Chapter 12 Rook
The first thing I feel 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, I love her.
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.
“You’re still here!” he blurts, voice high with morning excitement. He scoots closer, half on my chest now. “Mama too?”
Calla props herself on an elbow, laughing low. “Still here, buddy.”
Beau’s attention snaps back to me. “Can I see your tattoos?” He pokes a chubby finger toward the ink on my forearm. “All of ’em.”
I grin, pushing up the blanket. “All of ’em, huh? That might take a while.”
He gasps like I just promised him a dragon. “Cool.”
Calla’s laugh warms the room, richer than the sun sneaking through the curtains. “You two are going to be trouble,” she says, sliding out of bed. My shirt rises just enough that I can catch a cheeky little glimpse of her perfect ass.
“Breakfast,” she adds, feet soft on the floor as she heads for the kitchen.
I can’t stop staring. The sway of her hips. The long spill of her hair. The way she belongs in this house, like it’s always been ours. Beau tugs at my arm, babbling a hundred questions about skulls and flames and if the tattoos hurt. I answer on autopilot, eyes still on her.
God, I’m so fucking in love with that woman.
Beau wriggles out of the blankets like a shot of caffeine in human form.
“Come on!” he yells in a whisper, tugging on my wrist with all four-year-old determination.
“You gotta see my cartoons. And my toys. And—and my rainbow dinosaur! I made it for Uncle Grimm last night. He said it’s the best dinosaur ever. ”
I chuckle, letting him haul me upright. Kid’s strong for a beanpole. “Yeah? Rainbow dinosaur sounds like serious business.”
“It IS!” He’s already halfway to the door, bare feet slapping the floor. “And Uncle Grimm said he’s gonna get me a puppy. A big puppy. Like… THIS big!” He stretches his arms as wide as they’ll go, nearly toppling over.
A puppy. I snort under my breath, grabbing yesterday’s tee from the chair as I follow. Grimm’s got some explaining to do.
Beau spins back, impatient. “Hurry, Rook!”
The name hits different every time he says it, like it’s always been meant for this exact moment.
“Alright, alright, little man,” I say, raking a hand through my hair as I step into the hallway. “Show me what you got.”
The living room’s still washed in early light, cartoons already yammering on the TV.
Toys scatter across the rug like a minefield of plastic trucks and action figures.
Beau dives straight into the chaos, digging out a sheet of paper covered in furious crayon streaks—reds and purples and a neon green tail.
“Rainbow dinosaur,” he announces proudly, holding it up like a trophy.
I take it, give it the kind of serious once-over a masterpiece deserves. “This thing could eat the whole world.”
Beau beams so hard it damn near splits me open. From the kitchen, the smell of coffee drifts in, and I catch a glimpse of Calla moving between cabinets, sunlight catching the curve of her shoulder. My whole chest tightens again. Yeah. This is it. This is everything.
The living room goes quiet except for the cartoon voices. Beau’s sunk into the couch, eyes wide, toys forgotten in his lap. Perfect distraction.
I pad across the hall, drawn by the smell of coffee and the soft scrape of Calla moving around the kitchen like she’s always belonged there. Morning light spills across her back, catching in the loose tumble of her hair. Couldn’t stay on that couch if I tried.
I slip in behind her, palms finding the familiar curve of her waist. She startles just enough to make me grin, then melts back against me.
“Morning, angel,” I murmur against her shoulder, brushing a slow kiss there, then another at the warm spot just below her ear.
“You’re gonna make me burn the bacon,” she whispers, but her head tilts anyway.
“Worth the risk,” I breathe, letting the words trail lower—something soft that’s all mine, something wicked just for her.
She giggles, a sound that wrecks me more than any roar of a bike.
Her free hand reaches back and smacks my side, light but sharp enough to warn.
“Behave, Wilder.” I nip once more at her neck, laughing when she shoves a plate of bacon into my hands.
“If you’re gonna lurk, you can be useful. Table. Now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I steal one last kiss on her shoulder before stepping away, the smell of bacon and the sound of her laughter following me like a promise.
I set the bacon down just as Calla crosses the kitchen, balancing a platter of fruit and a stack of waffles that smell like pure heaven.
“Breakfast, Beau!” she calls.
The cartoon volume dips, and a second later, he barrels in, stuffed fox clutched under one arm like a sidekick. “Coming!” His little feet thump against the wood floor.
Calla takes the fox with exaggerated care. “And you, Sir Fox,” she says, giving the plush a solemn nod. She grabs one of the small chairs from the corner and parks it right next to Beau’s spot at the table. “Front-row seat, as requested.”
Beau beams, climbing into his own chair. “He likes waffles too.”
I arch a brow at the setup. “Fox gets a place setting?”
Calla just shrugs, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she drops a tiny napkin in front of the fox like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “House rule. Important guests get a seat.”
Beau nods vigorously, syrup already dripping off his fork. “He’s family.”
I shake my head, grinning despite myself. Family. Yeah. I guess he’s not wrong.
The kitchen smells like coffee and syrup, sunlight spilling across the table while Beau keeps a running commentary on everything. How Grimm promised the puppy. How the rainbow dinosaur needs “more sparkles.” How cartoons these days “don’t have enough explosions.”
Calla and I trade quiet smiles, letting him fill the room with sound.
I’m halfway through a waffle when he leans forward, cheeks sticky with syrup. “Hey, Dad—”
The word lands like a spark in dry grass. Calla freezes, fork halfway to her mouth. The room goes still except for the cartoon voices drifting from the living room. I don’t even blink.
“Yeah, bud?” I answer, easy as breathing. I spear another piece of waffle and pop it in my mouth like nothing just cracked open inside me.
Beau grins, relief flashing across his little face. “You think Uncle Grimm will really get me a puppy?”
“Knowing Grimm?” I wink at him. “You’ll have a whole damn wolf pack if we’re not careful.”
Out of the corner of my eye, Calla’s still staring—wide-eyed, a little stunned. I reach across the table, brush my thumb over her knuckles, and keep eating.
Let her see it’s simple. Because for me, it is. Dad. Yeah. That fits.
Calla leans against the doorframe, hair a mess from sleep, Beau perched on her hip with his stuffed fox clutched tight. Morning light slides across both of them like it knows they’re mine.
I press a kiss to Beau’s forehead first. “Be good for your mom, little man.”
He grins around a mouthful of cereal breath. “Bring me something cool.”
“Cool, huh? I’ll see what I can do.”