secretlysamcro

Dragging your tired feet over the pavement, the soles of your shoes scraped over the asphalt with each of your steps. During your slow, reluctant progress towards the door beneath the grinning reaper, you were acutely aware of how your feet didn’t quite feel like your feet even if they were wearing your worn, black Adidas. Granted, not much felt real anymore, not after Jax shattered absolutely everything last night. 

Someone else might as well have taken possession of your body, controlling your limbs while the rest of you remained locked far away somewhere inside of your mind. After how much you’d cried last night, you’d grown numb and detached once the sun had risen. Because those weren’t your feet continually traveling towards the Sons’ clubhouse, shuffling over the scorching blacktop with determined purpose. Those weren’t your fingers scrubbing against your aching, stinging eyes trying to wipe away tears that weren’t yours despite them staining wet trails down your cheeks. 

Instead of waking up next to Jax in his room at the clubhouse–a place which had also become your room over the past five months–you'd spent last night at Zoe’s house. Unlike all of the other times you'd stayed over at your best friend's house before graduation, neither of you painted your nails while giggling and talking about boys, staying awake until two in the morning watching movies and eating junk food. You'd spent last night an inconsolable mess on Zoe’s bedroom floor, crying so hard that you’d eventually stopped making any sounds, struggling to catch your breath and nearly vomiting on her carpet. You hadn’t calmed down until a heartwrenching clarity finally struck you near four in the morning.

Eyes sore and hollowed out from all the tears you’d shed, you trudged up to the door of the clubhouse and brushed the sleeve of your sweatshirt against your damp cheeks, ignoring the black streaks of mascara darkening the gray fabric. Your other hand paused on the door handle when your stomach gave an unexpected violent lurch without warning. Before you could stop it, the memory of the last time you'd stepped through that door abruptly shoved itself to the forefront of your mind, and your insides roiled in savage protest at the idea of returning. 

There’d been a party at the clubhouse last night like usual. You’d slipped inside past a handful of Sons hanging around with a few of the croweaters searching for Jax, desperately needing his comfort and calming presence. You’d made the mistake of going back home to find some clothes to keep in Jax’s room, wanting more options to choose from than just the handful you’d packed up the day you’d left that house a few months ago. You’d expected your father to be out already, wasted at one of the bars downtown, but he’d taken you by surprise by being wasted at home instead. 

After an upsetting altercation which ended in a beer bottle being thrown and nearly missing you, smashing to pieces as it hit the wall beside your head, you’d fled back to the safety of the Sons. You simply wanted to snatch a few beers from behind the bar–something no one batted an eye at despite you both only being nineteen–and pull Jax back to his room before forgetting the whole encounter with your father and all of the horrible things he'd yelled at you as you fled.

Except when you found Jax, it wasn't the scene you anticipated. He was in the far back of the clubhouse, comfortably lounging on one of the sofas with a croweater on his lap. You'd gone so immobile at the sight that you'd even stopped breathing, tears filling your eyes as some other girl's fingers tangled in his long hair while she shoved her tongue into his mouth. Bile had risen into the back of your throat watching her grind against his lap, his hands cupping her ass in her short skirt and encouraging the movements. Your stomach turned roughly at the sight before you spun around and bolted.

“It was just a kiss! A drunken fuckin’ mistake!”

He'd found you in the parking lot a few minutes later, hyperventilating and sobbing while mascara ran down your cheeks. There'd been a lot of shouting on both sides before you’d flung some awful names at him, utterly destroyed as the pain of his betrayal cut straight through you. You'd told him off and cursed him out before running away, leaving him in the parking lot drunkenly yelling after you just like your father.

Last night had wrecked you. Jax had been the only constant in your life, the only good thing you’d known ever since you’d met him nearly three years ago when you were sixteen. You’d been leaning against the bleachers outside of your high school, vacantly staring at the empty running track that looped before you like some grand metaphor about life. You’d been contemplating skipping school while questioning your entire existence after yet another argument you’d had with your father that morning when Jax and Opie had found you. Having always been warned to stay away from the bad boys who’d grown up in the local motorcycle club, both of them already deemed awful criminals by association with the Sons, you’d never gotten to know Jax growing up. But he offered you a genuine smile and a distraction that sounded more thrilling than sitting through a day of lectures, so you’d followed both of them off campus.

