Page 16

Chapter Sixteen

M ac

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep pacing like that,” Rage said, leaning against the bedroom doorframe, watching me with amusement as I frantically rummaged through our closet.

“Nothing fits right,” I muttered, tossing another rejected top onto the growing pile on our bed.

Diesel whined from his spot near the bedroom door, clearly sensing my anxiety was reaching new heights. He wasn’t wrong.

Rage rolled off the doorframe and crossed the room, catching my wrist as I reached for another hanger. “Hey. Take a breath.”

I froze, feeling the warmth of his hand against my skin. His dark eyes locked with mine.

God, how did he always manage to be so calm?

“My brother is going to hate you,” I blurted out, voicing the fear that had been eating at me all morning. “He’s going to take one look at you and freak out.”

Rage’s lips quirked into that half-smile that made my stomach flip. “Probably.”

“This is serious!” I protested, though I couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “You don’t understand. Jack can be impossible.”

Rage shrugged, completely unfazed. “Baby, I don’t give a fuck about your brother. He can hate us being together all he wants, but it won’t matter. You’re mine.”

“Ugh!” I growled. That’s what he always said, ‘You’re mine’. Like my brother would hear those words and be all, ‘Oh, well that changes everything’.

“You sound very confident for someone who’s never met Jack Davis in full protective brother mode,” I sighed, glancing at the clothes scattered around us. “He’s going to interrogate you like a criminal.”

“I am a criminal,” Rage pointed out unhelpfully.

I smacked his chest. “Baby, please! You’re not helping.”

His laugh was deep and rich, filling the room as he pulled me against his chest. “Mac, look at me.”

Pouting out my lip, I tilted my chin up, meeting his gaze.

“I love you,” he said simply. “Your family’s opinion of me matters to you. Not me. And, no matter what happens, we’re still coming home together. Got it?”

The tightness in my chest eased slightly. “Got it.”

“Good.” He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead before releasing me. “Now, wear that green dress—the one with the little flowers.”

“Why the green one?”

His eyes darkened. “Your tits look fan-fucking-tastic in that one.”

I rolled my eyes. Why did I even ask. “You’re such a shit.”

“You love it,” he shrugged.

How did he always do that? One minute I was spiraling, and the next he had me laughing and completely at ease.

I retrieved the dress in question—a knee-length sundress with tiny white flowers scattered across emerald green soft fabric and held it against my body.

It was pretty, and it did make the girls look good.

As I slipped it on, Rage started rifling through his side of the closet. To my shock, he pulled out a clean, pressed black button-up shirt I’d never seen before.

“Is that new?” I asked, pausing in the middle of smoothing down my dress.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Got it yesterday.”

My heart squeezed.

He’d gone shopping for a shirt to wear to meet my family. My tough, tattooed biker who wore nothing but t-shirts and jeans had bought a button-up shirt because he wanted to make a good impression.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he grumbled, catching my expression as he shrugged off his t-shirt. “It’s just a damn shirt.”

We both knew it wasn’t just a shirt. It was his way of trying for me, of showing he cared.

I crossed to him, wrapping my arms around his bare waist from behind and pressing my cheek against his tattooed back. “Thank you.”

His hands covered mine where they rested against his stomach. “You can thank me later.”

Oh, I definitely would.

Twenty minutes later, we were both dressed and ready to go. Rage’s dark hair was styled to perfection and his beard was freshly trimmed. The black shirt fit him perfectly, the sleeves rolled up, revealing his sexy tattooed forearms. He’d even offered to forfeit wearing his cut, which I’d quickly rejected.

As much as I appreciated the offer, I wasn’t trying to change him. I loved my man for exactly who he was, and my family was going to have to accept that.

“How do I look?” he asked, though his confident smirk suggested he already knew the answer.

I let my eyes travel over him, from his motorcycle boots to his broad shoulders. “Like every girl’s bad boy fantasy.”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me close. “Every girl’s, huh?”

“Yeah, but I don’t share.” I bared my teeth.

He threw his head back, the chords in his neck straining as he laughed out loud.

I shrugged. He was mine. What could I say?

My leg bounced uncontrollably as we made the trip to mom’s house on the other side of town.

Rage reached out and placed his hand on my knee. “Easy, woman. It’s gonna be okay.”

“I know.” I sighed, hoping it was true.

