Wild Side (Rose Hill, #3)(87)

“Anyway.” Ford reaches forward to toast Rhys. “A fucking wrestler, man—that’s pretty cool.”

West lifts his glass, but then pauses. “Wait, so are you just a cat dad?”

Rhys shrugs, looking almost bashful. “I’m a cat dad. And I was friends with Erika, so I’ve done my best to fill that role for Milo. Like where I can. I love him like he’s my own. Even though I know it’s not the same—”

“Nah.” West waves him off. “Don’t qualify that. Parenthood isn’t black and white. It sneaks up on us where we least expect it. If it walks like a duck and all that.”

Rhys gives him a grateful smile. And like West can tell he’s struck an emotional chord, he pivots to lighten the mood. “I mean, look at Rosie. Who ever knew she’d be a mouse mom one day?”

Skylar laughs. “Hey, don’t pick on Scotty. He is a well-loved—and fed—mouse!”

West chuckles and lifts his drink once more. “To parenthood, in all its iterations.”

With that, we all toast. And I watch my husband smile as a visible weight lifts from his shoulders before settling in to enjoy a night with friends. One less secret weighs him down, but a brand new one pops into existence for me.

My newest secret is that I’m happy.

Being married to Rhys makes me happy. Really, truly happy.

So when we get home and he turns like he’s going to go to the basement, I stop him.

I take him by the hand and lead him up to my room instead.





CHAPTER 39


Rhys





I WAKE UP EARLY TO BURN OFF SOME STEAM. AND I DECIDE to do that with my jump rope out back, even though it’s fucking freezing.

But it doesn’t deter me. The concrete pad out back is the perfect spot for me to squeeze in a quick workout.

And think. Because between the looming possibility of having to show my face on national television and all the newness with Tabitha, I can feel the familiar heaviness of anxiety in my chest. One that pulls tighter and tighter the more my mind spins.

I pull my hoodie up to cover my ears, knowing that I’ll warm up once I get going. Earbuds in, I start by swinging the rope at a gentle pace to warm up. At first, my mind is scattered, but with time, I find my focus. My shirtsleeves get rolled up, and the hood comes back down. My breath comes out in white puffs, and sweat trickles down my back.

I take breaks, but they’re short, because I relish the feeling of pushing myself to the limit. Double jumps and skip steps get worked into the rhythm of the song.

And it’s not until I stop to check my watch that I see Tabitha, wrapped in her favorite blanket, sitting on the back steps, observing me. She smiles as I turn, and my heart stutters in my chest.

I feel like I should pinch myself when she looks at me like that.

Things between us moved at a snail’s pace at first. Then we both gave in, and everything happened so quickly—so easily. But sleeping next to her, in her bed, like we’re a true married couple, hit me with a new level of intimacy I wasn’t expecting. It felt real, and not like a secret we were hiding away in the basement.

“Why are you looking at me like I terrify you? Can’t a woman enjoy watching her hot-ass husband jump rope in the morning?”

“Because you do,” I tell her honestly.

“Fair. It’s part of my charm though.”

I prop my hands on my hips and drop my eyes, chest heaving as I struggle to catch my breath. “What are we doing, Tabitha? Not knowing is stressing me out.”

She takes a sip of her steaming coffee as her eyes narrow on me. “That’s vague. Can you clarify?”

“Us.” My finger flips between her and me. “This. Sleeping in your room together.”

I know she’s toying with me by how dramatically her brows furrow. “Wait. What’s wrong with my room?”

I tip my head back now, struggling to find the words. Communication and relationships are not my strong suit, but for Tabitha, I want to be better. No secrets. “I’m not used to sleeping with another person. The basement felt like one thing, but upstairs in your room feels like another.”

“Sorry. Wait. I’m still stuck on the part where you’re not used to sleeping with another person. Like…ever? Or just not lately?”

“Ever.”

Her jaw drops. “Why?”

I groan and scrub a hand over my stubble. “I don’t know. It just feels very personal. I grew up hiding my favorite things between my wall and my bed and wondering if someone who wasn’t my family was going to come into my room at night to take them. I never wanted anyone in my space, felt like it needed preserving and protecting. I’m sure that contributed to my complete lack of long-term relationships. Or whatever—that’s what my therapist would say, and he’d probably be right.”

I watch her throat bob as she gives me a small nod. “So you slept in my room with me because?”

The answer is right there—it comes to me naturally. “Because I wanted to.”

She blinks once, hard, and a few times more rapidly, never looking away from me with those big, glowing eyes. “Well, I guess we’re…” She clears her throat and looks away, thinking. “I guess what we’re doing is being married.”

“For how long?”