Page 77 of The Bastard's Lily
Rook brushes a hand over our son’s hair, then meets my eyes. The lines of worry haven’t left his face, but something in his shoulders finally loosens.
“Come on,” he whispers.
We slip into the bathroom together. The shower spray is warm and steady, a low whisper against the tile. I stand beneath it with him, the night’s smoke and dirt rinsing away in slow rivulets.
No words at first, just the sound of water and our breathing. His hands find mine, fingers lacing tight, and he presses his forehead to mine.
“I thought I lost everything,” he murmurs.
“You didn’t,” I whisper back. “We’re here.”
The world narrows to the quiet between us, the steam curling around our faces, the weight of survival heavy and strangely light all at once. For a long time, we simply stand there, letting the water wash away the night, holding on to the only thing that matters—each other.
The water runs hot and steady, a soft roar that makes the rest of the world feel far away. Rook’s forehead stays pressed to mine, breath warm against my cheek.
“I need you to know,” he says finally, voice low and rough. “Up there…I killed two men.”
I draw back just enough to see his eyes. They’re dark, unreadable. “They would’ve taken Beau. Taken you. I didn’t think—I just…did it. And I’d do it again.” He swallows hard, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “You should be scared of me. I’ve done terrible things, Calla. Things you don’t come back from.”
I reach up, slide my palms along the sides of his face until my thumbs rest against the damp stubble of his jaw. “You protected our son,” I say, steady as the water beating down around us. “You protected all of us.”
He closes his eyes like the words hurt more than the bullets. “Still should scare you.”
I shake my head, holding him tighter. “You don’t scare me, Rook. Not now. Not ever.”
For a long moment, neither of us moves, the sound of the shower the only witness to the truth between us. We shut off the water and step into the cool air of the room, steam curling around us like a fading storm. Rook towels his hair, the muscles of his back shifting under the faint light. Boxers cling low on his hips, the bandage at his ribs stark against his skin.
I pull one of his shirts over my head; the hem brushes my thighs, and I slip beneath the blankets. He joins me a heartbeat later, warm and solid, an arm sliding around my waist until we’re a single, steady breath.
“I love you,” he murmurs against my temple.
“I love you too,” I whisper back, eyes closing as the weight of the day finally loosens.
The floor creaks softly. Beau climbs onto the bed without a word, his stuffed fox tucked under one arm. He wiggles between us, curls close, and looks up with heavy lids.
“Love you, Mama. Love you, Dada,” he mumbles, already half-asleep.
Rook goes rigid for a second, then exhales a shaky breath, his forehead pressing to Beau’s hair. I feel the tremor in him, the one that almost breaks into a sob.
My own tears slip free, quiet and warm. I wrap them both in my arms, the three of us folded together in the dark, and finally—finally—we let the night go.
Thenightiscleanfor the first time in what feels like forever. No engines rumbling outside the clubhouse, no lookout radios buzzing. Just the low hum of summer and the smell of fresh paint drifting from the barn.
Grimm and Beau are out there under a floodlight, laughing as they splash rainbow dinosaurs across the siding. My kid’s giggle cuts through the air, high and bright. It’s the sound of a life finally starting to breathe again.
Calla slides her hand into mine, fingers warm and sure. “Let’s ride,” she says.
I’ve been waiting for those words. The Harley growls to life, and we slip into the dark, the road stretching like a promise ahead of us. For the first time in days, I don’t look over my shoulder. I just ride, her arms tight around my waist, the wind carrying everything else away.
We climb the old back road until the silhouette of her daddy’s church rises against the moonlight—white clapboard faded, steeple leaning like it’s tired of standing guard. The place where I first kissed her, back when we thought forever was a simple thing.
I kill the engine. The quiet settles around us like a blessing and a dare.
“This is where it started,” I say, swinging off the bike and offering her my hand.
The churchyard is quiet except for the low idle of my bike. The same damn spot where I first kissed her. Only thing different now is the woman in front of me—stronger, fiercer, mine.
I pull the small box from my cut pocket and flip it open. The silver glints like moonlight, the calla-lily petals curling around the stone. Her breath catches.
