Wild Side (Rose Hill #3)

28. Tabitha

CHAPTER 28

TABITHA

Tabby:

Give Little Willy hell.

Rhys:

Yes, wife.

Watching Rhys drive away the next morning rolled over me as an overwhelming wave of dread. Milo waved goodbye with a big smile, chattering away about how much fun they had at the park, and all I could think was, I don’t want him to go .

What worked between Rhys and me in the beginning was a mutual distaste for each other and a shared love for Milo. Our arrangement had nothing to do with us, and everything to do with one little boy.

But after months spent together and seeing all the subtle ways he supports us, I… Well, I’m not sure what our arrangement is founded on now. He told me he was proud of me, and my chest swelled. I’m not sure he even understands how badly I needed that praise.

All my hard work, all my sacrifice, it always ends up coming along with implications about Erika. There is an unintentional tendency among the people in this small town to compare us. Like anything I do is great because it’s more than what Erika did.

My accolades have always been attached to her in some way. Which not only makes me feel like shit, but it makes me feel angry on my sister’s behalf. Her mental health was a constant uphill battle, and she struggled, but she had a soft heart. It kills me that no one sees her the way I do.

Except for Rhys. I suppose we’re kindred that way.

So now the distaste is gone, and in its wake? Mutual respect.

With just a drop of obsession.

Because I have not been able to stop thinking about Rhys all day.

Is he safe?

Is he hungry?

Is everything at the border okay?

Is he thinking about me too?

Dinner rush at the restaurant was the only thing that stilled my spiraling mind.

But that was short-lived, because now I’m back home. Luckily, my mom already had Milo peacefully tucked into my bed upstairs, and I’m… watching fucking wrestling.

It’s not even Rhys’s night—his show is on Mondays—but with a cup of tea in hand and a brain too wired to fall asleep, curiosity got the best of me. I find myself fascinated, from the costumes to the names to the way they throw themselves around with reckless abandon.

It’s riveting. The drama is full tilt, the women are badass, and the men are more varied than I remember from my childhood. They’re not all fake tanner, blasted-out pupils, and so muscle-bound it looks painful. They look more like Rhys. Big, built, and fit , but not like they chew steroids for breakfast.

The camera zooms in on the man wearing the manties that Rhys doesn’t, and I lean closer, gauging if he shaves his legs or if he’s just so oiled up that I can’t see the hair. Even his arms are smoother than mine. Perhaps it’s a strategy thing? I think back to touching Rhys’s forearms—there was definitely hair. I’d have noticed smooth skin or scratchy stubble.

I stroke Cleo, who is curled beside me, and then slide my hand down my own leg. Yes, like that . Stubble—because I took one look at my razor in the shower and decided shaving my legs seemed like way too much work.

I reach for my phone, the question burning in my mind and not at all just an excuse to contact Rhys.

Tabby:

Do you shave your legs?

I hit send and immediately consider deleting it. We left things on such a tender note last night, and here I am, asking if he shaves his legs like the awkward weirdo I am.

He responds within seconds.

Rhys:

What?

Rhys:

Also, did you put that sandwich in my bag? I ate it on the plane. I hope you didn’t poison it.

Tabby:

Your legs. For wrestling. Is there a benefit to having them look like a Ken doll? Because I’m watching tonight’s matches, and this dude is smooth and glazed like a doughnut.

Tabby:

And yes, I made it. No, I didn’t poison it. I’ve given up on killing you off. I just wanted you to have something in case your connections were tight.

Rhys:

Sorry. You’re watching wrestling?

Tabby:

I’m a very supportive wife. I mean, come on. I made you a sandwich.

Rhys:

Yeah, looking so close at my coworkers that she has questions about their body hair.

Tabby:

Well, I haven’t seen your legs! Inquiring minds and all that. I promise not to make fun.

My head joggles as I read the words back, realizing that’s a bald-faced lie. My thumbs move again, to clarify.

Tabby:

Much.

Rhys:

Maybe I like to maintain a little mystery.

