The workshop became completely still.
“If people told you Hammer made me take this ride, they were wrong.”
Mara’s face tightened.
“If Hammer told you nothing, that means he kept his promise.”
A pause.
“And if your mom hates him for that…”
Another cough.
“That part is partly my fault.”
Mara looked toward the floor.
“I was sick, Luce.”
“You knew that.”
“You probably didn’t know how sick.”
Mara’s eyes opened.
Hammer looked away.
“I didn’t tell your mom everything either.”
Mara whispered:
“No.”
The recording continued.
“She’s going to be mad hearing that.”
A weak laugh.
“She should be.”
Mara began crying silently.
“I had more bad days than good ones.”
“The doctors wanted me resting.”
“Your mom wanted me home.”
“Hammer wanted the bike locked in a shipping container.”
Hammer muttered:
“Should’ve welded it shut.”
Owen’s voice continued.
“I wanted one last ride.”
“That was me.”
“Nobody dared me.”
“Nobody told me to prove anything.”
“Hammer argued with me for three days.”
“I told him if the Saints wouldn’t ride with me, I’d go alone.”
Mara covered her face.
I suddenly understood.
She had spent three years believing Hammer had taken a dying man away from his family.
The truth was uglier in a different direction.
Owen had chosen.
Not because he loved Mara less.
Not because he wanted to abandon Lucy.
Because dying people do not stop being complicated simply because everyone around them wants their final choices to be noble.
Owen had wanted one last thing that belonged to him before illness took every choice away.
The recording crackled.
Wind.
Then:
“I’m not telling you this so you think motorcycles are brave.”
“They’re machines.”
“They don’t make somebody brave.”
“They don’t make somebody stupid either.”
“People handle both jobs fine on their own.”
A couple riders smiled sadly.
“I’m recording this because your mom is going to need somebody to blame.”
Mara’s hand dropped.
Owen’s voice softened.
“And if she has to blame somebody, I’d rather she blame me.”
Mara cried harder.
“But I know her.”
“She’ll blame Hammer because he’ll be standing there and I won’t.”
Hammer shut his eyes.
“So Hammer…”
The recording shifted.
“I know you can hear me.”
“Do not argue with Mara.”
Hammer whispered:
“Should’ve ignored that one too.”
“Do not make Lucy choose between you and her mother.”
“Do not come to the funeral if Mara tells you not to.”
One of the bikers cursed softly and turned away.