Page 17 of Wild Side
An awkward silence descends until Trixie speaks again. “I am not the child’s guardian. I don’t know either of you or your backgrounds. But, generally speaking, children are best served in a familiar setting, surrounded by familiar people.”
She’s not telling us what to do, but the writing is on the wall. And I can tell by Rhys squirming that he doesn’t like the implication. But this seems like something he and I can brawl over later. Because for as much of an asshole as he is, I don’t get the sense that he’s going to steal Milo away in the middle of the night.
I clear my throat. “Can we touch on the best way to tell him? I just—” My voice breaks, and it takes me a second to regain my composure.
I swallow.
I blink.
I roll my lips together.
And then I feel a big, warm hand on my knee.
One I wasn’t expecting. One I have no idea how to feel about. And one I can’t look away from.
Tan skin, thick fingers, streaked with veins.
My eyes flit to Rhys, but he’s not looking at me. His fingers pulse on my leg, and I’m too confused by his reassuring touch to react.
He doesn’t remove his hand, and that works for me, because it leaves me just bewildered enough to take a deep breath and continue. “I just don’t know how to explain this to him.”
Trixie nods sadly, eyes shining with compassion. “You tell him directly. You will use words likedeath, anddied, anddead. Terms likepassed awayorisn’t with us anymorewill only confuse him. I know these words can be uncomfortable and hard to say, but it will give him the best understanding. He needs to comprehend that he will not be seeing his mother anymore. That when people die, their hearts stop beating. And we won’t cover it with talking about her as being”—her knobby fingers come up in air quotes—“‘sick.’ Because, again, he will relate that back to himself. The next common cold he gets will cause unnecessary stress.”
My throat works over and over again as I try to swallow the words. I don’t even want to say them out loud in a room by myself, let alone look into Milo’s eyes and say them too. The thought makes my breathing go heavy and my stomach churn. And as I attempt to come up with something to say in response, my heart races.
Rhys’s hand squeezes again. And I want to punch him for knowing it’s exactly what I need. I don’t want him to be this attuned to me. I want him to disappear.
But before I can react, he pipes up with a question of his own. “Can you give us an example of how you’d say it?”
Trixie nods, and I let out a heavy sigh, then knock his hand off my knee. I’d rather not be comforted by the man who plans to take my dead sister’s child away from me.
“I would take the three-pronged approach again. Answer those questions one by one.” She holds three fingers up now and drops one down as she speaks again.“Your mom has died, and this means you won’t be seeing her ever again. It’s okay for you to be sad, and it’s normal to have a lot of feelings about this.”
My eyes sting as she drops another finger.
“You are safe and loved.”
I wonder if Milo needs to hear this or if I do.
“And last, you’ll add something like,this is who will be taking care of you.”Trixie’s head swivels between us with a knowing, quirked brow, and I feel like I’m in time-out.“Your mom won’t be able to take care of you now, but we will be.”
The words she emphasizes aren’t lost on me. She makes it sound so effortless, so obvious, but I know in practice it will be anything but.
“Then I would tell him that you’ll be there for him, and you will talk about his mom with him anytime he wants.” She closes with a simple shrug, as though this isn’t the worst conversation of my life.
My lips clamp in a tight line, and I nod rapidly as though that makes up for my lack of words. Rhys sits woodenly beside me, and it’s hard to make out on the screen, but he looks frozen. Like a statue.
When I glance over at him in the flesh, he looks even worse. Pale and motionless. He looks downright unwell.
And for the first time since life threw us at each other… I feel bad for him.
CHAPTER 8
RHYS
The minutethe call window disappears, Tabitha rolls her chair back and flees the room. I swear I see her wipe a hand over her cheek, but it just as easily could have been her flipping me the finger. Either way, I don’t move. I sit, the reality of it all settling in.
My hand. Her knee.
