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CHAPTER SEVEN

ALLY

It starts with a plan for a low-key girls’ night.

Just us girls, no boys, no drama. Yasmin said it like it was a declaration of war. Ella, naturally, pulled out the fancy cocktail glasses. Mady showed up with a bag full of fruity cocktails in little glass bottles and a Tupperware container full of brownies she claimed were “totally safe.”

Spoiler alert: They were not totally safe.

We’re sprawled around the living room in the house we all share—me, Yasmin, Mady, and Ella. Ashley is out and the boys have been exiled for the night with zero explanation and a lot of dramatic waving. I think Chase mumbled something about “testosterone discrimination” as he left, but Ella just slammed the door in his face and yelled, “Don’t come back unless you’re bringing snacks!”

It’s been a long week.

School. Work stress. Mady’s allergic reaction to whatever face mask she tried last night. So when we all slumped onto the couch in various states of exhaustion and emotional vulnerability, it was only a matter of time before the cocktails and brownies kicked in.

Now, two hours later, the living room looks like a bomb went off. There’s an explosion of throw pillows on the floor, three empty pizza boxes, a half-empty bowl of popcorn, and someone (probably me) spilled strawberry daiquiri across the arm of the couch.

Ella is giggling into her cocktail glass like it just told her a joke. Yasmin is braiding Mady’s hair with a terrifying amount of focus. Mady has the relaxed posture of someone who’s one brownie away from astral projection.

And me? I’m curled up under one of the fuzzy blankets, trying not to overthink the way my heart keeps tap dancing in my chest and looking at the last message Rhys sent me.

Rhys

I won’t stop trying. You can’t avoid this forever. I’ll always be there.

“Okay,” Mady says, flopping onto her stomach with a dramatic sigh. “Confession time. Let’s get into the juicy stuff. Someone here’s got boy drama, and if you don’t fill me in, I’m going to riot.”

All three of them turn and look at me.

I blink. “Why me?”

“Because you’ve been smiling at your phone like it whispered sweet nothings to you,” Yasmin says, reaching for another brownie. “And because you keep avoiding Rhys every time he walks into a room.”

Mady narrows her eyes. “Wait. Did something happen? With Rhys?”

I pause.

And… I’m blushing again.

“Oh my God,” Mady breathes. “ Something happened.”

I bury my face in the blanket. “Maybe.”

“Ally,” Yasmin says slowly as if she’s about to interrogate me for state secrets. “What. Did. You. Do?”

I peek out from under the blanket, my voice muffled. “We kissed.”

The room explodes.

Yasmin shrieks and throws a pillow in the air. Ella gasps like I just admitted to robbing a bank. Mady lets out a sound that is somewhere between a squeal and a war cry.

“Tell us everything,” Ella says, leaning forward like she’s about to take notes.

I sit up a little, my cheeks hot. “It was… ugh, it was good. It was really good.”

Mady fans herself with a throw pillow. “Was it, like, ‘gentle and sweet’ good or ‘grab the back of your neck and ruin your life’ good?”

I let out a laugh. “Somewhere in between. It was soft at first. Careful. Like he was making sure I didn’t change my mind. And then it got… intense. Like he’d been waiting. He found me at Grumpy’s with Justin and pulled me out into the alley.”

Ella exhales. “That boy is in love with you. You know that, right?”

My smile falters.

Yasmin notices. Of course, she does.

“Okay, what’s the problem?” she asks gently.

I wrap my arms around my knees. “It’s not him. Rhys is… He’s Rhys. He’s safe. And steady. And he knows me in a way no one else does.”

“But?” Ella prompts.

“But I don’t know how to do this,” I admit. “I don’t know how to be someone’s person. I’ve never done it. I’m scared I’ll mess it up. That I’ll hurt him. Or that he’ll realise I’m not worth the risk.”

The words feel heavy coming out but also freeing.

Mady nudges my foot with hers. “You’re allowed to be scared. But you don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re loyal as hell. You’re thoughtful. You’re honest—sometimes brutally. That’s all anyone can ask for.”

