I am The Captain of My Soul

XXXXX

The weather is warm as spring begins to give way to early summer in the California heat. Gemma finds herself out in the lot of the clubhouse after looking everywhere else for Jax. She figured he'd be having a good time with his brothers after a long week, so when he had quietly slipped away, Gemma's mother heart knew something was wrong.

Her dark eyes scan the parking lot for his long shaggy blonde hair, the setting sun casting shadows across the asphalt and rainbow hues across the California skyline. She’s relieved to see that his bike is at least still here, but there is no sign of Jax anywhere.  

Letting out another huffed breath, she was about to turn inside when an aqua blue Toyota Prius catches her eye as it pulls up along the front of the gates. Suddenly distracting all her attempts at a search for Jax.

Gemma stands silently watching, taking note as the car pulls along the front curb before stopping completely. The unexplained arrival holds her attention. She'd be on edge it was trouble, but the car is a Prius, and Gemma has a firm belief only pussy's drive a Prius.

Eyes narrowing to get a better look, her curiosity begins to peak as she watches you quickly jump out from the passenger side. All legs, in cut off jean shorts and a crochet halter top that stops well above your midriff.

Plenty of skin she feels confident you intentionally chose to show. Gemma's dark chestnut eyes quickly shoot to the driver before he can get away, noting his glasses and button-up shirt just before the car pulls away and drives off.

Gemma greets you on approach, heels clicking on the asphalt, swallowing you in her all-encompassing stare.

"Hey baby," she addresses you with a term of endearment she holds only for those that really matter.

A name she has called you since you were just a little girl. You know you’re like the daughter Gemma never had in many ways and she has been more like a mother to you than yours on more than one occasion.

"Who's your friend?" Gemma jumps right to it. Never one to beat around the bush unless she’s trying to play games. When she expects a straight answer, Gemma offers a straight question.

Your eyes briefly dart over to her. Your lips pursing together with contemplation over how to respond and the realization you’ve been caught.

Your eyes quickly drop, unable to hold her gaze against the weight of Gemma's stare. You had known there was a chance someone would see you, but your exit was quick and you hadn’t seen Gemma outside when he pulled up.

"That was my teacher, Mr. Matthews. I was working late on a project, and he offered to give me a ride home." You answer with a casual shrug of your shoulders as if it is no big deal, and no one should make it one. Hoping if you appear nonchalant enough it will somehow slide past Gemma's radar without further interrogation.

"Mmhmm," Gemma murmurs all-knowingly, not fooled for a moment.

Gazing upon you, young and too beautiful for your own good, Gemma can’t help but see herself in you in so many ways. A fearless young woman, unbound by some self-righteous moral code, never quite able to keep your nose out of trouble.

Gemma can see through this scene with a glance. Teachers don't give their students a ride home this late in the evening. Certainly not male ones to girls from 'the wrong side of the tracks'. Without needing any further proof, Gemma is certain you’re involved with this teacher.

"That's a bad idea, sweetheart." She warns in a way that demands to be taken seriously.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, because you know that response would never fly with Gemma, you decide to stare at your dirty sneakers as you kick at a piece of loose gravel instead.

"It's not like that." You lie easily, too easily. Having years of practice with both your parents.

Dismissing an inconvenient truth, that is something you are quite good at, even with yourself. Because the truth is, sometimes even you don’t understand why you do some of the things you do.

You’ve known all along this thing with Mr. Matthews is a bad idea, and you don’t keep it going because you’re falling for him. The whole thing is far less romantic and more mundane than that.

You like that he’s smart. He talks to you about ideas and places you’ve never heard of before, and he listens when you speak. He likes your ideas and tells you you’re smart, and you feel proud of yourself when he does.

He’s so different from everything you’ve ever known. Different from the tough life with the club and the leatherbacks that occupy it. Different than your unpredictable mom and her trashy friends.

The way he looks at you makes you feel special, makes you feel wanted, but he’s never summoned anything that touches your heart. You’re not going to marry the guy. So, you don’t see what the big deal is.

