Chapter 7
Martha lowered the iron skillet, resting it carefully back onto the kitchen counter behind her before walking back out toward the front register. Her suspicious glare had entirely vanished, replaced by an expression of deep, melancholic understanding. She reached under the counter and pulled out a clean paper napkin, wiping away a stray smudge of coffee rings near Jax’s elbow without making direct eye contact.
"There's a back booth by the dry storage room," Martha said softly, her voice pitched low so only Jax and the boy could hear. "The blinds are closed, and nobody from the rally uses that side exit. I can pack you both some hot soup and a couple of wrapped sandwiches for the road. You aren't going to have a peaceful conversation out here with Vance and his buddies watching your every move like hawks."
Jax looked up, meeting Martha’s tired, kind eyes. For a decade, he had trusted no one, operating under the absolute conviction that human connection was a liability that always ended in betrayal or ruin. Yet here was a woman who knew nothing of his past offering him shelter and safe passage simply because she recognized a father and a son trying to piece their lives back together from the ashes.
"Thanks, Martha," Jax said, the words carrying a profound weight of gratitude that he rarely expressed to anyone. "I didn't plan on staying long enough to bring trouble to your door."
"Trouble already walks on two legs wherever you go, Jax," Martha replied with a faint, melancholic smile, giving his leather-clad shoulder a brief, reassuring pat. "Just make sure you take care of this little guy. He’s got your stubborn streak, but he shouldn't have to carry your ghosts."
Jax nodded slowly. He carefully folded the faded photograph and the lined notebook paper, sliding them safely into the inner zippered pocket of his heavy vest right against his chest. He reached down and took Leo by the small, pale hand—a touch that felt startlingly natural, as if their bones had been fitted for this exact connection long before they ever met in the diner.
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"Come on, Leo," Jax said, his voice steady and resolute. "Let's get out of the noise."
Leaving their spot at the front counter, the towering biker and the small, oversized-jacketed boy slipped quietly into the shadowed sanctuary of the back booth, disappearing from the view of the rowdy crowd out front. Martha immediately busied herself at the grill, turning her back to the room and silently blocking any prying eyes from following the pair into the darker corridors of the Rusty Spur.
