Page 83 of Legacy

My phone chimes, and I pull it out to see another text from Reagan. She’s been updating me since Bea woke up this morning, but I’ve yet to respond with more than a few one-word answers when she asks me something directly.

Reagan: We’re at Tempe’s for lunch, and then Bea and I will head back to the house. Let me know if you need anything.

If I respond, I might accidentally tell her I needher, so I resist saying anything at all.

Neither of us is ready for the reality of Sera being thrown at us like this. And whether Reagan plans on sticking around through this mess or not, the Iron Sinners have painted a target on her back. My enemies are already taking away her choices when she doesn’t deserve it.

Ghost steps out of the hallway that leads to the offices with irritation written all over his face. Luna has been coming and going, but even that hasn’t helped his mood.

His cold gaze meets mine when I cross the room to meet him. “Have you slept?”

“Have you?”

“Fair enough.” Ghost breathes out an unamused chuckle, dragging his hair off his forehead. “How’s Sera doing?”

“Still passed out last I heard.”

“You haven’t gone to see her?” His eyebrows lift.

“Not yet. Patch was busy working on her all night, so I figured he didn’t want any distractions.”

He hums, knowing me too well and probably sensing more, but if so, he doesn’t say anything. We walk to church in silence and take our seats.

We’re the first ones here, as usual.

“How are you holding up with Sera being here?” Ghost asks after a long beat.

“No fucking clue.” I close my eyes and turn my face to the ceiling. “It’s been five fucking years without so much as a word from her, and now she’s dropped off at the gate like this. Bea deserves better.”

Better than me and her mother being a fucking mess.

Better than this compound.

Ghost silently watches me, tapping the table with his thumb. He knows the shit in my head that uses me like a punching bag, so he doesn’t ask me to elaborate.

We’ve been through it all together. Losing parents. Patching in. Enjoying the brotherhood and perks of the club. Surviving the worst of it.

He’s been there through it all.

“What about you?” I jut my chin. “How are you handling everything from last night?”

I can only imagine he has Paulina on his mind. We found his childhood best friend in a similar state five years ago.

“Better this morning. Luna helped talk me through it. But either way, it’s all fucked.” His jaw ticks. “It doesn’t help that the girls saw it. I can tell Luna’s worried about me and everyone else around here. How’s Reagan handling it?”

My gaze drifts to the picture on the wall behind him like it can help me come up with a better answer than the truth. The wall is covered in photos of the open road, each one taken to mark the first trip we ride as ranked members of the club.

Mine and Ghost’s are side by side from our run to Colorado during the first snow of the season. It was cold as fuck, and the roads nearly killed us, so we had to hunker down at a friendly club for a few days and wait it out.

They were good memories and easier times.

“I don’t know how she’s holding up,” I finally answer. “Not good if I had to guess.”

“Your avoidance tactics are on point, brother.” He shakes his head, disappointed.

“Reagan and I are having fun, that’s it. I don’t owe her any explanations. It’s not like she’s my old lady.”

Ghost chuckles. “Lie to yourself all you want, Jesse. But don’t bother trying that shit with me.”

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