Page 29 of Rhys: and the girl who was always his

“Ugh,” Yasmin groans. “He really is overprotective sometimes.”

“He means well. There is also a phone in the security room that gets the alerts so whoever is on duty can help if needed,” Martha explains just as Shamus, one of the security team, walks into the kitchen.

“You right, pet?” Shamus asks in his Irish accent.

Yasmin rolls her eyes while swallowing the last of her muffin. “I’m fine. You didn’t have to come and check on me.” I look at my phone, and her sugars are coming back up.

“I do, pet. It’s my job. I need to look after you all,” he retorts, taking the glass of water Martha offers him.

Yasmin shakes her head and sways a little. I move closer just in case.

“You don’t need to hover all the time, you know,” she mutters, half-grumbling, half-smiling through a haze of dizziness. Her sugars may be coming back up, but if the hypo is bad enough, the dizziness can linger.

I can’t help the smirk that tugs at my lips. “I do. It’s in the best friend contract.”

Her eyes roll, then soften, a hint of gratitude in the twitch of her lips. “You okay now?” I ask again, voice tender.

She nods, a small smile flickering. “Yeah. Thanks, Ally.”

“Anytime.”

Just then, as if the universe decided fate wasn’t done with me yet, the room steals a tilt beneath my feet. The sensation is like stepping off a moving walkway only to realise far too late that your balance is gone. A deluge of dizziness crashes over me, sucking the breath from my lungs and narrowing my vision to a tight tunnel.

I reach for the counter, but my body won’t respond in kind. In my final conscious moment, Yasmin’s startled whisper—my name, trembling with fear—echoes through the haze before darkness swallows everything.

* * *

I wake slowly as if emerging from a deep, disorienting dream. The airy murmur of recoveries and distant voices brushes past me, yet something remains tangible—a warmth, a firm hand gripping mine with cautious assurance.

Blinking away the blurry remnants, I see Yasmin’s worried face, drawn with concern, looming near me. Behind her, Rhys stands quietly, his expression unreadable, his jaw tight with unspoken alarm.

I can feel a blood pressure cuff on my arm and something on my finger.

I groan, trying to shift upright. “What happened?”

“You fainted,” Yasmin declares, her hand still fixed on mine as though anchoring my drifting senses. “Scared the hell out of me.” A small pinch on my other hand has me looking over at Shamus, who appears to be checking my sugar levels. The blood pressure cuff makes sense now. Our neighbour Isabelle has POTS, so we’re equipped for all kinds of medical emergencies, and it seems everyone has been trained for what to check.

I force a weak laugh while attempting to sit up. Instantly, Rhys appears by my side, his hand settling on my back firmly to steady me. In that moment, as his touch connects, a surprising softness appears in his posture—a silent promise I dare not take for granted.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice rough like gravel yet underlined with concern that seems to vibrate through every syllable.

I nod, willing the last bits of dizziness away. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just... tired.”

Yasmin snorts, a mix of exasperation and relief. “Bullshit.”

I glare at her playfully. “It’s not a big deal.”

Rhys’s grip tightens as if to emphasise his point. “Passing out isn’t ‘not a big deal,’ Ally.

I exhale slowly, leaning slightly away from his supportive pressure, aware that if I let myself relish his touch too much, the fragile barrier I’ve built around my vulnerabilities might crumble. “I probably just didn’t eat enough today.”

Rhys’s eyes darken briefly, but he refrains from pressing further amidst the lingering buzz of life in the background. Yasmin squeezes my hand one more time before releasing it gently. “You scared me,” she admits softly, her voice now tender.

Guilt tugs at me—Yasmin battles enough on her own without my moments of carelessness. “I’m fine,” I repeat, this time for her sake as much as for mine.

Rhys doesn’t offer words; his silence carries both concern and comfort as he remains close, the invisible tether of care holding us together.

In the ensuing quiet, I muster enough strength to mumble, “I think I need to head to my room and get some rest.”

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