Page 12 of Legacy

From the corner of my eye, I don’t miss the triumphant smirk Reagan shoots me over her shoulder. Despite the fact that I’ve just spent the past few minutes shutting down the idea of her so much as staying, much less me eating what she’s cooking in the kitchen, I’m not turning down food made by my daughter.

Bea runs over to Reagan, lifting on her toes to see what she’s doing as she flips another pancake.

“That one’s perfect. Can I have it?” Bea asks.

“Of course you can. Why don’t you get a seat next to your dad at the island? They’re almost ready.”

“Daddy, scoot.” Bea frowns when she sees me sitting on the stool in the middle. “I want to sit next to Reagan.”

I shove myself over a seat, and it’s probably for the best that we have a buffer between us. We can’t seem to be in the same room without one of us saying something to irritate the other.

“Can Reagan have the room next to mine?” Bea blinks up at me. “I’ll move my toys, and we can play with them together. Please!”

“Reagan is only here for a quick visit. She’s not staying.”

Bea frowns, her gaze dropping to her hands in her lap. “But Margaret is sick, and you said family makes you better. Remember when you were sick, Daddy? I came and saw you in the hospital, and you said it made you better. What if Margaret goes back to the hospital?”

Guilt coils inside me.

I wasn’t actually sick. At least, not in the same way Margaret is. Taking a bullet and battling cancer are two very different things. But Bea doesn’t know the full truth of what sent me to the hospital, and that’s for the best.

Another lie stacked on top of another.

Something else to stir that phantom ache in my leg.

Reagan places a plate in front of Bea, watching me. Her gaze pauses where I’m gripping my thigh, and I hate that it feels like she can read my thoughts. Thankfully, she keeps any comments to herself, returning to the pancakes.

“Margaret has us, Beatrice.” I try to reassure my daughter. “We’ll take care of her.”

“We can’t make her pancakes like this.” Bea frowns at her plate. “And she can’t color with me when her hands hurt. Reagan said we can color.”

“I’ll color with you.”

“Today?”

“Sure. Today.” I mentally try to check off things I need to do that can be moved around to make that happen.

Reagan turns with a plate of pancakes in her hand, watching and not saying anything. Her sass and fire have relented, and while I didn’t think I’d miss them, I’d rather her annoyance than whatever she’s thinking about me struggling not to fail my daughter.

“I’m going to bring these to Margaret really fast, and then I’ll be back to make your plate.” She forces a smile and then disappears down the hall toward Margaret’s room.

Bea’s shoulders deflate.

Lately, it feels like I’m disappointing everyone, and there’s nothing I can do about it. But in Bea’s case, I don’t regret my decisions either. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her.

Reagan walks back into the room and quietly starts stacking two more plates of pancakes. One stack is bigger than the other, and she hands it to me.

I’m an asshole. The least I could have done was serve us when she was bringing Margaret food, but I sat here staring at the counter, wallowing in my own problems.

Reagan slides onto her stool, adjusting her hair. And even with Bea between us, I can smell her flowery shampoo as she wrestles with her bun. It floods my senses, so I shove a bite into my mouth and try to focus on that instead, just as my phone starts to ring.

I pull it out of my pocket to see Steel’s name flashing on the screen.

“Yeah?”

“How fast can you get to Sapphire Rise?”

“Why, what’s going on?”

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