Chapter 26
You don’t get to talk about her
Connor
She’s back. And I’m a mess about it. This isn’t how I wanted her to come back – shattered, humiliated, hurting. The thought of Tilly hurting makes me sick. But I can’t lie: having her here, in my bed, in my arms… I’m selfishly relieved.
I hold her closer, scared she might slip away again, and notice how different she feels now.
Smaller, frailer. Like the fight’s been drained out of her.
When I glance down at her face, the bruise around her eye hits me like a punch of my own.
It’s spreading like spilled ink across her skin, stark and ugly against her too-pale complexion.
A reminder of how I let her down when I let her go.
The dark smudges under her eyes give away her need for rest, and that’s exactly what I intend to give her.
Not only to recover from her injuries but also from him.
She needs a chance to reclaim her mind. Her body.
The very essence that makes her Tilly. My Tilly.
Because that’s what she is, whether she realises it yet or not.
She’s mine. And I’ve been hers for years.
As I lie counting the smattering of freckles brought out by the summer sun along Tilly’s nose, her phone buzzes on the bedside table. She flinches in her sleep at the sudden sound, and I can’t bear to see her disturbed, so I reach over her small body to turn it off. That’s when I see his name.
I shouldn’t look. I know I shouldn’t. It’s not my place to read messages meant for her. But my protective instincts overshadow rational thought when it comes to Tilly now, so I look anyway.
Rhys
You’re being ridiculous
Of course he’d find a way to blame her. The prick wrote the book on gaslighting. Should I delete it? Or just make sure I’m there when she opens it, for support? Before I can even process it, another message comes through.
Rhys
Why do you turn everything into a drama?!
My ears start to ring as my blood boils with barely contained fury. And then the third message comes through.
Rhys
Stop being a bitch and get your fat arse back to this house!
And just like that, Rhys signs his own death warrant.
For the next twenty minutes, I run on rage-fuelled autopilot, barely registering what I’m doing as I tap out a quick reply, kiss Tilly’s head and grab my keys. On the drive over to his house, I regain some semblance of control. Enough, at least, to know that Rhys’s life is safe. For now.
Tilly would never forgive me, or herself, if I hurt Rhys.
And what good would I be to her from a jail cell?
But I still don’t want her to have to face him; she’s not ready.
So I’m just going to warn him to back off.
She’s made her choice, and it isn’t him.
She hasn’t technically chosen me yet, either, I remind myself.
Finally at Rhys’s house, I pound my fist on the door, deciding it’s safer to take out my aggression on the wood than his face.
But when the door swings open and I see the bastard that abused my Tilly for years, turned her into a shadow of herself, the temptation to wring his neck is almost too strong.
His face falls when he realises I’m not Tilly. “What the fuck do you want?” he asks, folding his arms across his chest in a show of dominance. The veins in his arms protrude grotesquely over muscles larger than they’ve seemed before. Is muscle growth that quick normal?
“I’m here for Tilly’s things,” I answer, managing to sound far more calm than I feel.
“Of course she went running back to you,” he spits. “She doesn’t have any actual friends, so she didn’t have any other options. Well, you can turn back around and go tell my wife to come home.”
This prick.
“No,” I answer confidently, and enjoy the sight of Rhys struggling to process the word. “Ooh, you’re not used to hearing that word, are you?” A smirk forms on my lips. I can’t help it.
Unsurprisingly, Rhys doubles his efforts to try to threaten me, filling the doorway with his large frame. But I’m not easily intimidated.
“I don’t have time for this shit,” I tell him, hoping my frustration comes off as boredom as I intend. “Move, or I’ll move you.”
I stare him down, refusing to look away. There’s a tense second when Rhys considers taking me on, but he’s not quite stupid enough to do it.
“Fine.” He reluctantly moves to the side. “Just don’t cry when she leaves you too.”
I huff a laugh, both relieved and disgusted with how quickly he gave in.
Men like Rhys are all the same. They rely on intimidation because they don’t actually have the goods to back it up.
Yes, he’s a solid guy with arms as thick as tree trunks, but he clearly has no idea how to use them other than to stretch his shirt sleeves.
