Chapter Text
Harley wiped the grease from his hands onto his worn jeans as he stepped out of Mr. Jules' workshop into the late afternoon sun. The Tennessee heat clung to him like a second skin, but he barely noticed as his mind raced ahead to the next item on his to-do list.
First, he had to hustle over to Max's Diner to start his evening shift as a waiter. As he walked, Harley ticked through the orders he'd have to remember and the tables he'd be responsible for. His feet ached from being on them since the crack of dawn delivering papers, followed by a full day working in the garage. But he couldn't afford to be late for his shift at the diner. Every dollar counted for his family.
Harley's stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn't eaten since the bowl of cereal he'd gulped down at sunrise. No time for food now though, he thought. Maybe he could snag a bite of something later between waiting tables.
As the diner came into view, Harley took a deep breath and plastered a smile on his face.
"Can't let 'em see how exhausted I am," he told himself. Time to turn on the charm for the customers. The front windows of the diner were covered with a thin layer of grease as thick as a winter coat. Inside, a jukebox played country music as patrons finished up their meals.
Pushing through the door, he called out, "Howdy folks! Who's ready for some sweet tea and Max's famous meatloaf special?"
Harley's mouth watered. The smells of the diner's food drifted through the air, mixing with the grease in the kitchen, and the smell of sweat and steam.
Harley breezed through the diner, taking orders and delivering food and drinks to customers. As he paused to grab a pitcher of iced tea, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the shiny metal surface. His blond hair stuck up every which way and the circles under his eyes seemed more pronounced than ever.
"Gotta remember to thank Mom for watching Annabelle tonight," he thought. His little sister had been home sick from school today, which meant extra work for his overburdened mother.
Thinking of his mom made Harley's thoughts drift to his absent father. It had been seven long years since Bruno walked out on them, leaving a gaping hole in their family. Harley had tried to fill that hole as best he could, taking on the role of man of the house from a young age. But sometimes he still missed having a dad around.
Shaking off those gloomy thoughts, Harley grabbed two plates of the meatloaf special and headed toward his next table. As he served Mr. and Mrs. Johnson their dinner, laughing at their gentle bickering over whether to get apple pie or peach cobbler for dessert, his eyes landed on a family of four sitting nearby.
Harley watched the dad cutting up his little girl's meatloaf into bite-sized pieces. A familiar ache bloomed in his chest. He quickly turned away before anyone could see the sheen of tears in his eyes.
Harley busied himself clearing empty plates, trying not to dwell on what he didn't have. A few minutes later, the bell on the diner's front door jingled as Michael, sauntered in. Michael was a bean pole of a kid, a gangly fourteen year old with giant hands and feet. His black hair fell over his eyes, and he shoved it back with a frown on his face, as if the world was constantly on his case.
"Hey man," Michael said, plopping down at the counter. Michael's voice was deep, but quiet. He spoke softly when he talked, but it always filled the room, and Harley always yearned to hear him speak.
Harley grabbed two Cokes from the fridge and passed one to his best friend. "How's it going?"
"Same old. Failed my history test today. Mom's on the warpath again."
Harley nodded in sympathy. He knew Michael's home situation was as rocky as his own. It was part of why they'd been so close since grade school.
"Annabelle was home sick today," Harley said after a moment. "I hate leaving Mom alone to take care of her."
"I get it," Michael replied. "But you're doing the best you can. We both are."
Harley smiled faintly. Only Michael truly understood the constant juggling act required to help support their families.
"I better get back to work before Max chews me out." Harley gulped the last of his soda. "See you tomorrow?"
"Bright and early for school," Michael confirmed.
As Harley cleared more tables, he felt bolstered knowing his best friend had his back. Family wasn't just about blood. Sometimes it was about who showed up.
Harley wiped down the last table, glancing at the clock. Nearly 8pm. He untied his apron and called out a goodbye to Max as he headed for the door.
The night air was cold and crisp as Harley jogged down the quiet street. He needed to hustle if he was going to make it to hockey practice on time.
At the rink, Harley quickly laced up his skates and took to the ice. The smooth glide beneath his feet washed away the stress of the day. He loved everything about hockey - the speed, the precision, the thrill of the puck hitting his stick just right.
Harley stayed late after practice, as usual, to work on his slap shot. Over and over he wound up and fired at the net, picturing an arena full of cheering fans. Hockey was his ticket out of this small town, he just knew it.
