Wild Side (Rose Hill #3)

27. Rhys

CHAPTER 27

RHYS

We walk into the Reach after winning our very first bowling match. Ford, West, Bash, and I are here to celebrate.

After weeks and weeks of losing, the competitor in me is preening. I only wish we’d beaten Stretch and his team, because I fucking hate that guy and will never forgive him for how he spoke to Tabitha.

In fact, sometimes in the ring, I imagine his face just to help with emoting for the crowd. Works every time.

But tonight, it’s Tabitha’s face that stops me in my tracks. Her head is thrown back in laughter, her eyes are bright, and her cheeks are warm. She’s surrounded by friends, and she’s glowing .

She looks happy, and god, I love to see it.

I’m not oblivious to the fact that she’s been feeling low since Erika’s death, but sometimes her stoicism makes it easy to forget how deep her grief must run. So the stark contrast of seeing her happy now hits me with a hard pang in the center of my chest.

It only makes me wish I could make her look like that. Instead, I’ve mostly succeeded at making her scowl, look confused, or look like she wants to rip my clothes off—which was great until she followed that up with awkward reasons she needed to leave. Most likely brought on by the reminder that I’m me… and she thinks I evicted her sister.

“What the fuck is going on in here?” Bash grumbles, looking around at multiple tables, each one scattered with small pencils and squares of paper.

West shrugs as he assesses the bar. “Beats the fuck outta me.”

Doris yells out over the tables from behind the bar, “Last question. It could be a tiebreaker since we have two teams with the same number of points right now. What is a group of unicorns called? A herd, a flock, a blessing, or a rainbow?”

Ford’s brows knit together as he whispers, “What the fuck?”

“Oh, a blessing. Duh,” West says with an eye roll. Bash shoots him a scornful glare, which only makes him laugh. “You’re just mad you were thinking rainbow , aren’t you?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“A happy one,” West volleys with a wink.

I turn my attention back to Tabitha’s table, watching the heads of four women drawn, all different shades of hair, but it’s the shiny black strands that I watch closely. Just her hair makes me think of how it felt to fist it, to have her climb on top of me, kissing me like nothing else in the world mattered.

My cock thickens as I recall our moment on the stairs. The thrill of chasing her across the basement. The almost that will provide shower fodder for the rest of my life.

West bounces on the spot, peeking across the space at the sheet. “I swear Skylar knows this one. She’s got this. When did they start a trivia night? And why does it have to conflict with bowling? This would be so fun.”

Bash crosses his arms. “This would not be fun.”

“Rosie would kill me if we started crashing girls’ night,” Ford adds. And he’s got a point. Between him, West, and me, our significant others are all here tonight. Plus, one more who I have yet to meet.

“Time’s up,” Doris calls out. “Please drop your answers in the pitcher in front of me, and make sure your team’s name is on there, or I’m not giving you any points. This isn’t kindergarten. You should all know how to identify yourselves.”

My lips twitch at the older woman.

West just looks amused. “God. Doris is such a legend.”

I nod my agreement as I watch a person from each table stand up and head toward the bar with their answer in hand. And I now recognize the fourth team member who was sitting with Tabitha.

“Who’s that?” Ford asks, tipping his chin toward her as she makes her way to the front, wearing a long flowy skirt and bracelets on each arm.

“That’s my yoga instructor. Gwen.”

“You do yoga ?” West turns and looks at me like I just said I can walk on water.

I shrug. “Yeah. I like it.”

“Like for inner peace and shit?”

I scoff. “Something like that.”

“You should take Bash with you. He looks like he needs some inner peace.”

I glance over at Bash, expecting his usual level of resting bitch face. He’s grumpy, sure, but it’s part of his charm at this point. I like to think of him as honest and direct. He says what he means and means what he says, but he’s also reliable. He helped me out with the alarm system and is always forthcoming with bowling tips.

Deep down, Bash is a pretty nice guy.

Which is why it’s hard to make heads or tails of his expression right now. Cut from stone and devoid of all color.

I nudge him. “You okay?”

One sharp nod.

Doris starts going over the answers, but Bash’s eyes stay trained on Gwen. He’s tracking her every movement across the floor, jaw flexing when she slides back into the booth next to Tabitha.

“Okay, enough loitering,” Ford says. “Let’s go find a table.” He strides away with authority.

“Near the girls!” West calls as he heads after him.

Bash and I follow, and where I feel a stirring of excitement at the prospect of seeing Tabitha, Bash looks like he’s heading to a funeral.

When the women realize we’re here and look up, my eyes go to Tabitha. I don’t know what to expect after earlier.

But the blinding smile she hits me with is not it.

