Chapter 6: The Dusty Garage
The midday sun beat down mercilessly on the corrugated metal roof of Jax’s garage, turning the workspace into a sweltering oven thick with the scent of old motor oil, burnt rubber, and hot steel. Outside, the distant roar of Harley engines from the rally still echoed off the highway, but inside, the world narrowed down to the clicking of wrenches against concrete and the heavy, rhythmic breathing of an old sedan on rusted jack stands. Leo sat cross-legged on a worn rubber mat near the workbench, completely absorbed in lining up a row of discarded washers and spare nuts like tiny soldiers. I stood a few feet away, leaning against a stack of spare truck tires, watching the quiet, cautious rhythm between the man who had abandoned us twelve years ago and the boy who had brought him back.
Jax wiped his grease-stained hands on a rag, tossing it aside with a soft sigh. He reached deep into the engine bay of our battered sedan, his broad shoulders tensing as he gripped the split radiator hose. “The clamp rusted right through,” Jax muttered, his voice gravelly and low. “Whoever put this on last didn’t seat the flange properly. You probably lost all your coolant twenty miles back on Route 9.”
“We pulled over twice to let her cool down,” I said, crossing my arms defensively over my chest. “Money was tight. We patched what we could with tape and hope.”
Jax paused, his knuckles resting against the rusted fender. He didn’t look at me right away; instead, his dark eyes dropped down to the grease-smudged cement between his boots. “You shouldn’t have had to do that alone, Clara. Back then... I didn't think I was good for anything except tearing things down. I figured you and my old man’s trailer park life were better off without me dragging you under.”
“Don't blame my dad's trailer park, Jax,” I fired back, the old bitterness stinging my throat. “My dad worked double shifts at the mill until his lungs gave out. Leaving wasn't about noble sacrifice; you got scared because the world was demanding you grow up, and you hopped on a bus to nowhere instead.”
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Jax absorbed the blow in silence. He didn’t shout, didn’t slam a wrench, didn’t retreat behind that tough biker armor he wore out on the street. He just nodded slowly, acknowledging the hard, ugly truth of it. Leo looked up from his washers, sensing the sudden shift in the air, but didn't say a word. The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the ticking of the cooling engine and the ghost of choices made a dozen years ago.
“You're right,” Jax finally said, his voice stripped of all pretense. He reached into his leather vest and pulled out a small pocketknife, deftly slicing away the ruined section of the rubber hose. “I was a coward. But I'm right here now, Clara. And I'm going to fix this car, whether you want my help or not.”
