Marcus felt Ethan tense beside him. “I don’t know,” the boy admitted, his voice barely audible. “Dad has the cards.”
“That’s okay, sweetie,” the receptionist said kindly. “We’ll sort it out when he gets here. You two can wait in the family room. It’s quieter there. Through those doors, first room on your left.”
The family room was a small space with uncomfortable chairs, outdated magazines, and a television mounted in the corner playing some daytime talk show with the volume low. A coffee maker gurgled in the corner producing a brew that looked like motor oil and probably tasted worse. Marcus and Ethan were alone, which Marcus found oddly relieving. He didn’t want to deal with curious stares or questions about why a forty-two-year-old biker was sitting with an eight-year-old kid he’d met less than an hour ago.
Ethan climbed into one of the chairs, his feet dangling well above the floor. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, making himself as small as possible. The bravado that had carried him through the parking lot confrontation had evaporated, leaving behind a scared child who had just watched his little sister loaded into an ambulance.
Marcus sat in the chair beside him, the plastic creaking under his weight. For several minutes, neither spoke. Marcus had no idea what to say. Comforting people wasn’t exactly his forte. His usual approach to emotions involved ignoring them until they went away, preferably with the help of whiskey and the open road. But something about Ethan’s quiet desperation made that option feel inadequate.
“You were brave back there,” Marcus finally said. “A lot of people wouldn’t have had the guts to do what you did.”
Ethan didn’t respond immediately. When he did speak, his voice was hollow. “I should have been watching her better. Mom always said I had to keep an eye on Lilly, that she gets into everything. Dad says the same thing. But I went inside and I was gone for maybe five minutes and she just… disappeared.”
“Kids wander,” Marcus said. “It’s what they do, especially little ones.”
“But I’m supposed to stop her,” Ethan’s voice cracked. “That’s my job. Dad has to work double shifts at the warehouse because Mom left and we need money for rent and food and stuff. He can’t always be there, so I have to be the one who watches Lilly and I failed.”
The words hit Marcus harder than they should have. This kid, this eight-year-old boy, was carrying a weight that would crush most adults. Marcus recognized it because he’d carried something similar once, the impossible responsibility of keeping a younger sibling safe in a world that didn’t care if children fell through the cracks.
“You didn’t fail,” Marcus said firmly. “You found her. You warned us. You kept her from getting hurt worse. That’s not failing, Ethan. That’s being a hero.”