Jax teller/ Charlie

Ice skating was your passion growing up, and you dreamt of going to the Olympics as a child. When those skates hit the ice, it was like you became a totally different person - exhuming confidence and beauty. Until one day, doing a stunt, youlanded weird on your knee, and your career as a figure skater was over.

The hardest part, other than saying goodbye to your lifelong dream, was the damage left you with a permanent limp. Everyone in the town of Charming was friendly enough, never making it obvious that you walked with a limp, but deep down, you couldn’t help the feeling that everyone was always staring at you, pitying you. But you didn’t want pity, you just wanted to be treated like a person.

You were at work one day, at the local convenience store to pay your way through college, when some young punks walked in.

“Hey, yeah,” the one kid, about 18 or 19 years old, came up to the counter. He was either drunk, or stoned - maybe even both. “Do you guys have pringles?”

“Of course,” you replied in your best customer service voice before coming up from behind the counter to show the customer where you kept the snacks. You heard his group of friends giggling and snickering behind you.

“Something funny?” You heard a voice from the counter to find Jax Teller, clad in leather, tapping his fingers on the surface by the register. Jax was a regular at the store. Always coming in for cigarettes and something to drink.

“Nah, man, it’s not like that.” The one kid replied, his voice shaking.

“Really?” Jax said, slowly walking away from the counter and towards the group of kids. “Cause it seems to me, that something was pretty funny.” He stood in front of the group, towering over them. You watched with delight, with no intention of coming to anyone’s rescue. “Share it with the class, I personally love a good joke.”

“C’mon man,” one of them said. “Don’t act like you don’t crack jokes with your boys,” he said pointing to the Redwood Original patch on his kutte.

“Not at the expense of a woman, no,” he said, moving closer now.

“She’s not a woman,” another one muttered under his breath.

“Really?” He said, shocked that one of them would even make such a rude comment. “You fuckin’ kidding me?”

No one said anything now. It was silent.

Finally, you decided to put an end to this. “Jax, it’s okay, really.”

“No, it’s not,” he grabbed them one by one and lined them up along the shelves. “Now, I want you all to apologize to y/n.”

“Fuck no,” the one said, and Jax quickly wound up and hit him straight across the jaw with a right hook, quickly grabbing him by his shirt and holding him up straight.

“Try again, douche bag,” Jax said. “Y/n,” he made a come hither motion with his finger, signaling for you to come stand in front of the kid whose nose was trickling blood. Once you were standing in front of him, there was still silence. “Please don’t make me ask again.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, unable to even look at you.

They all apologized one after to the other.

“Good job,” Jax said sarcastically. “Now get your Pringles and get the fuck outta here. Go home to your mommy.”

When they all left, you started crying, even though you really didn’t even want to cry in front of the handsome biker in front of you.

“Hey,” he whispered, bringing you in for a hug. “Don’t let those scumbags get to you.” You walked towards the counter and grabbed Jax’s smokes. He turned to walk away, but stopped right before he reached the door. “For what it’s worth darlin’, I think you’re beautiful. Inside and out.”

Then your breathing changed.

Then your face crumpled.

And suddenly you were crying so hard you had to brace yourself against the counter.

The room went silent.

Happy stopped mid-sentence. Chibs lowered his beer. Even Gemma paused, eyes narrowing in sharp assessment.

And Jax Teller looked at you like someone had punched him in the chest.

Because people didn’t cry like that over eggs.

Not unless the hurt started long before that moment.

You kept apologizing.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry, I’ll clean it up, I dunno why I’m—”

“Hey,” Jax said immediately, crossing the room. “Hey, stop.”

You tried wiping your face with the heel of your hand, embarrassed beyond belief. “I’m okay.”

He crouched beside the mess before you could touch a single shard.

“You ain’t cleanin’ this.”

“I made the mess—”

“And I said you ain’t cleanin’ it.”

His voice wasn’t harsh. Just firm.

Careful.

Like he already knew something fragile was cracking apart in front of him.

Gemma quietly handed you a towel. “Go wash your face, sweetheart.”

You nodded too fast and disappeared into the bathroom before anyone could see you completely fall apart.

Jax watched the door shut behind you, eyes catching on something before it closed.

A bruise.

Faint yellow-green fingerprints wrapped around your wrist where your sleeve had ridden up.

His entire expression changed.

Slowly.

Dangerously.

“You see that?” he asked quietly.

Chibs sighed. “Aye.”

Happy only grunted.

Gemma looked toward the bathroom door with something grim settling into her face.

Jax stood.

“Who is he?”

Your boyfriend’s name was Kyle Mercer.

Nobody liked him.

That should’ve told you something months ago.

He was controlling in ways that sounded reasonable if you explained them too fast.

He hated when you wore makeup because “guys stare.”

He hated when you stayed late at work because “you obviously care more about strangers.”

He hated when you came to SAMCRO gatherings because “those biker assholes fill your head with nonsense.”

And he especially hated Jax Teller.

Which, honestly, should’ve been another warning sign.

Jax had known you for years. You worked part-time at TM when they were overloaded, and you’d become woven into the edges of the club naturally after that.

You laughed loudly.

You brought coffee orders nobody remembered asking for.

You patched cuts without flinching.

And you looked at people like they were worth listening to.

Jax had been halfway in love with you long before Kyle showed up.

He just never said it.

Then you started dating Mercer.

And over time, you got quieter.

Smaller somehow.

Like you were folding yourself inward bit by bit.

Jax noticed.

Of course he noticed.

He noticed every damn thing about you.

You tried to leave Kyle three days later.

That was the thing that finally got you hurt badly.

You’d packed a bag while he was out.

You almost made it to the door.

