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TW: Canon typical violence, cussing, mentions of grief and death, mentions of kidnapping, tension, fluff, Opie is a cuddler.
Part 20 | Part 22 - Coming Soon 🧸
The Long Way Round - P.21
The morning light filtered through the curtains in soft golden rays, warming the bedroom with the promise of a perfect day. Opie blinked awake slowly, the contentment of deep sleep still wrapped around him like a blanket as he registered the weight beside him in bed.
You were there, curled on your side facing him, your hair spread across the pillow in a way that caught the morning sun. Your face was peaceful in sleep, relaxed in a way it rarely was during waking hours when you were always moving, always caring for someone, always putting others' needs before your own.
He found himself studying the details he'd memorized during careful observation—the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes rested against your skin, the slight part of your lips as you breathed evenly. This moment felt sacred somehow, stolen from the chaos of regular life where he could just watch you exist without the weight of responsibility or the careful boundaries you'd both been maintaining.
As if sensing his attention, your eyes fluttered open, meeting his with immediate warmth and recognition. No surprise, no questioning why he was watching you sleep—just acceptance and something that looked like joy at finding him there.
"Morning," you murmured, your voice still thick with sleep.
"Morning," he replied, unable to stop himself from reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face.
You smiled at the gesture, shifting closer until your head rested against his chest. The movement was natural, unguarded, and he wrapped his arms around you instinctively, pulling you into the warmth of his body. You fit perfectly there, your smaller frame tucking against him like you were made for this exact position.
He pressed a kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger against your skin while breathing in the scent of your shampoo mixed with something uniquely you. The gesture felt right in a way that went beyond physical comfort—it felt like coming home.
"Dad! Dad! Wake up!" The sound of small feet thundering down the hallway preceded Kenny and Ellie's arrival by mere seconds.
The bedroom door burst open, and suddenly the bed was under siege by two energetic children who launched themselves at both you and their father with the absolute certainty that they would be caught and welcomed. Opie rolled onto his back with exaggerated effort, making room for both kids while keeping one arm firmly around you.
"It's Saturday!" Ellie announced unnecessarily, bouncing slightly on the mattress. "Can we make pancakes?"
"With chocolate chips?" Kenny added hopefully, his face still soft with the remnants of sleep but his eyes bright with anticipation.
You laughed, the sound warm and genuine, and Opie felt his heart expand with something that felt too big for his chest to contain. "Yea Dude, I think we can manage pancakes," you said, reaching out to ruffle Kenny's hair.
This was perfect. This moment, with his children happy and his—his what? His girlfriend? His partner? The woman he was falling more deeply for with every day?—wrapped in his arms, the morning stretching ahead with nothing but simple domestic joy...
The alarm shattered the dream like glass, dragging Opie back to consciousness with jarring abruptness. He jolted awake in his empty bed, the other side cold and untouched, the morning light less golden than it had seemed moments ago.
For a few disoriented seconds, he lay there trying to hold onto the fragments of the dream, to recapture the feeling of contentment and rightness that had seemed so real. But reality was already reasserting itself—the weight of Abel's kidnapping, Jax's barely contained desperation, and the knowledge that in a few days they'd be leaving for Belfast.
And underneath all of that, the conversation he'd been putting off for days now. Jax's words echoed in his memory "You can't build something real on a foundation of secrets."
The sounds of movement in the kitchen told Opie that you were already managing the morning routine with your usual quiet efficiency. He lay in bed for another moment, trying to gather the energy to face the day and the difficult conversation that loomed ahead—though not the conversation about Kenny's birthday party, which you'd already meticulously planned for this coming Saturday, just two days before his actual birthday on Monday.
When he finally made his way to the kitchen, he found you at the stove making breakfast while simultaneously helping Ellie locate her missing homework folder and reminding Kenny that yes, he did indeed need to wear socks to school.
The scene was so achingly normal, so perfectly domestic, that it made his chest tight with emotions he couldn't name. This was what he'd been dreaming about—not some fantasy future, but the reality you'd already built together through months of shared mornings and collaborative child wrangling.
