Dale sat there holding Emmett, that low motorcycle rumble coming from his chest. The toddler’s small body was completely relaxed, his breathing deep and even. One tiny hand clutched Dale’s leather vest.
Forty-five minutes. An hour.
She hooked Dale back up right there in the chair. Chemo dripped into his arm while he held a sleeping toddler. The contrast was stark—poison flowing into a dying man while he gave life-saving rest to a child who desperately needed it.
Two hours passed. Dale’s brothers found him. Snake, Repo, and Bull stood in the doorway, staring.
“Brother, you’ve been gone two hours,” Snake said quietly. “You okay?”
“Better than okay,” Dale whispered, careful not to wake Emmett. “I’m useful.”
Repo understood immediately. He’d been with Dale through every diagnosis, every bad scan, every time a doctor said there was nothing more they could do. He’d watched Dale struggle with feeling like a burden, like he was just waiting around to die.
But right now? Dale wasn’t dying. He was helping.
“How long you gonna sit there?” Bull asked.
“Long as they need me to,” Dale replied.
Six hours of Dale holding Emmett while Jessica slept and Marcus dozed in a chair. Six hours of chemotherapy dripping into a dying man’s arm while he gave everything he had left to a toddler who needed him.
Around hour four, Emmett stirred slightly. His eyes opened, and for a moment, he looked confused. Then he saw Dale’s face and didn’t panic. Instead, he just snuggled deeper into the biker’s chest and went back to sleep.
“That’s right, little man,” Dale whispered. “You’re safe. Dale’s got you.”
When Emmett finally woke up around hour six, he didn’t scream. He looked up at Dale with wide eyes and said one word: “More.”
“More what, buddy?” Dale asked softly.
Emmett patted Dale’s chest, where the rumbling sound came from. “More.”
Dale laughed—a real laugh—and started the motorcycle rumble again. Emmett smiled. It was small, but it was there. The first smile his parents had seen in four days.
“Oh my God,” she breathed. “You held him the whole time?”
“Wasn’t any trouble,” Dale said, but his voice was weaker now. Six hours in a chair while getting chemo had taken its toll. “Kid just needed to feel safe.”
Emmett looked at his mother, then back at Dale, then said: “Dale stay.”
Jessica’s eyes filled with tears. Emmett rarely spoke. His autism made verbal communication hard. But he’d said Dale’s name. He’d asked him to stay.
“Buddy, I gotta go back to my room,” Dale said gently. “But your mama’s right here. And she’s rested now. She can help you.”
“No,” Emmett said firmly, gripping Dale’s vest tighter. “Dale stay.”
Dale stood up slowly, with Emmett still in his arms. Six hours in a chair while getting chemo had destroyed him. His legs barely worked. Snake had to catch him before he fell.
“Easy, brother,” Snake said.
Dale looked at Jessica. “Ma’am, I need to get back to my room. But… if you want, you could bring him by to visit? If it helps?”
Jessica was already nodding. “Yes. God, yes. Whatever helps him. You’re the first person who’s gotten through to him since we got here.”
Dale carefully transferred Emmett back to his mother. The toddler started to fuss, reaching for Dale. “Dale. Dale. Dale.”
“I know, buddy,” Dale said, his voice gentle. “But I’m real tired. That medicine makes me sleepy. You understand being tired, right?”
Emmett nodded, his lip trembling.
“Tell you what,” Dale said. “You be brave and let your mama hold you. Get some more rest. And tomorrow, if your mama brings you to my room, I’ll make the rumble sound again. Deal?”
“Deal,” Emmett repeated, though he clearly didn’t want Dale to leave.
Snake and Bull helped Dale out of the room. He could barely walk. The chemo and the six hours sitting had wrecked him. But he was smiling as his brothers helped him back to his treatment room.
They got him back to his bed. The nurse who’d brought his IV to him was waiting, along with her supervisor.
“Mr. Murphy,” the supervisor said sternly. “You violated hospital policy by leaving your treatment area and—”
“Write me up,” Dale said tiredly. “I’m dying anyway. What are you gonna do, kill me faster?”
The supervisor’s face changed. She looked at Nurse Patricia, who nodded confirmation.
“The child?” the supervisor asked.
“Sleeping. First time in three days. And not just passed out from exhaustion—real sleep.”
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