Page 4

Mason

The doctor is long forgotten by her, we’re at the clubhouse where she’s sitting at a table with some of our club princesses.

I love seeing her here; this club is my life.

I spot Konrad coming in through the door and I nod at him to follow me toward his office.

He shuts the door behind him. “You feeling sick?” he asks me and sets down his bag that makes a loud thump from all of the papers.

“No, but I wanted to ask you about a doctor named Peterson.”

Konrad’s brow furrows as he considers my question. “Dr. Peterson… Yeah, I know him. Works in OB, I believe. Bit of an asshole, if you ask me.” He leans back in his chair, eyeing me curiously. “Why do you ask?”

I clench my jaw, the image of that creep staring at Meadow flashing through my mind. “He’s been giving Meadow trouble at the hospital. Nothing concrete yet, but I don’t like the way he looks at her.”

Konrad’s expression darkens. “That doesn’t surprise me. There have been… rumors about him. Nothing that could stick, but enough to raise eyebrows.”

“What kind of rumors?” I demand, my hands curling into fists at my sides.

Konrad sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Inappropriate behavior with female staff and patients. A couple of nurses have complained about him making them uncomfortable, but without hard evidence, the hospital hasn’t done much.”

Rage builds in my chest. The thought of that bastard harassing Meadow, or any woman, makes my blood boil. “We need to do something about this,” I say, my voice low and dangerous.

Konrad holds up a hand. “Easy, Mason. We can’t just go in guns blazing. We need to be smart about this.”

I take a breath, forcing myself to calm down. He’s right, of course. Going after Peterson directly could backfire, especially with Meadow’s career on the line.

“What do you suggest?” I ask, leaning against his desk.

Konrad thinks for a moment. “We gather evidence. Discreetly. I can keep an ear to the ground at the hospital, see if I can get any of the nurses to open up about their experiences. You focus on keeping Meadow safe and documenting any interactions she has with Peterson.”

I nod, a plan already forming in my mind. “And once we have enough?”

A grim smile spreads across Konrad’s face. “Then we make sure he never works in this town again. Or any town, for that matter.”

I match his smile with one of my own. “I like the sound of that.”

As I leave Konrad’s office, my resolve hardens. No one messes with what’s mine. And Peterson? He just made himself a very dangerous enemy.

“Keep an eye on her at work?” I ask Konrad and he nods.

“I will protect her and make sure she has someone with her if he is around.”

I let out a breath, thankful that he will keep an eye on her, but I don’t like the fact that this fucker is going around messing with women and getting away with it.

This isn’t the fucking sixties, this shit shouldn’t be happening in this day and age.

One thing for certain is that it’s not going to happen to my Meadow.

* * *

Meadow

The second Mason leaves the room, Tiffany, Elle, and Olivia start hounding me with all kinds of questions about Mason.

“So, are you guys together?” Olivia rushes out first and I giggle at their excitement.

I shrug my shoulders. “I wouldn’t call it that, and I don’t want to put any titles on it. I just want to let things naturally unfold.”I turn toward the door that he went through. “One thing is for sure, he is gorgeous.” I fan my face dramatically.

Tiffany laughs. “All I can see when I look at him is the kid that shoved dirt up his nose because he wanted to see if he could grow flowers.”

My mouth opens in shock. “What?” I burst out laughing, thinking of him walking around, grinning with dirt hanging out of his nose.

“Christopher hated clothes. We would be sitting at the picnic table and we’d see a streak of white go past, and it was him. Then Dad would run after him to try to clothe him.”

Tears are rolling down my face at this point, seeing the future president running through the yard naked.

I wipe my eyes, trying to catch my breath. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I never knew these stories!”

Elle grins mischievously. “Oh, honey, we’ve got plenty more where that came from. You should hear about the time Mason tried to give himself a haircut…”

Just then, the door opens and Mason strides back in, his eyes immediately finding mine. A small smile plays on his lips as he approaches our table.

“Ladies,” he nods to the others before focusing on me, “having fun?”

I bite my lip, trying to suppress another giggle. “Oh, absolutely. Your friends were just filling me in on some… interesting childhood memories.”

Mason’s eyes narrow playfully. “Is that so?” He looks at the other women who are all trying, and failing, to look innocent. “I hope you’re not telling tales out of school.”

Tiffany snorts. “Please, these aren’t even the good ones.”

Mason groans, running a hand through his hair. “All right, that’s enough of that.” He extends a hand to me. “Come on, darlin’. Let’s get out of here before they completely ruin my reputation.”

I take his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. The warmth of his touch sends a thrill through me. “Your reputation, huh? And here I thought you were just a big softie who liked to grow flowers.”

