Wild Side (Rose Hill, #3)

by Elsie Silver

“You tell him directly. You will use words like death, and died, and dead. Terms like passed away or isn’t with us anymore will only confuse him. I know these words can be uncomfortable and hard to say, but it will give him the best understanding. He needs to comprehend that he will not be seeing his mother anymore. That when people die, their hearts stop beating. And we won’t cover it with talking about her as being”—her knobby fingers come up in air quotes—“‘sick.’ Because, again, he will relate that back to himself. The next common cold he gets will cause unnecessary stress.”

wish I could say I don’t think about Tabitha. But that would be a lie. Because much like the very first time I met her, I can’t get the woman out of my head. Haven’t been able to for the past two years.

This woman needs a target for her anger. Someone to blame so that she hurts a little less. And without even thinking it through, I decide I can be that person for her.

I don’t even want to go upstairs to brush my teeth until she’s gone. In fact, I find myself wondering if she’s thought through letting a strange man sleep at her house. I should talk to her about that. Along with leaving her front door open. As I park myself on the end of the bed, I vow to check the locks before I hit the hay once and for all. Then I scroll my phone, ignoring the gnawing hunger in my stomach, and wait for her to finish with whatever she’s doing that’s taking so damn long. The creak of the door at the top of the stairs startles me, and my head whips to the corner where the entrance is. Soft light and a delicious smell pour down the stairwell. And then, so does her voice. “Hey, asshole. I made you a bowl of carbonara so that I won’t have to hear your stomach all the way upstairs. I didn’t even poison it. Bon appétit and good night.” The door creaks as she closes it, but then it stops. Light spills down the stairs once again as she adds, “Oh, and I sleep with a gun under my pillow, so don’t try anything weird.” I drop my chin, and a smile curves my lips. Because I’m pretty sure that—in her own way—Tabitha Garrison was just nice to me.

For the better part of a year, I lived on a steady stream of Aleve and regular ice baths, all for the sake of the WPW. And when my body finally gave out on me, they promptly wrote me off the show. My belt got handed over to my colleague, Will—known as Million Dollar Bill in the ring—in a last-minute match. One I completed with a blown-out knee. So it’s a huge relief to be back here. Erika’s loss may have thrown my personal life into chaos, and a dull ache of sadness over her death might be my constant companion, but being here—doing this—makes everything feel just a little bit better. I wonder if this is how Tabitha feels when she cooks. Fuck. I need to focus. Not let my mind wander back to her again. So, I shake my head to clear it, and bounce on the balls of my feet as though skipping on the spot.

I need to draw away, to create space between us, but his fingers clamp around my forearm, and he grumbles as he marches me over to the deep farm sink. He flicks on the cold water, testing the temperature with his free hand before giving a terse nod and gently lowering my stinging one beneath the cool stream. I hiss when the water hits it and try to pull away from him—I’m perfectly capable of tending to my own burn. But his hand has an unyielding grip, not aggressive, but not forgiving either. He doesn’t let me go. It’s only when I sigh and surrender to his hold that his thumb brushes against my skin. Once. Twice. I shiver. A third time. I soften. I don’t know how long we stand there, him pressed flush against me. My only protection against him is a flimsy layer of fabric. “There,” he says quietly, turning my hand over again to assess the damage, water streaming over the opposite side. “I’ve had worse burns,” I mutter. And it’s true. Burns are a fact of life when you work in a kitchen. Rhys doesn’t seem to care about my thoughts on the matter, though. He ignores me and carries on overreacting. “Where’s your first aid kit?” “Under the sink. I can⁠—” Before I can finish, he drops down at my bare feet and yanks the kitchen cupboard open. I can’t help but stare at the way his lips pop open on a breathy sigh as he rifles through the contents. “Just fucking let me take care of you. Where is it?” He glances up at me, and my stomach bottoms out. All those dark features homed in on ...

