Page 59 of The Bastard's Lily
“Calla, stop,” he growls in my ear.
“No!” I twist, fury and fear tangling in my chest. “He was at my house, Rook! Beau was out there—”
Rook doesn’t argue. He just scoops me off the ground like I weigh nothing and turns away from the crowd, carrying me through the side corridor while voices buzz behind us.
I pound a fist against his chest, but he doesn’t slow. “Put me down!”
“Not here,” he mutters, jaw tight.
He shoulders through a heavy door at the end of the hall, one of the quiet storage rooms used for extra gear and parts. The scent of motor oil and cold concrete closes around us as he kicks the door shut with his boot.
Only then does he set me on my feet, his hands still firm on my arms. “Now,” he says, eyes burning into mine, “we talk. Just us.”
I wrench out of his grip, my back hitting the cold cinderblock. “You think you get to decide what I know? Aboutmykid? About my home?”
Rook doesn’t flinch. “I was—”
“Don’t you dare say you were protecting me.” My voice ricochets off the walls, louder than I mean, but I don’t care. “I’ve protected Beau for five years. Through storms. Through nights you weren’t there. I have done every single thing to keep him safe. And you keepthisfrom me?” He takes a step closer; I shove a palm against his chest. “You don’t get to make that call, Rook. Ever.”
The muscle in his jaw jumps, but his voice stays low. “Then take it out on me.”
I blink, furious enough that it barely makes sense. “What?”
“Every ounce of it,” he says, eyes steady, unyielding. “Scream at me. Hit me if you need. I can take it. But don’t think I don’t see you, Calla. You’ve done it all. You’ve kept Beau alive, kept that cabin running. You’re the strongest damn person I know.”
My hands shake, rage still burning. “You hadnoright,” I spit. “I am not someone you keep in the dark.”
“I know,” he says quietly, taking the weight of every word without a blink. “And I’ll stand here until you’re done, because you deserve to throw it all at me.”
The room feels too small for the heat of it, my fury crashing against the unmovable wall of him—but I don’t stop. Not yet.
I shove him again, harder this time, the sound of my palms against his chest echoing off the cinderblock. “You don’t get it, do you?” My voice cracks with fury. “I don’t want my son growing up in this—around fights and threats and ambushes. I will not have Beau living with danger as his bedtime story!”
Rook’s eyes flash, a rare fire breaking through the calm. “He’s my son too, Calla!”
The words slam into the room, hot and undeniable.
I freeze, breath hitching, anger still sparking in my chest. “Then act like it,” I fire back. “Because hiding things, keeping me blind? That’s not protecting him. That’s not being his father.”
Rook steps closer, shoulders squared, the air between us tight enough to snap. “Iamacting like it. I’m standing here, I’m fighting to keep him safe, and I will burn this whole town down before I let anyone touch him.”
The silence that follows is jagged and heavy, our breathing the only sound in the narrow room. My hands are still trembling, but I don’t back away. Neither does he. The air between us vibrates with everything we never fixed.
“You think this club makes you a better man?” My voice slices through the quiet. “It’s the same place that stole you from me once. And now it’s the reason I spent four years raising our son alone.”
Rook flinches like I struck him, a flash of something wounded passing through his eyes before the fury hardens again.
“Calla—”
“Don’t.” My words are sharp enough to taste like metal. “You let the Bastards take you then, and you’re still letting them take you now.”
For a heartbeat, he just stares, chest heaving, jaw clenched tight. Then he spins for the door, throws it open so hard the frame rattles, and storms out, boots pounding down the hallway until the sound is swallowed by the rumble of the clubhouse below.
I head back down the hallway, each step heavier than the last. The low murmur of voices from the common room fades as I reach Rook’s door.
Grimm is leaning against the frame, arms crossed. He glances up when he sees me and lifts one thick brow. “All good?”
I shake my head, the motion small but sharp. “Not even close.”