Then he came home early.

The shouting started immediately.

“You think you’re too good for me now?”

“No,” you whispered. “Kyle, please—”

“You been fucking him?”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“That biker piece of shit. Jax.”

“No!”

The slap hit hard enough to send you sideways into the wall.

Your ears rang.

You tasted blood instantly.

Kyle grabbed your jaw before you could recover.

“You embarrass me again,” he hissed, “I’ll make sure nobody wants what’s left of you.”

A knock thundered at the door.

Kyle froze.

Another knock.

Harder.

Then:

“Open the fuckin’ door.”

Jax.

You’d never heard his voice sound like that before.

Not loud.

Not angry.

Worse.

Controlled.

Kyle sneered. “Perfect timing.”

He dragged you toward the door by your arm despite your protest.

When he yanked it open, Jax took one look at your face and went utterly still.

The split lip.

The swelling already forming near your cheek.

The fear you couldn’t hide fast enough.

Something lethal entered his eyes.

“Kyle,” he said quietly, “take your hand off her.”

“You don’t tell me what to do in my own—”

Jax hit him before he finished the sentence.

Not a punch.

A fucking explosion.

Kyle crashed backward into the entry table.

You screamed his name instinctively — not because you wanted to protect him, but because violence that sudden was terrifying no matter who it was aimed at.

Jax barely seemed to hear you.

Years of rage detonated all at once.

Every bruise he’d noticed.

Every flinch.

Every fake smile.

Every time you insisted you were “just tired.”

Kyle swung back once.

Jax put him through the drywall for it.

The neighbors would later say the sounds coming from the apartment were horrifying.

Furniture breaking.

Bodies hitting walls.

A man begging.

And another man answering with silence.

By the time Chibs and Opie dragged Jax off him, Kyle Mercer’s face barely looked human anymore.

Blood soaked the floor.

Jax was breathing like an animal.

“You touch her again,” he snarled, trying to lunge forward again, “I will fucking bury you.”

Kyle spit blood onto the carpet.

Jax kicked him in the ribs hard enough to crack something.

“Jax!” you cried.

That stopped him.

Immediately.

He turned toward you.

And the fury vanished so fast it was almost frightening.

“Baby,” he said softly.

Not possessive.

Not intentional.

Just instinct.

You started crying again.

Jax looked wrecked at the sight of it.

He crossed the room slowly this time, like he thought moving too fast might scare you.

“You okay if I touch you?”

Nobody had asked you that in a very long time.

You nodded once.

The second his arms wrapped around you, the adrenaline keeping you upright disappeared entirely.

You collapsed against his chest shaking.

“I got you,” he murmured, one hand cradling the back of your head carefully. “I got you now.”

Behind him, Chibs looked down at Kyle and muttered, “He’s still breathin’. Barely.”

He sounded disappointed.

Kyle Mercer died two nights later in hospital.

Internal bleeding.

Too much damage.

SAMCRO made sure nobody looked too closely at why witnesses suddenly changed parts of their stories.

Officially, it was a drunken fight.

Unofficially?

Nobody in Charming was particularly interested in justice for a man who beat women.

You, meanwhile, sat on the roof of Jax’s house wrapped in one of his hoodies while the town buzzed below you.

You hadn’t spoken much since the news broke.

Jax found you there after dark.

For a minute he just stood beside you silently.

Then he held out a beer.

You accepted it with a quiet thanks.

“You scared of me now?” he asked eventually.

Your head snapped toward him immediately. “No.”

But he didn’t look convinced.

“He’s dead because of me.”

“He’s dead because of what he did.”

Jax leaned against the railing beside you.

Moonlight caught the bruises healing across your face.

His jaw tightened at the sight.

“I would do it again,” he admitted. “That’s the part that probably should bother you.”

You stared at him for a long moment.

Then asked softly, “Did you love me before this?”

The question hit him hard enough that you saw it physically.

His eyes closed briefly.

“Yeah,” he said.

No hesitation.

No escape route.

“Long before this.”

Emotion climbed into your throat sharp and painful.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You were with somebody.”

“He hurt me.”

“I know.”

“No,” you whispered, tears returning. “I mean before that. He hurt me before he ever hit me.”

Jax went still.

Because he understood exactly what you meant.

The isolation.

The fear.

The shrinking.

The way abuse started quietly enough you almost didn’t notice yourself disappearing.

His hand reached for yours carefully.

“You ain’t disappearin’ anymore.”

You looked down at your joined hands.

At the cuts across his knuckles.

At the man who’d burned half the world down the second he realized someone hurt you.

Then you leaned into him.

And Jax exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for years.

His forehead rested against your temple.

Protective.

Reverent.

Certain.

The fight was stupid. Aren’t they all?

This one really was. At least it started out stupid, but only grew into a more serious fight the longer it went on. 

Jax had come home close to midnight, a tired, grumpy man who’d spent his day dealing with club business - most of which he hadn’t yet told you about despite one of his vows being to do just that, to keep you in the loop as best as he could. 

You’re his wife, after all. You deserved that, at least. 

He’d stripped out of his clothes, leaving a trail leading all the way to the bathroom, and that was only after he greeted you with a simple, chaste kiss to your cheek without saying a single word. 

That in itself made you a little annoyed, because after not hearing from him for most of the day, and after waiting for him to come home all night, that was all you got? Well, that and a now messy hallway. 

You bit your tongue as you followed the discarded clothing trail, picking up each one and wondering how bad of a day he had to justify needlessly making the house a mess, especially after you spent a good few hours cleaning it earlier, but you doubt he noticed that with how quickly he disappeared into the bathroom as soon as he stepped through the door. 

