Our Souls

I ride to fly.
To feel. To touch.
To breathe. To laugh.
To soar. To overcome. To relax.
To belong. To feel strong. To heal.
To love and be loved back.
To communicate without words.
I ride to live.

It didn't take me long to make it to Charming and get settled in my rental. Once the few boxes I had brought with me were unpacked, I locked up the house and hopped on my bike.

This town... These roads... They were vaguely familiar to me. I turned down every road, I turned down every alley way, and I took it all in. The smell of the fresh air, mixed with exhaust fumes, brought back memories of me riding on the back of my dads bike around the block. My dad taught my brother everything he knows about bikes. He tried to teach me, but I was more into playing dress up, then working on bikes at the time. It wasn't until I hit fifteen when I really got into bikes. And that was all because of Tate Wheeler.

Like every teenager, I fell into the wrong crowd. All the kids wore black. They all had tattoos. They all rode bikes. And they all had each other's backs. They took me under their wings as soon as I entered high school. They included me in everything they did. When they went for rides, I went with them. When they had parties, I was invited. When they did anything, I was included. As soon as I became a part of their group, I caught the eye of Tate. I may have only been fifteen and he may have been eighteen, but I knew we loved each other.

When I hit seventeen, I was let in on a little secret about Tate. Him and his friends didn't just ride motorcycles because it was fun. They rode them because they were in a club... A club called the Sons of Anarchy, Oregon Charter. It didn't take me long to realize that they were in the same club as my father. I told Tate I could be with him, as long as I didn't get involved with anything that had to do with the club. He agreed and never spoke of the club around me. Yeah, I still hung around him and the others and at the clubhouse when they had dinners, but other then that, I had nothing to do with it. As soon as I was eighteen and Tate was twenty one, he asked me for my hand in marriage. I agreed and within a few months, we were hitched. With Tate's dad being the president of the club, we got the royal treatment. We got a house given to us as a wedding gift.

Tate did his thing, and I did my thing throughout the years. He ran with the club and I worked at a salon. Running with the club was what got him killed. Phil, Tate's dad, said it was a routine protection run. That was, until one of their rival gangs caught wind and attacked. It ended in a shootout at a warehouse, where Tate was shot and bled out. After his funeral, I lost contact with them. I moved to Portland, closer to my mom and forgot about that part of my life. That was three years ago.

And now here I am, back in Charming. Back in the middle of Sons of Anarchy territory. Somewhere I told myself, three years ago, I'd stay away from.



"Is there something I can help you with, ma'am?" Looking to my left, I spotted a police officer standing there. He was an older, balding man. He looked sweet. I nodded. "I was actually trying to figure out where I can take my bike to get it fixed. It has trouble starting every now and then and the brakes are going bad."

"Teller-Morrow is a few blocks straight ahead, on the left side of the road." He held out his hand. "I'm Chief Wayne Unser, and you are?"

I shook his hand with a grin. "Olive Wheeler, nice to meet you. Thanks for the directions." With that said, I tossed him a wave and rode off in the direction of my house. A few minutes later, I pulled into the driveway and shut my Jeep off. I went into the shed/garage and got my bike out. Once I had my helmet fastened, I pulled out of the driveway and onto the residential road.

It didn't take long for me to be noticed. I knew it wouldn't. I was new in town and I rode a bike. News was bound to get back to the club and they were going to nose around. And that's just what they were doing. They had three guys tailing me. From what I could tell, one had on a plaid shirt under his cut with shoulder length blond hair, the other was wearing a plain black shirt under his cut and was riding a white bike, and the last had a long beard and a leather jacket on under his cut. I knew I should've been scared, but Tate always told me to never let my fears get the best of me.

I came to a stop at a red light and stared straight ahead. Blondie and Mountain Man pulled up on either side of me and Plain Jane pulled up behind me. They were boxing me in, trying to intimidate me. I could feel their stares, but I didn't budge. I didn't pay them any mind. And as soon as the light turned green, I took off, with them in tow. I went the speed limit, while they stayed a few car lengths behind me. It wasn't until I pulled into Teller-Morrow that they caught up. They whizzed past me and lined their bikes up by the rest of them. I pulled up to the big garage doors and climbed off my bike, smirking at all the stares I was getting.

"Whatcha need help with, darlin'?" The deep Irish accent caught my attention. Looking up after taking off my sunglasses, I came face to face with an older man, with medium length greying hair and scars on either side of his mouth.

"My bike," I answered. "Have trouble starting it and the brakes are going bad."

He chuckled. "Sure yeh know what yeh doin', darlin'?"

"I've been around bikes since I was a kid, darlin'."

He sneered at my snarky response and hollered at a man named Lowell. He came over and asked the routine questions: how long had it been doing that, how long had I had the bike, any other problems, etc.

"What's your name?" He questioned.

"Olive Wheeler."

"Address?"

"1278 West Hayworth."

"You got that new rental?" He asked. I nodded. "It's pretty nice, huh?"

I nodded again. "It's really nice on the inside too. Came furnished and everything."

"Yeah, Gemma had me go and fix a few things there yesterday. Said she had a renter wanting to move in ASAP," he spoke. "Guess that was you."

He took the rest of my info and pushed the bike into the garage. I leaned against the blue/grey building and whipped out my phone, ready to call a cab, when three sets of feet came into my line of sight. My eyes slowly dragged up the long legs, to torsos, and then heads. It was Plain Jane, Blondie, and Mountain Man.

"Can I help you, fellas?"

Blondie was the one to speak up. "Yeah, you can tell us who you are and what you're doing here."

"Well, I'm a paying customer and I'm getting my bike fixed," I answered.

"I mean, what're you really doing here?"

"That's really what I'm doing."

"Listen—"

"OPIE!"

Opie? Opie was here? My Opie was here? At the sound of the name being yelled, Mountain Man turned around, looking for who yelled his name. "Yeah, Pops?"

My dad was here? Holy shit. I have to go. I have to get out of here.

"I gotta go," I mumbled before sneaking past the three guys and heading for the road.

Maybe I wasn't ready to meet my brother and dad again. Maybe I shouldn't have come to Charming. Maybe I should have stayed in Portland. Maybe my mom was right. Maybe this has been the second biggest fuck up of my life.