The silence that followed no longer felt heavy. It felt sacred.
Duke placed the wooden box gently on the asphalt in front of Landon — not forcing it into his hands, not stepping closer than invited. Just offering.
“We can’t replace him,” Duke said. “But if you ever need someone to sit in the stands, teach you to fix a chain, or make sure nobody makes you feel small — you’ve got forty uncles now.”
A sharp inhale came from the fence line.
One of the mothers who had been clutching her daughter’s hand wiped her eyes without realizing it.
Landon looked at the kneeling line of leather and steel and weathered faces. For the first time in weeks, something other than confusion filled his expression.
“Did he… talk about me?” he asked.
Duke’s mouth twitched into the smallest smile. “Every single ride.”
A quiet chuckle moved through the kneeling men.
“Said you beat him at checkers. Said you were braver than he ever was.” Duke tilted his head. “Said you hated mustard.”