You'd become inseparable ever since that day you’d skipped school, the three of you eating gas station burritos on the picnic tables outside of Teller-Morrow. Jax became the family you'd never had before, him and all of the Sons. Even Gemma had grown to be like the mother you'd always needed after losing your actual mom when you were young–the sole reason for your father's excessive alcohol consumption. Everyone around Teller-Morrow or the clubhouse always made sure that you were fed and had somewhere to sleep, or that you had a ride to school or protection from your father if you ever needed it. For the first time in your life, you’d had somewhere you belonged.

Once Jax had finally gone from prospect to patched member, which had happened just before you'd graduated from high school a few months ago, you'd been permanently staying with him at the clubhouse. No one cared that you were always hanging around, especially because you’d learned the rules about where you were and were not welcome. None of that mattered to you though, because you were able to avoid returning to your house and seeing your father, something you refused unless necessity absolutely demanded it. Which unfortunately it had last night.

But now Jax had crossed a hard line that you’d long since made clear to him. You wouldn’t tolerate cheating, you had no intention of sharing him with the girls around the clubhouse. You’d always trusted him despite temptation constantly walking around in short skirts and tiny tube tops, even if you hadn’t liked the way he occasionally flirted back. But after witnessing him making out with some croweater probably a decade older than both of you, letting her dry hump right in the middle of a party, you lost every ounce of that trust in seconds. And with the loss of trust, you’d immediately lost everything you’d ever wanted in one fell swoop–safety, family, and a place to call home. Jax had ripped it all out from underneath you without warning, as if those almost three years of sharing nearly everything together had meant absolutely nothing to him.

That’s what led to the heartwrenching clarity that’d struck you so early in the morning. It was a simple fact that your relationship with Jax always had an expiration. Zoe had cautioned you countless times about getting too comfortable with Jax, stating the obvious examples of how every other Sons’ relationships and marriages had dissolved because of infidelity. Even Gemma had given you some warning about the lifestyle of a Son, not that you hadn’t seen it firsthand on multiple occasions over the years. But you’d naively always thought Jax loved you as much as you loved him. You believed that he would never be tempted to stray towards the other eager, willing women that threw themselves in his path because you genuinely believed he was happy with you.

Now you realized that you were simply a nineteen year old idiot. How stupid could you have been thinking someone as good-looking and charismatic as Jax would remain faithful to you? He was young and charming, why the fuck would he settle for just you? With the way the Sons were always partying and sleeping around, it was obvious that Jax would eventually want to take part in that himself. That day had always been coming, the end of everything always sitting just around the corner, and now you’d finally met it.

You didn’t have much but a small stack of cash, a handful of clothes, and your worn black school backpack. All of which were tucked away in Jax’s room, which was the unfortunate reason as to why you'd had no choice but to come back to the clubhouse. You needed to gather up all of your belongings, but this would be the very last time you ever stepped foot in here again. Because you were done with Jax, the Sons, your father, and Charming. 

Swallowing down the lump forming in the back of your throat, you pushed away all the memories of last night and finally opened the door to the clubhouse. Already used to how empty it often was during the day, you were grateful for the eerie silence that greeted you as you strode past the bar and towards the hallway leading to the back rooms. Moving through the clubhouse with a determined purpose, you intentionally avoided looking at the couches in the corner, not needing to recall the mental image now seared into your mind. Trying to block out the hurt and pain clawing at your chest, you buried yourself a little further into the recesses of your mind as you headed to Jax’s room. You were here for a reason and you refused to think about anything else.

The plan was simple even if it wasn’t entirely well thought out. You’d grab your things and get far away from Charming, California. You couldn’t go back to living with your father, not without the protection of the Sons. He’d already grown used to you moving out months ago, and so had you. Trying to return back to that house and that awful situation would’ve only resulted in more abuse, which you couldn’t stomach any longer.

