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CHAPTER TWENTY

ALLY

I wake to the sound of machines.

A steady, rhythmic beeping pulses through the room, quiet but inescapable. It cuts through the fog of sleep, sharp and sterile, a cruel reminder that I’m not waking up in my own bed, wrapped in warmth and Rhys’s hoodie.

I’m in a hospital.

And I don’t remember how I got here.

Everything feels off .

The air is cold, the kind that smells like bleach, and metal and too many unanswered questions. My skin feels clammy. My limbs are heavy. My thoughts are stuck in molasses.

I blink slowly. The ceiling tiles blur, then sharpen. I try to sit up, but my body protests—a deep, dragging ache like I’ve been wrung out and stitched back together wrong.

And then I feel it.

A hand.

Warm, callused, and familiar wrapped around mine like it’s the only thing tethering me to earth.

Rhys.

He’s slouched in a shitty leather chair next to the bed, one hand gripping mine, the other resting gently on my leg. His head is bowed, messy hair falling into his eyes, and his body is curled in on itself like he’s been holding vigil for hours.

Maybe longer.

He looks tired.

Not just physically— bone-deep tired.

His eyes snap open the second I shift. He leans forward so fast the chair creaks beneath him.

“Ally?” His voice is low, rough as if it’s been dragged over gravel. He blinks hard like he’s not sure if he’s really seeing me.

I try to answer, but my throat is sandpaper. I manage a soft, broken sound.

Immediately, he grabs a cup of water from the side table and brings the straw to my lips, his fingers shaking just a little. “Here,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving mine.

The water is blissful, cool, and smooth down my raw throat, but the relief is short-lived. Because the second I remember why I’m here, the fear slams into me like a truck.

“Wh…what happened?” I croak.

Rhys swallows hard. His thumb brushes along my knuckles, grounding me, even as his voice wavers. “You had another seizure. You passed out in the car. I had to carry you inside.”

The words hit harder than I expect.

Another seizure.

Not just one. Not a fluke.

It wasn’t nothing.

I stare at him, heart crawling into my throat, nausea creeping up like a wave. “I—I’m fine,” I say, even though the machines beside me beg to differ.

Rhys lets out a humourless breath. “You’re hooked up to monitors, Al. There’s an IV in your arm. You scared the shit out of me.”

Just then, the door clicks open and in walks Caleb. Familiar face. Friend of ours. And fortunately, also a doctor.

He offers a tight, professional smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Good to see you awake. How are you feeling?” he says, tablet in hand.

I nod weakly. “Tired.”

“That’s expected,” he says, glancing at the monitors like they hold answers I don’t want. “Your body’s been through a lot.”

I want to scream. I know.

“What’s wrong with me?” I ask, even though part of me already knows.

Caleb doesn’t sugarcoat it. He glances between Rhys and me, then says the words like a diagnosis and a sentence all at once.

“We believe it’s epilepsy.”

The world tilts.

I go still.

Utterly, terrifyingly still.

I had my suspicions after Ashley mentioned it. But this all feels too real.

His voice fades as he explains something about EEGs, MRIs, and neurological referrals. It all buzzes around me, medical words mixing with the sound of my pulse rushing in my ears.

Epilepsy.

A word I can’t unhear.

Permanent.

Life-changing.

Not just something to shake off. Not something I can pretend away.

When Caleb finally asks about family history, I shake my head, mute and numb. He scribbles something down, says we’ll talk again after more tests, and slips out the door with the same quiet efficiency he walked in with.

And then it’s just me and Rhys.

The silence between us stretches, heavy and suffocating.

He leans forward again, hand still holding mine. “Ally…”

I turn my face away, tears threatening to slip past my lashes. “No. Don’t.”

His voice softens. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t say it’s going to be okay. Don’t promise me things you can’t control.”

He exhales through his nose, jaw clenching. “I wasn’t going to.”

I gesture weakly towards the wires and tubes. “This… This isn’t me. I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“You’re still you ,” he says fiercely. “You’re still Ally. The girl who back-talks waiters and swears at the TV during footy and steals half my food when she says she’s not hungry.”

I shake my head. “You don’t get it. If this is what I have—if this is my life now—it doesn’t just affect me. It changes everything. I’ll be the girl who seizes. The girl who scares people. I’ll never be just… me again.”

Rhys’s voice drops low. “You’ll always be you to me.”

I try to laugh, but it comes out broken. “For now. Until it gets worse. Until I become something you have to manage. Something you regret.”

He flinches like I’ve hit him. And then—quietly, steadily—he says it.

“I love you.”

The words hang in the air like something sacred.

And terrifying.

My eyes snap to his. “You don’t?—”

“I do .” He leans closer, voice rough. “I love you. And I’m not walking away because you’re scared. Or sick. Or stubborn as hell. You don’t get to push me away to protect me. I choose this. I choose you.”

Tears burn down my cheeks. “But I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not,” he says. “Not now. Not ever.”

I want to believe him.

God, I do.

But before I can say anything else, the door opens again, and Yasmin steps inside. She’s got that soft, steady energy that always makes people feel safe.

Her eyes flick from me to Rhys, then back again. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I croak.

She smiles and pulls a chair closer. “You scared the shit out of all of us.”

I manage a shaky grin. “Apparently that’s my thing lately.”

Yasmin reaches over, squeezing my arm. “You’re not alone, okay? We’re with you. Every step.”

Rhys nods beside me. “Every single one.”

And for the first time since I opened my eyes, I let myself believe them.

Just a little.

Because maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to carry this alone.