Page 16

16

Legacy

The hum of my bike soothes me as vibrations run like a current through my bones.

It’s been a long night, and it’s going to be an even longer day at this point. Minutes after I came down Reagan’s throat, Steel called me back to the clubhouse, effectively shutting down anything good about the evening.

Trouble started at Sapphire Rise, and Kansas, the strip club’s manager, needed help sorting it out. Since Ghost and I were the only two who weren’t wasted, it was our job to ride into the city and get it sorted. And for the first time ever, I understood why Ghost gets so pissed when he has to ride out in the middle of the night.

If leaving Luna alone in their bed is anything like dropping Reagan off at the house, then it can’t be easy.

We’d barely finished fucking, and I had to shove that aside and pretend I gave a fuck about what my president was telling me .

I couldn’t even look at her because all I saw was the night on replay. Her eyes softening when she asked me to kiss her. Her mouth parting with the pitch of her scream as I fucked her harder. Her willingness to drop to her knees in the dirt.

Like I deserve any of it.

What’s worse was the look on her face when I turned back around and told her I had to leave. There was still dirt on her knees and red marks on the back of her thighs from digging into the truck, and I walked away.

I’m officially the biggest asshole on the planet.

It shouldn’t matter.

I’m good at fucking and leaving. I’ve never been in a relationship that consists of anything longer than spending a few nights together, even with Sera. The past six years have been a series of one-night stands I barely care to remember.

If only I could reduce Reagan to the same thing so I wouldn’t have to deal with this ache kicking around inside me.

Soul was wrong when he said I should fuck her out of my system. She’s under my skin. In my bones. At the pit of my soul. There’s no getting enough.

Her skin bathed in moonlight is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

She wanted it. Begged for it. She felt so good I didn’t even second-guess the fact that I was taking her bare. I didn’t have a condom on me, and I couldn’t find it in me to give a fuck.

It’s a dangerous line of thinking .

She deserves more than a biker who wants to twist her into a pretzel and ruin her for all other men. Or worse, do something more permanent. But if she’s not careful, that’s what she’s going to get.

The sun breaks the horizon as Ghost and I ride the final stretch to the compound. Some of the guys are probably still partying, while Reagan went to bed hours ago. It’s been a long night, and I could use some sleep, but it’s also Bea’s first day of kindergarten, so my head won’t be hitting the pillow for a while.

At least the mess at the strip club is under control. When Ghost and I showed up, we were cornered by a group of pissed-off strippers who were upset their paychecks had bounced.

The Iron Sinners finally figured out we drained their ancillary bank account and found a way to pay us back for it by planting a code in the bank’s system to reject anything tied to our payroll account.

Ghost dealt with the issue in the system, but it took all night. And while he was hiding behind his screen doing whatever it is he does to fix shit, I was stuck talking down pissed-off strippers with Kansas.

Which is why it’s a relief to reach the compound gates. Ghost rolls to a stop at my side while we wait for the prospects to open them.

“You coming to the clubhouse?” he yells over the engines.

I shake my head, and he takes off in that direction, while I peel to the left and head for the neighborhood. At this rate, I’ll barely have time to shower before I have to take Bea to her first day of school.

School .

My chest tightens.

How is she already old enough for that?

When I look into her bright-blue eyes, I still see the little girl who refused to sleep anywhere but on my chest until she was six months old. I see those little fingers that would wrap around one of mine when she cried. I see her blonde hair getting blonder and her first giggle turning into bigger laughs.

I hear her voice that first time she said Daddy.

My whole chest squeezes.

I’m not ready for Bea to take this next step, even if she is. Next thing I know, I’ll be buying her dresses for school dances and preparing for her graduation.

Being a father wasn’t something I planned, but that little girl is my whole heart walking around outside of me.

My house comes into view up ahead, and the invisible band around my ribs tightens. It doesn’t let go when I come to a stop and cut the engine. I peel off my helmet and rake my hair off my forehead.

It’s still early, but the sun is already warming the air.

The porch steps creak under my boots, and when I step inside, I’m in a different universe than the one I spent last night in. Glitter and throbbing lights are replaced by the warm glow of the sun streaming through the windows and the smell of breakfast.

Bacon. Pancakes .

I tell myself I’m hungry, and that’s why my stomach clenches. Not the fact that walking down the hall feels like coming home to something I shouldn’t be allowed to keep for too long.

Bea’s music fills the house. She’s listening to the soundtrack for her favorite princess movie and singing along. It pulls my exhausted body down the hall, toward the music and voices.

Margaret sits on one of the barstools in the kitchen, smiling as she talks to Reagan. Her eyes are brighter than they’ve been in recent days. There’s color to her cheeks, and she’s smiling brightly.

I wish that meant she’d get better, but I know it’s only because the doctors have pulled back on the medications that were making her hazy.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Margaret says when she spots me coming around the corner.

“Daddy!” Bea drops her backpack and runs over to me, launching herself into my arms. “You made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss this for the world, Honey Bea.” I hug her tightly before setting her down.

She’s bouncing. Wearing as many bright colors as she can with her plain school uniform. Neon bracelets match the bright-pink ribbon in her hair and her bubble-gum cowboy boots.

“Do you like my hair? Reagan made it a fish fin.” She spins around, showing off her braid.

“Fishtail.” Reagan’s voice comes from the kitchen, and I finally dare to glance in her direction .

