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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

ALLY

The quiet here feels... different.

At home, silence is heavy.

It creeps through the cracks, settles in the corners of rooms, and coils around your chest like it belongs there. It’s full of the things we don’t say—the anxiety we pretend not to feel, the futures we’re scared to talk about, the love that’s always been too big and too fragile to hold properly.

But here?

The silence is softer.

It hums in the background like a lullaby, broken only by the rustle of wind in the gum trees or the occasional low groan of the old pipes. Out here, in Smalls’s weatherboard house on the beach, the world feels slower.

Simpler.

Safer.

Or at least it’s supposed to.

I’m curled into the corner of his couch, legs tucked beneath me, a blanket draped around my shoulders. The mug in my hands is still steaming—too hot to sip, but I hold it anyway, letting the warmth sink into my palms.

Something to focus on.

Something real.

“You look like shit,” Smalls says, not unkindly, as he drops into the armchair across from me.

I glance up and raise a brow. “Charming.”

He shrugs, stretching his long legs out in front of him and kicking off his boots with a grunt. “Just being honest.”

There’s no point pretending he’s wrong. I probably do look like shit. I know I feel like it. My hair’s in a messy bun I haven’t touched in two days, I haven’t slept properly since the hospital, and there’s a persistent tightness in my chest that doesn’t go away—not even here.

Not even away from him .

He loves me, and that scares the shit out of me.

I stare into my tea like it might hold some kind of answer, like the swirl of steam can distract me from the way his name has been echoing in my head for the last twenty-four hours.

Rhys.

Always Rhys.

Smalls watches me. I can feel it—the way his gaze holds me like a mirror, like he’s waiting for the moment I crack and spill all the messy, tangled pieces across his floor.

“So,” he says finally, his tone deceptively casual. “You gonna tell me why you’re really here?”

I blink. “I told you—I needed a break.”

He snorts. “And I told you —bullshit.”

I sigh, setting the mug down on the table with a soft clink. “Smalls?—”

“You’re not here because you need space,” he cuts in, voice flat but not unkind. “You’re here because you’re scared. And because running is easier than staying.”

My stomach twists. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” he says, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You ran. Not from the seizures. Not even from the diagnosis. You ran from him .”

I feel the heat rise in my chest—the guilt, the shame, the ache of missing him that feels like it might split me in half.

“I needed to get away,” I whisper.

“From Rhys?”

I nod. Barely. “From all of it.”

He nods slowly like he’s known that all along. “Because you think you’re a burden now.”

I don’t answer. I don’t have to.

Smalls sighs. “Ally, he’s been in love with you since before you figured out how to properly flirt.”

A sad, bitter smile tugs at my mouth. “That long, huh?”

“Yeah.” He sits back. “And you really think some medical condition is going to make him walk away?”

“You don’t get it,” I say, my voice cracking. “This isn’t just something I can deal with and move on. It’s epilepsy, Smalls. It doesn’t go away. It doesn’t have good days and bad days—it has minefields . What if I have a seizure when I’m alone? What if I can’t drive anymore? What if I forget to take my meds or my body doesn’t react to treatment? What if it keeps getting worse?”

My voice rises with every question, the panic starting to bleed through.

“I’m not just scared of what this means for me,” I admit. “I’m scared of what it means for him.”

Smalls doesn’t flinch. “He’s scared, too. Because he loves you. That’s what love is, Ally—it’s showing up even when everything feels like it’s falling apart.”

I shake my head. “He didn’t sign up for this.”

Smalls leans forward again. “He signed up for you . And you never gave him the chance to say he still wants that. You made the decision for him.”

Tears sting my eyes. I blink them back.

“He’ll move on,” I say, but it’s a lie I don’t believe.

“Yeah?” Smalls raises a brow. “This is the guy who has loved you even when he was forced into a relationship with someone else. The guy who did everything he could to protect her from her family, putting his happiness on hold and secretly wanting you.”

I don’t answer him.

“Has he texted?”

I nod. “A few times.”

“Did you answer?”

Another pause. “No.”

Smalls groans, dragging his hand down his face. “Ally, for fuck’s sake.”

“I didn’t know what to say,” I explain.

“How about ‘I love you, I’m sorry, I’m scared, but I’m trying’?”

I glare at him. “You always were a romantic.”

He smirks. “Only when it comes to you two idiots. Why do you think I had so much fun riling him up at your graduation?”

I look away, wrapping my arms tighter around myself. The silence stretches again, filled with all the things I’m too afraid to admit.

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this,” I say finally, voice small.

“You don’t have to be,” he says. “You just have to stop pretending you’re alone in it.”

His words hit something in me—deep and soft and bruised.

Because I’ve spent so much time trying to be the strong one. The tough one. The independent, take-no-shit, I-don’t-need-help girl. But this diagnosis—it’s stripped all of that away. It’s made me feel small and fragile and suddenly terrified that loving someone means letting them watch me fall apart.

And Rhys…

He’s already seen too much.

Smalls stands and holds out his hand. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk before you overthink yourself into an existential coma.”

I roll my eyes but take his hand anyway.

Outside, the air is crisp and cool. Leaves skitter across the porch, and the sky’s beginning to blush with hints of gold and grey.

Smalls stuffs his hands into his hoodie pocket, walking beside me in companionable silence for a few minutes.

“Better already,” he says, breathing in deeply.

I nod, but my mind is still racing.

Because the thing is… I don’t want to be gone forever.

I don’t want this to be the end.

I just don’t know if I’m ready to walk back in and pick up the pieces.

But maybe, if I stop running?—

Maybe Rhys will still be there.

And maybe, just maybe…

That’s enough to try.