Wild Side (Rose Hill #3)

16. Rhys

CHAPTER 16

RHYS

Rhys:

Need to tell Milo in the morning.

Tabby:

What a romantic good night text from my fiancé.

Rhys:

I’m serious.

Tabby:

So am I.

Rhys:

You bought me a cat. Romance is dead in this house.

Tabby:

Or maybe you don’t understand my love language?

Rhys:

Is it pettiness?

Tabby:

“Pettiness is my love language.” I’d wear that shirt!

Rhys:

Stop avoiding my question.

Tabby:

Fine. Maybe we shouldn’t tell him? It seems terrible to lie to a three-year-old. Being oblivious sounds very relaxing to me.

Rhys:

Tabitha, he’s going to be here with us. At the wedding. Out in public. He’ll hear people talking. He’s young, but he isn’t stupid.

Tabby:

Okay. But I’m not telling him alone.

Rhys:

We’ll do it together.

“I’m not going to be back in time for the show on Monday.”

Anthony groans. “What the hell, Rhys. We just wrote your entire comeback. You’re mid-feud.” I grimace with my phone still held to my ear. I was already prepared for this to go over poorly. Anthony has always been an entitled asshole, but because of my popularity, I’ve been spared. “I know. And that’s not the worst part.”

“Oh good,” he replies sarcastically. Anthony is a businessman through and through. The bottom dollar and the viewership rates reign supreme. His wrestlers’ mental and physical health come after that.

And me spending too much time away from the ring is not good for his business. Especially after my on-and-off returns with ongoing knee issues. The ones I finally got clearance to have surgically repaired rather than continuing to run myself into the fucking ground. “What’s the worst part?” he asks.

“I’m going to need a couple of weeks.”

“Are you fucking joking?” His disbelief and frustration braid themselves together.

“Nope. Sorry,” I mumble, looking around Tabitha’s backyard from the lounger I’ve propped myself on.

I do feel bad. Like my returns, I’ve been a sporadic employee of late. But this—being here—is more important.

“I’m actually getting married,” I say.

That strikes the older man silent for a few beats. “Married?”

“Yup.”

“But when I look up bachelor in the dictionary, your photo is there.”

“Ha-ha.” I enunciate the words sarcastically. “I’m not that bad. I just… enjoy my solitude.”

“You’re right. Maybe it’s under monk .”

I grumble but don’t respond.

“Shit. You’re not joking, are you?”

“No.”

“Well…” He trails off, and I can hear the rasp of his fingers over his beard. “Congratulations. It’s great you found someone who doesn’t conflict with your solitude, even though it’s fucking me over. I’m happy for you.”

Oh. She conflicts all right, but for some confounding reason, it doesn’t bother me at all.

That’s what’s new.

“Thanks.”

“Could you take the honeymoon later? I could schedule you some time off after the next pay-per-view event.”

“No.”

“That’s all you’re gonna give me, huh?”

I palm the back of my neck, feeling a pang of guilt for letting the coworkers down. Anthony down. They don’t deserve this. I know it’ll mean rejigging matches and re-writing storylines. There will be grumbling. And while I’m a good coworker and a solid wrestler, I don’t think anyone would accuse me of being the sunshine of the crew.

They do me favors because they respect me and need me, not because they enjoy bending over backward for me.

His heavy sigh reeks of disappointment. “I’m going to run this past the writers. Might need you in character filming some promos to keep everything rolling forward. You got a costume on hand?”

“Oh yeah. I take my mask and combat pants with me everywhere I go.”

He sighs again. “Spare me the snark, Dupris. I’ll have a set sent to you. Emerald Lake?”

“No. I’m in Rose Hill.”

“Buttfuck Nowhere. Got it. Text me the address. I couldn’t find that on a map if I tried.”

“Thanks,” I grumble, not loving having to ask him for even more help.

“Don’t thank me yet. You owe me for this. And whatever story we come up with, you’re gonna do it. No bitching and moaning. You’ll come back here, put your head down, and get to work.”

My molars clamp. He knows I’m finicky about the shit they do with my character, but I’m not in a position to negotiate right now. “Yup.”

“Good.”

With that, he hangs up, and I’m left sitting in the sun, staring at the screen of my phone, feeling more out of control than I have in many, many years.

When I come back inside, I find Tabitha sitting at the kitchen table with Milo. He’s focused on coloring, and she’s completely absorbed, eyes locked on him. Sometimes I catch her like this—zoned out and staring at specific parts of him. Like his ears or his lips.

I chalk it up to her being tired.

She starts when the patio door clicks shut behind me, but Milo looks up and gives me such a genuine smile that I can’t help but smile back at him.

Then my eyes land on his paper, and my smile sours.

