Wild Side (Rose Hill, #3)

by Elsie Silver

“You’re a real ballbuster, Tabby. I appreciate that about you!” West calls back to her as she leaves. She flips him the finger over her shoulder. And it makes me feel a bit better that she’s just as mean to him as she is to me.

“What about you, Rhys? What do you like to do in your free time?” “And why is it ’roids?” West quips before covering his mouth with a palm. “Shit, sorry. Mouth is faster than my brain.”

“No ’roids. Just a boring diet, great genetics, and too many hours in the gym.” “Fair. Yeah.” West purses his lips and looks me over appraisingly. “Now that I take a closer look, you could definitely be bigger.”

The dirty truth of it is, I wouldn’t have left him with those guys if I truly wished him dead. Because if someone were drowning, West would be the first person to leap in after them. Ford comes off aloof, but I think he’d ride into battle for the people he cares about. And for all of Bash’s grumbling and scowling, he’s got a good heart. You just have to dig for it a bit.

Yet here he is, doing just that. He’s also making me hate myself, because no matter how hard I try, I can’t peel my eyes off him. He exudes so much aloof confidence. He’s magnetic. Unflappable. It’s like the world is orbiting him rather than the sun. God, no wonder my sister was so into him.

I groan when I see the shirt beneath. The saying emblazoned across the front reads, Holding grudges is my superpower. Alarmingly, in this case, it’s true.

I spot two of my floor staff making eyes at him from behind the service station at the other end of the bar. They legitimately look like they’re sporting those stick-on googly eyes I’ve used to make crafts with Milo.

“It’s good. That’s what I’m having,” Rhys pipes up from beside me. “Yeah?” I don’t look at him, instead watching Scotty chat up a few women at the end of the bar while he pours my glass. Great bartender, even if his brain is in his dick. “2015 was a good year for Bordeaux.” I do look at him now, shifting my head so that my ear is propped against my palm. “I know.” It’s not only annoying that he’s drinking wine but also that he has knowledge about it. “I chose it.”

The worst kind of taste because this man isn’t here for me; he’s here to take something from me. Someone I love.

I swear he’s practiced this look in a mirror. “Damn, boss, you are looking mighty fine in that tee⁠—” I cut him off with a raised hand. “No. Go back to hitting on the cougars, Scotty.”

Scotty chuckles as he walks away. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” I’m shaking my head when I open my eyes, and try as I might to look bitchy and dour, my lips quirk up. Fucking Scotty. If it’s got a heartbeat, he’ll try to have sex with it.

The weight of a heavy gaze on the side of my face has me shifting my eyes in Rhys’s direction. “What?” He shrugs. “Oh good. A shrug. This talk is already going so well.” “You’re consistent at least.” “Consistent how?” “Consistently mean.”

“Hey, Scotty,” I call down the bar. The younger man spins on the spot to face me, his enthusiasm palpable. “You’re fired.” Now we get a full-fledged grin and a salute from him. “Ha! Sure thing, Chef.” Then he turns around and goes back to work. Rhys’s glare has darkened, and it strangely excites me, so I grin back at him. “See? Scotty can take it. You just need to toughen up a bit.”

And I don’t want to turn into some simpering, starry-eyed girl over him, so I remind myself why he’s so awful as we head to the exit. He’s rude and thinks the worst of me. He evicted my sister and left her homeless. He’s trying to take away my nephew, who I love more than anything in the world. All the internal shit talk works beautifully.

“I don’t know. This town is fucking packed with tourists. I can’t get a room anywhere.” “I wouldn’t go to your room with you anyway, Rhys. You’re trying to fuck me over, not fuck me, remember?”

His chin drops, eyes now level with mine. “Is that so?” The barely there smirk on his face does nothing but further infuriate me. Dick. “Yes, that is so.” I enunciate the words so that he hears me loud and clear. I’m ready for a fight. It won’t be my first, and most likely not my last, but it might be one of the most important of my life. And I’m not about to fuck it up all because he might be the most sinful-looking man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Like a deer in the headlights, I stand and stare, wondering if he’s going to hit me with his car or kiss me.

