Page 63 of Rage's Heart

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.

Chapter Seventeen

Rage

Dinner was a fucking disaster.

I’d stared down the barrel of loaded weapons with less tension than sitting at this polished oak table, pretending like Jack Davis wasn’t staring holes through me with his eyes. And Mac, for all her effort, tried desperately to fill every silent moment with conversation.

“So, Mom, how’s your garden coming along?” She smiled too brightly, her fork pushing food around her plate more than actually eating it.

Lillian, bless her, played along. “Oh, the tomatoes are just thriving this year. I might have to send some home with you two.”

I caught the look of pure disdain on Jack’s face when Mac’s mom said the words, ‘you two’.

So did his wife who shot him a warning look that he pointedly ignored.

“Uncle Rage, do you like tomatoes?” Brooklyn asked innocently, completely oblivious to the hostility in the air.

I nearly choked on my sweet tea. Uncle Rage was definitely not something I’d been called before.

“He’s not your uncle,” Jack snapped.

His daughter’s face fell, and something protective flared in my chest.

“I do like tomatoes,” I told her gently, ignoring Jack’s glare. What a fucking asshole. “And you can call me whatever makes you comfortable, kid.”

I shot him a look over the little girl’s head. Him snapping at her was un-fucking-called for.

Mac’s hand found mine under the table, squeezing gratefully.

I squeezed back, watching her gather her courage. I knew what was coming. I could feel it in the slight tremble of her fingers against mine.

“Actually,” she began, her voice stronger than it’d been all night, “I wanted to let everyone know that I’ve moved in with Rage.”

And there it was.

The bomb was officially dropped into the middle of Sunday dinner.

Lillian’s eyebrows shot up—not in disapproval, but surprise at the timing of the announcement. Chelsea nodded like she’d seen the announcement coming from a mile away.

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