47. Rhys
CHAPTER 47
RHYS
I’m rolling around in my own puddle of self-pity when Tabitha appears at the door again. Relief hits me like a tidal wave.
She’s back.
And she looks fucking furious.
She storms over to me, hands clenched in fists, feet stomping on the linoleum floors. She blows right up to the bed, a look of sheer determination on her pretty face as she peers over me.
“Rhys, I know you want me to leave, but that is just too fucking bad. Because I refuse. But I’ll go get a coffee to give you a minute for processing purposes, and then I’m coming back and I’m going to sit in that corner. Feel free to pretend I’m not here if you need to. I don’t care.”
She points across the room. “And when you’re done stewing in whatever feelings you’re feeling right now, I will be there . Just like you were there for me. This is who we are now.” Her eyes are so fierce, she pierces me with them. “This is what you do when you love somebody. And I have every intention of loving you just as thoroughly as I know you love me. You just have to let me.” Her voice cracks, and my chest shatters.
Tears well in my eyes, and one slips out, rolling toward my hairline.
She reaches forward, wiping it away with a gentle finger. “Because even at your worst, I still love you, Rhys. Just try not to be an asshole when I get back, ’kay? Because I am coming back, and this tantrum is annoying.”
She turns and leaves the room, forcing me to lie here with my guilt and turmoil. The ten minutes it takes her to get a coffee and come back are so excruciating that they feel like hours. She really pressed on a sore spot when she mentioned coming back.
But even assuring me doesn’t completely convince me. No one has ever come back for me.
She does though.
I let out a rough sigh and close my eyes when her outline graces the doorway. She doesn’t address me. She just pads to the corner of the room, where she flops into the chair and starts scrolling her phone, only peeking up from the screen to stare daggers at me.
I finally break the silence. “Why are you mean-mugging me?”
She flattens her lips but doesn’t look up. “Sorry, I’ll try to gaze at you lovingly from where I’ve been exiled.”
My tongue presses against my cheek. Okay, I deserved that.
She just grunts, then smiles as her eyes zero in on her phone.
I try again. “What are you watching?”
“Raccoon videos that Gwen sent me.”
“Raccoons?”
“Yeah. My next pet, I think. Hopefully, you’re allergic.”
My lips twitch because this feels… familiar. Normal in a not-normal situation.
“You can’t be mean to someone with a broken back.”
Her eyes roll. “Your back isn’t broken. At this point, I’m more concerned about the concussion, because you’re acting a fool.”
I almost laugh. It’s so her to be both furious with me and supportive in the same breath.
Someone comes in and leaves me with a contract for the procedure, which draws my attention away for a while as I read through it carefully.
I clear my throat and turn my head to look over at her. “Can I put you as my emergency contact?”
“Does a broken back make a person this confused?”
“My back isn’t broken.”
“Oh good. Maybe the concussion is healing after all.”
God, she drives me nuts—in the best way. Calling me on my shit left and right.
“Tabby, can you just answer the question?”
“What do you think?”
I swallow, letting out a thread of my inner turmoil. “I don’t know.” It seems obvious that my wife would be my emergency contact, but I just don’t know right now.
She drops the phone flat on her leg, blowing out a heavy, exhausted sigh. This woman who moved mountains and traveled all night to get to me without even being asked. The truth is, I wanted her to know I was okay, but I never expected her to come.
Old habits die hard, I guess.
Her head shakes as she makes her way across the floor toward me. Then she kneels at my bedside, dropping the railing down so there’s nothing blocking our view of each other. “Rhys.” She props her elbow on my mattress and holds her pinky up. “I pinky promise to always come back.”
My throat feels tight. It hurts to swallow. Seconds pass as I regard her. Then I wrap my pinky around hers and squeeze as I nod firmly. “I pinky promise to always come back.”
“You fucking better.” She laughs as she returns my nod.
And then she drapes herself over my torso, hugging me as gently as possible.
