Chapter 4
Jax rubbed his rough palms over his face, pressing his thumbs into his eye sockets until colors bloomed behind his eyelids. He needed a cigarette, a drink, or a clear highway to escape down, but the boy was still sitting right there, anchoring him to the vinyl stool.
Martha sighed, walking over with a fresh mug of coffee—not for Jax, but for the boy. She slid a small cup of hot cocoa with miniature marshmallows across the counter toward Leo. “Drink up, kiddo. You look like you haven't had a square meal since Nebraska.”
Leo looked up at Martha, blinking his big hazel eyes, then glanced warily at Jax. “I’m not allowed to take food from strangers.”
“I’m not a stranger, I’m Martha, and this diner is my living room,” she said with a gentle, reassuring smile that softened her suspicious edge. “And as for him,” she nudged her chin toward Jax, “he’s old enough to know he’s acting like a fool.”
Jax dropped his hands, glaring half-heartedly at the waitress. “Mind your business, Martha.”
“This is my business, Jax. A kid walks in here holding your ghost, and you’re sitting there looking like a cornered dog. Man up.”
Jax let out a dry, humorless chuckle. Man up. That was all he had ever tried to do, in the worst possible ways. He looked at Leo, who was staring hesitantly at the cocoa, the miniature marshmallows slowly melting into the warm brown liquid. The resemblance was undeniable now that the initial shock was wearing off. The boy had the same stubborn set of the jaw, the same unruly cowlick at the crown of his head, and the same quiet intensity that kept people at a safe distance.
“Drink the hot chocolate, Leo,” Jax said, his voice softer now, stripped of the defensive gravel.
Leo nodded slowly, lifting the heavy ceramic mug with both hands.
Jax picked up the photograph again. This time, he didn't try to hide it. He traced the edges of his younger self with a scarred thumb. “I didn’t know she got sick,” Jax murmured, talking more to the counter than to the boy. “I swear to God, kid, I didn't know.”
“I know,” Leo said, lowering the mug and wiping a smudge of cocoa from his upper lip. “Mom didn't want to bother you. She said you had your own road to ride. But when she knew she wasn't going to beat it, she gave me the metal box from the top shelf of the closet. That’s where she kept this.”
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Jax felt a lump form in his throat, tight and painful. Clara had protected him, even at the end. She hadn't filled their son’s head with bitter poison or vengeful lies. She had simply handed him the truth and let the chips fall where they might.
“What else was in the box, Leo?” Jax asked, bracing himself.
