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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

ALLY

Being home should feel normal, right?

It should be like slipping into your favourite pair of worn jeans—comfortable, familiar, and a little snug in all the right places. I imagined lazy mornings spent with steaming cups of coffee and nights bursting with laughter echoing through the house.

Instead, everything feels... off.

And it’s not just the house—it’s me. I feel different.

I had expected awkwardness after my abrupt departure, after running away and leaving everyone behind.

Yet, no one mentions it. They treat me like I never really left, as though nothing significant happened. And somehow, that silence makes the dissonance all the more painful.

I sit at the kitchen counter, absentmindedly swirling my spoon around in a half-eaten bowl of cereal.

My focus drifts from the swirling milk to the to the worry I’m hiding. Across from me, Chase is deep in his phone world. He laughs at something on the screen, then proudly shows it to Yasmin, who rolls her eyes so hard I’m sure I can hear them.

Ella and Arden are in the middle of a heated—but entirely predictable—debate about the proper method of stacking dishes in the dishwasher, a battle that has been a cornerstone of our household routines since the moment we all moved in.

Meanwhile, Ashley, ever the expert in partial commitments, lounges on the couch, watching a cooking show with half an eye.

It’s all so normal, so painfully normal.

But in my mind, nothing feels normal.

“Eat your cereal before it turns into mush.” Rhys’s rich, deep voice startles me from my thoughts.

I glance up, meeting his gaze. He’s leaning casually against the counter, arms crossed, scrutinising me as if I were a malfunctioning appliance that needed a reboot.

“I’m not hungry,” I mutter through a cloud of reluctance.

“You barely ate anything at dinner last night,” he chides softly, his tone a mix of concern and exasperation.

I sigh, letting my spoon clatter into the bowl as I drop it. “I’m fine,” I insist, though the emptiness in my tone gives me away.

He doesn’t let it slide. I recognise that in the way his eyes narrow ever so slightly, acknowledging my discontent without saying it outright.

Then, just as if leaning in closer might magically untangle the knots in my stomach, Rhys lowers his voice, adding an element of quiet urgency. “You’re acting like you don’t belong here, but you do. No one’s mad at you, Ally.”

A lump forms in my throat. “I never said they were,” I respond defensively, not fully trusting my own words.

His dark eyes search mine, probing deeper than I feel ready for. “Then why are you acting like you’re waiting for us to kick you out?” The question hangs in the air, raw and unanticipated.

I lean forward slightly, lowering my voice in return. “I don’t know,” I sigh, staring down at my chipped nails that betray my inner turmoil. “I just…I feel guilty.”

“For what?” he presses gently, his tone softening as if he cares more than he lets on.

“For running... for making you come after me.” My voice is barely audible, full of unspoken regrets and self-reproach.

Rhys lets out a sharp exhalation, stepping back from the counter like a man who needs space to think. “You didn’t make me do anything, Ally. I came because I wanted to. Because I wasn’t going to let you push me away.” His words, though comforting, feel like small bandages on a deep wound.

I nod, feeling the lump in my throat grow heavier. He watches me for a long moment, his eyes softening with equal parts concern and weariness. “You're still avoiding everything,” he states, a hint of frustration mingling with his care.

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.