Fandom: Sons of Anarchy
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: "Lyla's with me now."
To anyone who is interested in reading another Sons of Anarchy story from me. I cannot wait for the new episode tonight.
“I can’t believe Opie brought her here,” the woman says to her companion as they stand at the bar, not caring in the least that Lyla is standing just a few feet away and can hear the two women talking perfectly. “His wife has been buried for barely five months and he is already moving on? With a woman like her?”
Lyla stiffens at the words but she pretends as if they aren’t getting to her. Those women know she can hear them and she is not going to give the satisfaction of caring in the least. She remains standing at the bar in the clubhouse in the midst of a party celebrating Juice’s return from the hospital where Opie had left her, telling her that he would be right back. That had been nearly ten minutes ago and he had disappeared into one of the back rooms with Jax and Bobby, leaving her standing at the bar, a now lukewarm beer bottle in her hand.
The clubhouse is crowded with people and loud with music and boisterous laughing and Lyla wishes she was anywhere else right now. Or at least wish that Opie would come back. She doesn’t like standing on her own like this, out in the open for the vultures to pick and rip her apart. When Opie stands with her, they still talk and stare at her with him but they don’t make it as obvious compared to when he isn’t standing with her.
“Honey, she’s a fucking porn actress. Why else do you think he’s with her?” The other woman cackled before both laughed and Lyla’s spine straightened, her eyes fixed straight ahead on the wall opposite the clubhouse – a wall lined with rows and rows of framed photographs of the club members. Some of them are mug shots and despite the distance, she can see Opie’s hanging there.
“Ever since Opie first brought her around, I heard some of the guys have started watching her movies,” the other woman continued. “I don’t see what the big deal about her is. She looks like an under-aged skinny bitch who sucks cock for shit,” and again, the two women start laughing.
That makes Lyla snap her head over to look at them but they simply stare pointedly back as if daring her to say something. And Lyla almost opens her mouth to but she stops herself. She can’t do anything. These are Opie’s people and she doesn’t want to insult him by insulting one of them. So instead, she turns, sliding her beer onto the bar before heading towards the door, ignoring the women’s laughter that follows her.
There are a few people standing outside around their bikes and though they look over at her as she comes outside, their interest barely lasts before they return to their conversations. She reaches into her purse and pulls out her cell phone, quickly dialing information and locating the number for a cab company. Her mom is watching her son, Piper, so she needs to go back home and honestly, she wishes she had just stayed home with him tonight instead of coming here with Opie.
She hates to admit it but she can’t help but be curious about one thing the women had said inside. Opie’s wife, Donna, had been killed and buried just a few months earlier and though she and Opie definitely aren’t doing anything together, just a few kisses here and there that barely escalate into anything, maybe… maybe they shouldn’t even be spending time together. Maybe it’s too soon for him to be hanging out with another woman. And he already has so much going on in his life. He really doesn’t need anything added on top of that – like all of his friends hating her.
She stands on the curb outside out of the garage, looking up and down the street, waiting for the cab. She is wearing a tank top and a short jean skirt and she hugs her arms tighter around herself in an attempt to keep herself warm. How long does it take for a cab to get here? Charming isn’t that big and she wishes that she hadn’t let Opie give her a ride there. She hates the feeling of being stranded anywhere.
She hears footsteps approaching her from behind and she instantly spins around to see Opie walking towards her. She isn’t surprised to see him.
“You shouldn’t be standing out here alone,” is all he says to her.
She shakes her head. “I’m fine,” is all she says to him in reply before turning back towards the street, looking back and forth for any signs of the cab.
He comes to stand next to her, the sleeve of his jacket brushing against her bare arm and she is barely able to contain a shiver. She always gets this way when she stands close to him. Inside of the clubhouse, she had stood in front of him, his hand resting barely there on her hip but it had been there all the same and the hairs on the back of her neck had been standing on end until he had to go in the back for an impromptu meeting.
And now, the hairs are standing up again. She has no idea how he does this to her or even what it is that he’s doing to her.
“What are you doing?” He finally asks.
“I called a cab,” she answers, almost sighing.
She can feel him looking at her but she knows she can’t meet his eyes. She knows that he will offer her a ride home and she knows that if she looks at him, she’ll accept and she really can’t accept it. Accepting it would be bad because she would be on the back of his bike with her arms around his waist, her body pressed tightly against his warm one and honestly, anytime Opie gives her a ride on his bike, she is always so horny afterwards and absolutely no good can come of that happening.
“I can give you a ride,” he offers just like she knew he would.
She shakes her head, blonde curls falling into her face. “I would rather just take a cab.”