I grin maniacally, because that seems a bit like flirting. I didn’t know what to expect when I sent that first text. But this? This feels good.

Tabby:

No shit. You let me call you a porn star for weeks. Now tell me about the state of your leg hair!

Rhys:

No, I think I’ll let it be a surprise. Something to look forward to in the spring when I don a pair of shorts.

Tabby:

I’ll just sneak down and check when you’re sleeping.

Tabby:

You know… when you’re here next. So maybe spring. Whenever.

I lob it out there, thinking he might give some indication as to when he’ll come back. But he doesn’t correct the assumption, which makes a pit form in my gut.

Rhys:

The cat would protect me.

Tabby:

She wouldn’t know. I’m sneaky like that.

Rhys:

You’d have to move her to get under the covers.

I bark out a laugh, head shaking in disbelief at the screen in my palm.

Tabby:

RHYS DID YOU JUST ADMIT TO SLEEPING WITH CLEOCATRA?

Tabby:

THE CAT YOU ARE “ALLERGIC” TO AND DO NOT LIKE?

Rhys:

I’m not allergic to her.

Tabby:

Clearly.

Rhys:

Listen, I’m not a cat person. But as far as cats go… that one is fine.

Tabby:

That one? Fine?

Rhys:

How is she?

He ignores my jabs, so I send him a picture of Cleo coiled up with white paws tucked tight.

Tabby:

Good. But now that you mention it, I caught her meowing by the basement door before I brought her on the couch.

Rhys:

She can sleep down there while I’m gone.

I actually laugh. This big, tough, emotions-locked-up-tight man for whom I adopted a cat solely to piss off is now worried about her coping while he’s gone.

Tabby:

Adorable.

Rhys:

The two of you are like a fungus. I can’t get rid of you, so I’ve just learned to like you.

My head tilts. As far as Rhys goes, that’s pretty expressive. And kind of… sweet?

Good lord, this guy has really fucked with my head .

Tabby:

I wish you had put that in the wedding vows. It’s very romantic.

The dots swirl as he types, and I glance up at the TV to see what I’m missing. In the center ring stands his current nemesis, Million Dollar Bill. He’s wearing a tailored suit and a cocky smirk, one hand on his championship belt and the other wrapped around a mic.

And he’s shit-talking my husband.

I know it’s loosely scripted and they’re following a storyline, but my brows furrow and my molars clamp down on each other all the same.

Tabby:

I hate Little Willy and his stupid, smug face.

The dots stop and start up again.

Rhys:

You’re supposed to. Everyone loves to hate him. If it helps, he’s a nice kid. Young and eager, but a natural. I like wrestling with him.

Tabby:

It doesn’t help.

Rhys:

Lol. I will let him know.

The opening notes of loud music cut off his tirade about how Wild Side is old and past his prime. Out walks a gorgeous blond woman with a belt slung over her shoulder. She smiles at the crowd, waving like a pageant queen. Her silky hair is poker straight, and her bike shorts and crop top do her nothing but favors.

Tabby:

Damn. Who is she? She’s so hot.

The woman struts down the ramp to the ring, taking the mic that’s handed to her from someone on the side. “Will, Will, Will. You sure have a lot to say for someone who hasn’t beat a world champion without the help of all his little goon friends.”

“Elle, how lovely to see you. Looking good, as usual. Did you come to beg for me back?” Will’s gaze roams up and down her body like she’s a piece of meat, and he licks his lips for extra dramatic effect.

“Careful, trust-fund baby. I’ve traded in and traded up. If my man, Wild Side, catches you looking at me like that, he might beat your ass harder than he’s already going to.”

I go still. My man?

The crowd’s response is a mix of surprised gasps and ooh s. Will’s face goes slack as he does his best to look terrified by this revelation. I’m assuming it’s a revelation. Rhys’s character having a love interest is news to me. Or maybe I’m out of the loop. It’s not like we are in the habit of telling each other lots of things.

I make a mental note to google it later. Or bring it up casually with Cora next time she babysits.

My phone vibrates in my hand.

