The older brother stared.
He had returned the first letter.
He barely remembered doing it.
Apparently his brother remembered perfectly.
He typed:
We were idiots.
Reply:
Still are.
Then:
Get some sleep.
The giant biker wrote:
See you at 4.
His brother responded:
One bike.
The older man smiled.
One.
At 3:45 a.m., he rolled his motorcycle out of the garage without starting it until he reached the street.
No revving.
No convoy.
No spectacle.
His brother had asked.
He would learn to listen.
The blue pickup arrived five minutes later.
The boy was asleep in the passenger seat.
Pink travel pillow pressed against the window.
The giant biker looked toward his brother.
“Pink?”
“He chose it when he was five.”
“I’m not judging.”
“You’re judging.”
“A little.”
The younger brother smiled.
They drove south before sunrise.
One motorcycle behind one pickup.
Nothing impressive.
Nothing anyone filmed.
At a gas station halfway to Phoenix, the boy woke.
He stepped out wearing pajamas beneath his jacket.
Saw his uncle.
“Why are you still here?”
The giant biker looked offended.
“I said I was coming.”
The boy shrugged.
“Adults say stuff.”
The sentence landed quietly.
The giant biker crouched.
“Well, this adult is here.”
The boy nodded.
“Okay.”
They bought coffee.
Hot chocolate.
Breakfast sandwiches.
The younger brother ate half of one.
The giant biker watched.
“Finish it.”
“I’m having surgery.”
“You still need food.”
“I’m not supposed to eat.”
The older brother froze.
“Oh.”
The younger smiled.
“You haven’t improved.”
The boy laughed.
They reached the hospital at six twenty.
The giant biker parked far from the entrance so his motorcycle would not become an event.
He walked beside the boy and younger brother.
At admissions, the younger man filled forms.
The giant biker watched him sign emergency contact.
He stopped.
“Who’d you put?”
His brother looked up.
“You.”
The older man went still.
The younger brother added:
“If that’s okay.”
The giant biker looked at the form.
His name.
Relationship:
Brother.
He swallowed.
“Yeah.”
Then:
“Yeah, that’s okay.”
A nurse called the younger brother’s name.
He stood.
The boy’s face changed.
Until then, the morning had still felt like a trip.
Now surgery became real.
The father crouched in front of his son.
“You remember the plan?”
The boy nodded.
“What’s the plan?”
“Stay with uncle.”
The giant biker felt his heart turn over.
“Do homework.”
The boy frowned.
His father smiled.
“Eat lunch.”
“Don’t touch anything in the garage without asking.”
The boy looked insulted.