“You’re good, Wick,” I assure, but stand behind him, directing his arm. The three of us watch as Wicker settles, gazing nervously down at his son. “What if he starts crying?” he frets. “What if he—” But then Justice’s eyes flutter open, blue meeting blue, and Wicker looks gutted. “So, you’re what all the fuss is about, huh?” His whisper is light but strained with emotion, and when he ducks down to gently brush his lips over Justice’s forehead, Verity, Pace, and I share a long look, understanding the gravity of the moment. Wicker, the person most afraid of loving something, has been captured,
...more