Rhys:

I didn’t know about this. I haven’t been back to HQ yet to talk with the writers.

My brows furrow. I know it’s not real. Nothing about it matters, but it still feels like a bucket of icy water down my back, and obviously it’s caught Rhys off guard too.

“Oh, don’t look so scared, Little Willy.” Elle pouts at the suit-clad wrestler across from her as she circles him. “You had to know this was coming. Wild Side just needed a little nursing back to health.” She gives him a suggestive wink. “And I was the perfect girl to get him back on his feet.”

Hoots and hollers sound from the audience as my cheeks heat.

“That’s right. I’ve been keeping him locked up safe with me. Working out hard to get ready for that championship match. In fact, we have a little message for you.”

Then she points up at the Jumbotron. It crackles to life, and on the screen, playing to tens of thousands of people, is the promo I filmed. The one that led to teasing, and chasing, and a hot and heavy make-out session that is burned into my brain. Seeing it on TV hits me with a thrill I didn’t expect. And the screaming of the crowd hits me with a realization that Rhys is a much bigger deal than I’ve been giving him credit for.

Tabby:

That’s ours! We did that! I filmed that!

Rhys:

Tabby, I swear I didn’t know about this storyline. No matter what, it’s fake.

I swallow. He seems very fixated on that point, whereas I was trying desperately to move on. And while he may not have been entirely honest with me in the past, I get the sense that he’s an earnest and thoughtful person.

So, I opt to cut him the slack he needs, playing it off like hearing some hot-as-hell chick talk about working out hard with him doesn’t make sparks of jealousy flash in my chest at all .

Tabby:

Of course it’s fake. I’ve had you locked in *my* basement. How on earth could she have you locked up safe with her? That’s absurd.

Tabby:

Unless you have a twin brother?

Okay, now I’m just filling the space with weird jokes again.

Rhys:

No twin brother.

Tabby:

Damn.

Rhys:

Sorry to disappoint.

That last text makes me feel kind of bad. Like I took it one joke too far. So I change the subject to asking him about wrestling, how it all started, when he knew this was what he wanted to do.

He starts from the beginning, recounting his days on the high school wrestling team, then training at a pro wrestling gym and trying his hand at it professionally. He shares more about himself than he ever has before, and I gobble up every crumb like a woman starved.

Rhys:

Then I went and trained in Mexico. Even did some time on a circuit in Japan.

Tabby:

Ugh. Now you’re just making me hungry. I’d kill for a good mole or ramen right about now. Midnight sushi? Yes, please.

Rhys:

Lol. My girl has food on the brain *always*.

My girl . The term shouldn’t make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, but it’s late, and no one is here to judge me. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a relationship long enough for a man to call me his girl. So I bask in being on the receiving end of that kind of endearment from this man of few words.

Tabby:

Is that where the mask inspiration came from? You really never take it off?

Rhys:

Yeah, wrestling with the luchadores in Mexico was like an alternate universe. Honestly, some of the best wrestlers in the world. They taught me so much. Inspired me hugely. And I never take it off. Not even for in-person events. Now and then, another wrestler will try to unmask me as part of a storyline. But they never succeed. The anticipation is addictive. They try. I kick their ass. The crowd goes wild. I like to maintain my privacy. I like being able to slip on that mask and become someone else.

I like to maintain my privacy . It hits me then that Rhys isn’t in the habit of sharing these things with anyone. He’s built an entire career on keeping a front of complete anonymity. Of becoming another person when that camera turns on.

And yet, here he is blurring all those lines. With me .

In his own quiet way, it feels like Rhys has given me a gift. Given me a peek behind the mask. Given me his trust .

I spend so long trying to fit the pieces of the Rhys puzzle together—to come up with how best to respond—that I zone out entirely. By the time I pick my phone back up, I figure he’s gone to bed.

Still, I send him one final thought.

Tabby:

I feel very special that I get to know both Rhys *and* Wild Side.

Then I doze off with my phone in my hand.

And when I wake up to drag myself upstairs, I see one final text from Rhys.

Rhys:

You are.