15. Tabitha
CHAPTER 15
TABITHA
Rhys:
Letting you know to expect company today. And a package.
Tabby:
Oh? Are you going to pop out of a bush again?
Rhys:
No. It’s not me.
Rhys:
And I didn’t pop out of a bush.
Tabby:
As long as it’s not you, I’m happy.
Life carries on in a hazy blur. Most days blend together in a nonstop rush. And I appreciate that about my current situation. It means I have little time to dwell on Erika. While the lingering sadness is a constant companion, staying busy has kept me from sinking into my heartache. Opening up about her death to Rosie and Skylar over drinks was a relief. It immediately made me feel less alone. Something that I hate to admit Rhys has also accomplished.
He’s come and gone a few times over now. Where and who to, I have no idea. Friends? Family? Beats the fuck out of me, and he definitely isn’t big on volunteering any information. All I know is his last departure was no less abrupt than the others. We didn’t address the elephant in the room. I’m too scared to ask about his plans, and I’m walking on eggshells around the subject. And he’s too locked up to share a single fucking thing.
Though that could have had something to do with him offering to fuck me in the bathroom and me squeezing the hell out of his dick.
His really, really big dick.
Rhys has always given off big dick energy. But I know now it’s not so much energy as big dick knowledge. Big dick surety? Big dick guarantee .
I mull over the witty ways to put it as I wait for him to arrive again. Usually, I’d make myself scarce, but all that big dick nerve of his means he took it upon himself to send a company to my house to set up a security system.
Turning them away had been my first instinct. In fact, I had been in the middle of telling them I needed to drop Milo off at my parents’ house so that I could go to work. I was even being polite about it. It wasn’t their fault that Rhys, Legal Guardian of the Year, is an overbearing asshole.
But then Bash showed up, arms crossed with a no-nonsense look on his face, telling me Rhys knew I was busy and had asked him to stay and supervise. Apparently they text now. I’m not sure about what. It seems like texting grunts and scowls back and forth would be rather anticlimactic.
Bash also told me it was okay to let people take care of me sometimes. And that one sentence struck a nerve I didn’t feel like standing around discussing. So I’d offered a watery smile, told him to mind his own damn business, and then taken off.
Turns out having anyone but Rhys show up at my house didn’t make me happy at all.
Even the outdoor heater he had delivered for the back deck didn’t help. All it did was keep me warm while I sat outside and plotted my revenge.
That was five days ago. Which was the perfect amount of time for me to stew and hatch a plan. Yes, today I’ll be presenting Rhys with a surprise of his own. He once told me he doesn’t like surprises, so this will be extra special.
The big surprise is why I’m sitting on the front steps waiting for him to arrive. I check my watch and glance at the monitor that’s linked to Milo’s room, realizing Rhys is later than I anticipated. I’m hoping Milo is still napping when he gets here, so I can enjoy his reaction to the fullest.
By the time he pulls up, I’m painting my toenails a fresh shade of purple out of boredom. The sound of his engine cutting by the curb draws my attention. I expect him to look all ominous and scowly like usual, but instead his mouth is pinched and his eyes drawn. It makes me realize that even though he usually glares at me, there’s an element of him that looks… I don’t know… relieved to see me.
This face, though? This face looks like dread.
He yanks his usual duffel bag from the back door and tosses it over his shoulder. I watch him. Wondering if he’s bruised anywhere. Secretly hoping he’s okay.
“Hi…” I venture carefully as he makes his way up the front walkway.
“Hey.” Even tentative as he is right now, he commands attention. It’s not anything specific he does. It’s just him.
My mouth gets drier the closer he gets, and my plan of what to say to him evaporates when he takes a seat beside me on the front step. He lets out a heavy sigh as his body folds down.
“You must be tired. Getting here from Florida has got to be a pain in the ass.” I don’t know why I say it. He just looks worn out today, and it tugs on my heartstrings. I doubt there’s a direct flight to Alberta. And then it’s another flight to a small city about an hour away or a three-hour drive across the provincial border from Calgary.
