“Rebecca Hale?”
“Who is this?”
“My name’s Raymond Bishop.”
She frowned.
“I don’t know you.”
“Probably not.”
“Then why are you calling me?”
There was a pause.
“Do you remember Eli Torres?”
Rebecca froze.
That name did not belong in this hospital.
It belonged fifteen years earlier.
A garage.
Motorcycles.
Summer nights.
Her mother yelling because Rebecca stayed out too late.
Eli had been her older cousin, though “cousin” never described it properly.
He was more like the brother Rebecca’s parents accidentally acquired when her aunt died.
He lived with them from thirteen until twenty-one.
He was loud.
Loyal.
Reckless.
Protective.
He rode motorcycles.
Then one wet November night, a driver crossed the center line outside Tacoma.
Eli never made it home.
Rebecca had not heard his name spoken by a stranger in years.
“Yes.”
Raymond’s voice softened.
“He was my brother.”
Rebecca frowned.
“Biological?”
“No.”
“Club.”
Of course.
Rebecca closed her eyes.
Iron Covenant Motorcycle Club.
Eli had worn their patch.
Rebecca’s father hated it.
Rebecca’s mother tolerated it because Eli loved those men.
After his death, several bikers had stood outside the funeral home for hours in freezing rain because the building could not fit everyone.
Rebecca remembered one of them.
Huge.
Gray beard even then? No, probably brown.
She remembered arms folded.
Eyes down.
Maybe Raymond.
“What do you want?”
“I heard about Lily.”
Rebecca stiffened.
“From who?”
“One of our guys’ wives works respiratory downstairs.”
“That’s a privacy violation.”
“She didn't give us medical records.”
“She said Eli’s little cousin had a kid in trouble.”
Rebecca leaned back against the restroom wall.
“Raymond, I appreciate whatever you’re trying to do, but I don't need money.”
“I didn't call about money.”
“We've got food.”
“Not food.”
“I don't need rides.”
“Rebecca.”
She stopped.
Raymond’s voice became steady.
“What does she need?”
Rebecca stared at nothing.
“A kidney.”
“Okay.”
She almost laughed.
“Okay?”
“What blood type?”
“That isn’t enough.”
“I know.”
“Donors need testing.”
“I know.”
“Health screening.”
“I know.”
“Crossmatching.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“My wife had a transplant.”
Rebecca went quiet.
Raymond continued.
“Twelve years ago.”
“She had polycystic kidney disease.”
“My younger brother donated.”