Hammer leaned against the lockers.
“Rook made me promise.”
“I treated that promise like it mattered more than the people it was supposed to protect.”
Mara said nothing.
“He said you wouldn’t be ready.”
“I believed him.”
“He said Lucy needed to choose.”
“I believed him.”
“And every year that passed, breaking the promise felt harder.”
Hammer looked toward the patch in Lucy’s hand.
“Then she walked into the diner and recognized those blue stitches before I even turned around.”
Lucy looked at the stitching.
“You knew I’d cut it?”
“No.”
For the first time, Hammer laughed softly.
“Your dad might’ve.”
Mara looked toward the recorder.
“Play it.”
Hammer straightened.
“Here?”
“Yes.”
Lucy moved closer to her mother.
Hammer picked up the recorder.
The battery was removable.
He had replaced it every few months.
The device powered on.
A single file sat in memory.
Hammer did not press play.
He handed it to Lucy.
“Your choice.”
She looked at the button.
Then at her mother.
Mara placed one arm around her.
Lucy pressed it.
For two seconds there was only wind.
Then engine noise.
Not loud.
Distant.
The recorder must have been tucked beneath Owen’s jacket.
A man coughed.
Lucy stiffened.
Mara’s knees seemed to weaken.
I had never met Owen while he was healthy.
But I remembered that voice.
He had come to my diner more than once before the illness hollowed him out.
He always ordered coffee too strong and pie before breakfast.
The recording crackled.
Then:
“Lucy-bug.”
The girl made a sound like a gasp swallowed halfway.
Mara crouched immediately and pulled her close.
Owen’s recorded voice continued.
“If Hammer actually followed instructions, you’re older now.”
There was a pause.
“If Hammer didn’t follow instructions, tell him I said he’s an idiot.”
A laugh came through the recorder.
Weak.
But real.
Several bikers lowered their heads.
Hammer’s mouth moved.
“Still an idiot.”
Lucy smiled through tears.
The recording continued.
“I don’t know how old you are when you hear this.”
“I’m hoping old enough to know your dad wasn’t very good at planning ahead.”
Mara closed her eyes.
“I wrote letters.”
“Some will be dumb.”
“Your fifth birthday one is definitely dumb.”
Lucy looked at the envelopes.
“I wrote it while your Uncle Hammer was trying to make chili and nearly burned down the clubhouse.”
Several riders quietly protested.
The recorder captured another laugh.
Then Owen’s breathing changed.
More strained.
“Okay.”
“Here’s the part I need you to know.”