It stops me in my tracks.

All my wishing I could make her happy, and here she is. Looking at me. Happy .

Here she is, getting up and heading straight for me.

Here she is, greeting me with a bashful, “Hi,” before pushing up on her tiptoes and pulling my face down to hers.

Her plush lips stay on mine for just a beat or two longer than is appropriate for the setting, and her tongue dances across mine, just like mine had at the grocery store.

And fuck, it feels good.

My pulse races as I sigh against her mouth. “What was that for?” I whisper, eyes bounding between hers.

“That was…” She licks her lips, gaze drifting to my mouth.

“See?” Rosie’s amused voice filters in from behind us, cutting her off. “She takes one look at him, and her cheeks are all red.”

“Shut up, Rosie,” Tabitha calls back without looking away. Then she changes the subject entirely and starts introductions. “Gwen, this is Bash,” she says, gesturing to my teammate.

He scowls at Gwen, and she pushes her blond hair behind her ears. “Yeah, actually… we’ve met.”

Rosie’s eyes widen, and her head rears back a bit. “You have?”

“Yup.” Bash’s voice is brusque. “Good to see you again. I’m going to head out. You kids have fun.”

Kids? Bash is maybe five years older than me. He’s never called us kids before.

Before I can call him on it, he spins on his heel and is gone. All of us look confused, except for Gwen, who can’t take her eyes off of him as he leaves.

“Do you know him from yoga?” I ask.

Gwen smiles sadly, only responding with a hushed, “No,” and zero other information.

The group falls silent for a moment, and then, in his usual manner, West shifts everyone into chatter and cheer.

Except for me. I feel off-kilter. I want to know what Tabitha was going to say.

I watch her as she turns away and heads to the bar for another drink. She bends over and props her forearms against the edge and waits for Doris, who is busy talking to someone at the other end.

And I can’t resist the pull to her. Not after that kiss. Not after the stairs. I follow and approach from behind, caging her in as I prop a hand on either side of her and step in close.

She doesn’t turn to check; she knows it’s me, and she doesn’t draw away. In fact, I hear her suck in a breath, feel a tremor race down her spine, and watch her stiffen when my thighs press against her ass.

My lips graze the lobe of her ear as I drop my head to speak quietly. “You really think you’re gonna run away without telling me what that was?”

“Hmm,” she muses, leaning into me and pressing her back flush with my chest. Her ass rubs against my dick like the tease I know she can be. “That was… how real newlyweds would say hi.”

I lean in farther, covering her, pushing her against the bar and not really caring who’s watching. We’re fucking married. “Real, huh?”

She nods briskly, and I can hear her swallow. “Yeah. That.”

I hum thoughtfully, feeling her heat, the way she melts—the way her back arches against me. “You telling me I’m just imagining you grinding that ass on me right now?”

“Yeah,” she breathes. “All in your head.”

I tilt my head to take a look at her profile. The flush on her cheeks. The way she’s nibbling at her bottom lip.

“Tabby, baby, are you sick of playing this game?”

Her eyes slice over to mine, all wide and intentionally clueless. “What game?”

Guess I’m playing it too.

I drop my lips to the spot just beneath her ear. Then the side of her neck. The top of her shoulder, where I let my tongue dart out for a taste as my hips drive slowly against her jeans.

“The game where you pretend you weren’t about to tell me what that fucking kiss was about.”

Her chest is heaving. I can see it moving. I know exactly what I’m doing to her, and I could not care less.

“Okay, I was going to say?—”

“Oh look! The emo one has become the horny one,” Doris announces, fists propped on her hips.

Tabitha straightens instantly, pushing me back like she’s a teenager who just got caught sneaking a boy through her window.

“Very funny, Doris.” Tabitha laughs to cover the tremor in her voice.

I scowl at Doris as I draw up straight and watch her take Tabitha’s drink order. Then I’m forced to stand around making small talk when what I really want is to be at home.

Alone.

With my wife.

At the end of the night, we both take our respective rides home, me with the guys, and Tabitha with the girls. And when West drops me off, she’s already there, sitting out on the front steps. She has her jacket collar pulled high around her neck to keep the chill out, turning over a white envelope in her hands.

I wave goodbye without taking my attention off her and saunter toward the stairs with a growing sense of dread. Because I’m pretty sure I know what that envelope holds.

It’s the only thing that’s kept me here rather than on the road.

“Marriage certificate is here,” she says with forced enthusiasm, holding it up to me.

“Oh.” I stop and stare at it. I should be happy, because we were waiting for this. It makes everything easier. I go on the road, and Tabitha keeps Milo at home. We eventually only meet up for… I don’t know. Christmas? Easter?

