Chapter Nine: Grease

The engine growled beneath me, alive again, but steadier this time. My grip was tight, though not desperate. I eased the clutch like Jax had drilled into me, and with his weight shifting behind me, the bike rolled out of the gravel lot and back onto the road.

"Good," Jax said close to my ear, the rumble of his voice threading through the hum of the engine. "Better than before. You're gettin' the hang of it, Trouble."

Heat curled low in my chest at the word, but before I could answer, he added, "So tell me again—why'd you wanna know if I was still that same kid from back in the day?"

I blinked against the wind, eyes fixed on the empty road stretching ahead. "Curiosity," I said finally, keeping it vague. "Wanted to see if the years treated you right."

He hummed, low and skeptical. "That's some bullshit, Rae. But fine. I'll let you keep it—for now."

I swallowed, grateful for the way he let it slide, but his words lingered heavy.

A few miles passed before he pressed again. "So—do you like what you see? This new me?"

I laughed nervously, shifting my hands on the grips. "I don't know yet. So far? Yeah. Because you still feel like that same old you. The one from all those years ago."

That earned me a soft laugh, quiet but cutting through the engine. "That's 'cause you don't know me anymore."

I shrugged, letting the silence carry us for a while. The road curved lazily past dark fields, the smell of hay sharp on the air. Then, almost without thinking, I asked, "That diner we used to go to... the one with the sticky floors and the world's worst coffee. Is it still open?"

"Still standin'," Jax said. "Surprised it hasn't collapsed under the weight of all that grease."

A smile tugged at my lips. "Then that's where we're goin'."

---

The neon sign still buzzed the same way it had when we were kids, one letter flickering in and out like it couldn't make up its mind. The windows glowed warm against the night, yellow light spilling onto the cracked lot.

I eased the bike to a stop, heart hammering from both the ride and the memory, and Jax reached around to steady the bars as I dropped the kickstand.

"Not bad," he said, swinging off. "Didn't dump us. That's progress."

Inside, the diner smelled of burnt coffee and fried food, comfort disguised as chaos. Vinyl booths sagged in the same spots I remembered, and the jukebox in the corner still looked like it hadn't worked since the '80s.

We slid into a booth. Jax took the seat facing the door, his eyes scanning every time it creaked open.

I tilted my head, curious. "You always sit like that?"

He didn't look away from the door. "Comes with the cut. Habit."

I let it drop, the reality settling like a stone in my stomach.

"So why here?" he asked finally, leaning back.

"Fries and a milkshake," I answered with a grin. "Best in the county."

That earned me his first real laugh of the night, warm and unguarded. "You still dip your fries in the shake, don't you?"

"Yeah, duh."

He shook his head, smirking. "World's greasiest joint. That's what they should be famous for."

I laughed, the sound blending into the clatter of plates and the hum of the overhead lights.

The waitress arrived, pen hovering. I ordered the fries and shake without hesitation. Jax just asked for a coffee, black.

When she left, silence settled between us. Not awkward, but heavy with things unsaid.

Then he broke it. "So, Trouble. What are you really runnin' from?"

I picked at a napkin, tearing the edge. "Myself," I said finally.

His brow lifted, intrigued. "Why?"

I shrugged. "Aren't we all running from pieces of ourselves?"

That made him pause, really pause, his fingers drumming slow against the tabletop. But then he shook his head, brushing past it. "So what was Texas like?"

I blew out a breath. "Moved around a lot. Different towns, same people. Nothing like Charming."

He nodded, like he'd expected that. "No. There's only one of this place."

The waitress returned, sliding a steaming cup in front of him and setting my shake down with a clink. The fries came in a red plastic basket, grease soaking through the paper. I dipped one straight into the shake and grinned at his expression.

"You're hopeless," he muttered, but his eyes softened, the edge dulling.

I leaned back, pushing a fry between my teeth. "Alright. My turn for questions."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Shoot."

I chewed slowly, then asked, "Your wife."

His head tilted, grin sharp. "Why, you checkin' if you've got a shot?"

I laughed, shaking my head. "No. Chibs said she and your son are in the hospital." I froze, then added softly, "I didn't know you had a kid."

His face shifted, harder now. "You wouldn't. You left. How would you have known?"

The words sliced sharper than I expected, shutting me down. I looked away, fiddling with the straw in my shake.

Jax let out a slow breath, softer this time. "To answer your question—we're not together. Haven't been for a while." He sipped his coffee, eyes unreadable. "She overdosed. That's why Abel's in the hospital. Ten weeks early. Kid's fightin' for every breath."

Guilt knotted in my chest. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." His tone was flat, resigned. "That's life in Charming."

I groped for safer ground, blurting, "Opie must be happy to be an uncle." I smiled faintly. "How's he doing? Still around?"

Silence.

Jax set his cup down, eyes dropping for the first time all night. "Opie died in prison. Gang fight."

The words cracked something open inside me. I went still, staring at the basket of fries without seeing them.

Jax's hand brushed mine across the table, grounding. "He went out with a smile. Protectin' the people he loved."

My throat burned.

He squeezed once, then let out a low laugh, rough with grief. "He'd be rollin' in his grave seein' us here again. Probably bettin' money on how long before you drove me insane."

I laughed through the ache, tears burning hot but unshed.

We spent the next stretch of time trading stories, memories that dug at scars but also stitched new threads between us. Jax told me about Opie's last days in Charming, I told him about nights by the arcade, beer at the lake, the kind of trouble only kids could make.

Eventually, he tossed bills on the table, enough to cover double what we owed. He stood, sliding back into his cut, and looked at me with those steady blue eyes.

"You finally ready to go home?"

I smirked, grabbing my jacket. "Not quite. I've got one more trick up my sleeve."