Page 29 of The Bastard's Lily
“You’re bakin’ again,” he mumbles through a yawn.
I smile and tap the timer. “Stress muffins.”
Beau climbs up onto the stool at the counter and rests his cheek on his stuffed fox’s head. “Are they banana?”
“With chocolate chips.”
“Yesss.” He pumps a tiny fist and then lays his head down dramatically. “This is the best day ever.”
I chuckle under my breath, pouring a glass of milk and sliding it his way. My fingers brush his, and something in my chest tightens. He’s too soft for all this. Too gentle. He deserves sticky tables and sunshine.
He sips, then licks the milk from his lips. “Mama?”
“Hmm?”
He fiddles with the tail of his fox. Doesn’t look at me. “Is Rook gonna come visit us here in our home?”
My breath catches. Just a flicker. Just long enough to sting. I keep my back turned, fiddling with the muffin tin on the stove like it needs rearranging.
“Why do you ask, bug?”
He shrugs, still not looking up. “He said I got his smile.”
I close my eyes. It’s soft. Almost whispered. But it lands like a punch. That kind of truth never comes quiet, no matter how small the voice. I take a slow breath. Then another. Then turn. Beau’s still playing with the stuffed fox, tracing the tail between his fingers like it holds answers he’s too young to ask out loud.
“You do,” I say gently, kneeling in front of him. “You’ve got my eyes, and his smile, and a heart that’s all your own. The best parts of us both.”
He frowns. “Then how come he don’t live here? How come I don’t know him?”
I reach for the oven mitts, blinking fast. The muffins are almost done, but Beau’s words sear hotter than the preheat setting.
“I was really young when I had you,” I say, turning and crouching beside him. “Still a teenager. And I was scared. I had to go somewhere far away to keep you safe. Somewhere Rook couldn’t be.”
Beau’s brow furrows, but his fingers don’t stop playing with the fox. “Why?”
“Because sometimes grown-ups mess things up before they even get the chance to fix them,” I say, brushing his curls back. “And I didn’t want anyone else messing you up. You were the one good thing I had. So I kept you all to myself for a while.”
He nods, like he’s trying to understand but isn’t quite there yet. Then he asks, voice small and curious, “Do I gotta call him Dad?”
My heart squeezes. I shake my head, smiling through the sting in my chest. “No, baby. You don’t have to call him anything you don’t want to.”
He thinks about that. Really thinks. Then he says, “What if I wanna call him Dada?”
That’s it. The tears I’ve been holding back finally fall, soft and silent as I lean in and kiss the top of his head. “I think that’s something you and Rook should talk about together,” I whisper.
Beau grins, like it’s already decided. Like it was never a question. He hops down from the stool and scampers off to the coffee table, dragging his backpack behind him. I hear the zipper, the rustle of crayons, the thunk of his sketch pad. His little fox gets a seat of honor beside him.
I check the muffins, then turn the oven off and crack the door. Letting them cool. And then I just… stand there. One hand on the counter. The other pressed flat over my chest like I’m holding my damn heart in place.
Because it’s too much. It’s all too fucking much. He shouldn’t have had to ask that. Shouldn’t have had to wonder. Shouldn’t have gone four years without knowing the man who gave him that same pouty bottom lip and little smirk.
And Rook— God, Rook. He missed all of it. First steps. First words. All the little things that hurt more when they’re gone than when they’re happening. Because back then, I told myself I wasstrong. That I was doing what needed to be done. That I couldn’t give Beau a father who wasn’t ready. Or so I thought…
But now? Now I’m just angry. Not at Rook. Not really. Not even at myself, though I know I shoulder some of it. I’m angry that we never got the chance. That my mother and father ripped away any chance we had at trying this whole family thing together.
I wipe at my eyes with the heel of my hand and sniff hard, forcing myself to breathe through the wave. Because I don’t get to fall apart. Not in front of Beau. Not when the muffins are cooling and the crayons are already strewn across the floor and he’s humming some song he made up on the spot.
But I ache—for all three of us. For the girl I used to be, the man I tried to forget, and the little boy caught in between.