“Hey, Rhys,” she shouts across the small space. “You’re supposed to aim for the pins. Get this man some bumpers, Frankie.” The guys around me fail to hold back their chuckles. West grins as he takes in the lane with hands propped on his hips. “I thought Tabby was the ball buster. I think Rosie might take the cake tonight though.” It’s only Bash who gives me a reassuring slap on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’re a natural at something. It’s just not this.” That only makes the guys laugh harder. I turn my head to glare at the women, but all they do is dissolve into a fit of giggles. Tabitha’s face is beet red, and she’s practically hiding behind a glass of tequila. My lips wiggle, and I turn away to cover a smile. She’s having fun. It’s good for her. And if mocking me is what brings her joy, then whatever. I can take it.

Good god, this woman is infuriating. I should tell her, just spit it out. But I’ve had it go south before. First, I had foster parents who made contact, which was borderline heartwarming until they asked for money. And the last time I was brave enough to tell a friend, it became a running joke I had to grin and bear. It niggled at me—embarrassed me. And I don’t trust Tabitha not to take this little tidbit and use it to hit me where it hurts. Not telling her just feels like self-preservation at this point. So instead, I grip her waist with both my hands and flip us again. Now it’s my turn to push her up against a wall. “I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with me being a porn star. If you want to see me fuck someone, the bathroom is right there. Drag me in there right now, and you can watch in the mirror while I bend you over.” Her plush, pink mouth pops open, but no words come out. We’re both panting, our breath mingling between us. Hers smells like lime and tequila, mine adding something sweet from the cola I left at my table. Her lips fall together, then curve up into a confident smile. She sways a bit, and I can tell she’s extra uninhibited right now. Something that becomes clearer when she reaches forward and grabs my rock-hard dick. She squeezes, and I hiss, propping an arm on the wall above us as my head drops down over her. “I knew it,” she whispers, tilting her face up to mine. “It must be exhausting walking around my house with a raging hard-on all the time.”

Though that could have had something to do with him offering to fuck me in the bathroom and me squeezing the hell out of his dick. His really, really big dick. Rhys has always given off big dick energy. But I know now it’s not so much energy as big dick knowledge. Big dick surety? Big dick guarantee.

“I got hung up at the border today. One of the officers finally called me on overstaying my welcome. Had to call my lawyer and explain the situation at border services.” My stomach drops, and my hands grip my bare knees to keep from shaking, because I don’t like where this is going. “Okay,” I say hesitantly. “Tabitha, he’s recommending I take Milo with me when I leave this time. If I leave him here, he has no legal guardian.” “I—” His large hand falls over mine. And this time, I don’t shake it off. I let him steady me. I’m out of time. “Listen. I know. I know you are capable. Hell, I even know here is the best place for him. I’m not saying I’m going to keep him from you. But changing the name on that form isn’t going to happen overnight. And if something happens to him and I’m not here, then social services will get involved.” My heart beats deep in the pit of my stomach, that sensation of life not being real overtaking all my senses. “You can’t.” His fingers tighten on mine, and I hear a pained groan rattle around in his chest. “I’m sorry, Tabby. It won’t be forever.” It won’t be forever. The idea of being alone with my thoughts, with my guilt, with my grief—it’s just too much. And there’s something about the word forever that sparks an idea in my head. In this instant, I know that I’m about to make a very, very bad decision. But I figure that after being the sister who carefully thought out every choice in her life, I’m due to make a colossally stupid one. And if nothing...

I fucking hate when he stares at me. It makes my stomach flop over on itself. The same dropping sensation you get on a thrilling carnival ride. Except those are short-lived. Those end. Rhys Dupris is the carnival ride that I just can’t manage to get off of.

“I’ll marry you, Tabitha.” His words suck all the air out of the room, and I pause with my back to him. What he said was clear as day, and yet I can’t have heard him properly over the pounding in my ears. “That’s not a funny joke,” I venture, turning to face him in slow motion. “No, I agree.”

So, for what feels like the billionth time in the past couple of months, I just stand and stare at Rhys while he stares back. His attention is almost suffocating. Until… Meow. Rhys’s chin drops slowly, the look in his eye going from reserved to pissed off as his attention lowers. The tabby cat with four white paws and a little white tip on her tail that Milo and I chose from the shelter waltzes into the kitchen like she’s the queen of this house. She weaves herself between Rhys’s legs, bunting along his jeans. I swear she’s purring. “Surprise?” I say, feeling less sure of my payback for the alarm system now that Rhys is marrying me as a favor. “What the fuck is that?” “A cat. Her name is Cleocatra.”

