rage that was never too far from the surface that her complete lack of willpower had allowed her to slip further under, day after agonizing day. She took a deep - and hopefully cleansing - breath, but the chilled morning air only burned against her dry throat, and tightening lungs.
Tig looked over as he heard the flick of a lighter, a chuckle flitting in his chest as she began her pre-hangover ritual that, any other time, he would've been able to find amusing.
"Did you wanna stop for breakfast?" He asked as he made the right turn off of her street, his voice coming out in the harsh rasp that he had gotten used to using for so many years, but now sounded foreign in one of the few places where it had never been needed.
"No." She sucked harshly on the white cylinder between her lips, hoping to sooner bring on the usually calming effects of the nicotine as she jostled around in her seat while he maneuvered the old vehicle around the small town.
"I'd really like it if you would put your seatbelt on…" His voice softened to the tone that he was familiar with using around her, nodding thoughtfully once they were back in a straight line on Main Street.
"And I'd really like it if you would stop fucking talking." She massaged her throbbing temple as they turned onto Radford where the clubhouse was now only feet away.
Tig chewed the inside of his lip as he felt his foot getting heavier on the gas as they pulled onto the compound, giving into his impulses as he floored it through the gates before harshly slamming on the brakes, sending her tumbling onto the floorboards.
"Tig!" She screeched as he laughed obnoxiously, clawing through the mass of previously perfect white curls that had fallen around her face.
"Well, what did I say?" He scolded with a slow blink as he got some recompense of his own.
Sydney said nothing as she huffed, shaking her head frustratedly as she kicked the door open and got to her feet so that she could straighten herself out. "Fucking ridiculous." She mumbled as she readjusted the black graphic top that had twisted out of place.
"Oh, I'm ridiculous?" He scoffed, catching the roll of her eyes beneath her thick lashes where she refused to meet his gaze. "You're such a pain in my ass." He shook his head as he slammed the door and turned towards the clubhouse.
"And you're a stick in mine." She shot back as the clacking of her heels carried her past him and into the office.
Tig felt the same twitch at the corner of his lips as she jabbed him back in her oh so clever nature - until he remembered that the banter wasn't playful, and a sorrowful frown took its place as they parted ways.
Sydney exhaled sharply as she dropped her purse down onto her desk, peering out the window where she watched him stuff his hands into his pockets, and make his way across the compound with his head down. She knew that she was acting out of line, but since their sex life had become nonexistent, she had no idea where to put that feisty, combative energy that he usually fucked out of her.
Tig stalked into the clubhouse where he found Bobby in his disheveled Elvis costume after what had clearly been a long night; his hair a mess from the discarded wig as he sat slumped over the bar with a beer in front of him at the early hour.
"Oh, sad Elvis." The Sergeant pouted at the sight that had momentarily lifted his spirits.
"Oh, blow me." Bobby scoffed as he flattened the fresh gauze over his still healing gunshot, sliding Tig a beer.
Tig blinked as he contemplated what he knew would make the day either a whole lot better, or a whole lot worse - deciding that, after the way that it had started, the odds were not in his favor enough to justify the gamble. "Hey, how's that doin'?" He was grateful for the distraction of the wound that, among all of the noise in his head lately, he'd completely forgotten about.
"Ah, I'll heal." Bobby swatted the air. "But what about you? Seems like you and the missus got some healin' of your own to do..." He narrowed his eyes behind his glasses as he watched the decaying man turn down the one thing that he used to treat as his lifeline.
Tig sighed as he pulled himself from Bobby's pointed gaze - a pointed gaze that suggested that he knew a lot more than he should have. "She, uh…" He looked to the boards beneath his boots, chewing the inside of his lip as he was forced to face the one thing that he couldn't forget. "She likes to sing." He nodded thoughtfully as he nudged the acoustic guitar that was leaning against the bar next to Bobby's stool. "Maybe you could sing with her some time… Might help." He shrugged.
"Help with what, exactly?" Bobby raised a brow.
"Help her feel closer." He nodded truthfully this time. "She's having a hard time, man. Donna and all…"
"Didn't seem like the type to get hung up over casualties…" Though he had spent the better part of the time since Donna's death locked up, Bobby supposed he had noticed the distance that now sat between Sydney and the club - though it was a distance that he could see between half of the table.
