Page 33 of Legacy

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 thatokayis 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.

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