Water dripped steadily from the rusted frame, each drop hitting the dirt like a slow clock ticking backward.<\/p>\n
The biker didn\u2019t move right away.<\/p>\n
He stayed crouched beside the bike, one hand still gripping the handlebar as if letting go might send it back into the river\u2014and take something else with it.<\/p>\n
The boys who had been laughing moments ago were silent now.<\/p>\n
Not just quiet.<\/p>\n
Still.<\/p>\n
The smallest boy stepped closer, hesitant but pulled by something stronger than fear.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s\u2026 that\u2019s my dad\u2019s,\u201d he said again, softer this time, like saying it too loud might break it.<\/p>\n
The biker\u2019s shoulders tightened slightly.<\/p>\n
He ran his thumb across the faded marking on the frame, clearing away mud and river grime. Underneath, barely visible, were scratched initials.<\/p>\n
Old.<\/p>\n
Worn.<\/p>\n
But still there.<\/p>\n
His voice came out low, almost lost in the sound of the river.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour dad\u2019s name\u2026\u201d he paused, then swallowed. \u201cWhat is it?\u201d<\/p>\n
The boy looked confused at the question, but answered anyway.<\/p>\n
\u201cDaniel,\u201d he said. \u201cDaniel Hayes.\u201d<\/p>\n
The biker closed his eyes for just a second.<\/p>\n
Not long.<\/p>\n
Just enough for something heavy to settle into place.<\/p>\n
When he opened them again, they weren\u2019t the same.<\/p>\n
The distance in them was gone.<\/p>\n
Replaced by recognition.<\/p>\n
He slowly sat back on his heels, water soaking into the dirt beneath him.<\/p>\n
\u201cI used to ride with a Daniel,\u201d he said quietly.<\/p>\n
The words didn\u2019t land all at once.<\/p>\n
The boy blinked. \u201cYou knew him?\u201d<\/p>\n
The biker nodded, still staring at the bike like it was speaking to him.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah,\u201d he said. \u201cA long time ago.\u201d<\/p>\n
The river moved gently behind them, like it had been holding onto this moment, waiting for it to surface.<\/p>\n
The boy took another step forward.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen you know where he is?\u201d he asked, hope breaking through too fast, too sharp.<\/p>\n
The biker didn\u2019t answer immediately.<\/p>\n
That silence said more than words.<\/p>\n
The boy\u2019s expression shifted. Not fully understanding, but feeling enough to know the answer wasn\u2019t simple.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe said he\u2019d come back,\u201d the boy whispered.<\/p>\n
The biker\u2019s jaw tightened.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe wanted to,\u201d he replied.<\/p>\n
That was the truth.<\/p>\n
Just not the whole of it.<\/p>\n
Behind them, one of the older boys shuffled his feet, guilt creeping in where laughter had been. Another looked away entirely.<\/p>\n
No one interrupted.<\/p>\n
No one dared.<\/p>\n
The biker finally stood, slower this time, like the weight of the soaked machine had transferred somewhere deeper.<\/p>\n
He looked down at the boy.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s your name?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cEli,\u201d the boy said.<\/p>\n
The biker nodded once.<\/p>\n
\u201cEli\u2026 your dad didn\u2019t leave that bike behind because he didn\u2019t care.\u201d<\/p>\n
Eli\u2019s hands clenched slightly. \u201cThen why was it in the river?\u201d<\/p>\n
A fair question.<\/p>\n
A hard one.<\/p>\n
The biker exhaled, glancing back at the water.<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause sometimes things go wrong,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd when they do\u2026 people don\u2019t always get to finish what they started.\u201d<\/p>\n
Eli didn\u2019t respond.<\/p>\n
But he didn\u2019t look away either.<\/p>\n
The biker stepped closer to the bike again, lifting it upright with effort. It creaked, rust grinding softly, but it held.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour dad loved this thing,\u201d he added. \u201cTook care of it like it mattered.\u201d<\/p>\n
Eli\u2019s voice came small.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s broken now.\u201d<\/p>\n
The biker shook his head.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d he said firmly. \u201cIt\u2019s not broken.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at Eli directly.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s waiting.\u201d<\/p>\n
That word landed differently.<\/p>\n
Not like an excuse.<\/p>\n
Like a possibility.<\/p>\n
Eli\u2019s eyes flickered toward the bike, then back to the man standing in front of him.<\/p>\n
\u201cWaiting for what?\u201d<\/p>\n
The biker wiped water from his hands, leaving streaks of dirt behind.<\/p>\n
\u201cFor someone to not give up on it,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
A long pause followed.<\/p>\n
Then Eli asked, barely above a whisper:<\/p>\n
\u201cCan it be fixed?\u201d<\/p>\n
The biker looked at the bike.<\/p>\n
At the rust.<\/p>\n
At the years it had spent buried under water and silence.<\/p>\n
Then back at the boy.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
Not easily.<\/p>\n
Not quickly.<\/p>\n
But with certainty.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah\u2026 it can.\u201d<\/p>\n
Behind them, the river kept moving, carrying away what it no longer needed to hold.<\/p>\n
And on the bank, something that had been lost for a long time finally felt like it had a way back.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Water dripped steadily from the rusted frame, each drop hitting the dirt like a slow clock ticking backward. The biker didn\u2019t move right away. He stayed crouched beside the bike, one hand still gripping the handlebar as if letting go might send it back into the river\u2014and take something else with it. The boys who […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":5,"featured_media":1175,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1172","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-trending-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/storytimes.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1172","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/storytimes.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/storytimes.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storytimes.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/5"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storytimes.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1172"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/storytimes.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1172\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storytimes.online\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/1175"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/storytimes.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1172"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storytimes.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1172"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/storytimes.online\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1172"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}