Skip to content Sarah nodded. “Tommy’s autism makes faces hard for him. But patterns, symbols, specific details—those stick. Mike knew that. He made you recognizable by your patches, your tattoos, your features.”
“Daddy said bikers keep promises,” Tommy said. He’d finally let go of my vest but grabbed my hand. “Ride?”
“Tommy, no,” Sarah started.
“Ma’am,” I interrupted. “Your husband rode with us for twenty years. That makes you family. That makes Tommy family.”
Big Jim stepped forward. “Every member of our club makes the same promise. If something happens to one of us, the others look after their family. Real support. Being there.”
“Mike made us promise something specific about Tommy,” Dutch added. “Said if anything happened to him, we needed to watch out for his boy.”
“We thought he meant if he got arrested,” Roadkill admitted. “We didn’t know he was sick.”
“Brain tumor,” Sarah said quietly. “Diagnosed eight months ago. He didn’t want anyone to know. He just quietly prepared Tommy to find you when he was gone.”
Tommy tugged on my hand. “Ride now?”
Sarah went to her car and came back with a small black helmet covered in motorcycle stickers. Good quality. Perfect fit. Mike had done his homework.
I helped Tommy with the helmet. When I lifted him onto the bike behind me, he knew exactly where to put his feet, where to hold on.
“Mike teach you this?”
