“Bike,” Emmett said on day two, pointing to a patch on Dale’s vest.
“That’s right, buddy. That’s a motorcycle. I ride one. Or used to, before I got sick.”
“Yeah, buddy. Real sick.”
“Make better?” Emmett asked with heartbreaking hope.
Dale’s eyes filled with tears. “Can’t make me better, little man. But you know what? Sitting here with you makes me feel better. Not sick better. Heart better.”
Emmett seemed to understand. He patted Dale’s chest. “Heart better.”
On day three, Dale took a turn for the worse. His cancer had progressed faster than expected. The doctors pulled his brothers aside and said weeks, not months. Maybe days.
Jessica heard the news from a nurse. She brought Emmett to visit, not knowing if she should. When she got to Dale’s room, his brothers were there—eight of them, all wearing their leather vests, all looking grim.
Snake saw them in the doorway. “Ma’am, maybe today’s not—”
“Dale!” Emmett called out, trying to pull away from his mother.
Jessica hesitated. “We can come back another time—”Continue reading…