We turn through the doorway at the top of the aisle. My eyes immediately lock with Tabitha’s, and the world stands still. She’s a vision. Shiny dark hair falling in soft, loose curls. Cheeks flushed. The stark white of her dress makes her skin appear more bronze than usual. I swallow roughly, reminding myself that this day is a farce. A carefully constructed facade meant to fool everyone. But not me. I’m not meant to be fooled by it. Yet here I am, heart pounding in my ears, lungs struggling for air, fucking hearts in my eyes as a woman who tolerates my presence glides down the aisle toward me. It niggles at me that she’s going through with this thinking I betrayed her, but I push my own discomfort aside.

“I, Rhys, promise you, Tabitha, to always respect and admire you and to appreciate you for who you are, as well as the person you become.” Her eyes turn glassy. “I promise that your dreams will be our dreams, and that I will do everything I can to make them a reality for both of us.” My voice grows gravelly. That one rings just a little too true considering the real reason we’re both here today. “I promise to be a spectator to your life, a participant in your experiences, and your biggest advocate in every moment. I promise to allow you space to be those things in my life too.” A heavy stone settles in my stomach as those words hang in the air between us. We both know I haven’t been honest or forthcoming with her. And here we are, promising to be. “I promise to support and encourage you, laugh with you in times of joy, and comfort you in times of sorrow.” Laugh. I don’t know that I’ve ever laughed with Tabitha. And have I comforted her? Doris’s words on marriage slice me like little paper cuts, each one making me feel more guilty than the last. “I promise to cherish and reinforce the love between us in good times and in bad, when life is simple and when it’s complicated—when loving you is easy and when it takes effort.” My shoulders straighten slightly at that one. It doesn’t feel like such a blatant lie, more like what we’re doing here today. We may not love each other, but this marriage could be called caring for each other when life is not simple. There is nothing simpl...

“Are you still sure?” A shiver races down my spine. From the corner of my eye, I can see his lips moving. So close and yet so far away. Deep down, I know that if I told him this wasn’t okay, he’d put an end to it all immediately. “Yes,” I reply in a hushed whisper, tilting my head to line us up. And that one word is all it takes for Rhys to close the few inches between us. The first press of our lips borders on chaste, but heat suffuses every limb. The pressure recedes ever so slightly, and then I kiss him back. Our lips move in perfect synchronicity, with more urgency than I expected and less fervor than I crave. His stubble tickles my face, and I can taste his minty breath. His hands pulse where they hold me, and I hear the deep groan that rumbles in his throat—I feel it in my jaw. It twinges between my shoulders, twists in my hips, and curls my toes. I can’t help but match his vibration with an impulsive whimper of my own. My hands slide up over the lapels of his rented tuxedo, my fingers gripping and pulling him closer. Just a little bit more. A loud hoot from the crowd that sounds an awful lot like West draws us back into reality. Our lips part and our foreheads press together for a beat, as though we both need a moment to recover. There was no tongue, and it didn’t last long, but something about the kiss rattles me in a way I can’t make sense of. Doris’s simple “I now pronounce you husband and wife” pulls us back a respectable distance from each other. Cheers, whistl...

“What are we watching?” She shrugs. “Wrestling. Well, a replay. I’m weeks behind. Had to start from where I left off, so I don’t miss out on the storyline.” I try not to laugh. The storyline. My eyes roam over the screen. A full arena. Signs and screaming fans as far as the eye can see. There’s a man wearing spandex underwear curled up in the middle of the ring while three other huge wrestlers land blows on him. Punches. Kicks. Something that looks like the bum-drops Erika and I used to do on our trampoline. I wince at the violence, but as the seconds wear on and the camera angles change, I can see the ways they protect him even as they punish him. A foot stomp to make the blows sound louder, an overacted facial expression to make the pain appear worse than it is. Suddenly, bright white and lime-green lights flash overhead as the first few notes of a song ring out. The decibels from the crowd spike, and Cora lets out a whispered, “Yes,” as a huge man appears at the top of the ramp that leads to the ring in the middle. Cora’s entire frame orients toward the television, her shoulders pitching forward as though naturally drawn to the man. And then I watch too. The wrestler who everyone is excited about is wearing a pair of black military-style pants that are just tight enough to trace his muscular thighs, while hanging low enough to show the two hard slashes that rise from his waistband. His abs are defined, but not comically so. He doesn’t look like a bodybuilder—he just loo...

