Page 84 of Rhys: and the girl who was always his

“Where the hell are you going?”

“Out,” he calls over his shoulder.

“To do what? Hide? Drink? Pretend none of this matters?”

He doesn’t answer.

The gate creaks open and slams shut behind him.

Suddenly, he was gone again.

I stand there for a long time, the air cool against my skin, my heart thudding like it’s trying to break out of my chest.

This isn’t over.

Not even close.

And I swear to God, I’m not letting him go down the same road Dad did.

Not if I can help it.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN

RHYS

I try to give Ally space—even though every instinct inside me protests like a scream under my skin.

After everything—the public seizure that shattered the illusion of stability, Hayden free-falling into a version of himself I barely recognise, and the suffocating stress of her medication changes—I know she needs time.

To breathe.

To think.

To justbe.

But knowing doesn’t stop the ache. Doesn’t stop the way my body leans towards hers even when I’m standing still. The way my fingers twitch with the urge totouch. Toreassure. To anchor her and, in doing so, anchor myself.

So when she grabs my hand and pulls me into her room, silent and deliberate, I go without question. My heart lurches against my ribs like it’s bracing for something it’s wanted for too long.

The door shuts behind us with a quietclick. It’s not loud, but it echoes like something final. Intimate. Like we’ve sealed ourselves in a world that doesn’t belong to anyone else but us.

The room is soaked in twilight, soft shadows dancing across the walls. Her bedside lamp glows warm, painting her skin in light that makes her look almost surreal—like something from a dream I haven’t let myself fully have.

And the smell—it’sher. Vanilla, soft fabric, and something skin-warmed and subtle I couldn’t name if I tried, but I’d recognise it anywhere. It’s in my hoodie, my pillows, my goddamn bloodstream.

She doesn’t speak. Just stands there, chest rising and falling, her fingers curling into the hem of my shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her steady.

Like she’s choosing this.

Choosingme.

“I need you,” she says quietly.

Her voice is barely more than a breath, but it lands in the centre of my chest like a punch.

I swallow hard.

She’s not just saying she needs comfort.

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