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No, Milo belongs here in Rose Hill. And so do I.
I’ve never been in love, but I’ve also never felt like this. So it seems reasonable to assume I just might be in love with my wife.
“No, not might be. I am. I have been for a while now.” Tabitha sighs contentedly. “That’s good. Because I’ve been in love with you for a while now too.” She loves me.
“Did I say you could talk to my wife?”
Because Rhys has turned and slid out of the ring toward me
“Kissing my wife, obviously.”
“Take my mask off, baby.” “What?” “You heard me.”
“Tabby, I’m tired of hiding. I don’t need to anymore, thanks to you. This is my choice. You and me. Together.”
“What are you waiting for, Mrs. Wild Side?”
“I love you, Tabitha.”
But I’ve spent over a decade respecting this business. Tonight, I respected my marriage instead.
“Turning my life from black and white to full color.”
“You did the same for me. I help you find your color, and you help me find mine.”
I crumple with him on top of me. I try to roll away… but my legs don’t seem to respond.
“I don’t know. He… he said he couldn’t move his legs.”
“So I don’t know. They strapped him down right away. All he kept saying to me was Call Tabby
“You love Rhys?” He chuckles now, one hand tugging at the ends of his hair as he messes it up. “I mean, we’re on the same bowling team.” He says it like Duh, obviously. “Bonded by humiliation of having to wear those shirts West designed and a mutual hatred for that fucker, Stretch.”
“I’m not asking permission! Where the hell is my husband?”
“Well, Mr. Dupris, we’ve got good news, and we’ve got bad news.”
Good news and bad news. That’s the thing with me. They always go hand in hand.
“I am with my family, Rhys. If I didn’t want to be here with you, I wouldn’t be.”
Crying over an injury didn’t seem worthwhile. But crying over driving away the best thing that’s ever happened to me seems like a worthy cause.
“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.”
“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.”
But even assuring me doesn’t completely convince me. No one has ever come back for me. She does though.
“Rhys.” She props her elbow on my mattress and holds her pinky up. “I pinky promise to always come back.”
“Don’t mock her. You can mock me, but not her.” The words come out snippy, and I quirk a brow at him. “Don’t give me that look. She’s my son’s ex-girlfriend. That suggestive eyebrow lift is not necessary.”
“The only thing I’m salty about is that Cleo loves you so much more than me when you”—her fingers lift in air quotes—“hate cats.” I shift to look over Tabitha’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to her, Cleo. I love cats.”
Rhys Garrison.
