Page 93 of Rhys: and the girl who was always his

And then there are the fairy lights—still strung across the room. Making everything feel magical and a little less like real life.

And there’s her.

Ally.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor in one of my hoodies that swallows her frame, her cheeks flushed from laughing too hard. Her hair’s half-tucked behind one ear, loose and messy from the day, but perfect in a way that wrecks me.

She looks up.

And smiles.

Anddamn—it still knocks the wind out of me.

“Hey,” she says, voice softer than the room around us.

“Hey,” I echo, sinking to the floor beside her. Our shoulders bump, and without hesitation, she laces our fingers together like she’s been doing it her whole life.

And maybe she has. In every version of us, in every universe—I think her hand would still find mine.

We don’t say much after that.

We don’t need to.

The night rolls on, lazy but louder. Arden starts a ridiculous game of charades with built-in dares. Within fifteen minutes, Chase is miming a kangaroo boxing match with terrifying accuracy, and Ella is dared to text her ex a line fromThe Notebook. Caitlin launches into a heated debate about who would survive a zombie apocalypse. Somehow, it turns into a team debate—boys versus girls. The general consensus is Ally.

“No offence,” Caitlin says, “but Ally’s got the energy of someone who’s already planning where she’d store her weapons.”

“She definitely owns a bat,” Ella adds.

“With spikes,” Ashley chimes in.

Ally leans into me, her lips brushing my ear. “My money’s on Millie, honestly. Have you seen how calm she is with a newborn? That girl could disarm a bomb without blinking.”

I chuckle, low and close. “Fair point. She did once remove a splinter from Hayden’s foot while ordering a pizza.”

“Exactly.”

There’s something sacred in this. In the noise. In the closeness. The warmth of this mismatched, resilient group of people who’ve somehow becomeours.

Family. Not by blood—but by choice. And that means more.

When Hayden and Millie come in, the room shifts.

Hayden’s carrying the baby. His movements are careful, calculated like he’s afraid he might drop something too delicate to name. Millie trails beside him, calm and centred. She glows in that quiet way new mothers do—sleep-deprived and steady.

Hayden pauses near the couch, his eyes scanning the room like he’s unsure of his place. But someone makes room. No one says anything. It’s understood.

Millie takes the baby from Hayden and passes him to Yasmin first, who immediately starts to cry.

“Blame the hormones,” she says, sniffling as she gently rocks the tiny bundle.

“You’re not pregnant,” Chase mutters.

“I know,” she says, wiping her eyes. “But Imightbe ovulating.”

Laughter explodes around the room. Even Hayden grins, his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to.

When it’s my turn to hold Linkin, I take him carefully, my arms cradling the impossibly small body. He’s wrapped in a soft green blanket, one eye peeking open as he yawns. His skin is warm, soft as cotton, and he smells like baby powder and something new.

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