Mason’s eyebrows shoot up, and he turns to glare at the girls, but I can see he’s not putting any effort into it.

Christopher walks around the table, pulling Elle into his lap, and his hand goes straight to her stomach and over her bump.

Elle looks dramatically better than she did yesterday. “How are you feeling? Any sickness?” I question her, my eyes doing a sweep of her form.

Elle smiles softly, leaning back against Christopher’s chest. “Much better today, actually. The nausea seems to be easing up a bit.”

Christopher presses a kiss to her temple, his hand still protectively cradling her barely-there bump. “She’s been a trooper,” he says proudly.

I nod, relieved to see Elle looking more like herself. “That’s great to hear. Make sure you’re staying hydrated and eating small, frequent meals. It can really help with the morning sickness.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Elle teases, but her eyes are warm with gratitude.

Mason’s arm slides around my waist, pulling me close. “Always taking care of everyone, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his breath tickling my ear.

I feel my cheeks flush at his proximity. “It’s kind of my job,” I remind him.

“And you’re damn good at it,” he says, his voice low and full of admiration.

The moment is interrupted by Tiffany dramatically clearing her throat. “If you two lovebirds are done making googly eyes at each other, some of us are trying to eat here.”

Mason chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. “All right, all right. We’re going.” He turns to me. “What do you say we get out of here? I’ve got something I want to show you.”

Curiosity piques my interest. “Oh? And what might that be?”

His grin is equal parts mischievous and sexy. “It’s a surprise. You trust me?”

I pretend to think about it for a moment, tapping my chin. “Hmm, I don’t know. The last surprise involved a creepy clearing in the woods at night.”

Mason laughs, pulling me closer. “I promise, no creepy woods this time. Scout’s honor.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Were you ever actually a Scout?”

“Not important,” he deflects smoothly. “Come on, live a little.”

I look around at our friends, who are all watching our exchange with varying degrees of amusement. Elle gives me an encouraging nod.

“All right,” I concede, unable to resist the excitement bubbling up inside me. “Lead the way, Mr. Mystery.”

As Mason guides me out of the clubhouse, his hand warm on my lower back, I can’t help but feel anticipation. Whatever this surprise is, I have a feeling it’s going to be another unforgettable adventure with Mason.

Mason leads me out to his bike, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Ready for another ride, darlin’?”

I nod. “Always.”

He hands me the helmet, his fingers lingering on mine. As I swing my leg over the bike and wrap my arms around his waist, I’m struck by how natural this feels already. The rumble of the engine vibrates through me as we take off.

We wind through town, heading toward the outskirts. The scenery becomes more rural, lush green fields stretching out on either side of us. After about twenty minutes, Mason turns onto a dirt road.

We pull up to a sprawling ranch-style house, its weathered wood siding giving it a rustic charm. A wraparound porch boasts a swing and rocking chairs. The property is dotted with old oak trees, their branches providing dappled shade.

Mason cuts the engine and helps me off the bike. “What do you think?” he asks, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

I take it all in, breathing in the fresh country air. “It’s beautiful,” I say honestly. “But… what is this place?”

He takes my hand, leading me toward the house. “It’s mine. Or, it will be. I’m in the process of buying it.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “You’re moving out here?”

Mason nods, unlocking the front door. “The clubhouse is great, but I’ve been wanting a place of my own for a while now. Somewhere quiet, away from the chaos.”

We step inside, and I’m immediately charmed by the interior. Hardwood floors, exposed beams, and a stone fireplace give the space a cozy, cabin-like feel.

“It needs some work,” Mason explains as we walk through. “But I’ve got big plans for it.”

As he shows me around, pointing out his ideas for renovations, I can’t help but picture a life here. Lazy Sunday mornings on the porch swing. Cozy nights by the fire. It’s a domestic fantasy I never knew I wanted.

We end up in the kitchen, a spacious room with plenty of counter space and a large island. Mason leans against the counter, watching me take it all in.

“So,” he says, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. “What do you think? Be honest.”

I turn to face him, a soft smile on my lips. “I think it’s perfect, Mason. It suits you.”

Relief washes over his face, followed by something deeper, more intense. He pushes off the counter, closing the distance between us in two long strides. “Let me show you the backyard.”

He laces our fingers together and I stare in awe at the expansive backyard.

“I’m going to get it fenced in because knowing my luck, my kids will be running away into the woods.”

I burst out laughing, thinking of little Masons running around with dirt up their noses, crying because the flowers aren’t growing fast enough.

We head to the swing, which has cushions on it to sit on to make it more comfortable.

