Ross stood in the doorway of the little boy’s bedroom, watching as Brielle went through the motions of getting her son back to sleep. The soft soothing tone of her voice as she told Justice a story about telling the moon good-night did little to ease the very real agitation moving through him.

An agitation he didn’t understand.

Not at first.

But as he watched the motion of her hands moving gently back and forth across the sleeping boy’s back, the unease that had gripped him from the moment he’d realized she had a child began to make perfect sense.

“He’s mine.”

Brielle’s head shot up at his low words, and she stared at him across the dimly lit room.

Despite the truth being all over her guilty face, he needed to hear her say the words.

“He is my son, isn’t he?”