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juicehoee · 6 years

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All Along the Watchtower {Chapter One: Nevada} (Juice Ortiz)

One/Two/Three/Four/Five

New Juice story that I’m very excited about! I’m testing it out on Tumblr before I post it anywhere else so feedback is greatly appreciated! Not quite sure the direction it will take, but this is unedited and raw! Hope you Juice hoes enjoy it :)

-Solaris

Chapter One: Nevada

Juice was lost.

The stretch of road ahead of him seemed impossible to navigate. Everything was so dark and cold and endless. Nothing could save him. Nothing could help him. He was lost. So needlessly, helplessly, undoubtedly lost.

His GPS had died about halfway on his way home from Nevada. The run had gone as planned, but he hung back for the night while his brothers headed back to Charming together. He stood in line for three hours to see the new Star Wars on its opening night and crashed at a shitty motel before heading back in the morning. It was a stupid idea, considering how he had no sense of direction. Hell, he could get lost at the goddamned grocery store. He had to admit it was worth seeing the return of Han Solo: his favorite character of all time. He liked to think that if the kids back home in Queens could see him now, they’d compare him to Han Solo, with the leather kutte and general badassness (he just wouldn’t want them to see the way the club made fun of him for liking that nerd shit).

The pinks and purples of the morning sunrise had faded into a bright blue that hung in the sky above him as he tore up the road with his rubber tires. Juice pulled over to the side of the road, praying that his phone could get a signal out here. He had always trusted his GPS, but now the fucker had died on him and he had to turn to Google Maps- he didn’t trust the government to not be tracking that shit.

Two percent. His phone was on two percent.

An article that he read last week flashed before him in his head. Millennials nowadays would spend more time looking for a charger than they would asking a person for directions. Could he really consider himself a millennial?

He killed the engine and started walking with his thumb out, praying someone normal would stop.

{***}

After about twenty minutes walking backward, a pickup truck finally slowed to a stop next to Juice. The weight of the handgun in his waistband was heavy, reminding him of his defense in case this person tried to slit his wrists or skin him alive for their supper.

“Need a ride there, skippy?” An older man, late 50s to early 60s, looked at him through the open window of his rusty red pickup truck. “Where are you headed?”

“Nearest gas station.” Juice sighed, deciding the guy seemed sane enough for a ride down the street. “There any fast food places around here?”

“There’s a McDonald’s near the gas station, if that’s what you’re looking for.” the guy answered, unlocking the door for him to get in. “Man, I miss the days when I could shovel down two Big Macs in ten minutes. Now, the wife tells me it’s bad for my cholesterol.”

“I guess I’ll enjoy it while it lasts then.” Juice chuckled, swinging open the door with much resistance.

“Oh, stop it, Uncle Lenny! Let the young be young!”

Juice jumped a mile in the air from the front as a tinkling voice of a young girl came from the backseat. She had to be around his age, maybe a little bit younger. A chuckle escaped her as Juice settled back down, his heart racing.

“I’ll stop if you promise not to give the poor boy a heart attack!” Uncle Lenny bargained.

“I didn’t see you back there.” Juice smiled sheepishly and extended his hand to the backseat. He was still slightly embarrassed at his reaction. “The name’s Juice.”

“Priscilla.” the young girl replied, taking his hand in hers. “Pleasure to meet you, Juice.”

She had a firm handshake and smooth hands that made him want to hide his own callous ones (being a mechanic could put your hands through the fucking ringer most days. No wonder Clay had arthritis).

“Juice? Now, what kind of name is that?” Uncle Lenny’s booming friendly voice asked. “Some kind of nickname, isn’t it?”

Uncle Lenny was an intimidating guy. He was big and burly. He could fit right in with the Sons of Anarchy by the looks of him though he was a little more likable than the rest of the assholes in the club. Juice loved the guys, but he couldn’t deny that they could all be a little sour when tensions ran high, especially with the gun-running business. Uncle Lenny’s familial friendliness was a welcome change from the playful insults he faced back at the clubhouse (there were some days he still felt like a prospect).

“It’s a nickname.” Juice replied, smiling bigger than he had all morning. He’d even momentarily forgot about his bike on the side of the road or the Star Wars escapade of the night before. “I’m from New York and I’d call myself a Biggie man.”

“Biggie?” Uncle Lenny furrowed his brows in confusion.

“He’s a rapper, Uncle Len.” Priscilla piped up from the back.

“Exactly.” Juice nodded at her. She smiled back at him. “He’s got this song called Juicy and my real name is Juan Carlos. My friends called me JC and eventually, the two mixed together and everyone just ended up calling me Juice.”

“Juan Carlos, huh?” Priscilla smirked at him. “Nice tattoos.”

He brushed his hands absentmindedly over the tribal-style lightning bolts on his skull. A slight blush burned his cheeks.“Thanks. Got ‘em when I moved to California.”

“I like them.” Priscilla commented, imitating his movements on her own head. “Never seen anything like them.”

“Neither have I.” Uncle Lenny laughed. There was no judgment in his tone. “You don’t see a lot of ink around here; it’s all very backwoods and traditional and such.”

“And you’ve always lived here?” Juice asked, curious about this little country family in the backwoods of Nevada. Most people weren’t so welcoming considering his appearance.

“Nah, we used to live in a big city.” Uncle Lenny answered. “Been me, Cilla, and my wife ever since…”

“Boston. That’s where we were.” Priscilla cut him off. “Ever heard of it?”

He noticed the mischievous flick in the question. “ ‘Course I have.” Juice grinned at her, craning his head to look her in the eye. “Worst baseball in the country.”

“Oh, shut it.” Priscilla bit back at him. “I only know about hockey.”

