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CHAPTER FORTY

RHYS

The first thing I notice is the silence.

Not the absence of noise—just… a different kind of quiet.

Our house is never truly quiet. There’s always someone yelling from the hallway, music thumping behind closed doors, Martha busy in the kitchen cooking or cleaning. It’s disarray wrapped in comfort. But tonight—it’s peaceful.

Not empty.

Earned.

Like the calm after a long storm, when everyone’s still a little damp, a little tired, but relieved to be standing.

Ally’s laugh echoes down the hall and wraps around me like a memory I don’t want to forget. It’s not just a sound. It’s gravity—pulling me out of my room.

I follow it.

When I step into the living room, I pause. Not because anything is particularly dramatic or loud—but because this is one of those rare, perfect moments you know you’ll remember.

Yasmin and Chase are play-fighting over the last caramel Tim Tam. Ella’s curled up in Arden’s lap, half-asleep, while he absently scrolls through his phone. Ashley and Caitlin are even here cuddled up on the armchair, their legs tangled comfortably. The smell of buttery popcorn clings to the air, mixing with whatever candle Ally lit earlier.

And then there are the fairy lights—still strung across the room. Making everything feel magical and a little less like real life.

And there’s her.

Ally.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor in one of my hoodies that swallows her frame, her cheeks flushed from laughing too hard. Her hair’s half-tucked behind one ear, loose and messy from the day, but perfect in a way that wrecks me.

She looks up.

And smiles.

And damn —it still knocks the wind out of me.

“Hey,” she says, voice softer than the room around us.

“Hey,” I echo, sinking to the floor beside her. Our shoulders bump, and without hesitation, she laces our fingers together like she’s been doing it her whole life.

And maybe she has. In every version of us, in every universe—I think her hand would still find mine.

We don’t say much after that.

We don’t need to.

The night rolls on, lazy but louder. Arden starts a ridiculous game of charades with built-in dares. Within fifteen minutes, Chase is miming a kangaroo boxing match with terrifying accuracy, and Ella is dared to text her ex a line from The Notebook . Caitlin launches into a heated debate about who would survive a zombie apocalypse. Somehow, it turns into a team debate—boys versus girls. The general consensus is Ally.

“No offence,” Caitlin says, “but Ally’s got the energy of someone who’s already planning where she’d store her weapons.”

“She definitely owns a bat,” Ella adds.

“With spikes,” Ashley chimes in.

Ally leans into me, her lips brushing my ear. “My money’s on Millie, honestly. Have you seen how calm she is with a newborn? That girl could disarm a bomb without blinking.”

I chuckle, low and close. “Fair point. She did once remove a splinter from Hayden’s foot while ordering a pizza.”

“Exactly.”

There’s something sacred in this. In the noise. In the closeness. The warmth of this mismatched, resilient group of people who’ve somehow become ours .

Family. Not by blood—but by choice. And that means more.

When Hayden and Millie come in, the room shifts.

Hayden’s carrying the baby. His movements are careful, calculated like he’s afraid he might drop something too delicate to name. Millie trails beside him, calm and centred. She glows in that quiet way new mothers do—sleep-deprived and steady.

Hayden pauses near the couch, his eyes scanning the room like he’s unsure of his place. But someone makes room. No one says anything. It’s understood.

Millie takes the baby from Hayden and passes him to Yasmin first, who immediately starts to cry.

“Blame the hormones,” she says, sniffling as she gently rocks the tiny bundle.

“You’re not pregnant,” Chase mutters.

“I know,” she says, wiping her eyes. “But I might be ovulating.”

Laughter explodes around the room. Even Hayden grins, his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to.

When it’s my turn to hold Linkin, I take him carefully, my arms cradling the impossibly small body. He’s wrapped in a soft green blanket, one eye peeking open as he yawns. His skin is warm, soft as cotton, and he smells like baby powder and something new.

I stare down at him, feeling something shift—like a string pulling taut. Like potential.

I have no idea what sort of dad I’ll be in the future.

But this? This I want.

I glance up and meet Hayden’s eyes.

