Chapter 6: Leaving Town
The oversized black helmet slipped down over my forehead every time I hit a bump, resting right on the bridge of my nose and blocking out everything except the gray asphalt rushing beneath us. I reached up with both hands, gripping the sides of the heavy leather jacket Jax had insisted I wear over my old tattered windbreaker, and pressed my chest firmly against his back. The engine of the heavy custom cruiser rumbled right through my ribs, a deep, steady vibration that seemed to drown out the lingering panic of the diner.
Jax didn't take the main highway that led past the county line, where the state troopers usually parked their cruisers under the shade of the billboards. Instead, he signaled a sharp right onto an unpaved logging road that wound its way through the thick pine forest behind the fairgrounds. The tires crunched loudly over loose gravel and dry pine needles, throwing up small clouds of dust that coated my scuffed sneakers. I kept my eyes locked on his broad shoulders, watching the way his muscles shifted beneath his leather vest every time he downshifted to take a tight curve.
We rode in silence for nearly twenty minutes, the roaring wind stealing away any chance of conversation. My legs grew stiff from holding them out wide to keep my balance against the footpegs, but I didn't care. Every revolution of the heavy chrome wheels was carrying us closer to the Ridge Road trailer, closer to Mom and the leaky roof and the plastic buckets collecting rain. I wondered if she was sitting by the front window right now, watching the gravel lane for a truck that never came, or if she was still lying down on the lumpy mattress in the back bedroom with a cold washcloth over her eyes.
When Jax finally pulled the bike to a stop beside a rusted-out metal gate, he killed the engine. The sudden quiet of the woods felt heavy, almost unnatural after the roar of the exhaust. He reached up, twisted the strap beneath my chin, and lifted the oversized helmet off my head, letting the cool afternoon air hit my sweaty hair.
"You holding up okay, kid?" he asked, turning his head to look back at me. His voice was lower than usual, stripped of the rough edge he’d worn back at the counter.
"I'm fine," I said, rubbing my forehead where the foam padding had left a deep red indentation. "Are we close now?"
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Jax climbed off the bike, planted his heavy boots firmly in the dirt, and pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket, though he didn't light one. He just held it in his weathered fingers, turning it over and over. "Ten minutes up this ridge," he said, gesturing with his chin toward the overgrown trail ahead. "The county stopped maintaining this road back in the nineties. My bike won't make it through the deep mud washouts near the creek bed. We're going to walk the rest of the way on foot."
I swung my leg over the leather seat, my knees trembling slightly as my feet hit the solid ground. The transition from the high-speed roar of the highway to the quiet isolation of the woods made my chest feel tight again. We started walking side by side down the rutted track, the afternoon sun filtering through the dense overhead canopy in long, golden shafts. Jax kept his pace steady, matching his long strides to my shorter ones without once looking back in frustration. I shoved my hands deep into my pockets, feeling the hard edge of the folded paper safe against my lining, and took a deep breath of the pine-scented air.
