Page 6 of Wild Side
“And Milo?” His voice is all gravel, and I swear there’s a threat in his rough tone. One I don’t fucking appreciate.
But I also recognize his concern for the small boy because I feel it too. Acutely.
I let my eyes crash against his, both confused and agitated by his distress.
What I see in his dark irises is an apocalypse of storms. Fire and brimstone. And I’m certain mine are no better. As his gaze traces my face, I let my hatred take center stage on every feature, wanting to show him I’m not standing down, no matter how much he stomps around like he’s the fucking man of the house or whatever this territorial show is.
I decide on as little information as possible, but enough to get him to leave. “Milo is happy and safe.”
A brief flash of relief touches the man’s features as he retreats incrementally.
A soft moment.
A perfect spot for me to strike.
“I pinky promise,” I add cynically.
And then I slam the door in his face.
CHAPTER 3
TABITHA
I wakeup to something nudging my foot, but I’m too fuzzy-headed to be all that bothered by the sensation. With a groan, I roll to my side. The bed is unusually hard, but I’m more worried about the way my stomach flips over on itself when I move.
A deep “Hey,” filters from above as my consciousness finds some semblance of footing. Awareness seeps in slowly.
Boxing up my sister’s belongings.
Scotch.
Uncovering photos of us together as kids.
More scotch.
Finding her stash of recovery coins.Two years clean.
A lot more scotch.
Mathematically, my body must be at least ten percent scotch right now. The other ninety percent is self-loathing.
It only worsens when I brave opening my eyes and see the scruffy mountain man looking me over. The dark slashes of his brows only enhance the stony scowl on his face.
I peek to the side, and it turns out I’m not in a bed at all. I am flat on my back on the living room rug, surrounded by partially filled cardboard boxes. I’d held it together through the first day of packing. Day two fucked me, though.
I throw an arm over my face as if that will keep him from staring at me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“We need to talk.”
“Hard pass.” The smell of my breath bouncing off the crook of my arm makes me want to hurl all over the floor.
This is not my finest moment.
“You can leave now. Thanks. Bye,” I add, because Rhys hasn’t moved, and I think he might be too big and dumb to pick up on the dismissal.
“No.”
From over the ridge of my arm, I watch him take two long strides and plunk himself down on the couch like he owns the place.
