By the time Jax finally pulled into the school parking lot, the place was nearly empty. The afternoon sun was dipping low, turning the rows of cars gold, and the guilt hit him before he’d even cut the engine. He was late—again. He ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath as he climbed off of the Harley and headed for the front doors, the familiar weight of his kutte heavy on his shoulders.

Inside, the halls were quiet except for the faint hum of fluorescent lights. Then he heard it—a soft laugh, Abel’s laugh—and followed it to the classroom at the end of the hall. There he was, sitting cross-legged on the rug, happily building something out of blocks while someone sat beside him, watching with an easy smile.