“Thank you all for having me. Do we have names? Or should I stick with Emo, Bratty, and Smart?” I glance over at the woman with a subtle shake of my head. “I like you, Gwen. My name is Tabby.” She brightens. “Oh! Chef Tabby?” I regard her with a casual shrug. “That’s me.” “Rhys talks about you all the time.” Now my head tilts at her, piecing together how they know each other while ignoring the sharp jab of unfounded jealousy that just cropped up in my gut. “Does he?” “Oh yeah. He’s been coming to my classes, and he’s quiet, ya know? So I’ve tried to get him talking a bit, and he’s always all”—she puffs up and drops her voice in imitation of him—“My wife this, my wife that. Did you know my wife owns that restaurant?” My jaw goes slack, and she sighs dreamily. “He’s so proud of you, you know? God, it’s adorable.” She grins at me. “So, at any rate, it’s nice to meet you.” I’m not sure what I was expecting her to say, but it sure as shit wasn’t that. I don’t even know how to respond. All I know is my tummy feels warm, my chest tingles, and my fingers itch to run through Rhys’s hair again. But Rosie’s snark doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh weird. It’s like you’re putting on too much blush right before our eyes.”

“Monday night, you’ll open the show, and while you’re talking, Jake and Axel will jump you from behind. You’ll start off strong, and then it will go downhill quickly. Elle is going to come out with a chair and save the day. At the end, you’ll do something affectionate and let her lead you back out. Do you need to get your wife’s permission or something?” He sneers the last line. My jaw works. If I wasn’t so angry, I’d laugh. Because this is laughably stupid. They’ve never given me a romance storyline, and I have been abundantly clear that I don’t want one. For personal reasons and because it makes little sense with my reclusive mountain man character. It’s then that my phone lights up and my new background, the selfie that Tabitha snapped wearing my mask, glows back at me. A text notification from her sits just beneath. The light draws Anthony’s attention. “Tabby? She’s cute.” Something inside me snarls at him for using her nickname. It feels too personal, and I don’t like it one bit. “Her name is Tabitha, not that you need to know. Because you? You’re going to keep my wife’s name out of your fucking mouth.”

Tabby helped me move in, and as much as I needed her help, I was ready for her to leave. Not because she did anything wrong. Just because…this place feels like a fresh start, like something that’s finally mine. And I can’t handle the constant nervous glances and the “You’re all good, then?” questions. It’s like she’s taken on a mothering role and is scared to watch me fly from the nest. There’s something embarrassing about having her all up in my business when everything is going so well. It also annoyed me that my hot-ass landlord popped his painfully handsome head over the fence and asked how long my sister was going to be in town. That’s how I knew it was time for her to leave. I blink at the page. Rhys asked how long I was going to be in town? Based on the date at the top of the entry, this must have been a day or two after I marched into his house and laid out some ground rules for being my sister’s landlord. Guilt licks at my subconscious. It makes me wonder if I fucked up a relationship that might have kept her alive. If she and Rhys had happened, would she still be here? With her perfect sister crushing on her partner?

Usually, my attempts at making contact with my hot-ass landlord are half-hearted, but today he came through for me. The woman who runs the daycare that I take Milo to called saying she was sick, and I was too nervous to take a day off work—I really need this job. Rhys heard me on the phone in the backyard, and this time, when he popped his head over the fence, he didn’t ask about my sister. He offered to watch Milo. I have no idea what the man does for a living, but he’s often home. He seems nice enough, and I was desperate, so I took him up on the offer.

