Wild Side (Rose Hill, #3)(66)

I clap his shoulder, not wanting him to stress, even though I’m spiraling. This isn’t his problem. It’s mine. “Not on you, pal. Meet you in the ring this afternoon for practice. We’re gonna give them a hell of a show.”

He nods, eyes scanning me as I move past him, continuing down the hallway, wanting nothing more than to get the fuck out of this building.

“Rhys!” Elle’s too-sweet voice grates down the back of my neck like nails on a chalkboard.

“Not now,” I growl without turning.

“We need to plan what we’re—”

I pivot toward her. “Elle, do not push me on this. I am not in the mood. And I do not like this.”

She smiles gently, still moving in my direction. “We’re going to make this fun. Don’t worry.”

I hold a hand up to stop her approach. “Elle, if someone tells you they don’t like something, you fucking stop.”

Her eyes widen like I’ve hurt her feelings rather than just told her the truth, and with a shake of my head, I leave. The training center headquarters, like an arena made for wrestling, has several exits, and I take the closest I can find, not especially caring where I end up. I’m planning on taking a few laps around the building to help calm myself down, so it doesn’t matter.

The minute I hit the warm, humid Tampa air outside, I suck in a breath. It tastes bad, nothing like the crisp mountain air in Rose Hill. It tastes like salt and smog rather than rose petals and sunshine.

I’ve always loved wrestling—the training, the conditioning, the drama, everything about it. But today, for the first time, I wish I were lying on a blanket with Tabitha and Milo, picking out shapes in the clouds.

I look up, and the sky is a uniform shade of gray, rain threatening at any moment.

My fingers pulse around my phone. I’m both desperate to open Tabitha’s text and nervous to see what it says.

She didn’t respond to my final message last night, and it left me wondering if I took it too far by telling her she’s special. I didn’t know whether to message her again. Didn’t know if it would come off too…eager. And then I figured, we’re married, so what’s the worst that could happen? She ends up thinking I’m a huge sap? Oh well.

But there isn’t a shred of awkwardness in her message.

Tabby: Did you know that if you trace Dupris back to its French origins, it means “from the meadow”?

My brows lift. Of all the messages I expected from her, that was not it.

Rhys: I did not. Are you looking me up?

She responds right away.

Tabby: Seeing the marriage certificate got me thinking about last names. Gwen was talking about feeling grounded in the universe by exploring your roots, and I thought I’d dig around a little for mine too. Garrison has a few meanings, so I’m choosing my favorite, which is “fortified stronghold.”

I swallow. That sounds like something Gwen would talk about, but my feelings around my family name are complicated. I haven’t spent much time looking into my background. Instead, I’ve focused on looking ahead.

Tabby: And you know, actually, most Dupris families lived in Canada. So maybe you really were meant to end up here. Part-time. Or whatever.

Rhys: Maybe.

I do not know where she’s going with this, but even though it’s a subject I hate, I want her to keep talking. I like the idea of being meant to end up in Rose Hill. That would mean grasping control is futile because this life is just rolling along—beyond my power.

Tabby: There’s even one search result that says newer variations of Dupree (with an accent, because, French) might mean “special family.” The website doesn’t look very legit. But who cares? Maybe you like that one better.

I wince. I’m not sure that definition is better at all. Seems a little tongue-in-cheek if you ask the kid who was passed from family to family.

Rhys: Special, all right.

Tabby: Our family *is* special. Unique circumstances. Chosen rather than born into. All tied together in an unusual way.

Rhys: Tabby. Our marriage is one big extenuating circumstance. I’m not sure you could call us a family.

Tabby: Rhys. I’ll call us a family if I want to.

Family.

I swallow hard. It’s difficult to read intonation over text, but I don’t get the sense she’s joking even though that’s the first place my head goes. After the dressing-down Anthony just gave me, having Tabitha call us a family is equal parts shocking and soothing.

Rhys: What are you up to today?

Tabby: When Milo wakes up, we’re going to prep some frozen meals. Any requests?

Rhys: I don’t know when I’ll be back.

Tabby: That’s okay. We’ll be ready for when you are.

I sigh, walking as my thumbs fly, and my chest goes tight. I love eating anything she makes for me. Her meals aren’t just delicious—it feels like she cares about me.

Rhys: Okay. I loved that first pasta you made me. The one with the bacon.

Tabby: Carbonara! Will do. But it’s touchy to reheat, so I’ll have to show you how.

I love the domesticity of this conversation. I love it when she’s soft like this. Her walls become a little less opaque as she gives me a glimpse into what it’s like being part of a family. It makes me wonder if she’s found a way to forgive me for Erika and the role she thinks I’ve played. She hasn’t mentioned that lately, which is both a relief and a problem.