So this morning you’d contacted Unser before leaving Zoe’s house. Wayne always had a soft spot for you, and he’d frequently tried to find excuses to toss your father into county jail or the drunk tank just to give you a quiet night at home. He’d agreed to give you a ride out to Stockton this afternoon as a personal favor, dropping you off at a Greyhound bus station since you didn’t have any other form of transportation. When you got there, you would grab whatever ticket you could afford that would take you the furthest from Charming, and then you’d figure out the rest of the details afterwards. Only Zoe knew the full scope of your plan, which was why she’d helped you ditch your old phone and gotten you a new one this morning so that you could keep in touch. 

When you stopped in front of Jax’s room at the end of the hallway, you found the door partially ajar. Your hand hovered in the air as you stared at the pockmarked wood, your body temporarily tensing as you hesitated. What had happened after you’d yelled at Jax last night and left him here? You’d both never fought like that before, and while you hadn’t explicitly told him that things were over, you’d certainly made it clear that you were furious with him. Had he gone back inside the party and slept with that croweater? Had he brought her back to this room and fucked her in the same bed you shared together?

Shaking your head roughly, you shoved those thoughts aside, fighting back the sting of tears pricking at the backs of your eyes. It didn’t matter what he’d done after that kiss you’d caught, it wouldn’t change how he’d betrayed and broken your trust. He might’ve tried to downplay it as a drunken kiss, but you’d seen what’d transpired on that couch. What would’ve happened if you hadn’t caught him when you did? Would that drunken mistake of a kiss have turned into a drunken mistake of a fuck? Would you have come back to go to bed only to find him already in bed with her? And was that the first time it’d ever happened, or was that just the first time Jax had ever been caught?

Pushing open the door to his room, it gave way with a soft creak. Ignoring his bed with its crumpled, messy sheets, you abruptly turned towards the couch beside his dresser. Your black Jansport backpack was still sitting on the corner of the lumpy couch where you’d last left it. You headed straight towards it, opening up an inside zipper pouch and finding your small wad of cash safely tucked inside. It was just a few hundred dollars, and while you doubted you’d get far on that, you didn’t see what other choice you had. 

In less than ten minutes, you’d found all your clothes and the few personal items you kept in Jax’s room, stashing them away in your backpack. You moved with an extreme focus, zipping the bag closed as your mind shifted to meeting Unser at the gas station downtown next. He’d agreed to pick you up there around two-thirty, which meant you had just enough time to finish packing here before walking the four blocks through the heat to the Quick Stop.

Bent over the couch with your back to the door, you were so lost in your thoughts that you startled when two knocks came from behind you. Fear slingshot itself through you as your head whipped over your shoulder, your heart nearly jumping straight out of your chest. You expected to find Jax standing there, either irate and furious after last night’s argument, or giving you that guilty expression he wore whenever the club destroyed your plans together. But it wasn’t Jax standing in the doorway, it was Gemma. 

Her eyes dipped down towards the backpack on the couch, watching you finish zipping it shut before they knowingly rose to meet yours. You tensed beneath her stare, uncertain what reaction the matriarch of SAMCRO would have to seeing you packing your things and ducking out on her son. You didn't doubt she'd already heard about the fight last night, and while you’d always been close with her, you knew where you ranked next to Jax.  

“Guessin’ you're planning to disappear without saying anything?” she observed, something cold weighing down her words. “Suppose that’s why you're packing your bag while he's out, right?”

Carefully turning around to face her, you slipped the straps of your backpack over your shoulders. Gemma wore a neutral yet guarded expression, and it was a completely devastating contrast to all the warm smiles she usually greeted you with. It wasn't lost on you how she remained standing in the doorway either, blocking your only exit out of Jax’s room.

“There's nothing left to say,” you stated. “Pretty sure we said everything last night.”

“You sure about that, sweetheart?” she countered, eyes narrowing.

The tension between you both sat heavy in the small room, that hard look on her face making your chest feel tight. Gemma's lips thinned in the minutest display of her disappointment, and you felt your stomach dip, hating knowing that you put that look on her face after she'd taken you in at sixteen. She’d invited you over to countless family dinners, even if Jax was out late with the club. She’d taken you out to get manicures together, bought you the dress you’d been eyeing for your high school graduation, and she’d even given you odd jobs around Teller-Morrow because she knew you needed the money. 