She’s still in pajamas, which consist of a skintight white tank top and the shortest sleep shorts I’ve ever seen. A patch of flour dusts her cheek, and her blonde hair is falling around her face as her messy bun fails to contain it.

She’s drop-dead gorgeous.

I stand, tucking my hands into my pockets so I don’t walk over and brush that patch of flour from her soft skin. Or wrap her in my arms. Or kiss every inch of her exposed skin.

“Fishtail,” Bea repeats, spinning in circles as she dances to a new song. “Do you like it? Reagan says she knows all kinds of different braids. She’s gonna do one every day.”

My attention moves back to my daughter, who is smiling so wide it nearly splits her face. She’s beaming up at me, and her love for Reagan makes something in my chest ache.

“It’s very pretty.” I pat the top of her head. “I’m gonna shower really quick, then we’ll take off.”

She frowns. “But you promised to help me with the jewels.”

Shit .

I did promise to help her, and then I ran out of time every day for the past week.

“Right.” I drag my hand through my hair. “Go grab ’em, and we’ll do it now.”

She stampedes up the stairs, sounding like a mini tornado tearing through the house.

“Jewels?” Margaret asks .

I step into the kitchen and drop onto the stool at the island. “Luna got her some gems to decorate her backpack.”

“I like Luna.” Margaret smiles, taking a sip of her coffee.

“She’s been dropping by a lot?”

“To hang out with this one.” Margaret tips her head in Reagan’s direction.

I’m glad to hear that Reagan has company when I’m barely around. Not that I say that.

Reagan reaches for a bowl on a top shelf, and her shorts ride up her ass. Those curves are downright sinful.

A throat clearing at my left tells me Margaret caught me staring at her great-niece, and I feel like a total dick.

“I’m gonna sit outside for a bit.” Margaret pats my arm. “Have Bea say goodbye before school.”

She disappears, leaving just me and Reagan in the kitchen.

“You had a long night…” Reagan’s back is to me as she flips the bacon. “Everything okay?”

“It’s fine.”

She hums when I don’t elaborate. But there’s not much else to say. I know how people judge what we do at the club. What am I supposed to tell her? That the second we got done fucking I had to head to a strip club to handle a group of mostly naked, pissed-off strippers?

I doubt she’d take that well.

She might fit into this part of my world, but I don’t know if she can handle the rest of it.

“About last night—” I run my fingers through my hair.

“Got them.” Bea storms into the room, cutting me off.

Maybe it’s for the best because I have no idea what I was going to say. Last night was a fucking mess.

Reagan is too young for me. Too good for me.

She deserves better.

She’s not sticking around.

Everything I have to say is selfish, and none of it is comforting because the truth is I don’t regret what we did.

Bea tosses her backpack on the counter and hands me a bag of gems. They have small clamps on the back that will dig into the fabric.

“What colors were you thinking?”

“Pink!” Bea starts fishing out the pink ones, and I’m not surprised that’s the first color she chose. “Green, and… Reagan, what’s your favorite?”

Reagan looks over her shoulder, pulling the bacon off the stove. “Blue.”

Her eyes flick to mine, and I swear I see her cheeks flush before she spins back around.

“Blue,” Bea repeats, fishing a few out.

We pick through the beads and start arranging them on the front pocket. I make the shape of a bee with the pink ones, while Bea makes a flower. Reagan covers the food and leans in to help when Bea gets frustrated.

It’s so fucking domestic, and I hate how much I don’t mind it.

“If you want to shower before you have to leave for school, you can.” Reagan’s lashes flutter up at me. “I can help Bea finish this.”

“It’s all right. I’ll shower when I get back if I have to. ”

My daughter still wants me around at this point in her life, so I’ll take what I can get.

By the time we finish decorating the backpack, there’s just enough time for me to take a quick shower before Steel and Tempe are at the front door to take pictures of the kids before their first day of school.

“Closer.” Tempe poses them on the porch, while Jameson, Reagan, and I stand watching them, trying to get two realistic smiles at the same time.

“Feels like just yesterday that was us.” Steel scratches his jaw.

“We were way more trouble.”

“I hope so.” He chuckles. “I don’t know how our parents survived the shit we got into.”

“Our parents included Helix and King. They survived just fine.”

Steel laughs in agreement.

“Smile.” Tempe snaps the photo, and my chest tightens. “A little closer. Austin, put your hand down. Bea, look up here. Perfect.”

Bea and Austin link arms, laughing as Tempe takes a final shot. When they’re done, and Bea starts walking toward me, I’m barely able to handle the overwhelming weight in my chest.

“Why do I get the feeling we’re barely going to survive this?”

Steel chuckles, wrapping an arm around Tempe when she gets close, but all I feel is this knot in my throat.

Am I doing enough?

Can I really give Bea the life she deserves ?

A warm palm lands on my forearm, and I look down to see Reagan glancing up at me. Like she senses that I’m falling apart.

“You’ve got this.” She smiles. “Bea’s amazing. Be proud of what you’ve done.”

My throat clogs as Reagan squeezes my arm and walks away. I’m tempted to stop her—to tell her to come with us to school. But as Bea runs to my side and wraps her arms around my leg, my fears leave me paralyzed.

It all feels too good.

Too right.

Reagan living under my roof. Taking care of my daughter and making room for her in her life.

There’s nothing more terrifying than letting myself think this could last.