After you picked up his jeans, shirt and boxers, you lifted your gaze and looked at Jax through the foggy glass of the shower, your eyes narrowing at how tense he looked. “Long day?” you asked, and he just grunted, shaking his head and barely acknowledging you. 

“Yeah,” was all he said, and you lifted a brow, debating on whether or not to push him further, but you weren’t cruel. He obviously dealt with some serious shit today, if the red stain you saw on his jeans was anything to go by, and wanted to have a shower in peace. 

So you left the bathroom and entered the bedroom, stuffing his clothes into the laundry bin and making a mental note to do them as soon as you wake up tomorrow in hopes to get that stain out for him - not that he’d really care anyway. Another stain would just take its place soon enough. 

You went back into the living room, where you had been patiently waiting for him to come home, and sat back down on the couch. You picked up the book you’d been reading and had set down when you heard him come home, only to receive that vague greeting from Jax before he left you alone again. 

It was less than ten minutes later when the shower turned off, and only a few more minutes passed before you heard footsteps leading up to the living room, and when you lifted your gaze from the book and met Jax’s tired eyes, you felt your heart clench in your chest. 

He was dressed for bed, wearing just his sweats, and he looked exhausted, both physically and mentally, and you wanted to help him in any way he’d let you, because you’d both been each other’s safe spaces since you started dating, and you’d like to think that was still very much true now that you’ve been married for just over a year. 

But instead of giving you an explanation, or a proper greeting, or a gruff apology for his sad excuse of one, he gave you a tight lipped smile he didn’t even try to make reach his eyes. “‘M goin’ to bed,” he said, and you squinted your eyes at him, making him pause when he already started to turn away and head back down the hall. “What?”

You narrowed your eyes at that. Yes, he was allowed to have bad days, he’s the President of a fucking motorcycle club that gets put through the ringer damn near every day, and you’d never try to invalidate that, but to have him be so short with you and so distant wasn’t appreciated in the slightest. 

Your shoulders lifted in a sarcastic shrug, “Oh, hey, babe. How was your day? Mine was good, thank you so much for asking,” you said, sarcasm dripping from every word. You just couldn’t help yourself. “That’s usually how a normal husband greets his wife, you know.”

Leaving his clothes on the floor was one thing, but pretty much ignoring you was something else, and especially since this wasn’t the first time he’s come home this week in a bad mood and essentially ignored you in your own home. 

Jax let his shoulders drop, he let out a deep huff, “Don’t start,” he muttered, running a hand over his damp hair, and that only made you even more annoyed. 

You set the book aside, having not really read much of it anyway, and sat up a bit. “Don’t start?” you echoed, narrowing your eyes, “I’m way past that. What happened to your eye?” you asked, the beginning of a black eye that was obviously forming on the left side of his face something you’d noticed while he was in the shower, but didn’t say anything about. 

Jax propped his hands on his hips, his head tilting to the side in a way that told you he was already done with the conversation. It was a look you’d seen him give countless times to others, and he’d given it to you a handful of times as well, but everyone else didn’t get the same treatment that you did. You weren’t just anyone else, you’re his wife. “It’s nothin’,”

“It doesn’t look like nothing-”

“It’s just club shit,” he cut you off, effectively making you briefly shut up. “You know how it is.”

You pressed your lips together, your arms coming up to cross over your chest. “Yeah, I do know how it is,” you agreed, trying to reel your temper back in, because as much as he was pissing you off at the moment, you didn’t want to start a fight he obviously didn’t have the energy to have right now. “But I also know that you once promised to never keep things from me. Club shit included.” 

Jax went silent at that, and you watched the way his jaw locked, a muscle in his cheek twitching slightly. He waited a few breaths, no doubt trying to calm himself down too, before he softened his expression just a tiny bit. “Babe, I promise, it’s nothin’ for you to worry ‘bout right now, alright?” he said, seeming to hope that would be enough for now. “I’ll tell you all about it soon.”

But it wasn’t enough, because lately you’d been feeling detached from him, and like he was keeping things from you, and you didn’t like that. At all. “No, it’s not alright,” you said, standing up from the couch, and his eyes lifted with your movement. “Jax, you barely said a word to me when you got home, you left your clothes all over the floor, and instead of sitting down and talking to me about it, you just told me you were going to bed. I feel like we don’t talk anymore.”

Jax exhaled harshly through his nose, and he broke eye contact with you as he shook his head. “Look, I’ve had a long fuckin’ day, alright? I told you that,” he said, his voice raising a bit as his eyes met yours again. “I don’t feel like sittin’ down and talkin’ about it, okay? Is that alright with you?” 

Your eyes hardened at that, but so did his, and you’d come to a clear stand off, despite you simply wanting him to communicate with you a bit better. But that was asking too much of him, apparently. “Fine. Whatever,” you said, letting your shoulders drop even though your whole body was tense now. “Goodnight then.”

Jax let out a short huff, and he gave you a look you’d seen too many times to count at this point. “You mad at me now?” 

Yes, you were, but he clearly just wanted to go to bed and forget about today, and who were you to stop him? “No, Jax,” you answered, crossing your arms. He gave you another look, this one almost comically unimpressed as he mirrored your stance, his own arms coming up to cross over his chest. “Fine. Yeah, I am kinda mad at you.”

Jax huffed and shook his head, muttering something under his breath you weren’t able to catch. “So I deal with bullshit all day with the club, and then when I come home and try to leave all that shit behind me, I have to deal with my wife too?”

You squinted at that, his choice of words adding to the anger you felt burning inside of you. “You don’t have to deal with me, Jax. And I don’t think that’s a very fair thing to say to me,”

“But jumpin’ on my back as soon as I get home is fair to me?” he shot back, stepping around the half wall separating the hallway and the living room. “I expected you to be the one person who wouldn’t fuckin’ push me when I’ve already had a rough day.”

