Page 83 of Rhys: and the girl who was always his

His jaw flexes like he’s chewing on all the things he won’t let himself say. “I know that, okay? You think I don’t know that?”

“Then do something about it.”

“Like what?” His voice cracks under the pressure, louder now. “I have no idea what I’m doing, Rhys. I didn’t ask for this. I don’tknowhow to be a father.”

There it is. Raw and real.

His words hit me like a punch—not because I didn’t expect them, but because they carry weight. Fear. Shame. Guilt. All jumbled together, clinging to every syllable.

“Then figure it out!” I fire back, stepping closer. “Because youareone. Whether you like it or not.”

Hayden turns away, pacing. He runs both hands through his hair, frustration spilling out of every movement. “You don’t get it?—”

“No,youdon’t get it,” I cut in, sharper than intended. “You’re scared? Fine. You’re overwhelmed? I get that. But you don’t get tocheck out, Hayden. You don’t get to stand in the same room and act like none of this matters.”

I pause, swallowing down the lump building in my throat.

“That kid in there? He’s yours. And if you keep pulling this disappearing act, if you keep pushing Millie away, you’re gonna lose the people who actually give a damn about you.”

Silence.

The only sound is the wind in the trees and the faint echo of the baby’s soft cries through the window.

Hayden turns slowly. He’s not yelling anymore. His voice is quiet. Cracked open. “You don’t understand, Rhys.”

His eyes shine with something close to panic. Or maybe shame. “What if I’m like Dad? What if I screw him up the way he screwedusup?”

The breath leaves my lungs in one clean blow.

Fuck.

That’s it.

That’s what’s eating him alive from the inside out.

I step forward until I’m directly in front of him. He’s taller than me now—has been for a while—but right now, he feels small. Like a boy. My little brother.

“You’re not him,” I say quietly.

He shakes his head like the words are too good to be true. “How do youknowthat?”

“Because youcare. You’re standing here freaking out because you’re scared you’re not good enough. You think Dad ever lost sleep wondering if he was screwing us up?”

Hayden doesn’t answer.

“Dad didn’t care,” I say. “You do. That’s the difference.”

His fists clench at his sides, and his mouth opens like he wants to argue—but nothing comes out. I watch as the wall he’s built up around himself flickers, wavers, then starts to crumble. Slowly.

And for a second—I swear—I see the real him again. The one buried beneath all that fear.

But then…

He scoffs. A bitter sound that slices right through me.

“Whatever.”

He turns, already walking off. I step forward.

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