Jax wasn’t sure when it started exactly, couldn’t pinpoint the specific moment, but all he did was think.
Relentlessly turning over everything that had happened and everything that might. There were too many variables, too many players. There was no way to know how the chips would fall, but he was trying to get as many of them as possible to fall in his—in the Club’s—favor.
If he had to choose a turning point, a catalyst—find the one thing that set him on his inevitable path—it wasn’t when he was told he had to choose which Son was going to leave the county lock-up in a body bag. It was witnessing his best friend take the decision out of his hands and offer himself up as the sacrifice.
It was Opie’s way out. He’d never been the same since his wife’s death, and then Piney, his father and one of the Original 9, was slaughtered.
Opie saw the opening, and he took it. In doing that, he saved the rest of them.
It all changed then.
Jax could see how everything had led up to that point. Was it predestined? Was it fate? Or was it due to the manipulations of others? He wasn’t naïve enough to think he knew about all of Clay’s dealings behind their backs, but he was finding them—one by one.
Every fire Clay had started, Jax was working to put out and keep everyone from being burned alive. What was left of them.
Save SAMCRO, his wife, his boys.
Always thinking, calculating, maneuvering, never really resting—hardly sleeping. Sometimes, he was just so damn tired.
But when he was inside her, he could let it all go for a little while and just feel.
“Jax? What’s going on?” Tara dropped her bag on the kitchen table and set a small bouquet of flowers next to it. She reached for his hand. “Everything okay?”
“Flowers?” He stood from the chair and pulled her to him, needing to feel her against him—press his heart to hers.
“Part of a fundraiser for the neonatal wing. I thought fresh flowers on the table would be nice.”
“Where are the boys?”
“They’re in the hospital daycare. I stopped by to pick up—”
He silenced her words as his mouth covered hers and pushed her jacket off her shoulders. “I need you, Tara.”
She didn’t resist when he backed down the hall to their room, leaving a trail of clothes as they went.
So desperate for her, he didn’t even bother to throw back the blanket on their bed. He nudged her down, his mouth devouring hers, taking what he wanted while she gave him what he needed.
He didn’t want to think then. He needed his mind to shut down. All he wanted was to taste her, have her scent invade his mind, and shove away all the hard and bad and sad and bullshit.
Tara reached for and drew him in, her hands gripping the muscles in his back, her legs sliding up his thighs.
A relieved sigh escaped him when he slipped inside her. With her he was home. Her soft skin enveloped him and consumed him, brushing away and calming, for a little while, the storm inside his head. He didn’t want to think, he just wanted to feel. Not the pain of all the loss, or the fear for his boys. He needed to feel her.
He knew it was only for a very limited time. Everything—all of the shit—would be waiting for him outside the door, and he would dive back into it with both fists, but right then, in that too short moment, Tara pushed it all away with her hands on his body and his name on her lips.
In that brief interlude, he could stop thinking. She was with him, beneath him, beside him, inside him. And everything was all right.
~0~ the end ~0~