Chapter 11 - Makeshift Family
An hour later, the diner had mostly cleared out. The boy, whose name was Leo, had devoured a massive plate of pancakes and was now dozing in Clara’s booth, wrapped in Jax’s heavy leather vest.
Jax sat across from Clara, staring blankly at the empty plate. He had read the letter. Elara had passed away three weeks ago, leaving Leo with nothing but the address of the diner Jax had vaguely mentioned in a postcard ten years prior.
"I don't know the first thing about being a father, let alone an uncle," Jax admitted, his voice rough. He rubbed his face in exhaustion. "I live in a garage, Clara. I eat canned soup. Look at me. I'm no good for a kid."
"He doesn't need you to be perfect, Jax," Clara said, her voice steady and grounded. "He just needs you to not walk away this time. He rode a bus across the state just to find you. You're all he has."
May you like
Jax looked at the sleeping boy, the heavy weight of responsibility warring with his deep-seated fear of failure.
"I'll help you," Clara offered, surprising herself. A month ago, she couldn't even stand up to her own husband. Now, she was volunteering to help a gruff ex-racer raise his orphaned nephew. "We can figure it out. You don't have to do it alone."
