Page 26 of Wild Side
I place the two glasses in the middle of the table and feel her enter the kitchen, even though I’m not facing her. She’s got the energy of a storm. Ominous, electric, unpredictable.
She was softer for a moment at the bar. I felt it—tired enough to let her guard down. Then she’d gone back to pissed off. I’d watched it happen, saw the turmoil in her eyes, the tension in her shoulders as she decided I couldn’t be trusted.
Truth be told, I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t trust me if I were her.
She plunks a bottle of red wine down on the table with all the ceremony of a bull in a china shop and twists the top off, tossing the lid on the table before pouring out two sizable bells. “Great, let’s get this over with so I don’t have to look at you anymore.” She drops into a chair, looking as exhausted as I feel.
It strikes me that she appears gaunt, leaner than I remember her from that first day she sauntered into my house.
Having grieved my fair share in this life, I know this is anger. Grieving something that never was and never will be is a special sort of hell. Tabitha is angry. Deep down, she’s even angry with herself—which is a hard fucking pill to swallow.
I can empathize.
That’s how I know it’s a lot easier for her to make me the target of all her rage. I know because I’ve done it too. I’ve needed that release too—it’s how I started fighting.
This woman needs a target for her anger. Someone to blame so that she hurts a little less.
And without even thinking it through, I decide I can be that person for her.
I can keep my truths about her sister and her eviction. I can let her hate me if it makes getting through this even a smidgeeasier for her. She already can’t stand me. Knowing the way her sister spoke of her won’t change anything. It’ll just crush an already broken heart. And I can’t stand to see that.
The minute the decision latches on in my brain, a weight lifts from my shoulders. Committing to silently supporting Tabitha through this ordeal gives us breathing room to figure out what the best solution is. It gives metime. And it gives her a chance to breathe before everything gets uprooted.
I will move Milo eventually. Maybe just not yet. It’s the path of least resistance—even if that’s not what Erika would have wanted.
But I know it’s what’s best for Milo. It’s what I wish someone had done for me.
With both our wineglasses filled, we stare at each other from across the table. Staring seems to be our default. I’m pitched forward, both my elbows on the wood, watching her. Most people find my size and appearance—my silence—intimidating, and they end up backing down.
Tabitha does not. She watches me back defiantly, giving nothing away except fuck-you vibes and a few rueful glances that slip down toward my mouth.
Like she’s daring me to swipe the glassware off this table and fuck the fight right out of her.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she says tartly. I cover my chuckle with a grumble that sounds more irritated than I mean for it to.
“Doubt it.”
“You’re thinking I drink too much.”
As someone who enjoys wine and would never judge going on a bender after receiving bad news, she couldn’t be more wrong. “No, I was thinking that the wine at your restaurant was better.” And that this one would be better served splattered across the floor with my head between?—
“Wasn’t about to waste my best bottles on you,” she replies, smacking her lips for dramatic effect.
My traitorous stomach grumbles in response, and her eyes flit down to my waist. Thankfully, the table covers my lap, or she’d see proof of the persistent boner I can’t seem to rid myself of now that we’re alone in her house.
Her brows furrow, and I can see her thinking. I haven’t eaten dinner, but I don’t intend to tell her that information. She’ll say she’s glad I’m starving, and I’ll spend more time wondering why I’ve been so attracted to her since the very first time I laid eyes on her.
“How was bowling?”
“Fucking awful,” I lie. I ended up having a fun time, even though it was embarrassing as hell.
“Good.”
Of course she loves that. “I couldn’t say much. Didn’t know if anyone was in the loop.”
She hits me with a droll look. “I’ve barely had a minute to process my sister’s death, let alone”—she waves a hand over my body—“you.”
“Have you told anyone?”
