Emma reached out with trembling fingers and touched his hand. “Thank you. Thank you for keeping your promise.”
The recovery was slow. Months of physical therapy. Speech therapy. Learning to walk again. But Emma fought every step of the way.
He’d show up to her therapy sessions with coffee and encouragement. He’d push her wheelchair around the hospital gardens. He’d sit with her during the hard moments when she wanted to give up.
“Emily would have liked you,” he told her one afternoon. “She was a fighter too.”
Emma squeezed his hand. “I think she sent you to me. That night. I think she knew I needed someone and she sent her dad.”
Thomas couldn’t speak for a long time after that.
The day Emma finally walked out of the hospital, forty-seven bikers were waiting in the parking lot. They formed two lines, creating an honor guard for her to walk through.
She was shaky on her feet. Still weak. But she walked that line with her head held high while grown men in leather vests wiped tears from their eyes.
At the end of the line stood Thomas, holding a leather jacket.
“This belonged to Emily,” he said, his voice thick. “I’ve been saving it for twenty-three years. Didn’t know what I was saving it for until I met you.”
“Welcome to the family, sweetheart. You’re a Guardian now.”
That was two years ago.
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