Chapter 12
The crisp morning air of Oakhaven smelled of damp pine needles and woodsmoke as Jax walked Leo down the maple-lined sidewalk toward the local elementary school three blocks from their apartment. Leo wore a brand-new pair of blue jeans and a clean plaid shirt that Jax had bought him the previous evening using his first cash advance from Arthur. The scuffed sneakers were still on his feet, but they had been scrubbed clean. Leo clutched a brand-new red backpack tightly against his chest, his knuckles slightly white with nervous tension.
Jax walked beside him, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his leather vest. He felt entirely out of place amidst the flock of soccer moms minivans and chatting parents gathered around the school entrance, yet he refused to let go of his son’s hand. He knew how terrifying it was to walk into a completely new world where you didn't know a single soul.
“Remember what I told you, Leo,” Jax said gently, stopping right at the edge of the schoolyard gate. He knelt down so he was eye-level with the boy, his calloused hands resting firmly on Leo’s shoulders. “You don't have to prove anything to anyone. Just be yourself. And I’ll be waiting right here by this big oak tree at three o'clock sharp. I won't be late.”
Leo nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. The overwhelming anxiety of his mother’s passing and their endless journey hung heavy in the air, but looking into Jax’s steady, reassuring hazel eyes gave him an anchor of safety. “You promise you won't leave?”
“I promise, Leo. Not a chance in the world,” Jax said firmly, offering a rare, reassuring smile. He pulled his son into a brief, fierce hug—a gesture that felt awkward at first, born of years of isolation, but melted into a profound, natural embrace.
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Leo turned and walked through the wrought-iron school gate, his red backpack bouncing against his back. He didn't look back until he reached the heavy oak doors of the building. He turned, gave a small wave, and disappeared inside. Jax stood frozen by the oak tree for a long moment, his chest swelling with a fierce, protective pride he had never known existed.
True to his word, Jax spent the next few hours working furiously in bay three of Arthur’s shop, overhauling a stubborn diesel engine with absolute precision. Every tick of the clock on the shop wall seemed amplified, counting down the minutes until three o'clock. When the hands finally aligned, Jax wiped his hands on a shop rag, grabbed his jacket, and walked out the door without a second hesitation.
