Chapter 4
The afternoon heat shimmered off the highway outside, creating shimmering mirages that distorted the horizon. Inside the diner, the heavy atmosphere had shifted from shock to a fragile, tentative quiet. Martha set a tall glass of cold milk and a warm slice of cherry pie in front of Leo. The boy looked at the food with a quiet hunger, but before taking a bite, he pushed the plate slightly toward Jax, a silent offer to share.
Jax shook his head gently, a faint, sad smile briefly touching the corners of his mouth beneath his thick beard. “Eat up, kid. You’re skin and bones. Looks like you’ve been living on gas station crackers for a week.”
“Two weeks,” Leo corrected matter-of-factly, taking a small bite of the pie. “Bus tickets cost more than Mom left in the jar. I had to walk the last twenty miles from the county line.”
Jax felt a physical blow to his chest, sharp and agonizing. Twenty miles of blistering desert heat, with nothing more than scuffed sneakers and an oversized jacket. Anger flared up inside him—anger at himself for not being there, anger at the cruel hand fate had dealt, and anger at the fragile, violent world he inhabited. He slammed his palm gently against the counter, the sound muffled by the rubber mat, but the frustration in his eyes was unmistakable.
“You shouldn’t have walked that road alone, Leo,” Jax growled softly, leaning in close so the other patrons wouldn't hear. “There are bad people out here. People who don't care about a kid with a faded photo.”
“I had the photo,” Leo said simply, looking up with absolute trust in his hazel eyes. “I knew you’d be here. Mom said you always came to the Copper Creek rally on the second weekend of June. She said you never missed it, no matter where you were.”
Jax stared at his son, marveling at the sheer, unshakeable faith of an eight-year-old child. It was a terrifying thing, to realize someone trusted you implicitly when you spent every waking moment doubting yourself. Fifteen years ago, Jax had walked away because he believed he was doing them a favor. He had been tangled up in a dangerous crowd, running drugs and breaking laws, a man with warrants in three states and a heart hardened by abuse. He had looked at the tiny infant in his arms and convinced himself that his blood was poison, that staying would only mean destroying the two people who mattered most.
“Your mom… how was she?” Jax asked, the words catching in his throat. The question he had been too cowardly to ask for a decade and a half finally forced its way out.
May you like
Leo’s expression dimmed slightly, a shadow passing over his young face. He set his fork down, his small hands folding neatly in his lap. “She was tired, Jax. For a long time, she coughed a lot. She worked two jobs at the diner back home, just like Miss Martha here, until she couldn't stand up anymore. But she never stopped talking about you. Whenever we saw a big motorcycle go down the highway, she’d smile and tell me that somewhere out there, you were riding free, and that one day, when I was big enough, I’d find you.”
Jax closed his eyes, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. The guilt that had gnawed at his stomach for years metastasized into something deeper, a profound sorrow for the life Mary had lived in his absence, raising their son alone while he chased the empty horizon.
