Chapter 7: A Quiet Evening
By late afternoon, the garage doors were rolled halfway down to let in the cooling breeze off the plains, casting long, dusty stripes of golden light across the concrete floor. Jax had managed to rig a temporary patch on the radiator using parts he salvaged from an old pickup out back, and he stood wiping down his forearms with a shop towel while Leo bounced a worn tennis ball against the wooden side of the office shack. Marlene, the waitress from the diner, pulled her dusty station wagon off the highway and parked right by the gravel entrance, stepping out with a paper bag that smelled faintly of fried chicken and warm apple pie.
“Thought you strays might need a proper meal before the night shift kicks in at the rally,” Marlene called out, slamming her car door shut and walking over with a knowing smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes swept over me, then landed on Jax, who stiffened slightly before offering a gruff nod of appreciation.
“Appreciate it, Mar,” Jax said, taking the bag from her hands. “Put it over on the workbench.”
Marlene leaned against the edge of the desk, crossing her arms as she looked at Leo, who had stopped bouncing the ball to stare hungrily at the bag. “Well, I see the spitting image of you didn't run off, Jax. The whole town's been talking since noon. Word travels fast when an eight-year-old kid walks into a biker bar with a twenty-year-old Polaroid and stops a heavyweight in his tracks.”
“There’s nothing to talk about, Marlene,” Jax said flatly, though his jaw tightened.
“There’s always something to talk about in a town this size,” Marlene retorted gently, her gaze softening as she looked at me. “Clara, honey, you and the boy can't stay at that roach-infested motel down by the county line. The springs come right through the mattresses, and the owner keeps a pit bull chained outside that barks half the night.”
“It’s all we could afford,” I said quietly, feeling a familiar flush of shame warm my cheeks.
May you like
Marlene waved a hand dismissively. “Nonsense. My sister’s old guest house behind the bakery is vacant. The furniture's a bit dusty, but the bed's decent, and there’s a stove that actually works. Jax can drive you over there after he finishes bolting down your intake manifold.”
Jax looked up from the workbench, his eyes meeting mine across the room. There was an unspoken question in his gaze—an offer of protection and stability that terrified me as much as it tempted me. After twelve years of managing entirely on my own, accepting help from the man who created the struggle felt like a dangerous surrender. Yet, looking at Leo’s tired eyes, I knew I couldn't let pride put my son in a damp motel room for another night.
