Daniel had spent the last four months of his life in and out of St. Catherine’s Children and Family Medical Center, where an aggressive illness had gradually stripped away his strength. Near the end, he had needed help walking from his bed to the bathroom. Emily had believed she knew every visitor. Every conversation. Every hope Daniel had refused to surrender. But she had never seen Hammer. She had never seen that photograph. And she had never heard anything about a ride. Noah pointed toward the unfinished child behind his father in the drawing. “That’s supposed to be me.” Hammer looked at the white lines across his precious motorcycle. Then he looked at Noah. Something wet appeared briefly in his eyes before he blinked it away. The silver-haired biker cleared his throat. “Hammer,” he said carefully, “we’re supposed to roll out in six minutes.” Hammer kept staring at the child. Then he reached into the saddlebag again. This time he removed a blue paint marker. He held it out to Noah
Emily’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?” Hammer crouched until he was closer to Noah’s height. “Finish it.” Noah blinked. “The drawing?” “The wristband.” Noah slowly took the marker. Behind Hammer, one of the bikers laughed softly in disbelief. The silver-haired man stared at the solvent in his hand, then put it back into the maintenance box. Noah colored the tiny rectangle blue. Hammer watched every stroke. Then the boy began filling in another small blue mark around the wrist of the unfinished child. Hammer frowned. “Why does the kid have one too?” Noah looked at him. “Dad said we matched.” Emily’s head snapped around.
Chapter 3
“Noah.” The boy looked confused. “What?” “You never had a hospital bracelet when your father was sick.” “Yes, I did.” “No, sweetheart.” Noah’s face tightened. “Dad gave it to me.” Emily stared at him. “When?” “The last time.” A cold sensation moved through her. “What last time?” Noah lowered the marker. “The day he took me downstairs.” Emily stopped breathing. Hammer slowly rose. The bikers went silent again. Emily stepped closer to her son
“Noah, your father never took you downstairs from his hospital room.” “Yes, he did.” “You were only allowed to visit him with me.” Noah shook his head. “One time you were sleeping.” Emily searched his face. Memories moved through her mind in fragmented pieces. Hospital chairs. Coffee cups. Medical alarms. Daniel losing weight. Noah doing homework beside the bed. One afternoon when exhaustion had finally overwhelmed her. She had fallen asleep in the recliner for perhaps forty minutes. When she woke, Daniel and Noah had both been in the room. She had never questioned it. Hammer’s voice came low. “He remembers.” Emily turned.
“You were there.” It was not a question. Hammer nodded. “What happened that day?” Hammer glanced toward the charity riders. Then toward the community center. Finally, he looked at Emily. “You’re not going to like all of it.” “Tell me.” Hammer rubbed a hand over his beard. “Daniel knew he didn’t have much time.” Emily stiffened. “He told me he thought he had months.” “He told you that.” The words landed hard. Emily looked away. Hammer continued. “He asked a nurse to wheel him downstairs. Noah came with him.” “You met my eight-year-old son in a hospital parking garage without telling me?”
Chapter 4
“He was seven then.” “That doesn’t make it better.” “I know.” “Why?” Hammer did not answer. Emily stepped toward him. “Why?” Hammer looked at Noah, then back at her. “Because Daniel asked me to.” “That explains nothing.” “He wanted one hour where he wasn’t a patient.” Emily’s anger faltered. Hammer glanced toward the photograph. “He wanted his boy to remember him doing something besides lying in a bed.” Noah stared at the ground. Emily’s throat tightened. Hammer continued. “Daniel found me through a hospital volunteer.” “What volunteer?”
“Me.” Emily frowned. Hammer lifted one shoulder. “My riding club does transport support twice a month. Families who don’t have cars. Food deliveries. Sometimes we take kids for rides around the hospital courtyard if doctors approve it.” Emily looked toward the rows of motorcycles. She had always assumed the club was merely loud men who collected money on weekends. Hammer gave a small humorless smile. “We don’t put it on billboards.” He turned the photograph upright. “Your husband asked me if I’d let him sit on the bike.” Emily glanced at the picture. “That one.” Hammer nodded. “He picked it.” “Why?” Hammer looked at the Harley. “That’s the part you don’t know.” Before he could explain, the silver-haired biker approached.