Wild Side (Rose Hill #3)

48. Rhys

CHAPTER 48

RHYS

“I think breaking your back made you a better bowler,” West exclaims as I throw my first ever strike.

Although I still feel a slight unsteadiness, I am officially healed enough to bowl—which I am unexpectedly excited about.

Bash groans and scrubs a hand over his face. “Do you ever think before you open your mouth?”

Ford’s dry “No” makes me laugh.

West just chuckles, rolling with the punches. “What fun would that be? You smile so pretty when I say shit like that.”

That gets chuckles from Ford and me, but not Bash. He stares at West with his best resting bitch face. He’s always been friendly enough with me. I can’t tell if his humor is just really dry or if he’s genuinely in this bad of a mood all the time.

“Ooh. You’re hitting me with the Gwen smolder. I like it!”

Now it’s Ford’s and my turn to groan. We all know there’s something weird between them, but usually we tiptoe around it. Bash isn’t exactly forthcoming.

“There is no Gwen smolder.”

Ford scoffs. “There is definitely a smolder.”

Bash turns to me, clearly searching for backup since the two of us have forged a tentative sort of friendship.

I take a long pull of my beer and tip my head from side to side as though I’m considering. “Sorry, man. I gotta say, there is a smolder.”

“See? Everyone knows. It’s just… There’s an energy .” West is teasing, but Bash does not look amused.

“Don’t mock her. You can mock me, but not her.” The words come out snippy, and I quirk a brow at him. “Don’t give me that look. She’s my son’s ex-girlfriend. That suggestive eyebrow lift is not necessary.”

I still. We’ve talked about security systems. We’ve talked about bowling. But never once have we talked about his family.

“Wait, how old is your son?” One thing I’ve appreciated about Bash is that he doesn’t pry. So I have never pried back.

“Twenty-four.”

“Huh.” I wasn’t expecting that. “How old are you?”

West gets the giggles, and Bash rolls his eyes. “Forty. Young enough to give Clyde a kidney.”

We all freeze, and I marvel at the way he managed to shock us all into a brand-new conversation.

“Crazy Clyde?” Ford asks with a furrowed brow.

“Yep.”

“Does Clyde know about this?” West asks, all of us nodding, because there is no one who spews more conspiracy theories than Clyde. “He seems like an… unlikely candidate?”

Bash shrugs again. “He has come to terms with the fact that he will be getting a new kidney along with a government tracking device.”

“ Wild ,” Ford mumbles, shaking his head.

Bash shrugs. “I’ve got two. We’re a match. And I can take the winter off to recover, be back in action for fire season.”

“You’re a lot nicer than you look, Bash.” West slaps the older man’s shoulder appreciatively, which only gets him a glare that looks like it might kill him.

The night carries on in good spirits. Teasing and camaraderie and a mutual distaste for Stretch, who pitches an absolute fucking fit when we finally beat him.

It feels surprisingly similar to becoming a universal champion.

When Stretch walks over and runs his mouth, I stare him down with my best Wild Side glare, lifting my hands up and miming a twisting motion like I’m wringing out a dish rag.

As expected, he skulks away and avoids eye contact when I pass him on my way out. News of my profession has spread through town, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s a bit scared of me.

I hope he is.

I cruise down the highway, feeling happier than I can ever remember. I’m headed home . To a house where a woman I love lives. Where a little boy I love lives. Some days, I pinch myself with how fortunate I am.

Every day I spend married to Tabitha Garrison, I feel more whole and settle into this being real, and not some fever dream. I fall asleep next to her every night, and I wake with her in my arms every morning.

I itch to get back in the ring—which some people have opinions on. But not Tabitha. She knows that having a purpose is important. She knows hard work. She knows I’ll be happiest pursuing my passion.

And the same goes for her. Her restaurant is thriving—especially since I paid off the loans she took out against it to put Erika through rehab. She had her own moment over that but eventually relented when I brought her sentiments full circle.

We’re a team. Let me help you .

The more time we spend together, the more all the lines in the sand between us blow away. What was hers and mine became ours. And for the first time in my life, I don’t feel the need to hoard and hide and protect.

I let her in, and I think it healed me in a way. My therapist thinks so too.

When I enter the house, I know she’s up because the patio lights are glowing through the windows. Spring has sprung, and she’s back to sitting outside every chance she gets.

I trudge through the house, going straight to her. But not before Cleo intercepts me with her signature prow prow prow as she comes trotting out of thin air.

“Hello, sweet girl,” I murmur, lifting her up and holding her like a baby. She purrs instantly, nuzzling against me. And I don’t even pretend I don’t enjoy it. I carry her out onto the back patio. Tabitha is there, under the heater I bought her, waiting for me.

“I thought I was your sweet girl?” Tabitha asks from where she’s seated with crossed arms and one quirked brow.

I chuckle and place Cleo on one of the chairs before striding straight to the love seat and lifting Tabitha onto my lap. My hands fall to her hips as she straddles me and grips my shirt. I kiss her soundly, sighing the moment her tongue tangles with mine.

Home .

I pull away only to tease her. “No. My Tabby Cat isn’t sweet. She’s spicy. Sometimes even salty.”

Her arms wrap around my neck, and she sticks her bottom lip out dramatically. “The only thing I’m salty about is that Cleo loves you so much more than me when you”—her fingers lift in air quotes—“hate cats.”

I shift to look over Tabitha’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to her, Cleo. I love cats.”

I hear Tabitha let out an amused scoff, but something on the table catches my eye. Milo’s monitor sits dead center, along with a legal-size manila envelope beside it.

“What’s in the envelope?” I ask, leaning back to meet her gaze.

Her head joggles as though she’s searching for an explanation. “An idea.”

My forehead scrunches as I hug her close and reach forward for it, curiosity getting the best of me.

She doesn’t stop me when I open the envelope right between us and reach inside.

“If you don’t like the idea, that’s okay.”

All I feel is paper.

“Like, I don’t want to offend you in any way. I just…”

She rambles on as I pull the sheets out. Her voice fades away as I soak up the words on the page. Terms like legal name change and name of a spouse pop out.

“What is this?” My hands shake.

“I thought maybe you’d want to be a Garrison. You, me, and Milo? So presumptuous of me. I just hate knowing you don’t like your last name. Feeling like we’re all together might be nice? I don’t know. Maybe I’m out to lunch. If you don’t want?—”

Rhys Garrison.

I don’t let her say anything more. With the papers crinkling between us, I lean forward and kiss her, my hand at the back of her head. It’s firm and desperate. It ends with our foreheads resting together and my whispered words lingering between us.

“Yes, please.”