Chapter 1: The Diner Counter
The roar of twin-cylinder engines vibrated right through the sticky linoleum floor of the Silver Creek Diner. Outside, chrome tanks and leather-clad riders crowded Main Street for the annual summer rally, turning our quiet little mountain town into a loud, snarling sea of black leather and exhaust fumes. Inside, the air smelled thick of burnt coffee, sizzling bacon, and stale cigarette smoke. I clutched the edge of my oversized jacket, my knuckles turning white as I pushed my scuffed sneakers across the checkerboard tiles. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
At the end of the worn counter, sitting alone on a red vinyl stool that groaned under his weight, was Jax. He looked exactly like the man in the picture I had hidden in my pocket for three years. He wore a heavy leather vest covered in weathered patches, his long dark hair was tied back in a messy tail, and a thick, grizzled beard hid the lower half of his face. He was nursing a mug of black coffee, staring blankly at the metal napkin dispenser. I didn't think about whether I should be scared. I only thought about Mom sitting back in our drafty kitchen, coughing into her handkerchief, telling me it was time.
I walked straight up to him, my small boots clicking against the dirty floorboards. The space around him felt heavy, charged with the kind of rough silence people only gave to guys who lived on the edge of the law. I stopped right beside his stool, swallowed hard against the dryness in my throat, and reached out.
May you like
"Jax..." I whispered. The word barely carried over the jukebox playing old country tunes in the corner, but he heard it.
Jax didn't turn his head right away. He took a slow, deliberate breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling beneath the heavy leather. Then, with agonizing slowness, he tilted his chin and looked down. His eyes, sharp and tired beneath heavy brows, locked onto mine. For a second, the tough, dangerous biker look faltered, replaced by a strange, sudden stillness. He didn't say a word, just waited to see what an eight-year-old kid in a too-big jacket wanted with him in the middle of a crowded, noisy diner.
