Page 79 of Rhys: and the girl who was always his

I reach for her hand and thread our fingers together. Hers are cold. Mine are shaking a little. I don’t think she notices.

“You know we don’t care, right? We don’t think you’re weak. We just want you to be okay.”

She exhales, the sound catching in her throat. “It’s hard. Pretending I’m okay is easier than letting people see I’m not.”

I squeeze her hand. “Then stop pretending. At least with me.”

She nods, and for a moment, I see her—all of her. Raw and real and trying so damn hard to be okay.

We sit there like that for what feels like hours. The hum of the house fades around us, and it’s just us.

Breathing. Holding on.

And slowly, painfully, beautifully, I feel her come back to me.

Not all at once.

But piece by piece.

* * *

Later that evening, I find her on the back patio again, wrapped in one of my hoodies. Her legs are curled beneath her, and she’s staring out into the dark like it holds the answers she’s been searching for.

I bring her a mug of tea—no words, just warmth.

She smiles as she takes it. “You always know.”

“You’re not that hard to read, Ally.”

She sips the tea slowly. “I used to think I had to be. Had to stay two steps ahead so no one saw me unravelling.”

“You don’t have to do that here.”

“I know. But it’s hard to let go of habits.”

I sit beside her, the wooden boards creaking beneath us, and for once, the silence feels like healing instead of hiding.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“For what?”

“For staying. For being the person I didn’t know I needed.”

I don’t say anything. I don’t have to.

I just take her hand in mine, our fingers fitting together like they were always meant to. Like maybe this isn’t the end of something, but the beginning.

And finally, she doesn’t pull away.

She holds on.

Tightly.

And I know—we’re going to be okay.

Together.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVE

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