“Yep,” Mayhem continues. “He saw the cuts, cleaned 'em out, bandaged her up tight, made her eat half a bowl of broth, and sat himself right down in the armchair by her door like a guard dog on duty.”
“Holy Lord,” I say. “That’s not like the man.”
“Right? I told him to go grab a cup of coffee, that I’d sit with Willow, but he practically growled at me and told me to get out of his way. I think Stitch might have a bit of a soft spot for our feather-loving big sis.”
“Really?” I say, oddly delighted. “Stitch and Willow?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
"She deserves someone looking out for her,” I muse. “I mean, she was incredible tonight.”
I shift slightly on the bed, looking between my father's heavy posture and Mayhem's tense jawline. The question had been pressing against the back of my skull si