Mason’s arm drapes over my shoulders as we settle onto the porch swing. The gentle creaking of the chains and the rustle of leaves in the breeze are the only sounds breaking the peaceful quiet.

“Kids, huh?” I say softly, my heart fluttering at the thought. “You’ve really thought this through.”

Mason’s fingers trace lazy patterns on my arm. “Yeah, I have. I want it all, Meadow. The house, the family, the whole nine yards.”

I smile softly at the thought, tightening my hand on his leg and soaking in the heat he is radiating as the night air becomes a bit chillier.

“What about you?” he asks, his voice low. “Do you see kids in your future?”

I pause, considering his question. “I do,” I say slowly. “But I’ve always been so focused on my career, I haven’t given it much thought beyond that.”

Mason’s thumb traces circles on my arm. “No reason you can’t have both,” he murmurs. “I’ve seen how passionate you are about your work. Any kids would be lucky to have you as their mom.”

Holy shit, that just wrecked me.

Warmth spreads through my chest at his words. I lean up to look at him, finding his eyes already on me, intense and full of emotion.

“Mason,” I breathe, not sure what I’m about to say, but needing to say something.

Mason’s eyes darken as he gazes at me, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. The tenderness of his touch contrasts with the intensity in his eyes.

“What is it, darlin’?” he murmurs, his thumb tracing my lower lip.

I lean into his touch, my heart racing. “What are you doing to me?” I whisper, my voice trembling slightly. “You’re… you’re ruining me, Mason. In the best way possible.”

A slow smile spreads across his face, equal parts tender and predatory. “Good,” he pulls me closer. “Because I plan on ruining you for anyone else, Meadow. I want to be the only man you ever think about, the only one who makes you feel this way.”

His words ignite a fire in my belly, desire coursing through my veins. I shift, straddling his lap on the porch swing. Mason’s hands immediately grip my hips, steadying me.

I have to fight with myself to keep from shifting my hips over him. I can feel his hardness between my legs and my body is aching for him to fill me.

His hands tighten on me like he’s trying to control himself. He licks his lips, and I can’t resist the urge to lean forward and taste them.

Our lips meet in a searing kiss, all the pent-up desire from the past few days exploding between us. Mason’s hands roam my body, one tangling in my hair while the other grips my waist, pulling me closer. I moan into his mouth, rolling my hips against him.

“Meadow,” Mason groans, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down my neck. “God, you’re driving me crazy.”

I gasp as he nips at my pulse point, my fingers digging into his shoulders. “Mason, please,” I whimper, not even sure what I’m begging for.

He pulls back, his eyes dark with lust but also tender. “Not here, darlin’,” he says, his voice rough. “When I take you, and I will take you, it’s going to be in a proper bed. You deserve more than a quick fuck on the porch.”

The crudeness of his words combined with the promise they hold send a shiver through me. I nod, trying to control my breathing.

Mason’s hands stroke soothingly up and down my back. “Soon,” he promises, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. “I want to do this right, Meadow. You’re too important to rush.”

I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder. We stay like that for a while, our breathing slowly returning to normal, the porch swing gently rocking us.

As the sun begins to set, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks, I can’t help but feel like I’m on the precipice of something life-changing. Here, in Mason’s arms, with the promise of a future stretching out before us, I feel more at home than I ever have before.

I don’t want to leave, I’d be totally fine staying right here wrapped around this man.

I’ve been protected my whole life and, in this moment, being held by him, I’ve never felt safer.

“I really don’t want to go, but I need to go home and get ready for bed because I have to go in super early in the morning for some scheduled surgeries.” I pout and slide off his lap, my eyes going to his dick straining through his jeans. I know that’s uncomfortable.

I turn my eyes away before he can catch me.

Back on the bike, I rest my head on his back, staring into the beautiful sky, my hands resting on his abs, and I can’t resist the urge to run my fingers along them.

Soon we are in front of Elle’s house and I sigh unhappily that we are going to be separated.

I climb off the bike first and take off my helmet, handing it to him.

Mason’s hand wraps around the back of my neck, pulling me in for a deep, passionate kiss. His lips move against mine with a hunger that leaves me breathless. When we finally part, he rests his forehead against mine.

“I don’t want to say good night either,” he murmurs, his voice husky. “But I know you need your rest for those surgeries tomorrow.”

I nod, reluctantly stepping back. “Thank you for today. For everything.”

Mason’s eyes soften as he looks at me. “Anytime, darlin’. Sweet dreams.”

I drive to my apartment, all the while he follows me and watches from the driveway to make sure I’m inside my place before I hear him ride away.

I can’t wipe the smile off my face as I head inside to get ready for bed.

