Chapter 10: Walking to School
The morning air carried that sharp, damp bite of late autumn, turning our breath into little gray plumes as Sarah, Jax, and I stood on our tiny front porch. It was a strange kind of morning, the kind where the silence between adults felt heavy with unsaid things, yet lighter than it had been a week ago. Jax wore a clean, dark blue flannel shirt over a plain white t-shirt, his leather vest locked away in a storage box at the back of his rented cottage. His long dark hair was tied back neatly with a leather cord, and his beard had been trimmed short around his jawline. He looked less like an outlaw and more like any other working man in this quiet stretch of Ohio, though the faded ink across his knuckles still gave away a lifetime of hard roads.
"You got your notebook, Leo?" Sarah asked, kneeling down to adjust the collar of my old blue jacket. Her hands were steady, though I saw her glance up at Jax with a look that was half-caution, half-curiosity.
"In my bag," I said, patting the canvas strap over my shoulder.
"All right," Sarah stood up, wiping her hands on her jeans. She looked at Jax, her expression softening around the edges. "He goes in at eight-thirty. The bell rings again at three. Don't go making a spectacle of yourself, Jax. This town has long memories and sharp tongues."
"I know how to keep a low profile, Sarah," Jax said quietly, his voice deep and reassuring. "I’ll just walk him to the corner. I’m not here to cause a stir."
"Just... be careful," she murmured, touching his arm for a fleeting second before stepping back inside the warmth of the hallway.
Jax and I set off down the sidewalk together. For the first few blocks, the rhythm of our footsteps felt a bit stiff, the weight of eight years still hovering between us. But as we crossed Maple Street, Jax casually dropped his hand onto my shoulder, guiding me away from a puddle left by the overnight frost. It was a simple, grounding gesture, the kind other kids took for granted every single day, but to me, it felt like an anchor holding the whole world in place.
"You like your teacher this year?" Jax asked, breaking the quiet as we turned down the sidewalk leading toward Lincoln Elementary.
"Mr. Henderson," I replied, looking up at him. "He’s tough on math, but he lets us use the old encyclopedia sets after we finish our quizzes."
"Math’s important," Jax nodded, his gaze fixed straight ahead. "Helps you figure out the measure of things before they break."
As we drew closer to the school grounds, the usual morning chaos came into focus. Station wagons and pickup trucks were parked along the curbs, mothers and fathers unloading backpacks and lunchboxes while kids raced across the asphalt toward the front steps. When Jax and I walked through the main gate, the chatter among the parents near the bike racks began to taper off. Heads turned. Eyes flicked from my scuffed sneakers up to Jax’s tall, broad frame, taking in the unmistakable posture of a man who didn't belong in a school drop-off line.
Mrs. Gable, the school secretary who knew every kid by name, stopped mid-sentence while talking to a third-grade mother, her eyes narrowing slightly as she spotted us. Whispers rippled through a small cluster of mothers standing near the brick pillar. I felt my chest tighten, my fingers curling into the straps of my backpack. For a second, I thought Jax might pull back, might retreat to the safety of his motorcycle.
Instead, Jax didn't flinch. He didn't glare or hunch his shoulders either. He simply stopped at the edge of the playground pavement, knelt down so we were eye-to-eye, and gave my shoulder a firm, grounding squeeze.
"Have a good day, Leo," Jax said, his voice steady and completely unbothered by the stares around us. "I’ll be waiting right across the street when the bell rings."
"You don't have to wait across the street, Jax," I said softly, glancing at the group of parents whispering by the wall.
May you like
"I do," Jax replied, a faint, rare smile touching the corners of his mouth. "Some things are worth standing around for."
I nodded, feeling a sudden surge of heat behind my eyes, and turned toward the doors. When I looked back once from the top of the concrete steps, Jax was already standing leaning against the low chain-link fence across the asphalt, his hands tucked into his pockets, watching the door until I slipped inside. The whispering mothers had turned back to their coffee cups, but Jax didn't move an inch. He was right there, exactly where he said he’d be.
