Page 6

6

Reagan

“Come in.” Margaret’s voice is thick and scratchy from sleeping all day.

She lifts her head when I open the door, and I’m relieved by the smile on her face, even if her eyes are dulled with exhaustion.

After Jesse came home an hour ago, he showered and checked on Bea and Margaret. Then he disappeared so I could socialize with Tempe and Luna. Part of me wondered if he minded that I had already forced myself into his life, and now I was having people over at his house. But if he did, he didn’t say anything.

By the time they left, he was still in his room, and Margaret was awake again.

“How are you feeling?” I sit at the edge of the bed.

She’s a fraction of the fierce woman I remember from her last visit to Arizona. Her blue eyes are dimmer than the blazing sapphire I remember. Dark circles draw out the shadows of her deep wrinkles, but her smile manages to be as bright as ever.

Her thinning, silver hair is tied up in a bun, but pieces fall around her face from rolling around in bed.

“I’ve had better days.” Margaret pulls herself up to sit, propping her back against the headboard. “But I’ve also had worse ones.”

I rest my hand over hers, and they remind me so much of my childhood. After Dad passed away, Grandma and Aunt Margaret would visit more frequently. Almost as if they sensed Mom slipping away in her grief, and they wanted to anchor themselves as a constant for me and Livie.

“I hear you and Jesse got off to a rough start.” A smile cracks in the corner of Margaret’s mouth.

“You mean Legacy …” I roll my eyes.

Her tongue clicks as she shakes her head. “Give him a chance, Reagan. He’s got a good heart once he warms up to you.”

“Maybe he does. But I don’t think it helped that you didn’t warn him I was coming here.”

“He’s protective over Beatrice for good reason.” Margaret shrugs. “I probably should have given him a heads-up, but I knew you could hold your own to convince him. Besides, I figured you’d have a better chance of winning him over. Especially once he saw how much help you can be. And he needs it; no matter how much that boy fights help, he’s got too much on his plate.”

Boy .

I almost laugh because Jesse King is all man. But I suppose Margaret doesn’t see him the same way I do.

“His club seems to keep him busy.” I don’t meet her eyes, trying to sound casual.

Margaret won’t judge, but it doesn’t stop me from judging myself for being so curious about him when he clearly wants nothing to do with me.

“Yes, they do.” Margaret rubs the back of my hand. “Between the club and his daughter, Jesse’s got a whole heap of responsibility on his shoulders. But he’d never let them know it. He’s there for his brothers.”

His brothers.

I’m still wrapping my head around the club and everything Tempe and Luna told me, but again, I get that sense of family I didn’t expect.

Maybe Margaret is right. She knows Jesse. She’s worked for him for five years. If she thinks I should give him a chance, I will. After all, it’s either that or return to Glendale.

My spine tingles with the thought.

“Everything okay back home, dear?” Margaret’s eyes narrow, and I swear she can read my mind. “Are you taking care of yourself?”

“I’m fine.” I force a smile. “It’s fine.”

She nods, humming, but I sense her seeing more than I want her to.

Patting her hand, I stand up. “Get some rest. We can talk more tomorrow. ”

“Of course.” Margaret watches me cross to the door. “Thank you for helping me out, Reagan. I hated to ask but—”

“No thanks necessary.” I cut her off, forcing a smile. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

For the one person who was a constant in my childhood. The woman who held my hand at my father’s funeral when my mom was too brokenhearted to do it. Margaret didn’t live with us, but she was there in every way that counts.

A sad smile climbs my cheeks as I watch her sink back into the covers. I’m used to Margaret’s energy filling an entire room. Her smile cutting through the stormiest days. But right now, she feels so dim and fragile.

And what hurts worse than seeing her like this is knowing things aren’t going to get better.

We’ll keep her comfortable.

That’s what the doctor told me when I called to inquire about her prescriptions this afternoon.

There’s nothing else they can do.

I quietly close the door and pause facing it, schooling my expression. Tears burn behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Crying won’t do any good right now. Margaret was strong for me, so that’s what I’ll be for her.

Resilient.

Present.

Whether it pisses Jesse off or not.

Walking down the hallway, I hear movement in the kitchen .

Jesse was putting Bea to bed when I checked on Margaret, but he must be downstairs again. I turn the corner and try not to notice how casual he looks now that he’s stripped off his cut. His gray T-shirt hugs his thick shoulders and molds to every muscle. His back is to me, giving me a clear view of how his jeans hug his ass, and I quickly spin toward the living room the second he starts to turn so he doesn’t catch me looking.

