Page 50 of Rhys: and the girl who was always his

Warm, callused, and familiar wrapped around mine like it’s the only thing tethering me to earth.

Rhys.

He’s slouched in a shitty leather chair next to the bed, one hand gripping mine, the other resting gently on my leg. His head is bowed, messy hair falling into his eyes, and his body is curled in on itself like he’s been holding vigil for hours.

Maybe longer.

He looks tired.

Not just physically—bone-deeptired.

His eyes snap open the second I shift. He leans forward so fast the chair creaks beneath him.

“Ally?” His voice is low, rough as if it’s been dragged over gravel. He blinks hard like he’s not sure if he’s really seeing me.

I try to answer, but my throat is sandpaper. I manage a soft, broken sound.

Immediately, he grabs a cup of water from the side table and brings the straw to my lips, his fingers shaking just a little. “Here,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving mine.

The water is blissful, cool, and smooth down my raw throat, but the relief is short-lived. Because the second I rememberwhyI’m here, the fear slams into me like a truck.

“Wh…what happened?” I croak.

Rhys swallows hard. His thumb brushes along my knuckles, grounding me, even as his voice wavers. “You had another seizure. You passed out in the car. I had to carry you inside.”

The words hit harder than I expect.

Another seizure.

Not just one. Not a fluke.

It wasn’t nothing.

I stare at him, heart crawling into my throat, nausea creeping up like a wave. “I—I’m fine,” I say, even though the machines beside me beg to differ.

Rhys lets out a humourless breath. “You’re hooked up to monitors, Al. There’s an IV in your arm. You scared the shit out of me.”

Just then, the door clicks open and in walks Caleb. Familiar face. Friend of ours. And fortunately, also a doctor.

He offers a tight, professional smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Good to see you awake. How are you feeling?” he says, tablet in hand.

I nod weakly. “Tired.”

“That’s expected,” he says, glancing at the monitors like they hold answers I don’t want. “Your body’s been through a lot.”

I want to scream.I know.

“What’s wrong with me?” I ask, even though part of me already knows.

Caleb doesn’t sugarcoat it. He glances between Rhys and me, then says the words like a diagnosis and a sentence all at once.

“We believe it’s epilepsy.”

The world tilts.

I go still.

Utterly, terrifyingly still.

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