Watching you try to weasel your way out of this one. Try to deny what is clearly going on, forces Gemma to be more blunt. Gemma can understand having a little fun. Hell, she still enjoys some herself, but you’re seventeen and this could spell out trouble for the family and could lead trouble right to the club's doorstep. And if there is anything Gemma won’t stand for it is hurting her family or the club.

Reaching out, Gemma hooks a finely manicured nail under your chin before slowly lifting your face to meet her own.

"Don't bullshit a bullshitter, sweetheart. That shit ends before it makes trouble for the club. You know what your dad and Opie would do if they found out about this." She states firmly, unequivocally. Her eyes drilling into yours to further drive home the message.

Gemma loves you. She has watched over you better than your own mother, but she also has no problem putting you back in your place when you step out of line.

Seeing that look in Gemma's eyes, knowing only one answer will do, you force a smile to curl at the corners of your mouth, and step back from her hold.

"Fine," you easily agree while standing on the losing end of this battle.

Saying what you need to say to get Gemma off your back, while also buying yourself more time to mull this predicament over in your head. Because you also don’t like the idea of ending it just because Gemma said so. You don’t like being told not to do something. It typically makes you want it even more.

"What are you doing out here anyway? Shouldn't you be in there showing all those croweaters what a real woman looks like?" You tease, a mischievous glint sparking in your eyes as you try to distract her with flattery, because you’ve learned from the best how to turn the tables.

Gemma relents with a laugh as a slow forming smile relaxes her face. "I would be, but I'm lookin for Jax." She answers, the words barely have a chance to land and settle between you before you’re quick to respond.

"I'll find him, go enjoy the party." You offer, jumping at the chance to end this conversation before Gemma decides to probe further. Barely giving her a chance to concede with a nod before your sneakers take off moving.

XXXXX

Weathered and secondhand, your converse sneakers race up the metal latter spokes hooked on the side of the clubhouse. You peak over the top just as the sun sets on the horizon and the streetlights flash on.

You spot Jax instantly. Seated on the roof, shoulders hunched, bottle of Budweiser at his side, thick joint pinched between his fingers as he stares out at a horizon of city lights and fading pink hues.

"Thought I might find you up here." You call, greeting him with the kind of smile you reserve only for him as you reach the top of the ladder and swing your leg over the side, onto the roof. You take a moment to readjust your shorts that have ridden up high between your thighs once you find your footing.

Jax's sterling blue eyes shoot to you in a flash with the sound of your voice as he watches you carefully from where he sits, and instantly you can see something is weighing heavy on his mind even as he covers it with a welcoming smile.

"Hey," Jax lets out easy on a thick sexy drawl of recognition and a smirk that could make any girl melt.

Moving over to him at a leisurely pace, you readjust his beer to the edge of the roof and take a seat on the warm flat metal beside him. Your hand reaching out without a word of invitation to steal the joint pinched between his fingers. Bringing it to your own lips, you take a long deep hit. Letting the intoxicating smoke fill your lungs.

Holding it in until your lungs burn, you exhale in a slow smooth dance that moves past your lips. The distinct stench encircling in a plume of smoke.

"What are you doing up here?" You question casually, as you playfully nudge at his shoulder, your eyes rising up to the darkening sky, watching the stars start to glisten and twinkle as the endless black begins to take hold all around.

"Nothin', just needed to clear my head." His deep voice sounds extra gritty as it rings out into the growing darkness. Answering you but offering no further explanation, as grease stained fingers reach out to steal back his joint. The tension radiating off his body and lack of words saying more than anything he uttered.

Jax has been quiet for days. You know the signs. You know what it means. Jax is lost in his head. Taking on the world one mental load at a time. That knowledge feels heavy on your heart and you’ve always made it your job to try and pull him out of it whenever he gets stuck there.

Without warning you steal his ‘Sons’ hat off his head. Flipping the bill backwards before slipping it on and flashing him a smile. “How do I look?” You ask, trying to earn an amused smirk off his lips.

Jax looks you over, slow and steady as if he’s taking the sight of you in. A heaviness still lingers in his eyes, but a smile curls at the corner of his mouth just for you as he reaches out to tenderly caress your cheek with his thumb.

