Chapter 4
The silence on the patio stretched longer than before, broken only by the faint rustling of distant trees in the autumn wind. Jax stared down at the small boy, dread pooling heavily in his stomach. He didn't need a spoken answer; the boy's posture and the profound sadness in those big hazel eyes delivered the truth with devastating clarity.
"She passed away three weeks ago," Leo said softly, his voice remarkably steady for an eight-year-old who had just lost the only anchor in his world. "The landlord took our apartment because we couldn't pay the back rent. He threw away most of our things, but I saved the music box. Inside was the photo and the address of this hotel from a newspaper clipping about the charity gala."
Jax closed his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms against his temples as a wave of suffocating guilt washed over him. Memories of Clara rushed back—her fierce independence, her warm laughter, and the way she had walked out of his life when he was too proud, too reckless, and too broken to be the man she needed. He had spent years convincing himself that leaving them was the best way to keep them safe from his dangerous lifestyle, but standing here now, looking at their son wearing an oversized jacket, he realized what a cowardly lie that justification had been.
"I'm sorry, Leo," Jax whispered, the name feeling foreign yet entirely natural on his lips. "I didn't know. I swear to you, I didn't know she was sick."
"She didn't want you to know," Leo replied, looking up with an astonishing lack of bitterness. "She said you had your path, and we had ours. But she also said that if you ever saw this picture, you'd remember the promise you made under the old bridge in Austin."
Jax’s breath hitched. The Austin bridge. A lifetime ago, when they were both young, foolish, and hopelessly in love, standing in the pouring rain beneath a concrete overpass, he had sworn on his life that if she ever needed him—no matter how much time passed or how far apart they drifted—he would come running.
"I remember," Jax said thickly, his tough exterior completely dismantled. He knelt down on one knee so he was eye-level with the boy, ignoring the dust of the patio floor against his expensive tuxedo trousers. "I remember every single word."
From the doorway behind them, a soft cough interrupted their private grief. Sarah the waitress stood in the threshold, holding a small paper cup of warm water and a folded blanket she had retrieved from the hotel's lost-and-found.
May you like
"Thought the little guy might need this," Sarah said gently, her earlier suspicion entirely replaced by a compassionate warmth as she looked at the two of them.
Jax looked up, surprised by her empathy, and offered a tight, grateful nod. "Thank you, Sarah. Really."
