Page 51 of The Bastard's Lily
Breakfast disappears fast—waffles, bacon, a second round of coffee that barely dents the fog of a night like last night. Beau chatters through every bite, more syrup on his cheeks than in his mouth, while Rook keeps that quiet, watchful look on me, no matter how many times I tell him I’m fine.
When it’s time to go, Rook snags my keys before I can reach them. “I’ll drive,” he says. Not a question. And honestly, I don’t mind.
The three of us pile into my truck, Beau buckled into his booster with his stuffed fox tucked tight under his arm. Morning sun cuts through the windshield, catching the silver in Rook’s rings as he grips the wheel. He fits behind the controls like he’s been doing this his whole life.
Berlin slides past in shades of pine and mist. Beau keeps up a steady stream of kindergarten updates—today is show-and-tell,he might share the rainbow dinosaur again—Uncle Grimmstillpromised a puppy. Rook tosses in the occasional “yeah, buddy” and “that’s a solid plan.” Still, his eyes stay on the rearview, scanning every curve of the road.
I watch him more than the scenery. The leather of his kutte creaks when he shifts, his jaw tight, shoulders a little too tense. After the ambush, after Calder’s name, it’s no wonder.
Beau finally asks the question that breaks the silence. “Dad, can you pick me up after school?”
Rook glances at me, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Yeah, little man. We’ll both be here.”
Beau beams, satisfied, and goes back to describing the fort he and “Dad” are going to build later.
I lean back against the seat, the rumble of the engine steady under us, and let the thought settle: after everything that tried to break us, we’re driving straight into a normal morning—together.
The elementary lot is already buzzing when we pull in—teachers waving cars forward, kids tumbling out with backpacks bigger than their torsos. Rook parks at the curb but doesn’t kill the engine, eyes tracking every movement like a hawk.
Beau bounces in his seat. “Can I show Dad my classroom?”
I smile and reach back to smooth his hair. “Not today, buddy. We’ve got to let the other parents get through.”
Rook finally cuts the engine. “I’ll walk him in with you.”
It’s not a question. We join the small stream of parents, Beau skipping ahead, his fox clutched in one hand. The October air smells like wet leaves and pencil shavings. For a minute, it feels almost normal.
Then I feel it. That prickle along the back of my neck. The sense of eyes where they don’t belong. I slow, scanning the parking lot. Across the street, a dark sedan idles at the edge of the tree line. The windows tinted too black for the morning sun. Engine running, exhaust curling faint white against the pines.
Rook follows my gaze. The shift in him is instant—shoulders squared, jaw locked, every ounce of his easy morning mood gone. He steers Beau toward the door, deposits him with a teacher and a quiet promise—“We’ll be back at three, little man.”
I bend down and press a kiss to Beau’s forehead. “Have the best day at school, lovebug. I love you more than all the dinosaurs in the world.”
He smiles up at me with that toothy grin. “I love you so much, Mama.”
I stand with Rook as Beau runs off with his teacher. Rook’s hand grips my waist as he turns me around.
“Get in the truck,” he tells me, voice low and dangerous.
“Rook—”
“Now.”
We’re barely inside before he slams the door and fires the engine. His hands choke the wheel, knuckles white.
“That car,” I start.
“I saw it.” His voice is a growl. “Same make the Scorpions run when they cross state lines. And they’re parked across from my kid’s school.”
Heat radiates off him, the kind that makes the air feel electric. He pulls into traffic, eyes fixed on the rearview.
“I swear to God, Calla—” His teeth grind hard enough I can hear it. “If they think they can bring this to him, toyou…” He shakes his head, a dark laugh escaping. “I’ll burn this whole damn town to the ground before I let them breathe the same air as my family.”
The words vibrate through the cab, low and lethal. I reach for his arm, not to stop him—because I know he means every word—but to remind him we’re here, together, and Beau is safe for now. Outside the window, Berlin blurs past, the quiet mountain town suddenly feeling like the heart of a war zone.
Rook’s already thumbing his phone before we hit the main road, the truck eating up pavement like it can taste our anger.
“Grimm,” he barks the second the call connects. “Get two bikes to Berlin Elementary. Now. Park where everyone can see you and don’t move till I say. Yeah—armed. Quiet but visible. Nobody gets near my kid.”
