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“I am,” she sassily answers, appearing in the doorway wearing only the bawdy sweater she had on earlier. “What do you need, Mr. Wilcox?”

To remove that hideous article with my teeth isnotthe correct answer.

It may be the answerI want to be correct; however, I know that it isn’t.

“To apologize toyou, Mrs. Wilcox.”

At that, the love of my life leans triumphantly against the frame. “You have myfullattention.”

“You were right.”

“That’s why I wear the gold shirt.”

Not smirking is impossible. “You’re actually wearing a sweater.”

She looks down at the thick black material, pretends to gasp, and says, “You’re right. Thisisa sweater. I should just take it off.” In one effortless swoop, she banishes the object into the bathroom behind her, unveiling the bright red, ribbons and bow based lingerie set that was hiding underneath. “Anyway, you were saying?”

That my wife is a supervillain I’d absolutely let burn Gotham down to the ground if it meant making her happy.

“Have you…” I attempt to banish the low, hungry rumble stuck in my throat, “been wearing this underneath your attire all day?”

“I have.”

“For me.”

“For when you came to your senses.” Arrogance curls the corners of her lips. “Good behavior should be rewarded, Mr. Wayne.” Wolfish growls are attached to me creeping closer, an action swiftly stopped by the lifting of her palm. “Ah. Ah.” My figure completely freezes. “You were apologizing for something? Perhaps for being a complete and total d-bag earlier? Perhaps for implying that because I chose to lead parenting our son with sympathy and empathy and patience, I was weak?”

“I was out of line.”

“You were out of the fucking galaxy, Wes.”

“Yes.”

Her shoulders noticeably relax.

“You know our son better than I do. You’vealwaysknown him better than I do, and I let my own personal rage regarding that blind me to what was actually happening, which was you doing what was bestfor him.Giving him space. Doing what you could to keep the situation from escalating.”

She lets one hand victoriously fall to her hip. “Go on.”

“You’re…anincrediblemom, Bryn-”

“Agreed.”

“-and I’m a struggling dad.”

Compassion crumples her frame slightly forward. “Wes…”

“It’s true.” An innocent shrug precedes me inching closer again. “But the only way to struggle less is tolearnmore.” Her body slowly begins to come towards mine. “To stop…treating our family – especially our son – like I’m the boss and everyone just works for me.” She continues closing the gap between us. “We’re all in this together.Allof us have needs. And wants. And fears. And I need to be more receptive to that.”

“Our son – in particular – would appreciate that.”

“I know.” My arms wind around her waist the second she’s within reach. “He expressed as much.”

Joy accompanies Bryn running her hands up my biceps. “You two talked?”

“We did.”

“And?”

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