Page 96 of Rhys: and the girl who was always his

And I know—in the deepest, quietest part of me—this is just the beginning.

CHAPTERFORTY-ONE

RHYS

The house is alive tonight.

It hums with that low, familiar buzz of shared history—laughter weaving through the air, the scent of pizza mixing with fresh blueberry muffins, and the occasional squeal of protest whenever someone (read: Chase) pushes his luck too far.

The lights are low, fairy lights twinkling like stars strung across the walls, casting everything in a soft glow. Someone—definitely Chase—is in a heated argument about movie choices. Yasmin and Ella are both yelling over him. Their voices layered with mock outrage and half-serious sass. Hayden’s leaned back against the couch, smirking, tossing a stress ball in the air like he’s above the mayhem even though he thrives in it. Millie’s beside him, looking effortlessly calm as always, gently rocking their son in her arms, swaying with the quiet rhythm of a lullaby only she can hear.

Ashley and Caitlin are curled together on the love-seat, arms intertwined, their commentary cutting through the noise with perfect comedic timing. Arden is standing near the TV, re-enacting a fight scene with such dramatic flair it should be illegal. He fake-punches the air, collapses to the floor, rolls once, and shouts, “That’s how yourescue a hostage, baby!”

And then there’s Ally.

She’s perched on the arm of the couch, legs folded underneath her, her oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder. Her head is thrown back in laughter, hair spilling down her back like liquid fire, cheeks flushed from too much sugar, and too many inside jokes. Her eyes find mine across the room, and—just like that—I feel it all over again.

Like I always do.

The way love can hit you even when you already have it.

Like a second wave crashing over you, soft and overwhelming.

I think about everything we’ve come through—the seizures, the hospital visits, the late-night fear, the way she used to flinch at the idea of needing someone. I think about how she moved into my room without ever calling it that. How she fills every part of this house. Ofme.

And I think… we made it.

Not perfectly. Not without scars.

But still—we made it.

“Gilmore,” she calls, catching me watching her. There’s a playful glint in her eyes as she pats the empty spot beside her. “Come sit before Chase implodes.”

“I’m not going to implode!” Chase yells from the other side of the room. “I just think it’scriminalthat we’re not watching the superior version of the franchise.”

“Oh my God, let it go,” Ella groans, launching a pillow at him.

I shake my head, laughing as I cross the room and drop onto the couch beside Ally. She slides down from her perch without hesitation, tucking herself under my arm, her body curling into mine like it’s second nature.

Like it was always meant to be there.

And yeah… maybe it was.

The movie plays, but no one’s really watching. Conversations drift in and out, laughter simmering beneath the surface. It’s loud and soft at the same time. The kind of noise that feels like home.

The tension is gone, finally. No shadows waiting in the corners. No unspoken fear wrapped in silence.

Just warmth.

Just us.

Eventually, people start peeling off. Ella yawns first, dragging Arden away with promises of retribution for a charades dare he made her do earlier. Ashley and Caitlin retreat soon after, arguing about who ate the last brownie. Yasmin drags Chase towards the hallway after he starts ranking everyone based on their “movie-watching etiquette.”

When the room finally quiets, it’s just Ally and me. The TV plays something mindless in the background, but her head’s resting against my chest and her breathing is slow, and everything else fades into static.

Then she shifts.

“Hey,” she says, nudging my side gently. “Come with me?”

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