Page 109 of Callum

CALLUM

We crash through the woods at top speed, Rosalind sprinting at my side. She shouldn’t be running like this on her leg, but I don’t have the heart to stop her.

I don’t want to waste the time.

Merrick silently threw me his keys the moment we crested the hill out of the clearing. Rosalind didn’t slow down long enough to see Merrick nod in my direction before pulling his gun and stepping out of the trees.

We break through the forest’s edge, ragged breaths creating small clouds in front of our faces. Rosalind hesitates long enough for me to pass her, heading toward the blacked-out Mercedes. I’m starting the car before Rosalind’s fully inside, but I wait for her to close the door before pulling onto the road.

I don’t bother watching my speed as we race through town, but the cops don’t try to stop me. We’re in Merrick’s car, and they know not to pull him over.

“Slow down.”

“What?” I shoot a surprised look at her, which only makes her more nervous.

“Look at the road, dammit.”

“Why do you want me to slow down?” I ask the question even as my foot eases off the gas pedal.

My speed doesn’t decrease by much, but it’s enough that I see Rosalind’s shoulders relax away from her ears. “We’re parents now. It would be irresponsible for us to both die in a car accident.”

We’re parents now. The words have me cutting the speed immediately, and we roll through town at a more subdued pace. I still pass several cars moving too slowly before we make it to the Chandler border.

Less than two minutes later, we’re pulling up to the gates of the Convent. I hadn’t considered what would happen when we got here. Rosalind has been marked as a traitor, and I’m a MacAlister. The odds aren’t great that they’ll just open the doors and let us in.

Except that’s exactly what they do.

The gates swing open with a loud squeak, and a young GiGi pops her head between the iron doors of the Convent. She waves us forward, and Rosalind quietly directs me toward a parking space in front of the building. It’s an old stone edifice that once housed several nuns. The Sisters evacuated shortly after Marshall Roman decided to expand his rule beyond the border of Balkirk. That move spurred my great-grandfather to take action against the Romans by creating the MacAlister Mafia.

When word spread that a group of women were taking over the Convent, everyone assumed they were nuns. No one was ready for the GiGi’s.

Not even Grant.

“Come on,” the young woman smiles at Rosalind, waving us into the cavernous main room. It’s quiet, but several people are lingering around the space. While no one seems overly happy to see me, they all look relieved to see Rosalind again.

For the first time, I wonder what Ginetta told the other GiGi’s about Rosalind’s disappearance from the ranks.

The young woman leads us through the great room and into a torch-lit stone hallway that twists through the heart of the Convent. Several hallways break off from the main one, and many rooms line both sides of us, but we keep pressing forward. Deeper and deeper into the building until the stones give off a slight chill.

“Are we underground?”

Rosalind nods but doesn’t offer a verbal answer. Her hands worry the bottom of her shirt, and I see her touch her hair and face multiple times as we walk through the flickering firelight.

Eventually, the hallway comes to a T, and we stop in front of a massive wooden door. The young woman smiles brightly at us before scurrying down the hall to our right. She doesn’t wait to see if we go through the door.

We don’t go through the door.

“Rosalind?”

“I can’t do it.” She spins toward me, her head shaking quickly from side to side. “I can’t go in there.”

I take a deep breath and try to keep my voice as soothing as possible. “Why not?”

“She’s better off with Grim,” Rosalind says the words like they’re an admission—as if this is a secret she’s been keeping from me. “I prayed for someone who knew what they were doing to raise her. Someone who could be better for her than I could be. Grim is who she needed, and I can’t take that from her.”

“Look at me, kitten.” I step into her space, waiting until her eyes tip to mine before I speak again. “You are what she needs. You will be a great mother to her, and I’m not just saying that because you gave birth to her. We both know that doesn’t automatically make you into a good parent. You are good for her because of how you fight and have fought for her. You are good because of the way you love her. The way you grieved her,” I add, pressing my knuckle into her chin when she tries to look away from me. “You don’t grieve someone like that unless you love them with your whole being.”

“I can’t love you both this much.” Her whispered words melt into the stones around us as if they’re pulling the secrets from her very chest.

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