He was not entirely sure where the cancer lived.
Doctors had shown pictures.
Adults had explained.
But to Tucker, cancer was everywhere and nowhere at once.
“It’s inside me.”
Grizzly’s face changed.
Tucker whispered:
“Can you beat up my cancer?”
The traffic on the nearby highway continued.
A delivery truck rumbled behind the building.
Somebody inside the diner laughed at something unrelated.
At the bikers’ table, no one moved.
Big Ron looked down.
Mason turned his face away.
Dean rubbed one hand across his beard.
Grizzly stared at the seven dollars and forty cents.
Then at Tucker.
He had heard doctors say the word cancer before.
He had heard it far too often.
Eight years earlier, it had entered his life through a phone call from his former wife.
Their daughter Sarah had been seven.
Leukemia.
At first, Grizzly had treated the disease as he treated most problems.
Something to fight.
Something to fix.
He took extra shifts at the manufacturing plant.
Read everything he could find.
Drove Sarah to appointments.
Learned medication schedules.
Sat beside her bed.
Argued with insurance representatives.
Prayed despite having spent years insisting he did not believe prayer worked.
None of it gave him control.
Sarah fought for fourteen months.
Then one rainy March morning, she died while Grizzly held her hand.
She had been eight.
Afterward, Samuel Briggs stopped answering to Samuel.
He left his job.
Sold his house.
Put nearly everything he owned into storage.
Then started riding.
At first, he rode because motion made grief easier.
Engines were loud.
Highways demanded attention.
If he rode long enough, there were hours when he did not picture Sarah’s hospital room.
The Iron Ghosts became the people who knew when to talk and, more importantly, when not to.
Eight years had passed.
Grizzly still carried Sarah’s photograph in the inside pocket of his vest.
He touched that pocket now without realizing it.
Tucker watched.
“Is it enough?”
Grizzly cleared his throat.
“No, buddy.”
Tucker’s face immediately fell.
Grizzly saw Angie cover her mouth beside the car.
He continued quickly.
“I don't mean the money.”
Tucker stared.
Grizzly crouched until his eyes were level with the boy’s.
“We can’t go inside your body and beat up cancer.”
Tucker looked down at the coins.
His shoulders dropped.
“Doctors have to fight that part.”
Grizzly gently tapped the table.
“But…”
Tucker looked up.
“There are other things we can fight.”
“What?”
“The lonely part.”
Tucker frowned.
“The scared part.”
Another pause.
“The part where your mom has to do everything herself.”
Angie looked away.
Grizzly continued.
“We can fight that.”
Tucker thought seriously.
“How?”
Grizzly looked toward the four men behind him.
Big Ron already knew what was coming.
He nodded.
Mason nodded too.
Little Jack smiled.
Dean leaned toward Tucker.
“You ever had five enormous idiots show up every time you needed something?”
Tucker shook his head.
Dean pointed toward them.
“Congratulations.”
For the first time, Tucker almost smiled.
Grizzly held out his hand.
“What's your name?”
“Tucker.”
“Tucker what?”
“Carter.”
“I’m Grizzly.”
Tucker looked skeptical.
“You don't look like a bear.”
The bikers stared.
Then Big Ron exploded laughing.