Wild Side (Rose Hill, #3)(21)

This woman needs a target for her anger. Someone to blame so that she hurts a little less.

And without even thinking it through, I decide I can be that person for her.

I can keep my truths about her sister and her eviction. I can let her hate me if it makes getting through this even a smidge easier for her. She already can’t stand me. Knowing the way her sister spoke of her won’t change anything. It’ll just crush an already broken heart. And I can’t stand to see that.

The minute the decision latches on in my brain, a weight lifts from my shoulders. Committing to silently supporting Tabitha through this ordeal gives us breathing room to figure out what the best solution is. It gives me time. And it gives her a chance to breathe before everything gets uprooted.

I will move Milo eventually. Maybe just not yet. It’s the path of least resistance—even if that’s not what Erika would have wanted.

But I know it’s what’s best for Milo. It’s what I wish someone had done for me.

With both our wineglasses filled, we stare at each other from across the table. Staring seems to be our default. I’m pitched forward, both my elbows on the wood, watching her. Most people find my size and appearance—my silence—intimidating, and they end up backing down.

Tabitha does not. She watches me back defiantly, giving nothing away except fuck-you vibes and a few rueful glances that slip down toward my mouth.

Like she’s daring me to swipe the glassware off this table and fuck the fight right out of her.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she says tartly. I cover my chuckle with a grumble that sounds more irritated than I mean for it to.

“Doubt it.”

“You’re thinking I drink too much.”

As someone who enjoys wine and would never judge going on a bender after receiving bad news, she couldn’t be more wrong. “No, I was thinking that the wine at your restaurant was better.” And that this one would be better served splattered across the floor with my head between—

“Wasn’t about to waste my best bottles on you,” she replies, smacking her lips for dramatic effect.

My traitorous stomach grumbles in response, and her eyes flit down to my waist. Thankfully, the table covers my lap, or she’d see proof of the persistent boner I can’t seem to rid myself of now that we’re alone in her house.

Her brows furrow, and I can see her thinking. I haven’t eaten dinner, but I don’t intend to tell her that information. She’ll say she’s glad I’m starving, and I’ll spend more time wondering why I’ve been so attracted to her since the very first time I laid eyes on her.

“How was bowling?”

“Fucking awful,” I lie. I ended up having a fun time, even though it was embarrassing as hell.

“Good.”

Of course she loves that. “I couldn’t say much. Didn’t know if anyone was in the loop.”

She hits me with a droll look. “I’ve barely had a minute to process my sister’s death, let alone”—she waves a hand over my body—“you.”

“Have you told anyone?”

She winces. “No. Everyone can find out about Erika when I’m good and ready to tell them. The gossips in town will say mean shit about her, and I’m not ready to hear it whispered when I walk past.”

Fuck. She hasn’t told anyone? It seems as if she might be just as alone as I am. A subject I don’t like to dwell on. So I forge ahead, getting down to the nitty-gritty.

“I need to head back to Florida.”

Her expressive brows pop up on her forehead. “K.”

A single syllable. It annoys me. But only because I don’t like carrying conversations.

“In about two days.” Her hand flies to her throat, face contorted in pain, as she rocks back as though I’ve struck her. Her reaction is visceral. It’s hard to watch. And I put her out of her misery quickly. “I won’t take Milo with me.”

Her shoulders sag as an audible rush of air breezes from her lips, relief personified. “Thank you.”

I grimace because she might not be thanking me after what comes next. “For now.”

And sure enough, ire flares in her expressive eyes. “What does that mean?”

It means I’m invested in her, though for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. I rationalize that Erika—if she could see the way her sister cares for Milo—would want this. I rationalize that if Erika was lying about her sister, then giving this setup time to shake out is the only mature, logical way to handle it.

Milo’s well-being comes first. That’s my real job as his guardian.

“It means I’ll be back in a few weeks.”

Her cheeks turn pink, dark eyes dancing. “Oh, so this is a test? Are you going to grade me? Who made you the fucking judge, jury, and ex—”

“Tabitha. I. Don’t. Know.” That shuts her up. “You were right, okay? I don’t know anything.”

Her mouth pops open and then closes again.

“All I know is that the stories your sister told me don’t fit with what I’ve seen today. All I know is that Milo’s mom is gone, and I want nothing but the absolute best for him. All I know is that he’s talked about tabby cats for the past fucking year, and I’ve told him over and over again that I’m allergic.”