“No one wears it better.” He tells you and you believe him as you hold onto his gaze.

Savoring the way it feels when he touches you. Thick callused skin that moves gently against yours. Jax is soft with you in a way he isn’t with others. Tender. Like you’re special and deserve to be treated with care. And you eat up his attention like a lost puppy finally getting some affection.

The warmth of his touch seeps into your skin. And you swear you could stay there forever. Locked in his eyes. Locked in his touch. If only he didn’t let go. But he always does. He always lets go.  Turning away, looking back out into nothing, returning to the thoughts that plague his mind.

"Heard Wendy's out of rehab. How’s that going?" You ease out, asking gently as you let your head come to rest against his shoulder, lingering in a closeness only you two share.

You lean your nose and cheek in against him. The distinctive smell of leather, booze, and smoke fill your nose and ease your senses with their familiarity. And for a moment the world is right.

Something in your heart tells you Jax's retreat from the party ties directly back to Wendy. Everything heavy seems to tie back to her these days, though you’ve rarely spoken of it to each other. But you know. Because you know him. You’ve spent years memorizing all the tiny little details of the man that makes you feel so safe and loved.

You can feel the strong muscles of his shoulder tense beneath your cheek with your question, before his voice ever finds life.

"It's going." He answers flatly, his voice returning to that low and rough quality you heard before you made him smile. He takes another long hit of his joint, the red embers burning back the paper as his lungs fill with smoke.

Having heard more than enough, positive he’ll spontaneously combust or stroke out if he gets any tenser, you take matters into your own hands. Scooting further back onto the metal flat top, you move behind Jax, his dark blue eyes following your movements with silent curiosity the whole way.

Slipping your leg around his back, you slide yourself behind Jax, bringing your knees up against his sides. Your hands reach for his leather kutte as you finally settle in.

Quick on the draw and uncertain about where you’re going with this, Jax grips your knees on either side of him and attempts to rise to his feet, create some distance between the two of you.

"Easy there, darlin," He cautions with a hint of uneasy laughter, unsure of what you’re trying to do or how it would look if anyone spotted you two.

Gripping him tightly between your knees and your hold on his kutte, you manage to keep Jax from pulling away completely. “Relax I’m not going to peg you.” You laugh as he tries to scurry away.

“What do you know about pegging?” Jax is quick to throw at you, his breath hitching as he twists around to look at you over his shoulder in surprise.

“What do you know about pegging, Teller?” You tease suggestively, flashing him a crooked smirk that could rival his own. Your brow arching sharply, eyes narrowing as you torture him in jest.

His face cracks into a smile at your cheeky comeback as Jax shakes his head in disbelief. An honest laugh finally escaping him as he turns back and stops fighting you.

"Don't get your panties in a twist. I'm not gonna mount you from behind." You laugh along with him as you grip his kutte and pull him back closer into the cradle of your thighs.

"You've got a chip the size of a mile on your shoulders, Jax. You can't just keep this shit all bottled up, let me help. My mom’s friends say I’m an excellent masseuse." You finally explain your intentions, your voice softening against the back of his ear as you lean in close.

Jax sits in silence for a moment, contemplating your offer, considering being stubborn and resistant. Sticking to the relief of his joint, but this is you he’s sitting with, he knows you aren’t the kind of girl who takes no for an answer. That’s why he affectionately refers to you as little pistol. And Jax knows better than most you would lean on him if it were reversed.

"Alright," Jax concedes on a heavy breath.

Relaxing against your hands as you carefully slip his kutte off his shoulders. Handing it to Jax where he places his beloved kutte across his lap, the calling card to his very identity. Jax instantly feels a shiver down his spine as your hands wrap around his shoulders and begin to knead at the knots wound tightly in his muscles.

Jax tries to focus on the relief it brings as his mind continues to wander back to how good your hands feel on him. Reminding himself, you’re Opie's beloved baby sister, Piney's little girl, and still just a teenager. You’re forbidden in the strictest sense and Jax knows that without it ever needing to be spelled out to him, everyone does. You’re basically the clubhouse baby.