He sighs and stepping down from the curb, he comes and stands in front of her, his arms crossed over his chest. “What’s going on?”
“I have to get home. My mom’s watching Piper-”
“Why don’t you want me giving you a ride?” He frowns.
She finally looks at him. “Ope… what does it matter?”
“I just want to know what’s going on with you.”
She has never been more thankful to see a cab as she is in that moment. It comes to a stop on the other side of Opie and sidestepping him, keeping her eyes avoiding his, she opens the back door, about to slide in but his hand is suddenly gripping the door, his fingers of his other hand circling around her upper arm. They stare at one another but neither say a word. They stand there, one of Lyla’s legs inside of the cab, his hand still holding onto one of her arms, keeping her from getting completely in.
“Good night,” she says and it seems to be the magic words because he releases her arm and she gets in the cab without hesitating and he closes the door for her.
She takes a deep breath, telling the driver her address, before sinking back into the seat and closing her eyes. She doesn’t have to look through the back window to see that he is still standing there, watching the cab drive off.
Halfway home though, she hears a motorcycle behind them and on instinct, she sits up and turns, seeing that it is him, following her. Seeing him there, she quickly faces forward again, ignoring how her heart is now lodged in her throat. She has no idea why he is following her. She has no idea why he is following her but a part of her – a very small part of her – almost allows herself to smile. She doesn’t though. She doesn’t understand what he is doing. She doesn’t understand what they are doing together.
The cab pulls into the driveway and Lyla quickly pays the driver, opening the door as she does so, trying to ignore Opie who has pulled his bike into the driveway next to the cab. She tells herself to just go up the path to the front door and just go inside, but instead, she remains standing there, not even noticing as the cab reverses out of the driveway and disappears down the street again, watching as Opie climbs off his bike, unclipping his helmet, his eyes setting themselves on her.
“I’m doing you a favor,” Lyla says before she can stop herself.
He frowns at that though.
“I am not good for you,” she continues and still, he stares at her without speaking.
And then he crosses his arms over his chest, shaking his head. “I’m not good for anyone.” He keeps his eyes on her for another moment and then sighs, dropping his arms. “Look. If you don’t want to hang out anymore, that’s fine. I just,” he stares at her. “I want to keep this going between us but only if you want to.”
“I don’t even know that this is, Ope,” she says, gesturing a hand back and forth between them. “Your wife died… you have two kids and they really need you right now… and me, I’m a disaster. I’m not good for anyone either.”
The instant she says the words, she snaps her mouth shut and they stand there, staring at one another. She doesn’t blink, struggles to breathe, as Opie approaches her, his helmet still in one hand and her eyes instantly slide closed as his other hand comes to a rest on her cheek. And then, standing there in her driveway, he leans down and kisses her.
Lyla immediately gives in, secretly having wanted this all night, and her body practically melts into his, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, both wanting to hold onto him so she can be close to him and wanting to hold onto him because whenever Opie kisses her, she feels as if her legs are going to fail on her at any moment. They have only kissed a few times before but already, she has become so used to his tongue in her mouth, to his beard scratching sensually at her face, to being surrounded by his arms and his scent, to being warmed by his body.
She has gotten so used to just having him there with her and she kisses him harder. Even though she is in heels, he is still taller than her and she pushes herself up on her toes, pressing her mouth more firmly against hers and she feels his arms wrap securely around her waist as their mouths move in perfect synch together. She can’t think. She can’t breathe. She can’t pull away from him even if she wants to. All she knows is that Opie is completely surrounding her and this is the only time in the otherwise large fuck-up that is her life that things don’t seem so… well, fucked up.
“You don’t make me talk,” he says, his voice low, and she hates that she is the only one who sounds out of breath between them once their lips finally separate. “You don’t tell me how I should be feeling. You don’t expect me to feel anything.”
Lyla blinks up at him because she doesn’t know what she should say. Or if she should say anything at all.
“Donna and me had a good marriage and I loved her. But it wasn’t this perfect thing that everyone thinks it was,” he sighs heavily. “I was in prison for five years. It would take anyone to adjust to that kind of life and then getting out again, you have to adjust again. Donna and me had problems. Everyone does.”
She nods mutely, not wanting to speak because for as often as she hangs out with Opie, she has never heard him talk this much before and she doesn’t want him to stop.
“And now… I’m adjusting again,” he finishes. “And I really don’t care what anyone thinks about how I’m doing that.”
Lyla manages to nod her again and there is a lump in her throat that she cannot seem to swallow past in order to breathe. But then he is kissing her again, and just like that, nothing else to Lyla, not even breathing, seems that important.