Page 73 of Rhys: and the girl who was always his

Her self-assurance brings me comfort. She’shappy. That’s all I ever wanted for her.

She glances at me again, her smirk softening. “You know, I always knew you and Rhys would end up together.”

I let out a scoff, trying to ignore the heat that rushes to my face. “You did not.”

“I did.” She shrugs. “Even when I was playing pretend with him, I could see it. The way he looked at you? The wayyoulooked at him? It was only a matter of time.” I didn’t think it was that obvious. It seems everyone knew that we would eventually be where we are now.

I shake my head, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “It wasn’t that simple.”

Ashley leans against the dresser, crossing her arms. “It was. You just made it complicated.”

I bite my lip, my fingers playing with the hem of my shirt. “I’m still scared.”

“I know.” Her voice is softer now. “But you don’t have to be. You deserve to be happy, Ally. Stop waiting for the worst to happen.”

I let out a slow breath. “It’s just... what if I mess it up?” I feel like this is a conversation I’m having with everyone, and I wonder when I’ll actually start believing them.

Ashley laughs, shaking her head. “You won’t. And even if you do, Rhys isn’t going anywhere. You don’t see it, but the rest of us do. That guy? He’sall inwith you.”

My chest tightens. I know she’s right. But knowing it and accepting it are two different things.

Ashley pushes off the dresser, coming over to pull me into a tight hug. “I’ll miss you, you know?” I freeze in her embrace. This is unexpected and unfamiliar. But she doesn’t let go, just hugs me tighter.

I swallow the lump in my throat and hug her back. “I’ll miss you too.”

She pulls away with a teasing grin. “Now, help me carry these boxes before I change my mind and stay just to annoy you.”

I laugh, rolling my eyes. But as we move her things out, something settles in my heart.

It’s time to stop running from happiness.

It’s time to finally let myself have it.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE

RHYS

Ally is silent on the drive to the hospital.

Her fingers twisted, eyes glued to the city outside. I know she doesn’t want to go. I also know she won’t admit it.

I grip the steering wheel a little tighter. I won’t push her—not yet. But I’m not letting her do this alone, either.

When we pull into the parking lot, she finally exhales, rubbing her palms against her jeans. “You really don’t have to come in with me.”

I unbuckle my seatbelt. “Yeah, I do.”

She sighs but doesn’t argue, which tells me more than anything else just how much she needs me here.

Inside, the waiting room is sterile and quiet, filled with an odd mix of people—older patients, young kids, a nervous-looking teenager flipping through a pamphlet. After she checks in, Ally sits beside me, her hands clasped together so tightly her knuckles are turning white. I slide my fingers over hers, prying them apart, lacing our fingers together instead.

She tenses but doesn’t pull away.

“Ally Monroe?” a nurse calls out.

Ally lets out a slow breath before standing. I squeeze her hand once before letting go, following her through the hallway into a small examination room.

Dr. Caleb Andrews walks in a few minutes later, folder in hand, a friendly but professional smile on his face. He’s the only reason Ally agreed to this appointment in the first place. She wanted to have the appointment with someone we know and trust, so he’s the one liaising with her specialists and managing her care.

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