It mattered.
Hawk listened without expression.
When Garrett finished, the president was quiet for a long moment.
“You remember Jerry Bowman?” Hawk asked finally.
The name brought a wave of memory.
Jerry had been a solid member back in the 1990s and early 2000s. Good rider, reliable, had a daughter.
“Yeah,” Garrett said. “He died in a crash five years back.”
“His daughter, Lily. Her mother was an addict, disappeared when Lily was small. Jerry did his best to raise her right, but he was always here or on runs or trying to keep his construction company afloat.”
Hawk’s expression darkened with old regret.
“When he died, she had nobody. Went into the system, foster homes, the whole thing.”
Garrett remembered Lily now.
A sweet kid who used to come to barbecues at the clubhouse, drew pictures of motorcycles, laughed at all Jerry’s terrible jokes.
“What happened to her?”
“Last I heard, she was in Los Angeles and in bad shape. Same kind of life her mother had.”
Hawk met Garrett’s eyes directly.
“We should have done more for that girl. We should have stepped up when Jerry couldn’t. Instead, we let the system take her, and the system broke her.”
The clubhouse had gone completely silent.
Everyone knew Jerry. Everyone remembered Lily.
And everyone felt the weight of what Hawk was saying.
“I’m not going to let that happen again,” Hawk said. “Not if we can help it.”
He turned to address the room.
“Brennan wants to look into a kid’s situation. A little girl whose aunt is struggling. Anyone got a problem with that?”
No one spoke.
“Good.”
Hawk nodded at Garrett.
“Find out what you can. Keep it quiet. If there’s something we can do, we’ll do it, but be smart about it. Last thing we need is social services thinking we’re running some kind of scam.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“See that you are.”
Hawk’s expression softened slightly.
“You’re a good man, Brennan. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you are at the veterans’ hall, how you treat people. This club needs more of that.”
He looked around the room.
“We all do.”
The meeting broke into smaller conversations.
Garrett found himself standing with Gears, Shadow, and Boulder, the three men who had been there when he first walked in.
“I got a cousin at the cannery,” Gears said. “I can ask around about this Marlene Hartwell. Find out what the deal is.”
“My sister’s a teacher at Oakland Elementary,” Boulder offered. “If the kid goes there, Jenny will know about her.”
Shadow was already on his phone.
“I know people who run businesses on Telegraph. If the aunt needs better work, I might be able to find something.”
Garrett felt something ease in his chest.
This was why he had stayed with the club all these years.
Because when it mattered, when you really needed them, your brothers showed up.
“Appreciate it,” he said.
“All of you.”
“Don’t thank us yet,” Gears said.
But he was almost smiling.
“Thank us when that little girl’s eating three meals a day and wearing clothes that fit.”
Two days later, Garrett had a clear picture of exactly how bad things were for Sadie Mitchell and her aunt Marlene.
Gears’s cousin confirmed Marlene worked at the cannery, showed up early, stayed late, never complained, but the wages were barely above minimum and the hours were grueling.
Shadow’s contacts revealed she also cleaned offices four nights a week for an additional two hundred dollars in cash, barely enough to keep the lights on.
Boulder’s sister, Jenny, taught at Oakland Elementary.
And yes, she knew Sadie Mitchell.
“A sweet girl,” Boulder reported. “Smart, polite, but showing signs. Falling asleep in class. Wearing the same clothes multiple days in a row. Eating the free breakfast and lunch like she’s starving, which she probably is.”