I step into the house and make my way towards the garage, where the boxes were stored last time I helped move Tilly out.
Helping myself to a few, I go back into the main house and start packing up anything I recognise of Tilly’s from the kitchen.
A couple of mugs go in the box. A recipe book follows.
But the food scales stay where they are.
When I get back to the living room, Rhys is sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone as if this is all completely normal. He’s lounging there like we’re having Sunday brunch. The man’s fucking nuts.
I’ve barely picked up one of her books from the bookcase when he starts spouting off bullshit.
“You know what you’re getting yourself into with Mat?” he asks, tossing his phone onto the cushion beside him.
I don’t answer.
“She might seem like a quiet, shy little librarian or something, but she’s hard work.”
I continue to pack up Tilly’s books, ignoring Rhys as best I can. I refuse to rise to his bait, if for no other reason than I want to get home to Tilly. I don’t want her to wake up and think I’ve abandoned her. So, for her, I take a breath and keep packing.
“You need to watch her all the time,” he continues, seemingly unbothered by my silence. “If she’s left to her own devices, she’ll slip from her diet and pile on the pounds.”
Don’t hit him. It’s not worth it. It would feel amazing, but it’s not worth it.
My teeth clench uncomfortably, but I don’t let him see my anger. Instead, I focus on neatly folding Tilly’s favourite blanket.
“I mean, you might like big girls, and who am I to judge? I just don’t want her to be a whale when she finally sees sense and comes back, you know?”
There’s no way I’m ever letting that happen. Even if Tilly doesn’t want to be with me, I’ll do anything, everything, to stop her from getting tangled in his web again.
I’m just about to box up her laptop when Meathead opens his mouth again. Does this man have an off-switch?
“I do have to apologise to you though, mate.”
Well, this is unexpected. I keep packing but glance over at him to let him know I’m listening.
“That night, when me and Tilly came by the restaurant. I knew you worked there, and I took her there on purpose to rub it in your face.”
My heart rate picks up speed, and I will it to settle. Of course I knew he’d done it on purpose to show me he’d won, but hearing him confirm it makes my blood boil.
Rhys steps closer to me, lowering his voice like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear what he has to say next. “But me finger-fucking her under the table when you were talking to us? That was all her. Before you came out, she begged like a fucking whore…”
“Shut up,” I warn him. I clench my fists, willing myself to keep calm, but every word out of his mouth makes it harder. There’s only so much I can ignore, and my tolerance has run out. “You don’t get to talk about her anymore.”
“She’s my wife!”
“You lost the right to call her that when you started sleeping with other women!” I yell. My restraint has completely snapped.
“You’d sleep with other women too if your wife was a worthless piece of…” He trails off, seeing the fury building in my eyes, but it’s too late. I’m past the point of holding back.
My fist flies, almost of its own accord, and slams into Rhys’s jaw. There’s a sickening but satisfying crack as his head jerks to the side and he stumbles back.
But the satisfaction only lasts a moment before the regret sets in. He baited me and I let him. I’ve made everything worse for Tilly.
We stare at each other, the side of his face already beginning to swell, a small trickle of blood dripping from his lip. I fucked up. And if he hits me back, I’ll take it. I’d deserve it.
Rhys’ hand twitches, and I brace myself for his attack, but it doesn’t come. What happens is worse.
He smirks, a look of triumph in his eyes. It’s only there for a second, but it’s definitely there. “You’re not worth it,” he sneers, and storms out of his own house, slamming the door behind him.
I’m left standing in his house, still clutching Tilly’s blanket in one hand, my breathing heavy and laboured. My heart slows as the adrenaline begins to settle and the full impact of what I’ve done takes hold. He deserved what he got, no mistake. I just hope there are no repercussions for Tilly.
I give myself ten seconds to recover, then get back to packing. I take her clothes, carefully folding them so they don’t get creased; her toiletries; an unused scented candle from her bedside table.
Once everything is bundled into my car, I take one last look around the prison Tilly spent so many years calling home. She’s free now, I remind myself, and shut the door behind me.