Emmett looked at his mother, then back at Dale. Still whimpering, but the screaming had stopped.
Dale slowly extended his hand, not to grab Emmett, just offering it. “You don’t gotta come to me. But if you want to, I got strong arms. And I promise, I won’t let nothing hurt you.”
Dale took it gently. “There we go. You’re doing so good, buddy.”
Slowly, carefully, Dale sat down in the room’s chair and opened his arms. To everyone’s shock, Emmett climbed out of his mother’s lap and into the biker’s arms. He was still crying, still scared, but something about Dale felt safe.
Dale settled Emmett against his chest, the toddler’s ear right over his heart. Then he started doing something odd—he made a low rumbling sound with his chest. Not quite humming, more like a motorcycle engine idling. A steady, deep vibration.
“My kids could never sleep without that sound,” Dale said softly, the rumble continuing. “Their mama used to hate it when I’d rev up the bike at night, but it was the only thing that worked. Something about the vibration calms the nervous system down.”
Emmett was still crying, but he’d stopped fighting. His small body relaxed slightly against Dale’s chest.
“What’s wrong with him?” Dale asked quietly. “Besides being scared.”
“Respiratory infection,” Marcus explained. “His breathing’s better now, but the treatments scared him. Everything here scares him. He’s… he’s autistic. He doesn’t process things the same way. All this sensory input—the sounds, the lights, the people—it’s overwhelming him. His brain can’t shut down. He just keeps escalating.”Continue reading…