“He made his choice,” you said, fighting the tremble in your voice. “He knew that would hurt me, but he did it anyway.”

“And you've always known who he was,” she shot back. “A Sons’ gaze might wander, but it's your place to remind him where he belongs.”

You shook your head, fighting to keep the thoughts of Jax and that girl from your mind. You did not want to remember the way her hips were bouncing on his lap, her short skirt riding higher up beneath his grip.

“Maybe you're content with that,” you retorted, pain lacing your words, “but I'm not going to beg and fight for his love and attention. I spent enough time doing that with my father. I know where that dead end leads.”

Gemma shifted to rest her shoulder against the doorway, tipping her head back as she stared down her nose at you. Unlike every other time she’d looked at you when you’d spoken about your father, there was no warmth or sympathy in her eyes, only cold detachment. 

“Then I was wrong about you,” she stated. “You're not cut out for this life or my son. Jackson needs someone strong that's gonna stand by his side through everything. He doesn’t need a feeble-minded bitch who turns tail and runs the first time something goes south.”

Her words stung as they struck you like a slap to the face, tears welling in your eyes at the sharp insult. Gemma had never spoken like this to you before, icy and harsh as if you were miles beneath her. It reminded you of the cruel things your father would say when he drank, and it made your stomach knot.

“Probably for the best that you get lost now before he gets too attached,” she finished, pushing away from the door frame. “Better he drops the dead weight holding him back and finds himself a good woman when he's ready. Someone who can handle this life. That’ll never be you, sweetheart.”

Something sour curdled in your stomach at the thought of Jax moving on in the future, looking at someone else the way he’d always looked at you. Whispering how much he loved them into their ear while they were falling asleep at night, nuzzling his nose against the back of their neck instead of yours. But disgust coursed through you as the image of that croweater grinding on his lap flashed through your mind again, his hand squeezing her ass as they sloppily made out. Whitehot fury burned through you before you drew it back, forcing yourself to disconnect from everything. You needed to get out of here, not start crying again.

“No, it won’t,” you bitterly agreed. “Because I’m not that girl.”

Storming the short distance across Jax’s room, you slipped past Gemma and out into the hallway, not surprised when she didn’t try to stop you. Apparently everything you thought you’d found here over the years had been a lie. They felt no loyalty towards you because you were never truly part of their family. 

None of them had ever actually loved you in the end.

Standing outside of the bus station, you toyed with the bus ticket in your hands, curling the edges of it around your fingers. It was a one way ticket from Stockton, California to Knoxville, Tennessee, a trip which would ultimately take about three days by bus. You’d spent a good portion of your dwindling cash purchasing it, but the bus idling nearby was leaving in mere minutes. Which meant that in a matter of hours, you'd be far away from Charming and completely free of Jax, your father, and everything else that’d ever let you down. 

Maybe you’d find something else on the other side of the country worth living for. Maybe you could become someone else, start over entirely where no one knew your past. Make your own life, find your own way in the world. While you still had no idea how you’d make money, or where you’d sleep once you got out to Tennessee, you knew you’d figure it out. Spending years around Jax and the Sons had taught you to become resourceful and resilient, and you did have three days on a bus to make a plan.

“You sure ‘bout all this?” Unser asked.

He scratched at the top of his balding head, cautiously eyeing the ticket in your hands like it was a live bomb that he felt obligated to diffuse. He’d repeatedly asked you if you were positive that leaving was really the best choice on the half hour drive out to Stockton, reminding you over and over that you were just a nineteen year old girl who’d be traveling alone with nothing but a backpack. 

“You got any better ideas?” you questioned, quirking a brow. “Would you rather I go back to Charming and live with my father? Or have you already forgotten the hospital visit which led to me not staying there anymore?”

