Chapter 8: The Highway Ride
The morning sun broke over the horizon in a streak of pale amber and bruised purple, casting long, sharp shadows across the highway asphalt. I stood near the edge of the clubhouse parking lot, wearing a heavy canvas vest Jax had dug out of a storage locker the night before. It was a couple of sizes too big, the stiff fabric hanging loosely over my shoulders, but it smelled faintly of leather and motor oil. Jax rolled his Harley Davidson out of the bay, the engine roaring to life with a deep, chest-rattling rumble that vibrated right through the soles of my sneakers.
He cut the engine down to a steady idle and looked over his shoulder at me. His expression was serious, devoid of the forced toughness he usually wore around the other club members. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a spare leather-strapped helmet, tossing it across the space between us. I caught it awkwardly against my chest, the heavy weight surprising me for a second before I managed to secure it over my messy light brown hair and buckle the strap beneath my chin.
"If you're going to ride with me today, kid, you stay close and you do exactly what I tell you," Jax said, his voice carrying over the low hum of the exhaust pipe. "The guys aren't used to outsiders, and they sure aren't used to seeing me bring family into the fold."
"I'm not scared," I said, pulling myself up onto the passenger seat behind him, my small hands gripping tightly onto the leather straps of his vest.
Jax gave a brief, tight nod that might have been a ghost of a smile. He twisted the throttle, and the heavy machine surged forward, kicking up a spray of loose gravel as we hit the open road. The cool morning wind whipped against my face, tearing past the visor of the helmet and carrying the scent of pine trees and damp earth from the roadside hills. We rode for miles in silence, the rhythm of the engine becoming a steady heartbeat beneath us. For the first time in my life, I wasn't running errands or sitting alone on a diner stool watching other kids with their fathers; I was moving forward, side by side with the man whose blood ran in my veins.
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We pulled off at a quiet overlook perched high above the river valley, where the mist still hung thick over the water. Jax cut the engine, and the sudden quiet was deafening after the roar of the highway. We stepped off the bike and walked over to the rusted metal guardrail, looking out over the vast expanse of the valley below. The sun was climbing higher now, burning off the morning fog and bathing the landscape in a clear, golden light that reached every hidden corner.
Jax rested his large, tattooed hands on the cold metal railing, keeping his eyes fixed on the horizon. "I can't undo the last eight years, Leo," he said quietly, his voice blending with the sound of the wind rushing through the valley trees. "And I can't erase the ghost town we left behind. But I'm not running away anymore. Whatever comes next, we face it together."