“Even worse!” Juice moaned, putting a hand to his forehead with an air of drama. “I would know, I played a little bit in high school.”

“So did I.” she retorted.

He fucking loved this girl.

“As much as I hate Boston, I gotta admire that signature Boston attitude.” he relented with their joking rivalry. Juice tried to ignore the glint he saw in Uncle Lenny’s eyes.

“Well, here’s the gas station, lad.” Uncle Lenny pulled into the parking lot. “McDonald’s should be a five minute walk down that way.”

Juice turned his head to see the blessed golden arches just down the road and his stomach growled. “I can’t thank you enough man. It was so nice to meet you guys.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Juicy!” Priscilla put a hand on his shoulder. “I told Uncle Lenny it was a gamble picking up some riff raff with head tattoos and an MC vest.”

“It’s a kutte, actually.” Juice laughed. “And I’m harmless.”

“Even if you have terrible taste in sports teams.” Priscilla quipped back.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else we can do for you?” Uncle Lenny asked.

“You’ve already done more than enough, thank you so much.” Juice said, shaking Uncle Lenny’s hand in gratitude. “I wish there was something I could do to thank you.”

“Come to dinner?” Priscilla suggested. “I want to know more about that kutte.”

Uncle Lenny’s eyes widened in shock. “You’re only saying that ‘cause you think he’s cute.”

“So?” Priscilla winked at Juice with the widest smile he’d ever seen. “Humor me.”

To Juice, it sounded like a challenge and Uncle Lenny must have picked up on that. He shook his head, knowing it was a bad idea to invite this dangerous looking stranger into his home, but he couldn’t say no to his darling niece. That was for sure.

“Don’t pressure the poor guy. He must think we’re crazy enough as it is.” Uncle Lenny sighed.

“My number’s already in your pocket.” Priscilla said.

Juice shoved his hand into his pocket and, to his surprise, there was a note with ten numbers all written in the cutest curly handwriting. “You must think you’re really slick, don’t you?I’m holding you to that dinner.”

“That’s my cell. Only old people use the landline anymore.”

Juice shook his head and climbed out of the old, red pickup truck just as Uncle Lenny defended that he “wasn’t even that old, for your information, Cilla.” He waved them off on his way into the gas station convenience store to pick up a phone charger and head into the McDonald’s for the savory mess of diabetes he was about to shove into his mouth (on the rare occasion, he did like to treat himself).

His cheeks hurt from the goofy grin he couldn’t seem to wipe off his face.

{***}

“Now, was it really necessary to make me drive a truck here to pick up you and your dumbass bike because you have no fuckin’ clue where you’re goin’?” Jax shoved Juice in the shoulder, making him hit hard against the inside of the truck.

Juice was just glad to be on his way home with his bike in the back. Three hours of eating Big Macs and Mcnuggets waiting for Jax to pick him up made him feel swelled up like a big balloon. His stomach definitely didn’t feel right.

“Got a pretty girl’s number. That worth it?” Juice hit Jax back.

“Not for me!” Jax shook his head. “I already got a pretty girl so I don’t really gain anything from bailing your ass out in the middle of nowhere, Nevada.”

“Come on, man!” Juice groaned. “You got Tara! You hit the fuckin’ jackpot with her and I live alone with two cats.”

Jax raised an eyebrow. “You got cats?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Maybe you gettin’ a little action outside the croweaters will be good for all of us.” Jax admitted with huge, shit-eating grin on his face. “First, you gotta learn to get to Nevada and back.”

Shit. He didn’t think of that Priscilla lived all the way out here in middle-of-nowhere, Nevada. It was a six hour drive both ways. A lot of miles in between them.

He had a habit of getting his hopes up for a pretty girl and then getting his heart crushed.

Jax must have noticed the look on Juice’s face because he put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, man. If she’s worth the drive, then you’ll make it.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“You think I expected to end up with Tara?” Jax asked, laughing quietly to himself. “I thought I’d never see her after Chicago and now she’s the mother of my kids.”

“She really lowered her standards to end up with you, man.” Juice joked, suddenly feeling lighter. “You’re a lucky guy.”

“Whatever, man.” Jax laughed with him. “Just do me a favor, alright?” “Yeah, dude. What do you need?” Juice asked, eager to please as he usually was.

“Charge your fuckin’ GPS next time.”

{***}

Juice was greeted by two distinct sets of meows as soon as he opened the front door. Shiloh and Dolly immediately pawed at his knees, making it hard for him to even make it the four feet from the door to the couch. He just wanted to sit for five minutes.

“Come on, guys, you can’t even be mad!” Juice bargained with them. “I left you plenty of food and water and you’re outdoor cats anyway!”

They just stared at him.

“Fine. Just let me sit for a little bit.”

Shiloh and Dolly (yes, she was named after Dolly Parton) were twins he happened upon at a shelter one day. They were older cats, way beyond the youthful years of the kitten age, but they were too of the most adorable cats he’d ever come across. That day, he wasn’t planning on taking the two of them home, but he couldn’t resist those beautiful brown eyes. The three of them had grown very close.

Dolly was very territorial of him while Shiloh just didn’t give a shit.

Juice shoved his bag onto the couch and plopped down, sinking into the beat up cushions and feeling that deep sense of comfort that only home can give you. He loved his house; buying it was the first time in his life he felt more independent than lonely. Like an actual functioning human being. Becoming part of the club solved a lot of his loneliness, but that part came after buying the house. It didn’t solve all of his loneliness. But some.

He felt the familiar sensation of fur crawling slowly over him. Dolly took her rightful place on his shoulder while Shiloh decided to curl up into a tight ball in his lap. Juice scratched behind Shiloh’s ears, realizing that they weren’t mad and hungry; they just missed him.

“Awww, I missed you guys, too.”

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