Page 68 of Rhys: and the girl who was always his

I snap back, arms folding defensively. “I am not,” I retort, though even I’m not entirely convinced by my own bravado.

He raises his eyebrows, his expression mingling amusement with exasperation. “Really? Because ever since you returned, you’ve barely spoken to anyone, you don’t allow yourself to relax, and you sure as hell won’t talk about what’s really bothering you.” His words cut more than I expected, each one a reminder of the walls I’ve built around myself.

I glare at him, angry at his insistence on prying open my guarded heart. “You don’t get to tell me how to handle this, Rhys.”

For a heartbeat, his jaw tightens as though he wants to say something sharper, but then, as if resigning himself to the inevitable, he nods slowly. “Fine. But you’re not dealing with it either,” he retorts quietly, a challenge simmering beneath the surface.

I cross my arms tightly, turning away from him, my emotions a tangled knot of defiance and vulnerability. “Whatever,” I mutter, feeling the sting of every unspoken word between us.

Before I can sink further into the internal maelstrom, Chase chimes in unexpectedly, his booming voice cutting through the tension like a slap of levity. “Okay, enough broody tension!” he announces, pushing his chair back with a flourish and clapping his hands. “Game night. All of us. Tonight.”

I blink in surprise, momentarily forgetting my inner battles. “What?”

Ella grins mischievously, a sparkle in her eyes.

“Yeah, it’s been forever since we did one. Remember when Arden tried to outsmart me in charades?” Chase comments.

Ashley smirks from the couch. “Translation: Chase wants an excuse to beat Arden at something.” Her tone is teasing, lightening the heavy air.

Chase corrects himself with a playful shove in Arden’s direction. “I always beat Arden, by the way.” The remark brings a chorus of playful eye rolls and a few light chuckles.

Arden, mischievously flipping his hand for emphasis, flicks an imaginary insult in Chase’s direction. “Only because you cheat!” he declares dramatically, eliciting laughter from everyone.

Yasmin sidles up to me, her smile warm and encouraging. “It’ll be fun, Ally. Just like old times,” she says with gentle insistence.

Inside, I hesitate, caught between my urge to retreat into the familiar isolation and the lure of the shared, messy, beautiful life that once felt so natural.

I see Rhys in the doorway, half-hidden yet unmistakably present. His eyes filled with a blend of unspoken worry and desire for me to rejoin the fold, silently pleading with me to step back into the world we all share.

Maybe... maybe I want to.

I let out a long, slow breath that feels like a release of pent-up frustration and sorrow. “Okay. Game night it is,” I agree quietly, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

The room bursts into excited chatter. Chase claps me on the back, and Ella starts planning out teams in exaggerated detail, complete with humorous commentary. Ashley makes a running joke about my “mystery cereal phase,” comparing it to an experimental dish on the cooking show she’s half-watching.

For the first time in a long while, amidst the banter and the light-hearted teasing, I feel a spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I can belong here again. The tension in my chest eases slightly as laughter fills the room, each shared glance and joke delicately mending the broken pieces of my heart, even if only for the duration of game night.

And so, in that moment, lightened by both humour and the warmth of old acquaintances, I let myself be vulnerable. I listen to what they say, laugh at their teases, and start to feel the slowly returning pulse of belonging.

CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT

ALLY

The kitchen smells like fresh coffee and Martha’s blueberry muffins, and it should feel comforting.

Familiar.

Safe.

But my heart is racing.

I stare at my phone on the bench, its black screen reflecting the nerves in my eyes. Rhys left a few minutes ago to drop Chase at work, and suddenly the house feels too quiet.

Too still.

I lean against the counter, wrapping my fingers around my mug to stop them from shaking.

Because I know what I need to do.

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