This man’s muscles are obscene.

It’s so damn irritating.

Dropping my chin, I hope my hair hides my cheeks so he can’t see how easily affected I am by the look of him. I grab my book as I drop onto the couch and hold it to shield my face from him. But just as I do, my phone pings with a text.

Lincoln : Where are you?

Lincoln : Your car is gone, and your neighbor said they haven’t seen you since yesterday.

I knew it was only a matter of time before he checked up on me, but it’s been less than forty-eight hours, and he’s already interrogating my neighbor.

My teeth clench as I swipe away the text, not responding. I’ve made my intentions clear, but he’s not accepting it. And instead of getting the hint that there was nothing more than our single date, he’s escalating by the day.

“Everything okay?”

Jesse’s sudden nearness makes me jump. I shove my phone underneath me as he circles into the room, hoping he didn’t see my screen. He strikes me as someone who will ask questions if he senses trouble, and I don’t need to give him any more reasons to kick me to the curb.

“Fine. Good.” I peel open my book again, curling my knees up.

Jesse sits in the recliner that faces the couch, and he’s scrolling through his phone. But when I look up and stare a second too long, he smirks, catching me.

Asshole .

“What?” I ask when he finally meets my gaze.

“ The Billionaire’s Dark and Wicked Desires ?”

Heat floods my core as I slap the book shut, realizing the shirtless-man cover is on full display for him.

“It has an intricate plot.” I tuck the book to my chest.

He chuckles. “I’m sure it does.”

“You don’t get to judge my smutty romance books.” I jut my chin up. “At least my debauchery is fictional.”

“As opposed to?”

“Whatever was going on at your clubhouse when I arrived.”

He hums, and I wonder if I sound even more inexperienced by bringing that up.

“It’s just a book,” I mumble.

“I wasn’t judging.” He picks up his phone again.

But now that we’ve started this conversation, I can’t seem to drop it. I’m too curious.

Turning, I slide my feet off the couch and plant them on the floor, looking down to see the lush carpet swallow my toes.

“Is it always like that?”

“Is it always like what?” His eyebrow quirks .

“Your club? Is it always so loud and wild?”

“The guys like to party.” He shrugs, shoving his phone into his pocket.

“And you?”

Jesse rakes his hand through his hair, seeming uncomfortable with my question, even if I’m not sure why. I have no right to judge him.

“Everyone needs an escape sometimes. Even me.” His gaze falls to my book. “And sometimes the fictional kind just doesn’t cut it.”

I asked, and I shouldn’t care what Jesse does or who he finds relief with. Still, it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on its ends the longer he stares at me.

“Just stay in the neighborhood, and you’ll be able to avoid it.”

I nod, not responding with words because then he might see the full force of my curiosity. As terrifying as it was being in a room with no social boundaries, I couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to indulge in Jesse’s life.

I bet it’s a breath of fresh air.

Being free to have fun and make my own choices is something I was never allowed. My sister got the honor of being the reckless daughter, while I had to play the good one. Between my family holding me up to impossible standards and my ex-boyfriends preferring me polite and quiet, I’ve never been given the chance to make my own mistakes or have my own voice.

I’ve never experienced the type of escape Jesse indulges in .

And I find myself ridiculously jealous. Not just of the women he no doubt takes to his bed but of the freedom in his ability to do it.

Jesse clears his throat, and I realize I’m staring at him again.

What is it about this man?

“Margaret seemed better today.” He glances at the hallway that leads to her bedroom.

I nod. “She said the new medications are helping with the pain.”

“That’s good.” He rests his elbows on his thighs. “Have you updated your mom?”

“My mom?” My eyebrows pinch.

“You said she was the one who told you Margaret wasn’t doing well. I guess I figured she’d be wondering.”

“Oh, right…” I fumble with my book. “I texted her yesterday.”

“You two aren’t close?”

“She’s a difficult woman to be close with, even after…” I trail off, realizing that there’s no way Jesse cares about my complicated history with my family when he’s probably just being nice making conversation.

“Even after what?” he pushes, surprising me by sounding genuinely curious.

I wet my lips. “Even after my dad died.”

“Let me guess.” He leans back. “You weren’t close with him either?”

The answer is so much more complicated than that, and I don’t know how to put words to it when no one has ever really cared to ask .

