Chapter Six

Jaycee

TT

I step into the clubhouse, practically seething. My blood boils beneath the surface, and I can feel my pulse in my temples. Why wasn't I informed that someone from Belfast, Fiona, was coming to Charming before they arrived? It's utterly ridiculous. Not just someone—her. The woman who's been a thorn in my side for as long as I've known her.

"Church!"

Chibs calls out from the hall, his voice carrying that weight of authority. He's smart. Probably knew I'd be pissed the moment I found out.

"Get a drink, babe. I'll be back soon," I toss over my shoulder to Tully, trying to keep my voice light even though I feel the tension radiating off me like heat waves. His eyes stay on me, concerned, but I don't look back. My emotions are spinning, and the last thing I need is a discussion about it before heading into the chapel.

I walk into the dimly lit room, and the air feels heavier than usual, almost suffocating. The smell of aged leather, oil, and faint traces of smoke fill my nostrils. Chibs is pacing, his boots making sharp clicks against the concrete floor. Tig sits at the table, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, tension evident in the way his fingers tap against his biceps. Happy leans against the wall, looking like a coil spring, his usual demeanor but somehow more... intense.

I take a seat and cross my arms, trying to steady myself. But damn it, these pregnancy hormones are doing a number on me. Everything feels ten times more potent. The irritation, the protectiveness—it all floods me at once, threatening to make me snap before the meeting even begins. And Fiona's presence? That feels like the cherry on top of this emotional sundae.

Deep down, I know that whatever unfolds in this chapel today could change everything for SAMCRO. The silence lingers, broken only by the soft creaks of the chairs as the guys shift uncomfortably in their seats.

Chibs' voice finally cuts through the tension like a blade. His tone is rough, urgent. "I got a late call from Kerrianne about a week ago, wantin' a real family Christmas this year, so I invited both of them."

My stomach tightens, and not just from Mya kicking. There it is—the crack in the dam I knew was coming.

"So if they're only here for the holiday, why do they need so much luggage?" I interject, unable to keep the sharpness out of my voice. Skepticism seeps into every word. I can feel my irritation bubbling to the surface, and it takes everything in me to stay seated, to not let my emotions completely take over.

"She isn't here to cause trouble," Chibs replies, trying to sound calm, but there's a flicker of something in his eyes—doubt, maybe.

I narrow my eyes. "But she is here to stay, right?" I press. My emotions are all over the damn place, and there's a sudden surge of protectiveness over everything we've built. Our home. Our family.

"Aye," he nods, avoiding my gaze this time.

"You see where I'd have an issue with this," I say, staring him down, my voice low but firm. The room goes even quieter.

Chibs rubs his hand over his jaw, clearly trying to tread carefully. "Aye, but ye've gotten yer pardon for Juice, so I figure ye owe me to keep it civil."

I can feel my teeth grinding. I hate that he's right. It's hard to forget everything I've done to get Juice back home—to get our family back on track. But just because I owe him doesn't mean I'm happy about it. I take a breath, controlling the anger rising in my chest.

"I don't know about civil... But you're right. I do owe you. I'll be nice... Until she crosses the inevitable line that's clearly drawn right in front of her," I say, making it clear that this grace period comes with an expiration date.

Chibs lets out a long sigh, the weight of the world practically visible on his shoulders. "That's all I can ask."

I lean forward in my chair, locking eyes with him. "Don't let her mess around in here again," I say, pointing first to his heart, then to his head. "You're better than that."

"Ye still believe that?" Chibs asks, stopping his pacing for the first time, his voice tinged with a vulnerability that catches me off guard.

"You're a good man, Filip," I reply, softening my tone. "You deserve to be happy. If it's with her, I'll get right with it. Just don't think you have to take her back. You have a choice."

There's a flicker of something in his eyes—hope, maybe, or relief. "Thanks, Jaycee," he mutters, his voice low, but it feels genuine.

As I step out of the chapel and into the main room, the first thing I see is Fiona. She stands near the bar, her posture as rigid as I remember. She's scanning the room, taking in the surroundings like she's assessing her territory. The moment her eyes land on me, I can see the shift—her expression hardens, her chin lifts just a bit. It's as if the past hasn't faded at all, like time hasn't dulled the edge between us.

Fiona walks toward me with that determined, almost defiant stride, her presence commanding attention even if no one's looking.

