Chapter 12
As the first pale streaks of dawn painted the horizon in shades of bruised purple and pale gold, the flat Nebraska landscape gave way to the rugged, desolate beauty of the South Dakota Badlands. Jagged spires of rock and wind-carved canyons rose from the earth like ancient monuments, bathed in the sharp, clean light of morning.
Leo was awake now, pressing his face against the side window, staring in awe at the dramatic landscape. For a boy who had spent his entire life in small-town Nebraska flats, the Badlands looked like another planet.
“It’s big,” Leo whispered, his breath fogging the cold glass.
“Yeah,” Jax agreed, slowing the truck down as they crossed into the park boundaries. He pulled off at a scenic overlook, cutting the engine. The sudden silence of the wilderness rushed in to fill the cab, broken only by the whistling wind sweeping through the rock formations.
“Come on,” Jax said, opening his door. “Let’s stretch our legs.”
They climbed out of the truck, the crisp morning air biting sharply against their skin. Leo zipped his corduroy jacket up to his chin, shivering slightly as he looked out across the vast expanse of canyons and ravines. Jax walked to the edge of the stone overlook, leaning his forearms against the wooden railing. He lit a cigarette, letting the smoke curl away into the wind before it could reach the boy.
“Jax?” Leo asked, walking up beside him and peering over the edge.
“Yeah, kid?”
“Do you think Mom is watching us right now?”
Jax paused, the cigarette burning down between his fingers. He had never been a religious man; the harsh realities of his life had beaten any traditional faith out of him long ago. But standing here, with the vast expanse of the earth stretched out before them and the boy’s hopeful hazel eyes looking up at him, Jax found himself searching for an answer that wasn't cynical.
“I don't know, Leo,” Jax said honestly, refusing to feed the boy empty platitudes. “But if she is, I hope she’s watching to make sure I don't mess this up.”
Leo looked up at him, a small, serious smile touching the corners of his mouth. “You won't mess it up. Mom said you were stubborn enough to do anything once you made up your mind.”
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Jax let out a short, genuine laugh—a sound so rare for him that it startled even the seagulls circling overhead. He tossed the cigarette butt into a metal trash can, reached out awkwardly, and placed a heavy, scarred hand on the boy’s messy light-brown hair, giving it a rough, affectionate ruffle.
“Come on, stubborn,” Jax said, turning back toward the truck. “We’ve got a long way to go before the sun sets.”
