Chapter 2: The Stolen Glance
The silence between us stretched longer than the hum of the old refrigerator behind the pie display. Jax kept his gaze fixed on me, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to figure out if I was a mirage brought on by too much highway heat. I didn't look away, even though my chest felt tight and my palms were sweating inside my pockets. I reached into my jacket, my fingers brushing against the worn paper I had memorized by touch, and pulled out the old faded photograph.
I placed it flat on the counter between his coffee mug and the sugar shaker. The edges were curled and soft from being carried in wallets and pockets for nearly a decade. It showed a much younger Jax—clean-shaven, smiling a rare, genuine grin—holding a tiny baby wrapped in a faded blue blanket. The contrast between that smiling kid in the sunlight and the scarred, hardened man sitting on the diner stool was massive, but the jawline and the intense dark eyes were identical.
Jax’s right hand, resting on the counter edge, froze instantly. His knuckles tightened until the skin stretched white over the tattoos curling up his forearm. He stared at the photograph, his breathing shallow and controlled.
"My mom said this is you," I said, my voice barely above a murmur, yet every word hung heavy in the quiet pocket of air we had carved out between the noisy booths.
Across the aisle, the waitress, a kind-faced woman named Sarah who had known half the county since we were babies, stopped wiping down a Formica table. Her rag hovered in mid-air. She glanced from the back of Jax’s leather vest down to the small photograph resting on the counter. Her professional smile vanished, replaced by a sharp, protective suspicion. She knew Jax’s reputation, and she knew me—she knew my mother hadn't been seen walking down to the grocery store in months.
May you like
Jax didn't look up at Sarah, but he felt her watching. With a sudden, jerky motion, he swept his large palm over the photograph, covering it completely and pressing it flat against the counter as if trying to hide evidence of a crime. He forced his jaw to relax, but I could see the muscle ticking furiously near his temple.
"Kid," Jax muttered, his voice gravelly and low, like rocks rolling down a dry creek bed. "You shouldn't be carrying things like this around here. Where did you get it?"
