Wild Side (Rose Hill #3)

5. Tabitha

CHAPTER 5

TABITHA

I can’t take my eyes off Milo. The look of pure wonder on his sweet face is mesmerizing.

Whoever his father is must have the most beautiful curly hair, because the ringlet dropped in the middle of Milo’s forehead right now certainly never came from our side of the family where poker-straight hair abounds.

I never did find out who his biological dad is. Either Erika didn’t know, or she chose not to tell me. I never pressed her on it, because the news of Milo came about during a particularly low phase of her life. In fact, he’s the reason she focused so hard on healing for those few years. And all I knew was that I was happy to see my sister trying .

The fuzzy caterpillar makes its way across his palm, and he’s captivated by the experience.

“Good, now move your other hand like this”—I raise his free hand to extend the space—“and you can keep him there for longer.”

“Wow.” His little cherry lips murmur the word with awe.

“Pretty amazing, right?”

A subtle nod is all I get. It’s as though he’s entranced. The feeling is mutual, because I see so much of my sister in him. And my heart aches that she won’t be here to see him grow.

I haven’t broken the devastating news to him yet, though I know I need to. The only saving grace is that spending a few weeks with me or his grandparents isn’t out of the ordinary for Milo.

Still, I have my appointment with a highly recommended therapist this afternoon. Because I want to get this right. Say the correct things, support him in the best way possible. Give him what he needs.

I can’t even think about losing him to another country right now. If I dwell on that, I’ll crumble completely.

So instead, I watch him lift one pudgy finger and swipe gently over the top of the caterpillar. “Wow. Soft,” he murmurs. And I can’t help but smile.

“He’ll grow into a spotted tussock moth, eventually.”

Milo’s eyes widen. “This becomes a moth ?”

“Yes. Almost like a butterfly. They’re both a sign of a healthy ecosystem. They help pollinate flowers, and you know how important that is.”

I grin at him, and he grins back. Because he knows . He’s been flower picking with me plenty of times. Edible toppers, tea flavoring, a splash of color on the bistro tables. I guess you could say I’m big on flowers.

The rattle of a car driving past draws my attention, but it’s not the vehicle that keeps it. It’s the scruffy, foreboding mountain of a man standing on the sidewalk at the edge of my property glaring at us.

Rhys Dupris.

The man whose full name has been haunting me since I read it on that will. He looks miserable and delicious all at once. That seems to be his brand. And I hate that I see him that way at all. I just can’t seem to help myself.

We stare at each other for a few beats as my stomach sinks down into my toes, dread coursing through my veins. I had planned to make my plea, to use lawyers and tug on some shred of empathy this man might possess to reconsider taking Milo away. Because everything with that will checks out.

But the scowl on his face isn’t promising. He looks downright pissed off.

“I had no idea you were coming today,” I blurt, still kneeling on the damp ground, completely caught off guard.

“I know,” he rumbles in that impossibly low timbre. It’s a voice that could make a girl’s toes curl, but in this instance, all it does is make me feel intentionally put on the spot. Judged. Like he expected to pop out from behind a bush and catch me doing something untoward.

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’m so shocked by his familiarity that I almost let him toddle off and take our poor caterpillar along for the ride. “Milo, honey. Let’s put the caterpillar back on the tree.”

I reach for his arm and guide him back to the trunk. He’s vibrating with excitement, and I tell myself that’s why my hands shake as I aid him in carefully returning the bug to its home.

But the minute the caterpillar latches itself onto the bark, Milo turns and races across the grass, launching himself at Rhys. He takes a flying fucking leap. As though he knows in his bones that Rhys will catch him. As though he knows him.

I find it confusing. I find it hard to watch.

So I clench my jaw and keep my gaze on the lawn as I push to standing, brushing at the knees of my jeans. I sigh in defeat when I realize there are grass stains on the light denim.

Of course I have to look like this when he shows up. No bra. Grass-stained knees. Messy hair that smells like cake because it’s full of dry shampoo. Dark circles under my eyes that match the old-ass blue sweater I threw on this morning.

I suppose the win is that today I don’t reek of scotch.

Small fucking victories.

Still, I refuse to cower in his presence. I shimmy my shoulders and stand taller, crossing my arms and tipping my nose up like I’m the queen of something more than this partially updated craftsman and a semi-successful small-town restaurant.

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.

My only hope in hell with this entire shit show was to make Rhys see that Milo loves me, and his grandparents, and this town. And that we all love him too. Erika may not be here anymore, but Milo is well loved.

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.

“Missed you, little man,” he grumbles gruffly before lifting his head to meet my watery eyes. Then he nods in my direction. “Tabitha.”

“Tabby Cat!” Milo wiggles in Rhys’s arms before reaching for me, signaling he wants to be let down. But Rhys looks shaken somehow. His eyes narrow on me, and his nostrils flare and contract. Like a bull about to charge.

“I wanna go down,” Milo clarifies. “Show you my caterpillar!”

Rhys gently places him down on the sidewalk, eyes not straying from mine as his powerful body unfurls.

