Chapter 13: The Long Wait
The hours between nine in the morning and three in the afternoon stretched out like an eternity. Jax tried to occupy himself by returning to the repair shop to help Hank finish rebuilding a vintage transmission, but his hands kept straying toward the clock hanging above the workbench. Every ticking second echoed the mechanical heartbeat of the silver watch on his wrist, counting down the minutes until he would see those big hazel eyes again.
Hank noticed his distraction, tossing a dirty wrench onto the workbench with a sharp clatter. “Go on, Jax. Get out of here. You’re going to strip the gears on that transmission if you keep staring at it like it’s a ticking bomb.”
“I’ve got forty minutes before the bell,” Jax muttered, wiping grease off his knuckles with a rag.
“And it takes twelve minutes to walk to the elementary school,” Hank replied, a rare, knowing smile cracking his grizzled face. “Go stand by the gate. You’re driving me crazy pacing back and forth.”
Jax didn't argue. He grabbed his heavy leather vest—the same one Leo had worn—slung it over his shoulder, and walked briskly out into the crisp afternoon air.
When he reached the wrought-iron gates of Lincoln Elementary, a small knot of parents and grandparents was already forming along the sidewalk, waiting for the final afternoon bell to ring. Jax stood slightly apart from them, leaning his tall, tattooed frame against a brick pillar. A few mothers glanced at him nervously, taking in his long dark hair, heavy beard, and the fading motorcycle club tattoos on his forearms, but Jax paid them no mind. His entire focus was locked onto the heavy double doors of the school building.
At precisely three o’clock, a sharp electric buzzer rang out across the playground.
The double doors flew open, and a chaotic wave of children spilled out into the sunlight, shouting, laughing, and running toward their waiting families. Jax scanned the moving sea of brightly colored jackets, his heart hammering against his ribs in a way it hadn't even when facing down dangerous roads or hostile strangers.
Then, cutting through the crowd, he spotted the bright red backpack.
Leo walked out of the school building at a calm, deliberate pace, his new sneakers hitting the concrete cleanly. He scanned the waiting crowd until his big hazel eyes locked onto Jax standing by the brick pillar. A wide, genuine smile broke across the boy’s pale face—a look of pure, unadulterated hope and relief that made Jax’s throat tighten instantly.
Leo broke into a run, dodging past a couple of slower classmates, and launched himself directly into Jax’s open arms.
Jax caught him effortlessly, lifting the eight-year-old boy off the ground in a powerful, protective embrace. He buried his face briefly in Leo’s messy light brown hair, inhaling the scent of fresh air and playground chalk, blinking hard against the sudden moisture stinging his eyes.
“How was your first day, partner?” Jax asked, his voice thick with emotion as he set Leo back down on his feet.
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Leo beamed, reaching proudly into his backpack to pull out a messy finger-painting covered in bright yellow and blue swirls. “It was good, Jax. I didn't get sent to the principal’s office. And I made a friend named Toby.”
***
