Chapter 4: The Backroom Door
Jax folded the paper back up with slow, mechanical precision and tucked it carefully into the same pocket that held the photograph. He didn't look at the coffee cup anymore. He slid off his stool, his tall frame towering over me as I sat with my legs dangling. He looked over at Martha, who was watching us from the far end of the counter, arms crossed over her apron, her expression a mix of motherly concern and stern warning.
“Keep an eye on my bike, Martha,” Jax said, his voice steady again, though an underlying tremor lingered in his tone.
“You aren't running off, are you, Jax?” Martha asked, her eyes narrowing further as she tossed her rag onto the stainless-steel counter. “That boy looks like he’s walked a long way.”
“I’m not running,” Jax replied shortly. He looked down at me, his gaze softening just enough for me to see the weight of twenty-eight years settling onto his shoulders. “Come on, kid. Let’s talk in the back where it’s quieter.”
I slid off my stool, my scuffed sneakers hitting the floor, and followed him toward the swinging kitchen doors. The kitchen staff glanced up from the grill, steam billowing around them, but Jax gave a curt nod and pushed through the heavy metal door leading into the dry storage pantry.
It was narrow and smelled of flour, onions, and old cardboard boxes. The hum of the walk-in freezer hummed a low, steady bass note in the background. Jax closed the door behind us, shutting out the noise of the rally completely. The sudden quiet felt heavy, almost suffocating.
He turned to face me, leaning back against a stack of canned tomato crates. He crossed his arms over his leather vest, trying to reclaim some of his tough exterior, but his eyes betrayed him. They were wide, searching, and completely vulnerable in the dim, yellow bulb light of the pantry.
“What’s your name?” he asked quietly, his voice losing its harsh edge.
“Leo,” I said.
May you like
Jax let out a long, shuddering breath, rubbing a hand across his thick beard. “Leo. Right. Okay.” He looked toward the door, then back down at me. “Your mom… Sarah? Is she still living down by the old mill houses?”
I shook my head slowly, the cold reality of why I had walked to the diner alone finally creeping back into my chest. “She’s not at the house anymore. That’s why I came looking for you.”
