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calif0rnia-lovers · 1 year

Text

kiss it better 02.

read part 01 first

pairing: jax teller x black!reader | words: 2.1k

warning: none for this chapter..just mention of Opie's death...rip Ope.

sum: years have passed. you find yourself back in charming. but the man you've left behind now carries a thirst for vengeance you're not certain you can save him from.

A shot of whiskey. The pounding resonated beneath Jax's bruised skin. His left eye sporting a freshly pounded bruise. His knuckles split open. Lip busted.

Deja vu.

Nearly three years have passed, but the scenery is the same. The clubhouse has not changed. The loud music, exchange of alcohol, laughter over games of pool and cards, crow eaters looking for a body to take home.

The only difference is that Jax Teller is seated on the sofa with a bottle of whiskey. It's pressed against his swelling eye, a feeble attempt to cool off his heated skin. Lisa sits alongside him, her fingers toying with his hair. Any other night, she would have him undressed by now. But tonight, she can hardly get Jax to speak, let alone look at her.

It's been two days since Jax's return from County. Two days since Opie's wake. Although a party in their fallen friend's honor is in full swing, Jax is seated. He knows people are watching, waiting for his next move. Waiting to see if he's going to cry, scream…do something other than act as though business was on as usual.

He'd somehow survived a meeting with Galen and the IRA and met with the mayor in a single day. The meeting with Galen was more eventful than the easy ploy to convince the mayor to assist in Jax's latest plan. Galen couldn't entertain, let alone trust, the young president. He found Jax short-tempered, cocky, and undeserving of the patch on his chest. The swollen knuckles on Jax's left hand are evidence of his short temper.

"Wanna go home?" The warmth of Lisa's lips caresses Jax's ear, her palm drifting down his chest. Shifting closer to him, she nuzzles her nose against the warmth of his pulse. She's surprised to find it beating calm and steady beneath his heated skin. "Take your mind off everything?"

"I'm good tonight," Jax mumbles, shifting forward and out of her touch.

Despite the cold dismissal, Lisa remained seated alongside him. Jax's jaw flexes as her palms drag along the shoulders of his kutte. The weight of her chest presses against him as her lips press a soft, lingering kiss against his cheek.

"You haven't seen me since you got back," she hummed. "You need a proper welcome home."

Jax is incapable of responding. The little energy he has left is directed towards holding off retrieving his gun and heading across town. Biding time, suppressing the urge to act had proven more exhausting than he'd initially thought.

The heel of his palm pressed against his eye. The action seems to double the pain, but he doesn't stop. Apart from the pain, the voice in his head is jumbled. Amplified. Getting louder with each passing second.

Sergeant Mackey…home invasions…Charming Heights…Abel…Opie… Gemma's shit…fucking Clay…Opie…Pope…Opie.

Each issue at hand seemed to demand immediate attention. And time. Time Jax couldn't possibly have. He hadn't slept since he left County and has barely been able to scratch the surface of the shit he was set to handle.

His grip tightens around the bottle in his hand as a vibration sets loose against his chest.

"Shit…"

It's the fifth call in the last half hour. Jax lets it ring. Straight to voicemail.

Unscrewing the cap, Jax downs a hearty swallow of whiskey. He can't help but wince as the liquid burns his throat. He's in the process of going for a second swig when he spots you. The bottle stops short of his lips, his eyes blinking.

His first thought was an illusion. A trick brought on by the mixture of lack of sleep and whiskey. The last time he saw you, there were tears in your eyes.

As he blinks, Jax finds his vision has begun to blur. But, despite the blurred vision, you're still there. Caught in Bobby's tight embrace, unaware that Jax has noticed your arrival.

"How is he?" Your question comes out muffled against Bobby's shoulder.

"Don't think it's hit him yet," Bobby admits as he lets you go. He runs a hand over his tired eyes. "You know the kid. Keeps shit inside. Been trying to handle club shit from the moment he got out."

Jax was arrested…Pope…a debt to be paid…Opie…laid to rest.

The phone call was a blur. Hell, the last 48 hours were a blur.

Gemma had called in a panic. Her initial call was rejected and sent to voicemail. You aren't sure how she got your number. It had changed the moment you landed in New York years prior. The plan with her and Charming was simple—out of sight, out of mind. But the thing about Gemma is…she can't be ignored. It took three more calls before you answered.

"Jax's been arrested—"

"Since when is that new?"

Instead of meeting your comment with her typical sass, Gemma shared the news.

Jax, Tig, and Chibs arrested for murder. Opie was dragged into the transport van. Damon Pope's unwavering demand, and Jax's inability to find another solution to end the war festering between the Sons and the kingpin. Opie's sacrifice to prevent his best friend from being the member of the MC to die on the floor of Stockton prison. Jax hadn't shared the details with his mother. In fact, he hadn't spoken a single word about the events of the short time spent in the walls of the prison. But the look that passed over Chibs' face as the Scot had arrived back at the clubhouse, Opie's death was bloody.

You have no recollection of hastily packing a carry-on. No memory of buying a plane ticket or even flying from JFK.

You just remember the sickening feeling, the pit in your stomach. The fear that not being able to get to Charming fast enough would lead to Jax doing something he couldn't take back.

It's a feeling that dissipates the second your eyes meet his. By the time you spot him, Jax is halfway to you.

"Hey—"

The initial weight of his body threatens to knock you off balance. Jax's arms wrap around you, the firmness of his grip pinning you against his chest. His arms tighten around you, his face burrowing against the warmth of your skin. The tears he's spent the past few days suppressing are unlocked. They silently fall, his shoulders trembling enough to advert the eyes of his fellow Sons.

