The Boy Who Could Not Run
The chrome on Cody Cane's leg brace caught the weak afternoon sunlight.
For a second, it looked almost beautiful.
Then Cody moved.
The illusion disappeared.
The ten-year-old boy took one slow step across the dusty lot beside the Serpent's Hand clubhouse. His right leg trembled beneath him. The heavy brace locked around his calf and knee, forcing his movements into a stiff mechanical rhythm.
Step.
Pause.
Drag.
Step.
Pause.
Drag.
Every movement seemed to cost him something.
Jax Breaker Cane watched from the clubhouse porch.
He sat on an old wooden swing that had been there longer than most of the men who now called the clubhouse home. The chains groaned softly every time he shifted his weight.
Jax barely noticed.
His eyes were fixed on his son.
Cody had stopped halfway across the lot.
A group of children were playing soccer near the fence. Their laughter drifted across the afternoon air. One boy kicked the ball too hard, sending it flying over the fence. The others erupted in laughter as they chased after it.
Cody watched them.
He didn't move.
Jax saw the expression on his son's face.
Defeat.
He knew that expression.
Twenty years earlier, he'd seen it on another boy's face.
Danny.
His younger brother.
Danny had been born with brittle bone disease. His bones fractured easily, and as he grew older, even ordinary childhood activities became dangerous.
School had been merciless.
Kids had mocked his crutches. They had hidden them, kicked them away, and laughed when Danny struggled to retrieve them.
Jax had fought anyone who dared touch his brother.
He'd thrown punches.
He'd been suspended.
He'd stood between Danny and the world with the fury of an older brother who believed strength could solve anything.
But strength couldn't defeat disease.
Danny had gotten worse.
And eventually, Jax had learned the hardest lesson of his life:
There were some things a fist couldn't fix.
The memory had never left him.
For twenty years, he'd carried the guilt.
He had protected Danny from bullies, but he hadn't been able to protect him from the thing that was actually destroying his body.
Now Cody stood in that same dusty lot, and Jax felt the old wound opening again.
Only this time, he refused to accept helplessness.
"Can't keep watching this, Prez."
Jax looked up.
Grizz stood beside the porch.
Grizz was the Serpent's Hand sergeant-at-arms, a massive man with a beard that seemed to have been assembled from steel wool and bad decisions. His arms were covered in tattoos, and his hands were permanently stained with grease.
He held a mug of black coffee.
Jax didn't answer.
Grizz followed his gaze.
"Kid's hurting."
"I know."
"You've been to every specialist in the county."
"I know."
"Every specialist in the state."
Jax's jaw tightened.
"Don't remind me."
Grizz took a sip.
"Then maybe it's time to stop asking the people with fancy degrees."
Jax finally turned toward him.
"What are you talking about?"
"There's a guy."
"What guy?"
"Mechanic. Name's Sam Finch."
Jax frowned.
"Never heard of him."
"Most people haven't."
Grizz leaned against the railing.
"Runs a garage down on the industrial strip. Place looks like it's one strong wind away from collapsing. But the man's got hands."
"What kind of hands?"
"The kind that can make metal do things it wasn't designed to do."
Jax glanced back toward Cody.
Grizz continued.
"I've seen him build custom parts for bikes. Stuff nobody else could make work. He doesn't have an engineering degree."
"Then what does he have?"
"Talent."
Grizz paused.
"And apparently a whole lot of trouble."
Jax looked at him.
"Meaning?"
"Some developer named Silas Croft wants his property. He's been pressuring Finch for months. Offering him pennies. Threatening him with legal action. Apparently, the garage has been in Finch's family for fifty years."
Jax stared at the boy again.
"Can he build something for Cody?"
"I don't know."
"Can he?"
Grizz shrugged.
"Maybe."
Jax stood.
That single word was enough.
Maybe.
It wasn't hope.
Not yet.
But it was more than he'd had yesterday.