"Morning," you said, glancing over your shoulder with a smile that made something warm unfold in his chest. "Coffee's ready."
"You're a lifesaver," he said, moving to pour himself a cup while resisting the urge to wrap his arms around your waist. Not in front of the kids—that was what you'd both agreed on as you'd carefully navigated the shift from professional relationship to something more.
But the wanting was there, constant and insistent, every time you moved through his kitchen like you belonged there.
"Dad!" Kenny's voice pulled his attention from admiring the way your jeans fit as you reached for the cabinet. "My birthday is in two days!"
"Hmm," Opie said, settling into his usual chair and accepting the plate of scrambled eggs and toast you set in front of him. "Seven years old. That's a big deal."
"It is," Kenny agreed seriously, his expression taking on the thoughtful quality that meant he was working up to something. "I was thinking... maybe I could have a party this year?"
Opie caught your eye over Kenny's head, seeing the barely suppressed amusement there. His son had no idea that you'd already spent the last couple days coordinating with the pizza place in Lodi, confirming RSVPs from his school friends, and arranging for Piney and some of the club members to attend.
"A party?" Opie said, playing along. "I dunno bud, What kind of party were you thinking?"
"Maybe we could have pizza ?" Kenny suggested, clearly trying to sound casual about what was obviously a well-rehearsed pitch. "And like a big cake."
"That sounds reasonable," you said, setting a glass of apple juice in front of him while maintaining your innocent expression. "Who would you want to invite?"
"Well, Tommy and maybe Marcus from school," Kenny said, warming to his topic now that the adults in his life seemed receptive. "And maybe Grandpa Piney if he wants to come, and some of the Dad's friends if they're not busy."
"We can probably make that happen," Opie said, reaching over to ruffle his son's hair while fighting back a smile at Kenny's obvious delight.
As Kenny launched into an enthusiastic description of the why pizza was the best thing ever, complete with detailed specifications about the benefits of cheesey goodness, Opie found himself watching you interact with his children. The way you asked follow-up questions that made Kenny feel heard, the way you intercepted Ellie's attempt to put syrup on her scrambled eggs with gentle redirection—every gesture spoke of genuine care that went beyond professional obligation.
You caught him staring and raised an eyebrow in silent question, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth. He shook his head slightly, not trusting himself to explain what he was thinking in front of the kids.
Later, he promised himself. Later he would find the words to tell you about Belfast, about why he had to leave just days after Kenny's birthday despite finally having something worth staying for.
The day progressed with the familiar rhythm of school drop-offs and household tasks, but there was an undercurrent of tension that Opie couldn't quite shake. Every time he looked at you—folding laundry at the kitchen table, reorganizing the pantry with characteristic efficiency, simply existing in his space—he was reminded of the conversation he needed to have.
But he kept finding excuses to delay. The club meeting that needed his attention. The phone call from Jax that required immediate discussion. The broken cabinet hinge that suddenly seemed urgent to fix.
You moved around him with patient understanding, seeming to sense that something was weighing on him but not pushing for explanations. It was one of the things he loved about you—the way you gave people space to process their emotions without making them feel abandoned.
When you passed him in the hallway carrying a basket of clean towels, he couldn't resist reaching out to catch your waist, pulling you gently against him. You set the basket down immediately, turning in his arms with a knowing smile.
"Distracting me again Ope?" you asked, your voice carrying that teasing quality that had become more common as your relationship had evolved from careful formality to genuine intimacy.
"Can't a man appreciate the woman in his life?" he countered, his hands settling comfortably on your hips as he looked down at you.
"The woman in his life?" you repeated, your smile widening. "That's rather smooth, Winston."
"I have my moments," he said, and before he could overthink it, he bent down to press a kiss to your forehead—the same gesture from his dream, but grounded in reality this time.