“And how am I supposed to know that? That you’ve had a rough day?” you asked, ignoring the sting you felt at the way he was so dismissive of you right now, like you were just another person to him instead of his partner. 

“The lack of greetin’ wasn’t obvious enough?”

You flared your nose at that, and this wasn’t going the way you wanted it to at all. Starting a fight was the last thing you liked doing with Jax, but you also didn’t see this de-escalating anytime soon. “You’re acting like an ass right now, Jax,” you said, ignoring his question you had a feeling he wasn’t expecting you to answer anyway. 

Your choice of words had his brows raising, and his head tilting back a bit. “I’m actin’ like an ass,” he repeated, stating it rather than questioning it. “You ain’t in no position to be sayin’ that to me, babe.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re actin’ like one of those needy chicks that hang around the clubhouse instead of my wife,” he grunted, his face lacking any resemblance of the softer side of him that always seemed to be around when he was with you. 

Hearing him reduce you to a needy chick, someone who just hangs around to get laid by one of the Sons, had your jaw clenching angrily. “You’re calling me a fucking crow eater? Are you fucking serious? Why?” you scoffed, “Because I just wanted my husband to look at me for more than five seconds and to have an actual conversation with me?”

“Because you keep fuckin’ pushin’ it when you know it’s just makin’ shit worse,” he said back, as if that justified his words. “You ain’t a crow eater, but you are my old lady, and when I need a fuckin’ minute to myself when I get home, you give it to me.”

A humorless laugh left your lips. “Oh, I give it to you? Is that what I’m supposed to do? We’ve been over that, Jax. You don’t get to boss me around like one of the Sons,” you said, “And how am I supposed to give you something you never asked for? Do you want me to read your mind? So I know you need a sec to yourself instead of taking it out on me as soon as you get home?”

“I didn’t want to take it out on you,” he said, and his voice raised even more. He was clearly getting as worked up as you are. “I tried to not fuckin’ take it out on you. But you just had to go and start somethin’, huh?”

“Don’t pin it all on me, Jax. That’s not fucking fair,” you glared at him, “You can’t just expect me to be all happy and understanding when you come home and fucking ignore me, especially since you’ve been doing it all week. How is that fair to me?”

“This life ain’t supposed to be fuckin’ fair, babe,” he scoffed, his biceps flexing as he crossed his arms more firmly over his chest, and any other night you’d be all over that, but you’d gotten so mad so quickly, you couldn’t even take a second to appreciate just how hot your husband is. 

You rolled your eyes and turned away, opting to just stop looking at him since the anger in his eyes wasn’t helping you calm down at all. How is he mad at you right now? When he was the one at fault here? “Don’t give me that,” you shook your head, “That’s bullshit. You can’t blame it on the life all the time, Jax. You were given many chances to leave, and to make shit better. It doesn’t get better, and you just have to deal with it and let me in, not push me away when it gets hard.”

“I’m not pushin’ you away. I’m tryin’ to not bring this shit home with me, but clearly that ain’t workin’,” he muttered, running his hand over his mouth. “And I ain’t blamin’ it on the life either. Things get hard sometimes, like right now. I’m dealin’ with a lot of shit with the club, and I don’t need you breathin’ down my neck about it as soon as I get home.”

“Me just wanting to talk to you counts as me breathing down your neck, now?” you asked, understanding the point he was trying to make about as much as he was understanding yours. Not at all. “What’s next, I have to ask you for permission to touch you in case you had a bad day and decide to take it out on me instead?”

“Jesus Christ,” he nearly yelled, his eyes darting around the room as if he was looking for a chance to escape, as if simply hashing something out with you was such a big thing to ask of him. “That’s not what this is and you know it. You don’t have to ask permission to do shit with me, alright?”

“But I’m supposed to be able to tell when you want space, then give it to you after you already made me feel like shit for caring?” 

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like shit-”

“Well, you did. You made me feel like some idiot who needs to get permission from you to be able to talk to you, let alone touch you,” you cut him off, “And you make me feel like I’m some afterthought, that I’m just here for you to come home to. I’m your wife, Jax, I’m supposed to be the person you come to with this kind of shit, not brush off and ignore so you can bottle it up on your own.”

“You are the person I come to with this kinda shit-”

“It doesn’t seem like it. You’d rather barely say a word to me when you come home, then go back out the next day and do it all over again-”

“‘Cause you make it fuckin’ impossible to get a word in without you flyin’ off the fuckin’ handle,” he cut you off this time, and his voice was a lot louder than before. He moved to stand in front of you, towering over you and making you regret ever opening your mouth. But there was no going back now. “I don’t need to deal with you and your fuckin’ insecurities when I’ve got enough shit goin’ on, alright?”

You narrowed your eyes, your gaze as cold as his is. “My insecurities?” 

“Yeah. What the fuck are you even complainin’ about, huh? What, I didn’t greet you properly when I got home, so that means you get to be on my case for the rest of the night? To bring up shit that doesn’t even fuckin’ matter?” he was in your face now, angrier than he’s ever been with you, and you actually shrunk back a bit. 

“You’re out of line, Jax,” you tried to reel him back in, but you feared he was already too fired up, and you’d pushed him to his breaking point. 

“You’re the one puttin’ me outta fuckin’ line!” he yelled, and you flinched at both the loudness of his voice, and the way he raised his hand to brush his hair out of his face. He caught your flinch, and instead of instantly calming down, it only seemed to irritate him even more. “You thought I was gonna hit you?”

