Page 177 of Jace

“Nothing, I—” She glances over her shoulder again. “I just…”

I follow her stare. She’s eyeing Bishop, walking our way.

Heads always turn for Bishop—he’s a hot hunk in a Henley—but he’s unfazed. Hiding something behind his back. A shit-eating grin on his face. Boots aiming our way.

Oh fuck.

“Viv…” I groan. “Whatdaya do?”

“Don’t be mad.” She turns around, stepping into my shadow, our little bundle between us. “But me and Ansel”—she cups our son’s head—“we entered one of your photos in the contest, and I think…” She starts clapping. “Jace, I think you won!”

“He sure did.” Bishop’s teeth glint in a big smile. “Congratulations, brother.” He offers his hand, still hiding something in the other.

“Thanks, man, but what…” I look at him, then Viv. “What… what photo did you enter?”

Yeah, I’ve been taking hundreds of Vivian and will never stop. My wife’s natural beauty captivates me; her pregnancy photos were breathtaking.

And with Ansel, I have a ritual: I take a picture of him every morning, right after he wakes. I’m sure I’ll take thousands in his lifetime, but it’s amateur stuff. Photos for us. Stuff from my heart. Nothing competition worthy.

“A few weeks ago…” Viv cups my hand, cradling Ansel. “I saw the photos you developed. The ones you took with the black-and-white film.”

“With the stash I gave you,” Bishop adds.

Months back, I built a darkroom in our house, but I didn’t know Viv went in there. She’s been staying away from the chemicals.

“Yeah,” Vivian continues. “You’d been in the darkroom a lot, and I was curious. Guess I’ve been missing it, and then I saw this one, Jace—you must’ve taken it on your own, using the timer—and I just cried. Shocker, I know. But it’s beautiful, unfiltered emotion.”

“It is, man.” Bishop nods. He’s starting to make my family gather around, curious. “It’s the kinda shot our dads would’ve loved.”

He nods toward Remi and Wilder, respectfully hanging back, but I know they’re judges. They take this photo competition seriously.

“It was unanimous, man.” Bishop grins, impressed. “We all agreed, and that shit’s rare ’round here.”

From behind his back, he presents the framed photo with a discreet blue ribbon on its corner.

The image grabs my heart every time I see it; I know why Vivian submitted it.

It’s me in the nursery. We had just come home from the hospital; I was trying to let Vivian get some sleep. So I set up the camera and wanted to capture my first moment alone with my son.

I’m bare-chested and holding Ansel pressed to my heart, letting him feel it beat for him, letting him feel the warm sunlight streaming in the window. He was just two days old. His little naked body cradled in my hands. His face serene. My gaze forever on him.

“Oh, son.” Mom’s hand flies to her lips. “It’s beautiful.”

Vivian nods, her proud tears spilling while Wilder sounds moved. “Gorgeous composition, man. The light is velvet. Don’t know what ISO you used, but it makes the stillness dramatic.”

Just when you think Wilder’s careless, you hear the deep care in his words.

“And it’s the story you told,” Remi adds. “Father and son: it’s a lifetime of love captured in one moment.”

I swallow, nodding. Can’t disagree. Can’t speak. Can’t feel anything but the instinct to hold my son tighter and wrap my arm around Vivian.

“God, Jace.” Vale gushes at the photo. “You look like a king with his prince.”

“A lion with his cub,” Wren insists.

“Yeah, man, it’s a winner.” Loch can’t stop admiring the photo. “Didn’t know you were hiding the talent.”

“I did.” Vivian wraps her arms around Ansel and me. “It’s what his heart can capture now that it’s free.”

I hold her and my son and glance around at my family, wishing I could capturethismoment, our story.

But some moments are more than picture perfect.

They’re meant to be lived.

THE END