The chapter a lot of you might have been waiting for (haha). Enjoy! See you Thursday!
And, make sure you've read chapter 29 first!

"You're shaking."

We'd left the lake half an hour ago with Rhys taking me back to his place. He had promised that his parents wouldn't be home to harass me, even though I wouldn't have cared if I saw Rebecca. Maybe his dad, though.

The drive had felt different, like there was nothing left separating us now. Rhys had been so hauntingly honest with me today that I couldn't even remember why I hadn't liked him from the very start.

"That's what happens when— when you're fucking cold," I stutter, my teeth chattering. I could feel my damp hair sticking to the back of my neck, not only from the sweat but also from the lake.

"Always the lady," Rhys grins. He hand lingers on my lower back as he guides me into the elevator. His presses the button, an automated voice informing us that we were going to ground level.

"I don't remember hearing Siri speak to us last time," I observe.

Rhys grunts. "It was installed yesterday. My mum can be quite extra when she wants to be."

"So you not only have an elevator, but you have a voice automated elevator?"

"She can even tell you a joke," Rhys presses his lips into a thin line like it was anything but funny. "Waste of money if you ask me. But mum always starts splurging when dad gets on her nerves."

I'd never really heard Rhys talk badly about the relationship between his parents, but watching his jaw tense at the mention of them made me think otherwise. I'd always just assumed they'd be a somewhat happy couple. That's what they produced in public. But I was starting to learn that not everyone was exactly as I had thought in New River. Some people were just better at hiding who they really are.

"Don't know why our parents ever married either, brother," Max's hand glides out to stop the doors from shutting. He steps in swiftly, wracking a hand through his hair. He sends me a dazzling smile, leaning back against the wall in between Rhys and I.

"Thought you were working today," Rhys mumbles. Max presses the button for level 3, before crossing his arms over his chest and observing Rhys.

"You were mistaken," he smiles. "I've got a shift tonight. Did I ruin your plans, Rhys? Sorry, I didn't know you'd be bringing CeCe to the house you thought was empty."

"Shut up," Rhys grits, glaring at his brother.

Max laughs heartily, his eyes finding mine. "He makes it so easy."

"I never thought I would say that I agreed with a Laderman," I mumble, "but I know exactly what you mean."

Max raises his eyebrows, a thumb pointing at me as he looks back at his brother. "Keep this one."

"I was planning on it," Rhys's eyes meet mine momentarily and I feel my stomach dip.

"Well, shit," Max whistles, hands stuffed into the pockets of his shorts. "What have we here? My brother, as smitten as a kitten."

"Is that necessary?" Rhys snaps, rolling his eyes at Max.

The elevator dings, the voiceover telling us that we had arrived on the ground level. I step out before Rhys does, turning back to watch Max. He salutes us both, smirking.

"Always a pleasure, CeCe," he quips before turning to Rhys, "don't do anything I wouldn't do, brother."

"Gee, that really narrows it down," Rhys glares back, watching as the doors close, raising Max to the next level as he laughs, waving at us.

"Dick," Rhys whispers under his breath, shaking his head.

He reaches to clasp my hand, walking side-by-side down the hall. Our feet patter against the cold marble floor. As much as I liked the modern feel to Rhys's house, there was something homely missing about it. No pictures or paintings were hanging on the white, pristine walls. The only plus was the amazing floor to ceiling window at the end of the hallway.

I don't have time to stare as Rhys pulls me around the corner, leading to a room.

"I honestly don't remember any of this from the time I was here for your tenth birthday," I muse.

"My mother likes to refurnish every six fucking months," Rhys grunts, his free hand pulling on the handle of a door.

When I step inside, I can't help but smile. Rhys's room was entirely different from the rest of his house. It was personal. Pictures hung on his wall with the boys, some with girls from school too, but I don't linger on those. He had a few posters of cars on his walls, even a portrait of Rovey hanging over his bed.

"Should I be worried?" I joke, indicating the picture of Rovey. "Do you already have a girl in your life?"

"There's always room for two," he grins, resting his hands on my hips. I reach up to hang my hands loosely around his neck, looping them together at the nape, playing with his hair.

My eyes linger on the wall behind him, one picture standing out amongst the rest. It was the oldest picture by far. Rhys as a toddler, Wrapped up in Libby's arm as she smiles widely at the camera, baby teeth glistening.