As your fingers gently pass through his hair, Jax's body relaxes. Each touch encourages his breathing to slow. It's an unfamiliar feeling, the weight on his shoulders seeming to lift for the first time in years.

You swallow, a feeble attempt to push the lump rising in your throat back down.

You can't cry. Not in front of him.

It was the one rule you'd repeated to yourself the entire plane ride. Tears for Opie had to be spilled out of Jax's sight. No matter how much you loved Opie, you knew it paled in comparison to the love he received from Jax.

You allow your grip to loosen around him, but Jax remains. Your eyes grip shut as the pads of your fingers pass over the familiar stitching on his back.

The smiling reaper silently challenged you to voice the request on your mind. Possibly because he knew you to be the only one brave enough to ask the President to follow suit with the impossible task. Or, maybe because he knew without Opie, Jax's moral compass has cast too far from true north. And although Jax could never deny you in the past, the man shaped by your time apart was different than who you left behind that night.

You find yourself cowering beneath the Reaper's silent challenge. After years apart, you can't have your first words to Jax unleash his festering anger.

Your words come out barely above a whisper. "You're going to be okay, Jax."

You're not sure where the confidence in your voice comes from. You've known him long enough to know Jax is resilient. He has carried more than any ordinary man. But you both know he might not be able to carry this—not alone.

Maybe that’s why, despite her hatred for you, Gemma called you when she saw the unfamiliar icy, cold look in her son's eyes. She knew that if she selfishly tried to tackle the issue alone her son would be too far gone.

Be okay.

If he disagrees with your belief in him, Jax doesn't protest. He remains silent.

"What happened to your face?"

It's a question he's heard from you a hundred times, yet Jax has never found a perfect answer. His eyes drop. Asked a few years prior, he would have a rehearsed response prepared. One that watered down the details. Tonight, it stops just shy of his lips. Lying to you is always the hardest. Paired with his exhaustion, he doesn’t have the energy.

He watches your brow furrow as you take in his recently earned black eye. A deep breath fills his lungs, the look of concern in your eyes forcing Jax to release it.

"Pointless shit," he sighs, wincing as your thumb brushes over his swollen knuckles.

"You need to ice this."

"It's fine," he dismisses your concern, slipping his hand out of yours. Jax's grip tightens around your waist, a silent plea to remain close as you step towards the bar.

Your touch instinctively lifts his chin. The warmth of your palms against his cheeks pulls his eyes shut. Finally, he allows you to assess the damage of his most recent fight.

Another useless fight fueled by his misplaced anger.

The first kiss is featherlight, settling on the bruise beneath Jax's eye. Each that follows seems to possess magical healing powers. Passing over his wounds, both seen and unseen. The pain throbbing beneath his skin seeping away with each touch of your lips.

Your lips stop shy of his, the action forcing Jax's eyes open.

The bright blue you'd come to love was dimmed. His youthful playfulness was replaced by tiredness. As his forehead rests against yours, your palms slide down Jax's chest.

The patch you had helped sew on a few years prior was now faded. Almost as worn of the leather it was stitched too. As your fingers trace the stitched letters, you can't help but doubt your previous statement.

President.

It comes with an unbearable burden and the task of making tough decisions. Decisions often result in scars not visible to the human eye. And just as many visible ones.

Seeing Jax’s skin bruised and scared is second nature. But your mind can’t stop from wondering how bad it got in your absence.

Your teeth dig into the flesh of your lip, your fingers tracing the letters on his chest. Slowly building the confidence to present your request. One you knew that Jax would have to deny. Not only because he was President, and his men would look to him to lead, but because his best friend was just ripped from him.

"Promise me you won't do anything stupid." You don't need to open your eyes to know Jax's eyes have rolled. The sharp intake of breath is enough of an indication. "I'm serious, Jax. Retaliation is out of the question—"

"Y/N—"

"Jackson, I'm serious." Meeting his gaze, you keep your voice low. An argument is the last thing either of you have energy for. "Not tonight, when you can't think straight. Promise me you won't do anything."

Jax remains silent. His shoulders fall with the breath he releases. His hand passes over his face drawing your attention to bags set deep beneath his tired eyes.

"Not tonight," Jax echoes. The kiss he leaves against your forehead is the seal of his promise.

The vibration of his phone pulls Jax back to reality.

The sixth call of the night, whoever was on the other end was relentless.

He reaches into his kutte, his brow furrowing as he reads the caller id.

"I gotta take this," he sighs, his palm dragging down his face.

He catches sight of the look in your eyes. A weak smile finds his lips.

"Relax, y/n." Jax chuckles, the sound almost enough to convince you he's back to normal. "It's just Nero."

"Nero?"

"He's a friend," Jax replies, phone already against his ear.

Despite the reassurance, your eyes remain on Jax as he moves to step away. His fingers find yours for a brief moment, his mind already drifting toward the next task.

"Where you staying tonight?"

You blink. The thought hadn't crossed your mind. "Uh--Figured I'd just get a room—"

Jax's brow furrows. Ignoring the rattling of Nero's voice in his ear, Jax covers the receiver of the phone.

"It's getting late. You can stay with me tonight."

Jax doesn't wait for a debate on the matter. A gentle squeeze of your hand, and he's gone.

Your eyes follow the Reaper on his back, your teeth digging in your lip as he disappears through the chapel doors.

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