Roses always made me nauseous.

Like now, as I stared around the clubhouse, the amount of roses made me want to vomit. In fact, the tight black dress and heels I was wearing also made my stomach turn, but not as much as the music that was playing overhead.

I could hear the muted chatter of people around me, but I had tunnel vision.

All I could see was the clear outline of my old man, of my husband tucked inside some cheap coffin that didn't do him justice. The entire concept of death hadn't ever really stuck with me, and now was no different. I could see Opie, I knew he was dead, but for some reason I was still hoping this was all a cruel joke.

I'd only managed to take three steps towards him in the last hour, and apart from raising the glass of whiskey I held tightly in my hands, I couldn't move.

I'd requested no service, just a wake, and I was so grateful that the MC approved that request. How was I supposed to share my goodbye with the entire club? How was I supposed to tell the love of my life goodbye for the last time, in front of a room full of people?

They understood.

They were giving me plenty of distance, and besides a few gentle pats and hushed apologies here and there, everyone left me alone.

I took another step forward.

When I'd gotten the call from Jax, I thought he was kidding. I remembered I'd laughed. Laughed like some kind of soulless bitch. Yet he wasn't joking and from that moment on my entire world took a spin for the worst and it didn't seem to be stopping any time soon.

I took another step forward.

Gemma showed up at my house three days after the call to help me begin my funeral arrangements but I hadn't moved from my bed. I was still wearing the same clothes; a SAMCRO shirt that was Opie's, and nothing else.

It still smelled like him; like aftershave and leather and motor oil. Like forever.

I took a shaky step forward, and a sip of my drink. My hands were shaking something fierce and my eyes were starting to burn.

At first Jax was terrified I hated him.

At first I wasn't sure if I did or not.

How do you accept the fact that your husband loved an entire criminal organization more than he loved you?

But that wasn't Jax's fault and I couldn't hate him for choices that were solely Opie's. I couldn't hate him even if I wanted to.

I could clearly see Opie now, his serene expression a contradiction even in death. I hoped he was happy. I hoped he was peaceful.

I took another step forward, sucking in a deep breath to stave off the tears. The effort was fruitless, because as much as I hated to cry in front of other people, right now it was just Opie and me. It was just us in this tiny room.

I took a long drink and held my glass at my hip, embarrassed by how shaky my hands were.

Taking another step forward was like a stab to the gut and my tears were flowing freely now.

Damn it, Opie.

He wouldn't ever answer me again, he wouldn't ever smirk at me and wrap me up in his arms and rub his mouth against mine.

He wouldn't ever lift me onto the tips of his boots so he could kiss me good and proper.

I took that last step forward and frowned down at the man in the casket.

He looked like Opie.

He smelled like him.

He was wearing his wedding ring.

And yet, he was reminiscent of a cocoon without a butterfly. A cage without a bird, an oyster without a pearl.

He was a shell of the man I literally yearned for.

"You bastard," I whispered as I ran my hand across his forehead.

He was cold and still and completely unlike the man who loved it when I ran my fingers through his long hair.

His eyes didn't flicker open and his mouth remained slack.

He didn't wake.

He's dead, he's dead, he's dead.

I opened my mouth to say goodbye, but instead, I felt myself releasing my hold on my wet glass and leaning forward to rest my cheek against Opie's chest.

The sound of shattering glass drew attention to me, but I didn't care, because it was just me and Opie in the tiny room.

I laid a palm against his cheek, I listened for that familiar heartbeat that told me it was all okay.

He's dead, he's dead, damn it Lola he's dead.

Two strong arms wrapped around me and lifted me from Opie, even though I fought hard.

"It's okay, sweetheart, it's okay."

Jax's gentle voice in my ear was only a small comfort as reality came crashing into this tiny room with Opie and I and I realized that it would never be just him and I again.

"He's dead," I whispered raggedly into Jax's collar.

He cupped the back of my head and held me to him.

"I know. I know," He whispered.

The pain was ungodly, it was staggering, it was real.

"Jax, Opie's dead. What are we going to do?," I asked.