"Jaycee," she says, her voice smooth, carrying that distinct Irish lilt I haven't missed.

"Fiona," I reply coolly, forcing myself to remain calm, to keep my emotions in check. My eyes flick over her briefly before I meet her gaze again. "How's Mother Ireland?"

"Green as usual," she responds with a half-smile, though her eyes are anything but warm.

"Well, welcome back to Charming," I say, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "Make yourself comfortable... Just not too comfortable. You know how it is." I let my tone linger on the edge of warning before turning on my heel and heading over to Tully.

Tully's standing by the bar, deep in conversation with Happy. As I approach, the tension in my shoulders begins to ease. Tully's presence always grounds me, like an anchor in the storm.

"Hey," I greet them both, slipping my arm around Tully's waist as I lean into him. His hand immediately rests on my belly, rubbing small circles over the bump.

"We were just talking about how we need to keep you off your feet as much as possible," Tully says with a knowing grin, his tone light but filled with concern.

"Oh really? You recruiting people to keep tabs on me now, Ronald?" I tease, though the exhaustion weighing me down is impossible to ignore.

Tully chuckles, his grin widening. "You know it, Peaches."

Happy, ever the straightforward one, gives me a serious look. "You're gonna take it easy, Jayce. You look dead on your feet, and that's not good for Mya."

I roll my eyes playfully but know deep down they're both right. The last few days have been draining, both physically and emotionally. "Fine, fine. But just know, if I sit down too long, I'm liable to fall asleep."

Tully's eyes soften as he pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "If you need a nap, go ahead. I've got to go check on your Christmas gift anyway."

I sigh, nodding slightly. "Alright, I'll rest. But only if you promise you'll come back soon."

"Don't worry, Peaches. I'll be rushing back to you and Mya as soon as I can," he promises with a smirk.

I raise an eyebrow, curious. "What is it?"

"Ah-ah," he wags a finger playfully, "don't go trying to ruin the surprise."

I laugh, feeling a little lighter despite the day's events. "Fine. But come back soon. Your pregnant old lady worries."

Tully smirks, giving me another kiss. "Nothing to worry about, Peaches."

As he walks away, I can't help but watch him for a moment, feeling a surge of love and gratitude for everything we've built together.

Tully

Today is the day I finally get rid of this damn mark on my throat. It's been years in the making—hell, I've wanted it gone for longer than I can even remember. But now, with Jaycee and the baby coming, I don't just want to cover it up. I need to.

Happy's already set up in the back room, the smell of antiseptic heavy in the air. He's got everything ready—inks, needles, designs. We'd talked about it for weeks, but now that it's time, there's a different kind of weight sitting in my chest.

I glance at the sketch he's drawn—a peach, smooth and simple, to cover the ugly swastika on my throat. It'll stand out in the best way, a tribute to my Peaches. And on my shoulder, a crow with Jaycee and Juan's names woven into the wings. It's perfect.

"Ready?" Happy's voice is gruff as always, but I catch the hint of curiosity in his tone. He knows this isn't just about ink.

"Yeah." My voice feels steady, but inside I'm all over the place. "Let's do this."

I sit down in the chair, and Happy leans in, checking the placement one last time. The cold touch of the stencil makes me shiver as he presses it to my throat, positioning it just right. I lean back, my mind drifting as I feel the familiar hum of the tattoo gun revving up.

"How's it look?" I ask, trying to focus on anything other than the swarm of thoughts running through my head.

Happy grunts. "It's perfect."

I chuckle, already feeling the slight burn as he presses the needle into my skin. The pain's nothing new, but this time it feels different—cleansing, almost. Like with every stroke of the needle, another part of my past is getting erased.

I take a deep breath, letting the pain settle in. It's a good pain, the kind that reminds you why you're doing what you're doing. Every sting is a step closer to becoming the man I want to be—the man I need to be.

"How's it feel?" Happy asks, his voice gruff but slightly softer than usual.

"Like I'm peeling off the worst part of myself and leaving it in the past."

He smirks. "Good. You'll feel even better when it's done."

As Happy works, I think about the crow that's going on my shoulder next. It's the mark of my loyalty to SAMCRO, to Jaycee, and to Juan. It feels right, carrying their names with me wherever I go. I never thought I'd be one for tattoos that meant something, but things change when you've got a future to think about. When you've got a family.

"How long you think this'll take?" I ask, more to keep the conversation going than anything else.

