Publicidad
One held a helmet. Another carried a folded leather vest. A third had a small package tucked under his arm.
I stood up.
“What’s going on?”
Drew’s eyes widened.
“No way,” he whispered.
Dr. Harris stepped forward and leaned against the side of his bed.
“In your condition, you can’t ride a bike, champ.”
Drew’s smile faltered.
“But we’ve got an idea. And a surprise that’s a whole lot better.”
Publicidad
One of the bikers, a gray-bearded man named Wade, stepped closer.
“Well, Drew, we heard you’ve been wanting to join a motorcycle club.”
Drew nodded so hard I worried he’d make himself dizzy.
Wade held up a small black leather vest.
Across the back, embroidered in silver thread, was Drew’s name.
Under it were the words “Honorary Brother.”
“Every club has its rules,” Wade explained. “Ours says you don’t need a motorcycle to belong. You just need people willing to stand beside you.”
