Chapter 10 Rook #2
There’s something else on his tongue. I can see it. His mouth opens, then closes. And then—
“D—” He stops himself.
Just the letter. Just the shape of it. His whole face flushes, and he looks down at his shoes like they betrayed him. My chest fucking aches. Grimm steps in smoothly, patting Beau on the head like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“Hey, kid,” he says, grinning. “You ready for some serious movie snacks with Uncle Grimm tonight? I’m talkin’ candy for dinner, popcorn for dessert, maybe even a soda if you don’t rat me out to your mom.”
Beau’s eyes light up like fireworks. “Really?!”
“Hell yeah, really.”
Grimm winks at me over Beau’s head, then tousles his hair again before leading him back toward the porch.
We follow behind, boots thudding softly on the wood steps as Beau chatters the whole way.
“This is our porch. Sometimes my mom lets me eat popsicles out here if I don’t make a mess. That chair’s broken though, don’t sit in it.” He barrels through the front door without slowing down.
“Beau, slow down,” I say, but he’s already giving us the grand tour like it’s a damn mansion.
“Kitchen’s over there. That’s the fridge—don’t open it unless you like kale and weird health drinks. Mom says they help her skin glow, but they taste like wet grass.”
Grimm snorts. “Good to know.”
Beau keeps going. “That’s my room, and that’s Mom’s, and the bathroom’s tiny, so no pooping forever or she’ll yell.”
I blink. “Noted.”
He stops in the middle of the living room, arms wide like a game show host. “And that’s it!”
Grimm gives him a slow clap. “Five stars, my guy. You do birthday parties?”
Beau beams. But then her door opens. Soft footsteps. And everything goes still.
Calla steps into view like a ghost I never stopped dreaming about. Her hair’s up in a messy twist, curls spilling loose around her face. She’s wearing jeans and a gray, fitted sweater off one shoulder, soft enough I remember the way it used to feel under my hands.
She freezes when she sees me. And fuck, so do I. She doesn’t speak. Just stands there, eyes dragging down my chest, pausing at my hands, then flicking back to my face like she’s trying to decide if I’m real. Like maybe she’s hoping I’m not.
“Hi,” I say, because I’m a goddamn poet when it comes to women I’ve betrayed.
Her lips part, but no words come out. She looks at me like she’s trying to hold herself together, but her shoulders give her away—tight, bracing for impact.
“Hey,” she says, so soft it almost doesn’t land. The word cracks halfway through, caught between too many things she’ll never say out loud.
Before I can answer, Beau comes crashing into the silence like a four-year-old wrecking ball.
“Mommy! He’s my dragon! I told you! He didn’t eat my snack; he came to get me!”
He barrels into her legs, clinging like a koala. She stumbles back a half-step, caught off guard, and I reach out on instinct—don’t even think—just steady her elbow with my hand like I have every damn right to.
She stiffens under my touch. I drop it.
Grimm clears his throat behind me. “Alright, alright, let’s get this show on the road before this kid decides to reenact How to Train Your Dragon in your living room.”
Calla’s eyes flick from Beau to Grimm to me. She’s not moving. Like her feet forgot how. I watch her wrestle with the guilt. The fear. She’s probably never left him before. I can see it in her posture, the way she clutches the strap of her purse like it’s a lifeline.
“I don’t know if—” she starts.
Grimm cuts in, gentler than I’ve heard him in years. “He’s safe with me, Calla Lily.”
Her chin jerks up.
Grimm nods once. “Just like you were always safe with me. Since you were barely bigger than Beau. Remember that.”
She swallows hard. Her throat works around something she doesn’t say.
Doesn’t have to. Tears shimmer at the corners of her eyes, and she blinks fast, like she can hold them in by sheer will.
And just like that, I feel it—everything.
The weight of what she’s been carrying. The trust it takes to let go of the only thing she’s ever protected with her whole damn life.
She’s still staring at the door like walking through it will split her open.
Beau doesn’t notice. He’s cross-legged on the rug, head bent over his coloring book, tongue poking out just a little as he concentrates on staying in the lines.
Grimm’s sitting on the couch now, feet up like he owns the place, flipping through the channels without sound.
“You good?” Grimm asks me, his voice low but calm.
“I’m good,” I answer, but I’m looking at her.
She’s not good. She’s unraveling in slow motion, the little threads of guilt and panic tugging one by one.
“I—I don’t know if I can do this,” she says softly. “It’s too much.”
Grimm doesn’t get up, just flicks the remote toward Beau like that’s answer enough. “Kid’s chill. I’ll feed him, read him a story, let him sleep in the fort we make. You don’t need to worry.”
“I do worry,” she snaps, too quickly. Then lowers her voice, swallowing hard. “I always worry.”
I step closer. Not too close—just enough to make her tilt her chin and meet my eyes.
“Calli,” I say, quiet and sure. “He’s safe. He’s always safe when he’s with the club. Same way you always were.”
Her eyes shimmer, and that breaks me a little.
“I know you’re scared,” I add. “But you don’t have to be tonight.”
Her mouth opens, closes. Her fingers twitch at her sides like she doesn’t know what to do with them. “He’ll ask for me,” she whispers.
Grimm chimes in without missing a beat. “And I’ll tell him his mama’s out getting her heart reminded how it’s supposed to beat when it’s not carrying the weight of the whole damn world.”
She blinks fast. I offer my hand, palm up. Not forcing it. Just holding space.
“Come with me,” I say. “That’s all. You already said yes. You just have to walk through the door.”
She hesitates. Looks at Beau one last time.
And then, finally, she steps forward and laces her fingers through mine.
Beau’s still holding the blue crayon like it’s a sword, crouched over a half-finished drawing of a monster truck with flames coming out the back.
His little tongue sticks out between his lips—just like his mom’s does when she’s concentrating.
Calla leans down and brushes his curls back. “Alright, baby. I’m heading out for a little bit, okay?”
He looks up and squints at her. Then his gaze flicks to me. “Is it a mama and dad date?”
I choke back a laugh, but Calla flushes so hard it travels down her neck.
“Yeah,” I say, crouching next to him. “It is. Just dinner.”
Beau considers that. Like really thinks about it. Then he sets the crayon down, wipes his hand on his shirt, and walks right up to me.
He crosses his arms. “You better hold her hand, open the door, and say she looks pretty. Or I’ll have to put you in time out.”
Calla snorts behind her hand.
I nod solemnly. “Yes, sir. Understood.”
He narrows his eyes. Then softens. His little arms uncross, and he steps forward to hug my leg. “You can go,” he mumbles. “Just bring her back.”
I put a hand on his head. “Always, buddy.”
Calla’s eyes are glassy now. She presses a kiss to his temple, lingers, then straightens. Grimm gives me a nod from the kitchen, already prepping popcorn and a movie like it’s a mission briefing. I scoop up the helmet I brought and gesture to the door.
“Ready, Calli?”
She hesitates for half a breath, glancing back at her son one more time.
He waves a tiny hand. “Go daaaaate already.”
That does it. She laughs, grabs her jacket, and steps out into the warm summer dusk with me—like she’s finally ready. And I swear the whole world slows down.