Page 45 of The Bastard's Lily
His eyes close briefly, pain flickering across his features. "You disappear. Or I reach for you, and my hands go right through. Or—" he swallows hard, "—sometimes I find you, but you're cold. Gone."
I press my palm to his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady and strong beneath my touch. "I'm here. We're here."
"Yeah," he breathes, covering my hand.
His breathing gradually deepens and slows. I watch as his eyelids grow heavy, fighting to stay open as his fingers trace lazy patterns on my skin.
"Sleep," I whisper, brushing my lips against his forehead.
"Don't wanna," he mumbles, but his eyes are already closing. "Afraid you'll be gone when I wake up."
I curl closer, resting my head on his chest. "I'll be right here. Promise."
A few minutes later, his arm goes slack around my waist, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of deep sleep. I prop myself up on one elbow, studying his face in the moonlight. The years have hardened him, carving new lines around his eyes and mouth. Battle scars of a different kind.
I brush my fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his face, and that's when I see it, tucked behind his right ear, partially hidden by his hairline. A small, delicate calla lily tattoo. My breath catches. My flower. My name. Inked permanently into his skin, in a place so private it feels like a secret whispered only to himself.
The tears come without warning, hot and silent on my pillow. My chest aches with a love so raw it feels like an open wound. I curl against him, pressing my face into his shoulder, letting the tears flow freely. I cry for all the years we lost, for the little boy sleeping down the hall who's gone so long without a father,for the broken teenagers we once were who thought they had forever.
But god, I love him so much. The realization hits me with such force that it steals my breath. I love the man he was, the man he's become, every version of him I've ever known.
I've spent five years running. Five years building walls and escape routes. Five years with one foot always out the door. But as I lie here listening to his steady heartbeat, I know with absolute certainty I'm not leaving this time. Not Berlin, not Rook, not this second chance we've somehow been given.
The tears eventually slow, and my breathing steadies. I trace the outline of the tattoo behind his ear one more time, marveling at this secret declaration of love he's carried all this time. My eyelids grow heavy, the emotional exhaustion of the day finally catching up with me.
I press one last kiss to his shoulder and let sleep take me.
ThefirstthingIfeel is warmth. The soft weight of her thigh draped over mine. The slow, steady rise and fall of tiny breaths against my chest. A tangled mess of curls tucked under my chin. A heartbeat I’d forgotten I could have, pounding gentle but sure beneath my ribs.
Calla. Beau. Mine.
I don’t open my eyes right away. I don’t need to. Her scent is all around me—faint vanilla, sleep-warmed skin, something floral I still remember from ten summers ago. My shirt’s hanging loose off her shoulder, bared skin tucked against my side. And Beau’s tiny frame is curled between us, footie pajamas soft against my stomach, one chubby arm flung over my ribs like he’s been mine his whole life.
Maybe he has been. Maybe I’ve been his, too. Even if I didn’t know it.
I tighten my arms just a little, holding them closer like I can anchor this moment to the goddamn earth. Like if I stay still enough, quiet enough, the universe won’t notice it gave me something too good and take it back.
There’s no room for words. No need to speak when I already have everything I’ve ever wanted right here in my arms. Calla breathes out softly, her lashes fluttering against my chest. She makes this tiny sound, like a sigh and a smile all at once, and it just fucking wrecks me.
I love her. God, Iloveher.
Last night was more than just heat and need. It was all the missing years stitched back together with whispered promises and fingertips that memorized, not claimed. And this—this quiet morning with her wrapped around me, our son safe between us—is everything I didn’t let myself hope for.
I don’t move. I just hold them like they’re mine. Because they are. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure they never forget it.
Calla stirs before the sun finishes crawling through the curtains. A soft inhale, a little shift, the brush of her hair against my chin. I keep my eyes half-closed, greedy for every second of it. She blinks up at me, lashes still heavy with sleep, and the smallest smile curves her mouth. Like I’m the first thing she wanted to see today. Hell, maybe ever.
“Morning,” she whispers, voice rough and warm.
It hits me like a punch—how easy that single word sounds coming from her. No walls. No running.
I tighten my hold, thumb tracing lazy circles against her back. “Morning, angel.”
Her gaze drifts down and lands on Beau, still a tangle of footie pajamas and wild curls between us. The way her smile deepens damn near breaks me. She presses a kiss to the top of his head, slow and careful, like she’s sealing a promise I’ll spend the rest of my life keeping.
Mine. Both of them. And for the first time in years, it feels like the universe finally agrees.
A tiny sigh cuts through the quiet. Then Beau stretches like a cat, heel digging into my ribs. His eyes blink open, blue and bright even in the dim light. For a second, he looks around, confused. Then he spots me, and his whole face lights up.
