Then became serious again.
“The monster is still there.”
Nobody spoke.
Grizzly sat beside him.
“I know.”
Tucker looked around the room.
“But I’m not scared of it anymore.”
Big Ron immediately looked toward the ceiling.
Mason rubbed his eyes.
Little Jack pretended to adjust his sunglasses despite being indoors.
Tucker continued.
“Because I have you.”
Grizzly took his hand.
“And your mom.”
“And doctors.”
“And nurses.”
“And you.”
Tucker nodded.
“My team.”
“Your team.”
“What if the monster wins?”
The room went completely silent.
Grizzly had learned not to lie.
He leaned closer.
“Then nobody gets to say you fought alone.”
Tucker studied him.
“Did Sarah fight alone?”
“No.”
“Were you there?”
“Every second I could be.”
Tucker nodded.
“Then she had a team too.”
Grizzly’s eyes filled.
“Yeah.”
“She did.”
Months passed.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Then something shifted.
The first encouraging scan came in November.
The disease had decreased.
Not disappeared.
Decreased.
Angie asked the doctor to repeat it.
The doctor did.
Cautiously optimistic.
Those words became precious.
Grizzly celebrated by buying Tucker a toy motorcycle.
Tucker informed him he already owned three.
Grizzly bought it anyway.
Christmas came.
The Iron Ghosts decorated a small tree outside Tucker’s apartment.
Mason accidentally destroyed half the lights.
Big Ron blamed electricity.
Dean repaired everything.
Tucker spent Christmas morning at home.
That alone felt enormous.
By spring, he had more energy.
Hair began returning in soft fuzz.
He touched it constantly.
Grizzly told him he looked tougher bald.
Tucker told him Grizzly looked old.
Nobody won.
Treatment continued.
So did scans.
Follow-ups.
More medicine.
There was no single moment where everyone could declare victory.
Instead there were thresholds.
One reached.
Then another.
The medical team eventually told Angie that Tucker had responded strongly enough that they could move into the next phase.
She sat in her car afterward for almost twenty minutes.
Not crying from grief.
Not exactly joy either.
Relief too large for the body sometimes looked identical to devastation.
She called Grizzly.
“Bear?”
He knew from her voice something had happened.
“What?”
“Good.”
He sat down.
“What?”
“It's good.”
Grizzly closed his eyes.
Angie laughed through tears.
“You don't even know what I’m saying.”
“Don't care.”
“The scans.”
“What about them?”
“Significantly better.”
He stood so quickly his chair fell backward.
Big Ron, sitting across the motorcycle shop, jumped.
“What happened?”
Grizzly raised one hand.
Angie continued.
“Still follow-up.”
“Still treatment.”
“Doctors aren't promising anything.”