Page 6 of Rhys: and the girl who was always his

He lets out a short, acoustically jagged laugh. “Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

By the time our car pulls into the driveway dimly lit by street lamps, our house stands half in shadow, its exterior mostly dark except for a soft amber glow seeping from the living room. That light tells me everything—the truth. I already feel that Ashley is awake and waiting.

Arden unbuckles and leans towards the open door. Pausing, he turns his head slightly. “Go to her,” he instructs.

I start, confused. “What?”

“She needs you more than I do right now,” he utters in a low, raspy tone. “She won’t sleep until you’re there. I’m going inside to find my wife.”

I want to protest, to stay with my best friend and support him, but deep down, I know he’s right. Ashley’s world has shattered, and I’m the only one who might be able to gather the pieces.

“Thanks,” I murmur, stepping out of the car as Arden walks towards the back door, heading inside to find Ella.

The cool night air greets me like a quiet friend as I make my way to the front door, every movement heavy with the kind of exhaustion that sinks deep into your bones. I push open the door, and the house welcomes me with mixed scents—warm vanilla and an undercurrent of something sharper…perhaps guilt or maybe grief.

In the living room, Ashley is nested on the corner of a timeworn couch, wrapped in one of Ally’s soft, hand-me-down throw blankets. The television hums softly in the background with a true crime documentary playing, its whispered narration meant merely as filler.

Her eyes do not meet mine as I cross the room; there’s nothing that needs saying. With a flat voice weighted by resignation, she states, “He’s really dead.”

“Yeah,” I acknowledge quietly.

I move to the bar, retrieving two glasses and the bottle of whiskey that Arden, in his own peculiar way, seems to always keep stocked. I pause for a moment before pouring a drink for her and one for me, the amber liquid catching a sliver of light as it tumbles into the glasses. She takes hers without a glance, downing it in one swift, unthinking gulp. When I sip mine, the burn of the alcohol becomes a small comfort amidst the turmoil.

Ashley reclines further into the couch, lost in thought as she speaks. “I should feel more, shouldn’t I?”

“There’s no manual for this kind of pain,” I say softly, trying to wrap her emotions in a few comforting words.

“I hated him. He ruined the last of the good things in my life. And now that he’s gone…” She swallows hard, her voice cracking ever so slightly. “I feel… relieved. And that makes me feel like the worst kind of daughter.”

“You’re not,” I insist, my tone steady even as I feel the weight of every unsaid moment. “You’re just human. He hurt you over and over. You don’t owe him your grief.”

She slowly looks up, her eyes meeting mine—a mix of hope and sadness in their depths. “So it’s really over?” she murmurs, referring to the arrangement that’s shadowed our lives for so long.

“The arrangement? Yeah,” I reply, aware that those words carry the weight of years of hidden agreements and unspoken pains.

For a fleeting heartbeat, her expression softens—a blend of hope and deep melancholy—and then she drops the final clause that I wasn’t prepared for, “So now you can be with Ally.”

My heart stumbles. It feels as if she has reached inside me and torn out the secret that I’ve so long tried to bury. Ally—the girl who burst into my life when I was the new kid, the one I loved in ways that defied every rule and expectation while I was still chained to another. Of course, Ashley knew. She always did.

“I never meant to hurt you,” I say, my voice raw with honesty.

“You didn’t,” she answers, a soft, weary smile playing at the corner of her lips. “You protected me. You were the only one who ever truly did.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“I still will,” I add determinedly because protecting her feels like the only remnant of a life we once knew—a shield against the relentless betrayal and the dark plots spun by those who played us like pawns.

“You don’t have to anymore,” she mumbles.

I shake my head, meeting her gaze with a mix of defiance and tenderness. “I want to, Ash. Just because this chapter is closing doesn’t mean you’ll fade out of my life.”

We let silence settle between us—an honest, unforced quiet that doesn’t feel empty but charged with unspoken promises.

“You can stay here,” I offer, nodding towards the familiar, comforting space. “As long as you need.” In the past, my friends had shunned Ashley, and my own silence allowed them to believe a version of our story that wasn’t entirely true. But after I finally came clean, even though she never fully integrated with our tight-knit circle, she remained one of our crew—a friend we’d always stand by, no matter how turbulent the truth might be.

She nods slowly, her voice barely audible, “I don’t want to be alone.”

“You’re not. We’re all here for you,” I assure her.

A pause stretches out until she timidly asks, “Do you have any idea who killed him?”

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