Page 19 of Wild Side
I can’t help but wonder… if Erika hadn’t known, would she have asked me to be Milo’s guardian?
It’s a question that will keep me up at night after seeing the Garrison family in action. If they are perfectly capable of taking care of Milo, why’d she choose me?
Because I’d be good for him? Or because of the number of zeros in my bank account?
The question leaves me unsettled.
“Hello?” Tabitha waves a hand in front of me, pulling me out of my dazed state. I’m not myself, and I know it. I like time to think. Time to process. I like weighing my options carefully, and this feels like such a snap decision.
I don’t know what to do, let alone what to say, so I suggest something that backfires spectacularly. “I could let him visit sometimes.”
Her face goes red instantly. “You’ve got some nerve. Rolling in here, a total stranger to his entire family. Acting like you’ll be doing me some huge favor bylettinghim visit.” She scoffsand wipes a hand over her mouth, agitation lining her every movement. I can see the desperation rising in her body language as she shifts from foot to foot. “You’re just some fucking random. You’re not his dad.”
My molars clamp together.
I have spent many a weekend with Milo. Many a stretch taking care of him so Erika could have a break. I’ve given up other vacation locales because, after weeks on the road, it turned out that I missed him.
Over the past two years, I have grown attached. There’s no point in denying it, so I don’t.
“I’m the closest thing he’s got to one. And I’ve been in his life for almost as long as you have.”
I didn’t think Tabitha could turn any redder than she already was, but she defies the odds.
“Get. Out.”
I stand, looming tall over her as I approach, but she’s not the least bit intimidated. She’s a fucking spitfire. Has been since the first day I laid eyes on her. I’m glad Milo has someone like her in his corner. I wish someone had fought as hard for me as she does for him. I may not like her, but I admire her grit and devotion.
“We still need to hash this all out. And I’m not driving five hours home just to turn around and come back when you decide it’s convenient. So where would you have me go?”
She spins away from me, tossing back over her shoulder, “To play in traffic, Daddy.” Her voice is heated, and her hand trembles with fury as she swipes her car keys off the table.
Tabitha is hurting. It’s written all over her. And hurt people hurt people. That’s why I’m not more offended by her jabs. They lack conviction.
She’s shoving her feet into black clogs when she scoffs again. “Actually, I have the perfect place for you.”
“Is it at the bottom of the lake?” I mumble, toeing my own shoes back on and reaching for my jean jacket.
She jerks at my comment, like she didn’t expect me to fire back, but she only misses the one beat. “That’s the dream. Except forensics are pretty solid these days. I’d end up in prison, and then Milo would truly be hooped. Get in your car. You can follow me, since that seems to be your new favorite pastime.”
I bite down on a chuckle, and it comes out as a displeased grumble.
Tabitha is angry. I don’t even know if it’sreallyabout me, though I’m sure my presence isn’t helping. But I know the feeling. The constant niggling thought that you could have done something to prevent this.
It’s the kind of consuming, inconsolable anger that comes with grief.
I know because it’s been a frequent companion of mine throughout my life.
Tabitha practically shoves me into the roadside pub. I can feel everyone staring at me as we weave through the tables, and I hate it. But I don’t stop. I just let my gaze trace the inky strands of Tabitha’s bun. The way they twist together and shine when the overhead lights hit them.
Neon signs flash against wood-paneled walls, and it smells like fried food mixed with the stale remnants of cigarette smoke from a time before smoking in bars was outlawed. The carpet sports years’ worth of stains, and the older crowd sitting at the bar look as though they’ve been coming here since the stains didn’t exist at all.
This place is a local’s haunt if I’ve ever seen one.
We pass through a low-slung wooden gate. At the back of the building, we go down a few steps to where three bowling lanes are located. Then she marches up to a group of men who look happy and relaxed and nothing like the way I feel inside.
“Tabby!” one of them shouts, lifting his hands like he’s excited to see her.
Tabitha’s hand clamps tight on my bicep, nails digging in just a little too hard.
