Page 77 of Rhys: and the girl who was always his

I close my eyes briefly, then pull her closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I know, baby. But you’re not doing this alone. I’m right here.”

She doesn’t argue. She doesn’t pull away.

Instead, she snuggles into me. She lets me hold her without resistance. Without walls.

And that tells me more than words ever could. We’re making progress.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-FOUR

RHYS

It’s been a few days since Ally’s seizure at the university, and even though she’s smiling and pretending everything’s okay, I can see the cracks.

They’re small—delicate, almost invisible to anyone who doesn’t know her like I do. The way her fingers absentmindedly graze her temple, her eyes dulling for a second too long when someone says her name, the way her laugh doesn’t quite reach her eyes anymore.

She’s trying so hard to make it easier for everyone else. Like if she can just fake it well enough, we’ll all forget it ever happened. Like pretending she’s fine will make it true.

But I know better.

And it’s killing me.

I step out onto the back patio and see her curled up in the hammock. A book rests on her stomach, untouched, its pages unmoved by time or interest. Late afternoon sun on her face, eyes shut, skin glowing. She looks peaceful.

But I know she’s not.

There’s a stillness to her that doesn’t feel like rest. It feels like avoidance. Like she’s pressing pause on the world because playing it feels too overwhelming.

I walk towards her quietly, my steps soft on the timber decking. I don’t want to startle her, but part of me also doesn’t want to wake her from whatever pocket of stillness she’s created for herself. She cracks one eye open as I approach like she knew I was coming all along.

“You watching me sleep now?” she murmurs, her voice still laced with that dreamy, drowsy hush.

“Technically, you weren’t sleeping.”

“Technically, you’re a stalker.”

I smile and sit on the hammock, letting it sway gently beneath us. “You’re deflecting.”

She sighs and opens both eyes. The effort looks like it costs her more than she’ll admit. “Maybe.”

I don’t push. Not yet. I just let the quiet settle between us, the kind of silence that holds weight but not pressure. Birds chirp in the distance. Someone laughs inside the house—Yasmin, I think. The world keeps turning like nothing’s changed.

But everything’s changed.

And her fingers—God, her fingers—are gripping the edge of the hammock like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” I say softly.

She doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t even try.

“Nightmares?”

She nods, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not of the seizure. Just… everything. I wake up, and I have no idea where I am. Or I think I’m still in the lecture hall, and everyone’s staring at me. Or worse… I think I’m seizing, and I can’t stop it.”

My chest tightens. There’s a part of me that wants to rewind time. To unmake the moment her body betrayed her in front of all those people. But I can’t. And that’s the worst part. All I can do is hold her here, in this moment, and remind her that she’s not alone in it.

I reach out, brushing her hair back from her face. Her skin is warm beneath my fingertips, and soft making my heart ache. “You’re safe.”

“I know. But it doesn’t feel like it yet.”

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