You made a soft sound of both contentment and perhaps surprise, leaning into him in a way that suggested you were craving this contact as much as he was. "I have to finish this, kids will be home in three hours," you murmured against his chest. "And you have that thing at the clubhouse in two."
"I know," he said, but he didn't let go, not yet. "Just needed a minute."
"Rough day?" you asked, your hands sliding up to rest against his shoulders.
"Something like that," he admitted, unable to fully voice the turmoil churning beneath his carefully maintained exterior.
You were quiet for a moment, just holding him, and the simple comfort of your presence was almost enough to make him forget about Belfast and kidnapped babies and the dangerous mission that loomed on the horizon.
"Whatever it is," you said finally, "We can talk about it."
The casual certainty in your voice, made his heart clench with something that might have been hope or might have been dread. Because what if you didn't want to figure it out together once you knew what "it" actually entailed?
By the time evening rolled around and both kids were tucked into bed with stories read and nightlights turned on, Opie found you at the kitchen table with your notebook, reviewing the final details for Kenny's surprise party on Saturday.
Or at least, he thought both kids were tucked in until he heard the soft patter of small feet in the hallway.
"I thought you were asleep, Ellie." Opie said as his daughter appeared in the doorway, her favorite stuffed rabbit clutched to her chest.
"I forgot to ask something," Ellie said seriously, padding over to where you sat at the table. "Is Juice coming to Kenny's party?"
You exchanged an amused glance with Opie before answering. "He said he's planning to be there, sweetie. Why?"
"Because Juice is so cool," Ellie said, her eight-year-old enthusiasm making her bounce slightly on her toes. "He knows everything and he has those really awesome tattoos and he always tells the best jokes. And he said at that big sleepover that he'd show me how to do a wheelie on a bike when I'm older, which is going to be so cool."
"A wheelie, huh?" Opie said, making a mental note to have words with Juice about making promises to his daughter that involved the potential of bodily harm.
"And his motorcycle is so shiny," Ellie continued, clearly on a roll now. "And one time he brought me a chocolate bar just because. He's basically the coolest person ever."
The dreamy quality in his daughter's voice made Opie's eye twitch slightly, but you were clearly trying not to laugh at Ellie's enthusiastic recitation of Juice's many virtues.
"That's very nice, honey," you said gently. "But it's time for bed now. We have a big day on Saturday and you need your rest."
"Okay," Ellie agreed, apparently satisfied now that she'd confirmed Juice's attendance. "Night, Dad. Night!"
She threw her arms around Opie's neck for a quick hug, then did the same to you before scampering back down the hallway to her room.
After you'd both listened for the sound of her bedroom door closing and the creak of her bed as she climbed back in, you turned to Opie with barely suppressed amusement dancing in your eyes.
"Well," you said, your lips twitching with the effort of holding back a smile. "That was adorable. I think someone has her first case of hero worship."
"Think we should warn him?" Opie asked.
"And ruin his look of confusion when she follows him around all afternoon?" you said, with a grin. "Absolutely not. It'll be hilarious."
Opie groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "Why did it have to be Juice? Out of all the guys in the club, why did my daughter have to develop a crush on Juice?"
"Because he's nice to her and pays attention to her," you said, your attempt at seriousness undermined by the laughter in your voice. "And because he has 'cool tattoos' and apparently gives her chocolate."
"I'm going to kill him," Opie muttered.
"She's eight," you reminded him, finally giving in to your laughter. "It's innocent. She probably thinks he's like a character from one of her cartoons—cool and fun and superhero-adjacent."
"I know it's innocent," Opie said, lifting his head to look at you. "But she's my little girl. She's not supposed to notice anyone is cool until she's at least thirty."
"Thirty?" you repeated, still grinning. "That seems a bit excessive."
"Forty, then," he amended. "And by then Juice will be old and less likely to teach her dangerous motorcycle tricks."
You shook your head affectionately, returning your attention to your party planning notes even as your smile lingered. "For what it's worth, I think it's sweet. She clearly feels safe around your brothers, which means you've done a good job making sure she knows they're family."
