Page 7 of The Bastard's Lily
Themorningsstartearlynow. Too early. Beau’s got his backpack on before I’ve even finished my coffee, holding up his lunchbox like it’s some kind of trophy. It’s loud, blue with dinosaurs, a last-minute thrift store win he’s already covered in stickers. He’s excited. I pretend I am, too.
I buckle Beau into his booster seat, the morning still thick with dew and nerves. His backpack is too big for his little body, straps slipping off his shoulders as he squirms and fidgets, all energy and chatter.
“Do you think they’ll have chocolate milk at school, Mama?” he asks, kicking his sneakers gently against the back of the passenger seat.
“If they don’t, we’ll riot,” I say, forcing a smile as I shut his door and circle to the driver’s side. My keys jingle in my hand, betraying the shake in my fingers.
He giggles at the wordriot, like it’s something silly and fun. I start the engine and let the heat hum through the truck as I adjust the mirror to catch his face. He’s practically vibrating with excitement. First day of kindergarten. First real step into a world I’m not sure how to protect him from.
The gas light’s been on since last night, so I pull into the only station between us and the school. It's early, barely seven, and the lot is mostly empty except for a lineup of rumbling machines parked off to the side. Motorcycles. Big ones. And three leather-clad bodies inside the convenience store. I see the flashes of kuttes through the glass.
Club colors.
The blood drains from my face. Beau's humming to himself in the back seat, totally unaware. I don’t recognize the patches from here. I don’t recognize the men either. But my stomach clenches anyway, hard and hot. I can’t seehim, but that doesn’t mean he’s not inside. Or just around the corner. Or behind me already.
“Please, not today,” I whisper.
It’s not fear. Not exactly. I’m not afraid of the club. Not of what they are. I’ve seen worse and survived it. But Icannotsee Beck Wilder right now. Not when I’ve barely stitched myself back together. Not when I have to drop my son—ourson—off at school with a steady hand and a lie on my lips.
I grip the steering wheel. My breath stutters.
“Can I come in with you?” Beau asks from the back.
“No, baby. I’ll just be a second. You stay in your seat.”
I get out. Keep my head down. Don’t look toward the store windows. I swipe my card, pump the gas, and stare down at the nozzle like it holds the secret to staying invisible. Beau laughs at something in his hands—a keychain toy he must’ve found in the seat. That sound keeps me grounded. It's the only thing that does. When the tank clicks full, I get back in the car fast.
“Did you see the bikes, Mama?” Beau points as we pull away. “They were loud and shiny. I like them.”
I nod, throat tight. “Yeah, baby. I know you do.”
I follow the GPS toward the elementary school, heart thudding like it’s me starting kindergarten, not Beau.
His little fingers tap a rhythm against his booster seat. “Mama? Will my teacher be nice?”
“She’ll be the nicest,” I whisper, even though I haven’t met her. Even though my gut twists. “And you’re gonna do amazing.”
The paperwork’s finally done. The shots, the forms, the phone calls—they all led to this. A real school. A real chance at normal. I park in the visitor lot and force my lungs to keep working.
Beau kicks his feet like he’s on a swing. “Do I look okay?”
He does. Fresh sneakers, new jeans a size too big, his favorite red hoodie. He looks perfect. He looks likehim. God, Beck. That same smirk. Same stubborn tilt of the chin. Same way he grins when he’s unsure, like he’s already bracing to get in trouble but dares you to stop him. Beau’s just like him. And I don’t know if that should terrify me, or break me.
I climb out and walk around to his side, opening the door. “You ready, bug?”
He nods with wide eyes, then climbs out with his little backpack slung over one shoulder. I take his hand, even though I know soon he’ll be too big for this. Too cool. But not yet.
Inside the front office, the secretary recognizes us. “Beau Hale? All set. Just head down the blue hallway to Room 2B. Mrs. Keegan’s class.”
Beau beams like he just won a prize. I crouch and press a kiss to his temple. “Remember what we practiced?”
He nods. “Be kind. Be brave. And don’t tell nobody about my punch.”
“Exactly,” I say, trying not to cry-laugh.
He turns and walks down the hall, that red hoodie bouncing with each step. He doesn’t look back. I wait until he disappears around the corner before I let myself fall apart. He’s in. He’s safe. He’s growing up in a world I clawed my way out of, bloodied, just to give him.
And I’ll burn it all to the fucking ground before I let it touch him.
