Chapter 14
Three days west of the motel, the landscape flattened into the vast, ochre expanses of the Nevada desert. The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly, turning the distant asphalt into shimmering sheets of reflected light that danced just out of reach. Jax pulled the heavy V-twin off the interstate and onto a dusty gravel turnoff beside a dilapidated roadside diner that advertised cold soda and shade.
He cut the engine, the sudden silence rolling over them like a warm blanket. He swung his leg off the bike and reached up to help Leo down. The boy’s legs were stiff from hours of sitting behind his father, but he hopped down onto the gravel with a practiced ease, his scuffed sneakers kicking up tiny clouds of dust.
Jax unzipped his saddlebag and pulled out two crumpled paper cups of water, handing one to Leo. The boy took it gratefully, drinking deeply before wiping his mouth with the back of his oversized leather sleeve.
“How you holding up, kid?” Jax asked, unscrewing his own cup and pouring half of it over the back of his neck to cool the desert heat.
“My legs are tired,” Leo admitted honestly, looking up with those big hazel eyes, “but I like the bike. It goes faster than the wind.”
Jax let out a low, gravelly chuckle—a sound so rare for him that it startled even the crows resting on the telephone wires overhead. He squatted down so he was eye level with the boy, reaching out to straighten the collar of the oversized jacket he still wore.
“We’re about two hours from the shop,” Jax said, his voice unusually gentle. “Henderson, Nevada. It’s not much to look at. Just a concrete box with a hydraulic lift and a cot in the back. But it’s quiet. And nobody’s gonna bother us there.”
Leo nodded slowly, looking out across the endless stretch of desert stretching toward the jagged silhouette of the distant mountains. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the old, faded photograph he had carried all the way from the Rustwater Diner. The edges were a bit softer now from being handled, the image of the younger Jax holding the newborn baby still clearly visible under the harsh desert sun.
“You looked different back then,” Leo observed quietly, comparing the face in the photo to the weathered, bearded man kneeling in front of him.
May you like
Jax reached out, taking the photograph gently between two scarred fingers. He stared at it for a long, quiet moment, seeing the scared punk he used to be, and then looked down at the boy standing right in front of him—the living proof that every mistake could be redeemed if you had the courage to stop running.
“Yeah,” Jax whispered, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips. “I did. But I think I look better now.”
