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She’s short—next to me, most people are—but there’s something about the way she carries herself that feels tall. She has a presence.
“I speak English,” I mutter as I meet her eyes once more. “I just wasn’t expecting anyone.” I can feel the calluses on her palms as she grips my hand. Hard. It’s a real, proper, honest handshake. “Who doesn’t love a surprise, am I right?” “Me. I don’t love surprises.” Her eyes don’t leave mine, and I get the sense she’s sizing me up. Judging my worthiness.
I drop her hand and blink. Her tone makes me feel like I’m in trouble. All I wanted was someone unobtrusive to live next door and maintain the place during my stretches away. Now I have some tiny terror on my front step, looking like she’s ready to interrogate me.
Tabitha, sister of my new tenant, is hot, looks like she thinks I might have bodies buried in my basement, and has a mean handshake. Strangely, I’m into it.
Ugh.” The woman runs an agitated hand through her hair. “I hate myself for asking this, and she’d fucking kill me, but… if you have any drugs stronger than Tylenol, can you please put them somewhere that no one would suspect?”
“What?” “Prescription drugs. I want to make sure she won’t have access to them.” “She’ll be living next door. Not with me.” Tabitha shrugs and looks away again. “She’s charming and beautiful and finally back on track. Never say never.”
“I’m not planning on pursuing your sister.” She flinches but doesn’t hesitate to look me dead in the eye when she says, “Well, that plan might be one-sided.” “Are you…” I trail off, unsure of what to say. I have never had a more bizarre conversation with a perfect stranger in my life.
“I am being a snoopy, overprotective sister who has listened to her gush about you for two days. Just nod your head if you understand me, and we can agree to never talk about this again.” I spent all of maybe thirty minutes around Erika when I first showed her the place. And a few more when I gave her the keys and met her son.
The one who, farther down the front walkway, turns to peek back over her shoulder. For a few beats, I catch her looking. Or she catches me looking. To be honest, I don’t care which one it is.
I just know that usually I go out of my way to hide from too much attention. But I don’t mind the way she looks at me.
If Milo didn’t need me, I’d kill this big fucker with my bare hands and march myself to prison, convinced that I’d fulfilled my life’s purpose.
I decide on as little information as possible, but enough to get him to leave. “Milo is happy and safe.” A brief flash of relief touches the man’s features as he retreats incrementally. A soft moment. A perfect spot for me to strike. “I pinky promise,” I add cynically. And then I slam the door in his face.
I peek to the side, and it turns out I’m not in a bed at all. I am flat on my back on the living room rug, surrounded by partially filled cardboard boxes. I’d held it together through the first day of packing. Day two fucked me, though.
In fact, you’ve got a lot of gall showing your face to me at all. I’ll be done today and out of here before dark. You’ll have your place back. Now go.” “I’m the one with gall? That’s rich coming from you. Haven’t visited in two years and now you’re concerned?” I recoil the second his words land. He doesn’t need to add a single other word for me to read between the lines. Interpret his sentiment. Blame myself.
“I can’t. I have to give you these. And I need to know where Milo is.” I bristle, knowing I’ll protect Milo at all costs. Always have. Always will. “You don’t need to know shit—” “This is a copy of Erika’s will.”
“I’m Milo’s legal guardian. It’s all here in writing. Signed.” He holds the papers out as though they’re proof. As though he has some claim over my nephew. The one I’ve helped raise for three years. It’s a cruel joke. It has to be. This guy is toying with me. He’s got to be. A rude scoff tumbles from my lips. “Get fucked.”
“I love my sister, and having to stand here and endure you implying otherwise is, quite frankly, almost worse than the pain of her death. Especially when it’s your fault. She wouldn’t have been out on the street getting back into that shit if you hadn’t evicted her.” “I did—” “No. Shut up. That little boy? He’s mine. He’s all I have left of her. So you can take your bullshit contract and fuck all the way off. Now get out. I never want to see you again.” The tendon in Rhys’s jaw flexes, like I’ve pissed him off by relaying the truth. And when he stands, I don’t back down, even though the power
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But then the reality of this contract sinks in. It has me running to the bathroom and throwing myself down in front of the toilet as my stomach turns over. And it’s not because of the scotch. It’s because the will looks awfully authentic.
