Wild Side (Rose Hill, #3)(77)

Her bedroom door is open and the bed perfectly made. I hold her flush with one arm as I reach forward and turn down the sheets. When I place her down on the mattress, she sighs and her eyes go heavy. I lift the down-filled duvet over her, trying not to gawk at how fucking beautiful she looks in the warm glow of the small bedside lamp.

Unable to resist, I run a palm over her hair. She stares at me with that same look from the bathroom, and I can’t quite put my finger on what it means.

All I know is no one has ever looked at me the way Tabitha Garrison does.

I clear my throat as I pull away, towering over her. “You rest. I’m going to go clean up. I’ll let you get rid of the underwear.”

Her lashes flutter in a languid sweep, fingers wrapped around the duvet as she tugs it up beneath her chin. Her lips pop open, and my brain can’t fucking handle it. Sordid images crash through my mind. Me crawling in with her. Making quick work of those flimsy panties. Sliding down her body.

I spin away from her, giving my head a hard shake as I leave. I go straight for the bathroom. With a click, I lock the door and strip the wet clothes from my body, each piece landing with a sopping sound. My dick is at half-mast when I ditch my boxers.

“You’ve got the self-control of a gnat, Dupris,” I mutter to myself as I bend to lift our soaked clothes from the floor. After I make a big wet ball of them, I march out into the hallway and make my way to the basement where I can start the laundry.

Agitation lines every motion, my feet landing on the floors harder than usual. I open the door at the top of the stairs with a forceful yank, my hand flicking at the light switch like it’s done something to offend me.

I’m grumbling under my breath as I stomp down the wood steps into the concrete-covered basement. But when I turn to face the space, I freeze in my tracks. Water from the clothes held against my naked body drips onto the bridge of my left foot as I stare.

My room is…not the same. New bedside tables flank a matching bed frame, with deep maroon sheets and perfectly plump pillows. A large rug softens the floor. There appear to be photos propped on the framing. There’s… I don’t know. It’s cozy and warm and full of love.

Someone who cares put together this room, and it makes my heart fall hard on a heavy stutter step. No one has ever put a room together for me.

But Tabitha did.





CHAPTER 34


Tabitha





I DIDN’T WANT TO GET OUT OF BED, BUT I ALSO DIDN’T WANT to lie there in wet underwear. The discomfort had me kicking back the covers and leaving the bed behind.

And the view down the hallway kept me from returning to it.

Because when I walked to the hamper near my open bedroom door, I got an eyeful of Rhys.

Naked Rhys.

Firm ass, trim waist, hair on his legs, tattoo-covered Rhys.

Walking down my hallway—away from me. The urge to follow him hits me the way he throws a bowling ball. Hard as hell.

But instead of following him, I just watch from the doorway, heart racing, feeling flayed open. Like each of Erika’s journal entries peeled back a strip of skin until I was left raw and messy, the air stinging me all over. Like scraped knees, but so much worse.

Then Rhys came. And when he held me, it eased the pain. He wrapped himself around me like a bandage and made all the worst parts of my night feel better.

I knew I missed him.

I just didn’t realize until now that I needed him.

My eyes clamp shut, and I turn away when I hear his footfalls hit the bottom of the stairs. My reasoning for any major decision is severely compromised tonight.

He kept the truth from me.

He came back for me.

He’s sacrificed for me repeatedly, and I can’t for the life of me see what I’ve done to deserve that loyalty from him.

He tells me almost nothing with his words, but everything with his actions.

I slip off my underwear and toss them into the basket before I crawl back into bed naked. I’m feeling both ashamed of myself and desperate to seek him out. I’m a little angry with him, but in a strange turn of events, I also understand his choice.

I understand it because it’s what I would have done. It’s what I’ve been doing for my family for years.

I’ve just never had anyone twist a situation to spare my feelings. It’s a strange sensation to be on the receiving end of that kind of selflessness. That kind of loyalty. It’s especially a mindfuck to wonder if I deserve it.

The turmoil in my mind wipes out my exhaustion. I’m well past tired—I’m delirious.

Naked in bed, I think in circles. Erika’s manipulation of me—and him—should be at the forefront, but in the shower, the realization hit me: what’s done is done. No matter how much I want to go back in time and smooth this over, it’s impossible.

I felt my hold on my idealized version of Erika slip through my fingers as I cried in Rhys’s arms. I’d been so keen to grip it hard, to make her story into something more palatable than it was. Did she hurt people? Or was she wonderful? I’d realized she could be both things at once and that my memories of her didn’t have to be all sunshine and rainbows for me to still love her.

The rush of profound relief as I accepted the situation for what it was—beyond my control—soothed me.

And I let it go.

Then all I was left with was Rhys. Undressing me. Drying me. Every touch brimming with respect and dedication that I’m not so sure I deserve from him, but crave all the same.