I had kept the last promise.
The others had slipped through my hands.
I looked into Tucker's eyes.
“Buddy, I need to tell you something.”
His smile faded.
“We can't actually punch the cancer inside your body. That's not how it works.”
His lower lip began trembling.
“Oh.”
“But listen.”
He looked up.
“Your doctors know how to fight that monster in ways we don't. They've got medicine and machines and people who study this stuff for years.”
He nodded slowly.
I continued.
“What we can do is help with the other parts.”
“What other parts?”
“The scary days. The long drives. The times your mommy gets tired. The days when you need somebody to sit with you.”
He watched me carefully.
“And maybe we can find enough people to help you feel a little stronger while the doctors do their work.”
Tucker was quiet for several seconds.
Then he asked, “So you're not going to punch it?”
I shook my head.
“No, son.”
He looked disappointed.
Then he considered something.
“Can you scare it?”
I almost smiled.
“Well, I don't know if cancer gets scared.”
He glanced toward Ron.
“Even of him?”
Ron was built like a refrigerator with a beard.
He straightened in his seat.
For the first time, he seemed to understand that Tucker was addressing him.
The big man leaned forward.
“I'm pretty scary, buddy.”
Tucker nodded seriously.
“You look like a bear.”
Ron laughed once, then quickly wiped his face.
I looked back at Tucker.
“Maybe we can't frighten the cancer,” I said. “But we can make sure you're not facing it by yourself.”
The boy thought about that.
Then he asked the question that changed all our lives.
“Does that mean you're on my team?”
I turned toward the table.
Ron nodded immediately.
The third biker nodded too.
The two men standing at the diner counter had come closer. They stood beside us, their expressions solemn.
I looked at Tucker.
“Yeah, buddy.”
My voice broke.
“We're on your team.”
He smiled.
It wasn't a big smile.
He looked too tired for that.
But it was real.
Then he pointed toward the money still scattered across our table.
“Okay. So you can have this.”
I stared at the bills and coins.
Seven dollars and forty cents.
To a grown man, it wasn't enough to fill a motorcycle tank.
To a little boy who had spent months helping with chores and saving every coin, it was practically everything he owned.
I reached toward the money.
Then I stopped.
“Tell you what.”
He looked curious.