“Of course you love him!” Alexis was regarding him with misty eyes. “And he loves you! And that’s so perfect!”
“Yes,” Wes said. “Yes, it is.”
* * * *
In late-afternoon light, gilded streaks bursting through Vancouver clouds, Wes found his spot off to the side again. Out of the way, as requested. The set-up at the moment was Finn’s—Adrian’s—bunker, the hideout he’d sealed when he’d quit being a superhero; it had a fake elevator at the back, just enough for Finn to walk out of, and the room was dim and shadowy, full of shrouded shapes, equipment, crates, and grief.
Finn, back in Adrian’s everyday outfit—casually expensive shirt and slacks, top buttons of the shirt undone artistically—waved at him but couldn’t move, being fussed over by a person rearranging his hair. Wes wasn’t sure what
