32. Rhys
CHAPTER 32
RHYS
I’m not sure when I decided to go from pining for Tabitha silently to pining for her out loud. But here I am, exhausting myself and traveling for almost twenty-four hours straight just to surprise her for the few days I have off.
I should be practicing. Training. Working .
But I’m not myself right now. Anxiety about the tension with Anthony and his demands have me seeking comfort. And that leaves me thinking about only one person.
Tabitha.
I’m not who I used to be. Something has shifted, and I can’t ignore it.
I cut the engine, tug my bag from the back seat, and duck out of the small rental car—the only one left at the last minute from the airport. I slam the door before heading up to our house. Well, Tabitha’s house.
It’s dark already. The sun has long disappeared behind the jagged peaks that tower over Rose Hill. It’s cold out, the grass stiff with frost as I head toward the front door. My strides cover more ground than usual, but I refuse to admit that I’m rushing to see her. I know she had today off, so there’s a chance she fell asleep with Milo already. Even just peeking in on them might make me feel better.
When I reach the front door, it’s unlocked. “For fuck’s sake, Tabby,” I mutter, entering the house and kicking off my boots. Lights are on in each room, giving the house a cozy glow that my place in Florida couldn’t achieve on its best day.
That house is sterile. This house feels like a home.
“Tabby?” I whisper-shout, not wanting to wake Milo, as I wander through the living room toward the kitchen at the back of the house. When Cleo comes running for me, weaving herself through my legs and purring, I crouch down to give her a scratch under her chin—her favorite spot. “Go downstairs. I’ll be there soon.”
She doesn’t listen, but I continue through the house, searching for Tabitha anyway. It smells like the citronella cleaning spray she likes to use, and the entire place is spotless . I hope she hasn’t spent her day off cleaning.
I pop my head up the stairwell but decide against taking that direction when it’s black at the top. She’s not in the kitchen, but I catch sight of her form on the back porch, sitting on her usual love seat beneath the patio lanterns.
My lips tug at the sight of her, and my feet carry me in her direction.
I start explaining my presence before I’ve even fully opened the door. “Okay, just hear me out?—”
But I draw up short when her head snaps to attention and I’m met with blotchy cheeks, red-rimmed eyes, and wet lashes.
“Tabby, what’s wrong?” My eyes search the space for the cause of her distress. She’s seated cross-legged, with a heavy blanket wrapped around her shoulders. There are leather-bound notepads scattered around her and a plain cardboard box at her feet. “Is Milo okay?”
Tears glisten on the apples of her cheeks, and her dark irises are flat—devoid of her usual sparkle. Her hands sit limply over her knees, left ring finger wrapped in my gold metal band.
The ever-present instinctual pull to her yanks on me, hard, and I’m out the door and across the deck in mere seconds. I drop to my knees at her feet. “Tell me what’s going on,” I murmur as I reach for her.
She flinches and draws away, looking stricken. Her gaze falls to my hands when I hold them up to either side as a show of backing off. “He’s camping with my parents. What are you doing here? You said weeks .” Her voice cracks on the last word, and a jagged line splinters through my chest as I watch another three tears roll from her lashes, each one a shot of pain to my heart.
I’ve been through some shit in my life.
But having to watch Tabitha cry might be the worst of it.
I don’t hesitate to tell her the truth this time. Hands up in surrender, I confess what I never thought I’d be able to let myself admit out loud. “I missed you.”
Beats of silence pass between us, her eyes searching my face as my hands lower slowly, dropping to grip the edge of the couch mere inches from her knees.
She stares at me, silent tears slipping over her full lips. “You lied to me.”
Fuck . I suck in a harsh breath and freeze, lungs full to bursting as I watch her.
“You didn’t evict Erika.”
My eyes fall shut, fingers digging into the rough canvas of the cushion as the air rushes from my lungs, leaving behind a heavy ache. “No,” I whisper, still unable to look at her.
“You were so good to her.”
My nose scrunches as her words crumble into a heavy sob. All I can offer is a nod as I let my lids lift and my eyes take in what I now recognize as journals strewn all around her.
Erika’s journals. I’d see her writing on the porch sometimes, but they hadn’t crossed my mind beyond that.
Tabitha’s hands clench into tight fists, the sound of her hollow whimpers like death by a thousand shards of glass. “You let me believe…” Her lips smack, a disbelieving huff leaping from them. “I was awful to you.”
I face her now, her dark eyes boring into mine. “You weren’t.”