The next morning comes too soon. I drag myself out of bed, my mind still fuzzy with sleep as I get ready for work. The memory of yesterday with Mason brings a smile to my face, giving me an extra spring in my step as I head to the hospital.

I put my things in my locker, making sure to lock it back up when the door opens and in comesDr. Creepy.

Dr. Peterson’s cologne hits me before I see him. Cloying. Suffocating. My muscles tense as he saunters in, eyes locked on me like a predator.

“Good morning, Dr. Beckham.” His voice drips with false charm. “You’re looking particularly lovely today.”

Bile rises in my throat. I force it down, plastering on a smile that feels more like a grimace. “Dr. Peterson. If you’ll excuse me, I have patients waiting.”

I move to step around him. He shifts, blocking my path. My heart rate spikes.

“Now, now,” he tuts, leaning closer. “What’s the rush? Surely you can spare a moment for a… friendly chat?”

His breath fans across my face. Stale coffee and something sour. I fight the urge to gag.

“I’m afraid I’m booked solid with surgeries today,” I say, voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. “Perhaps another time.”

His eyes narrow, that oily smile never wavering. “Come now, Meadow. I’d love to discuss some… private matters with you. Over coffee, perhaps?”

The use of my first name makes my skin crawl. I take a step back, bumping into the lockers. The cold metal seeps through my scrubs.

“That won’t be necessary, Dr. Peterson,” I say, steel creeping into my tone. “Now, if you’ll excuse me?—”

He leans in, caging me against the lockers. “I don’t think you understand, Meadow,” he murmurs, voice low and threatening. “When I ask for your time, it’s not a request.”

Fear claws at my throat, threatening to choke me. I open my mouth to respond?—

“Is there a problem here?” Konrad’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife.

Relief floods through me, my shoulders sagging slightly. I turn to see Konrad’s imposing figure, his eyes narrowed at Dr. Peterson.

Peterson’s demeanor shifts instantly. The slimy smile vanishes, replaced by a mask of professionalism. “Not at all, Dr. Konrad,” he says, his voice suddenly crisp. “Just having a friendly chat with our talented Dr. Beckham here.”

Bullshit. My skin crawls at his fake pleasantries.

Konrad’s gaze flicks between us, assessing. “I see,” he says, his tone neutral but laced with skepticism. “Dr. Beckham, I believe your first patient is ready. Shall we?”

“Of course,” I say, grateful for the escape. I step around Peterson, my heart pounding. As I pass Konrad, he places a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

Peterson’s eyes follow us as we walk away. I can feel them boring into my back, setting my nerves on edge.

“You okay?” Konrad murmurs once we’re out of earshot.

I nod, not trusting my voice. My hands tremble slightly as I reach for my patient’s chart.

Konrad’s brow furrows. “Has he been bothering you often?”

I hesitate, weighing my words. “It’s… nothing I can’t handle,” I say finally, but the tremor in my voice betrays me.

Konrad’s jaw tightens. “Meadow,” he says, his voice low and serious. “If he’s making you uncomfortable, we need to address it. This isn’t something you should have to ‘handle’ alone.”

I swallow hard, fighting back the sudden sting of tears. The weight of Konrad’s concern, the lingering unease from Peterson’s advances, it all threatens to overwhelm me.

“I…” I start, but the words catch in my throat.

A nurse appears at the end of the hall, calling my name. “Dr. Beckham? Your patient is ready.”

I nod, thankful for the interruption. “We’ll talk later,” I tell Konrad, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes.

As I walk toward my patient’s room, I can feel Konrad’s worried gaze following me. The encounter with Peterson replays in my mind, each slimy word making my skin crawl anew.

I take a shaky breath, steeling myself. I have patients who need me. I can’t let Peterson’s creepy behavior throw me off my game.

But as I reach for the door handle, I can’t shake the feeling.

I take a labored breath, pushing thoughts of Dr. Peterson aside as I enter my patient’s room. Mrs. Johnson, a first-time mother in her early thirties, greets me with a nervous smile.

“Good morning, Mrs. Johnson,” I say, my professional mask sliding into place. “How are you feeling today?”

As I go through her pre-op checklist, I feel myself relaxing. This is what I’m meant to do. Helping women bring new life into the world, guiding them through one of the most significant moments of their lives.

The morning passes in a blur of surgeries and checkups. I throw myself into my work, thankful for the distraction. But every time I step into the hallway, I can’t help but glance over my shoulder, half expecting to see Dr. Peterson’s leering face.

By lunchtime, I’m exhausted. I collapse into a chair in the break room, rubbing my temples. The adrenaline from the morning is wearing off, leaving me drained.

My phone buzzes. A text from Mason.

Hope your day is going well, darlin’. Can’t stop thinking about you.