Slow but firm, your hands work to release the tension weighing heavily on his shoulders, woven into the fibers of his defined muscles. Savoring the way he feels in your hands. The contours of his muscles. The way they flex and then relax under your touch. Your heart doesn’t race every time you touch Jax, but this feels closer, more intimate than the way you usually touch each other, in a way that’s hard to define.

In a way that’s trying to distract you from your true goal tonight. Because you understand the tension in his body isn’t actually the root of his problem. He needs to open up about what is going on in that troubled mind of his.

"What's going on with you and Wendy, Jax?" You try to ease into it, try to be subtle, because you know this is where most of his grief is stemming from. He’s never really said it, but to you it’s so clear. Jax isn’t happy and he hasn’t been for a while. You can see that, even if he doesn’t say it.

Jax holds his tongue for a long moment of contemplation. His mind mulling it over; What isn’t going on with him and Wendy, that is the bigger question...

He's married to a wife who almost overdosed and died in his arms. A woman who loves him deeply, but he isn’t sure if he's ever really loved her the same. And that leaves him feeling guilty as hell. Like it makes him a thief or a fraud. Jax is confident he loves her in some ways, how could he not, but the sad truth is, he married Wendy because he got tired of all the cheap meaningless nights, the endless disconnect.

He got tired of not having someone to belong to, of not having someone who belongs to him. He wants what Donna and Opie have. He wanted what he had with Tara, but since that wasn’t going to happen, he settled for Wendy. But that’s the kind of reality and sad truth Jax isn’t sure he can share with you, or anyone, besides maybe Ope.

Letting out a deep heavy sigh, Jax finally speaks. "It's not your problem, darlin." He protests, trying to protect you like he always has.

Protect you in a way that has become second nature to him by now. It doesn’t feel right to burden you with his shit. You’ve been exposed to enough already. He always wants to look out for you. That’s the deal. That’s how it goes. Not him spewing his guts out on a teenager who hasn’t learned yet how easily situations spiral when you fuck up as an adult.

You squeeze the tight muscles in Jax's shoulders extra firmly in response. "Not my problem? Jax, you're my family. If something is hurting you, that's my problem. Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?" You correct him with firm conviction, with words that come from the heart.

Jax means everything to you. He’s your family, your safe place, your friend, your biggest crush. Next to Opie, he’s your home. You don’t feel safe being vulnerable with most people, but you don’t skip a beat before trusting him. You need Jax to know that goes both ways and you will always be there for him.

Jax takes a moment. He hears you, part of him still wants to protest, explain the relationship is different from his end. He can’t lay this shit on you, but he knows what you’ve said is also true. You want to be there for him, or else you wouldn't be up here, and damnit, he could use someone right now.

Letting out a hard ragged breath, Jax stares out into the night as he relaxes against the feel of your hands working their way into the muscles along the slope of his neck, and finally lets you in.

"I don't know… I guess I'm just so used to shit moving in the opposite direction I don't know what I'd do if something actually worked out... I don't know if I can make this thing work with Wendy." His voice is thick and gritty with the kind of weight that comes with brutal honesty and hard truths.

Jax doesn't know if Wendy is what he wants anymore, and it scares him to think she may never have been. That she may have always been mostly just a band aid over a wound Tara left that never quite healed right.

Working out one final knot rooted deep at the base of his neck, you give his shoulders a gentle pat and draw your legs back from his sides. Slowly scooting back to the seat beside him, where you can see his face before you finally speak.

"Do you still love her?" You dare to ask, your eyes holding no judgment as they hinge upon Jax. Hoping he can see only support if he turns to look your way.

Jax's eyes fall closed with the weight of your question, his face tensing, brows furrowing into a deep crease, before he runs a heavy hand over his face. As his fingers trace the line of his jaw, Jax stares out lost into the night that has settled in around you and finally answers your question.

"Yes… No… I don't know. I don't know anymore." It kills him to admit that. To say it out aloud and make it real.

