Chapter 2
Clara tossed the gray rag onto the stainless-steel prep board behind the counter. The ambient hum of the diner seemed to amplify, filling the silence between them with an uncomfortable weight. She looked at Jax, really looked at him, noticing the fine network of worry lines framing his blue eyes—eyes that bore an unsettling resemblance to her own reflection in the pie case.
"Why now, Jax?" she asked, her voice dropping its professional veneer. "Ten years you stay off the grid. Ten years I run this diner by myself, wondering if you drove off a cliff or just found a smarter way to disappear. And now you walk in asking for a rehearsal?"
Jax reached out, his calloused fingers wrapping tentatively around the warm white coffee mug she had just poured. He didn't drink. He just absorbed the heat through the thick ceramic.
"Because the engine is starting to knock," Jax said, staring into the dark surface of the coffee. "And before I throw a rod, I need to know if I left anything behind worth salvaging. Your old man—my brother—wasn't built for the long haul. Neither was I. But you, Clara... you kept the doors open."
"Uncle Ray kept the doors open. I just inherited the drafts."
"Ray was a soft touch," Jax muttered. "He covered for mistakes that should've seen daylight."
"Like yours?"
Jax didn't answer immediately. He shifted on the stool, the metal leg screeching softly against the linoleum floor. The sound made Clara's teeth ache. She remembered that exact screech from her childhood, echoing through cheap apartments and smoky garages where men argued over carburetors and stolen titles.
"My mistakes were my own," Jax finally said, lifting his gaze to meet hers without flinching. "Your dad’s mistakes... those were handed down like family heirlooms. That’s what you’re really mad about, isn’t it? Not that he left. But that he left you his shadow."
Clara gripped the edge of the counter until her knuckles turned white. Her pale skin flushed pink across her cheekbones. "He didn't leave me a shadow. He left me alone in a town that looks at me like I'm a stolen part waiting to be fenced."
"Then let me play the part," Jax whispered, his voice cracking with a sudden, genuine vulnerability that caught her off guard. "Just for a few minutes. Let me say the things he was too cowardly to put into words before his heart gave out in that motel in Reno."
Clara stared at him, her chest tightening. The air in the diner felt thin, starved of oxygen. She thought about walking away, walking into the back room, letting the heavy metal door click shut and locking herself in with the sacks of flour and cases of canned peaches. But she didn't move. Her feet seemed glued to the worn rubber mat behind the counter.
May you like
"He died in Reno?" she asked quietly.
"In a room smaller than this kitchen," Jax nodded. "And the last thing he said before the monitor flatlined wasn't about money or bikes. It was your name."
