“More”
At hour four, Emmett stirred. He blinked, saw Dale, and relaxed, burrowing closer. Dale smiled. “That’s right, little man. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
At hour six, the toddler woke for real. He studied Dale’s chest and said one word. “More.”
“More what, buddy?” Dale asked.
Emmett patted the biker’s sternum. “More.”
Dale chuckled and started the rumble again. Emmett’s lips quirked—the first small smile anyone had seen in days. Jessica woke, checked her phone, and gasped.
“You held him this whole time?”
“Wasn’t any trouble,” Dale said, though his voice had thinned. The chair, the drip, the hours—it had taken a toll.
Emmett looked at his mother, then at Dale. “Dale stay.”
Jessica’s eyes filled. Her son rarely spoke, and when he did, it was usually a single sound. Now he’d said a name.
“I have to get back to my room,” Dale told him softly. “But if your mama brings you by tomorrow, I’ll make the sound again. Deal?”
“Deal,” Emmett breathed, clinging.
Snake and Bull helped Dale stand. He wobbled, drained, but he was grinning as they guided him back.