As we turned onto my mother’s street, my phone buzzed with an incoming text.

“Who’s that?”

I shrugged, pulling it from my purse. I was honestly expecting a message from Mom asking where we were, but instead saw Sarah’s name lit up on the screen.

“It’s Sarah.”

Hey. Need to talk when you get a chance. Chad is being weird. Like, worse than usual.

My stomach knotted. I quickly typed back:

Weird how? Are you okay?

The three dots appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again.

I’m fine. IDK. He came home drunk last night and threw some stuff around.

“Everything okay?“ Rage asked, glancing over at me.

I hesitated. “She says Chad’s being weird.”

Rage’s jaw tightened. “Define weird.”

“According to Sarah, he came home drunk and threw things.” I bit my lip, guilt creeping in.

“She need us to come over and put his sorry ass out? Cause I’ll gladly fucking do it.”

“Uhh. No.” That wasn’t a good idea at all. That was the last thing I needed was him going to jail for beating the brakes off of Chad.

We’re headed to mom’s for dinner, but we can reschedule if you need some backup

Her reply was almost instant.

No, I’m fine. Don’t worry. Have fun at your mom’s. Tell me ALL about it tomorrow!

I sighed, slipping the phone back into my purse. “She says it’s fine, but I’m going to go by and check on her tomorrow.”

“I’ll go with you,” Rage said immediately.

“I’m not sure that’s?—”

“—Non-negotiable, babe.” His tone was gruff. “That piece of shit made you feel unsafe. I’m not letting you anywhere near him without me.”

I started to argue again, then thought better of it. The truth was, I didn’t want to face Chad alone, either.

“Okay,” I agreed. “But let’s focus on one disaster at a time. We’re here.”

Rage pulled up to the curb in front of the house I grew up in. It was a modest two-story house with blue shutters, a red door, and a well-kept lawn. Beautiful white roses lined the front of the house. They were my Mom’s pride and joy.

Before I could even reach for my door handle, Rage was there, opening it for me.

I smiled sheepishly. I hadn’t even heard him get out. Not that I needed to worry. My man might be rough around the edges, but he was old school in a lot of way. Like opening doors.

“Ready?” he asked, offering his hand.

I slid my hand in his and nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The front door swung open before we even reached the porch, revealing my mother in all her welcoming glory. Lillian Davis was a force of nature in a floral apron, her graying blonde hair pulled back in a neat bun, and the warmest smile this side of the Mason-Dixon Line.

“McKenzie Nicole!” she exclaimed, pulling me into a tight hug the moment I was within arm’s reach. “You look lovely, sweetheart.”

“Hey, Mama,” I said, breathing her in. “Sorry we’re a little early.”

“Nonsense,” she waved off my apology, turning her attention to Rage. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in all six-foot-three inches of tattooed male standing beside me, but to her credit, she didn’t miss a beat. “And you must be Bryce.”

I felt a rush of pride as Rage straightened, holding out his hand. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you for having me in your home.”

Mom’s eyebrows shot up, clearly surprised by his manners. She took his hand, her small one disappearing into his much larger tattooed one. “Well, aren’t you polite? Just call me Lillian, dear. ‘Ma’am’ makes me feel old.”

A genuine smile touched Rage’s lips. “Yes, m—Lillian.”

“Much better,” she nodded, stepping back to usher us inside. “Come in, come in. Chelsea’s already here with the girls. They’re dying to meet you.”

As we stepped inside, I caught the scent of Mom’s famous pot roast wafting from the kitchen.

“Mac!” A high-pitched squeal of delight preceded the thunder of small feet as Emma and Brooklyn came barreling around the corner. They slammed into me with enough force to make me stagger backward into Rage’s solid chest. His hands automatically steadied me, a soft chuckle rumbling through him.

“Hey, monsters,” I laughed, kneeling to hug them. “I’ve missed you!”

“We missed you too,” Emma declared as her eyes traveled up all that was Rage. “Is he your boyfriend?”

I glanced up to find my man looking mildly terrified by the sudden attention of two small humans. It was adorable.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “This is Rage. Rage, these are my nieces, Emma and Brooklyn.”

Brooklyn, always the braver of the two, took a step forward and looked straight up at him. “You’re really tall.”

“Yep,” Rage agreed, crouching down to her level. “And you’re really short.”

