Page 398 of Wicked Brutal

Dad smiles. “Right. I’m Tobias’s Walter.”

“And mine.” Dad looks at me, and I smile.

His eyes get wet. He looks back down at Piper. “And if you’ll have me, I guess I can be yours too.”

Ally’s fingers squeeze mine. Piper sleeps through the offer.

Callum and Saoirse come in together, and both go to Ally first. Every parent does. I notice it. So does she. Nobody rushes past the eighteen-year-old who just gave birth to get to the baby. Saoirse hugs her. Callum puts a hand on Ally’s shoulder and asks how she’s feeling, and only after Ally answers do they come toward Piper. Saoirse cries when she holds her. Callum claims he isn’t crying when she passes Piper to him. He is.

Thomas comes in next, hugs Ally carefully, and looks at me. “You good?”

“Yeah.”

“You look exhausted.”

“I am.”

His eyes move to Piper, then back to us, and he smiles. “You built something good.”

The words hit harder than I expect. I look at Ally, and she’s looking at me too. Thomas doesn’t know everything — nobody does — but he knows enough. He knows what our lives looked like a year ago. He knows what our parents did to us. He knows what Ally survived.

“Trying to,” I say.

Thomas shakes his head. “No.” His gaze moves between us. “You did.” Ally wipes beneath one eye. Thomas takes Piper when I offer her, and looks down. “Piper Jane.” He doesn’t pretend he knew Jane. He doesn’t pretend the name means something to him that it doesn’t. He just looks at Ally. “That’s a hell of a name to carry.”

“The good parts,” Ally says.

Thomas nods. “Then she’ll carry them well.”

Alice and Gideon come next, then Clifford and Louise, then Theodore, then Katya again — because there’s no universe where I’m telling Katya she only gets one turn. Arthur comes in last. He stands beside the bed looking at Piper like she’s a legal document he hasn’t figured out how to read yet. Then she wraps her fingers around one of his, and he stops, his throat working.

“Hello, Piper.”

I grin. “You’re crying.”

“No.”

“You are.”

“I’m not discussing this with you.”

“Fair.” He looks at Ally. “You’re well?”

“Tired.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Ally smiles. “I’m okay.”

“Good.” Then he looks at me. “Seven pounds, eight ounces?”

“You’re doing this now?”

“I waited.”

“How long?”

“Long enough.”