This Life

Chapter 1

Charming, California. Never thought I'd be back here. Dad had been a member of the club for years and grew up with all the original members of the Sons of Anarchy. They were like an extended family- Jax, Opie, and I were joined at the hip as children. Gemma was like a second mother to me, if my mom was busy at the hospital, I was off at Jax's house raiding their fridge or playing cops and robbers in the front yard.

Something made my family run. I never asked why, just accepted it. It always made my stomach turn because we moved right around the time that Jax's father died in the accident. A month before, John Teller and Piney Winston came to our house with a case of beer and a thick black binder in hand; Jax and Opie trailing close behind them.

I remember them sitting in the backyard by the grill casually talking about life while Jax, Opie, and I did what all 13-year-olds do; scheme about the ways we were going to take over the world as adults. John had mentioned something about him and Gemma being in a bad spot and how she had grown distant from him; but he couldn't leave her, not again. Whatever that meant.

We stayed for the funeral and left early the next morning without warning. My dad took the essentials and bussed us out as far away from Charming as he could get us. We landed on the outskirts of Seattle Washington, in a city called Renton.

I called Renton home until about a week ago - when life felt stagnant. For me, this was my last choice - one night I decided to throw a dart at a map of California and somehow it landed right on Charming.

My mom warned me of the dangers of going back to this place; that no one was truly on my side and to be on my toes around "you know who." I didn't know who, what's worse is my mom was losing herself so I took everything she said with a grain of salt.

Just my luck.

Those were the thoughts I had as I drove down the long and seemingly endless road that trailed into Charming. I turned into Teller-Morrow Automotive Repair Shop. The parking lot was speckled with junkers, fixed-up hot rods, and the occasional mom-mobile. Before parking - I glimpsed a familiar face. Granted the only thing that had changed about him was the fact that his hair had become completely white, his face touched by age and dusted with the lightest hints of white facial hair. His shoulders looked heavy; forearms as big as tree trunks, in my eyes. Clay Morrow.

As I closed the door of my truck, a tallish guy with unkempt medium-length dirty blonde hair walked up to me. His face was stubbled with the attempts of a beard and a strong jawline that could cut like a freshly sharpened knife. His eyes were deep set and a murky shade of blue that I could have swam in if they got any bigger.

In all honesty, he wouldn't be a terrible ride I thought. But I was getting ahead of myself. Business now - flirt later... Maybe.

"What can I do for you?" The hunk of a man said. Now that he was closer, he reminded me of Mr. Teller.

"I've got a 1993 heritage softail classic that is refusing to start for me. I've tried everything." She was my mom's bike-my dad got rid of his once we moved, but mom had a love for motorcycles and bought one after he passed. Birch white, teal, and covered with sweet memories.

"What'd you mean by everything?"

"I know it's the kill switch, I just don't know how to fix it."

"I'll see what I can do," He said as he guided the bike off the trailer. By the door of the garage, the man I assumed to be Clay stood by a woman who I can't mistake for anyone else but Gemma. He seemed to notice me looking at him and walked over with a friendly smile that reminded me of a gorilla's smile.

"Beautiful bike you got there. That your old man's?" Clay yelled as I met him halfway. There was no mistaking who this was. A part of me felt an icy shiver run down my spine. Thankfully, he didn't recognize me, and I was going to keep it that way for as long as I could.