Page 11 of Finding His Redemption

“Bullshit,” Boone said mildly. “But it’s your call.”

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the clink of Boone’s spoon against ceramic as he stirred his coffee. Jax kept his eyes on his plate, hyperaware of Nessie moving through the bakery, of the weight of Oliver’s curious stare from behind the counter, of the way the other customers occasionally glanced their way with barely concealed interest.

Small towns. Everyone always wanted to know everyone else’s business.

“Valor Ridge doesn’t work unless you want to be there,” Boone finally said, setting his spoon down with more care than his huge hands seemed capable of. “You’ve got six months here or you break parole. No getting around that, but if you work at it, it can be more than a condition of your release. It’s a second chance.”

Jax’s jaw tightened until his molars ached. Second chances. Everyone kept throwing that phrase around like it was a life preserver instead of an anchor dragging him down.

What the hell did they expect him to do with a second chance? He’d done his time. Paid his debt. Wasn’t that enough?

“I didn’t ask for a second chance.”

“No one does,” Boone replied. “But you got one anyway.”

A loud burst of laughter erupted from the counter as one of the Carhartt men slapped his friend’s back at some joke. Jax flinched, hand instinctively tightening around his fork.

“Listen.” Boone leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I get it. First day out, everything’s too bright, too loud, too much. You want to run. Find some hole to crawl into until your brain remembers how to process freedom. But running won’t fix what’s broken, Thorne.”

“Nothing’s broken.” The lie tasted bitter on his tongue.

Boone’s navy eyes saw straight through him. “You got out of your cell, but you’re still carrying the bars with you.”

Jax set his fork down before he could do something stupid like stab it into the table. Or Boone’s hand. “You don’t know me.”

“I know enough.” Boone took a slow sip of his coffee, watching Jax over the rim of his mug. “Navy SEAL. Decorated. Then something went wrong overseas. Bad op. You lost half your team, came home a different man. Started spiraling. Ended up putting your CO’s wife in the hospital.”

Each word landed like a gut punch. Jax’s hands were numb, but he felt a warmth in his chest, an uncomfortable heat that he recognized as shame. Not guilt—he’d had five years to process his guilt. But shame was different. Shame was public. It was sitting in a sweet little bakery with a stranger who knew the worst thing you’d ever done while good, decent people served you breakfast.

“That about cover it?” Boone asked.

Jax stared out the window. A woman walked by with a stroller. A man across the street swept the sidewalk in front of a hardware store. Normal people doing normal things on a normal day.

“What do you want from me?” he finally asked.

“Me? Nothing. But Walker—the man who pulled strings to get you out, the man who’s giving you a place to stay, a job to do, and a chance to get your head straight—he thinks you’re worth saving.”

“He’s wrong.”

“Maybe.” Boone shrugged those massive shoulders. “Wouldn’t be the first time. But here’s the thing about Walker. He sees something in the men others have written off. Saw it in me when I was a mean son of a bitch with nothing but rage and a prison record. And now he sees it in you.”

Jax forced himself to take a bite of the eggs. They were good—better than good—but he barely tasted them. His mind was a minefield of memories: Shane’s wife on the ground, blood pooling around her, spurting from the wound he’d opened in her neck; the cold metal of handcuffs; the hollow echo of a cell door closing; the endless, endless nights of staring at concrete walls and wondering if this was all that was left of his life.

“I can’t be saved,” he said quietly.

Boone’s expression didn’t change. “Okay, then come back and show us how irredeemable you are. Prove Walker wrong. Prove me wrong. Prove everyone wrong who thinks you’re worth a damn.”

Jax looked up sharply. “What?”

“You heard me.” Boone was calm, matter-of-fact. “Come back to the Ridge and fail spectacularly. Show us all what a waste of time you are. Hell, make it easy on yourself—break every rule, start fights, refuse to do the work. Walker will have no choice but to send you back to California.”

Jax’s pulse quickened, anger stirring in his chest—the first real emotion he’d felt since walking out of his cell. “You think reverse psychology is going to work on me?”

“I think you’re scared.” Boone’s words cut clean and deep. “Scared that maybe Walker’s right. Scared that you might actually be worth saving, and then you’d have to figure out what to do with a life that means something.”

“Fuck you.”

“There we go.” A faint smile curved Boone’s lips. “First honest thing you’ve said all morning.”