Piney threw an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side, ruffling the top of your head fondly; in many ways, he was just as much of a father figure to you as your uncle Clay was, possibly even more so. Clay was the one you went to for good advice but Piney was the one you went to when you just needed a kind ear to listen to your problems. You stood together and watched as the guys sped out of the Teller-Morrow backlot; they were headed on a ‘blood drive’ for the Children’s hospital, or at least that’s what you’d been told. Honestly, sometimes you swore all the guys thought you were born yesterday when they tried lying to you - it was clear that their journey had nothing to do with charity and was actually a cover up for something all the more sinister. You didn’t care that Jax had lied to you because you knew he did it for your own protection and peace of mind, you just hoped they all made it back alive.
Between everything that was going on with the club and the feud between your uncle and brother, the chances of someone coming home in a body bag were higher than ever.
i just think that writing is such an important and therapeutic thing like,,, you can just put your thoughts on a notebook and left them there and even though that may not feel useful it actually is because it’s a way of getting out those things bothering you without having to tell anybody about them
