Wild Side (Rose Hill #3)

7. Tabitha

CHAPTER 7

TABITHA

I’ve been pretending Rhys doesn’t exist ever since he reminded me that the law is on his side when it comes to my nephew’s future. But he still followed me into my home office. I could feel him glaring at me the entire time, and he’s so damn big that I swear the old oak floorboards shook with each of his steps.

When I plunked down in my office chair and went to open the Zoom link, he took it upon himself to retrieve a chair from my dining table. He’s now placed it next to me, facing the computer screen in my office.

I can see us side by side on the screen. Close enough for both of our faces to show in the window, but not a single smidge closer.

We both know we have to be here together, but we don’t like it.

At all.

We both stare straight ahead, not turning to look at each other. Some sort of Medusan standoff—if that’s even a thing. And we definitely don’t talk.

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. But putting Rhys in her will has completely blindsided me. It has me questioning her health and state of mind in the last several months. It leaves me feeling… betrayed.

I wish she were here. I wish she were here so that I could ream her out and then hug her so fucking hard that it might even hurt a bit. What kind of person does that make me?

I avoid thinking about it all too much because it makes me so damn anxious, and, truthfully, it’s all just a little too painful for me to face head-on right now.

Instead, I’ve been walking on eggshells for the past several days, soaking up every moment with Milo. All the while imagining some awful over-the-top scenario where cop cars pull up to my house and take him away while I cry and am forced into cuffs. It’s safe to say I’ve watched too many soap operas in my life.

The bottom line is, I don’t want Rhys here. It all feels like a bad dream each day when I wake up. Every morning, I squeeze my eyes shut again and then spring them open, as though that will reset my life. A true Have you tried turning it off and back on again? moment.

Getting lost in the kitchen during summer dinner service makes time pass quickly and brings me a sense of joy and satisfaction that I don’t find anywhere else. But what I’d like is to lick my wounds in private. I’d like to cry in the shower where people can’t see or hear me, because it feels like no one in the world could be missing Erika as much as I do. Everyone around me would be too quick to judge. They’d turn around and whisper about how they always knew this would happen. And I don’t want to hear it.

I can’t hear it.

Instead, I crave going inward. In the mornings, I’d like to take a cup of coffee to the back side of the mountain and watch Milo pick flowers while I tell him childhood stories about his mom and me. And in the afternoon? I’d kill for a fucking nap.

I am so tired.

I want to grieve. And I don’t want Rhys watching me while I do.

The tinkle of a digital bell followed by an upbeat whooshing sound from the speakers feels altogether too light for the moment. And yet here I am, bracing myself for whatever this therapist has to tell us.

When her face pops up on the screen, I do that thing I always do. I force a smile onto my face and say, “Hiiiii,” in a way that sounds super approachable and sweet. Years in the service industry have trained me well. It’s unsettling how fast I can snap a facade into place.

“Hey,” is all Rhys can muster from behind a suspicious glare and crossed arms.

“Thank you so much for taking this online call with us, Dr. Bentham. Options for therapists here in Rose Hill are limited,” I say sweetly, attempting to make up for the poor first impression Rhys seems determined to make.

“Of course.” The woman gives us a genuine smile and claps her hands together. Stacks of bracelets jingle as she makes the motion, and they draw my attention to her general look. Round glasses with thick lenses perch on her dainty nose, and gray curly hair flows down to her shoulders. Behind her is a mess of greenery—plants on stands, vines draped from the ceiling, and crystals hanging in the window just off to the right.

It looks like a hippie haven. And she’s the queen. I love her already.

“I do plenty of online consultations, so this isn’t out of the ordinary for me. And please, call me Trixie.”

Rhys just grunts, like the total asshole that he is, and I can’t help but turn and give him a disbelieving look.

“You’re a striking couple,” Trixie adds with a sly grin.

And we both freeze.

Then we talk at the same time. “Oh hell no,” I say, right as Rhys sits forward and says, “Actually, we’re not.”

The woman’s head tilts. “Well then. Why don’t you two tell me what the situation is here? We’ll see what we can work out to get Milo—it was Milo, right?” She glances down to check what must be notes on the sheets in front of her. “Yes, Milo. We need to come up with a good system to support him through this.”

To that, Rhys and I nod. In fact, Milo seems to be the only thing we can agree on.

“So, I know Tabitha is the sister of the deceased. But you, sir, are…” She leaves the question hanging in the air.

Rhys shifts in his chair, and I get the sense it’s not just the subject matter that feels uncomfortable for him. It’s the entire process of sitting down with a therapist. He looks like he could crawl right out of his skin. “I’m, uh, Rhys.”

Trixie smiles and gives a reassuring nod. “Ah yes, the legal guardian. What a nice surprise!”

Rhys tosses me an irritated glance, and I shrug. “What? I explained the situation in my email.”

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?”

Trixie tries to reroute our tension with, “It’s okay to refer to her in present tense. She can still be your?—”

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.”

I can feel my cheeks blaze as his deep voice scorches the air between us. Humiliation clogs my throat. 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.

