Page 91 of Rhys: and the girl who was always his

“Rhys?”

I drop to my knees beside her again, cupping her face like I can anchor her back to the world.

“Yeah, baby. I’m here,” I say, voice cracking. “I’ve got you.”

Her eyes open, dazed and glassy butthere, and I press a kiss to her forehead like it’s the only way I can make the world right again.

They decide to take her in, and I’m in the ambulance before anyone can argue. She’s quiet, her fingers resting limply in mine as I hold her hand like it’s the only thing keepingmefrom collapsing. The sirens wail above us, but all I hear is the sound of her breathing—soft, shallow, steady.

And all I can think isdon’t let this be worse than it looks. Please, God, don’t let this be worse than it looks.

* * *

The waiting room feels like a cage.

Too many white walls. Too much fluorescent light. Too muchsilencebetween the beeps and soft murmurs of nurses walking by.

I pace. I sit. I pace again. My legs won’t stay still. My mind won’t either.

The others show up one by one—Chase, Yasmin, Ella, and Arden. They offer coffee and quiet comfort, but I can't take it in.

Because she’s still back there. Hooked up to machines. Pale and still andnot okay.

When the doctor finally steps out, the entire room tenses.

“She’s stable,” he says, meeting my eyes first. “Exhaustion and stress-induced syncope. Basically, her body forced a shutdown because she’s been running on empty for too long. The new meds tipped her over the edge, so I’ve paged Caleb and her neurologist for a consult to adjust the dose.”

I nod. But I don’t really hear the rest. The words blur around me.

All I want is to see her.

* * *

When I step into her room, everything else fades.

She’s lying in the hospital bed, tucked under crisp white sheets, monitors gently beeping beside her. An IV drips fluid into her arm. Her skin is pale, lips a little dry, eyes closed.

She lookstired.

So tired.

I step closer, careful not to wake her. But before I even sit down, her eyes flutter open.

She blinks slowly, and then a faint smile curves her lips. “You’re hovering.”

Damn right, I am. I’ll hover forever.

I drop into the chair beside her bed and take her hand in mine. “Of course, I’m hovering.”

She lets out a quiet sigh and stares at the ceiling. “I’m sorry.”

I frown. “For what?”

“For scaring you,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “For not listening. For thinking I could just… push through it.”

I shake my head, squeezing her hand. “Ally, I don’t care about any of that. I care that you’re okay. That you’re here.”

Her lips press into a line, her eyes turning glassy. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

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