Page 83 of The Bastard's Lily
When the plates are cleared, Grimm pushes back from the table and ruffles Beau’s hair. “Alright, little man, I’m out. Early run tomorrow.”
Beau beams up at him. “Night, Uncle Grimm!”
“Night, kiddo.” He gives me a nod, a quiet goodnight that says everything without words, then disappears into the cool dark.
The house softens after the door clicks shut. Rook gathers the last of the dishes while I wipe the counters, Beau leaning against my hip, fighting a yawn.
“Alright, fox,” I murmur, smoothing his hair. “Bath, then bed.”
He nods, already half asleep as Rook scoops him up, our son’s stuffed fox dangling from one small fist. I trail after them, thesteady rhythm of Rook’s footsteps and Beau’s sleepy hum filling the hallway.
The three of us move through the familiar routine—warm bathwater, clean pajamas, goodnight kisses—until Beau is tucked between fresh sheets, breathing deep and even.
Rook reaches across him to squeeze my hand, eyes dark and soft. “Let’s get you to bed, too,” he whispers.
For the first time all day, I let my shoulders drop. Home. My boys. Nothing else matters. I linger a moment longer beside Beau’s bed, brushing a thumb across his cheek. He doesn’t stir. The tiny fox is tucked tight under his arm, the rise and fall of his chest steady as a heartbeat.
Rook’s hand slides to the small of my back. “C’mon, Calla,” he murmurs, voice low and rough from the day. “Bed.”
We move down the hall in silence; the lights dim behind us one by one. In our room, the night air is cool, and the sheets smell faintly of pine and home. Rook pulls me close the second we settle, his arm heavy across my waist, his breath warm against my neck.
This is everything I fought for—the clinic, the cabin, the man who never stopped loving me, the boy we built together. My family. My forever. I close my eyes, his heartbeat against my spine, and let the quiet of our life wrap around me like a promise.
OneYearLater:
The yard looks like a pack of unicorns exploded. Rainbow streamers whip from the porch railings. Balloons, every color Beau could name and a few he invented, float against the pines. A giant cardboard T-Rex grins by the picnic table while a smaller one guards the cake.
It’s my boy’s sixth birthday, and our quiet little cabin has become Jurassic Park on a sugar high. I stand back for a second, taking it all in: the laughter, the smell of wood smoke and frosting, the thrum of bikes parked along the drive like chrome sentinels. Brothers from every chapter lean against trees, cups in hand, pretending they’re too tough to wear the rainbow party hats Beau insisted on.
Calla moves through it all like sunlight, a streak of green frosting on her cheek, her hair pulled back but still wild.My wife. MyCalla Lily.
Grimm is crouched near the firepit, helping Beau and a gaggle of club kids line up toy dinosaurs for a “battle royale.” Beau’s wearing his brand-new leather vest withLITTLE BASTARDstitched across the back in bright thread, the letters curving over a rainbow T-Rex patch he designed himself.
One year ago, this place was a war zone of memories. Tonight, it’s the center of the universe. I wipe my hands on a rag, the weight of it all settling deep in my chest—reckless, sure, but solid. Still reckless. Still hers. And I wouldn’t trade a damn thing.
Grimm strikes a match and lights the last candle, a rainbow spiral that flickers against the early evening sky. “Six years old, little man,” he says, ruffling Beau’s hair. “Make it count.”
Beau stands on a chair between me and Calla, eyes huge as everyone—brothers, neighbors, even the gruff Montreal crew—gathers around the picnic table. Ash clears his throat, and the entire yard belts outHappy Birthdayso loud the trees shake.
Beau’s grin could split the night in half.
“Blow ’em out, buddy,” I whisper.
He takes a deep breath, cheeks puffed, and sends every candle’s flame dancing out in one go. Cheers erupt, horns honk from the bikes, and Grimm scoops him into a bear hug while the rest of the crew whistles and claps.
Calla slices the cake—three layers of neon frosting and tiny candy dinosaurs—handing out pieces while Beau carefully guards the first slice for Grimm. “Best buddy rules,” he says with solemn authority.
I lean back against the porch rail, plate in hand, watching my family—our family—spill across the yard. Kids chase each other between the bikes, brothers trade stories under the lantern light, and my wife moves through it all like she was born to hold the center.
When Beau finally collapses against me, frosting on his nose and rainbow sprinkles in his hair, I lift him easily and rest my chin on the top of his head. Calla steps beside us, her arm sliding around my waist.
One year ago, we fought like hell to keep him safe. Tonight, he’s surrounded by people who’d ride through fire for him.
I press a kiss to Calla’s temple. “Still reckless,” I murmur.
She tilts her face up, eyes shining. “Still mine.”
I glance at the boy sleeping against my chest, the brothers who’ve become our wall, and the woman who turned every fight into a future.