“We need to talk.”
I swallow and stare down at my purple toenails, trying not to focus too much on his nearness. “I’m starting to hate that sentence.”
“I got hung up at the border today. One of the officers finally called me on overstaying my welcome. Had to call my lawyer and explain the situation at border services.”
My stomach drops, and my hands grip my bare knees to keep from shaking, because I don’t like where this is going.
“Okay,” I say hesitantly.
“Tabitha, he’s recommending I take Milo with me when I leave this time. If I leave him here, he has no legal guardian.”
“I—”
His large hand falls over mine. And this time, I don’t shake it off. I let him steady me.
I’m out of time .
“Listen. I know. I know you are capable. Hell, I even know here is the best place for him. I’m not saying I’m going to keep him from you. But changing the name on that form isn’t going to happen overnight. And if something happens to him and I’m not here, then social services will get involved.”
My heart beats deep in the pit of my stomach, that sensation of life not being real overtaking all my senses. “You can’t .”
His fingers tighten on mine, and I hear a pained groan rattle around in his chest. “I’m sorry, Tabby. It won’t be forever.”
It won’t be forever .
The idea of being alone with my thoughts, with my guilt, with my grief—it’s just too much. And there’s something about the word forever that sparks an idea in my head.
In this instant, I know that I’m about to make a very, very bad decision. But I figure that after being the sister who carefully thought out every choice in her life, I’m due to make a colossally stupid one. And if nothing else, at least being willing to do anything for my family is consistent.
Which is why I blurt out my totally absurd idea before I can think it through with my usual level of care. “Marry me.”
I swear the birds stop chirping. The world stops turning. Rhys stops moving. And I want to dig myself a nice big hole and crawl into it.
“You and me?” is the first thing he says, rearing back to look at me as though checking to see if I’ve got the vapors.
I grimace and avoid making eye contact. We can pretend I never said that at all. A perfectly forgettable moment of inexplicable hysteria.
“Yeah. No, of course not. That’s absurd. We hate each other.” I slap my hands together like I’m clearing dust—and all my dignity from them—before I get up, turn away, and take the steps toward the house. “I wouldn’t want to marry you,” I mumble as I open the screen door and pad inside. “Even if your dick is huge,” I add once I clear the doorway.
Rhys doesn’t follow me. One look back at him over my shoulder, and I see his hulking form slouched on the front steps, eerily still.
I wonder how he feels about those murder jokes now. Perhaps he’s considering the validity of those options. Getting rid of me would make his life a lot easier. I can’t imagine a world in which he likes coming all this way to see Milo, or one in which he enjoys spending time around me with how things are between us.
No, I bet a world without Tabitha Garrison to terrorize him and turn his life upside down is mighty appealing right now.
His silence stresses me out, so I decide to wipe down the kitchen cupboards. They aren’t dirty—in fact, I did this exact thing two days ago—but it gives me something to do that doesn’t involve facing him.
I scrub frantically and act like I’m removing a stubborn spot when he enters the house. He props a shoulder against the rounded entryway, crosses his arms, and stares at me.
I fucking hate when he stares at me. It makes my stomach flop over on itself. The same dropping sensation you get on a thrilling carnival ride. Except those are short-lived. Those end.
Rhys Dupris is the carnival ride that I just can’t manage to get off of.
“What are you doing?” he finally asks.
“Cleaning.” I reach farther over my head, wiping higher on the gray kitchen cabinets.
“Why?”
“I like a clean house. It soothes me.”
Because it’s one of the only things I can control right now.
“You need to make sure that Milo grows up understanding that a clean house is important. You can’t just send him out into the world thinking that paid staff will clean up after him and that his secret CIA daddy will pay for everything.”
“CIA?”
