Chapter 4
Jax unfolded the lined notebook paper with surprising care, his large, tattooed hands treating the fragile sheet as if it might disintegrate at the slightest touch. The handwriting was neat, written with a blue ballpoint pen, but the letters sloped downward toward the bottom of the page, telling a silent story of exhaustion and fading strength. Martha leaned over the counter, unabashedly reading the words alongside the biker, her expression shifting from suspicion to profound sorrow.
The note was brief. Jax. If you’re reading this, it means Leo found you. I’m sorry to drop this on your doorstep after all this time, but I don’t have anyone else left to ask. He deserves to know where he came from before the lights go out. Don't let him walk back alone. It was signed with a simple initial: S.
Sarah. The name echoed in the chambers of Jax’s memory, dragging up the sharp scent of desert rain, cheap motel sheets, and the suffocating terror of a twenty-three-year-old punk realizing he was about to be a father. He had panicked. He had taken his bike, left a fifty-dollar bill on the dresser, and vanished into the night, convincing himself that freedom was better than responsibility.
Jax let out a long, ragged breath that sounded like a sigh of defeat. He looked down at the boy—Leo. The name felt strange on his tongue, a syllable he had never dared to utter.
“You walked all the way from the Sunrise Motel?” Jax asked, his tone dropping its hard edge, replaced by a raw, bewildered vulnerability.
“The bus stopped running,” Leo answered simply, looking up with those unblinking hazel eyes. “And I knew you had a bike. Mom said you always rode the fastest bike in Arizona.”
A faint, bitter ghost of a smile touched the corner of Jax’s mouth, vanishing almost as quickly as it appeared. He reached out, his heavy, scarred hand hovering for a second before he gently rested his palm on the boy’s messy light brown hair. Leo didn't pull away; instead, he leaned slightly into the touch, a universal gesture of a child seeking anchor in a storm.
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Martha reached under the counter and grabbed a paper napkin, dabbing briskly at the corner of her eye. “Well, what are we standing around for?” she said briskly, masking her emotion with practicality. “Grab his coat, Jax. The kid’s freezing, and if Sarah’s sick at that motel, she needs more than just old memories. Take my truck keys. My shift ended ten minutes ago anyway.”
Jax looked from Martha to Leo, then back to the faded photograph lying on the counter. The diner around them continued its noisy, indifferent rhythm, but inside their small circle, time had stopped entirely.
