Chapter 3
The folded piece of paper trembled slightly between Leo’s small, pale fingers. Jax stared at the visible lines of handwriting, recognizing the ink even after all these years. Clara had always used a cheap ballpoint pen that skipped on cheap paper, leaving faint gaps in her loops.
“Read it,” Leo urged, pushing the paper closer without touching Jax’s restraining hand.
Martha crossed her arms, leaning against the back counter. Her loyalty to Jax was forged over three years of pouring his morning coffee and listening to his monosyllabic grunts, but her maternal instincts were sharper. “Jax, if this kid’s got something to say, you better listen. You’ve got a lot of miles on you, but running from a child makes you a coward.”
Jax shot Martha a dark, warning glare, but the sting of her words landed true. He pulled his palm off the photograph, leaving the worn image exposed once more. He looked down at the paper, his eyes tracing the faded blue ink.
If he ever finds you, the note read, it means I’m gone. Tell him the truth, Jax. Even if it hurts.
Jax’s breath hitched. A cold sweat broke out across the back of his neck. Clara was gone. The woman he had abandoned, the woman who had carried the burden of his cowardice alone for eight long years, was no longer there to shield their son from the wreckage.
“Where is she, Leo?” Jax asked, his voice dropping an octave, losing its defensive edge and cracking with sudden, raw dread.
Leo lowered his gaze to his scuffed sneakers, the hopeful light in his hazel eyes dimming just a fraction. “She got sick. In the spring. The hospital bills got too big, and then… she just stopped waking up. Our neighbor, Mrs. Gable, watched me for a while, but she said I had to find my father. She gave me this jacket, the photo, and enough bus fare to get to the state line.”
The diner grew deathly quiet. A trucker in the corner booth slowly put down his fork, the clatter of silverware silenced by the emotional gravity unfolding at the counter. Jax felt as though he had been punched squarely in the gut. The guilt he had buried under heavy leather vests and roaring engines rushed back with the force of a tidal wave. He had spent a lifetime fighting opponents he could see, yet he had been completely defenseless against the consequences of his own absence.
May you like
“A bus?” Jax repeated, the word tasting like ash. “You rode a Greyhound all the way from Scottsbluff by yourself?”
“I had to,” Leo said simply. “Mom said you were stubborn, but you weren't a liar. She said if you promised to come back, even if you broke it, you’d remember her.”