The observation was accurate but did nothing to ease Opie's discomfort with the image of his daughter gazing adoringly at one of his brothers. "I'm still having words with him about the wheelie thing."
"Probably for the best," you agreed diplomatically. "Now, back to the party planning before we get distracted again..."
"Okay, so I confirmed with the pizza place this afternoon," you said, consulting your notes with the careful attention you gave to everything. "We have the party room reserved from one to four, which should give the kids plenty of time to eat and play without anyone getting too overstimulated."
You were sitting with your hair pulled back, looking so perfectly domestic and settled into his life that it made his chest ache. The party planning had consumed most of your free time, coordinating schedules and dietary restrictions and making sure Kenny's favorite kind of pizza would be available.
"Sounds good," Opie said, settling into the chair across from you even though what he really wanted was to pull you into his lap and stop pretending that the careful distance you maintained was anything other than torture.
"Alice confirmed that her and Tommy are coming." you continued, checking items off your list. "And Piney said he wouldn't miss it for the world. He's even talking about bringing that remote control car he's been working on as a gift."
The way you said "Piney" with such casual familiarity, the way you'd seamlessly integrated yourself into not just his life but his extended family, made Opie's heart clench with feelings he was trying very hard not to examine too closely. Not yet. Not when everything felt so precarious.
"What about the club guys?" he asked, though he already knew you'd been coordinating with Gemma about who would be available.
"Chibs said he'll be there, and Juice is bringing some kind of elaborate Lego set that he swears Ken will love," you said, your smile soft with affection for the club members who'd become part of your extended circle.
"Jax said he, Tara and Abel would try to make it." You said quietly.
You didnt know that Jax's son was missing, kidnapped and taken to Ireland, and birthday parties probably felt impossibly trivial to Jax and Tara in the face of that kind of crisis. Opie nodded, grateful that he didn't have to explain tonight.
"You didn't have to do all this," he said quietly, watching the way the kitchen light caught in your hair. "Plan the whole party, coordinate with everyone. That's above and beyond."
You looked up from your notes, your expression softening in a way that made his pulse quicken. "I wanted to," you said simply. "Ken's been so excited about turning seven, and after everything he's been through... I wanted to make sure he has a day that's just about being a kid and having fun."
The casual reference to Kenny's grief, to the loss that had shaped both of his children's young lives, made something twist in Opie's gut. You understood his kids in a way that went beyond professional caregiving. You loved them—not because you were paid to, but because they'd become a part of your life in all the ways that mattered.
"Marcus's mom called to confirm they're coming," you continued, returning to your list. "And she asked if it would be okay if Marcus's little sister tagged along since she doesn't have childcare that day. I said yes, but I wanted to check that that's actually ok."
"That's fine," Opie said, though he was barely processing the logistics anymore. He was too busy watching the way you chewed on your bottom lip when you were concentrating, the way your fingers tapped against your notebook as you mentally ran through your checklist.
This was his life now—club brothers attending his son's seventh birthday party, you coordinating with his father and his friends like you'd always been part of this world.
"Oh, and I ordered Ken that dinosaur video game he's been hinting about," you said, glancing up with a conspirator's smile. "I know you probably already got him something, but I figured he'd love it and it can be from both of us if you want."
From both of us. The casual way you said it, like you were already a parenting team, like your role in his children's lives was permanent and unquestionable, made Opie's throat tight.
"That's perfect," he managed, his voice rougher than intended.
You tilted your head slightly, studying him with the perceptiveness that never failed to catch him off guard. "You okay? You've seemed distracted all day."
"Just tired," he lied, which was partially true. He was tired—tired of taking things slow, tired of maintaining appropriate boundaries, tired of pretending that what he felt for you was anything less than the kind of feelings that had fundementally changed all there lives for the better.
But there was also Belfast looming on the horizon, the knowledge that in just a few days he'd be leaving for Ireland. And here you were, planning his son's birthday party with the same dedication you brought to everything, completely unaware that the life you were slowly piecing together was about to be disrupted by violence and danger.
