“You said money.” Hammer leaned against a workbench. “We got an investor. Big order. Twelve custom motorcycles for a dealership chain. Enough money to change everything.” “What happened?” “Daniel wanted to slow down. I wanted to expand.” Hammer looked toward the floor. “We fought.” Emily could imagine it. Daniel could be stubborn. Not cruel. But immovable. “He left?” “Eventually.” “Just because of a business disagreement?” Hammer’s jaw shifted. “No.” Emily knew instantly there was more. “What happened?”
Hammer looked at Noah. “Maybe not in front of him.” “No.” Emily’s voice hardened. “You have hidden enough from me.” Hammer met her gaze. Then he said, “There was an accident.” Noah stopped touching the tools. Emily felt cold. “What accident?” Hammer pulled out an old wooden chair and sat. “We were testing a customer’s bike late one night. Daniel had been working eighteen hours. I told him not to ride it.” Hammer rubbed his thumb across his scarred knuckles. “He did anyway.” Emily waited. “He hit a car.” Noah’s eyes widened. “Was Dad hurt?”
Chapter 7
Hammer nodded. “Badly.” Emily stared at him. “Daniel never had scars from a motorcycle crash.” “Yes, he did.” “Where?” “His ribs. His right hip.” Emily remembered pale lines along Daniel’s side. He had told her they came from falling off a roof while doing construction work. Another lie. Hammer continued. “The driver of the car was hurt too.” “How badly?” Hammer’s expression changed. “Badly enough.” Emily went still. “What does that mean?” Hammer did not answer. Her voice sharpened
“Did someone die?” “No.” Emily released a breath she did not realize she was holding. “But?” “The driver lost the use of one leg for almost a year.” Noah stared at Hammer. “Dad did that?” Hammer nodded. “Your dad made a mistake.” Emily shook her head. “Daniel would have told me.” Hammer gave her a sad look. “Would he?” She hated him for asking. Because the answer was suddenly uncertain. “What happened after the crash?” “The business collapsed. Insurance didn’t cover everything. Daniel blamed himself.” “And you?” “I blamed him too.”
Hammer looked away. “For a while.” Emily folded her arms tightly. “Then he disappeared.” “He stopped riding. Sold his share of the shop for one dollar.” “One dollar?” “To me.” Hammer looked around. “I kept the place another three years. Couldn’t make it work without him.” Noah walked toward the big photograph. “So Dad never rode again?” Hammer looked at the boy. “Not until the hospital.” Silence filled the garage. Emily glanced toward the doorway where the black Harley stood outside. “He sat on the bike.” Hammer nodded. “That’s all?” “No.”
Emily waited. “He turned it on.” Her eyes widened. “He could barely walk.” “I held the motorcycle upright.” Hammer’s voice softened. “He put Noah in front of him.” Noah suddenly smiled. “I remember.” Emily looked at her son. “You do?” Noah nodded. “Dad put my hands on the bars.” Hammer swallowed. “He told him to pretend.” Noah whispered, “We were riding.” Emily closed her eyes. The image hurt more than she expected.
Daniel, thin and exhausted, pretending to ride with his son while a motorcycle remained stationary in a parking garage. Noah touched the old photograph on the wall. “Why didn’t Dad tell Mom?” Hammer answered carefully. “Because some people think hiding their shame protects the people they love.” Emily looked at him. “And does it?” “No.” Hammer’s response came instantly. “No, ma’am. It usually just gives the shame somewhere dark to grow.” Emily turned away. She felt angry at Daniel. That emotion brought guilt. Then anger at the guilt. Eleven months after his death, she was discovering that the man she loved had carried an entire life she had never known. Hammer stood. “There’s something else.” Emily laughed bitterly
“Of course there is.” Hammer walked toward a locked steel cabinet. He opened it. Inside sat a small cardboard box. Daniel’s name was written across the top. Hammer removed it and placed it on the workbench. “What is that?” “He gave it to me.” “When?” “Three days before he died.” Noah moved closer. Hammer lifted the lid. Inside were envelopes. Dozens. Each labeled with dates. Noah’s ninth birthday. Tenth. Eleventh. Twelfth