"Mum hung that one up," Rhys whispers, his eyes following my gaze. His fingers delicately stroke the bare skin near my hip, focused patterns tracing my skin. I wonder if it's all he can do to stop himself from thinking about her too much. "Said it should have been added to the collection."

I pull him closer against me, his head burrowing into the side of my neck. "What's it like? Having siblings, I mean."

I'd always wondered what it would be like to have a brother or sister. When mum gave birth to me, it had bee rather traumatising, according to what I'd heard. A lot of blood, her insides a bit messed up. After that, she said that she couldn't do it again. I didn't blame her, giving birth had always scared me.

"Both a blessing and a goddamn curse," Rhys's lips press against my neck lightly, his nose brushing against my skin. I shiver, my fingers playing with his hair. "I never fought with Libby, but Max and I— sometimes it's hard enough being in the same room as him. He never fought with Libby either, though. She was just like that. Calm, collected, always willing to listen. I hardly ever heard her raise her voice at anyone."

"Are you close with Max?"

"We never used to be," he admits. "Before...we lost Libby. They were twins and I was always a little jealous of that. How close they were. More than I was to either of them. But then when she died, it changed things. Mum and dad, they did what they always fucking do. Pretend things are fine. But Max knew I wasn't fine and despite how annoying he can be, I don't know what I would have done without him then."

My heart lurches for him. I pull back slightly, placing my lips against his in a slow kiss. His tongue slips into my mouth and I sigh against him, trailing my hands down his back. The feel of his muscles rippling under my hands starts a fire in my belly.

He leads me over to his king-size bed, the silk cover soothing the back of my thighs. He leans away first, sitting next to me. He pulls me to his lap and I whine my legs around his waist, his tortured eyes pulling me in.

"After she died, I did some stuff I regret," Rhys says softly, his eyes closing as I thread my fingers through his hair. "Drugs, like I told you already. Getting drunk off my head and jumping off New River pier. Hooking up with girls just so I could forget," I can't meet his eyes when he mentions that, my stomach tightening.

"Then one day, I came home completely drunk, my head bleeding from a fall, and Max found me. I'd never seen him so angry before. But then," Rhys clears his throat, his hands holding my waist tighter, "Then he started to break down. I'd never seen my brother cry, haven't since. He told me that he'd already lost Libby and that he couldn't lose me too. That was it for me, then. I grew the fuck up and changed. For him."

My breath catches when I notice a single tear stray from Rhys's eye, rolling down his cheek. His green eyes are on me as I lean in, kissing away the salty tear before it hits his jaw.

Every bad thought I have ever had about Rhys suddenly leaves my mind. I wish more than ever that I had never judged him because of his wealth. That I had ever thought he'd be anything like Lucas, Carter or Dale.

"We still have our moments," Rhys smiles sadly, "but I know that he'd always have my back if it came to it."

"Why doesn't he stick up for you in front of you dad then?" I ask tentatively, not wanting to overstep but being genuinely curious.

"That's always been hard for him," his jaw tightens and he can't meet my gaze. "Max has always idolised dad. They've always had a different relationship than mine. Max respects him and even if he sees that I'm unhappy, that I don't want to be a cop, it's hard for him to understand why I can't be grateful. Why I would want another job when I could get one so easily."

I could see both sides of the argument. Although, being slightly biased, I would always understand Rhys's more. My parents had always told me to reach for my dreams, that the limits were endless. Although I'd never believed them, the trust-fund mum had set up for me lingered in the back of my brain. The first real sign of hope that leaving New River could be possible for me.

I'd filled Rhys in on everything my dad had told me at the hospital during the car ride here. About mum. About the powerful, unknown man who was my biological father. About my trust-fund. He had taken it all in, listening intently to every word.

"What are you thinking about?" he whispers, kissing my exposed shoulder. I bite my lip, suppressing the guttural sound from the back of my throat.

"You," I whisper. He kisses my neck slowly and my mind goes blank. His hands skim up from my hips, tugging at my tank. I pull it over for him, sitting bare-chested on his lap. I'd left my wet bra in his car earlier.

"Cora, I have to—"

"Enough talking, I think," I murmur, kissing along his jaw.

"But—"

I rock softly against him, a groan erupting from deep within his throat. "You're gonna kill me," he rasps.