He should tell you. Jax's words echoed in his memory "You need to tell her, brother. She deserves better then some excuse about club business."
But watching you now, so focused on making Kenny's birthday perfect, so settled into the domestic routines they'd created together, he couldn't bring himself to shatter the peace with the reality of what was coming.
"I was thinking we should get there early on Saturday," you said, returning to your planning. "Maybe around twelve-thirty? That way we can make sure everything's set up before the kids start arriving at one."
"Makes sense," Opie agreed, trying to focus on the practical details instead of the way your shirt had ridden up slightly to reveal a strip of skin at your waist.
"And I figured we'd do presents after pizza but before cake," you continued, scribbling a note to yourself. "That way Ken's not too full to enjoy opening them, and the other kids won't get too antsy waiting."
The meticulous planning, the consideration of every detail to make sure Kenny's day was perfect—it was so quintessentially you that Opie felt his carefully maintained control starting to slip.
"Come here," he said suddenly, the words escaping before he could think better of them.
You looked up, surprised by the intensity in his voice. "What?"
"Just... come here," he repeated, pushing back from the table slightly to make room.
You set down your pen slowly, your expression curious but not wary, and stood from your chair. When you were close enough, Opie reached out to catch your hand, tugging you gently toward him until you were standing between his knees.
"What's going on?" you asked softly, your free hand coming to rest on his shoulder.
"I'm just..." He trailed off, not sure how to articulate the tangle of emotions churning in his chest. "I'm grateful. For everything you do for the kids. For how much you care about making Kenny's birthday special."
"Of course I care," you said, your thumb stroking against his shoulder in an unconscious gesture of comfort. "I love those kids. And I love—"
You caught yourself, the words dying on your lips as you seemed to realize what you'd almost said. The air between them felt suddenly charged, loaded with all the things unsaid as you took things slow.
"You love?" he prompted, his hands settling on your hips with a possessiveness that felt both natural and terrifying.
"This," you finished, but he could see in your eyes that it might not have been what you'd been about to say. "I love this. Being part of your family. Being here."
Opie pulled you closer, close enough that he could rest his head against you while you stood between his legs, your fingers sliding into his hair in a gesture that felt achingly intimate.
"Slow is killing me," he admitted quietly, the confession muffled against your shirt.
He felt you take a shaky breath, your fingers tightening slightly in his hair. "I know," you whispered. "Me too."
"Then maybe we should reconsider the timeline," he said, lifting his head to look up at you. "Maybe slow doesn't have to mean we're not moving forward."
Your expression was soft, understanding, and something that looked like relief. "What did you have in mind?"
Before he could answer, before he could figure out how to ask for what he wanted without crossing lines that might be too soon to cross, your phone buzzed against the table with an incoming message.
You glanced at it, then back at him, torn between the moment and the practical responsibility of checking what might be important. "It's probably Alice confirming something about Saturday," you said apologetically.
"Go ahead," he said, even though every part of him wanted to keep you here, in this bubble of almost-confession and barely-restrained wanting.
You checked your phone, and he watched your expression shift from distracted to focused. "She's asking if we want to coordinate on gifts so we don't duplicate anything. And Piney wants to know if we need him to pick up any last-minute supplies."
Just like that, the moment was gone, replaced by the practical necessities of party planning. But as you settled back into your chair and returned to your notes, Opie found himself memorizing this scene—the domestic comfort of you in his kitchen, planning his son's birthday with the dedication of someone who'd already claimed a permanent place in their lives.
In a few days, he'd be on a plane to Belfast. But tonight, he had this—had you, had the illusion of normalcy, had the promise of a future that felt both impossibly close and devastatingly fragile.
He'd tell you about Belfast after the party, he decided. Let Kenny have his perfect day, let you have the satisfaction of seeing your careful planning come together, and then he'd figure out how to explain why he had to walk away from the life you were building together, even temporarily.