He can only imagine what you must think of him as his eyes finally turn to meet yours. Nervous over what he will see waiting for him. The way you looked at him the day you caught him with that croweater still haunts him. To see himself fall so far in your eyes. There are very few people that Jax gives a damn what they think of him, but you are one of the few.

You hold Jax's gaze, the hold of your pupil suspended in the moment, not daring to look away, not daring to let him think you see him any different, because of his confession.

"That's what you need to figure out." You whisper softly, offering a direction without scrutiny or interjection. Because the truth is, you like Wendy, but you love Jax, and nothing matters more to you than his happiness. His wellbeing.

When Jax finds no disappointment or judgment in your eyes, he feels safe to press on. Surprised even by how easy it feels to open up to you. As if he has always come to you with his demons.

"It's not that easy. Wendy is barely a heartbeat sober. I don't want to set her off. You saw what happened last time I bailed." Jax is reluctant to do anything drastic, anything that could throw Wendy back into the hole she barely dug out of. And Jax is positive she couldn't handle it right now if he tries to break ties.

Seeing the burden in his eyes, the fear of the unknown, a fear of what could happen, your heart sinks with a sense of responsibility. Reaching out, you tenderly touch his scruffy cheek. The thick hairs pricking at your fingertips as you caress him gently, locked on his eyes.

"That is not just on you Jax, and I'm sorry if I ever made you feel it was. Wendy’s addiction is because of her issues. You didn’t make her become that. But Wendy deserves to be married to someone who loves her as much as you deserve to be married to someone you love. Sticking around out of duty just ends up shitting on everyone." Your eyes search the depths of his tortured baby blues as your voice gently reaches out to him.

You can't help but feel guilty that you may have put that idea in his head. A man who tries so hard to be honorable and bound to a sense of duty, he’d break his own back carrying the weight of everyone on it.

Staring deep into your eyes as your words find their way into his heart, Jax feels a small sense of peace wash over him.

"That's pretty good," He smirks, the light finally returning to his eyes as he gazes into your own. "Where'd you learn all this shit anyway?"

The sight of Jax's smile steals the breath right out of your lungs. A smile that has been able to ignite something deep inside you since before you even understood what it meant. A stirring deep in your belly, like butterflies taking flight.

A feeling so powerful, you swear you’d do anything he wanted. Anything. All he has to do is say it. But he never does and somewhere in your heart you already know he won’t. Even though sometimes in the quiet moments when he looks at you lately, you could swear a part of him wants to so badly.

But you also know he’s bound by who and what you are. Because you’ll always be Opie’s kid sister to him. Piney’s little girl. So you take the high road, sucking in a deep breath to calm the butterflies, you feel a smile spread on your face to match the warmth of his.

"Ope." You concede with a quick laugh. Opie is the wisest man you know. He always has a way of summing things up and making sense of chaos. You’re honored it appears some of that insight has rubbed off.

"Yeah, I can see that. He would say somethin' like that." Jax muses with a nod of recognition as his eyes drift out into the night before slowly finding their way back to you. Something different in his gaze this time. That unnamed thing you sense sometimes. That’s hard to define. That feels deep and palpable in your belly, sending the butterflies a flight.

It’s hard to breathe under the weight of it. Hard to think clearly. Until he finally looks away, clearing his throat loudly. When he looks back at you again, it’s the Jax you’ve always known as he wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you into the crook of his arm, against the warmth of his body.

“We should probably head back in.” He states the obvious, and you can sense he would rather leave the shift between you both left unsaid.

You swallow hard against the buzzing inside you, shaking loose the haunting image of that look in his eyes just a moment ago, you try to lighten the mood.

"Twenty bucks says I can drink you under the table." You propose with a playful nudge of your shoulder against his side. A wicked smile curling on your lips, taking him captive.

Jax lets out a deep chuckle of amusement as if you’re a goddamn riot. "You wish sweetheart, you wish." He teases.

XXXXX

Walking in through the open office door of the garage, Jax finds his mom sitting behind the main desk. Her dark eyes shoot up from the pile of paperwork in front of her with his arrival.

"Tig said you wanted to see me." Jax explains, waiting in the doorway as his weight leans lazily against the wooden frame.

