Page 9

9

Reagan

Every time my phone buzzes, a traitorous little flutter kicks up in my chest. Since the incident at the clubhouse a few days ago, Jesse has been checking in more frequently during the day, making sure we don’t need anything. And I can’t help how much I don’t mind hearing from him.

He says he’s keeping better tabs for Bea’s sake, but I’m pretty sure it has to do with him not wanting me to go back to the clubhouse when he isn’t around. He still thinks I’m out of my depth there.

Maybe he’s right.

Jesse’s club doesn’t scare me, but I’ve avoided it for his sake and mine. The girls at the clubhouse made it clear I’m not welcome. It could have been territorial, but the last thing I want to do is cause problems with Jesse when he’s finally warming up to me being here. If I stir up something unintentionally at his clubhouse, he might revert to the cold stalemate we started with .

My excitement cools when I pull out my phone and see it’s not Jesse texting me.

Lincoln : You left town? School starts next week.

I’m tempted to ignore his text like I’ve been doing with the rest of them lately, but I can’t help responding to his obviously low blow.

Reagan : You fired me. Why would I care when school starts?

Lincoln : I was upset. That was a mistake.

Reagan : You seem to be good at making those.

Lincoln : Come on, baby. I miss you.

Reagan : I’m not yours to miss.

Never have been. I can’t pinpoint when he started this altered way of viewing what we are to each other, but that single text is proof of why it’s better I left.

Lincoln : I did everything for you.

Reagan : I didn’t ask you for any of it. Leave me alone.

Lincoln : Where are you, Reagan?

Reagan : On vacation.

Lincoln : Don’t make me find you. You won’t like the outcome.

My spine prickles at the threat. I have no doubt he means it, considering the trouble he’s caused me since I first refused to continue dating him. But I refuse to let him see me cower.

Reagan : Go to hell.

I block the phone number, knowing he’ll just get another one because that’s what he does. But at least this will give me a day of peace .

My hands are shaking as I set my phone down and look up at Bea sitting across the kitchen island. How far is Lincoln willing to take this? A trickle of fear drips to my core. I’d like to think that within the compound walls, I’m untouchable, but Lincoln is determined.

If he finds me here, will he stop at me or make the other people around me suffer the consequences?

Bea is too busy watching her movie while she eats dinner to notice the panic filling my face. She bounces as she sings along, taking a bite. Her blonde hair is in a long fishtail braid down her back, swishing with every movement.

With Bea distracted, I slip my phone off the counter and scroll my contacts for my sister’s number.

“Come on, Livie.” I wait as the line rings and rings. “Where are you?”

The generic voicemail starts, and I hang up, hoping she’s okay.

Not that okay is something my sister has ever been. She’s always somewhere in the middle of being either spectacular or a total mess, and if I had to guess from how she’s avoided me these past few months, it’s the latter. Still, I shoot her a text and hope she answers.

Lincoln met her briefly when she breezed through town, and he knows we’re close. If he can’t find me, he might try to go through her first. While he’s never been violent, he’s relentless. And, with his history, it’s not much better.

“Done.” Bea spins around on her stool, showing me her empty plate .

“You ate all the vegetables.”

She frowns. “Even the green ones.”

“The green ones are extra good for you, Bea.” I grab her plate. “You can finish your movie, and then we’ll get ready for bed.”

“Daddy’s not coming home for my nighttime song, is he?” Her frown deepens.

No matter how many smiles she gave me today, the disappointment of not seeing her father before bed wipes them away. Her world revolves around Jesse, and from what I’ve seen, it goes both ways.

“He said he might have a long night, remember? But we’ll see what the next hour brings.”

Bea’s shoulders sag as she sulks into the living room. At five years old, there’s already so much weighing on her shoulders. Margaret’s sickness, her father’s club. How Jesse managed it before I got here baffles me. Which is why I’ve made it my goal to make this little girl’s world better in any way I can.

Bea tucks herself under her blanket on the couch while I clean up dinner. I make a plate for Jesse and cover it in plastic like I do every night. He told me I don’t need to cook for him, but it’s one more thing I choose to ignore because every morning the plate is empty, so he must not mind it.

By the time I’m drying the final dish, I hear the click of the lock on the front door. Bea is too wrapped up in her movie to notice, but I peek around the corner to see Jesse closing it behind him .

His shoulders are slumped, and he’s facing the door. Dropping his chin, he drags his hand through his hair, and even without seeing his face, I sense tension. A cord on the verge of snapping.

When he turns, I understand why.

Jesse is covered in blood.

My eyes widen as I take in the blood splattering his shirt and pants. Streaks of red paint one arm, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think it was paint. He’s a mess from his neck to his shoes, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on its ends as I scan him over.

But it’s not out of fear.