But the most attractive thing about Tabitha Garrison might be the way she’s gazing back at Milo, like he’s one of the wonders of the world. It hurts to watch. It hurts because I’ll take no pleasure in removing Milo from this place. But it’s what I promised Erika I’d do.
Nah, all this man does is get my back up. Which is why my jaw drops when my nephew’s body tenses, and his bare feet pitch up onto tippy-toes as he squeals in the sweetest, most sugary voice, “Ree!”
I watch them. Rhys has Milo in his arms, the small boy nestled against his side with his tiny head resting on a massive shoulder. It should be cute. Instead, it makes my stomach clench and pulse as though my heart has dropped right down into the pit of it.
And yet, only a fool could witness the tender way this man rests his cheek against Milo’s, taking a deep whiff of the little boy’s hair before letting his eyes flutter shut, and still think he doesn’t love him in some way too.
my turn to scrunch my features in confusion. “I mean, yeah. They spoil the hell out of him. What three-year-old wouldn’t love that?” He gives one firm nod. “I thought they weren’t in the picture.” “Seems like you thought a lot of things without knowing a single one.” Rhys shifts in place, cheeks burning, and I can’t help but think: Good. You could stand to be taken down a few pegs.
Before he can respond, Milo comes barreling out the front door wearing his too-big backpack, his slip-on shoes on the wrong feet, and a wide smile on his sweet face. “This is the best day ever!” he announces joyously as he trundles in our direction. And boy, I wish I felt the same.
I watch Tabitha walk up to her parents’ home, hand in hand with the little boy I’ve come to love like he’s—I don’t know. Not my own, but something awfully close to it.
Seeing him here, alone, makes her death feel more real. It makes my chest ache. It makes me miss the woman who became something of a sister to me.
Now he’s walking into the home of two people I’ve been told nothing but negative things about. He eagerly hugs them; they lovingly hug him back. And it feels a bit like I’m living in the twilight zone.
“Do they know who I am?” “No. I told them you’re a friend, and they squealed like we’re getting hitched or something.” “Why did you lie?” “Because their hearts are already broken. I’ve decided to pace out the bad news I have to deliver to them like a tasting menu. Right now, they’re having a palate cleanser, thinking I might finally settle down.”
Her words hit hard, each one a blow I didn’t expect to sting quite so badly. Tabitha’s concern for everyone else is admirable… and not at all what I expected based on the stories I’ve been told.
“Do they have a car seat?” I ask, realizing Milo’s is still in the back. She’s shoulder checking when she snipes back, “No, they just strap him to the roof of their Subaru like he’s a canoe.” I sigh. “That’s not funny.”
“Listen, you’ve done nothing but insult my family and me since I came to get my sister’s things. You insinuated I was there to rob her and accused me of not being sad enough. Then, you popped out of the bushes, trying to catch me doing god knows what, like we were on an episode of Cheaters. Now you casually suggest I’d leave my nephew somewhere without a car seat as though I don’t care about his safety at all. So excuse the fuck out of me for not smiling and nodding at every low blow you lob out.” I settle back in the seat of her truck and cross my arms before grumbling, “You’re not very
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“Thank you,” is her off-the-cuff response before we fall into a beat of silence. And when I look over, a subtle curve lifts her lips. “It must be hard for you.” “What?” “Not having a woman just fawn all over you. It’s like if you have to do more than be a big, broody, poor man’s Jason Momoa, you get your panties all twisted.”
I think we both understand that we need to talk. Crack this whole mess open and share some cold, hard truths. But I don’t think either of us knows where to start.
I’m a confusing mix of furious with my sister for giving my nephew’s guardianship to a fucking stranger and devastated that I could even be angry with a woman who’s just passed.
I am so tired. I want to grieve. And I don’t want Rhys watching me while I do.
His lips purse, but he carries on. “And I’m… well—I was—a friend of Erika’s.” I scoff at that, shaking my head, unable to fight back a disbelieving smirk. The fucking nerve of this guy. “Oh, a friend. Is that what we’re calling it now?”