A smile tugs at my lips despite my fatigue. I’m about to reply when the break room door opens. My head snaps up, tension flooding my body.

It’s just Dr. Ramirez, one of the newer OB-GYNs. She gives me a friendly nod as she heads for the coffee machine.

I let out a shaky breath, annoyed at myself for being so jumpy. This isn’t me. I’m not some scared little girl. I’m a damn good doctor, and I won’t let Peterson’s creepy behavior change that.

As if summoned by my thoughts, Peterson’s voice drifts in from the hallway. I freeze, my heart racing. But he passes by without entering, deep in conversation with another doctor.

I slump in my chair, relief warring with frustration. How long can I keep going like this, constantly on edge?

My phone buzzes again. Another text from Mason.

Everything okay? You usually reply pretty quick.

I bite my lip, debating. Part of me wants to spill everything, to lean on his strength. But another part—the stubborn, independent part—resists. I can handle this myself. I don’t need to run to Mason with every little problem I have.

Just busy with surgeries , I type back. Talk later?

I hit send before I can second-guess myself. As I stand to head back to work, Dr. Ramirez notices me.

“You okay, Dr. Beckham?” she asks, concern evident in her voice. “You look a little pale.”

I force a smile. “Just tired,” I lie. “Big day of surgeries.”

She nods sympathetically, but I can see the doubt in her eyes. As I leave the break room, I can feel her gaze on my back.

Lunch break. Finally. My stomach growls, reminding me I’ve been running on coffee and adrenaline all morning. I head toward the locker room, my steps faltering as I approach the door. My hand hovers over the handle, heart pounding.

Fuck this.

I push the door open with more force than necessary, the bang echoing off the walls. Empty. Relief floods through me, followed quickly by a wave of anger. At Peterson. At myself for letting him get to me.

I yank open my locker, the metal clanging. As I grab my lunch, a memory surfaces. Mom at the grocery store, some creep’s hand on her arm. Her voice, steel wrapped in silk. “Remove your hand, or I’ll remove it for you.”

The guy had backed off, tail between his legs. Mom made me promise not to tell Dad. “He’d put a bullet in that idiot’s head before sundown,” she’d said, only half joking.

I slam my locker shut, jaw clenched. Mom handled her shit. So can I.

The door creaks open. I whirl around, fists clenched at my sides.

Dr. Ramirez peeks in, eyebrows raised. “Whoa, you okay there, Meadow? Looked like you were about to throw down.”

I force my hands to unclench, pasting on a smile that feels more like a grimace. “Just… hangry,” I lie.

She doesn’t buy it. Her eyes narrow, searching my face. “You sure? You seem on edge lately.”

My phone buzzes. A text from Mason. Lunch break yet, darlin’? Thinking of you.

I stare at the screen, thumb hovering over the reply button. Tell him? Don’t tell him?

“Meadow?” Dr. Ramirez’s voice pulls me back. “Seriously, if something’s wrong…”

The locker room door swings open again. My whole body tenses, fight-or-flight kicking into overdrive.

It’s not Peterson. Just an intern, looking lost and overwhelmed.

But as I turn back to Dr. Ramirez, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Pale. Jumpy. This isn’t me.

Dr. Ramirez steps closer, her eyes softening with concern. “Meadow, please. If something’s bothering you, you can talk to me. We women have to stick together in this field, you know?”

I hesitate, torn between my desire to confide in someone and my instinct to keep my guard up. As I open my mouth to respond, I notice a subtle shift in Dr. Ramirez’s demeanor. Her eyes dart to the door, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

“Is it… Is it about Dr. Peterson?” she asks, her voice dropping to a near whisper.

The mention of his name sends a chill down my spine. “What about him?” I ask cautiously.

Dr. Ramirez leans in, her perfume—a cloying, overly sweet scent—invading my space. “I’ve noticed him paying you a lot of attention lately,” she says, her tone odd. “Has he been… inappropriate?”

“Dr. Peterson is just a colleague,” I say firmly, taking a step back. “Nothing more.”

A flash of relief crosses Dr. Ramirez’s face. “Oh, of course,” she says quickly. “I was just making sure you were okay.”

“Dr. Ramirez,” I say carefully, “has Dr. Peterson ever… made you feel uncomfortable?”

Dr. Ramirez’s expression hardens slightly. “Of course not,” she says firmly. She smiles brightly, but it seems forced. “He’s always been nothing but professional with me.” Her voice comes out in a weird squeak from the shock of my question.

“I need to eat my lunch. Have a nice day,” I tell her, and give her a side hug before making my way to the break room.

