Page 2 of Diesel’s Second Chance

I buried what I felt so deep that night I almost suffocated.

Lou's Diner sits on the corner of Main and Fifth, all chrome and red vinyl, a relic from the fifties that somehow survived when everything else got updated or torn down. The neon sign flickers, *Lou's* in cursive, half the letters dimmer than the others.

I pull into the small lot beside the diner, back the bike into a spot near the entrance where I can see it through the windows. Scan the street twice out of habit. No motorcycles I don't recognize. No cars idling too long. Demon's out there somewhere, but he's not stupid enough to start a firefight on Main Street. Probably.

Inside, the diner smells like coffee and frying onions. Lou himself is behind the counter, seventy with white hair, thick glasses, the kind of man who remembers everyone's order and never writes anything down.

"Jackson," he calls, waving me toward the back. "She's already here."

My chest tightens. "Thanks, Lou."

June sits in our usual booth, facing the door because I always take the seat with my back to the wall. Old habit from my father, reinforced by the club. She's wearing a soft blue sweater that matches her eyes, hair pulled back loose, and when she looks up and smiles, the ache I've carried for two decades flares sharp and immediate.

"Hey," she says, voice warm. "Thought you might cancel tonight."

I slide into the seat across from her, settle my back against the vinyl. "Why would I cancel?"

"Because there's a war happening and you're in the middle of it." She folds her hands on the table, worry creasing the space between her eyebrows. "I know the club's on lockdown. Everyone in town already knows."

Of course they do. Small town problems.

"We're careful," I say, repeating the same hollow reassurance I gave Saint twenty minutes ago.

June doesn't look convinced, but she drops it. "You look tired."

"I'm always tired."

"More than usual." She reaches across the table like she's going to touch my hand, then stops herself. Pulls back. "Are you sleeping?"

Not really. Patrols run until three AM most nights, and when I do close my eyes, I dream about Tommy's funeral or Demon putting a bullet through my skull before I ever get the chance to tell her the truth.

"Enough," I lie.

Lou appears before she can call me on it, sets down two waters and pulls out his pad even though he doesn't need it. "Usual?"

"Yeah," I say.

"Same," June adds. "Thanks, Lou."

He shuffles off, and silence settles between us, the kind that used to be comfortable, back when I could pretend this was only about honoring Tommy. Now it just feels heavy, like the words I'm not saying take up all the oxygen.

"How's your dad?" I ask, because it's safe territory.

"Good days and bad days." June traces the rim of her water glass with one finger. "He asked about you yesterday. Wanted to know if you were still coming by to fix the porch railing."

"I'll swing by this weekend."

"You don't have to. I know you're busy with the club…"

"I'll swing by," I repeat, firmer. Her father's been on my list since the railing started wobbling a month ago. I'm not letting it wait until someone gets hurt.

June's expression softens. "You're a good man, Jackson."

I take a drink of water and focus on the menu board above the counter, even though I've had the same burger ninety-something times and will order it again tonight.

"How's the shop?" I ask.

"Busy. Spring weddings are starting, and apparently everyone in three counties wants peonies this year." She smiles, but it's tired around the edges. "Mrs. Kowalski came in yesterday and cried for forty minutes about her daughter's centerpieces. I just kept nodding and adding more roses."