Unser winced, no doubt recalling the bender your father had been on which resulted in him breaking two of your fingers during a heated argument a few months back. Unser had been the one to show up on your doorstep and arrest your dad that night, but you hadn’t ultimately pressed charges. Instead, Wayne had held him in county jail just long enough for you to pack some things and settle in at the clubhouse with Jax where you finished out the rest of your senior year of high school without living in fear.

You were not going back to that.

“Well, what about your friend?” he suggested. “Or applying to college? Movin’ into a dorm or somethin’?”

“College isn't exactly cheap, Wayne,” you pointed out. “Besides, fall semester already started everywhere. College isn't an option. And I don't want to burden Zoe's family by asking them to take in someone else.” You shook your head, glancing at the bus idling behind him. “I'm leaving. It's the only thing that feels right.”

“Jax ain't gonna like it, kid,” he stated. 

Your eyes narrowed as your gaze returned to Wayne, noticing how he shifted under the weight of your heated glare. You hadn't told him much about why you were leaving, but Wayne wasn't dense. He'd tiptoed around the topic of Jax on the half hour drive out here, not directly mentioning him, but that in itself made it apparent that he knew your sudden departure was related to the prince of Charming.

“Jax will find someone else to warm his bed at night,” you glowered, your chest constricting in retaliation at the thought. “He won't need to worry about me holding him back anymore.”

Unser pursed his lips, looking as if he was about to say more on the subject, but after a long pause he blew out a resigned breath, thinking better about it. Sticking a hand into his back pocket, he slid out a black leather wallet and opened it. You watched with furrowed brows as he pulled out a stack of cash before folding the thick wad of twenty dollar bills in half. He held them out to you, and you stared uncertainly down at the money without reaching for it.

“Take it,” he urged, waving the cash at you. “Please. I'd feel better knowing I wasn't sending you off with hardly anything. And if you change your mind on that bus ride, this’ll give you a way to come back here.”

Chewing the inside of your cheek you hesitated, still staring down at the few hundred dollars he was just willingly handing over to you. Maybe Jax, Gemma, the Sons, and your own father had never truly cared about you, but at least some people in Charming did. Your throat grew tight when you finally reached out, accepting the money while blinking back the sting of tears. 

“Thanks,” you said softly, stuffing the money into the pocket of your shorts. 

“Least I can do here,” he said with a shrug. 

Your tongue slid out, nervously wetting your lips as you readjusted the strap of your backpack on your shoulder. The bus would be leaving soon and you needed to get on and find a seat before it did. But you hoped that you could trust Unser not to spill anything to Jax about where you'd run off to before you'd gotten far enough away.

“You’re uh…you won't say anything, right?” you nervously questioned him. “About me leaving? To the others?”

“Look, kid,” Unser began, one hand awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, “you know I can't stay quiet forever. Girl goes missing in Charming, especially one so young and tied up with the Sons?” He shrugged a shoulder, an apologetic gleam in his eyes. “Y’know I can't exactly keep my mouth shut on it for too long. But I can give you a few hours to get outta here before I gotta break the news.”

A small, grateful smile slipped across your lips. That was the best you knew you’d get. Sniffling hard in an attempt to shove down the tears before they could break loose, you stepped forward and threw your arms around Unser’s neck. Over the years he'd become something like an uncle to you, always looking out for you whenever he could. As he hugged you back, it fully hit you just how utterly alone you were about to become once you stepped onto that bus. There’d be no one looking out for you anymore, you’d be entirely on your own.

“Take care of yourself, sweetheart. Okay?” Unser pleaded. “Know that you can always come back if you need to, alright?”

Pulling away from him, you nodded as you wiped a few fingers beneath your eyes, capturing the moisture before it could fall. You’d cried far more than you should’ve in the past twenty-four hours, eventually you needed to stop. 

“Yeah,” you lied. “I know.”

You said your final goodbyes, but as you turned and headed over to the Greyhound bus about ready to make its departure from the bus station, you knew that wasn’t true. Your time in Charming had come to an end, and you'd lose your welcome in your small hometown with the way you were about to run from Jax. Getting on that bus would be throwing a lit match onto everything, permanently burning all your bridges in Charming down.

But Jax had been the one to light that match.

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.