Page 15 of The Bastard's Lily
The kid spins on the barstool, kicks his legs once, then looks up at me with a crooked little grin. “Hi. I’m Beau. I’m four.”
I stare at him for a second. He’s soaked, mud smeared on his little face, and confidence in his voice.
“Hi,” I say slowly. “I’m Rook. I’m twenty-two.”
Wren snorts behind the bar, already entertained. “Where you from, little buddy?”
Beau shrugs like it’s classified information. “Around.”
I let out a low chuckle. Grimm does too. Kid’s got bite.
Beau hums to himself as he pops the lid off his dinosaur lunchbox. Plastic creaks open like a damn time capsule, and I blink at the sight of a fried bologna sandwich sitting front and center. White bread, edges charred just right, and a neat row of green pepper slices on the side like it’s a gourmet spread.
He picks up the sandwich, takes a bite, and then looks over at me. “Wanna bite?” he asks, casual as hell. Like we’re old pals on a school field trip.
I blink. “Huh?”
He holds it up. “It’s good. My mom makes ‘em with the crunchy bits.”
The kid grins like he’s letting me in on some family secret. I stare at the sandwich. My throat tightens. That sandwich. Thatfuckingsandwich. I laugh. Except I don’t. It catches in my chest, strangled halfway up.
My eyes shift to his face. That grin. The messy hair. The sparkle behind those goddamn eyes. And suddenly, I can’t breathe. That smile. That face. That fucking smirk like mine…
It hits me like a sledgehammer to the chest. I know that sandwich. I know that look. I know that laugh. And I know exactly who used to make me that same damn thing, burning the edges just a little ‘cause she knew I liked it that way.
Holy fucking shit.
A crack of lightning splits the sky, followed by a boom of thunder that shakes the fucking clubhouse walls. The lights flicker. The pool balls clatter against each other on the far table. And then—
Boom.The doors slam open like the devil himself kicked ‘em in. Wind howls through the room, wild, wet, and cold, dragging sheets of rain in with it. A gust knocks over an empty chair. The air goes electric.
Beau jumps beside me, flinching so hard he nearly drops his sandwich. I move without thinking. Step in front of him. Arms slightly out. Muscle memory from a thousand brawls and onetoo many ambushes. Like I’m ready to shield him from whatever the hell is about to storm through that door.
And then I see her. Calla.Soaked to the fucking bone. Rain dripping off her lashes. Hair stuck to her face like a war mask. And in her hand—a gun.
Not shaking. Not hesitant. Just ready. Her voice slices through the chaos.
“Where’s my son?”
The room explodes. Chairs scrape back. Grimm curses. Wren fumbles his drink. Everyone fucking moves. But not me. I’m frozen.
Beau’s behind me. Silent. Small. Peeking past my leg. And I swear to God…I don’t breathe. Calla’s eyes lock on me. Then on the kid. Then back again.
My ribs feel like they’re going to crack from the pressure building in my chest.
Her son. No. No way. But—the eyes. The mouth. That goddamn sandwich. It clicks. All of it. Like a shotgun cocked straight to my fucking heart.
Beau bolts before I can stop him. “Mommy!”
His little legs fly across the floor, arms flung wide, sandwich forgotten on the bar. And every soul in the room turns to stone. No one breathes. No one moves. Not even the fucking rain dares to keep falling for a second.
She drops to her knees to catch him; her soaked arms wrapping around him like she’s been holding her breath for years just to do this. He buries his face in her neck. She holds him tighter.
And I…I feel the world split beneath my boots. My throat closes. My fists clench. And the floor drops out from under me.
“Calli?”
It’s not even a question. It’s a prayer. A ghost. A memory wrapped in my voice. But her head snaps up, eyes burning through me like hellfire.