"Yeah…" Tig blinked slowly as he began to choke on all that he couldn't say. "She didn't."
"I, uh…" Bobby nodded. He knew that there was more to the story, but it was a truth that would find its way out - it always did, in this life. "I'll see what I can do, brother."
"Thanks, man." Tig nodded gratefully, looking up as Clay stalked into the room, which he assumed meant that Gemma had finally arrived, and he wasn't trying to get chewed out for being late - again.
"Looks like your night was as good as mine." The President scoffed, pulling his sunglasses onto the top of his head as Tig shuffled out to the garage.
"Goddamn bar mitzvahs are killin' me." Bobby groaned, lifting the bottle of Bud Lite to his lips as he offered Tig's reject, to Clay.
"Why you doin' 'em then?" Clay snipped as he swiped the beverage. "Laughlin gigs will come back around."
"I'm buried." He shook his head. "Inside for two months… My oldest needs oral surgery, they gotta cut his frenum?" He blinked incredulously as he recited what were clearly Precious' words. "What the hell is a frenum?"
"Sounds Jewish." Clay snickered.
"Sounds expensive."
"Well." Clay shrugged. "You're no use to us in the garage with that shoulder, why don't you take point up at Cara Cara." He popped the cap off of the bottle.
The Treasurer raised his brows hopefully. "Porn?" Precious surely wouldn't like that, but if that was the official order of his President…
"I need a set of eyes up there that I can trust." He explained pointedly.
"Thought that was what the Princess was for." Bobby scoffed.
"It was." Clay growled bitterly. "But unlike that, I don't need this turning into a goddamn bukkake fest." He scoffed.
"Where's Tig at with that?" He took the opportunity to dig a little deeper in that truth, nodding out the door after the Sergeant.
"I don't give a shit where he's at." Clay snapped, because wherever it was that Tig was at with it - it was his orders that had put him there. "Run the books, keep everybody zipped up. Understand?" He waited for the nod that didn't come from the weary man. "Take a salary…" He raised his brows.
"Whose end?" Bobby groaned.
"Not ours." Clay scoffed, tipping back his beer.
"Luann is gonna shit." Bobby shook his head.
"Yeah, well-" Clay shrugged. "Better things comin' outta her ass than gettin' jammed back up it, right?" He raised his bottle with a smirk.
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Gemma pulled up to the office in the brand new Escalade that she had gotten to replace her beloved XLR - courtesy of Unser's falsified police report that he'd submitted to her insurance company, which, really, was the least that she felt he could've done. She parked the boxy black SUV along the wall next to Sydney's car - grateful to see that at least someonehad been able to get to work on time, because lately, it hadn't been her.
She pulled her sunglasses off as she jumped down from the raised driver's seat with a sigh, the irritation not leaving once her feet were on the pavement as Unser came into view where he stood outside of the garage, talking with Tig.
"God dammit." She grumbled, pushing her sunglasses back over her rolling eyes as she slipped past the pair that was discussing something about a visit from the police department the previous night - news that, for once, she didn't care to find out the details of.
"Uh, hey." Unser blinked as Gemma ignored him where he had been waiting for her to show for nearly half of an hour, nodding to Tig whom he hoped had been assured that there were no pending charges against him or Sydney - no matter how many tax dollars their fighting had wasted lately.
"What is it?" She sighed once again as she slipped her sunglasses off, placing her hand on her hip impatiently as he hovered, just as he had done nearly every day since the incident.
"Uh, nothin'." He shook his head. "I, uh…" He blinked. "I had to get some air in my tires." He nodded back to Tig who fired up the valve. "Figured I'd check in." He offered a friendly smile that he was sure would go unappreciated - again.
Gemma clenched her teeth as she kept the ungrateful expression off of her face, clutching her keys in her trembling hands. "I'm fine." She choked out before disappearing into the small room that she hoped he would know better than to follow her into.
But the Chief didn't know better. He never had. "Your face is healin'." He tried again, bounding over the threshold. "Pretty as ever…"
Gemma raised her brows expectantly. "Why thank you, Chief." She tossed a glance at Sydney who had her head down as she furiously scribbled away at an inventory sheet without a single regard for their presence.
