Page 28 of Rhys: and the girl who was always his

And whether she admits it or not, I’m going to find out what.

CHAPTERTWELVE

ALLY

Yasmin’s low curse snaps my head up from my phone. Her voice, thick with dread, ripples through the kitchen as I watch her fingers clench the countertop. In a heartbeat, her body begins to sway as if caught in a sudden, invisible current.

Jesus.

By now, I recognise the signs all too well—her skin turns ghostly pale, her eyes lose their focus, and her body wavers.

"Yas, hey," I call out in a rush, the harsh fluorescent glare accentuating my worry. I move swiftly to her side. "Did you check your levels?” As if on cue, our phones go off with a notification from her continuous glucose monitor.

She barely manages a shake of her head, her breath uneven and ragged, like the hiss of escaping air from a punctured tire. “Not yet," she murmurs, her voice small.

I check the notification.

2.1.

Shit. I dart to the fridge, the cool hum of its motor a brief distraction, and retrieve an orange juice. Diabetes demands vigilance with Yasmin, but life’s hectic moments sometimes cause her to slip.

“Here,” I say, pressing juice into her trembling hands. “Drink.”

Without a word, she takes it, her acceptance a silent confession of how dire this moment feels. She sips slowly at first, each gulp a halting promise of relief, then faster as the sweet liquid seems to reawaken her. My hand remains on her arm, warm and steady. We’re the only one’s home. So I send a message to the group chat because I know everyone else will have gotten the notification, and we don’t need Chase rushing home from work.

Ally

I’m with Yasmin, hypo’s under control.

Chase’s response is instant.

Chase

You sure?

Ally

Yep, I’ve got this.

Chase

Thank you, get her to call me when she’s back up.

"Better?" I ask, pocketing my phone, my voice soft with worry.

She nods weakly and swallows another sip. “Yeah... just dizzy.”

I clench my hand around hers a little tighter, reluctant yet protective. “Let’s sit for a minute.”

We shuffle over to the stools by the counter. Our footsteps muted against the cool tiled floor. I stay near, observing every uneven breath and quivering shift in her posture. Yasmin is strong and fiercely stubborn, but her defiant spirit now battles the creeping exhaustion.

Martha, our housekeeper, comes rushing into the kitchen. She plates a blueberry muffin and slides it over to us.

“Don’t tell me you have the app as well?” Yasmin asks around a mouthful of muffin.

Martha has been like a mother to all of us; she makes sure we are all fed and taken care of. She’s been looking after Arden since before he could walk, so naturally, we all became her family.

“Of course I do. Arden thought it would be safer since I’m usually here during the day,” she explains while busying herself in the kitchen.

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