When I asked why, the biker hesitated. His voice dropped to a whisper. “My little brother was blind,” he said. “Retinitis pigmentosa. Lost his sight at nineteen. Toughest kid I ever knew.”
He paused, swallowing hard. “Six years ago, he got hit by a car crossing a street. The driver ran a red light. He died instantly. I wasn’t there.”
Richard’s lip trembled. Amy started crying.
The biker went on, his voice shaking. “When I saw Richard step into that road… it was like watching it happen all over again. But this time, I could do something. This time, I could save him.”
He rubbed his hands together, staring at the floor. “I can’t bring my brother back. But I can honor him by helping someone else who can’t see. Every Tuesday. That’s all it is.”
But it wasn’t “all.” Because Richard told us later that those Tuesdays became his reason to get up in the morning. After his wife died, he’d stopped caring much about anything. But knowing Marcus—his biker guardian—would be there waiting changed everything.
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