Unser sighed as he shifted his gaze to the little blonde girl who finally looked up, the only sign of any kind of conflict being her bloodshot eyes. "Hi, sweetheart." He nodded. "Why don't you, uh…" He blinked. "Why don't you go and grab us some coffee? My guys tell me you'll be needing it." He narrowed his eyes.
Sydney scoffed as she looked between the pair, pushing herself up from her desk where she stormed out the door, and across the compound without a word. She knew that Unser just wanted to get Gemma alone so that he could try and pry more information out of her about what had really happened - as he had been trying to do for weeks - and she didn't blame him, but it didn't change the frustration that pulsed in her chest as he swung at the low hanging fruit in order to get it.
"What's that about?" She raised a brow as she watched Sydney's hips swing in her tight black jeans, suddenly becoming much more curious about that visit from the police…
"Nothin' new." The Chief nodded sadly.
Gemma bit her lip as she recognized the game he was proposing - that she wasn't going to get any information from him, if he wasn't going to get any from her. "Somethin' else?" She sighed, she would find out about Sydney and Tig some other way. Right now, she wanted to get out of being alone with him - something that she had come to hate being with her oldest friend.
"I, uh." He began wearily. "I've been goin' to these meetings… St. Lukes in Lodi - cancer survivors."
Gemma nodded as she sifted through the pile of papers that Sydney had organized for her. "Support group?" She raised a brow.
Unser nodded. "I gotta say… It's makin' a difference." He smiled.
Gemma raised her brows as he stood with that phony fucking smile painted on his decaying lips. "You goin' somewhere with this?" She sighed.
Unser looked over his shoulder, backing away slowly as he pushed the door shut, which only sent yet another sigh rolling up Gemma's throat that was suddenly desperate for a cigarette. "I saw on the board… The church's got a group for victims of sexual assault crimes-" Her scoff cut him off. "Hey!" He stopped her. "It's out of Charming… Anonymous."
"How long have you known me?" She shook her head as she threw the papers back down onto her desk. "You really think that I'm the type of gal who joins some holy, 'poor me' circle jerk?"
Unser blinked, exhaling a sigh of his own through his nostrils. "Just a thought." He knew that she hadn't meant to offend him in the process of shutting him down, but he supposed that was what she had always been the best at - double entendre. "You take care." He nodded, leaving her standing in the middle of the room with her lip between her teeth, and a guilt that disappeared the second that her eyes landed on Clay as he passed the Chief without a word.
Tig poked his head into the office, being sure that she and Unser had finished whatever one of their little secret conversations that they had made a habit of, in the past weeks. He blinked sadly as he looked over Gemma whom he barely recognized in the baby blue flannel and light-washed jeans that she wore - nothing like the sleek black leather that he was used to seeing her in. But he shook that thought away as he entered the room before Sydney would return from where he'd watched her storm into the clubhouse.
"I'm gonna be-"
"Oh, shit!" Gemma screamed, recoiling from his gentle touch on her arm.
"Sorry…" He held his hands up, blinking away the ghosts that flashed before his eyes in place of her terror. "You okay?" He choked out.
"Yeah, I'm fine." She rolled her eyes, stalking back over to her desk where she attempted to catch her breath. "Here's the repo list. Why don't you get Half-Sack and Ope started on it once he's finished with-" She glanced out the window where Opie was chatting up - or being chatted up by - a young blonde. "That."
"Yeah, sure." Tig nodded as he recognized Lyla; one of Sydney's many new friends - and horrible influences - pulling his bitter gaze away from the sight that, once again, he refused to bear the weight of, because he knew it would break him.
"Are you okay?" Gemma narrowed her eyes.
"What?" Tig blinked up from the sheet of paper that his blurry eyes had fallen to. "Oh, yeah…" He immediately shrunk back down under knowing her gaze. "I'm fine, Gem." He nodded.