Brooklyn giggled, the ice officially broken. “Are those dragons on your arms?”

Rage extended his forearm, showing her the intricate sleeve that covered his skin from wrist to shoulder. “This one’s a dragon, and there’s a koi fish here.”

Emma edged closer, her curiosity beating out her shyness. “Did it hurt?”

“A little,” Rage admitted. “But only for a minute.”

“Can I touch them?” Brooklyn asked, already reaching out.

I started to tell the girls to give him some space, but Rage was already extending his arm closer. “Sure, kid.”

Brooklyn’s tiny fingers traced the outline of the dragon, her eyes wide with wonder. “Whoa. You’re like a coloring book!”

The surprised laugh that burst from Rage made my heart swell three sizes. At that moment, watching him interact so gently with my nieces, I fell in love with him even more.

I was so enchanted by Rage’s interaction with the girls, I hadn’t noticed Chelsea come through the doorway, holding a dish towel in her hands. “Girls, give the poor man some space to breathe.”

“It’s okay,” Rage assured her, standing to his full height. “I don’t mind.”

I made the introductions, and Chelsea, bless her heart, didn’t even bat an eyelash at Rage’s appearance. Instead, she smiled warmly, like she did with everyone, and welcomed him like he was already part of the family.

“Jack’s running late,” she informed us as we moved into the living room. “Some paperwork issue at the station.”

I felt both relieved and anxious at this news.

On one hand, it gave us time to settle in and get the rest of my family used to Rage’s presence. On the other, it prolonged the inevitable—Jack going nuclear.

Rage must have sensed my thoughts because his hand found the small of my back and like it always did, his touch put me at ease.

“Can I get you something to drink, Bryce?”“ Mom asked, ever the perfect hostess. “Water? Beer? Sweet tea?”

“Sweet tea would be great, ma’am,” he answered

My brows went up. In all our time together, I’d never seen him drink sweet tea.

Lips twitching, he leaned down to whispered in my ear, “Everyone knows you don’t turn down a Southern woman when she offers you sweet tea, baby.”

I stifled a laugh, squeezing his hand in silent thanks. He was really trying.

For the next half hour, we sat in the living room, making easy conversation. Mom asked Rage about his shop, genuinely interested in his work. He spoke about it with pride, talking about his artists and how he’d built the business from the ground up after his friend died, and how they’d grown so much in the last couple of years that he was fixing to have to start looking for an office manager.

Brooklyn and Emma remained fascinated by him, especially after he showed them pictures on his phone of some of the tattoos he’d done. When Brooklyn climbed up in his lap and declared she was going to get a unicorn tattoo when she was older, I almost lost it. And the horrified look on Chelsea’s face? That had us all laughing.

Even Mom seemed to warm to him, her initial wariness fading as she saw how respectful he was, how his eyes constantly sought me out, how he made me laugh.

Everything was going well. Much better than I’d imagined in fact.

And then the front door opened.

Instantly, the atmosphere in the room shifted. My man didn’t miss it either. His body language changed from relaxed to ready to react. Chelsea didn’t even flinch. Probably because she was the only person on the planet able to soothe the savage beast that was Jack Davis.

The man himself, still wearing his uniform, stepped into the living room, his expression darkening the moment he spotted Rage seated beside me on the couch.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, his eyes never leaving Rage. “Got held up at the station.”

Shit.

Rising from the couch, I smoothed my hands down the front of my dress.

“Jack, this is Rage,” I said, refusing to use his real name in this moment. It felt important, somehow, to own who my man was. “Rage, my brother Jack.”

Rage stood, offering his hand with the same respect he’d shown my mother. “Nice to meet you.”

Jack glanced at Rage’s offered hand, then over to his wife. After a painfully long moment, he looked back at Rage and reluctantly shook his hand, his grip visibly tight from the way Rage’s knuckles whitened.

“Rage, huh?” Jack’s voice dripped with condescension. “That your real name?”

“It’s what everyone calls me,” Rage replied evenly.

“Dinner’s ready!” Mom called from the dining room, her timing suspiciously perfect. “Jack, go wash up, please.”

Jack held Rage’s gaze for another beat before turning away without another word.

Rage’s hand found mine, squeezing gently. When I looked up at him, his expression said everything.

I’m here. We’ve got this.

Taking a deep breath, I nodded.

Guess it was time to face the music.