And maybe you should’ve assured him that, no, you didn’t think that, and you’d never think he’d ever put his hands on you like that, but you were still so mad, you didn’t have much control over what you were saying right now. “It wouldn’t surprise me if you did,” you said instead, even though it would definitely surprise you if Jax were to ever destroy your relationship beyond repair by hitting you. “The way you guys treat your old ladies, the way you treat women in general. I’ve seen the aftermath of an argument between your mom and Clay. It’s not pretty.”

You knew that would hit him hard. There was nothing he hated more than to be compared to Clay, and the fact that you insinuated him possibly hurting you in the way Clay had hurt his mom was pretty low. Even you knew that. It would cut deep for him to hear that you might actually believe he’d be capable of doing that to you, even though you didn’t believe that at all, but you were just so upset with him, you wanted him to feel the way you were feeling. 

Jax scoffed and shook his head, taking a few steps away from you. “You’re unbelievable,” he said under his breath. “I ain’t Clay. I’d never put my goddamn hands on you like that. Ever. You should fuckin’ know that.”

And you do know that, but you didn’t say that. 

Instead you turned away and sat down on the edge of the couch, feeling the way the tension in the room became less angry, but remained just as heavy. The argument seemed to be over, with neither of you wanting to continue it after that. 

“I’m gonna stay out here tonight,” you said, your voice rough from holding back tears. You looked down at the floor as you curled in on yourself. “I’ll sleep on the couch. I don’t want to see you right now.”

A humorless laugh left Jax’s lips, and he turned away, heading down the hallway towards the bedroom as he muttered, “I don’t wanna see you either,” 

That was by far the worst argument you and Jax had ever had. That was the most heated you’d gotten with each other, to the point of getting into each other’s faces and letting your mouths spew words without letting your brains think of the consequences for it after. 

You and Jax were both stubborn, and he was more hot-headed now that he’s the President of SAMCRO, and the longer you’re with him, the more unwilling you are to be treated like the other old ladies you’d met. It was definitely a clash, but you and Jax are usually able to make it work. You and he are usually able to talk things through before they get to a point where everything just explodes and you end up angry with each other. 

In the years you’ve been together, there have only been a handful of times where you and he couldn’t reach an agreement, or you couldn’t get each other to see your point of views on things, and even then, they weren’t as bad as tonight was. 

You felt your eyes sting, and you quickly reached over to flick the light off before curling into a ball on the couch. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it definitely wasn’t as soft as yours and Jax’s bed, and you almost wished you’d told him to sleep on the couch instead. 

But you ignored the flat pillow that was more for decoration than to be used as an actual place to rest your head, and you pulled the throw blanket up to your chin, leaving most of your lower half uncovered. 

This was the first time you and Jax willingly chose to not sleep in the same bed. Of course there were times where he ended up crashing at the clubhouse and you had to sleep alone in the bed, and there were times where you’d fallen asleep on the couch waiting for him to come home, but he’d always bring you to bed with him, because you didn’t like not sleeping next to each other. 

And even though you meant it when you said you didn’t want to see him, it didn’t change the fact that your heart was hurting, and even though it was because of him, you still wanted to be with him in your room, not out here by yourself. 

But you were still so upset, and you were stubborn and bitter and didn’t feel like getting up and putting your differences aside so you could both get a decent enough sleep tonight. 

With your luck, it would just start round two, and you weren’t in the mood to deal with that at all. 

So you got as comfortable as you could, and tried to ignore that Jax was sleeping by himself in the bed you’d been sharing with him for the last two years. 

It took you what felt like hours to finally calm down enough to go to sleep, but it wasn’t peaceful. You were barely asleep, just unconscious enough to chase away the tiredness from the fight and leave you feeling slightly more rested, but it still wasn’t a good sleep. 

You weren’t sure what time it was or how long you’d been out here, but you were able to faintly hear the sound of the bedroom door opening, and the sound of a few footsteps. Even with your eyes closed, you could see the brightness slip into the darkness behind your eyes as the hall light turned on, but you didn’t fully wake up until a few moments later. 

The sound of more footsteps barely registered in your mind, and you were almost completely back to sleep when you felt the blanket you’d been using slowly lift off of you, and then felt a familiar hand slide under your back. 

You almost thought you were dreaming, because of course Jax would be in your dreams, but then you felt your body being lifted up, and you opened your eyes. You squinted at the harsh light coming from the hall and turned your head, burying your face in Jax’s chest as he slid his arm under your legs, keeping his other one wrapped around your back. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, using his shoulder to flick the light switch off when he walked past it, and you just groaned as he carried you the short distance to the bedroom. 

You knew he was taking you to bed, and even though you were still quite pissed at him, you didn’t try to get out of his hold, nor did you tell him to stop and put you down. 

He left the bedroom door open as he walked around the bed, and he gently set you down on your side of it. The sheets and comforter were already pulled back, and you melted against your cool, much comfier pillow as Jax pulled the covers up over you. 

You instantly cuddled under them, your eyes falling shut as he rounded the bed again and got in on his side next to you. You kept your back to him as he slid under the covers and moved closer to you, and you instinctively leaned back against him. 

“I’m still mad at you,” you mumbled as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you back against his chest.

A much softer laugh than all the sarcastic and humorless ones from before came out of his mouth at that, and he laced his fingers with yours under the sheets. “Yeah, I’m still mad at you too,” he said back, and you tried to fight off a smile as he buried his face in your hair. 

You thought that would be the end of it, that he just brought you to bed since he didn’t want you to sleep apart unless you absolutely needed to, and you were still very much not on good terms right now, but the soft sigh you felt against the back of your neck had you refraining from falling asleep just yet. 

