Chương 6
“Call us.”
Jax nodded.
Riley raised an eyebrow.
“That sounded suspiciously like a promise.”
Jax looked away.
“Don’t ruin the moment.”
The men left.
The bell above the door rang.
The diner returned to normal.
Jax stood there for a second longer than necessary.
Then he picked up his jacket.
The leather felt heavier than before.
Outside, Emma unlocked the car.
Jax looked at the sedan.
“You have a car.”
Emma looked over.
“Surprised?”
“Little.”
“You thought I spent twenty years waiting beside a gas station?”
He looked at her.
There it was.
A small piece of the old Emma.
A little sharpness.
A little humor.
“I didn’t know what I thought.”
“That might be the most honest thing you’ve said today.”
Lily climbed into the back seat.
Jax walked around the vehicle slowly.
He had spent most of his adult life on motorcycles.
Cars felt too closed in.
Too controlled.
He opened the passenger door.
Emma noticed.
“You’re actually coming.”
Jax paused.
He looked at her.
“I said I would be here.”
The words surprised both of them.
Emma looked away first.
“Right.”
The drive was quiet.
Not uncomfortable.
Not comfortable either.
Just full of things nobody knew how to say.
Lily sat in the back seat watching the road.
Every few minutes, she asked a small question.
Nothing important.
What kind of motorcycle he had.
Why his beard had gray in it.
Whether he liked pancakes.
Jax answered each one.
Sometimes with a full answer.
Sometimes with one word.
She did not seem bothered.
Children did not need perfection.
They needed presence.
When they reached the house, Jax expected something different.
He expected some dramatic reminder of a life he had missed.
Instead, he saw a small blue house with chipped paint near the front steps.
A bicycle leaned against the porch.
A basketball sat near the driveway.
A row of flowers grew unevenly along the walkway.
It looked ordinary.
That somehow hurt more.
Emma opened the door.
“Sorry about the mess.”
Jax looked inside.
There were books on the table.
A jacket hanging from a chair.
A drawing taped to the refrigerator.
A pair of small shoes near the entrance.
“Emma.”
She stopped.
“What?”
“This is not a mess.”
She looked around.
For a second, she seemed confused.
Then she understood.
Because she had spent years apologizing for a life that was never broken.
Jax stepped inside slowly.
The house smelled like coffee and laundry soap.
A normal smell.
A family smell.
Something he had never allowed himself to have.
Lily ran upstairs.
“I’m getting my picture book.”
Emma watched her go.
Then she looked back at Jax.
“You don’t have to pretend.”
“I’m not.”
“You look like someone visiting a museum.”
He glanced around.
“Maybe I am.”
The honesty surprised her.
“Jax.”
He looked at her.
“I missed everything.”
Emma’s expression changed.
The sentence carried more than regret.
It carried the weight of years neither of them could recover.
“Yes,” she said softly.
“You did.”
He nodded.
He did not argue.
That was the part that frightened her most.
Because the old Jax would have defended himself.
He would have explained.
He would have found a reason.
This version just stood there and accepted the damage.
Lily came back down holding a large book.
“My favorite.”
She handed it to him.
Jax looked at the cover.
A story about a girl who built things.
“You like this?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She shrugged.
“Because she keeps trying.”
Jax looked at the book.
Then at Lily.
Something inside him shifted.
Not fixed.
Not healed.
Just moved.
And for the first time in years, he wondered if maybe trying was something he could learn again.
Lily sat beside Jax on the living room floor while Emma watched from the kitchen doorway.
The book rested open between them, its pages filled with colorful drawings and simple sentences about a girl who built a treehouse after everyone told her the wood was too heavy and the plans were too difficult.
Jax read slower than Lily expected.
He had spent years reading contracts, repair manuals, and road maps, but children’s books required something different.
They required patience.
They required stopping before the end of a sentence.
They required caring about things that did not need to be fixed.
“You skipped a line,” Lily said.
Jax looked down.
“I did?”
She pointed at the page.
“Right there.”
He nodded seriously.
“My mistake.”
Emma smiled faintly.
Jax looked over.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You smiled.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
She looked away.
“Because I never thought I would see you apologize to a seven-year-old about a picture book.”
Jax looked back at Lily.
“She was right.”
“That is new.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“Waiting for opportunities.”
Emma leaned against the doorway.
“Only when they are obvious.”
Lily looked between them.
“Are you two always like this?”
Neither answered.
That made her laugh.
Jax noticed something then.
Not the sound.
The way Emma looked at Lily.
There was a kind of exhaustion there.
But also pride.
The kind that came from years of showing up when nobody else would.
He wondered how many nights she had sat in that same room helping with homework.
How many times she had been sick and still made breakfast.
How many moments he had missed without even knowing they existed.
The thought was heavier than any accusation.
After the story ended, Lily closed the book.
“Do you have kids?”
The question caught him off guard.
He looked at her.
“Besides you?”
She nodded.
“No.”
“Then no.”
She considered that.
“That means I’m your first.”
Jax looked down.
The sentence should have been happy.
Instead, it carried a strange sadness.
“Yeah.”
“You don’t sound excited.”
He took a moment.
“I am.”
“But?”
He looked at Emma.
She was listening.
Waiting.
“I’m trying to understand how to be excited and sorry at the same time.”
May you like
Lily accepted that answer.
She did not ask him to make it easier.
