Chapter 7: The Morning Light
The first gray streaks of dawn cut sharply through the dusty blinds of the trailer, casting long, fractured shadows across the narrow floorboards. I hadn't slept a wink. While Leo curled up on the narrow cot, breathing in slow, steady rhythms with his cheek pressed against my old canvas jacket, I sat upright at the small laminate table. I stared down at the folded paper letter and the faded photograph resting beside a cold cup of instant coffee. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard the steady beep of hospital monitors and saw the face of the woman I had abandoned a decade ago, fading away in some sterile county ward two towns over.
By six o'clock, the distant rumble of early-riser engines began to stir the campground outside, signaling that the second day of the rally was about to roar to life. I knew we couldn't stay hidden in this metal box much longer. Sooner or later, someone from the club—likely Crash or one of the other guys—would come banging on my door looking for a wrench or a ride down to the pancake breakfast.
I stood up, stretching my stiff joints, and quietly pulled a fresh black t-shirt over my head before slipping my heavy leather vest back on. The familiar weight of it usually brought a sense of armor, a barrier between me and the rest of the world, but today it just felt heavy and wrong.
Leo stirred on the cot, blinking against the pale morning light. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his small hand, pushing the messy light brown hair out of his face before looking up at me with sudden, startled alertness.
"Morning, kid," I said softly, grabbing a bottle of cold water from the small mini-fridge and handing it to him. "Drink some of this. We're heading out."
Leo took the bottle, his fingers brushing against mine. "Where are we going, Jax?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep.
"Fairview County Hospital," I replied, not breaking eye contact. "We need to check on your mom and see what the doctors are saying. No more running around on Greyhound buses by yourself, understand?"
Leo nodded slowly, a flicker of relief crossing his big hazel eyes before he hopped off the cot and reached for his scuffed sneakers.
Ten minutes later, we slipped out the side door of the trailer just as the morning sun crested the tree line, bathing the dusty gravel lot in a harsh, golden glare. The air smelled of burnt coffee and morning dew, and the diner across the street was already unlocking its front doors. Keeping Leo close to my side, half-hidden by the bulk of my leather vest, I guided him toward my old Honda motorcycle parked near the rear fence. It wasn't an ideal ride for an eight-year-old, but it was the only set of wheels I owned, and time was something we were quickly running out of.
I pulled a spare canvas riding jacket from the storage box and helped Leo slip his arms through the oversized sleeves, rolling the cuffs twice so his hands could actually poke out the ends. I strapped a spare club helmet onto his head, adjusting the chin strap until it fit snugly around his small jaw.
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"Hold on tight to my waist, Leo," I instructed, straddling the bike and kicking the starter pedal twice until the engine sputtered and roared to life with a deep, familiar rumble. "Don't look down, and don't let go, no matter what."
Leo wrapped his small arms tightly around my ribs, pressing his helmeted head against my back. I twisted the throttle, and the heavy machine surged forward, kicking up a cloud of loose gravel as we cut away from the sleepy diner and hit the cracked asphalt of Highway 9. The wind whipped past us instantly, cold and biting in the early morning air, but I kept my eyes fixed on the empty stretch of gray highway stretching toward the horizon. We were riding straight into the ghost town of my old life, and there was no turning back now.
