The Pull | Jax Teller

Potlatch

Delilah rolled over in the bed and she expected to feel a solid body that she could easily mold into. Instead, the spot next to her was empty and cold. Leaning up, she looked at the alarm clock to only find it to be 8 in the morning. Considering that he did just come home from County, she expected him to sleep in as it was obvious it was not a pleasant stay by his battered hands and face.

It wasn't as if she could exactly get an answer out of him either. He had woken her up in the dead of the night. He didn't allow her to ask questions.

Her lips still tingled from Jax's bruising and desperate kisses. Her chest felt sore as did her thighs that she was sure had Jax's fingerprints from his unrelenting grip. He was chasing away something and using her body as a way to exorcise whatever was eating at him.

And she had allowed it for the night.

She would rather he didn't say anything than for him to lie to her when she would ask. Throwing the cover off her sore and tired frame, she grabbed her navy blue silk robe and made a quick detour to check on a sleeping Abel. She followed the scent of nicotine wafting through the air. The source was found in the kitchen.

In the morning light, she could get a better view of his battered face and knuckles. He glanced up from the cigarette he was smoking at the table. She watched as something akin to guilt and anger wash over his features.

She wrapped her arms around her middle. She became all too aware of nausea that was bubbling in her gut most likely from the smell of his cigarette or the coffee that was next to him. She wondered where that was coming from before she ran a hand through her hair. She exhaled a deep breath through her nose as she took a seat across from him at the table.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" She was not going to beat around the bush.

He took a long drag of his cigarette. "It was nothing."

She looked pointedly at his bruised and busted knuckles and face. "That isn't nothing, Jax."

"Clay and I finally butted heads, but I think it was something Stahl said and it hit a nerve with him," Jax said tightly – reluctantly.

Delilah frowned at that news. Concern blossomed that Jax and Clay would even become physical towards one another. "You know I finished the manuscript."

That manuscript was an interesting read. It had made her rethink everything that she believed she knew about Jax's father. The manuscript had made her rethink that maybe Jax barely even knew the man himself. She had read every word the man had typed. He had written every regret and fear of what he had turned the club into. It was a powerful read. It made sense that Jax would take these words seriously and want to change the club. It would be his father's last wish. It was to him his father's legacy.

It didn't change the fact his father had hidden the manuscript and this change Jax seemed to want wasn't happening. Everything was just getting bloodier.

"What do you want me to say?"

Delilah moved closer to him. She hated that there was even this small amount of distance between them. "You keep saying you want to change things." Delilah lightly grazed his bruise forming around his eye, "But you keep repeating old behavior, you can't have it both ways."

"Is there anything you love so much, you'd protect it no matter the cost? The damage it did to you?"

"Yeah, our son," Delilah replied instantly.

"That's how I feel about this club. Since I was five, all I ever wanted was a Harley and a kutte." He told her earnestly. And it slightly scared Delilah how much loyalty Jax had to this club. How deep it was. She didn't think even Lip had this much loyalty to the club. "Look, change won't happen quick or without blood but it'll happen. It has to."