Chapter 11
Jax hurried back to the truck, opening the driver’s door and climbing inside without making a sound. He didn't turn the key immediately. Instead, he watched the dark sedan in his side mirror. A door opened, but nobody stepped out into the light.
“Jax?” Leo stirred in the passenger seat, rubbing his eyes with the sleeves of his oversized jacket. “Are we there?”
“Not yet, buddy,” Jax whispered, keeping his eyes glued to the mirror. “Stay down in the seat for a minute. Keep your head below the dashboard.”
Leo, sensing the sudden tension in Jax’s voice, didn't ask questions. He slid down, curling into a small ball on the floorboard beneath the glove compartment.
Jax reached down, his fingers brushing against the heavy metal tire iron wedged beside the driver’s seat. He didn't want violence, but he was done running. If Dalton’s men wanted a fight, they were going to get one on his terms, away from the boy.
Slowly, the sedan shifted into reverse, backed out of the lot, and sped off into the darkness, its taillights fading into twin red blips against the horizon.
Jax let out a long, shuddering breath he didn't realize he’d been holding. He dropped the tire iron back into place, wiped a thin layer of sweat from his forehead, and turned the ignition key. The engine roared to life, breaking the tense silence of the night.
“Is it gone?” Leo’s voice drifted up from the floorboards.
“Yeah,” Jax said softly, shifting the truck into drive. “Coast is clear. You can sit back up now.”
Leo scrambled back onto the vinyl seat, adjusting his jacket and looking out the windshield at the endless black ribbon of highway. “Were they bad guys?”
Jax paused, gripping the steering wheel as he navigated back onto the interstate. How do you explain the gray areas of the world to an eight-year-old child? How do you explain that people aren't simply good or bad, but often a tangled mess of choices, regrets, and bad debts?
“They’re people making bad choices, Leo,” Jax said carefully. “Just like I used to make. Sometimes, the life you live catches up to you. That’s why we keep moving.”
“Mom said you were running from ghosts,” Leo said quietly, staring out at the blinking reflectors on the side of the road. “She said you couldn't outrun them because they live inside your head.”
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Jax felt a sharp pang in his chest. Clara had seen right through his tough exterior, right down to the hollow, terrified core of his soul. She had understood him better than he understood himself, and yet she had loved him enough to leave his ring in a leather pouch on a dresser.
“Your mom was right,” Jax muttered, his voice thick with unexpressed emotion. “She usually was.”
