[Main Street, Charming — August 25, 2008, 5:30 PM]
Six months.
I walked through Charming's downtown, taking stock of everything that had changed since a dying man woke up on a highway with someone else's memories and a system interface flickering at the edge of his vision.
Main Street Coffee was on my left—the place where Sarah and I had our first real conversation, where she'd set her boundaries and I'd accepted them. The hardware store where my apartment sat above, curtains I'd finally replaced hanging in windows that felt like home now.
Donna Winston was on her porch three blocks over.
I could see her from here—hanging wind chimes, one of her kids helping with the ladder. Alive. Breathing. Laughing at something the boy said. A woman who should have been dead for months now, buried in a cemetery while her husband spiraled into darkness.
You changed that. Whatever else happens, you changed that.
The weight of it settled differently now. Not the desperate urgency of those early weeks, but something steadier. Proof of concept. Evidence that the timeline could be altered, that the deaths I knew were coming didn't have to happen.
Half-Sack waved from the TM lot as I passed.
Full patch now, like me. Grinning at something Chibs had said, comfortable in a way he hadn't been during prospect days. Another small victory—brotherhood forged, loyalty earned, a man who'd died alone in the original timeline now surrounded by family.
Two saved. More to go.
Sarah waited at the coffee shop.
She sat by the window, watching me approach, that small smile she reserved for moments when she thought I wasn't looking. When I pushed through the door, she stood, kissed me lightly.
"You're late."
"Got caught up watching the town."
"Watching it do what?"
"Exist." I sat across from her. "Just appreciating that things are good right now."
"That sounds ominous."
"Not meant to." I flagged the waitress, ordered coffee. "Sometimes you have to stop and notice when things are working. Before they change."
Sarah studied me with those perceptive eyes.
"Something's bothering you."
"Something's always bothering me."
"Something specific." She reached across the table, touched my hand. "You've been different the last few days. Quieter. More watchful."
Because I know what's coming. Because Season 2 is approaching, and with it the darkest thing this show ever depicted. Because Gemma Teller-Morrow is going to be brutalized by white supremacists, and I don't know exactly when or how to stop it.
"Just thinking about the future."
"Good thoughts or bad thoughts?"
"Complicated thoughts."
She didn't push. One of the things I loved about her—she knew when to press and when to wait.
"Whatever comes," she said, "we face it together. That's what we agreed."
"I know."
"So whatever's in your head, whatever's making you look at Charming like you're memorizing it—remember that you're not alone anymore."
The words hit harder than she knew.
I've been alone since I got here. Alone with knowledge I can't share, secrets I can't reveal, a burden no one else can carry.
But she's right. I don't have to be alone in everything.
"I'll remember."
---
[Teller-Morrow Automotive — 6:45 PM]
Jax found me near the garage.
The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the lot. Most of the day crew had gone home. Just a few brothers lingering, finishing up work or heading to the clubhouse for evening drinks.
"Got a minute?"
"Always."
We walked to the back lot, away from ears. The same spot where I'd had conversations with Bobby, with Chibs, with everyone who'd become family over the past six months.
"There's things coming," Jax said without preamble. "Politics. Problems. Pressure from outside and inside."
"What kind of pressure?"
"The kind I can't talk about yet." His jaw tightened. "But I need people I can trust. People who'll have my back when things get complicated."
Clay and Jax. The tension Chibs mentioned. Old school versus new school.
"I'm here."
"I know." He met my eyes. "That's why I'm saying this now, before everything goes sideways. Whatever happens in the next few months—remember who your friends are."
"I don't forget."
"Good." He clapped my shoulder. "Because I've got a feeling we're going to need every friend we can get."
He walked away, leaving me with questions I couldn't ask and answers I couldn't give.
He feels it too. The storm coming. He doesn't know what form it'll take, but he knows something's wrong.
And he's right.
---
[Cole's Apartment — 9:30 PM]
The radio played softly while Sarah cooked.
I'd offered to help, but she'd banished me to the couch with strict instructions to relax. The domesticity of it was almost jarring—the smell of garlic and onions, the sound of her humming along to oldies, the comfortable routine of two people building a life together.
Then the news came on.
"—new business opening on Main Street this week. Impeccable Smokes, a high-end cigar shop, held its soft opening today with owner Ethan Zobelle cutting the ribbon alongside Mayor Hale—"
My blood went cold.
"Cole?" Sarah's voice came from the kitchen. "You okay? You went pale."
"Fine." The word came out strangled. "Just... turn that up?"
"—Zobelle, a businessman from Chicago, says he's excited to bring quality cigars and community investment to Charming. 'This is exactly the kind of small town where traditional values still matter,' Zobelle told reporters—"
Traditional values. That's what he calls it. White supremacy dressed in a business suit.
The segment ended. I sat frozen on the couch, mind racing.
Zobelle. Here. Already.
The League of American Nationalists had arrived in Charming. And with them came the worst thing that would happen in this timeline—Gemma's assault, the cover-up, the cascade of violence that would ultimately destroy everything the club had built.
You knew this was coming. You just hoped you'd have more time.
"Cole." Sarah stood in the kitchen doorway, spatula in hand. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"That business owner. On the news."
"The cigar shop guy?"
"He's dangerous."
"How do you know?"
Because I watched him orchestrate the gang rape of an innocent woman on a television screen. Because I know he's using white supremacist terrorists to destabilize the Sons of Anarchy. Because in another timeline, his actions lead to deaths and destruction that I'm here to prevent.
"I just know."
She didn't argue. Didn't demand explanations. Just nodded slowly, set down the spatula, and crossed to sit beside me.
"What are you going to do about it?"
"Whatever I have to."
To supporting Me in Pateron .
with exclusive access to more chapters (based on tiers more chapters for each tiers) on my Patreon, you get more chapters if you ask for more (in few days), plus new fanfic every week! Your support starting at just $6/month helps me keep crafting the stories you love across epic universes .
By joining, you're not just getting more chapters—you're helping me bring new worlds, twists, and adventures to life. Every pledge makes a huge difference!
👉 Join now at patreon.com/TheFinex5 and start reading today!