Milo takes him by the hand and tugs him in my direction. My heart rate accelerates as they approach.

“Right here.” Milo points at the bug’s yellow and black body, and I stand as still as the tree as he regurgitates the information I just shared with him about the species. It’s only made more adorable by the confidence with which he mispronounces things.

“Aunty Tabby Cat and I love flowers,” he finishes with a thoughtful nod before turning his attention back to the caterpillar.

“Tabby Cat?” Rhys asks.

I shrug nonchalantly. “Long-standing nickname.”

His eyes skitter across me, searching my face from beneath his heavy brow as though I’m incredibly suspicious in some way, and I quickly drop his gaze. This guy is one big nerve-wracking mindfuck. My nose prickles and I glance away, skin crawling under the weight of his gaze, heart pounding like it might beat right out of my chest. I don’t know why it feels like my worthiness of being around Milo is being assessed right now, but it does.

And I swear Milo must sense my discomfort, because one of his arms reaches back to wrap around my thigh in an absent-minded side hug.

My nephew may find nothing strange about this meeting, but I do. So I steer the conversation back to the issue at hand, keeping things vague. “So what brings you here unexpectedly?” I ask, before dropping my voice and adding in a saccharine tone, “Other than enjoying kicking people while they’re down.”

The tendon in Rhys’s jaw flexes, and he rolls his eyes.

Irritating him feels like success, so I take it as a win and carry on. “I was assuming I’d hear a response to my invite before you showed up.”

“I needed to see the situation for myself.”

I scoff, threading my fingers through Milo’s thick hair as though that will help set my nerves at ease. “The situation is—” I stop short from eviscerating him with my words when Milo turns and presses an absent kiss to my thigh. He’s always been snuggly and affectionate, and I’ve always soaked up that aspect of him.

I peer back up at Rhys, only to see him staring at the spot on my jeans. His eyes linger where pudgy fingers tap happily against denim, as though he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“The situation is…” My words come out gently, but my glare expresses how I feel about him. He’s an intruder. An interloper. Someone who doesn’t know shit about shit when it comes to me and the lengths I’ll go to protect the people I love. “That Milo will be heading to my parents’ place right away. And then I have a meeting. In fact, it’s one you may want to sit in on since you fancy yourself so intrinsic to this entire situation.”

Milo turns and looks up at us. “I get to go to Grandma and Grandpa’s house?”

Rhys’s head flips in his direction, and his body language shows his discomfort. His massive biceps cross, and he seems to rock from side to side.

I force a smile as I ignore him and focus on my nephew. “You know it. Sleep over too, since I work tonight. I’ll be there in the morning to get you.”

“Will you bring chocolate croissants?” The way he pronounces croissants usually cracks me up, but today it just makes me sad.

I’d taken him to the bistro this morning to have them fresh out of the oven. I watched him lick his fingers with such enjoyment and spent the whole time thinking how gutted I’d be to never get to see him gobble up my baking again. The little noises he makes when he’s enjoying something. The way his eyes go extra round when he asks for another one.

It had almost moved me to tears, except West Belmont rolled in all smiles and chuckles and talking about his dorky bowling team, which provided the perfect distraction to keep myself together.

“I could—” a deep voice starts.

“Of course! I bet Grandma and Grandpa would love that too. Milo, I packed your bag already.” I cut in before Rhys can say something that would undoubtedly be overstepping. Because I swear I can see it written all over him. I’m aware of the legal ramifications of that will, but if he thinks I will roll over, give him my nephew, and send them on their merry way, he’s got another thing coming. “Why don’t you go grab it from your room?”

Milo’s cheeks go round on a wide grin, and he nods excitedly. “Be right back!” He tears off, running a few strides before turning back to face us. “Don’t go anywhere. Not you or you,” he adds, pointing at both Rhys and me in turn.

Then he blasts happily through the front door, oblivious to the tension and heartbreak surrounding him.

“He has a room here?” Rhys’s brows furrow when he asks the question.

I hate to give him a single thing, but I can’t help but notice he looks genuinely confounded. “Of course. He spends a lot of time with me.”

He swallows heavily before straightening, his expression giving nothing away. “And he likes to spend time with your parents?”

Now it’s 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 .

“I thought she was… they were…”

“Cut off? Estranged? Yes.” I wince without meaning to. It has always killed me that I couldn’t help them make peace. And it makes me wonder what other dirty laundry he knows about our family. “Too much water under the bridge, I guess. So I became the bridge to ensure Milo would have grandparents in his life, even if his mother no longer spoke to them. It was a tenuous setup, but it worked. And even when they all agreed on almost nothing, they always agreed on doing what was best for Milo.”

Rhys stays quiet, jaw working, eyes laser focused on my mouth as though he’s skeptical about the stories that spill from it.

“My meeting is a video chat with a therapist, because I need to tell Milo about his mom, and I don’t know how. That’s the situation. Seems like you’re determined to insert yourself, so”—I reach forward and slap his steely bicep like the old friends that we clearly are not—“welcome to the shit show, big fella.”

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.