As he skated lazy circles to cool down, Harley thought about the scouts who were coming next week. He had to be ready. This was his chance to prove he had what it took.
Exhausted but satisfied, Harley finally left the rink. Tomorrow he would wake up early and do it all over again - somehow finding time for school, work, family and hockey. The balancing act never ended, but on the ice, he felt free.
Harley trudged up the steps to his small house, his muscles aching. He was bone-tired, but he still had homework to finish. In the morning he has his paper route.
Inside, he found his mom and sister already asleep. Quietly, he heated up leftovers and sat down to eat. The house was silent except for the ticking of the clock.
Harley's eyelids grew heavy as he tried to focus on his textbooks. He thought about his dad, wondered if he ever thought about them anymore. Anger and hurt swirled inside him.
The ringing phone startled Harley awake. Bleary-eyed, he answered to hear the enthusiastic voice of Tony Stark. Immediately Harley perked up, the familiar voice of his mentor easing the tension in his shoulders.
"Hey kid, how's it going?" Tony asked.
They chatted about school, hockey, everything and nothing. With Tony, Harley didn't have to be the responsible one. He could just be a kid.
After they hung up, Harley went to bed with a smile on his face. Tomorrow would be another long day, but he could handle anything with Tony believing in him.
Harley woke before dawn, his alarm blaring. He silenced it quickly, not wanting to wake his mom and sister. In the quiet house, he got ready for his paper route.
Outside, the morning air was cold and damp. Harley pedaled his creaky bike through the sleepy neighborhood. He knew this route by heart, dropping papers on doorsteps with precision.
The sun peeked over the horizon as Harley finished up. He headed home to get ready for school, his stomach growling. There was no time for breakfast today.
At school, Harley struggled to focus, yawning through his classes. His grumbling stomach distracted him. After school, he went straight to his job at the diner.
Eight hours on his feet running beetween customers and Harley was dead on his feet. But he had one more stop - the auto shop where he worked weekends and some nights.
Under the hood of a car, Harley finally relaxed. This was his happy place. Mr. Jules sometimes let him tinker and create in the backroom workshop.
"You're gonna change the world someday," Mr. Jules said, ruffling Harley's hair.
Harley smiled, remembering Tony's words of encouragement. He was exhausted, but it was all for his family. And for the future he dreamed of, guided by his mentor's voice on the phone each week. A future where he could follow his passion, where his sister would have everything she deserved.
Harley wiped the grease from his hands, glancing at the clock. Nearly midnight. He still had homework to finish when he got home.
The bell on the shop door jingled as Michael sauntered in. With school and work, there wasn't much time for fun activities or socialising. But Michael always found time to sit and chat with him.
"Hey man, thought you could use some fuel," he said, offering a paper bag. Inside were two greasy cheeseburgers.
Harley's stomach rumbled. "You're a lifesaver," he said through a mouthful.
They sat in comfortable silence, devouring the burgers. Michael always seemed to know when Harley needed him most.
"I heard Coach is looking at you for team captain," Michael said.
Harley shrugged. "I dunno, I've missed a lot of practices working."
"Doesn't matter, you're still the best player we've got."
Harley smiled. Hockey was his escape, the ice his sanctuary from the pressures of his life. He lived for the speed, the energy, the laser focus of the game.
Michael threw a rag at his head. "Get some rest, superstar. Don't work too hard."
Harley laughed. With his best friend's support, he could handle anything life threw at him.
Harley took a deep breath as he locked up the shop for the night. He could feel the weight of exhaustion pressing down on his shoulders. His worn boots scraped along the pavement as he slowly made his way home.
The house was dark and quiet when he slipped inside. He peeked into Annabelle's room, smiling softly at his sister's sleeping form. She looked so peaceful, her dreams untroubled.
In his own small bedroom, Harley collapsed onto the creaky mattress. He glanced at the textbook and notes sprawled across his desk and sighed. His mind was too foggy for algebra tonight.
Rolling onto his back, Harley rubbed his eyes until colors burst across his vision. He could almost hear Tony's voice - "Get some rest, kid. You can't save the world if you don't take care of yourself first."
If only it were that easy. Rest felt like a luxury Harley couldn't afford, not with so many people relying on him. Providing for his family, caring for Annabelle, working to build a future - it all rested squarely on his weary shoulders.
Someday, he promised himself as his eyes drifted closed. Someday things will be easier. But for now, this was his life. His exhausting, demanding, unrelenting life.