Today Rhys asked about my sister, and it fucking pissed me off. All the time we’ve spent together, and he saw her out the front window a year ago and still thinks about her? It was petty of me, but I told him she doesn’t come around often, even though I’d let her visit last time he was out of town. Made it sound as though she’s so focused on her own life that she’s practically forgotten about Milo and me. May not have cast her in the kindest light.

Rhys bailed me out AGAIN with a childcare mishap. Today I worked late, so he had to do bedtime. I wasn’t sure how it would go, but when I came home, the house was quiet. I tiptoed upstairs, eager to see Milo and worried I might wake him. That’s when I saw Rhys, standing over his crib, big hand laid over his tiny chest, singing him “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Watching them brought on tears, so I snuck back downstairs and locked myself in the bathroom to hide. I don’t know what it was specifically. It was just sweet. Got me right in the feels. They were happy tears. They made me want that nuclear family for Milo. But when I asked Rhys to stay for a drink, he politely declined. The look on his face said it all. It made me realize he only comes around when Milo is here.

I decided that the best way to get over Rhys was to get under someone else. And I did. One town over, I met Tyson. He’s lanky in that Tommy Lee way and hung like him too. He’s raw and edgy. He’s exciting. I had the time of my life. Rhys watched Milo for me, and when I came home looking mussed, all he did was smile and say he was glad I had fun. I think deep down I was hoping to make him jealous. It didn’t work. A sense of dread surges inside me, slow and steady. Each entry is like a big breath into a balloon. The feeling presses against me as I flip the pages hungrily. It’s as though I can feel the impact coming but can’t take my foot off the gas. She mentions Tyson more and more. Going out is mentioned more and more. Rhys taking care of Milo becomes a given, an afterthought—an expectation. And the dates on the entries match up with when she started leaving him with me more often too. Nights out turn into weekends away. A social beer becomes a few too many highballs. The highballs are a gateway, and though she never puts it in writing, I know in my gut what she and Tyson were doing when either Rhys or I were taking care of her son. Her reflective tone shifts, and suddenly she’s casting blame on everyone else. I’m both furious and fucking devastated as the change in her persona unfurls.

Tyson has run into some trouble. All the nights out and extra-special treatment he’s given me have caught up with him. I didn’t realize he was treating me so extravagantly. He wanted everything to be top of the line, but he couldn’t afford it. The least I could do was help him out. But it’s not enough. I gave him so much that I couldn’t make rent. Luckily, Rhys was understanding. I promised him I’d pay it back, and I fully intend to. I wish everyone had as much faith in me as he does.

When I told Rhys my shifts were slow, he didn’t hesitate to offer a rent break. And the way he’s been so overly helpful financially got me thinking. I finally looked him up, and my eyes about popped out of my head when I saw his reported salary. That’s why I asked Rhys to be Milo’s guardian in the will I finally got around to doing. He seemed taken aback at first, but said yes. It was an immediate relief. At least if something happens to me, Milo will land somewhere with a good security net. Plus, Tabby has been so fucking nosy with her questions lately, pushing back when I ask if she can take Milo for another weekend, and it ticked me off. She’s been on my ass about a will for years, so when I drop Milo off in Rose Hill, I’ll let her know she finally got her wish. She chose Rhys to spite me. And for his money. My stomach turns hard and fast. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Things have been extremely stressful, so I lied and told Tabby that Rhys evicted me, and I needed to go look at new places to move into so that Tyson and I could take a much-deserved weekend together. Naturally, she swooped in to help—zero questions asked. My head throbs, and my heart shatters. The grudge I’ve been carrying against Rhys this entire time evaporates on the spot. The one he’s been letting me throw in his face, even knowing it was unfounded. And all that’s left in its wake is an all-consuming agony. I should have noticed the subtle changes in her. I should have swept in sooner. I should have known better.