"Bags under your eyes and visits from the PD don't say 'fine' to me." She scoffed as she lifted his chin before he harshly pulled away. "I guess the withdrawals will do that, though…" Tig scowled. "No pussy, no booze…" She explained, her expectant eyes looking for an explanation of their own, but all she got was more sorrow. "You should be proud of yourself." She nodded, wishing that she could be - because it was something that she never would have expected from the fiend of a man.
"Yeah." Tig scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I think shit was easier when I was drowning my regrets in hookers and Jack." He chuckled humorlessly.
Gemma smiled sadly, reaching up to his face more gently this time as she brushed his cheek with her thumb. "You're doing the right thing, baby." She nodded. "Maybe for the wrong reasons…" She narrowed her eyes. "But it's still the right thing. You'll see it soon, and so will she…"
"I sure hope so…" Tig nodded, his somber gaze trailing longingly to the clubhouse where Sydney emerged with two coffee cups in hand.
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Hale yawned as he sat back against the chair in Unser's office, chasing the end of his night shift with an early morning visit from the new outlaws in town that were proving to be almost as persistent as the ones who had kept him up all night.
"Clay Morrow and your boss, with Laroy Wayne." Zobelle nodded as he handed the younger man the stack of photos that Weston had finally gotten the chance to develop, watching as he thumbed nonchalantly through the images of all three parties until something finally seemed to pique his interest. "He runs the One-Niners - controls the largest heroin trade in three counties." He explained as the small town cop's blue eyes glazed over.
Hale blinked as he tore his eyes away from the photo of Sydney standing with the group of men. "That's nothing that I don't already know." He shook his head as he tossed them down onto the desk that separated him from their desperation.
"Well, it's something to act on, Deputy." Zobelle raised a brow. "Chief of police associating with drug kingpins?"
"Unser's done in six weeks." Hale shrugged.
"And you'll be no better off than you are now. SAMCRO will continue to vex." Weston added.
"Well, that's my problem." He smiled sarcastically.
"It's a difficult one." Zobelle shrugged sympathetically. "Charming treats the Sons like heroes."
Hale kept his hardened expression in place. "Some do." He nodded curtly.
"You know…" The older man stared through him for a few seconds, searching for a weak spot to pounce on - just as he'd done with SAMCRO. "I can help you…" He sat himself down in one of the two chairs on his side of the desk, not bothering to offer one to Weston.
"And how are you gonna do that?" Hale scoffed.
"Clay vows to keep Charming safe and drug free." He mused. "That's why folks embrace the MC. So what happens to public opinion if he can't do that?"
"If drugs land in Charming, that's on me." He shook his head.
"It's on Unser." Weston narrowed his eyes with a victorious smile. "And SAMCRO is knocked off of their iconic pedestal.
"Then, when you take over, the drugs… Go away." Zobelle shrugged.
"Are you talking about deliberately bringing drugs into my town?" Hale sneered.
"I'm talking about creating a temporary problem that allows you to flush out the permanent one." Zobelle nodded curtly.
Baiting a group into falsely accusing one of their own. Because that had worked so well for him the last time…
"Grab Cane and Lemmings and head on over there, okay?" Unser called over his shoulder as he barged into the room - the room that was supposed to be his office. "Oh, uh, sorry." He scowled. "I didn't know you were still here."
"Just heading out." Hale got to his feet with a pointed nod. "But I can stay if you need bodies. Lemmings is out again." He was almost glad for the opportunity to reestablish his credibility after the events of the last twelve hours, even if he was the only one questioning it.
"Again? Jesus Christ." Unser shook his head. "What is he? Sick? I haven't seen him down at ." He chuckled.
Zobelle blinked nervously as he stood, it was time to leave. "Deputy Chief, thank you for your time." He nodded as he gathered the photos and stuffed them back into the manilla envelope that he passed to Weston, hopeful that he could trust the man to keep what he was learning was his big mouth shut as they attempted to make their escape.
"Ain't anybody gonna introduce?" Unser held out his hands expectantly.
"Ethan Zobelle." The suited man nodded, forgoing an introduction for his partner. "Impeccable Smokes." He stuck his hand out.
"Cigar King." Unser finally put the face to the name as he shook the foreigner's hand.
"That's right." He nodded. That was what he was known for… "Gentleman."
