Page 17 of The Bastard's Lily
The room buzzes. Air heavy with the smell of ozone, gun oil, and betrayal. I step forward again. She raises the gun higher. The hammer clicks.
The guys all tense—Wren half-standing, Vice cursing under his breath, Frost reaching for something behind his belt. But no one moves.
Not until Grimm does. Slow. Steady. No threat in his hands, just calm in his voice.
“Calla.”
She whips the gun toward him. He doesn’t flinch.
“It’s me,” he says gently. “You know me.”
“Stay back.”
“I will. I promise. But let’s all sit for a minute, yeah? Just until the storm passes. Let my little buddy finish his sandwich and root beer.”
Beau beams like it’s the best idea in the world. “Mama, I want to stay!”
Her hand trembles. Just a little. Grimm takes one step closer. Hands still raised. Voice soft like smoke.
“Calla…It’s okay. You’re safe here. Youbothare.”
She looks at him. Then at me. Then down at the gun in her hand like she doesn’t quite remember how it got there. And slowly… she extends it toward Grimm. Grip first. He takes it gently. No sudden moves. No words. Just respect.
And the second his hand wraps around the barrel, she drops it. Wraps both arms around Beau like he might disappear. And I just stand there. Watching. Bleeding. Breathing in lightning and root beer and four years of lost time.
Grimm slides behind the bar like he’s done it a hundred times, takes Beau’s root beer, unscrews the cap, and hands it back with a wink.
“Go on, little man. Finish up, yeah?”
Beau nods like it's a mission from God.
Grimm ruffles his hair and points down the hallway. “Go clean up, sweetheart. Beau’s good. He’s safe. I’ll make sure he gets extra peppers if he wants.”
Calla hesitates. Eyes bouncing between Beau and me. Between the past and present. Then she nods. Silent. Tense.
She disappears down the hall, and I’m on her heels before the guys can say a word. I don’t ask, I just follow. Like I’ve always done with her. Like gravity.
She’s halfway down the hall when she hears my boots behind her and spins around fast, like she forgot I existed in the wake of everything else. Her mouth opens, but I’m already talking. Already unraveling.
“You came back toBerlin—tohere—withmy son, Calla?”
She flinches, but doesn’t look away. Doesn’t lie. Which almost makes it worse.
I move before I can stop myself. Boots echo against the floor. Her breath catches as I close the distance, backing her into the nearest door. She’s soaked, eyes wild, chest heaving like a woman on the edge of war. She grabs the handle and twists fast. The door swings open, and she stumbles back into a small room, bare except for a metal desk and a dusty chair. I follow her in and shut the door behind us.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” My voice is ragged. Low and shaking. “You came back toBerlin—tomy city—withmy son.And you didn’t tell me.”
She spins. “I didn’t get thechance.I was locked away before I could—”
“You could’ve sent a message. A letter. Something.”
“I did!” Her voice cracks. “I wrote you. Over and over again. Icalled.”
I freeze.
She steps forward now, fury pulsing through her. “You blocked me. You changed your number. You disappeared. I sat in a locked, unwed mothers' home with my hands shaking and my belly growing, and I still wrote. I begged someone to find you.”
Rage twists in my gut. “That’s not possible. Your father told me you left. Said you didn’t want this life. Said you ran.”
