Page 28 of The Bastard's Lily
“You should’ve called me,” I grit out. “The second you saw he was gone, you should’ve picked up the damn phone.”
She recoils like I slapped her. “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you gonna rush to help the woman you haven’t seen in five years? For the kid you didn’t even know you had?”
“That’s not—”
“No. Don’t you dare say it’s not fair,” she hisses. “You don’t get to pull the father card now, not when you left me holding the damn deck.”
My hands curl into fists. “He walked here, Calla. In a storm. Through the woods. Do you know what could’ve happened? What if he’d fallen? What if he’d wandered off the trail?”
“And what?” she snaps. “You think I haven’t pictured every awful thing since the second I realized he was gone? I nearly lostmy goddamn mind. But he came here, Rook. He cameto you. So maybe ask yourself why.”
That hits harder than any punch I’ve taken in the ring. She doesn’t wait for my reply. Just turns on her heel, marches back into the dining hall, and scoops Beau into her arms. He goes willingly, curling into her neck like she’s the only safe place he’s ever known.
The room goes still. Grimm’s halfway through a mouthful of scrambled eggs when his gaze cuts to me, sharp beneath his greying brows. He doesn’t say a word—he doesn’t need to. The weight of his stare alone says it all.
Ash leans back in his chair with a long, low whistle. “Jesus,” he mutters, drumming his fingers on the table. “Wasn’t expectin’ a domestic before my second cup of coffee.”
Wren doesn’t even look up from his plate, just raises his brows and keeps chewing like he’s watching a reality show play out live. “If that’s your idea of foreplay, Rook, you might need a manual.”
Frost folds his arms, cold and unreadable, though I catch the flicker of something behind his eyes as he watches Calla cradle Beau. Protective. Calculating. Like he’s already weighing what she means to me, and if that makes her a liability or something else entirely.
“Calla,” I try again, voice rough.
She stops at the door. Doesn’t turn. “I didn’t come here to fight,” she says, voice tight. “But I won’t stay where I feel like a threat.”
The door slams behind her. Beau in her arms. My heart in my throat. I just stand there, fury boiling in my gut directed at myself. And maybe at the idiot kid who’s about to lose a patch and a few teeth.
Ash leans forward. “So… anyone wanna tell me how the hell a four-year-old made it here through a goddamn storm without anyone noticing?”
I don’t answer. Not yet. Not until I figure out how the hell I let this happen.
Beau’scurledupbesideme on the couch, one arm flung over my middle like I might disappear if he lets go. His fox is tucked under his chin. He’s still got syrup in his curls from breakfast, but I can’t bring myself to wake him. Not yet.
I should feel safe here. Should feel grateful that we made it home in one piece after the mess of a night we had. But my hands won’t stop shaking. And there’s a knot in my chest that no amount of deep breathing untangles.
Yesterday cracked something open. Not just in Rook. Not just in me. In Beau too. He hasn’t said much since we left the clubhouse. Just quiet little hums and whispered questions like,“Do all daddies look like that?”and“Are we gonna see him again?”I gave him the same answer both times:“We’ll see.”I don’t know what else to say.
Because Rook kissed me like a promise and then tore me apartwith his mouth, not even twenty-four hours later. Because I saw what that boy meant to him—meansto him. But it doesn’t erase that sliver of doubt and suspicion I heard in his voice.
I press my palm to Beau’s back, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. He walked through the goddamn woods in a storm. A four-year-old. Following tracks like some pint-sized tracker, stubborn as sin and just as reckless. And Rook? Rook still looked at me like I handed him the world and then yanked it away. I don’t know what to do with that.
I ease off the couch, careful not to jostle Beau. The second my feet hit the floor, my body moves on instinct. Kitchen. Flour. Sugar. The quiet rituals of survival.
I pull my hair up into a knot and roll up my sleeves. No recipe, just muscle memory and emotion guiding every motion. Banana bread, maybe. Banana chocolate chip muffins, if we’ve got any left in the freezer. Something sweet. Something warm. Something I can control.
Because everything else? A goddamn mess.
I stir harder than I need to, wooden spoon clacking against the bowl. My jaw tightens as the memory plays on loop—Rook’s arms around Beau the moment I burst into that damn clubhouse. He shielded him without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Likehe knew.
And then—he kissed me. Like a man starved. Like I was his last breath. And he fucked me like he owned me. Like five yearshadn’t passed. But he didn’t hesitate to give us his bed. No growl. No demand. No rules or posturing. Just… pulled back the sheets and left the light on. Stayed on the goddamn couch with nothing but an extra blanket and his pride.
And it was almost enough to make me forget. Until that look in his eye—sharp, suspicious—the second he asked how Beau got to the clubhouse. Like I would’ve just let our son wander through the fucking woods alone.Would’ve.Because that’s who I was to him now. Reckless. Careless.Unfit.Then he had the audacity to lecture me about safety.Safety. From the man who is in a goddam motorcycle gang!
The oven dings, and I flinch, realizing I’d turned it on without noticing. The batter’s still half mixed, my hand trembling where it grips the spoon. I take a breath. Then another. Because Beau’s awake now, blinking at me from the couch, curls wild and eyes soft.
I force a smile and wipe my hands on my apron. “Hey, lovebug. How ‘bout muffins for lunch?”
I slide the muffin tin into the oven just as the soft slap of bare feet echoes behind me. Beau stands there rubbing one eye, his fox clutched under one arm like a soldier reporting for duty. His curls are wild, sticking in every direction, and he’s still wearing the oversized tee he insisted on sleeping in—Rook’s, of course. The sleeves hang off his arms like wings.