But then, I also have a tough time believing she went out and made an honest-to-goodness legal will that left her child to a perfect stranger.

I sniff and look away at the screen, trying to regain my equilibrium, though it’s hard under the searing gaze of the giant beside me. “Yikes. Imagine being booted out onto the street by a friend who genuinely likes you.”

The growl that rumbles in Rhys’s chest is animal-like. I swear I can feel him vibrating beside me. But I don’t care. The truth hurts.

And that’s why I can’t bring myself to look at him either.

“Seems like there’s some serious animosity between you two.” Trixie sounds borderline amused. “But we should save those issues for another day. We can focus on Milo today if you’re interested.”

“ Yes ,” I say. Talking to someone impartial sounds fucking amazing.

Rhys stiffens and huffs out a curt, “Sure.”

“Can you two figure out a way to work together for Milo’s well-being?”

“Yes,” we both answer instantly. I fight the urge to look over at the man beside me, both relieved and annoyed by his response—and by his dedication to my nephew.

“Well, that’s as good a place to start as any. Because the first thing you both need to understand is that this little boy is going to need to know he’s safe and loved every single day. He needs community. He needs a team .”

I nod along, trying to ignore the rigid six-foot-four body beside me.

“At his age, the way he processes the death of his mother will differ from yours as fully functioning adults.”

“That’s generous,” I mutter beneath my breath so only Rhys can hear me. I’m rewarded by his heel bumping against mine in a silent reprimand.

So I place my foot right on top of his and grind my heel into the bridge of his. One dark eye twitches on the screen, but otherwise, he doesn’t react.

Childish? Yes.

Satisfying? Also, yes.

“Milo will have three big questions in his mind, and I’ll write these down for you in a follow-up email, so just listen for now.” She lifts a finger. “One, how does this affect me? You will need to be able to tell him that much of his life will stay the same. Two, am I safe? We will want to contribute to his sense of safety by not creating any other major changes in his life. So, it will fall to you both to make him feel safe. And question three is, what’s happening to me next?”

She leaves that last question open, suspended in the dead space between us, as though she knows that’s the real kicker. I see it as my cue to make a point.

“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.”

Not yet .

Hope and dread crash against each other in my gut.

“I’m not a Canadian citizen,” Rhys states. “My home base is in Florida. My work takes me on the road. I can only legally stay here for so long.”

Trixie just nods. “That’s a shame.”

“Yup. You’re a Florida Man if I ever saw one,” I mutter quietly while trying to brush the grass stain off my knee again, wishing I could be on my best behavior and failing all the same. His indifference makes me too heated.

Did he not hear what this professional just told us? Who gives a flying fuck about where he works? It’s not about him.

An awkward silence descends until Trixie speaks again. “I am not the child’s guardian. I don’t know either of you or your backgrounds. But, generally speaking, children are best served in a familiar setting, surrounded by familiar people.”

She’s not telling us what to do, but the writing is on the wall. And I can tell by Rhys squirming that he doesn’t like the implication. But this seems like something he and I can brawl over later. Because for as much of an asshole as he is, I don’t get the sense that he’s going to steal Milo away in the middle of the night.

I clear my throat. “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.

My eyes flit to Rhys, but he’s not looking at me. His fingers pulse on my leg, and I’m too confused by his reassuring touch to react.

He doesn’t remove his hand, and that works for me, because it leaves me just bewildered enough to take a deep breath and continue. “I just don’t know how to explain this to him.”

Trixie nods sadly, eyes shining with compassion. “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.”

My throat works over and over again as I try to swallow the words. I don’t even want to say them out loud in a room by myself, let alone look into Milo’s eyes and say them too. 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.

But before I can react, he pipes up with a question of his own. “Can you give us an example of how you’d say it?”

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.

“I would take the three-pronged approach again. Answer those questions one by one.” She holds three fingers up now and drops one down as she speaks again. “Your mom has died, and this means you won’t be seeing her ever again. It’s okay for you to be sad, and it’s normal to have a lot of feelings about this.”

My eyes sting as she drops another finger.

“You are safe and loved.”

I wonder if Milo needs to hear this or if I do.

“And last, you’ll add something like, this is who will be taking care of you.” Trixie’s head swivels between us with a knowing, quirked brow, and I feel like I’m in time-out. “Your mom won’t be able to take care of you now, but we will be.”

The words she emphasizes aren’t lost on me. She makes it sound so effortless, so obvious, but I know in practice it will be anything but.

“Then I would tell him that you’ll be there for him, and you will talk about his mom with him anytime he wants.” She closes with a simple shrug, as though this isn’t the worst conversation of my life.

My lips clamp in a tight line, and I nod rapidly as though that makes up for my lack of words. Rhys sits woodenly beside me, and it’s hard to make out on the screen, but he looks frozen. Like a statue.

When I glance over at him in the flesh, he looks even worse. Pale and motionless. He looks downright unwell.

And for the first time since life threw us at each other… I feel bad for him.