A New Ride Begins

Chapter Three

I feel an involuntary tilt of my lips when I pass the small sign that says, "You're now leaving Lodi."

I almost laugh out loud when I see the sign right behind that- the one that it feels like I've waited my whole life to see it.

"Welcome to Charming. Our name says it all."

I pull over to the side of the road and climb off my bike, setting it on its kickstand and hopping over the metal railing.

My pack of cigarettes is crushed in my pocket. I pull the little box from my jeans and flip the flattened lid, grabbing a smoke and holding it between my teeth while I search my jacket for my lighter.

I can hear bikes behind me and turn, watching a group of bikers eyeball me as they drive passed, their leather vests sporting the tag "Mayan". I stand my ground, staring right back as I light my cigarette and lean against the welcome sign.

I look over at my own bike once they're gone from sight and remember the day I brought it home.

Flashback: 2 years earlier.

"Thomas Padilla! What did you do?" Wendy asked me as I drove up to our farm house on a used Harley that I had just bought from a friends Dad. It was exactly one day after my 16th birthday and I had never been more excited about anything in my entire life.

I had worked my ass off every day after school, every weekend since I was 14 years old, saving up enough money to buy myself a motorcycle. There was always just something appealing about two wheels, the wind in my hair and nothing but road behind me.

My mother, on the other hand, looked like I had just committed the ultimate sin by driving that bike onto our property.

"Mom, I told you I was saving up for a ride," I said as I turned off the bike and slowly removed my helmet.

Wendy stood glaring at me, her hands on her hips, her painted bright red mouth puckered in a disapproving scowl.

"And by ride I obviously thought you meant a car. That thing's a death trap. You're bringing it back."

I laughed.

"You'd think that with your history, the idea of a motorcycle wouldn't seem so...I dunno... Scandalous," I said sarcastically, a satisfied smile on my face.

I climbed from the back of the bike and set it on its stand. I tried to walk passed her into the house but she reached out and grabbed my arm.

"What in the hell is that supposed to mean?" she said, pulling me back around toward her.

I shook my head, feeling guilty at the hurt I saw in her eyes. I sighed deeply and put my hands on her shoulders.

"Nothing, Ma. It means nothing. Look, I wanted the bike okay? I worked hard for it."

I gave her my most innocent, charming smile; a smile she had told me once in a moment of weakness reminded her of my real father, Jax.

"Don't you always say that when you work hard enough for something that you get what you deserve in the end?" I asked, tilting my head to my side and looking down at her.

She sighed.

"I'm gonna have to talk to your Dad about this."

I nodded, pulling her close to me and tucking her head under my chin with a grin on my face. Wendy sighed and patted my back.

If Nero was the decision maker in this, I knew I had won.

Later on that night, I sat listening in on their conversation through the vent in Abel's room. He was at his first year of college and only came home on holidays and weekends.

Believe it or not, I got a lot of useful information this way.

"Seeing him ride up on that bike, Nero. It was like being transported back in time. He already looks so much like Jax. It seriously scared the shit out of me. Almost like seeing a ghost"

"He worked hard for it, Ma," Nero said, his voice soft and comforting as was his usual style.

"It's not just the bike. I know he worked hard for the bike and so he should have the stupid, fucking bike," she said, the word bike, sounding dirtier each time she spoke it. "It's just... Everything about him screams, 'I'm Jackson Tellers Son!'. The way he walks, the way he sits forward and rests his elbows on his knees and clutches his hands together when he's deep in thought. His poetic soul. I'm so scared that no matter what we do, he's going to find his way back to Charming, and everything Jax did to save him will have been for nothing," she said, her voice getting thicker with emotion after each sentence.

I couldn't see them through the vent, obviously, but this would've been about the time that Nero wrapped her up in his arms. I could hear his soft comforting voice as Wendy sobbed quietly.

I felt bad. Obviously, I felt bad. I never liked to see or hear my mom cry. Anyone who does is a complete piece of shit.

But I was also incredibly happy.

That was the first time I had heard his full name, Jackson Teller, and the first time I had heard them say where we had come from. That night, after I snuck back into my own room, I researched everything the internet would tell me about Charming, California, Jackson Teller and the mystery that was SAMCRO.

Present Time

I throw the cigarette down next to the sign and walked back toward my bike.

After a 10-minute ride through residential areas, the town cemetery looms before me. A cool chill runs through my body and I know exactly where my first stop should be.

Before I do anything else, I need to meet my parents.