Gemma nods as she pulls her glasses from the brim of her nose before motioning her son to come in. "Shut the door and take a seat." She instructs, getting down to business.

Curiosity narrows in Jax's eyes as he obeys. Closing the door behind him for privacy, he takes a seat in the old metal chair against the far wall. His mind races over a million club related reasons for this impromptu meeting, but what comes out of his mother's mouth next is the last thing that would have ever crossed his mind.

"The other night, at the club party, I caught Haley getting dropped off by her teacher. A Mr. Matthews." Gemma reveals in a collected fashion that makes her smooth under pressure as she toys with the temples of her glasses.

Jax's baby blues hold steady with a lack of recognition. Unclear of what exactly she is trying to get at.

"She's involved with him, Jax. Something is going on between them." Gemma bluntly rips off the band aid. Making sure there is no lingering confusion, and they are both on the same page.

Her explanation ignites something within him like a lit fuse. An intense fury begins to stir and build in Jax's eyes as he shifts in the chair, his shoulders squaring as his body sits a little taller in his seat. His mind swimming as he tries to gather his thoughts and feelings over what she has just said. The implications of it almost more than he can swallow.

"Are you sure?" Jax questions through a tightly clenched jaw, anger pushing to the forefront on his low gravel breath.

"I wouldn't be telling you this if I wasn't." Gemma insists, keeping the conversation on task as Jax struggles to keep his emotions in check.

"I'll handle it." Jax practically growls, rising from the chair with a look of heated vengeance brewing in his focused eyes as he moves for the door.

It wasn’t that long ago he figured out you were sleeping around and now this. He can see now you’re heading down a slippery slope, one he doesn’t understand fully and had hoped was only teenage rebellion, but Jax is damn sure he isn’t going to let you get exploited and he is going to make sure that asshole pays for laying a hand on you.

"Jackson," Gemma demands, halting him before he can march off halfcocked and emotion driven.

As Jax’s steps stall and his eyes turn to meet her own, Gemma continues. "I told you and not Piney or Opie, because this cannot blow back on the club." She states firmly, making herself abundantly clear.

They don’t need any more bodies on their hands, especially not the body of a small town teacher, but this guy needs to be taught a lesson. You don't mess with a daughter of Samcro. We take care of our own.

Gemma can’t stand the thought of his guy taking advantage of you. Not after everything she knows you’ve already been through growing up with that shit mother of yours, but the club does not need unnecessary heat brought down on them because of it either.

"This won't blow back on the club, you have my word." Jax promises, knowing his mom is right.

The club doesn’t need any outside shit raining down trouble on them or drawing more eyes from law enforcement, but Jax is also gonna love every moment of making sure this pervert never goes near you again.

XXXXX

Despite the initial urge to find this guy and make him eat his teeth, Jax knows he needs to be smart about this. So he waits patiently, methodically, before he ever makes his move. Stalking the back of the high school until he sees the last of the student body and most of the staff disperse. When he is finally confident he can move about undetected, Jax moves in for the kill.

A man beyond reasoning, blinded by a need for vengeance, Jax storms into your homeroom class. A fire burning in his belly and a need for retribution scorching through his veins. Closing the door behind himself so they won’t be disturbed, Jax finds your teacher at the front of the class. Seated at his desk, nose deep in classwork. Narrowing his steel blue eyes, Jax marks his target as he charges to the front of the classroom just as Mr. Matthews' eyes rise to see him coming.

"Can I help you?" The teacher cautiously asks as he rises from his seat. The fire already burning in Jax's eyes on approach, the fury in his step let Mr. Matthews know without a word this visit will be an unpleasant one.

Jax snarls with disgust as he gets a good look at this guy. Easily in his late twenties, maybe thirties - clean cut, parted hair, clean shaven, with black rimmed glasses and a crisp button down. Attractive enough to spark schoolgirl fantasies, like he had in you, and Jax feels confident that is by design.

Before Mr. Matthews ever has a chance to speak further, Jax grabs him firmly by his ironed button-up shirt, and slams him hard against wall behind him, pinning him in place.

