“I was living on the streets when I found him. Or I guess he found me. I’d been thinking about ending it. Had it all planned out. But then this little guy showed up, needing someone to take care of him. Needing me.”
He lifted the dog slightly, pressing his forehead against Sergeant’s small head.
The train stopped. Doors opened. A few people got on, saw the scene, and quickly moved to another car.
“Eleven years,” the biker continued. “Eleven years he’s been my best friend. My only friend for a long time. When I was too broken to talk to humans, I talked to him. When I couldn’t sleep because of the nightmares, he’d lay on my chest and lick my face until I calmed down.”
His voice dropped to a whisper.
“He’s the reason I got clean. The reason I found my club. The reason I’m alive. And now he’s leaving me.”
I felt tears on my own cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”
He looked at me then. Really looked at me. “You’re the only person who came over. Everyone else ran away like I was dangerous.”
“You don’t look dangerous to me. You look like someone saying goodbye to family.”
A laugh escaped through his tears. I laughed too.
Sergeant’s breathing changed. Got slower. More labored. The biker noticed immediately.
“No, buddy. Not yet. We’re almost there. Just a few more stops. Can you hold on for me? Can you see the ocean one more time?”
The dog’s eyes opened slightly. Looked up at his owner with the kind of pure love only dogs can give.
“That’s my boy. That’s my good boy.”
I should have gotten off at 34th Street. That was my stop. But I stayed. Couldn’t leave this man alone. Not during this.
“Tell me about him,” I said. “Tell me your favorite memory.”
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