I step into the room where we all have lunch, there’re even a few beds in here that people make use of when they have a twenty-four-hour shift.

Just inside of the door is a man standing there looking lost, holding a huge bouquet of roses.

“Are you looking for someone?” Dr. Thompson, the bitch of the century resident, asks excitedly, practically pushing me out of the way.

I step aside, letting her handle it. “It’s for a Dr. Beckham,” the man says, and I turn around grinning.

“That’s me.”

I can’t hide my excitement and look at the card.

Thinking of you, angel.

I read the words over and over.

I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face as I take the flowers from the delivery man. The fragrant roses fill my senses, momentarily pushing away the stress and anxiety that have plagued me all day.

Dr. Thompson’s excitement deflates visibly. “Oh,” she says, her voice flat. “How… nice for you.”

I ignore her thinly veiled jealousy, focusing instead on the beautiful bouquet in my arms. As I search for a vase, I can feel the curious eyes of my colleagues on me.

“Secret admirer, Dr. Beckham?” Dr. Ramirez asks, a knowing glint in her eye as she tries to peek over my shoulder to read the card.

I feel my cheeks flush. “Something like that,” I mumble, busying myself with arranging the flowers.

This just made the shittiest day a hundred times better. There is another knock at the door and a food delivery man is holding a bag. “Dr. Beckham?”

The grin that comes over me almost splits my face. “Me.” I take the food, seconds away from crying because this is so sweet.

I sit down with my roses and food, which I devour because I’m starving. I shoot a text to Mason, thanking him for the lunch and flowers.

I can feel my colleagues’ eyes on me but nothing at this point could truly wreck my mood.

I finish up my food and give away some of my breadsticks to the staff who were eyeing them, then I set my flowers off to the side out of everyone’s way.

A commotion in the hallway draws everyone’s attention. Raised voices, one of them unmistakably Dr. Peterson’s, echo through the door.

Curiosity and dread war within me as I approach the door, peering out into the corridor.

What I see makes my jaw drop.

Konrad stands tall, his imposing figure radiating rage as he faces off against Dr. Peterson. The usually slimy doctor looks small in comparison, his face pale and eyes darting nervously.

“I’ve had enough of your behavior, Peterson,” Konrad’s voice booms, echoing off the sterile walls. “The way you’ve been treating the female staff, especially Dr. Beckham, is completely unacceptable.”

Peterson attempts to interject, but Konrad cuts him off with a sharp gesture.

“No, you don’t get to speak. You’ve done enough talking, enough leering, enough ‘accidental’ touches. It ends now.”

A small crowd has gathered, nurses and doctors alike watching the confrontation with wide eyes. I feel a hand on my arm and turn to see Dr. Ramirez, her face a mix of concern and satisfaction.

Konrad continues, his voice lowering to a dangerous rumble. “I’ve compiled a report detailing every complaint, every incident. It’s going to the board today. You’re done here, Peterson.”

Peterson’s face contorts with rage. “You can’t do this! I’m a respected physician.”

“Respected?” Konrad scoffs. “You’re a predator hiding behind a white coat. And I’ll be damned if I let you terrorize one more woman in this hospital.”

My heart swells with gratitude and relief. Konrad’s eyes meet mine for a brief moment, and I see the promise there, the promise of protection, of justice.

Peterson, sensing his defeat, attempts one last desperate move. “You have no proof! It’s her word against mine!” He jabs a finger in my direction, and I flinch involuntarily.

Konrad steps between us, shielding me from Peterson’s accusing gaze. “Oh, but we do have proof. Security footage, witness statements, even your own incriminating emails. Face it, Peterson. You’re finished.”

As if on cue, two security guards appear at the end of the hallway. Konrad nods to them, and they approach, flanking Peterson.

“These gentlemen will escort you to clear out your office,” Konrad says, his voice cold. “The board will contact you regarding the official termination proceedings.”

Peterson’s face crumples, the realization of his downfall finally sinking in. As the security guards lead him away, he throws one last venomous glare in my direction. But this time, I don’t flinch. I stand tall, meeting his gaze with steel in my eyes.

The hallway erupts in hushed whispers as Peterson disappears around the corner. Konrad turns to me. “He is such a lucky fucker that we are in the hospital or he’d have his ass beat.” There is the biker, with his fierce dark eyes.

I laugh. “It’s tough being professional sometimes, isn’t it?”

All of the workers start clapping and the women surrounding us are grinning happily.

Hours later, the day is over, and it was so much better than when Peterson was running around.

Meet me at my place in an hour? I text Mason and he replies back almost instantly.

I will be there. Dinner?

