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Approaching the grave marked with Tyler Hayes' name, Ryder respectfully doffed his hat. His fingers traced the rough contours of the granite, and eventually, he nestled into the grass beside it. A creased sheet of notebook paper emerged from his pocket, and for a moment, he paused, gaze locked on his father's engraved name.

"Hey there, Dad. Happy Father's Day." A solitary tear trailed down Ryder's cheek. "Forgive me for not coming sooner." With a glance back at the letter in his hand, he unfolded it, hands quivering. "I penned a few words for you, Dad. I want you to hear them." Ryder's eyes briefly met the familiar loops and lines of his handwriting before he shared them with the silent stone.

Dear Dad,

Where do I even begin? Your absence has left such a void. Anger has been my shadow—anger at you for ignoring my pleas that day; anger at myself for not doing enough to deter you. Your guidance is sorely missed. My heart is heavy with the knowledge that you won’t witness another of my rides, victories, or milestones—the family I might build or the advice I’ll find myself needing.

The disappointment I’ve become weighs on me—I’m sorry for that. For not being present for Mom and Terry, for letting our family name wane in honor under my watch. I agonize over not being more insistent that tragic day.

It took a year after losing you to return to competition—to chase those titles again. But Dad, along the way, I faltered, made choices that wouldn't make you proud. It’s taken time, but I’m seeking therapy now—with hope that maybe things will be alright. In moving forward past your death though, fear grips me—fear that by doing so, your memory will fade from me—that if I release that terrible day from my thoughts you’ll slip away from them too.

The goal of three world championships remains unmet—I’ve only secured two. There’s this nagging suspicion that part of me is sabotaging my efforts subconsciously—as if success would sever our connection. As long as this goal dangles unfinished, it feels like you’re still here with me—but if I win... would that be our final goodbye?

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There’s someone new in my life—you’d adore her—and it’s possible I do too. She’s something else—and she’s made her mark on me. My longing for you endures—my love for you is eternal. And despite everything—I am set on being the man you brought me up to be.

There’s one thing I never wanted to admit to you—but now it must be said: goodbye, Dad.

Forever your loving son,

Ryder

Carefully folding the note back into a compact square, Ryder unsheathed his pocket knife and carefully cut away a section of sod. Gently placing the letter into this earthy alcove, he restored the green cover—keeping it safe and secreted away. His palm rested atop this new repository when Terry and Celeste joined him in quiet solidarity.

"Hello, son," Celeste uttered softly as her hand found its way to Ryder's shoulder.

Taken aback, Ryder's heart skipped a beat. Rising swiftly, he enveloped his mother in a warm embrace. "Hello, mama," he greeted softly. He pivoted to Terry and gave him a firm hug. "Hey there, little bro."

"Hey, Ryder. It's really great you made it," Terry answered with a smile.

Together, they lingered, side by side, Celeste resting between them as their gazes fell upon the solemn headstone.

With tender grace, Celeste advanced, placing a solitary crimson rose atop the grave, her lips brushing her fingers before pressing a kiss against his engraved name. "I love you so much, Tyler. You're forever missed."

Terry unveiled a quartet of Michelob cans—his father's brew of choice—and lovingly placed one beside the stone. Distributing the remaining cans to Ryder and Celeste, they cracked them open in unison. "To dad," Terry declared, lifting his can high for the salute before they all savored a heartfelt sip.

As if on cue, the steel-colored clouds parted softly, and light rain began to whisper down around them. Ryder and Terry instinctively drew closer around their mother, forming a protective shield from the delicate shower.

Bidding their farewell with heavy hearts, they retreated towards their vehicles—the brothers maintaining their sheltering stance over their mother against the tender embrace of rain.