She Ain't Home - Jax | #1. New Old Ladies

1 • A Helping Hand

Chapter One:

My back ached and my neck was stiff from being stuck in the chair for so long, but I refused to make a sound of discomfort.

Admitting to the Tacoma Killer that I was in pain was basically asking for him to smirk with enjoyment. The one thing that I'd learnt about Happy Lowman was the man found pain on others amusing.

Even if I was his friend and the pain was self inflicted.

I discarded my gun onto the table next to us and wiped over his sensitive skin with the spray to look over the ink that I'd just put on his body and sighed in relief as I straightened my back for the first time in hours. It was, in my humble opinion, a masterpiece.

After my shoulder had popped, I handed him the small mirror that I'd gotten out when he'd first arrived and watched as he looked at the additional smiley-face I'd just put on his stomach. I didn't have to ask to know what they meant, most of the time he still had blood underneath his fingertips when he came to me for another.

"Looks good, little girl."

In Happy Lowman terms he'd basically just told me that I'd done something that he was proud to have on his body, and I clapped him on the shoulder while I grinned. "Thanks Hap. Sat like a girl, as always."

He grunted in reply to my lame joke since the man never winced or showed any sort of discomfort once, and I stretched out my shoulders when he got to his feet. "Thanks for making time."

"Don't be ridiculous, Hap, I've always got time for you." I grinned at the blank-faced man. "Besides, I think even if I did get you down to my shop, you'd give my apprentice a heart attack by lookin' at her."

He finally showed some sort of emotion as his lips pulled up into a triumphant smirk and he rolled the toothpick in his mouth to the opposite side. "Maybe you shouldn't have hired a pussy."

I patted him on the arm. "Maybe you shouldn't look like you want to put everybody's head through a wall all the damned time."

Happy smirked at me again but didn't comment. I knew that he wasn't going to change and become expressive as well as he did, but that's why the moron had become my closest friend.

He was easy for me to read whenever he turned up on my doorstep, usually unannounced. Sometimes he would show for tattoos and be quiet the whole time, although he regularly showed up with a six pack of beer for nothing more than comfortable company away from the clubhouse.

"I've gotta head to the store and get some things for dinner, but you're more than welcome to stay and have a beer." I scrunched up my nose at him. "Just don't touch my whiskey, you hear?"

Happy's dark eyes found me as the faintest hint of a smile appeared on the edges of his lips, no doubt remembering the time that I'd found him halfway through my bottle of whiskey and had lost my mind for a while, but he shook his head all the same. "Can't, gotta do club shit."

I wasn't sure whether or not I wanted to know, but I nodded my head in agreement as I walked him to the door and grabbed my keys off the rack, then pointed to the bloody footprint he'd left on my floorboard. "Your club shit have anythin' to do with the paint I'm gonna have to scrub off my floor?"

"Yep." Happy remarked in finality before he swung his leg over his bike, gave me a two finger wave, and disappeared from view.

It wasn't rare for Happy to say certain things to let me into his life. There were offhanded comments here and there that clued me slightly in, but kept me on the outskirts enough to not have any details. He'd explained to me, only once after too much to drink, that I was the only 'not fucked up' friend that he had and he didn't want to burden me with his secrets, but still needed to get some of the weight off his chest.

I was just grateful that he trusted me enough to let me ink his skin and open his mind.

Thanks to small town living the drive to the grocery store was short and I found a parking spot close to the front doors. There were hardly any customers due to the sun setting, and I was able to get in and most of my items quickly.

I was tossing up whether or not to indulge in waffles when there was a soft tug on the bottom of my dress. "Excuse me?"

My eyes left the frozen section to look down at the little boy, probably four or five from my guess, who was standing beside me with his big blue eyes trained on me. "Hi, honey. What's goin' on?"

"I can't find my grandma." He mumbled softly and looked down the aisle.

My heart instantly ached at the way that he'd said it like he was half embarrassed, half weary of asking me for help. I bent at the knees so that we were the same height and gave him my best attempt at a reassuring smile. "I can help you look for her if you'd like?"

He nodded and took my hand when I offered it, then watched while I bent to pick up my discarded basket and we were on our way to find his family.

His grandma, it turned out, was a few aisles down and cursing up a storm when we found her, eyes darting back and forth as she looked for the young boy.

"Grandma!"

She turned halfway down the aisle and relief instantly swarmed her face. She had black hair with a few blonde highlights, and I could see that the woman would be a nightmare if you got on the wrong side of her from a mile away.

I knew who she was before she even got close to me: Gemma Teller. The Queen of SAMCRO, mother to the President of the Sons of Anarchy, and the town's bitch if the woman at the post office was to be believed.

Gemma was dressed in a pair of tight black jeans, knee-high black heels and a long sleeved black shirt. She looked as lethal as all of the rumours I'd heard portrayed her to be but, surprisingly, she didn't make me feel uncomfortable.

She stopped in front of us and bent down so that she was the same height as her grandson. "Abel, you can't run off like that! What did I tell you about taking off?"

"Not to do it." The small boy, Abel, murmured and looked at the ground beneath his Converse. "I'm sorry."

Gemma ran a hand through her long hair and closed her eyes, blew out a long breath and then opened them with a smile on her face. Her grin made her look younger and less hardened. "It's okay, baby. Just don't do it again, okay? My heart isn't good enough to take you running off."

After he'd agreed she rose to her full height and looked directly at me. "Thank you. I'm Gemma Teller."

"Ellie." I returned her handshake. "No need to thank me, I didn't do anythin' really."

Her lips perked at the sides in what one could consider the beginning of a smile. "Nice accent you've got there, Ellie."

"Can't escape Georgia." I chuckled. "Anyway, I better get goin'. Lovely to meet you, Gemma."

I bent down to Abel's height and ruffled his locks with my fingers. "Stay safe, Abel. And try not to run off too much, you don't wanna give your grandma a heart attack, she's goin' to be the one you run to when your daddy makes you mad someday, you need her on your side."

Even though I wasn't looking, I could feel Gemma's curious stare on my back while I walked towards the checkouts, the frozen waffles long forgotten.