I hurry home, my heart racing with anticipation. The stress of the day melts away as I step into my apartment, thoughts of Mason filling my mind. I take my time in the shower, letting the hot water soothe my muscles. I shave meticulously, running the razor over every curve and plane of my body. The coconut scent of my bodywash fills the steamy air as I lather up, imagining Mason’s hands on my skin.

After drying off, I slather my favorite vanilla lotion on my body, its rich scent mingling with the lingering coconut from the shower. I debate on what to wear, finally settling on soft leggings and an oversized sweater that slips temptingly off one shoulder. Comfort is key, but I want to look good for him too.

I fluff the throw pillows on the couch and light a few candles, their warm glow adding to the cozy atmosphere. My stomach flutters with nerves and excitement as I hear a knock at the door.

Mason stands there, looking devastatingly handsome in dark jeans and a soft Henley that clings to his muscular frame. He’s holding a bag of takeout that smells divine.

“Hey, darlin’,” he greets, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my lips.

We settle on the couch, the aroma of spicy Thai food filling the air. Mason’s thigh presses against mine, a line of heat that sends tingles up my spine. I can’t help but steal glances at him as he unpacks the containers.

“Pad Thai for the lady,” he says with a wink, handing me a steaming box.

Our fingers brush, and electricity zips through me. I fumble with my chopsticks, nearly dropping them.

“Smooth,” Mason teases, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the soft clink of chopsticks and the low murmur of the TV. I savor each bite, the flavors exploding on my tongue.

“So,” Mason starts, setting down his container. “How was work?”

I hesitate, not wanting to ruin the moment. But Mason notices my pause, his brow furrowing with concern.

“What is it?” he asks, tilting my chin up to meet his gaze.

“It was… eventful.”

Mason’s eyes narrow, noticing the tremor in my words. “Eventful how?”

I take a shaky breath, debating how much to share. But as I look into Mason’s eyes, seeing the concern there, the words tumble out.

I tell him everything that happened and that Peterson was fired.

When I finish, he pulls me into a fierce hug. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with that,” he murmurs into my hair. “But I’m proud of you for standing up to him, but I’m going to beat his ass still.”

I laugh softly at his reaction.

We spend the rest of the evening cuddled on the couch, talking and laughing. When there’s a lull in the conversation, I peek up to see if he’s okay.

The soft glow of the TV flickers across Mason’s sleeping face, casting shadows that accentuate his strong jawline. I’m curled against his chest, his steady heartbeat a soothing rhythm beneath my ear. The throw blanket is tangled around our legs, a testament to how we’ve shifted closer throughout the night.

I drift in and out of consciousness, too comfortable to fully wake but not quite able to sink back into sleep. Mason’s arm tightens around me, pulling me closer in his slumber. I nuzzle into the crook of his neck, feeling utterly safe and content.

This could become addictive, the way he is wrapped around me. His heartbeat under my ear, counting the beats.

Suddenly, a thunderous knocking shatters the peaceful silence. I jolt awake, my heart leaping into my throat. Mason is instantly alert, his body tensing beneath me. The pounding continues, urgent and aggressive.

My heart pounding hard at being scared awake like that, I turn my head toward the door.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Mason asks, his voice low and tense. I shake my head, fear gripping my chest.

In one fluid motion, Mason is on his feet. He moves to the kitchen counter where he’d set his gun earlier, snatching it up with practiced ease. The weight of it in his hand seems to change him, his posture shifting from relaxed to predatory in an instant.

“Hide,” he commands, his eyes scanning the room for potential threats. “Now.”

I scramble off the couch, my legs shaky with adrenaline. The knocking intensifies, accompanied now by a muffled voice shouting something indistinct.

Mason gestures toward the hallway leading to my bedroom. “Go. Lock the door. Don’t come out until I say it’s safe.”

I hesitate for a split second, torn between fear and not wanting to leave Mason alone. But the steel in his eyes brooks no argument. I nod, then turn and run toward my bedroom, my heart pounding in my ears.

As I reach the doorway, I glance back. Mason is approaching the front door, gun held low but ready. His entire demeanor has changed—gone is the soft, sleepy man from moments ago. In his place stands a warrior, every muscle coiled and ready for action.

The last thing I see before I shut and lock my bedroom door is Mason reaching for the doorknob, his face set in grim determination. I press my back against the cool wood, straining to hear what’s happening.

“Where the fuck is my daughter?”

I close my eyes and laugh, relieved. Then it hits me that my dad now knows that Mason is here with me.

I send up a prayer that he doesn’t fight Mason and make my way out of the bedroom toward the living room.

Mason stands at the door, his muscular frame blocking the entrance. The dim light from the hallway casts shadows across his face, accentuating the hard lines of his jaw. His gun is holstered now.

