“Hospital room.”
The injured biker was awake.
Bruised.
Arm in a sling.
One leg stabilized.
A cut above his eyebrow had been closed.
He looked much smaller in the hospital bed than he had in leather beside the motorcycle.
When Adeline entered, he smiled.
“Princess.”
She beamed.
“I brought flowers.”
“I see that.”
She approached.
Kendra remained within arm's reach.
The biker looked toward her.
“Thank you.”
“You don't owe us anything.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No.”
He gave a small smile.
“Fine.”
Adeline put the flowers on the bedside table.
“You broke your leg.”
“So they tell me.”
“Claire said you ride too fast.”
The biker's smile disappeared.
Kendra almost stopped the conversation.
Then the man whispered:
“She said that when she was alive too.”
Adeline nodded.
“I know.”
His eyes filled.
“Sweetheart.”
His voice cracked.
“Where is she?”
Adeline looked toward the empty chair beside the window.
“There.”
The biker turned.
Nothing.
Of course.
His face broke anyway.
Kendra felt tears rise unexpectedly.
He looked toward the empty chair for a long time.
Then:
“Tell her…”
Adeline shook her head.
“She can hear you.”
The man closed his eyes.
A tear slid into the gray beard.
“I’m sorry.”
Adeline’s expression changed.
“She says stop saying that.”
The biker laughed and cried simultaneously.
“That sounds like her.”
He turned his face away.
The leader stood near the doorway.
His own eyes were wet.
Adeline looked at him.
“She means you too.”
He stiffened.
“I know.”
“No.”
The child spoke with strange certainty.
“You don't.”
He entered.
Kendra watched carefully.
Adeline pointed toward him.
“She says the rain wasn't your fault.”
The leader's jaw tightened.
“I told them to keep riding.”
“She says she chose too.”
His face changed.
“She chose?”
Adeline nodded.
“You didn't make her.”
The injured biker looked toward his brother-in-law.
For six years, they had apparently never had this conversation.
He whispered:
“She’s right.”
The leader looked at him.
“What?”
“I've told you that.”
“That's different.”
“No.”
The injured man struggled to sit slightly straighter.
“I could have stopped.”
“You followed me.”
“I decided to.”
“You trusted me.”
“Yes.”
“And I was wrong.”
“You were wrong about weather.”
He paused.
“You didn't kill her.”
Silence filled the room.
The leader looked toward Adeline.
“Did Claire tell you that?”
The injured biker shook his head.
“I've been telling you for six years.”
The leader laughed bitterly.
“Apparently I listen better to six-year-olds.”
Adeline frowned.
“You don't listen very good.”
Everyone laughed.
Even Kendra.
Tension broke.
Only slightly.
After several minutes, the injured biker asked to speak with Adeline alone.
Kendra said no.
He immediately accepted.
Then clarified.
“I didn't mean without you.”
“What did you mean?”
“I meant without twenty idiots listening through the doorway.”
Several bikers disappeared suspiciously quickly.