“I was . I was awful to you. I accused you of—my god.” She slaps a palm over her mouth, shoulders heaving as another sob wracks her tiny body.
My fingers itch to touch her, but this time when I reach for her, she slaps my hand away. “Why the hell would you lie about that?” Her hair dangles beside her cheeks as her head shakes, mouth popped open in disbelief. “ Why? ”
I swallow thickly. “I just…” I wipe a hand over my mouth and look away, searching for the right words, the best way to explain things to her. “Tensions were high between us, and I didn’t know if I could trust you. And then I came here and got this whole new perspective, and I—fuck, Tabby, I don’t know. You were so broken, and I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t tell you anything to make you feel better, but my silence could ease your burden, so…” I let out a frustrated growl and look up at the clear night sky, not sure what I’m saying makes sense.
Then I drop my gaze back to hers. “You needed someone to be angry with, and I figured I could be that person for you.”
“Rhys. It hurt you . I hurt you . You didn’t deserve that!” Her frustration sparks, hands slapping at the cushions beneath her. “And me?” She laughs, but there’s no humor. “That was my cross to bear—not yours. I’ve been walking around like I’m all fucking holier than thou, and I just… I’m responsible?—”
“Tabitha.” I grip her leg, urging her to hear what I tell her. “Listen to me. You are not responsible.”
She shakes me off, breaths coming more quickly, eyes going from dead to frantic. “Don’t touch me, Rhys. I… I need… I don’t know what I need. But don’t fucking touch me right now.”
She pushes to stand, blanket falling from her shoulders as she walks stiffly into the house. Still kneeling on the wooden deck, I drop my face into my palms, trying to figure out how to make this better.
I realize that I don’t know, but I stood in a church, in front of a lot of people who care about her, and promised to comfort her. To nurture this relationship when life is simple and when it’s not.
Right now, things are not simple. But the way I’ve come to feel about her is.
I follow her into the house. Up the stairs where I can hear the shower running. I enter the bathroom without knocking, just in time to watch her step into the shower fully clothed. She stands there woodenly, face to the spray, water mingling with her tears and drenching her.
Her body lurches on a sob, and watching her hurt like this almost brings me back to my knees.
This . This is why I didn’t tell her.
She slams back against the tiled wall and slides down it until she’s sitting, knees bent, elbows propped, head hung.
“Fuck it,” I mutter as I rip the glass door open and step in with her. The shocking spray of ice-cold water sluices over my clothes, soaking through to my skin and forcing me to suck in a quick breath.
I drop down beside her, maintaining a few inches between us in a pathetic attempt to respect her wishes.
I’m not sure how long we sit there with the white noise of rushing water making it feel like we’re living in our own private, frigid water world.
It’s fucking freezing, but I barely feel it. All I can think about is Tabitha and how I’d give anything for her to let me comfort her right now. Hell, I’d kill just for her to talk to me right now.
I’ve spent a lifetime thinking I don’t like talking. It turns out I just needed the right person to talk to.
“You should leave,” she says, her voice tinny as it echoes around us.
“No.”
Her face whips in my direction, eyes flashing, chin held high and defiant. “I said get out!”
I match her glare. “Tabitha. You’re my wife. I’m not leaving you.”
Something flickers across her face at that, and instead of responding, she stares at me. Really stares at me. To the point where it’s unnerving. I lick my lips and swallow, then with a resigned sigh, her eyes flutter shut, and she tips her head back against the tiles. Seconds stretch as I watch her carefully.
“I wish you weren’t seeing me like this.”
My brow furrows. “Like what?”
“At my worst.”
I tip my head toward her. “Then it’s all uphill from here, baby. It’s going to make seeing you at your best so damn special.”
A sad smile wobbles through another strangled sob, and I watch a droplet leak from her eye as she sucks in a few breaths through her parted lips.
“Rhys, what are you doing? I mean, this is… What are you even doing ?”
I know she means the question on a much bigger scale. The wedding, the flying back to her unannounced, the way she’s always on my mind even when I’m doing something else. And the truth is, I don’t know. I can’t explain it. It just is .
But I know what I’m doing here in a freezing cold shower with her.
“Trying really hard not to touch you, Tabby.”
She whimpers, hand covering her closed eyes as though that extra layer will help her hide from me.
I expect her to tell me to leave again, but with no preamble, she turns and crawls into my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck and dropping her head on my shoulder.
Then she sobs.
And I hold her.