Endless Legacy

I Love You, Dad

The warm, midday California sun poured its golden rays down on the small, quaint, and somewhat chaotic, town of Charming as Jackson Teller mounted his old man's 1946 Harley Davidson 'Knucklehead', placing the coal black skull cap on his head that sported the Sons of Anarchy insignia on the side. As he placed it on his head, pulling the synthetic strap under his chin he thought of the woman who had purchased it not so long ago. The woman who had been a permanent fixture in his life no matter the shit that came with it. The mother of his first born son and the caretaker of his youngest, Wendy Case. 

The thought of her alone cause the sudden prick of tears to threaten at the corner of his eyes, refusing to let the men that stood behind him; the men that had become his family and his brothers; see the emotion on his face. The tears had been shed as he embraced them each one by one in the dirty confines of the dingy warehouse near the docks only moments ago. His last words to them 'I got this.' were the last he wanted them to hear to returning his saddened gaze to them was not an option. Finally with a quick movement of his leg his father's bike roared to life, a twist of the throttle ready to carry him to his final destination. 

[10 minutes later, John Teller Memorial site]

 "I think the struggle I understand best. Even more than all the things you wanted for SAMCRO. What we eventually became. The one I feel the most is the war of the mind. Happens when you try to get right with both family and patch. That fear and guilt crippled me. I realized, as I think you did, a good father and a good outlaw can't settle inside the same man. I'm sorry, JT. It was too late for me. I was already inside it. And Gemma she had plans. It's not too late for my boys. I promise, they will never know this life of chaos. I know who you are now. And what you did. I love you, Dad."

The cool, afternoon wind blew through the ends of Jackson's, sandy blonde hair as he sat sideways on the saddle of the his father's 'Knucklehead', reciting the words that had played in his mind on the ride to the memorial dedicated to his old man. As he stared at the faded red paint, the numbers defining the date JT took his life by way of a semi he thought of his own boys and how he was now trying to do what his old man had wanted for him; to get out of the life that killed them. The life that made deep, unhealable wounds. Scars beyond any hope for repair. He would do that for his boys. Abel and Thomas would never know the life that could only end in one way; in jail or dead.

The bluish grey smoke billowed from Jax's nose as he stared at the memorial, no exactly what was next for him. The now former president of SAMCRO knew there was only two choices for him; leave and never return to Charming or the one the ended the cycle forever.

The image of his mother flashed before him as he inhaled another drag from the cigarette, pulling the nicotine deep into his lungs. Gemma had big plans. She had plans for him and plans for his boys. They were to grow up and accept their destiny in Gemma's eyes; take the legacy that was handed down to them. But the lies caught up to her. They caught up to all of them and there was now only one way out.

Jackson didn't pay any attention to the sound of vehicles passing behind him. Normal, everyday people going about their lives as he sat there on his old man's Harley contemplating ending his own. The fear of that decision weighed on his mind. Not because he was afraid to die but afraid of what that impact would bring to Wendy, the now mother of his boys. How would she cope knowing the only way out for Jackson was to meet the reaper head on? Would she continue to stay clean and stay strong to raise their boys to the men they needed to be? Men that were better than him, ones that didn't need to be criminals or killers. Live a normal, domesticated life hopefully far away from Charming. In that moment Jackson knew the words that fell from his lips earlier that day at TM when he hugged his boys for the last time were the truth. He loved Wendy. He always had despite the bullshit that tore them apart and flipped their world upside down.

And Nero. To put the weight of what he was about to do on his best friend's shoulders was a lot to ask and more than he should, he knew that but he also knew if any man would make sure his boys stayed away from the outlaw life it would be him.

His brothers. The men that watching him put on the leather for the first time bearing the Prospect patch and had seen him become a leader. The leader that eventually lost his way and ruined everything that was good for the club. The guilty of becoming everything his father hated tore at him, chewed at his heart and his mind. Jackson knew if he would of had more time he could have made his old man proud but time ran out for him. It ran out for the people he loved.

Pushing himself up from the bike Jax took one more long look at the date that had sat in his heart since he was sixteen and his old man lost his battle with the semi on 580. Taking a slow step forward he knelt down, the gravel under his scuffed riding boots shifting as he bent down to place his skull cap on the round, his tinted KDs resting on top. Possibly someday his initials would be painted below his father's as a reminder to his MC brothers that he attempted to make it right.

Whoop. Whoop.

The familiar sound of police sirens pierced Jackson Teller's ears as he began to mount the old Knucklehead, sucking in one more slow drag from his Marlboro. Slowly the filter of his half smoked cigarette tumbled across the loose gravel as Jax flicked it away, the cherry breaking free from the end. Not bothering to smother it under the weight of his boot, Jax swiftly pulled his Smith & Wesson from the back of his jeans, spinning his body and firing before the highway patrol had a prayer. If this was the way they wanted to play, why not have a little fun before he checked out.