Chapter 10: The Ghost in the Garage
The old red pickup truck sat in the shadows at the very back of Eli’s property, half-hidden beneath a faded blue tarp and overgrown weeds. It was a relic from the late seventies, rusted around the wheel wells and dented on the passenger side, but under the hood rested a stubbornly reliable engine that Eli had rebuilt twice over the decades.
Jax and Eli stood beside the truck in the chilly night air, the amber light from the workshop casting long, distorted shadows across the gravel driveway. Leo stood a few feet away, watching them with quiet intensity, still wrapped tightly in the oversized leather jacket.
“Transmission’s still shot, Jax,” Eli warned, wiping his greasy hands on a rag as he gestured toward the truck’s rusted hood. “I pulled the gear housing out yesterday to replace a busted seal, and I haven't put it back together yet. If we’re going to get this old beast running by dawn, we’re going to have to work fast and quiet. No power tools. Just hand wrenches and grease.”
“Let’s get to work,” Jax said, rolling up the sleeves of his black t-shirt and revealing the heavy black ink sprawling across his forearms. He didn't hesitate. The urgency of the morning sun creeping over the horizon hung over them like a ticking clock.
For the next two hours, the workshop became a symphony of quiet, focused labor. Eli directed the mechanical overhaul with precise, whispered instructions, while Jax applied his raw physical strength to hoist heavy steel parts into place. Every clink of metal against metal sounded deafening in the dead of night, causing Jax to pause every few minutes to listen intently for the sound of an approaching motorcycle engine on the nearby highway.
Inside the workshop, Leo refused to just sit by and watch. After finding a small, clean rag and an old pair of safety goggles that rested comically large on his face, the boy began methodically wiping down the scattered chrome parts and sorting nuts and bolts into rusted coffee cans. He worked with a quiet, focused determination that mirrored Jax’s own intensity, a subtle genetic echo that did not go unnoticed by Eli. The old mechanic kept glancing over at the boy with a look of quiet admiration, realizing just how much father and son were alike beneath the surface.
By three in the morning, the heavy transmission housing was bolted back into place, filled with fresh fluid, and tested for leaks. Eli wiped his forehead with a dirty forearm, leaving a smear of black grease across his brow, and turned the ignition key in the truck’s dashboard. With a sputtering cough and a thick puff of gray exhaust smoke, the old engine roared to life, settling into a deep, steady rumble that vibrated through the cold night air.
Jax let out a long breath, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease just a fraction. He walked over to Leo, gently lifting the oversized safety goggles off the boy’s face and setting them on the workbench.
“You did good tonight, kid,” Jax said softly, his rough voice carrying a rare, genuine warmth.
May you like
Leo offered a small, tired smile, his big hazel eyes heavy with exhaustion. “Is it time to go to Ohio now?” the boy asked softly.
“Almost,” Jax replied, his expression hardening again as he looked out the grimy window toward the dark highway. “First, we need to talk about what happens when the sun comes up and Marcus realizes I’m not at the clubhouse.”
