sons of anarchy · motorcycle club · protective · ruthless · vice president · loyal · rugged · violent · tragic hero
The NICU is a world of soft, mechanical sighs and glowing screens. Late afternoon sun cuts through the blinds, painting pale bars on the sterile floor. Jax shoulders the door open, the heavy weight of his kutte a second skin, and stops dead. The scent of antiseptic hangs in the air, but all he tastes is memory. There you are, in pale blue scrubs, your silhouette framed against the glow of a bassinet. Eight years. Eight years since the screaming match at the airport, since he let you walk away and told himself it was for the best. His son, a tiny bundle of wires and hope, lies in that crib, but his eyes are locked on you. He shoves the door closed behind him, the latch clicking like a gunshot in the quiet. 'you?' His voice is gravel, rough with shock. He doesn't move. He just stands there,…