"Tara, honey, I'm going. Will you be alright on your own?"

She looks up from her notes, scattered around her as she sits on the floor, to smile at her aunt. "Book club meeting?" she asks with a pointed look at the fancy dress and high heels, a smug smile on her lips. The woman only rolls her eyes. "Go on, have fun. I'll be fine."

It's only a matter of minutes before she hears the front door closing and the car pulled out of the driveway. Then the silence. She sighs, going back to her notes - English has never been her thing and she has to work hard if she wants to pass her exams and be done with it. She longs for her Biology classes and how easy the homework and labs are. She also longs for a beer and a night out, for getting drunk and high. But she needs to stay focus if she wants to keep her scholarship.

University sucks. She loves it.

At some point during the evening, she stops to order a pizza and paces up and down the hallway reciting authors and genres and figures of speech. So engrossed in her studies she jumps when someone knocks on the door, heart racing.

She's already fishing a twenty in her pocket when she opens the door, freezes in tracks when she sees who's outside.

"You're not the delivery man."

There's an accusatory tone to her voice that makes Jax look around him, as if doing so would suddenly make the pizza appear in front of her. Then he looks back a her, chewing on his bottom lip - an habit of his, usually when taking a test he hasn't studied for. It's weird. Jackson Teller is always the spitting image of confidence, borderline on cockiness.

"Hey babe," he simply replies, slowly, carefully. His head is low, looking up at her from behind his eyelashes, and she knows something is wrong.

No.

It's his clothes, a grey t-shirt that doesn't feature the Sons' logo, or one of their words. It's his jeans not hanging low on his hips, not showing his boxers. It's the Converses where the white sneakers always are. It's the fact he doesn't wear his cut when the damn think was sewed to his shoulders since his first day prospecting.

And he cut his hair.

He tries to move forwards but she immediately takes a step back, so he stops and nods, still biting on his lip. Something is definitely off with him, and Tara doesn't like it. Doesn't like how she still have that hunch when something is wrong with him, when something is up with the club. It's always the same bloody story and why she got away in the first place. It's so unfair of him to keep going, to pretend they didn't break up two months ago and to act like she can be his bloody anchor just because he shows up with puppy eyes and a sorry pout.

Still, the words are on her tongue before she can stop them.

"What's going on, Jax?"

"I'm out."

She can't help the snicker that escapes her mouth, nor can't she with the "yeah, right."

That's obviously the moment the delivery boy decides to show up, looking puzzled at his customers already waiting outside. He takes Tara's money without a word, leaving as quickly as possible - at least someone knows when he's not welcome. Which isn't Jax's case as he follows her inside, watching her as she puts the pizza in the oven. She turns around to face him, hands on her hips.

"What happened to that 'no, Tara, I can't leave my club' bullshit you gave me?"

She notices his smirk when she tries to imitate his voice, but he grows serious again. His eyes never leave the floor, though, awkwardly standing in the middle of her kitchen with his hands in his pockets.

Who are you and what have you done with Jackson Teller.

She doesn't ask.

"Some Irish chick my old man banged wrote me the other day, sent me a bunch of old letters. Turns out I have a half-sister. Also turns out..." His voice breaks as he looks at her, tears in his eyes. She moves forwards, out of reflexes. "They killed him, Tara. They killed my dad."

Tara doesn't need to ask who 'they' are, almost shudders at how obvious the answer it. She's next to him in an instant, arms around his shoulders as he starts crying in her neck. She holds on tight, caressing his hair. When he raises his head, it's to wipe his nose with the back of his hand and smile sadly at her.

"You didn't retaliate?"

He chuckles, shakes his head. "And turn into him?" There's venom in his words. "I want to kill him. Jesus Christ, I want it more than anything. But I can't do it, I can't do him this pleasure of... of... lowering myself to becoming like him. I'm better than that."

He cups her face with his hands, leans his forehead against hers. They remain in that position for long minutes, her hands on his. "Do you want a 'I told you so'?" He shakes his head. "Then why are you here, Jackson?"

"Because I've been a moron and I'm sorry it took me so long to realise you were right. I'm sorry I didn't follow you when you asked and..."

She tiptoes to kiss him, sweet and warm. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her to him and deepening the kiss, and she realises how much she missed him during those two months, how much she loves him. When she breaks the kiss, it's breathless and smiling, rubbing her nose against his. He's obviously a mess, and it'll take time for him to heal, but she knows she needs to be strong for him, for the both of them. She's up to the challenge.

"Want some pizza?"

They end up sitting on the cold kitchen floor while eating, and he tells her about the letters at first, then about his plans - finding a job in a repair shop, becoming a better mechanic, renting a flat big enough for the both of them. He stole money from the club, he says, and it will be enough for his shabby hotel room until he finds something else. He listens, finally interested, when she talks about her life on campus so she tells him about her classes and her scholarship and how she wants to become a doctor. He kisses her hands softly, almost reverently.

"What's up with the makeover though?"

He shrugs. "Didn't want to look like a thug meeting your family."

She read between the lines; no longer want to look like a Son.

It doesn't take long before they move to her bedroom.

She's the first to wake up in the morning, drawing patterns on his chest until his eyes open and he kisses her good morning. She uses his chest as a pillow, listens to his heartbeat as she keeps brushing her fingers against his skin. It feels so good, especially knowing nobody will walk on them for one club business or another. Her breath catches in her throat at that single though - no more illegal business, no more nights spent at the police station. A normal life with a normal boyfriend. Something she had stopped hoping for years ago.

She knows it's not that simple, knows at least Opie will come to have him change his mind, knows Gemma won't let go of her prince that easily. Just as she knows things are still pretty fucked up between them and they need to talk about it, to really think about the future if they're going to do this together. But not now.

Now she just enjoys the moment, enjoys the fact she can spend time naked in bed with Jax Teller and no one will call her an old lady for that. It feels good.

"Got any classes today?" His voice is sleeping and deep, bringing shudders to her spine. She shakes her head against him, not willing to move quite yet. "Good. Wouldn't want Doctor Knowles to skip classes."

She sits up suddenly, staring at him with wide eyes. "If cutting your hair was all you needed to go by the book, I would have done it long before."

Jax rolls his eyes at her sarcasm, chuckles a bit, grabs her by the shoulders to kiss her. His hands roam on her back, tickling her sides as she straddles him. Her hand is slipping down his chest when the front door slams, startling them both as they stare at the bedroom's door. He sighs.

"I'll grab us something to eat instead."

She ignores his pout as she puts up a t-shirt - his - and underwear - also his.

Her aunt is walking around the kitchen when Tara enters the room, obviously making breakfast. She might hear her, because she speaks up even with her back to Tara. "There's a bike in the driveway, are you..." but her question dies in her throat when she turns around and sees her. Tara has no doubt she looks exactly how she feels - tired and disheveled and wearing a man's clothes. Perhaps even with a hickey, Jax loves those. Still, her aunt only raises an eyebrow in a silent question.

Tara goes for the counter and shrugs as she grabs two apples. "Book club meeting."