Chapter 8: The Diner Across the Highway
The neon glow of Joe’s All-Night Grill cast long, greasy reflections across the cracked pavement of the service road. Inside, the diner was mostly empty, save for a truck driver nursing a cup of black coffee in a corner booth and a teenage waitress scrolling on her phone behind the counter. Jax and Leo slid into a red vinyl booth near the back, the springs groaning in protest under their combined weight.
A middle-aged waitress with kind, tired eyes and a stained apron walked over, holding a plastic pitcher of ice water and two menus. She took one look at Jax’s tattoos, the heavy boots, and the stern lines of his face, then looked down at Leo’s oversized jacket and pale, hopeful eyes. A flicker of recognition crossed her face, as if she had seen their exact story play out a hundred times on the late-night news or in the chapters of forgotten paperbacks.
"What can I get you two travelers?" she asked, her voice gentle and lacking the usual practiced cheer of hospitality.
"Two cheeseburgers, double fries, and a couple of milkshakes," Jax said, handing back the menus without opening them. "Chocolate for the boy, vanilla for me."
"Coming right up," the waitress said, offering a small, reassuring smile to Leo before turning back toward the kitchen window.
Leo watched her walk away, then leaned across the sticky table. "Do you think anyone back in Oakhaven knows where we went?"
"Buck knows I left, but he didn't know where," Jax replied, keeping his voice low and measured. "And even if he did, the Vultures don't move without orders from the president. Right now, the president is three states away dealing with federal heat on the border. We’ve got time."
"Time for what?"
"Time to figure out who we are to each other," Jax said honestly. He didn't want to sugarcoat the reality of their situation. He was an ex-convict with a violent past, a rusted motorcycle, and forty dollars in his pocket. He wasn't equipped to be a father, but he was the only one the boy had left. "Look, Leo, I'm not going to pretend I know how to do this. I've spent my whole life breaking things. Fixing something—building something from the ground up—that’s new to me. But I'm not running away from it."
Leo reached across the table and touched Jax’s scarred forearm, right where the black feather tattoo began. His touch was feather-light, yet it grounded Jax more effectively than any anchor ever could. "Mom said you were stubborn enough to move mountains if you set your mind to it."
Jax let out a soft breath that was half-laugh, half-sigh. "Your mom gave me way too much credit."
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The food arrived quickly, steaming and greasy and perfect. They ate in companionable silence, the kind of quiet that only forms between people who understand what it means to be entirely alone in the world and suddenly find themselves anchored. For the first time in his life, Jax felt a strange, terrifying sense of purpose settling into his bones.
***
