“We do,” Mike told him. “My club brings toys to kids in hospitals and shelters. Kids like you inspire us.”
My arms weren’t tired. I could have held him always.
But I knew what he needed—someone who reminded him of his father. The strength, the safety, the familiar scent of leather and the outdoors.
Mike met my eyes, asking permission. Through tears, I nodded.
He scooped Liam up with such care, settling him against his chest. Liam rested his head there with a soft sigh.
“You smell like my daddy,” he said.
Mike’s voice shook a little. “Your dad must’ve been a great man. A hero.”
“He was,” Liam replied. “Mama tells me all the time.”
The room fell completely still. Doctors, nurses, and strangers looked on as this rugged biker held a fragile boy with the tenderness of someone who understood exactly what he was giving.
Mike didn’t shift or speak much. He just held Liam—steady, present, gentle.
When I whispered my thanks, he said quietly, “If my own kid ever needed comfort from someone else, I’d hope that person would say yes.”