“What happened before,” he started, his voice low and much more gentle than it had been earlier in the living room. “It got outta hand. We both said some shit, but it ain’t gonna break us, alright? We just needed to cool off for a bit.”

You held his hand a little tighter, because despite all the things he’d said to you during the fight, that was what impacted you the most. “No. It won’t break us,” you agreed, and you felt the way his lips curled up just slightly against your skin. 

“That’s my girl,” he mumbled, and you fought off another grin, knowing that you and he would need to actually talk things out properly in the morning, but for now, you were more than content to fall asleep in his arms like you had many times before, and you held onto the hope that tomorrow’s conversation would be much more efficient that the one from a couple hours ago.

-

But that hadn’t stopped someone from calling you, the melodic chimes of your ringtone continuing to fill the darkness around you. The disruption came from behind on your nightstand, the noise loud in the otherwise stillness. With an aggravated groan, you frustratedly flopped onto your back and glared up at the ceiling. 

“Goddammit, you fucking asshole,” you cursed under your breath.

You didn't need to check the screen of your phone to know whose name would be displayed across it. This wasn't the first time he'd called you in the middle of the night in the past couple of weeks since you’d broken things off with him, and he’d been shitfaced each time he had called. You thought you’d made yourself pretty damn clear when you'd chewed him out and embarrassed him in front of the other Sons that afternoon in front of the clubhouse, but still he refused to listen to you. He kept dismissing each time you’d told him that you were done with him and his bullshit.

Thirty seconds dragged maddeningly past before the call finally went to your voicemail and the cheerful noise of your ringtone suddenly ceased filling your room. As blissful silence enveloped you like a soothing blanket, your eyelids gradually closed and your body sunk comfortably back into your mattress. Generally when you ignored his calls, he’d just leave a message–which you promptly deleted in the morning without bothering to listen to–but it was still irritating that he kept interrupting your nights. 

Just as you felt yourself starting to relax and drift off towards sleep again, your phone’s ringtone trilled through your bedroom once more. Eyes snapping back open, you turned your head along your pillow and glared at your phone on the nightstand. Across the bright display you saw the name ‘Jax Teller’ taunting you, and you grit your teeth together in frustration. He didn’t usually call you twice back to back, and while a part of you felt a flicker of concern that maybe something was wrong, you reminded yourself that he wasn’t yours to worry about anymore. He didn’t deserve to occupy space in your mind, and it didn’t matter what was going on with him and his club.

Eventually your phone quieted for the second time as his call was once more sent to voicemail, and the screen of your phone grew dark. Holding your breath for a few seconds, you stared at your phone and willed it to remain quiet, hoping that Jax would take the hint and leave you alone already. But the screen lit up again, and Jax’s name once more appeared along it as your ringtone began to echo around your bedroom.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you growled.

Pushing yourself upright in bed, the sheets slid down and pooled along your lap. With your back resting against your headboard, you reached out and yanked the charging cord out of your phone with more force than necessary. Angrily swiping your finger across the screen, you felt your irritation reaching its breaking point. Clearly, ignoring him wasn’t going to work tonight.

“It’s nearly two thirty in the fucking morning,” you snapped into your phone. “The fuck do you think you’re doing calling me right now? I told you to fuck off, Jax. So fuck off.”

A heavy sigh came through the speaker, the sound somehow filled with so much pain that your stomach lurched without warning at the weight of it. You tried to ignore the tender ache in your chest, preferring to focus on your anger at him instead. It wasn’t like you’d wanted to end things with Jax right as you’d started falling for him, but you’d learned the hard way that everyone had been right about the Sons’ president. You should have walked away that first time he asked for your number when you’d taken your car in for an oil change, but that stupid fucking smile of his had been enough to hook you.

“‘M sorry,” he slurred, the evidence of alcohol in his speech. “I know ‘t’s late. Just haven’t heard from you in weeks.”

“Because we broke up,” you stated icily. “Which means I don’t want to talk to you, Jackson. We’re done.”

“C’mon, it was justa fight,” he countered. “You barely lemme explain–”

“Because I don’t fucking need to hear whatever bullshit you think is going to explain your behavior, Jax,” you shot back. “There isn’t an excuse that you could make for any of it that's going to make me feel any better.”

“‘S'not true,” he stubbornly disagreed.

Fingers gripping your phone tighter in your hand, you resisted the urge to bang your head backwards into the headboard behind you out of sheer frustration. You’d given him chance after chance for months to prove he was worth your time–four months to be exact. You’d ignored the earlier red flags, you’d tried to ignore the culture that permeated through his club with how they treated women, and you’d tried to ignore all the things everyone said around Charming about him. You had tried to get to know Jax on your own terms, giving him the benefit of the doubt over and over.

Yet he'd still disappointed you.

“Baby–”

“No,” you cut him off. The anger burning within you had you fully alert now, the haziness of sleep melting away. “Don’t fucking ‘baby’ me, asshole. You agreed to a relationship. You agreed to being exclusive. But did that ever stop you from letting the fucking girls hang all over you at the clubhouse? Groping at you and flirting with you while you just fucking stood there with your smug little smile? Even when I was standing right there?”

“I never wanted them,” Jax argued, a hint of his own anger mixing in with his inebriation. “I fuckin’ told you that. Repeatedly.”

“Yeah?” you retorted. “Well maybe you should’ve been telling the half naked girls throwing themselves at you that instead. Maybe you shouldn’t have always been winking at them and encouraging it. Maybe that would’ve worked better to prove your point, Jax. Seems like a pretty straightforward solution right there.” 

On the other end of the line, you heard Jax suck in a breath, but you already knew what he was going to say before he said it. You'd heard it countless times before, so you didn’t give him the chance to speak. You furiously barreled over him while glaring through the dark at the picture hanging innocently on your wall across the room. 