“You’re better at that than I expected,” he says.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“You never even held a dog properly.”

“A dog peed on me, man.” I shudder at the memory of our family pet.

“Still your fault,” he teases.

We laugh, and it’s easy. Easier than it’s been in a while. He’s still got the rough edges, but there’s something soft beneath them now. Something changing.

Millie slides her hand into his, and he doesn’t pull away.

They’ll be okay.

Eventually, people drift off. One by one, the night winds down.

Hayden and Millie disappear to the guest room. Ashley and Caitlin murmur goodnights, arms looped around each other as they vanish to go home. Ella and Arden follow not long after with matching sleepy smiles.

Yasmin and Chase linger—still arguing over Tim Tam flavours, which has Ally chiming in.

“Salted caramel is objectively superior,” Ally insists.

“Original is a classic for a reason,” I counter.

“You two should just get married and call it a draw,” Yasmin says, yawning as she stands.

Chase adds, “And I better be best man. Or at least in charge of the bucks party. You don’t want Arden planning that,” he jokes. He’s right. There’s no doubt we would end up in a foreign country with a random baby.

“That’s not how weddings work,” Ally mutters, pink flushing her cheeks.

“It is in this family,” Chase calls over his shoulder as he and Yasmin head to bed.

And then, we’re alone.

The house is dim. Quiet again. But not empty.

Ally looks around the living room, eyes scanning the empty mugs and discarded blankets. “It feels like the end of something.”

“Or the beginning of something else. Move into my room with me. You spend every night in there anyway,” I say nervously. I’ve been wanting to ask her for a while, but the time hadn’t been right. I was still scared she might run.

Our eyes lock. “You sure about that?”

I step closer and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Surer than I’ve ever been.”

She searches my face, something unspoken flickering in her eyes. Then, she nods. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

* * *

We carry her things into my room together. It doesn’t take long—she’s already here most nights.

A couple of books. Her favourite hoodie. That ridiculous cat mug she never uses but insists on keeping beside the bed. A worn throw blanket that smells like home. A copy of Pride and Prejudice she’s read a dozen times. A journal she keeps zipped in her bag and guards like it’s full of nuclear secrets.

We reorganise the shelves together. She insists on mixing our books.

“We’re merging lives,” she says. “Might as well start with the books.”

Having her toothbrush near mine affects me deeply. That quiet sense of this is it .

She sees it on my face.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing,” I murmur. “Just… this. You. Here. It’s good.”

She steps into me, wrapping her arms around my waist. Her body fits against mine like it was always meant to. “Yeah. It is.”

* * *

Later, we lie in bed. Rain taps the windows in steady rhythm. Her fingers trace lazy patterns over my ribs.

“Do you ever think about the future?” she asks.

“All the time.”

“What does it look like to you?”

I take her hand and press a kiss to her knuckles. “It looks like mornings like this. You stealing the hot water. Us fighting over what to watch. It looks like all the little things in between. And quiet. And us.”

“No big dreams of picket fences and Labradors?”

“Fence could be cool. But only if it’s blue.”

“I’m a purple girl.”

“Even better.”

“How do you think Arden would feel if we painted the fence here?” she asks, and I chuckle.

“Let’s do it and not tell him. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, right?” It would be funny as hell. As much as I’d love to live with Ally somewhere, I know that this is our home. Arden spent a lot of time and money on making this place perfect. He wanted somewhere that we could each have our own space and still be together. It’s home, and I couldn’t picture not living with my best friends.

She goes quiet, then finally speaks, “I was scared. Of being too much. Of being sick. Of needing you too much.”

I cup her cheek. “I want to be needed. I want you . The messy, brilliant, complicated you.”

She exhales, shaky but real. “Then I guess this is really happening.”

“It’s been happening. We just caught up to it.”

We kiss. Slow and warm and home .

She pulls back, eyes glassy.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she breathes, snuggling close.

She falls asleep in my arms.

And I stay awake a little longer, watching the way her chest rises and falls. The way she clings to me in her sleep. Like even in her dreams, she knows where she belongs.

And I know—in the deepest, quietest part of me—this is just the beginning.