Page 60 of Rage

My jaw drops.“You what?”

He grins, wincing as it pulls at his split lip.“Caught Caiden there once, too.Like father, like son.”

I stare at him, torn between shock and laughter.“You’re telling me our son pissed on that bastard’s grave?”

Liam nods, pride evident in his voice.“Chip off the old block.”

I shake my head, a chuckle escaping me.It’s absurd.It’s juvenile.It’s so perfectly Liam.

“You Beckham men,” I sigh, leaning into him.“What am I going to do with you?”

His arm tightens around me, solid and warm.“Love us,” he murmurs.“Just keep loving us, Pais.”

“You know my dad didn’t give you that hard of a time,” I point out, trying to make him ease off on Mason.

I cup his face gently, mindful of his bruises.“Listen to me, Liam Beckham.Mason is a good man.He loves our daughter.And from what I’ve seen, he’d do anything to protect her.”

“That’s what worries me,” Liam mutters.

“Why?Because he’s willing to stand up to you?”I challenge.“Isn’t that exactly what you’d want for Meadow?”

Liam falls silent, his brow furrowed in thought.I can almost see the gears turning in his head.

“She deserves someone who’ll fight for her,” I continue softly.“Someone as stubborn and protective as her father.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at Liam’s battered lips.“You saying I’m stubborn, woman?”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t hide my own smile.“Like you don’t know it.”

Liam sighs, his shoulders sagging slightly.“I just… I want her safe, Pais.This life, it’s dangerous.And with Peterson out there…”

“I know,” I soothe, running my fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair.“But pushing Mason away isn’t the answer.We need him.Meadow needs him.”

Liam nods slowly, wincing at the movement.“You’re right.As usual.”

I press a gentle kiss to his forehead.“Of course I am.Now, are you going to let me finish patching you up, or do I need to call Meadow in here to yell at you some more?”

Liam’s eyes widen in mock horror.“God, no.I’ll behave.”

* * *

MEADOW

I follow Mason into the infirmary, my eyes roaming over his battered form.Guilt and concern war within me as I take in the damage.His split lip, the bruise blooming on his jaw, his swollen knuckles.

“Sit,” I order, gesturing to the exam table.

Mason obeys without argument, which tells me just how much pain he’s in.I gather supplies—antiseptic, gauze, ice packs.My hands move on autopilot, doctor mode kicking in.

“This might sting,” I warn as I dab antiseptic on his split lip.

He doesn’t flinch, dark eyes watching me intently.The intensity of his gaze makes my cheeks warm.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, focusing on cleaning his wounds.“For yelling at you earlier.I was just…”

“Scared,” Mason finishes.His hand comes up, cupping my cheek.“I get it, darlin’.And you were right.Fighting your old man while Peterson’s out there… it was stupid.”

I lean into his touch, savoring the warmth of his palm against my skin.“Why did you do it?”

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