Except that when he waves a hand over his shoulder and says, “Let’s go, Tabby,” the first thing my jumbled brain fixates on is that he’s never called me Tabby before. And I hate how much I like it.

she’s been dead silent. Well, except to shout at my back, “I have a spare bed in the basement,” before turning and walking down the alley beside her bistro. Then she got in her truck and drove away, leaving me to wonder if she expected me to follow again. And I did. Because try as I might, I’m drawn to the woman.

But all I’ve seen so far is a woman who gets grass stains on her knees from playing too hard, who paid a professional to help her do right by said child, and who is accomplished and well-loved by her employees. A little too well-loved. My thoughts turn to Scotty. His stupid smile and flirty winks.

They’ve planned my comeback, and I’ve been working out like a fiend to get ready. The clock is ticking and I’m due back next week. Which means I need to face Tabitha. Talk to Tabitha. Assess Tabitha. And try not to think about ripping Tabitha’s clothes off while I do it.

I wish I could say that her combativeness makes her less likeable, but it has the opposite effect. I see right through it all. Plus, I get off on a good fight. And the thought of going toe-to-toe with Tabitha makes me hard.

I place the two glasses in the middle of the table and feel her enter the kitchen, even though I’m not facing her. She’s got the energy of a storm. Ominous, electric, unpredictable.

I can empathize. That’s how I know it’s a lot easier for her to make me the target of all her rage. I know because I’ve done it too. I’ve needed that release too—it’s how I started fighting. 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.

She watches me back defiantly, giving nothing away except fuck-you vibes and a few rueful glances that slip down toward my mouth. Like she’s daring me to swipe the glassware off this table and fuck the fight right out of her.

“How was bowling?” “Fucking awful,” I lie. I ended up having a fun time, even though it was embarrassing as hell. “Good.” Of course she loves that. “I couldn’t say much. Didn’t know if anyone was in the loop.”

“Have you told anyone?” She winces. “No. Everyone can find out about Erika when I’m good and ready to tell them. The gossips in town will say mean shit about her, and I’m not ready to hear it whispered when I walk past.” Fuck. She hasn’t told anyone? It seems as if she might be just as alone as I am. A subject I don’t like to dwell on. So I forge ahead, getting down to the nitty-gritty.

“In about two days.” Her hand flies to her throat, face contorted in pain, as she rocks back as though I’ve struck her. Her reaction is visceral. It’s hard to watch. And I put her out of her misery quickly. “I won’t take Milo with me.” Her shoulders sag as an audible rush of air breezes from her lips, relief personified. “Thank you.” I grimace because she might not be thanking me after what comes next. “For now.”

“It means I’ll be back in a few weeks.” Her cheeks turn pink, dark eyes dancing. “Oh, so this is a test? Are you going to grade me? Who made you the fucking judge, jury, and ex⁠—” “Tabitha. I. Don’t. Know.” That shuts her up. “You were right, okay? I don’t know anything.”

“All I know is that the stories your sister told me don’t fit with what I’ve seen today. All I know is that Milo’s mom is gone, and I want nothing but the absolute best for him. All I know is that he’s talked about tabby cats for the past fucking year, and I’ve told him over and over again that I’m allergic.”

Tabitha’s eyes widen in astonishment. “Of course. Dude, are you kidding me? I’m still paying off the debt I have from sending her to the best rehab facility I could find. I swooped in often to take care of Milo so she could have a break. She told me she had a boyfriend but didn’t want to bring him around yet. I always assumed it was you.” What the fuck? My head spins from Tabitha’s account. Every time I think I know what I’m doing, Erika blindsides me from beyond the grave. I don’t know what game she was playing, but it’s starting to look like I got played for a fool by a woman I genuinely cared for. It’s hard to accept and even harder to understand. “It wasn’t me. And she told me the same thing about a boyfriend. But I took care of Milo when she was with him too.”

“I’ll fight this, Rhys. And I won’t give up until I’m broke and ruined. I’ve already been in contact with a lawyer about contesting custody. So just know that I will do everything in my power to keep him. I’m not saying this to be difficult. I’m just giving you a heads-up.” “I believe you.” And I do. I’ve faced off in my fair share of brawls, and something tells me Tabitha Garrison would be the fight of my life if I ever decided to go toe-to-toe with her.

The next question comes out in a barely audible whisper. “Do you actually want Milo? To raise him and do the whole parent thing? Like, is this just an obligation, or do you actually want this?” She hits the nail on the head. That’s for fucking sure. Because my feelings today are about so much more than distrust.