“You didn’t evict Erika.” My eyes fall shut, fingers digging into the rough canvas of the cushion as the air rushes from my lungs, leaving behind a heavy ache. “No,” I whisper, still unable to look at her. “You were so good to her.” My nose scrunches as her words crumble into a heavy sob. All I can offer is a nod as I let my lids lift and my eyes take in what I now recognize as journals strewn all around her. Erika’s journals. I’d see her writing on the porch sometimes, but they hadn’t crossed my mind beyond that. Tabitha’s hands clench into tight fists, the sound of her hollow whimpers like death by a thousand shards of glass. “You let me believe…” Her lips smack, a disbelieving huff leaping from them. “I was awful to you.” I face her now, her dark eyes boring into mine. “You weren’t.” “I was. I was awful to you. I accused you of—my god.” She slaps a palm over her mouth, shoulders heaving as another sob wracks her tiny body. My fingers itch to touch her, but this time when I reach for her, she slaps my hand away. “Why the hell would you lie about that?” Her hair dangles beside her cheeks as her head shakes, mouth popped open in disbelief. “Why?” I swallow thickly. “I just…” I wipe a hand over my mouth and look away, searching for the right words, the best way to explain things to her. “Tensions were high between us, and I didn’t know if I could trust you. And then I came here and got this whole new perspective, and I—fuck, Tabby, I don’t know. You were so broken, and I co...

“Tabitha. You’re my wife. I’m not leaving you.” Something flickers across her face at that, and instead of responding, she stares at me. Really stares at me. To the point where it’s unnerving. I lick my lips and swallow, then with a resigned sigh, her eyes flutter shut, and she tips her head back against the tiles. Seconds stretch as I watch her carefully. “I wish you weren’t seeing me like this.” My brow furrows. “Like what?” “At my worst.” I tip my head toward her. “Then it’s all uphill from here, baby. It’s going to make seeing you at your best so damn special.”

His tongue seeks mine, and his hands grip me like I’m integral to him in some way. We’ve kissed in anger. We’ve kissed to taunt. We’ve kissed for show. But we’ve never kissed like this. Like we need each other to breathe and don’t care if the other one knows it.

Does love start off as obsession? Because that’s what I am. Obsessed with my wife.

They are a gift. And Erika, in her own complicated way, gave them to me. And I love her for it. In all her complex glory, I love her. I will forever be grateful to her. In fact, I think I understand her better than ever. And my parents too. Things with them have been a tangled mess, but I think I’ve found my way. I’ve made peace with their choices. And I’ve made peace with mine. I chose Milo and Rhys. And now I can’t get enough of seeing them together. Listening to Rhys read him a bedtime story. Witnessing the way Milo’s entire face lights up when Rhys walks into the room. Even now, I could watch them together all night.

“Thank you, Tabitha.” “For what?” I search her face, hoping to memorize every detail. The slope of her nose, the angle of her eyebrows, the swoop of the bow shape on her top lip. How can I encompass all the things she’s done for me in a thank-you? Especially when there’s still a tiny voice in my head that tells me I don’t deserve her. Or this happiness. The troubled little boy in me rears his head now and then, wanting me to question everything I’ve earned. He reminds me that good things don’t usually last. But with Tabitha, it’s just a little bit easier to move past that voice. “Turning my life from black and white to full color.” She blinks back at me, lips tipping up into a sad smile. “You did the same for me. I help you find your color, and you help me find mine.”

“Rhys, I know you want me to leave, but that is just too fucking bad. Because I refuse. But I’ll go get a coffee to give you a minute for processing purposes, and then I’m coming back and I’m going to sit in that corner. Feel free to pretend I’m not here if you need to. I don’t care.” She points across the room. “And when you’re done stewing in whatever feelings you’re feeling right now, I will be there. Just like you were there for me. This is who we are now.” Her eyes are so fierce, she pierces me with them. “This is what you do when you love somebody. And I have every intention of loving you just as thoroughly as I know you love me. You just have to let me.” Her voice cracks, and my chest shatters. Tears well in my eyes, and one slips out, rolling toward my hairline. She reaches forward, wiping it away with a gentle finger. “Because even at your worst, I still love you, Rhys. Just try not to be an asshole when I get back, ’kay? Because I am coming back, and this tantrum is annoying.”