“And don’t even give me that shit about having a reputation to maintain, Jax,” you continued bitterly. “I don't care that you're some MC president, that shit doesn't slide with me. I tried to ignore it, I tried to view it from your side, but there’s only so much of that bullshit a self-respecting woman is willing to endure.”

“What?” he snapped.

“You fucking heard me,” you fumed into your phone. “What would you have done if I was out drinking and letting men hit on me like that, huh? Letting them touch me while I just winked and smiled and flirted back?”

Jax audibly scoffed over the line, his irritation steadily increasing. Good. Maybe you’d piss him off enough that he’d finally leave you alone, and you were determined to ignore the sharp stinging sensation in your chest at that thought, not wanting to delve into what it meant. You’d cried over him enough after that first week, he didn’t deserve more of your tears. 

“I’d’ve beaten the shit outta any guy who touched you, darlin’,” he answered, his words still heavily slurring together. “No one fucks with my girl.”

A bitter laugh tumbled past your lips as you shook your head at his answer. What a predictable reply from the Sons’ president, and it was infuriating how he couldn’t acknowledge the disparity within it. 

“What a damn double standard that is,” you shot back. “So you can flirt and let those girls put their hands all over you, but god forbid a man pay me a compliment.”

“Look, darlin’, I get you’re pissed ‘bout the thing with Ima,” Jax continued, blatantly ignoring the truth you’d just thrust on him, “but ‘t’s nothin’ to be jealous over.”

“Jealous?” you hissed into the phone, eyebrows incredulously rising up onto your forehead. “I’m not jealous, dumbass. You disrespected me. It was bad enough you let that annoying tramp onto the back of your bike for a ride to the clubhouse in the first place considering how much trouble she’s blatantly been causing, but you let her kiss you, Jax. On the fucking mouth. In front of everyone.”

“It was a peck!” he roared over the line. “You fuckin’ overreacted ‘bout it, too!”

Your last bit of control snapped, especially since he’d woken you up after two in the morning with another one of his stupid phone calls. You had work in the morning, you didn’t want to be dealing with this right now. An agitated growl rumbled deep in the back of your throat as you sat seething on your bed and glaring at the peaceful landscape painting across the room. 

He was always so damn stubborn. You doubted that he would ever even realize just how much he’d fucked up in that moment, which hurt in its own way. Because in his mind, he’d done nothing wrong throughout the entire relationship since he’d never slept with anyone else. But you weren’t one of the girls that hung around the Sons for fun, you weren’t like any of them just looking for a good time. You’d told him that you wanted something real and serious, and you’d given him the chance he’d asked for before he completely ruined the entire thing with his need to let the girls at the club stroke his ego when you should’ve been more than enough for him. 

“This is why I ended shit,” you said, a quiet, dangerous calm in your words. “You’re immature. Your head is buried so goddamn far up your ass that you can’t even see the truth when it’s in front of you, Jackson Teller. You were in a relationship with me, meaning the other girls shouldn’t have been treating you like you were open for business, and you certainly shouldn't have let them. And it damn well meant that none of them should be kissing you. Because eventually just a peck becomes just a blow job, right?”

“No, ‘s'not what I–”

“You don't respect boundaries,” you continued, talking right over him. “That isn’t how a healthy fucking relationship works. Not with me. I told you months ago I expect exclusivity, but apparently we don't define that the same way. So we are not compatible, and you need to stop calling me.”

A sharp, unexpected bang reverberated down the hall and through your house before the same noise echoed through the phone pressed to your ear. You jolted on your bed at the sound, startled by someone banging on your front door at this hour. 

“Don't say that,” Jax demanded in your ear. “I care ‘bout you, darlin’.”

It took you a second, your mind still focused on the noise at your door and not exactly on what he’d said, but it soon clicked in your brain why you'd heard the banging twice. Eyes narrowing suspiciously at your bedroom doorway, you realized that tonight Jax hadn't just drunk dialed you, he'd showed up at your front door, too.

“Please tell me you aren't banging on my door in the middle of the night,” you retorted.

“S'what if I am?” he countered.

Lowering the phone to your lap, your fingers squeezed the device in your increasing frustration, your head tipping back as you inhaled an irritated breath through your nose. No wonder why he’d called you so many times back to back–because he was just outside. Drunk and absolutely infuriating in his audacity thinking that he could get you to step outside and talk to him. Expelling the breath sharply between your lips, you raised the phone back to your ear and caught the last bit of what he was drunkenly saying.

“...just for a few minutes. I miss you. Just lemme say somethin’, a’ight?”

“No,” you firmly answered. 

The sharp slam of his fist hitting your front door echoed down your hallway while simultaneously coming through your phone. A scowl settled onto your face, your eyes stinging from how tired you were. It was not the time for one of his moody tantrums.

“Turn around and walk your drunk ass back down my steps and back to the clubhouse,” you ordered him. “I’m not opening the door for you, Jax. When I hang up in a second, I’m turning my damn phone on silent. If you continue banging on my door, I’m calling Roosevelt to come throw you in county for the night. Understood?”

“Baby, don’t–”

“Get. Lost.”

He’d started saying something else, but you pulled the phone away from your ear and smashed your finger on the key to hang up the call. True to your word, you put your phone on silent immediately afterwards, not risking having him call you back and keeping you awake. But if he did keep banging on your door, you absolutely would call the police department and let them deal with his intoxicated ass. 

You were done with him.

But as you tossed your phone back onto the nightstand and slid down beneath your sheets, you didn’t hear anymore banging on your front door. You thought you heard a disgruntled voice outside, but as you rolled back over and closed your eyes, snuggling underneath your blanket, you ignored it. Just like you ignored that throbbing ache in your chest that he’d reawoken with his drunken call tonight.