She’s leaving when my stomach growls again, and I don’t know if she hears it, but I wish I could tell it to just fucking knock it off already. It’s borderline embarrassing. Tabitha doesn’t acknowledge me any further, though. I can hear her padding up the stairs, probably going to bed, and I’m pretty sure she’s dismissed me.

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.”

The sun has been shining, the birds have been chirping, and I’ve been pretending that he and his “I don’t know” plan to take Milo to a place filled with snakes and crocodiles doesn’t exist. I definitely have not been thinking about his head between my legs. Though, if I was, I could argue that’s a great place for it, because at least I wouldn’t have to listen to him talk or look at his grumpy fucking face.

Milo stirs, reaching for me in his sleep, and although I had been considering rolling out of bed to make a coffee, his sweetness has now convinced me to stay. I’m paralyzed by how much I love him. By how much I need him. And by the knowledge that he needs me too.

Instead, I jumped in and wove softer wording and a few more sentimental lines. I don’t know if it helped Rhys, because, as usual, the man barely talks to me. But I do think one glare he shot my way might have been appreciative. Or at least that’s what I tell myself.

But one thing I know will hurt more is opening those journals. That’s the one box left taped shut and pushed into a corner in the basement—formerly called “The Dungeon” and recently renamed “Rhys’s bedroom.” Letting him stay here was out of character in every way. And I do my best not to dwell on my decision. I tell myself I’m just doing what needs to be done. Keeping us all afloat—like always.

In a dark twist, Milo named the plant I brought back from her house in Emerald Lake “Erika.” Every morning, he gets up and greets her by name. It shouldn’t be funny, but it makes us both laugh.

He probably needs a pet, but for now, there’s just a corn plant named Erika, with a slightly angled trunk and broad green leaves.

I’m as nervous as one would be before a major final exam. I know Rhys says he means well, but I can’t help feeling like I’m being tested. And if I’m not up to his standards, I’ll have failed. Something I hate to do. I already feel like I failed Erika. I can’t fail this too.

When Rhys steps in, I peek up. My eyes have the perfect straight shot down the hallway to see him looking downright murderous and wearing black from head to toe. Jeans, T-shirt, slicked-back hair. Probably his boxers too.

“The gun under your pillow isn’t enough.” I laugh. “That was a joke. This is Canada, Rhys. I don’t own a gun. Neither does anyone I know.” Peeking in his direction provides proof that my empty threat of a gun under my pillow has pissed him off.

Then I decide to push just a little further. Because if nothing else, this situation between us is a power struggle, and I’m not afraid to take my power where I can find it. If he thought he was squaring off against some timid little girl, he thought wrong. “Does it involve bending me over this table⁠—” “Tabitha,” he cuts me off, voice hoarse. But I don’t miss the way his eyes flit to the table, his fist clenching around the strap of his bag. I blink innocently. “What?”

“You should be worried about an intruder.” My lips press together as I nod my head. This man is out of touch with what it means to live in this small town. “Just think, if I get murdered, you’ll be free of me. You and Milo can skip off into the sunset without me holding you back.”

Milo’s small footsteps summon Rhys’s bigger ones, eagerly taking the basement stairs two at a time to get to the little boy. The sound of them rushing to greet each other on the main floor makes my heart twist uncharacteristically. Rhys isn’t as bad as you make him out to be.

I watch Rhys nuzzle against his mussed curls and breathe him in. Again. I turn my watery eyes out toward the backyard and give them a moment. I feel like an intruder. I feel torn. I feel guilty. How can I hate someone who loves my nephew in a way that makes my chest ache and my teeth hurt? Especially in a world where more people to love him could never be a bad thing.

When they finally draw away from each other, Milo places one chubby hand on each of Rhys’s scruffy cheeks and looks at him. Really looks at him. Then he smiles and says, “I missed you.” The grin Rhys gives him back is downright blinding, and I realize I’ve never seen him smile. Never heard him laugh, either. “Missed you too, little man.”

I hate to admit that having Rhys here makes everything so much easier… but it does. And it’s perfect. We barely see each other, and Milo is happy. Really fucking happy. His nightmares don’t seem as bad as they were, but he still sleeps with me every night—something I know Rhys has noticed, though he hasn’t commented.