Chapter 8
After dinner, Leo curled up under the heavy quilt, his eyes growing heavy once more. The exhaustion of his journey, combined with a full stomach and the safety of four solid walls, pulled him down into a deep sleep within minutes. Jax watched over him until his breathing slowed and evened out. Satisfied that the boy was truly asleep, Jax stood up quietly from the squeaky mattress, being careful not to make a sound, and slipped out the door into the cool night air.
He walked across the gravel lot to his truck, pulling his heavy leather vest tight against the rising mountain chill. Opening the driver’s side door, he reached under the rubber floor mat, prying open a rusted metal panel where he kept his emergency reserves. Inside sat a small, dented tobacco tin containing his life savings: eight hundred and forty-two dollars in crumpled bills, along with a spare set of keys and his old military discharge papers.
Jax popped the lid off the tin and counted the money again, as if hoping the numbers would magically multiply. They didn't. It was enough to cover a couple of weeks at the motel, some groceries, and maybe a pair of decent shoes for Leo, but it wasn't a foundation. It wasn't stability. He needed to find honest work—real work that didn't involve shady engine rebuilds behind rowdy roadhouses or hauling questionable cargo across state lines. He needed a place where he could anchor himself and give this boy the childhood he had been robbed of.
As Jax stared down at the cash, the ghost of his own father flashed through his mind—a volatile, transient mechanic who drifted from town to town, leaving a trail of broken promises and empty bottles in his wake. Jax had sworn on his mother’s grave that he would never become that man. Yet, here he was, living out of a dented pickup truck, dragging an eight-year-old orphan across state lines with less than a thousand dollars to his name. The irony stung sharper than any blade.
May you like
He snapped the tin shut, shoved it back into its hidden compartment, and slammed the truck door shut with a heavy thud. He stood in the dark parking lot for a long moment, looking up at the glittering expanse of stars spread across the mountain sky. He took a slow, deep breath of the pine-scented air, making a silent promise to the universe that he would break the cycle, no matter what it took.
When Jax returned to Room 4, Leo was still fast asleep, curled into a tight ball under the heavy floral quilt. Jax locked the door, slid the safety chain into place, and sat down in the creaky wooden chair by the window. He didn't turn on the lamp. He just sat in the dim amber glow of the parking lot lights, watching over his son through the cracked blinds, waiting for the dawn to break so they could start building a life from the ashes.