Because Jax was not good for you and he never would be. There was no changing his nature, no matter how tragic that'd been to accept.

You’d woken the next morning to your alarm and a faint headache growing between your temples. Throwing off the sheets, you'd rushed to get ready for work, going through your usual morning routine of showering and chugging down a cup of coffee. By the time you were slipping on your shoes by the front door, you were exhausted from yet another interrupted night of sleep.

Thankfully you hadn’t heard anything else from Jax last night, and you assumed that meant he'd done what you said and walked his ass back to the clubhouse. You only lived a few blocks from it, so you weren’t exactly concerned about him getting lost or hit by a car while ambling down the sidewalk in the early morning. And as you often reminded yourself, he wasn't yours to worry about anymore.

Grabbing your keys from off the hook by the door, you opened it and prepared to head out to work for the day. But as you'd swung open the screen door, you nearly screamed at the sight of a body laying just outside on your porch. The scare was short-lived when you quickly realized who it was though, and you caught yourself before you'd actually let out a shriek. 

Standing there with your mouth hanging open in disbelief, you stared down at Jax where he lay propped up against the wall of your house and beside your front door. He was lucky you hadn’t hit him with the screen door when you’d swung it open, though judging by the state of him, you doubted he’d have noticed and reacted if you had. He looked as if he’d just stubbornly passed out there early this morning, too wasted to have done what you told him to and walked back to the clubhouse.

Finally closing your mouth, it twisted into a frown as you examined his appearance. Jax’s head was slumped to the side over one shoulder, his neck twisted at an uncomfortable angle as he lay half upright against the wall. His eyes were closed, but an angry purple bruise had bloomed around the left one. His usually groomed and styled blonde hair was sticking up in varying places and no longer slicked neatly back, the greasy strands hanging around his face. Glancing further down, you noticed that he’d passed out still clutching his phone in his hand. That’s when you saw just how battered and bloody his knuckles were, as if he'd recently gotten into a fight with someone. 

He looked like an absolute wreck laying there, and he reeked of whiskey.  A slight breeze blew past where you stood on the front porch, and the strong scent caused your nose to wrinkle instinctively at the sharp tang of it. For the briefest moment you wondered what had led him to drink quite this much last night. Was it the breakup that had caused him to overdo it? Or was it problems and stress related to running the club? 

Shaking your head roughly, you abruptly shoved that thought aside. The answer didn’t matter. Jax wasn't yours to deal with anymore. You did not care about why he'd gotten so shitfaced last night.

Turning around, you finished fully closing the front door and stuck your key into the lock, twisting it and locking up your house before carefully shutting the screen door behind yourself. Attention returning to Jax, a tired sigh blew past your lips before you bent at the waist and leaned forward, snatching his phone from his slack grip. He didn't even twitch as you took it, and you rolled your eyes at his unconscious form while straightening back up. 

Flipping open his phone, you scrolled through his contacts list before finding the name you were searching for. You hit the button to dial their number and held the phone to your ear as it rang, staring down at Jax who was still entirely unaware of your presence.

“Stupid, stubborn asshole,” you muttered. 

Resisting the urge to kick the sole of his Nike with your foot, you listened to the phone ring a couple of times before the call was finally answered. You weren’t surprised at how tired the Scotsman sounded on the other end considering how early in the morning you'd called. And if Jax was this wasted, you assumed the others had also been up late getting drunk last night.

“Jackie boy?” Chibs greeted, slurring thickly like he'd just woken. “Somethin’ the matter? ‘S’barely seven.”

“It’s not Jax,” you flatly replied. “Your president is passed out on my front porch. I need to go to work, but if he’s still there when I get back for lunch, he’s going to be the sheriff’s problem. So I suggest you send someone to collect him before the police do.”

Not waiting for Chibs to respond, you hung up the call and snapped Jax’s flip phone shut. With a careless flick of your wrist, you tossed it down at Jax, watching as it bounced off his chest with a soft thunk before it fell into his lap. 

Your lips pressed together as you stood there, taking in how pathetic he looked all bruised and stinking of alcohol. This wasn't the man you'd met months ago at Teller-Morrow Automotive, the one who'd charmed you and left you tongue tied. He looked nothing like the cocky, arrogant bad boy who did whatever he wanted damn the consequences. 

“I told you to get lost,” you chastised. “But you can't even listen to that, can you, Jax Teller?”

Jax didn't answer–not that you expected him to. With his head still hanging limp at that awkward angle over his shoulder, you knew he’d be feeling the poor choice to pass out on your porch for the rest of the day. 

“You're a mess, you know that?” you continued, aware that he couldn’t hear a single thing you said. “You're throwing your whole life away and it's such a shame to watch. If you'd just stop letting that damn club control you, you might actually be able to listen to that heart I know you've got buried inside of you. But you're too busy always trying to drown it out with booze instead.”

You'd seen glimpses of the man he could be in the time you'd been with him. It was why you'd stayed for as long as you had, because you’d seen a warmth hidden behind that guarded exterior and you'd wanted to see more of it. But he hadn’t given you much more of himself, always too concerned with being the man he claimed he was expected to be as the Sons' president instead of just being Jax Teller.

“And it's not my problem,” you whispered to yourself.

With a defeated sigh, you turned and stepped down the stairs of your front porch, leaving Jax laying unconscious and propped up beside your door. While you made your way to where your car sat parked in the driveway, you caught the distinct rumble of a motorcycle roaring to life through the early morning from just a few blocks away. A telltale sign that Chibs at least had the good sense to listen to you.