Mason doesn’t budge an inch. “I don’t care what the fuck you’re here for, even if it’s your daughter. You scared her, showing up like this in the middle of the night, pounding on the door like a madman.”

Liam’s nostrils flare, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “You don’t get to tell me when I can or can’t see my daughter, boy. Now, step aside before I make you.”

A dangerous glint appears in Mason’s eyes, a hint of the violence he’s capable of simmering just beneath the surface. “You’re welcome to try, old man. But I promise you, it won’t end well for you.”

The tension in the hallway is palpable, crackling like electricity in the air. Two alpha males, both fiercely protective, squaring off over the threshold of my apartment. The dim lighting adds to the ominous atmosphere.

“Dad?” I call out, my voice cutting through the tension. “What are you doing here?”

Mason doesn’t take his eyes off Liam, but he shifts slightly, allowing me to step up beside him. His arm snakes around my waist, pulling me close to his side. It’s a gesture of both protection and possession, a clear message to my father.

I run my hand along Mason’s back, trying to relax him. He does then walks farther into my apartment, leaving me alone with my dad.

His face softens, looking at me in the way he reserves for me and my mom.

“I’m sorry I scared you, sweet girl. You never answered my texts and I was worried something happened.”

I can see underneath the anger that he was scared. “I’m sorry, Dad, I put my phone in my room when I got off work.”

He sighs, pulling me to him, and hugs me tight, kissing the top of my head. “I know, baby, but you’re my heart and if something happened to you…” He trails off and I let him hug me as long as he wants.

“I’m okay, Dad,” I murmur, my voice muffled against his chest. “Really. Everything’s fine.”

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching my face. “You sure, sweetheart?”

I can see the worry building inside him. “I can take care of myself.”

He chuckles. “I know that, but it doesn’t change the fact that you are my baby.” He looks over my shoulder, and I know he is looking at Mason. “Seems like you’ve got someone else looking out for you too,” he grumbles.

“Let’s go have a chat outside,” Mason tells my dad, and my eyes widen unexpectedly, but I can see the respect Mason has for my father.

Mason steps outside and my dad smiles at me before he shuts the door.

God, if I survive to be thirty with all of these alpha males, I’d be surprised.

I go to my bedroom and grab my phone. I see my mom texted me, a warning that my dad was on his way.

I decide to call her, falling back onto my bed. “Did your dad make it there?” she asks after the second ring.

“Oh yeah, but he got a surprise when he was here.”

She gasps. “Tell me!”

I laugh, imagining her sitting there with a glass of wine dying to find out. “Mason is here,” I mumble.

She squeals excitedly, “Oh my God! I bet your dad is shitting his pants.” She is way too happy at the fact.

“He took it okay, but they are having a man-to-man talk right now outside.”

I can picture her wincing. “Well, this is the trust test to see if he is man enough for my baby.”

I rub my forehead. “Well, he didn’t even let Dad in the house until I was okay with it.”

“You like him, baby?” she asks me.

I pause, considering my answer. “Yeah, Mom. I really do,” I admit softly. “He’s… different. In a good way.”

I can practically hear her smile through the phone. “I’m happy for you, sweetheart. Mason’s a good man. Just don’t tell your father I said that,” she adds with a chuckle.

I laugh, feeling some of the tension ease from my shoulders. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

We chat for a few more minutes before hanging up. I flop back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. My mind wanders to Mason and my dad, wondering what they’re discussing outside. Part of me wants to eavesdrop, but I resist the urge. This is something they need to work out between themselves.

After what feels like an eternity, I hear the front door open. My heart leaps into my throat as I strain to listen. There are no raised voices, no sounds of a scuffle. That’s a good sign, right?

I make my way back to the living room, my steps hesitant. Mason stands just inside the doorway, his posture relaxed but alert. My dad is nowhere to be seen.

“Everything okay?” I ask, my voice wavering slightly.

Mason turns to me, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, darlin’. Everything’s fine.”

I eye him skeptically. “Really? No bloodshed? No threats of bodily harm?”

He chuckles, crossing the room to pull me into his arms. “Nah, nothing like that. Your old man and I… we came to an understanding.”

I raise an eyebrow. “An understanding?”

Mason’s arms tighten around me. “He knows I’m not going anywhere. And he knows I’ll protect you with my life if I have to.”

My breath catches at the intensity in his voice. “Mason…”

He leans down, pressing his forehead against mine. “I mean it, Meadow. You’re mine now. And I take care of what’s mine.”

The possessiveness in his tone should scare me. Instead, it has my heart racing through my body. I stretch up on my toes, pressing my lips to his in a soft, tender kiss.

* * *