The first time I saw the giant biker step into our NICU, I thought he had taken a wrong turn.
He was the kind of man people noticed before he ever said a word.
Nearly six-foot-seven.
Broad shoulders.
Shaved head.
Thick white beard.
Tattooed arms.
And hands so large and scarred they looked more suited for welding steel than holding something as fragile as a newborn baby.
His black leather vest had been left outside the unit because of hospital rules.
But even in a blue disposable gown, Wade “Grizzly” Holden still looked completely out of place beneath the soft lights of Pine Valley Children’s Hospital.
I had been a NICU nurse for thirteen years.
I knew that room by heart.
The quiet beeping of monitors.
The warm glow over incubators.
The whispered prayers of parents who thought no one could hear them.
