Chapter 10
The older man behind the counter closed the ledger with a soft thud, resting his thick forearms on the polished wood. His name tag read Arthur, though his weathered skin suggested he had been running this shop since before Jax was born. Arthur didn't blink at Jax’s imposing stature, the faded tattoos trailing down his forearms, or the rough scar running along his jawline. In a town like Oakhaven, men with rough pasts often showed up looking for a second chance; Arthur had hired half of them over the decades.
“Saw your sign outside,” Jax said, his voice deep and steady. He kept his hands loose at his sides, refusing to slouch. “I’m a mechanic. I can fix anything with an internal combustion engine, and I don't mind getting my hands dirty.”
Arthur adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, studying Jax’s intense hazel eyes—eyes that mirrored the exact shade of the boy waiting out in the truck. “Experience?” Arthur asked bluntly, skipping the polite small talk.
“Fifteen years on the road, fixing everything from semi-trucks on the interstate to vintage bikes in abandoned garages,” Jax replied without hesitation. “I work hard, I don't drink on the clock, and I keep my head down.”
Arthur reached under the counter, pulled out a greasy wrench, and tossed it across the wood. Jax caught it cleanly out of the air with one hand, his reflexes sharp. Arthur grunted approvingly. “Bay three has a Ford pickup with a blown transmission that three other guys couldn't diagnose. If you can have that running by sundown, you’ve got yourself a job, forty bucks an hour, and a small apartment above the lumber yard out back.”
Jax felt a massive weight lift off his chest. Forty dollars an hour and a place to live—a real apartment with four walls, a kitchen, and a bed for Leo. It was more than a lifeline; it was the foundation he desperately needed. “Deal,” Jax said, gripping the wrench tightly.
He walked straight back out to the truck, opening the passenger door with a rare, genuine smile breaking through his dark beard. Leo looked up, sensing the shift in the air immediately. “How’d it go?”
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“Get your bag, kiddo,” Jax said, lifting the boy down from the high seat. “We just found a place to unpack.”
For the next eight hours, Jax threw himself into the work. He rolled under the heavy Ford pickup in bay three, covered in grease, sweat, and motor oil. He diagnosed a fractured transmission linkage that everyone else had missed, welded the housing back together with surgical precision, and tuned the engine until it purred like a contented cat. Leo sat quietly on a stool in the corner of the shop, reading his comic book, doing schoolwork from a workbook Arthur had provided, and watching his father command the garage with quiet authority.
