Page 37 of The Bastard's Lily
Grimm clears his throat behind me. “Alright, alright, let’s get this show on the road before this kid decides to reenactHow to Train Your Dragonin your living room.”
Calla’s eyes flick from Beau to Grimm to me. She’s not moving. Like her feet forgot how. I watch her wrestle with the guilt. The fear. She’s probably never left him before. I can see it in her posture, the way she clutches the strap of her purse like it’s a lifeline.
“I don’t know if—” she starts.
Grimm cuts in, gentler than I’ve heard him in years. “He’s safe with me, Calla Lily.”
Her chin jerks up.
Grimm nods once. “Just likeyouwere always safe with me. Since you were barely bigger than Beau. Remember that.”
She swallows hard. Her throat works around something she doesn’t say. Doesn’t have to. Tears shimmer at the corners of her eyes, and she blinks fast, like she can hold them in by sheer will. And just like that, I feel it—everything. The weight of what she’s been carrying. The trust it takes to let go of the only thing she’s ever protected with her whole damn life.
She’s still staring at the door like walking through it will split her open. Beau doesn’t notice. He’s cross-legged on the rug, head bent over his coloring book, tongue poking out just a little as he concentrates on staying in the lines. Grimm’s sitting on the couch now, feet up like he owns the place, flipping through the channels without sound.
“You good?” Grimm asks me, his voice low but calm.
“I’m good,” I answer, but I’m looking at her.
She’s not good. She’s unraveling in slow motion, the little threads of guilt and panic tugging one by one.
“I—I don’t know if I can do this,” she says softly. “It’s too much.”
Grimm doesn’t get up, just flicks the remote toward Beau like that’s answer enough. “Kid’s chill. I’ll feed him, read him a story, let him sleep in the fort we make. You don’t need to worry.”
“Idoworry,” she snaps, too quickly. Then lowers her voice, swallowing hard. “I always worry.”
I step closer. Not too close—just enough to make her tilt her chin and meet my eyes.
“Calli,” I say, quiet and sure. “He’s safe. He’salwayssafe when he’s with the club. Same wayyoualways were.”
Her eyes shimmer, and that breaks me a little.
“I know you’re scared,” I add. “But you don’t have to be tonight.”
Her mouth opens, closes. Her fingers twitch at her sides like she doesn’t know what to do with them. “He’ll ask for me,” she whispers.
Grimm chimes in without missing a beat. “And I’ll tell him his mama’s out getting her heart reminded how it’s supposed to beat when it’s not carrying the weight of the whole damn world.”
She blinks fast. I offer my hand, palm up. Not forcing it. Just holding space.
“Come with me,” I say. “That’s all. You already said yes. You just have to walk through the door.”
She hesitates. Looks at Beau one last time. And then, finally, she steps forward and laces her fingers through mine. Beau’s still holding the blue crayon like it’s a sword, crouched over a half-finished drawing of a monster truck with flames coming out the back. His little tongue sticks out between his lips—just like his mom’s does when she’s concentrating.
Calla leans down and brushes his curls back. “Alright, baby. I’m heading out for a little bit, okay?”
He looks up and squints at her. Then his gaze flicks to me. “Is it amama and dad date?”
I choke back a laugh, but Calla flushes so hard it travels down her neck.
“Yeah,” I say, crouching next to him. “It is. Just dinner.”
Beau considers that. Likereallythinks about it. Then he sets the crayon down, wipes his hand on his shirt, and walks right up to me.
He crosses his arms. “You better hold her hand, open the door, and say she looks pretty. Or I’ll have to put you intime out.”
Calla snorts behind her hand.
