“I’m not,” he says flatly.
Silence follows those two words. The morning’s still. No birds. No engines. Just that truth hanging between us like a noose.
He wipes his hand again, more for dignity than anything. “Don’t tell anyone yet. Not until I’ve got the full picture.”
I swallow hard. “And what if the picture’s already clear?”
He meets my eyes then. No mask. No armor.
“Then I’ll teach you everything I still can… while I’ve got time.”
Dad didn’t tell me about the cancer. The doctor did.
Pancreatic. Stage IV. Spreading fast. The kind of diagnosis that comes with a countdown you never agreed to.
I’m sitting in the truck outside the hospital for what feels like hours, ten minutes, maybe, but it might as well have been a lifetime. My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly that they turn numb. The engine’s off, but my heart is revving like a damned motorcycle with no brakes.
I can’t breathe right. Not until I force myself to step out, to walk back inside.
The hallway is quiet except for the steady beep of a distant monitor. The walls smell like antiseptic and regret.
Dad is already here, leaning against the wall beneath the glaring “No Smoking” sign, lighting a cigarette with hands that look too steady for a man who’d just been given a death sentence.
I don’t say anything at first. I just watch him.
When the smoke curls up and around the flickering hospital light, I break the silence. “You knew,” I say, voice low.
He takes a long drag, exhaling slowly, then looks at me with tired eyes that once burned like wildfire. “Long enough,” he says. “Didn’t see the point in worrying anyone. I still had things to finish.”
I step closer. “Like what?”
He stubs out the cigarette on the heel of his boot. “Like you.”
I blink, caught off guard. “Me?”
“Yeah.” His voice cracks just a little. “You’re the one who’s gonna ride this club into the future. And I’m not about to let you make my mistakes.”
The weight in this moment settles over me like a thundercloud. The man who carried this whole world on his back was now carrying the knowledge of his own fall, and still, he was thinking aboutme.
“I’m not ready,” I say. The words taste bitter, but they are true.
He smiles, thin, but real. “You will be. You don’t have a choice.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I wanted you to see me as your father, not a dying man.” He pauses, eyes softer now. “And because I wasn’t ready to die yet.”
The silence between us is heavier than any words. I reach out and put a hand on his shoulder.
“We’ll finish this together,” I promise.
He nods, but I see the flicker of something fragile behind his eyes. For the first time, I realize the war we are fighting isn’t just with the cartel or the streets.
It’s a battle against time and against losing the man who built everything.
In the months that follow, we ride together more than we talk. There’s something sacred in the silence. Helmets on, the wind biting, the road unfurling beneath us like a black ribbon tied around a promise we both know is running out of time.
Tama doesn’t bark orders anymore. Heasks.
