You’re being ridiculous
Of course he’d find a way to blame her. The prick wrote the book on gaslighting. Should I delete it? Or just make sure I’m there when she opens it, for support? Before I can even process it, another message comes through.
Rhys
Why do you turn everything into a drama?!
My ears start to ring as my blood boils with barely contained fury. And then the third message comes through.
Rhys
Stop being a bitch and get your fat arse back to this house!
And just like that, Rhys signs his own death warrant.
For the next twenty minutes, I run on rage-fuelled autopilot, barely registering what I’m doing as I tap out a quick reply, kiss Tilly’s head and grab my keys. On the drive over to his house, I regain some semblance of control. Enough, at least, to know thatRhys’s life is safe. For now.
Tilly would never forgive me, or herself, if I hurt Rhys. And what good would I be to her from a jail cell? But I still don’t want her to have to face him; she’s not ready. So I’m just going to warn him to back off. She’s made her choice, and it isn’t him. She hasn’t technically chosen me yet, either, I remind myself.
Finally at Rhys’s house, I pound my fist on the door, deciding it’s safer to take out my aggression on the wood than his face. But when the door swings open and I see the bastard that abused my Tilly for years, turned her into a shadow of herself, the temptation to wring his neck is almost too strong.
His face falls when he realises I’m not Tilly. “What the fuck do you want?” he asks, folding his arms across his chest in a show of dominance. The veins in his arms protrude grotesquely over muscles larger than they’ve seemed before. Is muscle growth that quick normal?
“I’m here for Tilly’s things,” I answer, managing to sound far more calm than I feel.
“Of course she went running back to you,” he spits. “She doesn’t have any actual friends, so she didn’t have any other options. Well, you can turn back around and go tellmy wifeto come home.”
This prick.
“No,” I answer confidently, and enjoy the sight of Rhys struggling to process the word. “Ooh, you’re not used to hearing that word, are you?” A smirk forms on my lips. I can’t help it.
Unsurprisingly, Rhys doubles his efforts to try to threaten me, filling the doorway with his large frame. But I’m not easily intimidated.
“I don’t have time for this shit,” I tell him, hoping my frustration comes off as boredom as I intend. “Move, or I’ll move you.”
I stare him down, refusing to look away. There’s a tense second when Rhys considers taking me on, but he’s not quite stupid enough to do it.
“Fine.” He reluctantly moves to the side. “Just don’t cry when she leaves you too.”
I huff a laugh, both relieved and disgusted with how quickly he gave in. Men like Rhys are all the same. They rely on intimidation because they don’t actually have the goods to back it up. Yes, he’s a solid guy with arms as thick as tree trunks, but he clearly has no idea how to use them other than to stretch his shirt sleeves.
I step into the house and make my way towards the garage, where the boxes were stored last time I helped move Tilly out. Helping myself to a few, I go back into the main house and start packing up anything I recognise of Tilly’s from the kitchen. A couple of mugs go in the box. A recipe book follows. But the food scales stay where they are.
When I get back to the living room, Rhys is sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone as if this is all completely normal. He’s lounging there like we’re having Sunday brunch. The man’s fucking nuts.
I’ve barely picked up one of her books from the bookcase when he starts spouting off bullshit.
“You know what you’re getting yourself into with Mat?” he asks, tossing his phone onto the cushion beside him.
I don’t answer.
“She might seem like a quiet, shy little librarian or something, but she’s hard work.”
I continue to pack up Tilly’s books, ignoring Rhys as best I can. I refuse to rise to his bait, if for no other reason than I want to get home to Tilly. I don’t want her to wake up and think I’ve abandoned her. So, for her, I take a breath and keep packing.
“You need to watch her all the time,” he continues, seeminglyunbothered by my silence. “If she’s left to her own devices, she’ll slip from her diet and pile on the pounds.”
Don’t hit him. It’s not worth it. It would feel amazing, but it’s not worth it.