"Stay the hell away from Haley Winston. That sick shit ends here." Jax seethes into your teacher’s face, the narrowing of his eyes holding like a silent threat for every word as Jax battles with the desire to slam a solid fist into his face on principle alone.

Fear easily fills Mr. Matthews' eyes as he is held pinned and unable to escape against the wall. "You misunderstand the situation entirely. I care about her. I only want to see her do well." His lips fumble quickly, stumbling. Apprehension thick in his alarm filled eyes as he tries to diffuse the situation.

Your teacher's denial only serves to infuriate Jax further. Glaring upon him from just inches away, holding him tightly in a death grip, Jax wants to slam this perverts head into the wall until he can’t go near you or any other girl ever again.

"Is that what you tell yourself while you’re sleeping with underage girls?" Jax seethes, slamming him further into the wall once more. Daring him to try and talk his way out of this.

Trying to keep his fear under wraps as shock dilates his pupil, Mr. Matthews swallows hard and shakes his head in dismay.

"I acknowledge that was a mistake. I should have never let that happen, but you need to understand, Haley pursued me. It was a mistake and I know I should never have crossed that line." His voice is drenched with pathetic remorse as his eyes beg Jax to hear him out. To understand, he cared for you, but this isn’t his fault. He couldn’t help himself.

"Don't put this on her. She's just a kid. You're the shithead who likes to sleep with your students." Jax warns, jaw clenching as his eyes convey the message it would be unwise to pursue that justification, that blaming you would be a mistake he would pay for greatly. And Jax is just itching for an excuse to break this guy's jaw. The only reason he hasn’t yet is he promised his mom this wouldn't blow back on the club.

Mr. Matthews' head shakes as he tries to justify his actions in another way. "That's not what happened. Haley is a smart girl. One of the smartest in my class, but she…" He stalls for a moment, swallowing hard against the giant lump in his throat, trying to choose his words carefully for fear of reprisal.

"She has some issues she needs to work through, especially where men are concerned." Mr. Matthews tries to explain what happened between him and you without taking culpability. Trying to paint his actions as if he hadn't planned it but couldn’t help himself. While understanding from the look in Jax's eyes, that one wrong word and he will pay dearly.

"Shut up!" Jax hollers in his face, having heard enough as he slams your teacher against the wall once more, wishing he could cause more damage.

Battling every instinct he has inside himself to protect you and hurt this man, as rage races through his body and threatens to break loose at any moment. Jax doesn’t want to hear these excuses. The insinuation you’re at fault is disgusting to him and Mr. Matthews lack of responsibility tells Jax everything he needs to know about what kind of man he is.

Jax’s grip curls deeper into the lapel of your teacher’s button down. His strength pinning him against the wall as his other hand snakes up to wrap around his throat.

"Listen here you sick fuck, you keep your distance from Haley until this semester is over. When she is done with your class you don't ever go near her again. Don't even so much as look her way. If you do, losing your job and getting chased out of this town will be the least of your problems. This is my only warning. Do you understand?" Jax's voice is low and deep with anger. His words slow and precise, his gaze unflinching. As his hand slowly tightens, threatening a man he would have no problem putting into the ground for you.

Mr. Matthews head nods profusely, the fear of God shooting from his eyes as a choking cough bursts from his lips when Jax releases his throat.

Charming is a small town, Mr. Matthews has heard the rumors about the life you are a part of, about your family, about the club, but it isn’t until this moment with Jax in his face that he realizes these are not the kind of people you get mixed up with.

Jax holds your teacher's gaze for a moment longer, a silent threat laced in his lethal glare, making it clear he meant every word he said, before Jax finally releases him completely.

Unable to resist an urge that has been gnawing at him since he walked in, Jax throws one swift punch straight into Mr. Matthew's stomach, sending the man dubbing over in agonizing pain, before Jax turns in his clean white sneakers and storms out of the classroom. Careful to make sure no one sees him depart.

Keeping his word, this won’t blow back on the club, but no one gets away with hurting you.

XXXXX

Final Thought: