Page 36 of Rhys: and the girl who was always his

Ally’s head swivels from Caitlin to Ashley and back again. “What the actual hell?”

Ashley rolls her eyes. “I figured it was time.”

“Time for what?” Ally blurts, flustered and defensive, and probably too shaken to process anything else.

“For this,” Caitlin says, clasping Ashley’s hand.

I glance at Ally. Her face is doing this weird thing—like she wants to be angry, shocked, and impressed all at once. She gestures between us and them, trying to connect the dots of a very confusing math problem.

“We’re not telling anyone,” Ally mutters, voice laced with exasperation, like if she can just say it aloud enough times, it’ll still be true.

Ashley winks. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Ally groans like the world has personally betrayed her.

I don’t move.

Not yet.

Ashley glances at me, her grin smug as hell. “You look like you just survived a natural disaster.”

I shudder. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Maybe.” She pops a chip from Ally’s forgotten bag into her mouth. “But you know what? It was about damn time.”

And as much as I want to argue?—

She’s right.

But time won’t matter if Ally keeps pushing me away.

If she keeps hiding whatever’s really going on inside her.

Because kissing her again didn’t fix anything.

It just broke open the dam.

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

ALLY

The numbers on the page meld together as my focus drifts, my eyes fluttering in a desperate attempt to latch on to something tangible.

My textbook lies open on my lap, and scattered notes sprawl across the coffee table, yet nothing seems to register. I let out a heavy sigh and massage my temples before flicking my pen into the messy pile.

I’ve never been the studious type, but today, it feels like every bit of effort is fighting against me.

The air in the house is still. With all my friends out, I’m left alone in the lounge, accompanied only by the occasional creaks of the old floorboards and the distant murmurs of Martha and the security team somewhere in the house.

I stretch, reaching over my head, and cast a glance towards the kitchen. Maybe I just need a break—some movement, a bite to eat, a hit of caffeine.

Then, without warning, it happens.

A peculiar, sinking sensation overtakes me, and my vision narrows into a tunnel as the edges of my world darken.

My body stiffens, every muscle locked as if paralysed by an unseen force, and an overwhelming detachment severs my connection with everything around me.

My thoughts scatter, slipping away like fleeting shadows before I can catch hold of them.

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