39. Rhys
CHAPTER 39
RHYS
I wake up early to burn off some steam. And I decide to do that with my jump rope out back, even though it’s fucking freezing.
But it doesn’t deter me. The concrete pad out back is the perfect spot for me to squeeze in a quick workout.
And think. Because between the looming possibility of having to show my face on national television and all the newness with Tabitha, I can feel the familiar heaviness of anxiety in my chest. One that pulls tighter and tighter the more my mind spins.
I pull my hoodie up to cover my ears, knowing that I’ll warm up once I get going. Earbuds in, I start by swinging the rope at a gentle pace to warm up. At first, my mind is scattered, but with time, I find my focus. My shirtsleeves get rolled up, and the hood comes back down. My breath comes out in white puffs, and sweat trickles down my back.
I take breaks, but they’re short, because I relish the feeling of pushing myself to the limit. Double jumps and skip steps get worked into the rhythm of the song.
And it’s not until I stop to check my watch that I see Tabitha, wrapped in her favorite blanket, sitting on the back steps, observing me. She smiles as I turn, and my heart stutters in my chest.
I feel like I should pinch myself when she looks at me like that.
Things between us moved at a snail’s pace at first. Then we both gave in, and everything happened so quickly—so easily. But sleeping next to her, in her bed, like we’re a true married couple, hit me with a new level of intimacy I wasn’t expecting. It felt real, and not like a secret we were hiding away in the basement.
“Why are you looking at me like I terrify you? Can’t a woman enjoy watching her hot-ass husband jump rope in the morning?”
“Because you do,” I tell her honestly.
“Fair. It’s part of my charm, though.”
I prop my hands on my hips and drop my eyes, chest heaving as I struggle to catch my breath. “What are we doing, Tabitha? Not knowing is stressing me out.”
She takes a sip of her steaming coffee as her eyes narrow on me. “That’s vague. Can you clarify?”
“Us.” My finger flips between her and me. “This. Sleeping in your room together.”
I know she’s toying with me by how dramatically her brows furrow. “Wait. What’s wrong with my room?”
I tip my head back now, struggling to find the words. Communication and relationships are not my strong suit, but for Tabitha, I want to be better. No secrets. “I’m not used to sleeping with another person. The basement felt like one thing, but upstairs in your room feels like another.”
“Sorry. Wait. I’m still stuck on the part where you’re not used to sleeping with another person. Like… ever? Or just not lately?”
“Ever.”
Her jaw drops. “Why?”
I groan and scrub a hand over my stubble. “I don’t know. It just feels very personal. I grew up hiding my favorite things between my wall and my bed and wondering if someone who wasn’t my family was going to come into my room at night to take them. I never wanted anyone in my space, felt like it needed preserving and protecting. I’m sure that contributed to my complete lack of long-term relationships. Or whatever—that’s what my therapist would say, and he’d probably be right.”
I watch her throat bob as she gives me a small nod. “So you slept in my room with me because?”
The answer is right there—it comes to me naturally. “Because I wanted to.”
She blinks once, hard, and a few times more rapidly, never looking away from me with those big, glowing eyes. “Well, I guess we’re…” She clears her throat and looks away, thinking. “I guess what we’re doing is being married.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know that people usually plan that type of thing.”
I swallow. “Right. But this marriage… it’s fake.”
Her head tilts as she regards me with a tight smile and narrowed gaze. “That’s funny. It doesn’t feel very fake to me.”
Air rushes from my lungs. It’s like I didn’t even realize how badly I needed to hear that from her. But there’s an echo of hurt in her eyes that makes me feel guilty for calling this thing between us fake. Because I know better.
So I face her head-on and tell her the secret I’ve been keeping for weeks now.
“It doesn’t feel very fake to me either.”
“Well, this is such a treat to have you all here.” Tabitha’s mom claps her hands together and looks at us over the table.
She and Paul have returned from their camping trip, and when they found out I was in town, they insisted on having us over. Their house is comfortable and cozy, if not totally generic.
They’ve ordered in Chinese food, have each cracked a beer, and seem so elated to have us here that I almost feel uncomfortable.
The things making me feel better are Milo on one side of me—chair pushed extra close—and Tabitha on the other.
“It’s so nice that you two had a few days together. How romantic of you, Rhys, to surprise Tabitha like that. I’m just thrilled that you two are happy.”
Tabitha and I turn to look at each other at the same time. She offers me a wink, and I swear I blush. Ever since we cleared the air about where we stand, things have felt extremely relaxed between us. It makes me want to tell her more things, to talk them out, resolve them, and feel this kind of contentment and closeness on the other side of it.
I’ve never felt so rewarded by being open with another person.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“How did you two meet again? Landlord, right?” her dad asks as he scoops a serving of black bean chicken onto his plate.
I clear my throat, preparing to continue with my total honesty policy. “Actually, I wasn’t just Erika’s landlord. We were good friends.”
Both their heads snap up, wide eyes on mine. It’s as though in their cloud of grief, they were so happy to see Tabitha ticking marriage off the list they forgot to ask any details about us.
“Really?” Paul clarifies.
“Yeah, I lived next door to her. We got to know each other and became fast friends. She was wonderful, and Milo was the cherry on top.”
Both her parents look shell-shocked by this development.
“Ree’s my babysitter,” Milo oversimplifies, around a mouthful of thick noodles.
I lean close, nudging him. “My man, I don’t babysit you. We just hang out.”
With that, we fist-bump, and he throws his head back in a manic giggle. One that sounds overtired based on what I know of him.
“Best friends forever!” he shouts before going back to shoveling food into his mouth.
When I look up, the table still looks stunned.
“We met when I helped Erika move in, and…” Tabitha looks at me, as though gauging how much she should say. “The rest is history.”
Her mom looks tearful, and so does Paul, but not so much so that he can’t find any words. “That’s a hell of a love story if I’ve ever heard one. I know your last name is Dupris, but I’m sure proud to consider you a son. An honorary Garrison. You’ve got the heart of one.”
Tabitha’s hand lands on my leg, like she just knew that sentiment would hit me square in the chest. And it does. I swallow and roll my lips together before offering this man a smile.
“You know.” I clear my throat before continuing. “On that note, there’s something I should tell you guys.”
Tabitha shoots me a questioning look, like she’s not sure what I’ll say next. But I’m on a roll now, and I need to get it all off my chest. Telling our friends freed me, and it was an overwhelming relief to no longer keep hidden a huge part of who I am. And I don’t want that hanging over my relationship with Tabitha’s family.
“I know Tabitha and I told you I was a stuntman.” I rub a hand over the back of my neck. “What I do is actually sort of stuntman adjacent?”
Tabitha snorts at that, and I can see her grinning at me from the corner of my eye.
“I’m a professional wrestler, so that’s what keeps me on the road so much.”
Her mom nods and grins, recovered from the last bombshell I dropped. “Well, that explains all the muscles, doesn’t it, Tabby Cat?”
Tabitha slumps back and laughs. “Yeah, Mom. I suppose it does.”
Paul’s brow furrows. “Like on TV?”
I nod.
“What channel?”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Why? Are you gonna watch it?”
He scoffs and shakes his head like I’m an idiot. “You’re family. Of course I’m going to watch it.”
And just like that, I feel like I’m part of the family—not a single one of us perfect, but supporting each other anyway.
When we leave, I have a passed-out Milo laid against my shoulder as Tabitha jokes, “You survived your first family dinner! Congrats!”
I smile down at her. She looks so fucking happy compared to where she started. And then I shrug, because it didn’t feel hard to survive at all. I loved it. So all I say back is, “When can we do it again?”