Chapter 8: Dawn at the Garage
The morning sun filtered through the grimy upper windows of the repair shop, casting weak beams of dusty light across the loft apartment. Jax was already awake, sitting at the small wooden table with a steaming mug of black coffee in front of him. He had spent the last two hours reviewing a stack of legal forms Sarah Vance had left behind last night, cross-referencing terminology he barely understood. Across the room, Leo was still fast asleep, curled tightly under the heavy woolen blanket, his breathing slow and peaceful for the first time in months.
Jax looked down at his own wrist. The heavy silver watch ticked away the seconds with ruthless indifference. Twenty years ago, that watch had marked the passage of endless miles on the open highway—rides to nowhere, chasing shadows and cheap thrills. Today, it was marking the countdown to the most terrifying and important appointment of his life: the family court hearing at nine o’clock.
He stood up quietly, wincing slightly as his stiff joints popped in the cool morning air. He walked over to the small hot plate and heated up a can of plain oatmeal, adding a spoonful of brown sugar he found in the cupboard. Just as he finished stirring it, Leo stirred on the cot, blinking sleepily against the morning light. The boy sat up, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, looking disoriented for a second before his gaze locked onto Jax.
“Morning, partner,” Jax said softly, setting the bowl of oatmeal down on the table alongside a glass of milk. “Eat up. We’ve got a big day ahead of us.”
Leo climbed out of bed, his scuffed sneakers hitting the floorboards. He was still wearing the oversized leather vest over his tattered shirt, having refused to take it off even to sleep. He walked over to the table, climbed onto the chair, and began eating quietly while Jax went to the small corner sink to splash cold water on his face and comb through his long dark hair, tying it back into a neat, tight ponytail to look presentable for the courtroom.
By eight-thirty, they were standing outside the heavy glass doors of the municipal courthouse downtown. The morning rush hour was in full swing, with streams of people in sharp suits rushing past them toward the subway entrances. Jax stood tall in his dark suit—a slightly dated garment he had worn to a friend’s funeral six years ago—while Leo held tightly to the edge of his jacket pocket, his hazel eyes wide with apprehension at the towering concrete pillars of the government building.
“Stay close to me, Leo,” Jax said, gently resting a large, calloused hand on the boy’s messy brown hair. “Whatever happens inside those doors, I’m not going anywhere.”
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They pushed through the glass doors into the cavernous security lobby, stepping toward the metal detectors where Officer Miller was already waiting for them, holding a visitor pass clipped to his uniform pocket. The officer offered an encouraging nod, guiding them past the line toward the private family court elevators on the far side of the hall.
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