"Few hours. Gotta do it right," Happy responds, his eyes fixed on his work. "Throat ink can be tricky, but it'll be worth it."

I nod, adjusting myself in the chair. The thought of Jaycee's name, along with Juan's, inked into the wings of the crow we designed for my chest brings a sense of pride. This club, this family—they're more than I ever thought I'd have. They're worth changing for.

After a long while of complete silence, Happy leans back, wiping down the fresh ink. "Throat's done. Want a break, or should we move to the crow?"

"Let's do the crow," I say, eager to finish it all today. I want this chapter of my life to be closed.

He switches needles and preps my shoulder, the cool antiseptic a brief relief before the gun hums back to life. This time, it's a different sensation. The crow's bigger, more intricate. Happy works fast but careful, making sure every feather, every line of script, is perfect.

"You ever think about this day? Covering it up?" Happy asks, his voice low.

"All the time," I admit. "But I didn't think it would mean as much as it does now."

"Jaycee's good for you," Happy mutters, focusing on the shading. "She's good for the club too."

I nod, knowing he's right. She's made me want to be better, cleaner. She's given me a reason to fight for something real, something beyond just survival.

"You ever think about boxing? Training a little?" I blurt out, surprising even myself. "I've been thinking about losing some weight, getting back into shape. You know, something to do once all this ink is done."

Happy glances up at me, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he smirks, that dark humor of his always lurking beneath the surface. "Boxing, huh? Not a bad idea, Tully. Could use some work in the ring."

I chuckle, though there's a seriousness to the thought. "Yeah, I mean... I've been carrying a lot. Old habits. I need to cut some of it loose. Maybe learn how to throw a decent punch while I'm at it."

Happy sets down the tattoo gun for a second and stretches his arms. "I've got a bag in the garage. We can start whenever you're ready. Won't be easy, but I'll show you what I know."

There's something genuine in his offer, something that feels like the start of something solid. Maybe we're not so different after all. We both live by codes, by loyalty. We've both done things we're not proud of. But here, in this moment, with the hum of the tattoo gun and the promise of something better in the works, there's an understanding between us.

"You think I can keep up with you?" I ask, grinning through the ache in my throat.

Happy grins back. "Doubt it. But I like a challenge."

I laugh, the sound a little hoarse from the work on my throat, but it feels good. Real good.

After what feels like an eternity, Happy finally leans back, wiping the ink away for the last time. "Done."

I stand up slowly, stretching my stiff muscles as I walk over to the mirror. For a moment, I just stare. The swastika is gone, replaced by a smooth, soft peach. And on my shoulder, the crow stretches its wings, Jaycee and Juan's names intricately woven into the design. Peaches and Pecan. I'll get the latter tattooed when he comes home.

I turn to Happy, nodding. "It's perfect."

He gives a rare smile. "Told you it would be. Now go show your old lady."

I get up but before I leave the small room we've been hiding out in, I turn and look back at him. "Thanks, Happy. This is my second chance at something good."

As I walk out of the room, feeling the sting of the fresh ink, I spot Jaycee across the clubhouse, her hand resting on her belly, talking to Sassi. She's glowing, even more so now with the pregnancy. I can't wait to show her the new ink. I can't wait to show her how serious I am about this new chapter in our lives.

Walking over to her, I wrap my arms around her from behind, placing a gentle kiss on her neck. She turns to me with a soft smile, her eyes lighting up as she sees me.

"How'd it go?" she asks, her hand moving to rest on my chest.

I smirk, pulling down my shirt collar slightly to reveal the peach. Her eyes widen in surprise.

"Oh my god, Ronald... it's beautiful," she whispers, her fingers tracing the edge of the fresh ink.

"And there's more," I say, turning to show her the crow on my shoulder.

Her breath catches, her hand covering her mouth as she takes in the sight of their names inked into my skin.

"It's perfect," she says, tears welling in her eyes.

I pull her close, kissing the top of her head. "It's for you. For us. For our family. When Mya gets here she'll be next."

Jaycee smiles up at me, her eyes shining with love and pride. "You didn't have to do this, but it means everything."

"I know," I whisper, holding her tighter. "I'm not that man anymore, Peaches. And I never will be again."

She chuckles through her hormones. "Best gift ever."

As we stand there, wrapped in each other's arms, I know this is where I'm supposed to be. This is the life I want—the life I've fought for. And I'm not letting anyone or anything take it away.