Something else stirs when our gazes connect. His expression cracks, and my heart tightens in my chest. It’s clear the blood isn’t his, seeing as he’s standing tall and unaffected, but it doesn’t erase the scars that are inevitably left behind.

With the dark hallway between us and all his secrets standing at the other end, I should be terrified. Instead, I want to close the gap and hold his hand.

I want to do anything to erase that look in his eyes.

Distance.

Regret.

We stare at each other.

Me with a million questions.

Jesse with blood on his hands.

After a long pause, he tips his head to the staircase, indicating he’s going to clean up. I nod, not saying anything so Bea doesn’t notice him like this.

I’m still standing frozen at the end of the hallway when I hear the shower start upstairs, and I wonder what happens on nights when there is no buffer to distract Bea or stop her from running to the door. What would she think if she saw him like that?

What does he think of it?

I can’t decide what troubles me more: how Jesse got that way or how he deals with Bea’s questions.

By the time Jesse comes back downstairs, he’s in a fresh T-shirt and dark-gray sweatpants. There are a few scratches on his arms, but other than that, there’s no indication of the bloody mess he just washed off.

I’m still standing in the kitchen, drying the same glass for the hundredth time, as he circles to meet me on the other side of the island. And with Bea still absorbed in her movie, she has yet to notice.

“Sorry you had to see that.” He keeps his voice low, clearing his throat.

He rakes his fingers through his wet, dark-blond hair, and I catch the scent of his woodsy shampoo.

It’s too much to be near him.

To smell him.

He’s gorgeous. And lethal.

I really should fear him.

“It’s your house.” I avoid his eyes, setting the dish on the counter. “You don’t need to apologize for anything.”

From the corner of my eye, I see him nod. We stand shoulder to shoulder in silence for a beat. I’m facing the sink, while he’s facing the living room, and I wonder how he reconciles coming home to Bea on nights like this .

“Are you… okay?” I ask finally.

It might not be appropriate, but I can’t help it.

“I’m fine.”

“And—” I swallow hard, steadying my breath. “The other person?”

His silence is his answer.

I look up at Jesse. Those bright-blue eyes of his burn with a truth that should make me run. But instead of seeing his actions, I see the man behind them. A man who has done the unthinkable, and still, I trust him explicitly with the safety of the people in this house.

I don’t fear him.

I’m thankful he’s standing here, safe and alive. When someone else clearly isn’t.

“You don’t have to stay.” His voice has dropped to a whisper so Bea doesn’t hear us.

“I know I don’t.” I turn and face him. “But I’m going to.”

“You shouldn’t, Reagan.” He drags his hand through his hair. “This isn’t the worst of it. I’m not a good man.”

“Maybe not.” I look up into his eyes—those blue pits that sear through me. “But at least you’re honest about it.”

And that’s when I realize that I don’t fear him. I respect that he owns his sins. Lord knows my father never did. He destroyed plenty of people, even if he didn’t have to draw blood to do it.

After a long moment, Jesse straightens, breaking my gaze. “Usually, I clean up at the clubhouse first so Bea doesn’t see me like this. I forgot tonight. Everything turned to shit, and I just came straight here. I forgot what I looked like until I saw you.”

“It’s okay. She didn’t notice.” I’m not sure if my smile reaches my eyes, but I offer one, nonetheless.

“Thanks, Reagan.”

“There’s dinner in the fridge.” I change the subject, moving to put the remaining dishes away.

“I’ll eat in a second. But I gotta get Bea to bed first.”

“She’ll be happy about that. She missed you today.”

Whatever happened tonight, he needs to be reminded that someone was thinking about him. Needing him.

It has the intended effect when his expression softens.

Jesse starts to walk out of the kitchen, but he pauses at the end of the island, his gaze landing on my book.

“Started a new one, huh?” He holds it up, smirking. “At least you wised up and moved on to bikers.”

The leather-clad model on the cover gives me away, and I cringe, thinking I left it just sitting there. But I refuse to let Jesse relish in my embarrassment, so I roll my shoulders back and walk straight up to him and snatch the book out of his hands.

“I figured I should see how you stack up to your mafia friends… fictionally speaking.”

“Right…” His blue eyes brighten with amusement. “So, how do we stack up, sweetheart?”

Every time he calls me that, I want to glare at him as much as I want to climb him. But I don’t do either. I simply smirk, not offering a hint of how he affects me.

“Guess we’ll see.”

Jesse’s jaw ticks, and he chuckles as he walks away .

I can’t help watching as he sneaks up behind Bea to surprise her. She squeals when he grabs her from behind and lifts her off the couch like a rocket.

“Daddy!”

They spin around—him tickling and her giggling.

Family .

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen what one looks like. And even with Jesse coming home covered in blood, he gives his daughter a better one than I’ve ever known.