He has covered the paper with his most impressive cat drawings. Which is to say that an abundance of deformed cats covers the page.

“Lookin’ good, pal.”

“Drawing Cleocatra,” he says with a pleased smack of his lips.

“She looks…” I glance at Tabitha, who’s already glaring at me as though daring me to insult his cat. “Super cool. Love it.”

Tabitha relaxes back into her chair now, arms crossed beneath her breasts and a smug smile on her face. She looks—so to speak—like the cat who caught the canary. I take a seat and can tell by the gleam in her eye that she’s enjoying watching me struggle.

Still, there’s something cozy about all of us sitting at the table together. We’ve been ships in the night, doing what we need to do but avoiding each other at all costs. Yet, as I sit here with them, I realize I like the simplicity of it. Even if things aren’t perfect, there’s a sense of closeness that I’ve always craved.

With that thought in mind, Cleocatra leaps up out of nowhere onto my lap. She does this little purr-meow thing that I’m sure some people would find cute. Me? I start and lift my hands like someone just threw anthrax at me.

Tabitha’s lips purse, and her head tilts. Another silent threat.

“She loves you.” Milo nods, sneaking a peek up at me and looking extremely satisfied about his cat and me forging what he perceives as a friendship. “Pet her. She’s soft.”

It’s not that I truly hate cats. I’ve just never had pets. Haven’t had the time, or the space, or the inclination. More mess, more responsibility. And truthfully, their short life expectancy just seems like you’re signing up for guaranteed and unnecessary heartache.

My hand moves closer, and the tawny cat bunts against it, a rumble starting instantly in her throat.

“Aw, look at that, Milo. How sweet. Rhys loves Cleo too.” Tabitha’s grin is just a little too pleased.

My fiancée is pushing her fucking luck with this trick.

I glare.

She smiles sweetly.

Then she hits me with a subtle tip of her chin. I know what she’s signaling, and as much as it’s a conversation I don’t want to have, I know it needs to be done.

I nod and watch her tongue dart out over her lips as though she’s nervous too.

“Speaking of love, Milo.”

His head shoots up, suspicion dancing in his baby blues. “What’s wrong?”

My chest aches for him, and I clear my throat to cover the soft keening sound that lurches into my throat. I know that feeling all too well. Assuming any news is bad news because you’ve been getting just a little too much of it lately.

“Nothing, nothing.” Tabitha rubs a hand on his back. “Right, Rhys?”

“Yeah. No. In fact, buddy, we’ve got…” Again, I find myself staring at his aunt as I search for the right words for this.

Something to tell you?

An announcement to make?

Nothing quite encapsulates the way I’m feeling about the situation. “Some good news to share.”

I don’t miss the subtle quirk of Tabitha’s one brow.

Good news .

I rationalize that it’s good news for Milo because it works out best for him.

Milo’s rosy lips tip up in my direction as he searches for more information, so I turn, giving him my full attention, one hand gripping the back of his chair for support. “Your aunt Tabby and I… well… we… we’re getting married.” My voice sounds strained, and Tabitha looks like she’s just pulled a precarious piece in Jenga.

Milo’s brows furrow for a beat, as though mulling over a problem that confuses him. “Like a mom and a dad?”

Tabitha sucks in a breath, blinking away quickly, as her hand moves on his back again. I swallow thickly, feeling all too kindred with Milo.

“Yeah, kind of like that.”

“We be all together?”

Tabitha’s eyes catch on mine, and I get lost there for a beat. She’s unreadable, save for the soft nod she gives me.

Together with Tabitha. It’s a dangerous sentiment, one that has become increasingly appealing with every moment I spend in her vicinity.

“Except when I’m away for work. But I promise you I’ll come back in between.”

I can feel Tabitha staring at me. Can feel the unspoken questions pelting me from the side. She wants to know more—deserves to know more—but I’m still struggling to feel like I don’t have to hide.

It’s a tough habit to break. But lately I’ve become more concerned about what my being in the public eye could mean for her and Milo—for their privacy . The last thing this tentative new relationship between us needs is media attention and amateur internet sleuths piecing things together.

Which is why I keep my focus on Milo.

Milo, who rolls his lips together thoughtfully, chubby little fingers twirling a crayon. Finally, he turns his wide, deep-blue eyes on me, then on Tabitha. “This makes me so happy.” Then he turns and looks over at the crooked corn plant in the corner. His lips slowly turn up in the softest smile before he delivers the killing blow with his baby voice and fumbled pronunciations. “Erika! Aunty Tabby Cat and Ree are getting married!”

My eyes fill, and my head nods as I watch him go back to drawing like he didn’t just eviscerate me with the simplest sentence in the world.

It makes me realize that I’d do anything for him.

Even marry a woman who can’t stand me.

One who I can’t stop thinking about.