Chapter 3: The Space Between Us
The space heater gave off a dry, clicking sound as the metal coils glowed a dull, angry orange in the dim corner of the garage. Outside, the desert night dropped the temperature fast, the wind whistling through the gaps in the corrugated tin siding, but inside the small perimeter of warmth, the air smelled of hot dust and old iron.
Jax sat on a wooden crate across from the cot, a rusted wrench resting idly across his knees. He hadn't turned on the overhead lights; the only illumination came from a single green-shaded work lamp clamped to the workbench, casting long, twisted shadows across the walls covered in faded posters of vintage choppers and engine diagrams.
He had folded the lined paper and tucked it carefully into the small breast pocket of his vest, right over his heart.
“She didn't talk much about you after we moved to the trailer,” I said, breaking the silence that had stretched for nearly an hour. My legs were tucked up under the army blanket, the rough wool scratching against my shins. “Just that you had a laugh like a motorcycle engine turning over on a cold morning.”
Jax let out a dry, short breath that sounded almost like a laugh, though there was no humor in it.
“She had a way of describing things,” he murmured, staring down at the heavy silver ring on his left hand. He twisted it slowly around his finger, the metal catching the green light of the lamp. “Always too soft for this county. I told her that the day we met behind the bowling alley. I told her I was bad news wrapped in leather.”
“She said you were just scared,” I replied quietly.
Jax stopped twisting the ring. His head snapped up, his pale eyes fixing on me with a sudden, sharp intensity that would have made anyone else shrink back. But I had spent two years watching my mother fade away on a sagging mattress; I wasn't afraid of a man who only knew how to look tough.
“What do you know about being scared, kid?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
“I know what it’s like to watch the food run out and wait for someone who’s never coming back,” I said, my voice not shaking at all.
Jax flinched. The words hit him harder than a punch to the jaw. He looked away, his gaze dropping back to the concrete floor between his boots, his jaw working as he swallowed hard. The silence returned, heavier this time, filled with the weight of twelve years of empty roads and silent regrets.
“Your mom... she still got that blue truck?” he asked after a long while.
“Sold it two winters ago for coal and medicine,” I said. “She said it was a good trade.”
Jax closed his eyes, his head bowing down until his long dark hair fell forward, shielding his face from the green light. For a moment, his massive shoulders shook with a single, restrained shudder—not crying, just the shudder of a man realizing the full, undeniable cost of his own freedom.
May you like
“Get some sleep, Leo,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly on my name. “Tomorrow, we figure out what the hell we’re gonna do with you.”
I pulled the scratchier edges of the army blanket up to my chin, watching the orange glow of the space heater paint patterns on the corrugated wall. Jax didn't move from his crate. He stayed right there under the green lamp, a dark, silent silhouette guarding the corner, watching the door as if he expected the past to finally catch up to him before the sun came up.