But Rhys cuts the woman off by physically turning in his too-small chair to face me, dark eyes boring into my own. “Yes. Friends. That’s all we ever were. Platonic. Neighbors. Two people who genuinely liked each other. And. That’s. It.”
He seems very adamant, but I also wouldn’t put it past him to lie. Erika was obsessed with him when she first moved in. She carried on talking about him in such a familiar way—in a way that left no doubt in my mind that they were more than just a landlord and his tenant. Which is probably why I have a tough time believing she was just friends with this man.
“So uprooting Milo and moving him away from his family would not be in his best interest?” The woman’s cheeks pull back in a knowing grimace, and her eyes flit to Rhys as she answers with a simple “No.” He stares back at the screen blankly. “Unless you have reason to believe the child is in danger or is being mistreated in his current setting, I would not move him. Not yet.”
“Can we touch on the best way to tell him? I just—” My voice breaks, and it takes me a second to regain my composure. I swallow. I blink. I roll my lips together. And then I feel a big, warm hand on my knee. One I wasn’t expecting. One I have no idea how to feel about. And one I can’t look away from. Tan skin, thick fingers, streaked with veins.
The thought makes my breathing go heavy and my stomach churn. And as I attempt to come up with something to say in response, my heart races. Rhys’s hand squeezes again. And I want to punch him for knowing it’s exactly what I need. I don’t want him to be this attuned to me. I want him to disappear.
Trixie nods, and I let out a heavy sigh, then knock his hand off my knee. I’d rather not be comforted by the man who plans to take my dead sister’s child away from me.
Either way, I don’t move. I sit, the reality of it all settling in. My hand. Her knee. Without even thinking it through, I’d reached for her. Tried to throw her a lifeline. And I shouldn’t have. I’d taken it too damn far. The truth is, I made that contact as much for her well-being as my own.
I can’t help but wonder… if Erika hadn’t known, would she have asked me to be Milo’s guardian? It’s a question that will keep me up at night after seeing the Garrison family in action. If they are perfectly capable of taking care of Milo, why’d she choose me? Because I’d be good for him? Or because of the number of zeros in my bank account? The question leaves me unsettled.
“You’re just some fucking random. You’re not his dad.” My molars clamp together. I have spent many a weekend with Milo. Many a stretch taking care of him so Erika could have a break. I’ve given up other vacation locales because, after weeks on the road, it turned out that I missed him. Over the past two years, I have grown attached. There’s no point in denying it, so I don’t.
“We still need to hash this all out. And I’m not driving five hours home just to turn around and come back when you decide it’s convenient. So where would you have me go?” She spins away from me, tossing back over her shoulder, “To play in traffic, Daddy.” Her voice is heated, and her hand trembles with fury as she swipes her car keys off the table.
Tabitha is hurting. It’s written all over her. And hurt people hurt people. That’s why I’m not more offended by her jabs. They lack conviction. She’s shoving her feet into black clogs when she scoffs again. “Actually, I have the perfect place for you.” “Is it at the bottom of the lake?” I mumble, toeing my own shoes back on and reaching for my jean jacket. She jerks at my comment, like she didn’t expect me to fire back, but she only misses the one beat. “That’s the dream. Except forensics are pretty solid these days. I’d end up in prison, and then Milo would truly be hooped. Get in your car.
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The man she called West—the one who was a little too excited to see her if you ask me—speaks up first. “You’re one big bitch, aren’t ya?” he says as he claps me on the shoulder. “You can say that again,” Tabitha snipes from behind me, and my shoulders tense, though I don’t turn to face her.
“You ever bowled before?” West carries on, ignoring her snark. “No,” I grit out, trying not to show how annoyed I am by getting marched in here like a naughty child who needs minding. “You a dad? We can always get you a cat or something if you’re not. Then it will still count as dads’ night out.”
As they laugh, she leans in, her voice dropping low enough so only I can hear her. “Want to waltz in here and play daddy? Here’s your crowd. Have fun. Hopefully, they don’t find out you’re full of shit.” She shoots me a glare with a little smirk, and we both know she’s proving a point here. Throw my weight around like I’m a parent, and she’s going to call me out on it.
