Chapter 14: The Bridge Ahead
Our final morning on the road dawned crisp and clear, the autumn air sharp enough to frost the tips of the roadside grass. We had rented a small, furnished cabin just outside a quiet college town nestled near the foothills—a place with good schools, steady mechanic shops, and miles of safe hiking trails for a curious eight-year-old boy. Jax had spent the last two days helping us move our few belongings into the front rooms, hammering up curtain rods and fixing a stubborn screen door that refused to latch properly.
By noon, the living room was beginning to look less like a temporary stop and more like a real home. Boxes were stacked neatly against the wall, and the old braided rug I’d bought at a thrift store in Ohio sat squarely in the center of the polished pine floor. Leo was sitting on the front porch steps, using a dry twig to sketch intricate dirt roads for his toy cars while Jax sat beside him, showing him how to properly oil a squeaking bicycle chain.
I stood in the doorway with a mug of coffee in my hand, watching the two of them together. The resemblance wasn't just in the stubborn set of their jaws or the way their hazel eyes caught the midday light; it was in the quiet patience with which they moved, the way neither of them felt any need to rush the silence between them.
Jax looked up from the bicycle chain, catching my eye from across the porch. He handed the oily rag to Leo and stood up, walking slowly toward the screen door. He pushed it open and stepped inside, stopping just a few feet away from me with his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his worn leather vest.
“Town council meeting’s on Thursday,” Jax said, a faint, amused smile playing on his lips. “The owner of the main auto shop on Maple Street is looking to retire. Said he needs a reliable mechanic who knows his way around vintage engines and doesn't mind a little hard work.”
May you like
“Are you thinking about taking it?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe.
“Yeah,” Jax said, his voice steady and sure. “I think I am. If the rent on this place includes a backyard big enough for a boy to build a treehouse, I reckon I’m officially staying put.”