A strangled laugh bubbles up out of me as I wrap my arm around her narrow back. And fuck , holding her might be the best feeling in the world.
Ending up here is almost funny if I think about it. It reminds me of her marching into my house all those years ago, forcing her pinky swear on me.
I remember thinking she was fierce and loyal and fucking incredible. I remember wondering what it would feel like to have someone like Tabitha love you.
And now I know.
Surgery is a success, and five days after that, I wiggle my toes.
Tabitha is like a barnacle, stuck to my side, questioning every doctor and therapist. She refuses to leave the hospital, and our next disagreement is about her sleeping slumped in a chair. I don’t like it, and she doesn’t give a flying fuck. Luckily, she hits it off with one of the nurses, who takes pity on her and hides an extra rolling cot in the room.
One she pushes right next to mine. And just like before, I spend many a night watching her sleep, reveling in her nearness.
And once I’m moved out of the ICU, she makes it her mission to bring me extra meals. She’s firm when she needs to be, and kind when she wants to be. I’m pretty sure she drives my therapists up the damn wall.
The only person she swaps out with is Will. He doesn’t talk much, except to apologize. He looks tired and disheveled, but he never stops showing up.
He’s here at physical therapy with me today because Tabitha went to a local gym to have a workout and a shower. I hate thinking that she doesn’t get any downtime, that she’s living out of a bag and sleeping on a shitty bed because of me . But she never complains, so I’ve decided to just surrender and let her take care of me.
She’s taken time away from the restaurant, but everyone has pitched in to help. Cleo and Milo are both cared for. The walks are getting shoveled since snow has finally fallen. It’s a team effort. A family effort. It’s a foreign experience. But Tabitha has shown me it’s okay to lean on people. That I’m not a burden. That indeed, they will come back even when it seems inconvenient.
The guys from bowling even took a trip on Ford Grant’s fancy-ass private jet to visit. It was the surprise I never expected. Friends.
Plus, Crazy Clyde was the absurd entertainment I never knew I needed. The man himself showed up in a wheelchair, looking sicklier than I do, while spouting off about how he knows a guy who has a medical blog that could give me a second opinion. All I need to do is send him my scans.
West laughed, and Bash and Ford groaned. It all felt… familiar somehow. A good reminder that I have so much back in Rose Hill. Even if one of those things is an old man who believes every conspiracy theory ever recorded.
Gripping the bar, I repeat sitting and standing, still experiencing lingering traces of numbness but feeling significantly better. For a while, I wasn’t sure I would. But every day is an improvement.
“Kid, aren’t you supposed to be back on the road?” I ask Will.
He props against the wall. “No.”
“I don’t need you to babysit me.”
“I’m taking a break.”
I look up at him as the therapist says something to me about focusing on pushing through my heel. I ignore him, glaring at Will instead. “A break?”
He shrugs. “Gotta get my head right before I step back in the ring. Maybe get more practice under my belt.”
“Will, you’re on track to be a company superstar. Don’t do this. Don’t blame yourself. Shit happens in this business sometimes. We gotta pick up and move on. I fully intend to be back in that ring, kicking your ass.”
He smiles, but it’s forced—flat. “Okay.”
“Honey, I’m home!” Tabitha calls from the door, her hair still damp like she rushed to get back here.
“All right.” Will ducks his head like he can barely face Tabitha. “I’m out.”
He breezes past her, but she follows him into the hallway, where I see her wrap him in a firm hug that he barely returns. It chokes me up a little to see him suffering like this, and I don’t know what to tell him to make it better.
I hope Tabitha does. I watch her lips move as she holds him by the shoulders. Tiny little spitfire manhandling a huge professional wrestler. She gives him a little shake, no doubt doling out her own special brand of tough love.
He said he was going to win her over, but I doubt he realizes that he already has.
When she walks back in, she seems distracted. I can see the wheels turning as her teeth strum at her bottom lip, but that faraway look disappears when my physio announces, “Honestly, I think you can go home.”