Page 35 of Fury
"Back to our house," he clarifies, as if I might have misunderstood. "Where you belong. Where we can keep an eye on you while you recover."
Mason nods, a hint of smugness in his smile. "Mom's already getting your old room ready. She's stress baking like crazy. Cinnamon rolls, and those chocolate chip cookies you like."
I glance at Greyson, who has gone very still, his knuckles white around his coffee mug. His face is a careful mask, but I can see the tension in his jaw, the slight narrowing of his eyes.
"That's… thoughtful," I say carefully, "but I think I'm good here for now."
Dad's expression hardens slightly. "The danger's passed, Livie. There's no need for you to stay here anymore."
"Maybe I want to," I counter, straightening in my chair despite the protest from my bruised ribs.
"Want to?" Dad's eyebrows shoot up. "You've been here, what, two days? Under duress."
"It wasn't exactly a planned vacation, no," I admit, "but circumstances change."
Mason's smirk widens as he watches the exchange, clearly enjoying the brewing conflict. "Told you she'd get attached, Dad."
"This isn't about getting attached," I snap, irritation flaring. "This is about me being an adult who can decide where she wants to stay."
"An adult who nearly got killed yesterday," Dad reminds me, his voice rising slightly. "Who's still recovering from a traumatic experience."
"Exactly why I should get to choose where I feel safe and comfortable right now."
Greyson sets his mug down with deliberate care. "Wilder," his voice is deceptively calm, "maybe we should ask Livie what she wants, instead of deciding for her."
The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees. Dad turns slowly to face Greyson, his expression darkening.
"No offense, Grayson, but this is a family matter."
"None taken," Greyson replies, though his tone suggests otherwise. "But considering Livie is currently staying in my home, I think I have some say in when she leaves it."
"Your home," Dad repeats, the words dripping with anger. "Where she only ended up because a psychopath was hunting her."
"A psychopath who's now in custody," Greyson points out. "Which means the immediate threat is gone, and Livie can make her own choices about where she stays."
Dad rises to his feet, the chair scraping against the floor. "And you think she should choose to stay here? With you? A man she's known for all of a couple days since coming back?"
"I've known Greyson my entire life," I interject, but neither man seems to hear me.
"I think," Greyson says, stepping closer to my father, "that Livie is more than capable of deciding what's best for herself without either of us making assumptions."
The two men face off across the kitchen, tension crackling between them. My father, older but no less intimidating in his fury; Greyson, taller and radiating a cold anger that's somehow more frightening than my dad's explosive temper.
"Guys," Mason starts, pushing off from the counter, but I cut him off.
"Enough!" I slam my palm on the island, ignoring the pain that shoots up my arm. "I'm sitting right here. Stop talking about me like I'm not in the room."
Both men turn to look at me, identical expressions of surprise on their faces.
"I appreciate that you're worried, Dad," I continue, forcing my voice to remain steady. "I love that Mom is baking for me and preparing my room. But I'm not coming home right now."
"Livie—"
"No, let me finish." I stand up, facing my father directly. "Yesterday I fought for my life. I made choices that kept me alive until help arrived. I'm not the little girl who needs her daddy to decide where she sleeps at night."
Dad's expression changes to one that I can only describe as pain-filled. "I know you're not a child, baby. But after everything that happened?—"
"After everything that happened," I interrupt once more, gently, "I need space to process. I need to feel in control of something, even if it's just where I stay while these bruises heal."
