Wild Side (Rose Hill, #3)(36)

“Are you fucking joking?” His disbelief and frustration braid themselves together.

“Nope. Sorry,” I mumble, looking around Tabitha’s backyard from the lounger I’ve propped myself on.

I do feel bad. Like my returns, I’ve been a sporadic employee of late. But this—being here—is more important.

“I’m actually getting married,” I say.

That strikes the older man silent for a few beats. “Married?”

“Yup.”

“But when I look up bachelor in the dictionary, your photo is there.”

“Ha-ha.” I enunciate the words sarcastically. “I’m not that bad. I just…enjoy my solitude.”

“You’re right. Maybe it’s under monk.”

I grumble but don’t respond.

“Shit. You’re not joking, are you?”

“No.”

“Well…” He trails off, and I can hear the rasp of his fingers over his beard. “Congratulations. It’s great you found someone who doesn’t conflict with your solitude, even though it’s fucking me over. I’m happy for you.”

Oh. She conflicts all right, but for some confounding reason, it doesn’t bother me at all.

That’s what’s new.

“Thanks.”

“Could you take the honeymoon later? I could schedule you some time off after the next pay-per-view event.”

“No.”

“That’s all you’re gonna give me, huh?”

I palm the back of my neck, feeling a pang of guilt for letting the coworkers down. Anthony down. They don’t deserve this. I know it’ll mean rejigging matches and re-writing storylines. There will be grumbling. And while I’m a good coworker and a solid wrestler, I don’t think anyone would accuse me of being the sunshine of the crew.

They do me favors because they respect me and need me, not because they enjoy bending over backward for me.

His heavy sigh reeks of disappointment. “I’m going to run this past the writers. Might need you in character filming some promos to keep everything rolling forward. You got a costume on hand?”

“Oh yeah. I take my mask and combat pants with me everywhere I go.”

He sighs again. “Spare me the snark, Dupris. I’ll have a set sent to you. Emerald Lake?”

“No. I’m in Rose Hill.”

“Buttfuck Nowhere. Got it. Text me the address. I couldn’t find that on a map if I tried.”

“Thanks,” I grumble, not loving having to ask him for even more help.

“Don’t thank me yet. You owe me for this. And whatever story we come up with, you’re gonna do it. No bitching and moaning. You’ll come back here, put your head down, and get to work.”

My molars clamp. He knows I’m finicky about the shit they do with my character, but I’m not in a position to negotiate right now. “Yup.”

“Good.”

With that, he hangs up, and I’m left sitting in the sun, staring at the screen of my phone, feeling more out of control than I have in many, many years.



When I come back inside, I find Tabitha sitting at the kitchen table with Milo. He’s focused on coloring, and she’s completely absorbed, eyes locked on him. Sometimes I catch her like this—zoned out and staring at specific parts of him. Like his ears or his lips.

I chalk it up to her being tired.

She starts when the patio door clicks shut behind me, but Milo looks up and gives me such a genuine smile that I can’t help but smile back at him.

Then my eyes land on his paper, and my smile sours.

He has covered the paper with his most impressive cat drawings. Which is to say that an abundance of deformed cats covers the page.

“Lookin’ good, pal.”

“Drawing Cleocatra,” he says with a pleased smack of his lips.

“She looks…” I glance at Tabitha, who’s already glaring at me as though daring me to insult his cat. “Super cool. Love it.”

Tabitha relaxes back into her chair now, arms crossed beneath her breasts and a smug smile on her face. She looks—so to speak—like the cat who caught the canary. I take a seat and can tell by the gleam in her eye that she’s enjoying watching me struggle.

Still, there’s something cozy about all of us sitting at the table together. We’ve been ships in the night, doing what we need to do but avoiding each other at all costs. Yet, as I sit here with them, I realize I like the simplicity of it. Even if things aren’t perfect, there’s a sense of closeness that I’ve always craved.

With that thought in mind, Cleocatra leaps up out of nowhere onto my lap. She does this little purr-meow thing that I’m sure some people would find cute. Me? I start and lift my hands like someone just threw anthrax at me.

Tabitha’s lips purse, and her head tilts. Another silent threat.

“She loves you.” Milo nods, sneaking a peek up at me and looking extremely satisfied about his cat and me forging what he perceives as a friendship. “Pet her. She’s soft.”

It’s not that I truly hate cats. I’ve just never had pets. Haven’t had the time, or the space, or the inclination. More mess, more responsibility. And truthfully, their short life expectancy just seems like you’re signing up for guaranteed and unnecessary heartache.