Chapter 9: The Bus Station Chase
We burst out of the side exit of the county building just as a hot afternoon wind whipped dust and dry leaves across the cracked asphalt of the municipal parking lot. A quarter-mile down the street, the red-and-white sign of the regional bus depot stood next to a row of idling diesel engines that belched dark gray exhaust into the clear sky. Jax didn't hesitate; he broke into a long, loping stride, pulling me along beside him with a practiced urgency that kept me from tripping over my scuffed sneakers.
“Can we catch her, Jax?” I panted, my chest burning as the dry air scraped my throat with every hurried breath we took. Jax looked down at me, his jaw set in a hard line of determination, his long dark hair whipping across his forehead in the wind.
“We’re going to catch her, Leo,” Jax said, his voice firm and reassuring despite the frantic pace we were keeping. “She’s not getting away from us today. Not after we just found each other.”
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We reached the glass double doors of the bus station and pushed inside, escaping the heat into the cool, fluorescent-lit waiting room filled with vinyl benches, vending machines, and the low hum of an old television bolted to the corner wall. The midday bus to the state capital was idling on bay three, its passengers already lined up at the ticket counter with heavy bags and worn suitcases.
Scanning the rows of plastic seats, Jax suddenly stopped dead, his broad shoulders tensing as his eyes locked onto a familiar blue denim jacket sitting alone in the very last row near the restrooms. My mother sat hunched forward, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking with quiet, exhausted sobs that were completely drowned out by the noise of the station. Jax let go of my hand and walked forward slowly, his heavy boots clicking softly against the polished floor, stepping into her line of sight so she had no choice but to look up and face the past she had tried so hard to leave behind.
