Chapter 3: The Folded Paper
The bell above the diner door jingled as a group of loud tourists walked in, drawing Martha’s attention away for crucial seconds. Jax didn't turn back to his coffee. He turned his stool slightly to face me head-on, his knees nearly touching mine. Up close, I could smell engine oil, leather, and faint tobacco. He looked down at me with heavy, searching eyes that didn't hide his internal panic anymore.
“Where is she?” Jax asked, the words forced out through his teeth in a low hiss. “Where did you leave her?”
I didn't answer right away. Instead, I reached back into my jacket pocket—the deep inside pocket where the lining was completely gone—and pulled out a small, folded piece of lined notebook paper. It was creased into a tight square, worn soft at the folds from being handled a hundred times. I laid it on the counter right where the photograph had been.
Deep emotional tension filled the narrow space between us, heavier than the summer heat pressing against the diner walls. Around us, the clatter of silverware and muffled laughter felt miles away.
Jax looked at the folded paper as if it might bite him. He didn't touch it immediately. His large, tattooed hands rested flat on his thighs for a heartbeat, his knuckles scarred and pale. Slowly, with infinite care, he reached out and picked up the paper. He unfolded it with thumb and forefinger, his eyes scanning the handwritten script inside. I watched his face—the way his lips pressed into a thin line, the way his dark eyes dilated slightly as he read words meant only for him.
I looked up into his big, desperate hazel eyes—eyes that somehow looked remarkably like my own when I stared into the mirror. I swallowed hard and gave him the final piece of the puzzle.
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“Mom said you left before I was born,” I whispered.
Jax stopped breathing. I could tell. His chest stayed completely still for three long seconds. The paper in his hand trembled just a fraction more than before, the sound of the diner fading into a dull roar in my ears. He didn't deny it. He didn't tell me I had the wrong guy. He just closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting the truth wash over him like cold water.