“Plus,” Yasmin adds, “Rhys is a goner. That boy would follow you into hell if you asked nicely. He’s not going anywhere.”

“But what if it ruins everything?” I question. “The group. Our friendship. This house.” It’s been playing through my head for days. I can’t lose my friends.

Ella reaches over and takes my hand. “It won’t. Because the people who love you will make sure it doesn’t.”

Mady hums. “And let’s be real. You and Rhys have been orbiting each other since, like, week one. If this crashes and burns, the rest of us will just pretend not to notice and make you alternate catch-up nights.”

I laugh at that, the knot in my chest loosening just a little more.

“Okay, but also,” Yasmin says, tilting her head, “if you don’t at least try with him, you’ll regret it forever. And then you’ll become the drunk aunt who shows up to every event with a new mysterious ‘friend’ and cries during Hallmark movies.”

Mady raises her hand. “Honestly, sounds iconic.”

We burst into giggles.

“What if I’m not enough?” I ask, quieter now.

Ella’s smile softens. “You are. You always have been. Rhys doesn’t want perfect. He wants you . The messy, overthinking, sarcastic you.”

Yasmin nods. “Besides, the way he looks at you. Like you invented gravity? That boy’s not going anywhere.”

We fall into a comfortable silence after that. The kind that wraps around you like a warm blanket. I lose myself in my thoughts. Could this really work between Rhys and me?

Yasmin eventually starts giggling about a TikTok she saw, and Mady attempts to do a British accent so bad it makes Ella snort cocktail out her nose.

I feel lighter. Like maybe I don’t need to have it all figured out right now. Maybe it’s okay to let things unfold.

Eventually, we all end up in a tangled heap on the living room floor, heads resting on pillows and legs draped over couch cushions. The brownies have fully kicked in, and we’re too far gone to pretend otherwise.

“Do you think Rhys is good in bed?” Mady whispers like we’re in a church.

“Absolutely,” Yasmin says.

“One hundred percent,” Ella adds.

I groan. “I’m literally right here.”

“We’re just manifesting for you.” Yasmin grins.

“I feel like I should be offended… but I’m weirdly flattered,” I admit.

“You should be flattered,” Mady says, stretching like a cat. “You’re the chosen one. You hold the power of the group’s collective thirst.”

Ella laughs so hard she hiccups. “Okay, new rule. No more brownies for Mady.”

“But they’re delicious,” Mady whines.

“And they’ve made you poetic,” Yasmin adds. “I’m concerned.”

“Oh! Speaking of poetic,” Mady says suddenly, propping herself up on her elbows. “You guys, Lochlan, tried to write me a poem.” Mady shudders. “He rhymed ‘panties’ with ‘daffodandies.’ I still haven’t recovered.”

Ella clutches her stomach, laughing. “Why did he write you a poem?”

Mady grins. “He was trying to be romantic or some shit.”

We laugh until our stomachs hurt, the kind of laughter that folds you in and lifts you at the same time. And even as the night winds down, the air is thick with the buzz of too many emotions—joy, nostalgia, hope, and whatever the hell is in those brownies.

Eventually, everyone else drifts off to sleep, leaving just Ella and me on the floor, the fairy lights twinkling overhead. The others are scattered—Yasmin half-asleep on the couch, Mady curled into a pile of pillows like she’s hibernating.

Ella nudges my shoulder. “Hey. You okay?”

I nod. “Yeah. Actually, yeah.”

She gives me a look. One of those knowing, sister-soulmate kind of looks. “You’re going to tell him, right?”

I hesitate. “I want to. I just don’t know how to start.”

“Start with the truth,” she says. “That’s always enough.”

I nod slowly, the words sinking in. And maybe that’s all I really need to do. Start. Try. Show up for him like he’s always shown up for me.

“Thanks,” I murmur.

Ella rests her head on my shoulder. “Anytime.”

And that’s how we stay.

And in that moment, I know I’m not alone.

And I know I’m ready.