;
"Will it take long?" Lyla pouted as she stood next to her completely shredded tire, and horribly bent rim.
"We don't stock hybrids - it'll take a few hours." Opie nodded.
"Shit." She cursed, scuffing the sole of her shoe against the pavement. She didn't want to have to call Justin for help - not again.
"You're one of Luann's girls." Opie finally realized, not able to tell in the multiple minutes of what he almost thought was flirting with the quick-witted woman - until she stomped her foot like the diva that he now recognized she was.
"Lyla." She smiled when the brick wall of a man - both physically and emotionally - finally recognized her.
"Opie." He nodded.
"I know." She bit her lip, snapping out of it once she realized that now wasn't the time. "Could you, um, get me the number for a cab?" She peered up at him through her lashes. It may not have been the time, but it never hurt to plant the seeds, right?
"You going to the studio?" He hadn't dared indulge in any of that, but he knew that his brothers had. Somebody around here would surely be making their way to Cara Cara within the hour.
Lyla took a deep breath, swallowing the nod that she was about to give. "Well, I have to get her to school, first." She sighed as she nodded to Piper who was leaning her head against the window, rolling her eyes while she waited for her mother.
Opie blinked when he saw the miserable little girl in the backseat, pulling his eyes away from the reminder that he had his own miserable little girl, back at home - a place that he still couldn't bear to be.
"Oh my God!" A screech interrupted them as Sydney came bounding across the compound with multiple coffee cups in hand. "Why didn't you call me?" She asked incredulously as she placed the paper cups down on the roof of Lyla's Toyota, winking at Piper before she turned back to her friend.
"I've troubled you enough." Lyla smiled modestly as she took Sydney's hands in hers, squeezing them gratefully. "And I figured you'd be pretty hungover after last night." She chortled knowingly.
"I'm immune at this point." Sydney scoffed. "Plus, I think that after months of tanning my asshole, I kind of owe ya one..." She pursed her lips.
"Well, that's my cue to leave." Opie nodded curtly.
"I think Gem's waiting on you for repos." Sydney nodded towards the office.
"I, uh." Opie looked back at Lyla where something pushed him to make the final decision that, for far too many reasons, had been so hard for him to make in the first place. "I was gonna take her kid to school - run her to the studio after."
"Oh." Sydney blinked in exaggerated surprise. "Were you planning on dropping off your own kids while you were at it?"
Opie chewed the inside of his lip as she taunted him with one of his many reasons, rubbing his thumb over where his beard and moustache connected. "I'll get Dog to do it." He grumbled before stalking back into the garage.
Sydney scoffed as she crossed her arms over her chest, but her smugness quickly faded once she realized that it may have been premature as she caught the look in Lyla's innocent blue eyes that she had missed before…
Lyla bit her lip under Sydney's questioning gaze, shaking her head as she looked down to the pavement with a giddy smile on her face.
"You picked a troubled one…" Sydney mused.
"Eh, I'm used to it." Lyla shrugged as she stuffed her hands into the pockets of her low-rise jeans.
"I feel you there." Sydney laughed humourlessly. "Seriously though, you shouldn't have driven on that rims…"
"Yeah, that's what he was saying." Lyla sighed. "I just couldn't be at home any longer… Needed to get somewhere… Safe."
"Was this Georgie?" Sydney's eyes widened. She wasn't surprised that Jax's efforts hadn't worked, she'd known thatmuch from the beginning - and the rumours circulating the studio - but what she was surprised about, was the fact that this was the first that she was hearing about it effecting her friend, especially since they had spent the night taking body shots off of each other.
"Let's just say that my car probably isn't the only one that you'll be repairing…" She sighed. "Ima's calling Jax."
"The golden excuse." Sydney scoffed, the two girls exchanging a knowing smile. "Well, I guess I'll send him back over then…" She mused, getting right back to her brooding once they were no longer face to face.
She had no idea if Opie thought - or could think - anything more of Lyla than he did of any other sweet butt, croweater, or pornstar, but she liked Lyla, and the thought of helping Opie out in the romance department, helped her feel a lot less guilty about needing to.
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Song for this chapter
You Give Love a Bad Name - Bon Jovi