Jake’s recovery was slow but steady. His memory was intact. The doctors said it was a miracle.
He remembered everything — chasing the basketball, running into the street, seeing the motorcycle too late, Marcus’s hand grabbing him, the voice telling him not to close his eyes.
“I heard you,” Jake said quietly one day. “You talked about your son. I didn’t want you to be sad anymore.”
After that, Marcus visited every day until Jake was discharged. On that last day, he gave Jake a gift: a small leather vest with the words HONORARY NOMAD stitched on the back.
“You’re family now,” Marcus said. “You fought your way back. That’s what our club stands for.”
Jake hugged him tight.
Two Years Later
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