His blue eyes were red and bloodshot as he tried to keep his lower lip from quivering.

Slowly, he nodded.

"I'm so sorry," he breathed as he ducked his head.

I began to catch the glimpse of everyone standing around watching us and suddenly the tiny room seemed even smaller and the urge to flee was overwhelming.

"Take me home, please."

Jax didn't need to be asked twice before he wrapped me up in his arms and saved me from myself.

My hands were still shaking as Jackson led me into my home. Opie's home. Our home.

It was dark and the air felt heavy with the longing I couldn't seem to turn off. Jax watched me closely, his blue eyes blazing, as I worked my cardigan off and threw it onto the back of the couch.

It was too quiet in this place, too quiet without him here.

No television blaring, no rock music playing, no steady clink-clink of tools being dropped in the garage.

"Lola."

Jax's voice was raspy as he said my name, and the tone instantly drew my attention to him. He scratched the back of his neck as he looked at me.

"Tell me what you need," he said softly.

"Opie."

I know that's not what he meant, but that's what I said, and it made him hang his head in shame.

"I told him not to do it, I begged him! Lola, please-"

"Stop. I believe you, and I forgive you."

He didn't look like he believed me but I didn't have the strength to argue.

I lit the fireplace as I slid my heels off, tossing them near the coat rack. They heavy sound they made was the only noise in the room besides the flickering flames that barely warmed my aching soul.

"Can I ask you a question?," I murmured.

Jax nodded and stepped into the living room.

The tall Windows allowed a lot of light to filter into the living room, and the moon was full tonight.

I could see Jackson clearly even though the house remained dark.

"When Tara split, it shook you up. I remember. Did you ever love anyone enough to say goodbye to this club?"

He didn't answer me immediately, instead he opted for resting his hands on my shoulders and kneading the tension there.

It felt heavenly so I didn't stop him.

"No. I was young and dumb with Tara, I thought she was my only link to happiness. Turned out she was just what mama warned me about."

The tone of his voice left little to the imagination.

"And Wendy?"

"We all fuck up. Remember when Donna left Opie? He thought he'd never love anyone else again. Then you came along and knocked him on his ass," Jax said with a gentle kiss to my temple.

"But he didn't love me enough," I whispered.

Jax tsked and shook his head, turning me to face him.

"He asked me to look after you. He's asked me multiple times and I never thought the day would come when he wouldn't be here to do it. But it's here, Lola. And you never have to worry about being alone."

His words were kind, they were sweet, they were undeniably Jax.

I'd always admired that about him-his moral compass and the loyalty and love he felt for those he cared about.

"You've got a lot on your plate, sugar. I know you don't have the time to be here with me, making sure I don't crack. I'll be fine," I said with a gentle pat to his cheek.

He placed a warm palm over my hand and shook his head with an amused smile on his face.

"See what I mean? You just lost your old man, my best friend, and you're comforting me. I know you're one tough bitch, darlin'. I know, but right now you don't have to be," He argued.

My face fell instantly and the facade I was working so hard to master crumbled.

"He left me! He fuckin' chose this club over me and it killed him, Jax. He's dead!," I cried.

He yanked me into his chest and wrapped his arms around me tightly.

The pain came crashing in.

In waves it washed over my faster and faster, rougher and rougher until I could barely breathe. I couldn't see anything behind the black of my eyelids because my tears were burning as they fell.

Like a waterfall they rose and fell, and that ache inside of me grew and grew until I wanted it to swallow me whole.

I wasn't good enough.

He left me here.

I didn't save him.

The agony that spilled from between my lips was nothing short of sincere as Jax rocked me back and forth in his arms. Slowly we slid to the floor together, and nothing but the shallow sound of my breathing and sobs filled the room. I could hear Jax sniffling into my hair as we held one another so tightly I feared we would both bruise.

Don't let go, don't let me go.

"I'm sorry, Lola. Damn it, I'm so fucking sorry," He cried into my hair.

One of his hands came up to cup my cheek as he nestled me further into his arms, using the wall behind him for leverage.

And there we sat, crying, with nothing but the shadows of my husband flickering along the walls to keep us company.