I shake my head, moving to the next cabinet with an irritated huff. “You are secretive and covered in bruises. Porn doesn’t make sense anymore. And I’m tired of asking, so whatever. You go ahead and keep your weird secrets. Anyway”—I forge ahead, barely pausing to breathe—“men can’t just go out into the world as lazy slobs who don’t know how to cook anything. If he’s going to be a good partner one day, he should at least have some domestic capabilities. And I don’t know what your place is like, so if you don’t keep it clean, you better fucking star?—”
“I’ll marry you, Tabitha.”
His words suck all the air out of the room, and I pause with my back to him. What he said was clear as day, and yet I can’t have heard him properly over the pounding in my ears.
“That’s not a funny joke,” I venture, turning to face him in slow motion.
“No, I agree.”
There isn’t a stitch of humor in any of his strong features. That nose, just slightly big. His brow, just slightly heavy. Those lips, just slightly pouty. Masculine from head to toe.
And entirely serious.
“But…” My brain searches for the words, but none jump out at me. He’s struck me speechless.
Eventually, I come up with, “But why would you do this?”
A shrug. “For Milo.”
I swallow the unexpected sting of those words. I’m not under any delusion about what’s between Rhys and me.
There’s animosity and sexual tension, but not a lot of love. Which is fine. I’ve never been the girl who dreams about her wedding day with the perfect white dress and Pinterest-worthy decorations. But there’s still something hollow about the moment. A pang of longing for something I never knew I wanted.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Are you?”
My lips roll together. I know I’m the one who suggested this. But still.
What the fuck am I doing?
My teeth nibble at my bottom lip as I nod over and over again. “Sure. Yeah. We can hit the courthouse, get our marriage certificate, and then you can do whatever you want. We can stay married just long enough for you to get citizenship and then split. Keep it all very amiable for Milo’s sake. I would pinky promise you not to come after half of what’s yours when we divorce but…” I trail off with a grimace, deciding now is not the moment to antagonize him over his weak-ass pinky promises.
Still, I don’t miss the flash of sadness in his eyes as he looks away.
“Sorry. I just mean—we can get ’er done, high-five, and go our separate ways.” I’m talking, but it feels surreal. Like I’m outside myself watching the scene play out on television.
Rhys sighs and lifts a hand to scrub at his stubbled chin. “It’s going to have to look a little more real than that, Tabby. We’ve got Milo in the mix. We can’t have people talking about it being fake. I don’t know how closely the government will be watching now that I’m on their radar. Immigration will be suspicious as hell.”
My stomach drops as I fixate on one thing. Milo . How will he take this?
I toss the rag on the kitchen counter and take a few steps closer to him. “Wait. So you’re saying we need to have a real wedding? Like with real guests and shit?”
The world around me spins, and my chest goes tight. I know I felt like I was due to make a stupid choice—but not this stupid. I must be downright delusional to think that I could pull something like this off.
“With real guests and shit,” he deadpans.
“And I have to convince everyone around me that I am madly in love with you and just had to be married this instant?”
Rhys shrugs.
“That’s it? A shrug?”
“I mean, is that so unbelievable?”
“Everyone thinks we hate each other, so… yes?”
“Why would they think that? I’ve never told anyone that I hate you.”
“I mean, it’s obvious.”
His head quirks. “Is it? What have I ever done that makes you think I hate you?”
My breathing goes heavier as I think it over. Sure, there was some distrust at the beginning, but the more I think about it, the more I can’t think of a single thing.
“Do people think you hate me ?” I could swear there’s a little teasing in his tone.
Heat suffuses my cheeks and crawls down my throat, flashing across my chest like a big fat guilty sign. “Only Rosie and Skylar. I’ve been vague about our relationship with everyone else. But it’s not like we’ve been”—I wave my hand around frantically—“I don’t know, traipsing around town together.”
Rhys just lifts one shoulder and drops it. He’s so casual. It’s impossible to read him. “Then I guess we better sell it.”
