Chapter 5: The Unfolded Page
The afternoon sun dipped lower behind the brick facade of the diner, casting long, bruised shadows down the narrow alleyway. I stood frozen a few feet away from the boy, my cigarette dangling unlit between my fingers. The quiet between us felt heavier than the roar of the engines out on the main drag. I took a slow step forward, the gravel crunching loudly beneath my heavy boots, and stopped.
"Let me see it," I murmured, my voice losing its rough edge, replaced by something much older and more tired.
The boy didn't move away. He simply tilted his hand upward, offering the folded notebook paper like an offering to a ghost. I reached out with fingers that felt unusually clumsy, taking the paper from his small palm. The paper was worn soft at the folds, handled so many times the ink on the inside was starting to blur. I unfolded it carefully, my thumb catching on a small tear near the margin.
Written in a neat, familiar handwriting—script I hadn't seen since a cold November night in a cheap motel two counties over—were just a few lines. If he ever looks at you with those same eyes, Jax, tell him I’m sorry I couldn't stay to protect him from the road. There was no signature, just a faded initial at the bottom corner that matched the ink from a life I had buried.
My chest tightened until breathing hurt. I stared at the handwriting, feeling the sharp, undeniable truth pierce through every excuse I had spent a decade building. I looked up from the paper, my gaze meeting the boy’s big hazel eyes once more. The resemblance wasn't just in the photo anymore; it was in the quiet way he stood, the stubborn tilt of his chin, the absolute stillness before he spoke.
"What's your name, kid?" I asked, my voice barely carrying over the distant rumble of a passing truck.
May you like
"Leo," he answered instantly, his eyes searching my face as if looking for a trace of himself.
Before I could figure out what to say next, the heavy back door of the diner swung open with a loud squeak. Martha stepped out into the alley, holding a roll of trash bags, her eyes immediately locking onto the two of us standing in the shadows. The fragile bubble of our quiet moment popped instantly, replaced by the reality that we were standing right in the middle of a gossipy small town during the biggest weekend of the year.
