Chapter 7: A Heavy Reckoning
Jax sat on the edge of the sagging mattress, staring at the birth certificate while the motel’s small television hummed in the background with local evening news. Leo had curled up in the armchair with the heavy family Bible open on his lap, tracing the faded genealogical records written in the back pages with his index finger.
"Did you know my grandfather?" Leo asked quietly, not looking up from the book.
"Never met him," Jax replied, folding the certificate back up and sliding it carefully into his jacket pocket. "He passed away before I ever rolled into Clara's town. From what she told me, he was a hard-working mechanic who spent his whole life breaking his back for ungrateful bosses."
"Mom said I have his hands," Leo murmured, holding up his small, pale fingers. "She said I could fix anything if I paid close enough attention."
Jax looked at the boy’s hands—the same long fingers, the same stubborn set of the knuckles. A wave of profound grief washed over him for the life Clara had lived in isolation, raising their son without support, hiding in the margins of society while Jax rode with outlaws and drank away his conscience in dimly lit clubhouses. He had wasted fifteen years chasing a hollow sense of freedom, while the only thing that truly mattered had been struggling in the dirt just a few hundred miles away.
"Listen to me, Leo," Jax said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying an intense, unwavering seriousness. "Your mom protected you the best she could. But from here on out, things change. We’re going to find a place where you don't have to sleep behind a laundromat. We’re going to get you into a proper school, get you some warm clothes, and figure out how to live like normal people."
"Are you quitting the Vultures?" Leo asked, his hazel eyes locking onto Jax with surprising emotional maturity.
Jax let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "Yeah, kid. I'm quitting. A club like that... it’s no place for a father. I should have walked away a long time ago. Breaking ties with men like that isn't easy, though. They don't take kindly to members walking out, especially when they think you're taking secrets with you."
"Are they going to come after us?"
"Let them try," Jax said softly, his dark eyes hardening into cold steel. It was the face of the outlaw he used to be—the man who would tear down walls to protect what was his. But this time, he wasn't protecting illicit cargo or territorial lines; he was protecting his son.
The room grew quiet again, save for the hum of the refrigerator in the corner. Jax stood up, grabbed his wallet from the table, and looked at the clock on the wall. It was nearly nine o'clock.
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"Come on," Jax said, pulling his leather vest back on. "Let's find some diner food. You must be starving."
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