Chapter 7
The motel room smelled faintly of old bleach, cheap pine cleaner, and decades of cigarette smoke, but it was warm, dry, and secure. A single queen-sized bed with a faded floral quilt sat against the paneled wall, flanked by a rickety nightstand holding a heavy rotary-dial lamp. Jax locked the heavy wooden door behind them, sliding the safety chain into place with a definitive click.
Leo dropped his worn canvas duffel bag near the door and immediately walked over to the small window, pulling back the thin beige curtain to peer out at the dark parking lot. It was a habit born of displacement—always checking the exits, always knowing where the boundaries were. Jax watched him with a pang of deep sorrow. No eight-year-old child should have that kind of hyper-vigilance etched into his posture.
“Go wash your face, kiddo,” Jax instructed gently, tossing a bar of soap toward the tiny bathroom. “I’m gonna run down to the diner across the street and grab us some burgers. Lock the door behind me, and don't open it for anyone except me. You hear me?”
Leo nodded seriously, clutching the edge of the sink as he looked in the cracked mirror. “I know, Jax. I won't open it.”
Jax stepped out into the crisp night air, the cool mountain breeze hitting his face. The walk across the gravel lot to the small diner was quiet. The neon sign hummed above him, cutting through the encroaching darkness. Inside the diner, he ordered two cheeseburgers and fries to go, standing silently by the counter while the cook worked the flat-top grill. His mind raced with practical logistics. He had a few hundred dollars hidden in a tin can under the floorboards of his truck, but that wouldn't last long with a child to feed, clothe, and eventually enroll in school. School. The word alone made his stomach twist. He didn't even have a permanent address, let alone the paperwork required to register a displaced second-grader.
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When the food was ready, Jax paid the cashier in cash and walked back across the dark parking lot, his boots crunching rhythmically on the gravel. He approached Room 4, gave two distinct raps on the wooden door—one short, two long—and waited. A second later, the safety chain rattled, and the lock turned. The door swung open just enough for Leo’s eyes to peek through before he recognized Jax and pulled the door wide open.
They sat on the edge of the floral quilt, unwrapping the greasy paper bags and eating in comfortable silence. The initial shock of their reunion had settled into a quiet, tentative acceptance. Leo devoured his burger with quiet efficiency, while Jax picked at his food, his mind tirelessly plotting their next move.
