Biker Was Crying Over A Thing In That Blue Towel And I Had To Pull Over To See What Broke This Tough Man

He bent over her, stroking her head with one massive, tattooed finger. “Stay with me, baby girl,” he whispered. “You’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

She whimpered—a weak, heartbreaking sound. He made a noise I’d never heard from a grown man, somewhere between a sob and a prayer. “I got you,” he said. “You’re safe now. Nobody’s ever gonna hurt you again.”

I ran a red light. I didn’t care.

“What’s your name?” I asked, needing to break the silence.

“Nomad,” he said. “Real name’s Robert. Been riding thirty-eight years. Never passed an animal in need. Can’t do it.”

“I’m Chris,” I said. “And I’m sorry I almost didn’t stop.”

He met my eyes in the mirror. “You stopped. That’s what matters. You’re a good man, Chris.”

I didn’t feel like one. I felt like a fool who’d judged someone by leather and patches.

We reached the vet in fourteen minutes. Nomad was out before I stopped, running with the puppy in his arms. A vet tech met him at the door.

“Hit by car,” he said quickly. “Back leg’s broken. Maybe internal bleeding. She’s been out there at least an hour.”Continue reading…