“Better than okay,” Dale whispered, careful not to wake Emmett. “I’m useful.”
Repo understood immediately. He’d been with Dale through every diagnosis, every bad scan, every time a doctor said there was nothing more they could do. He’d watched Dale struggle with feeling like a burden, like he was just waiting around to die.
“How long you gonna sit there?” Bull asked.
“Long as they need me to,” Dale replied.
It ended up being six hours.
Six hours of Dale holding Emmett while Jessica slept and Marcus dozed in a chair. Six hours of chemotherapy dripping into a dying man’s arm while he gave everything he had left to a toddler who needed him.
Around hour four, Emmett stirred slightly. His eyes opened, and for a moment, he looked confused. Then he saw Dale’s face and didn’t panic. Instead, he just snuggled deeper into the biker’s chest and went back to sleep.
“That’s right, little man,” Dale whispered. “You’re safe. Dale’s got you.”
When Emmett finally woke up around hour six, he didn’t scream. He looked up at Dale with wide eyes and said one word: “More.”
“More what, buddy?” Dale asked softly.
Dale laughed—a real laugh—and started the motorcycle rumble again. Emmett smiled. It was small, but it was there. The first smile his parents had seen in four days.
Jessica woke up at the sound of Dale’s voice. For a moment, she looked confused. Then she remembered. Her son wasn’t screaming. She’d slept for—she checked her phone—three and a half hours. Solid, uninterrupted sleep.Continue reading…