My pink flush turns red.
Sell it .
I don’t know what that means, and I’m too chickenshit to ask. The thought of Rhys touching me freely sends an unwelcome thrill down my spine.
His hands on my skin. His tongue in my mouth.
I shake my head.
Nah. Even if we have to kiss, there will be no tongue. It’s completely unnecessary. We can keep it chaste. Neither one of us is mushy or touchy-feely. No one will think twice about us keeping a cool two feet apart at all times. Right?
I want to ask, but don’t want him to get annoyed and take the offer back. For Milo, I need this. For me, though? This could be a disaster.
Either way, it’s a risk I’m willing to take.
So, for what feels like the billionth time in the past couple of months, I just stand and stare at Rhys while he stares back. His attention is almost suffocating.
Until…
Meow.
Rhys’s chin drops slowly, the look in his eye going from reserved to pissed off as his attention lowers.
The tabby cat with four white paws and a little white tip on her tail that Milo and I chose from the shelter waltzes into the kitchen like she’s the queen of this house. She weaves herself between Rhys’s legs, bunting along his jeans.
I swear she’s purring .
“Surprise?” I say, feeling less sure of my payback for the alarm system now that Rhys is marrying me as a favor.
“What the fuck is that?”
“A cat. Her name is Cleocatra.”
“ Why? ”
Yeah, he’s not seeing the humor in this at all. “You can call her Cleo for short.”
“No, Tabitha. I meant, why is there a fucking cat in the house?”
I bristle. “Listen, this is still my house. Still my life. If you’re expecting me to be a subservient little wife, then I’ve got news for you, pal. So yeah, if I want a cat, I’ll get one. Just like how if you want an alarm system, you’ll get one.”
His jaw goes tight. “I doubt that anyone in their entire life has used the word subservient to describe you.”
“Thank you,” I preen.
“I’m allergic.”
My eyes roam over him speculatively. “How allergic?”
“It’s complicated.” He can’t even look at me. My eyes widen in time with my grin.
“You’re not allergic at all, are you? You big fucking drama queen!”
That earns me an eye roll and a grumbled, “I hate cats.”
“That’s not an allergy. That’s a preference.”
“I still hate cats,” he deadpans.
I smile sweetly in response. “Whatever. Just don’t let Milo hear you say that. He’s very much in love with Cleocatra.”
The rumble in Rhys’s chest should be intimidating, but he doesn’t scare me at all. So, I walk toward and pat his shoulder. “You can consider her an engagement gift. You’re welcome.”
Then I breeze past, going to get my phone so I can make some calls and share our big, exciting, not-at-all nauseating, happy news.
“Wait.” I turn back to the forlorn-looking giant standing in my kitchen, staring at the floor like he’s just witnessed some terrible accident. “When’s the wedding going to be?”
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
His head joggles as he considers. “How long does a marriage certificate take to get?”
“I don’t know. A couple of weeks?”
He nods. “Then we do it as soon as possible. I won’t be able to get back into Canada without it.”
“Don’t you need time for your family to book flights or something?”
His expression turns stony. “No. We should do it next weekend. I’m due back at work as soon as possible.”
I swallow in response, not sure what to make of his chilly reply but not feeling comfortable enough to press him any further. “Next weekend? A week to plan?”
“Sure.”
Sure .
God, I could barf. The nonchalance of that response sends my stomach plummeting. Guilt and nerves hit hard along with something else.
Disappointment.
Because, deep down, I wish there were a tiny bit of enthusiasm. I wish there were a spark of… I don’t know. Camaraderie?
He doesn’t even want his family present, and it stings.
It makes me realize this might not be as easy of a sell as we think. We will have to lie our asses off. But lying to everyone around me shouldn’t be too hard. I’ve been keeping secrets where Rhys is concerned for weeks now.
It’s lying to myself that feels like it’s going to be a challenge.