“Not exactly. My parents were just difficult to please.”

“Parents have a way of being like that.”

“Tell me about it.” I sigh. “But for the record, you seem nothing like that with Bea.”

“Is that a compliment, Reagan Brady?” He grins, and it’s blinding.

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late.”

I swear this man is as disarming when he’s charming as he is when he’s insufferable.

Jesse leans forward, watching me. “What was your dad like?”

“Stubborn. Difficult.” I brush my hands on my thighs when this conversation has my palms sweating. “He was respected in his field, and that came with certain expectations. He was very clear on how he wanted us to present ourselves.”

“How so?” Jesse hitches an eyebrow.

“You’ll think it’s ridiculous.”

“Try me.”

I bite my lower lip, debating why I’m even continuing this conversation. But we’ve already come this far.

“Like…” I swallow hard. “He wanted us to be just like our mother. Pretty, without being overly obvious about it. Curvy while still being palatable to men. He drilled it into her, and she drilled it into us. Bleaching our blonde hair blonder, monitoring our diets, parading us at his business functions. I got really good at wearing the mask, especially after Livie started rebelling and pissing them off. One of us had to keep the family together. ”

“And that fell on you?”

“Apparently.” I shrug. “I was the only person who could seem to bridge the gap between her and them, so it was easier to shoulder that responsibility than let them fight all the time. But then dad died—” I shake my head. “You’d think with him gone, Mom would loosen up, but I think it only made her worse. She became so obsessed with keeping up the pretenses he set that she disconnected entirely. She drowned herself in work, and then it really was just me and Livie.”

I shouldn’t have admitted any of that. And as much as I’d like to blame it on the weak margaritas, if I’m being honest with myself, I just needed to get it off my chest.

Unfortunately for Jesse, he made himself the outlet for what’s been bottled up longer than even I realized.

“Long story short, we didn’t want for anything, but that didn’t mean my parents were particularly warm—especially my father,” I finish, dragging my teeth over my lower lip again.

Jesse nods, brushing his hands over his thighs. “I get that.”

“Your parents weren’t the warm and fuzzy type either?”

The chuckle that erupts from his chest is dark.

Haunted.

“Not even close. My dad was a legend to the club. And my mom was a dedicated wife. But neither of them knew how to raise a kid in this place. No one really does.” He scratches his jaw, and I wonder if he considers himself part of that statement.

“But you stayed here? You joined the Twisted Kings? ”

He nods. “I did. But sometimes, I wonder if I did it because I wanted it or because I knew it would make him proud. Or maybe because all my friends were here. It was easier going along with expectations than trying to figure it out.”

That I understand. I’ve spent so much of my life taking the path of least resistance for everyone around me that I wonder how much of what I’ve done is out of desire or expectation.

Jesse’s gaze drifts to the fridge. To Bea’s drawings.

“It must be difficult raising her here,” I say, treading carefully.

“Half the time I don’t know if I’m doing it any better than him.”

“At least you’re trying,” I say, and his gaze connects with mine. “Or, it seems like it anyway.”

“I don’t want her feeling tied down like I did. I can fuck everything else in my life up so long as I don’t fuck things up for her. She needs to know she can chase her dreams—do what she wants. Who knows, maybe someday she will go live on a ranch, riding horses.”

The only time I get glimpses of Jesse in the way Margaret has framed him is when he talks about his daughter. Like right now.

“And what if she wants to be here? At a place like this with bikers and motorcycles?”

He slaps his hands on his thighs, standing up. “Then at least I’ll know it’s her decision.”

“True.” I nod .

“I’ve gotta get going. Ghost asked me to meet up with him at the clubhouse. But if Bea wakes up, can you text me?”

“Of course.”

Part of me is curious if that’s all he plans on doing while he’s out tonight, but I know it’s none of my business. Like he said, everyone needs an escape, and that’s how he gets it.

Jesse starts walking down the hallway but then pauses before turning the corner, looking back at me.

“You’re doing a lot around here, Reagan. Things you don’t even have to. It means something.”

“Is that you saying thank you , Jesse King?” I bite back a smile.

“Guess so.” He smirks, raking his hand through his hair.

But he never actually says it as he turns and disappears. I think he’s under the impression those words will somehow make him vulnerable. Like if he says them, he’ll have to admit he needs me here, when he’d rather not need anyone.

It must be exhausting.