Chapter 9
Word of the attempted poisoning and the dramatic arrest of Sarah Jenkins spread through the quiet suburban neighborhood like wildfire over the next forty-eight hours. Neighbors who had previously only offered polite nods across manicured lawns suddenly found excuses to walk their dogs past Jax’s house, casting curious glances toward the front windows.
On a crisp Thursday morning, Mrs. Gable, a retired schoolteacher who lived two doors down, walked up the driveway carrying a freshly baked apple pie on a porcelain plate. Jax saw her through the front window and opened the door before she could even raise her hand to knock.
"Morning, Mrs. Gable," Jax said, his deep voice polite as he leaned against the doorframe.
"Morning, Jax," the elderly woman said, her eyes darting past him into the bright hallway. She lowered her voice to a concerned whisper. "I heard about... well, I heard about what happened with that woman. And I saw the police cars out front. Are you and the little boy holding up alright?"
Jax glanced back over his shoulder. In the kitchen, Leo was sitting at the table, carefully cutting out construction paper shapes with a pair of blunt safety scissors, completely absorbed in his art project. Jax turned back to the neighbor, a faint, genuine smile softening the hard lines of his bearded face.
"We're doing just fine, Mrs. Gable. Better than fine, actually," Jax replied, accepting the pie plate from her hands. "This is my son, Leo. He moved in permanently."
Mrs. Gable’s eyes widened in surprise, followed quickly by a warm, knowing smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. "Well, bless your heart, Jax. I always said there was more to you than those leather jackets and motorcycles. If you two need anything—tutoring help, groceries, whatever—you just let me know."
"Appreciate that, truly," Jax said, thanking her warmly before closing the door.
He walked back into the kitchen and set the pie on the counter. Leo looked up from his scissors, tilting his head. "Who was that?"
"Just the neighbor bringing us pie," Jax said, pulling up a stool and sitting down across from the boy. "Looks like we're going to have dessert for a week."
May you like
Leo grinned, picking up a piece of blue construction paper. "Can we eat pie for breakfast?"
"Only if you eat your eggs first," Jax negotiated with a mock-serious tone that made the boy laugh out loud. It was a normal domestic rhythm—simple, grounding, and healing. For a man who had spent decades drifting through the rougher edges of the world, building a home from the wreckage of a nightmare turned out to be the most important ride of his life.
