BROKEN FINDS BROKEN
SUMMARY: The world doesnβt stop when Opie dies. It justβ¦ drags. Slower. Heavier. Like every mile is uphill, and no one told your lungs how to breathe without him in the room.
Youβre left picking up pieces that donβt fit anymoreβhis cut still hanging by the door, his voice living in the silence, his absence louder than anything else. And Jaxβ¦ heβs just as wrecked. Different kind of broken, but just as deep. He lost his brother. You lost your husband.
Grief makes strangers out of people. Or it stitches them together.
WARNINGS: Grief and loss, major character death (Opie), emotional trauma, slow-burn romance, guilt, mentions of violence, canon-typical themes, healing through shared loss.
CHAPTER 1 - BROKEN BONES
CHAPTER 2 - FRACTURED LINES
Time didn't heal. That was a lie people told so they could sleep at night. Time didn't stitch you back together β it just dulled the edges until you stopped bleeding on everyone around you.
Weeks stretched into months, and the hole Opie left in your chest was still wide open. But you'd learned how to cover it up. You went to TM every morning, put on a smile that didn't reach your eyes, and buried yourself in work. Grease under your nails, paperwork stacked high, and Abel tugging on your shirt when he wanted you to chase him around the lot.
Abel was your anchor. That little boy could drag a laugh out of you when no one else could. You held him through tantrums, through sticky popsicle fingers, through nights when he cried for a mother who wasn't there. You whispered to him in the dark that he was safe, that you'd never leave, even though you weren't sure you believed in forever anymore.
Jax noticed. He noticed everything. The way you lit up when Abel reached for you. The way your hands shook less when you had him in your arms. And the way your grief, sharp and raw, softened around his son.
One night, after a long day at TM, Jax leaned against the garage doorframe, cigarette glowing between his fingers, watching you wipe grease off Abel's cheeks. His voice was low, rough.
"You're good with him, darlin'."
You shot him a look, tired but fond. "He's the only man around here who doesn't drive me crazy."
Jax smirked, but there was something in his eyes. Something heavy. He didn't push it, just took a drag of his smoke and exhaled slow. But that look stayed with you long after you drove home.
Sleep never came easy. Nights were the worst β the house too quiet, the bed too big. You started leaving the TV on, static voices filling the silence, but it didn't fool your body. You'd wake in a cold sweat, reaching out for a man who wasn't there.
One of those nights, there was a knock on your door. You dragged yourself out of bed, hair a mess, sweatshirt hanging loose on your frame. Jax was standing there, helmet in hand, eyes tired like he hadn't slept either.
"Couldn't stay at the clubhouse," he muttered.
You didn't even hesitate. You stepped aside, and he walked in. He didn't take the couch β he just dropped down on the floor by your bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.
For hours, you lay there in silence, both of you staring at the ceiling. Every now and then, he'd shift, the leather of his kutte creaking. Finally, in the dark, his voice came quiet.
"I see him everywhere, y'know? Close my eyes, he's there. Hear his laugh, his voice. Then I wake up, and he's fuckin' gone."
Your throat tightened. "Me too."
Jax didn't move, didn't look at you. But after a beat, his hand slid up onto the bedspread, resting close enough that your fingers brushed. He didn't grab your hand, didn't push. Just let it sit there, steady, until you finally closed your eyes and drifted off.
It was the first time you'd slept more than an hour since Opie died.
The weeks stacked up, grief twisting into routine. You and Jax worked side by side at TM, fixing bikes, running parts, sharing smoke breaks in the alley. You didn't talk much about Opie β sometimes the silence said more than words could.
But there were moments.
Like when you found one of Opie's old ratchets buried in a toolbox and froze, staring at it like it might burn you. Jax was at your side instantly, his hand curling over yours, voice low. "He'd want you to use it, babe."
Or when you saw Opie's photo taped to the memorial wall, that wide grin that had been yours alone. Your knees went weak, and Jax was there again, arm steady around your waist, holding you up without a word.
The bond between you was unspoken. Shared loss welded you together.
But there were cracks in the weld, too β sparks of something you didn't want to name.
Like the way your heart thumped when Jax leaned over your shoulder, warm breath brushing your ear as he showed you how to fix a carb. The way his laugh pulled a smile from you, even when you swore you'd forgotten how. The way Abel's little voice calling "Mommy?" by mistake made your chest ache in a way you didn't know how to handle.
You shoved it down. You had to. He was your husband's best friend. The man who carried his coffin. Anything else was betrayal.
At least, that's what you kept telling yourself.
One evening, you and Jax sat on the porch steps outside Gemma's, Abel asleep inside. The crickets buzzed in the warm air, smoke curling from Jax's cigarette. He passed it to you, and you took a drag, the burn grounding you.
"You ever think it's wrong?" you asked suddenly, voice sharper than you meant.
Jax's brows furrowed. "What?"
"This." You gestured between you. "Us sittin' here, pretendin' like it's normal. Like we ain't thinkin' about him every second."
Jax was quiet for a long beat. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "It ain't wrong to breathe, darlin'. He'd want you to. He'd want me to. If all we do is drown in it, then what the hell did he die for?"
You stared at him, anger and guilt and longing all tangled in your chest. "You make it sound so simple."
He huffed a humorless laugh. "Ain't simple. Nothin' about this is. But I can't lose you too."
The words hung heavy in the night. You didn't respond. You just handed the cigarette back, fingers brushing his, and stared at the stars until the silence swallowed you both whole.
The first time it almost happened was at TM, late one night. You were both finishing up paperwork, the shop quiet except for the ticking of cooling engines.
You looked up from the desk to find Jax watching you. Not in the casual way he always did, but something deeper, heavier. His eyes swept over your face, lingering like he was memorizing every line.
Your breath caught.
He leaned in, slow, hesitant, like he was giving you every chance to stop him. His hand brushed your cheek, thumb trailing soft along your jaw. For a second, you swore you felt the world tilt.
But just before his lips touched yours, you flinched back, heart pounding. "I can't. Jax, Iβ"
Pain flashed in his eyes, but he pulled back instantly, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. I'm sorry."
You wanted to say something, anything, but the words tangled in your throat. So you just turned back to the paperwork, pretending the moment hadn't just split you in two.
The push and pull tore at you in the weeks that followed. Every time you laughed with him, guilt gnawed at your ribs. Every time his hand brushed yours, you burned and froze at the same time.
But the truth was there, unspoken, lurking between every glance, every shared silence. Jax was the only one who understood the depth of your loss because it was his loss too. And in that shared grief, something new was taking root, whether you wanted it to or not.
One night, Abel crawled into your lap, half-asleep, mumbling against your chest. Jax watched from across the room, a softness in his eyes you hadn't seen in years.
"You look good with him," he said quietly.
Your throat tightened. "Don't, Jax. Don't make this harder."
He stood, crossing the room, stopping just inches from you. His voice dropped low, rough. "Ain't tryin' to make it harder. Just tellin' you what I see."
You met his gaze, heat sparking in your chest despite the guilt, despite the grief. And for the first time, you didn't look away.
CHAPTER THREE - SHADOWS AND SPARKS