Suddenly, I’m relieved that Tabitha didn’t tell me to keep going earlier. Bad as it stung, having to pull away from her after taking that turn would be worse. No, this is better. We can part ways as two… friendly acquaintances. Sharing nothing but brief moments of insanity to laugh about when Milo is older.

Yes, this is much better. So long as I ignore the nausea building in the pit of my stomach over leaving them, this is just fine.

My feet carry me forward, and I take a tentative seat beside her. I reach for the envelope, and her gaze stays on me as I peel it open. My hand shakes when I pull out the contents, and I know she notices, because she slides a comforting palm over my knee.

Then, under the porch light, I analyze the marriage certificate. Our marriage certificate. Tabitha Lynn Garrison. Rhys Malcolm Dupris. I run my fingers over her name and then mine. Her name proudly chosen by her parents, the same middle name as her mom. My name… a mystery. I’ll never get to know why they chose my name, only that people who gave me up assigned it to me along the way by. A thread of shame tightens in me.

“You don’t have to take my last name, you know,” I say, keeping my gaze on the certificate. “I’m not a fan of it either.”

She rests a shoulder against mine. “I love your last name. It’s strong. It suits you. I like the way it sounds with your first name. I just…”

“I know. We’re not?—”

“No, it’s not you. It’s Milo. He’s a Garrison. I feel like matching that will just be easier for school and stuff as he gets older. And I feel tied to my sister with our last name in a way. I’m actually not sure I’ll ever change it.”

I nod. “Smart. That makes sense.”

And it is. And it does. But something about it hurts. I’m still on the outside. Still on my own. I’ve got a pretend family—but not a real one.

I bump my shoulder against hers. “I’m gonna have to hit the road now, you know.”

“I know.” It grows so quiet that I can hear her swallow. “How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know. I need to make up for some lost time. Anthony is far too excited about the creative liberties they can take while I’m not there.” I scrub a hand over my mouth, somehow dreading saying this out loud. “Weeks? The lead-up to Pure Pandemonium will be busy.”

“Weeks,” she repeats the word back to me as though it’s new to her. “Okay.”

“I’ll… uh…” I clear my throat, feeling emotional about leaving them for weeks . This woman and this little boy who I’ve grown to… care for. “I’ll make sure I pick Milo up in the morning, say goodbye to your parents and him. Maybe I’ll take him to the park for a bit; Then I should drive to the city and start heading back.”

“Okay. Yeah, of course. Sounds good.”

Her thumb moves in a circle on my knee, and my lips quirk up.

That’s my move.

“I’m going to hit the hay,” she says, pushing to stand.

I nod, but don’t look up. Then her fingers glide into my hair, combing through tentatively. Nothing like earlier today. When the tips of her fingers slip from my scalp, I miss the pressure of them. The heat of her nearness.

God. I’m so fucked.

The door creaks as she departs, and I don’t look back until the sounds of her moving stop altogether.

“Hey, Rhys?”

I glance over my shoulder, and her beauty steals the air from my lungs. All done up, the porch light shining down on her like a spotlight screaming, She’s the one!

I clear my throat. “Yeah?”

“Gwen seems sweet. What I meant to tell you earlier is that she told me you talk about me all the time. And the restaurant.”

I shrug. Gwen is sweet. But clearly, she got to me with her chatter about opening your love chakras and creating space for your heart to heal from past bruises or whatever other hippie shit she spouts. Her salt-of-the-earth ramblings, though…

They made me loose-lipped.

They made me think of Tabitha.

And on the off chance my new yoga teacher was getting the wrong idea about me and my reasons for attending her class, I raved about my wife.

“She said she can tell that you’re proud of me.” Tabitha’s voice comes out thin, and she covers the vulnerability of the sentence with a sarcastic scoff. Always covering with dry humor and cutting one-liners, as though she expects me to roll my eyes and play it off. As though she’s spent a lifetime being overlooked and expects the same from me. I look her dead in the eye and tell her the truth.

“I am proud of you, Tabitha.”.

“Thanks. I…” Her voice fades out, and she looks away shyly. “You’re a good man, Rhys. I hope you know that. I think Milo moving in next to you was meant to be. I’m glad he has you.”

My nose stings, and I nod again as I watch her turn and retreat into the house. I desperately want to say something, to call her back out here. But I just… can’t .

Conversations like this are out of my wheelhouse. A lifetime spent keeping people at arm’s length means this thing with Tabitha has me feeling like a deer in the headlights—wide-eyed and frozen. My chest aches as if the unspoken words are burning from the inside, trying to make their way out.

But by the time I think of what to say, she’s gone.