He spins us around, pinning me beneath him. My hair flares out around me, like a halo. The cool silk against my back makes me shiver. He watches me with primal need and I pull him closer, finding his lips with ease. It doesn't take long before my tongue seeks his, as I wrap my legs around his back, our bodies becoming one.

I lift his shirt over his head, our chests flushed together. My breathing increases and he trails his hands down my side, his lips following along. He grazes over my breast, his tongue flicking rapidly before continuing down my stomach. "Rhys..."

"Yes, Cora?" he watches me through hooded eyes, kissing along my stomach. My eyes follow him and my throat tightens, all words lost.

His lips stop where my shorts finish against my hips. He grips my thighs, the veins in his hands prominent. His gaze meets mine and I know what's he's about to ask before he even opens his mouth. I lift my hips, pulling my shorts off quickly. Much like my bra, my underwear had been left in the backseat of his car.

It doesn't take him long before his head lowers between my thighs. My back arches of the bed and I grip onto his hair, eyes rolling back. "Rhys," I pant.

Before too long, his mouth is trailing back up my stomach, trailing along my neck and biting softly. I reach for his back, tugging at his shorts. He pulls back briefly, his eyes watching me closely.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," I say, breathless.

"We don't have—"

"Please shut up already," I groan. Rhys chuckles, reaching across from me to open his side draw.

He leans back over me, his arms propped up at his side. He opens the foil packet, rolling it onto himself. He meets my gaze again. "What's wrong?" I prod, moving his brown hair from out of his eyes.

"Nothing," he smiles softly. "We've just never talked about this. Is it your first—"

"No," I interrupt, wanting to speed up the chit-chat. "Ryan was my—"

"Please don't say another guy's name right now," he growls, biting his lip.

I can't help but laugh, his eyes twinkling at me. "I wish I got to hear your laugh more," he whispers. Before I can respond, he wraps my legs around his waist and I stop breathing.

"Have you—"

"Yes," he grunts. "But I've never been sober. So no, not like this. Not with meaning."

It broke my heart to think of the dark place he must have been in when Libby died. How broken and alone he must have felt before his brother helped him see the light.

His lips meet mine and I moan his name as he begins moving against me. He kisses me slowly and I savour his taste, the warmth of his mouth. He groans deeply and I shiver. His hands cup my face gently and I melt at his unexpected softness.

"Cora," he whispers, over and over. I meet his gaze, the way his eyes soften as he watches me.

I suddenly realise without a doubt how easy it would be to fall in love with him. How easy it would be for him to break my heart too. It scared me to be so vulnerable. So easy for him to find a place in my heart. I'd been scared to ever be this open with someone after Ryan, but it was already too late. And I didn't even care.

My breathing wavers and I can feel myself building, pulling him closer against me. He whispers my name quietly, tugging on my ear. My eyes close and I clench around him, my hands holding onto his hair tightly.

"Fuck, Cora," he grunts, his pace quickening.

I was panting, his name becoming a chant. He pulls me up and I'm sitting on his lap again, our lips moving in sync.

"Cora..." Rhys grunts and suddenly, everything explodes, fireworks erupting in my stomach. We stay still, our chests rising and falling in sync with each other.

"Thank you," I whisper, clearing my throat.

He frowns, tracing patterns above my collar bone. "What for?"

"For making me feel like— like I matter. Like I'm..."

I couldn't say it. Not yet. It was too soon but I could feel it beginning to creep up. It was only a matter of time before those three little words were the most truthful thing I could ever say.

Rhys lifts my chin, his stern eyes meeting mine. "Don't you ever think that you deserve anything less. Please don't continue to compare me to him. I'm not him."

He was right. I was being unfair. Rhys wasn't Ryan. He was his own person.

"Sorry," I whisper.

"Don't apologise," he shakes his head. "Just know that I would do anything for you."

I gulp, nodding my head. He pulls back, rifling through his drawer and finding some boxers. He walks towards his ensuite and I admire his sculptured back. I move to pull on my own clothes when he throws me his t-shirt to wear.

"I was thinking," he speaks, emerging from the bathroom minutes later, "that you could give me that movie education you always whinge about me not having."

I can't help but grin as he turns on the flat screen mounted on the wall facing his bed. He pulls back the covers of his duvet, pulling me against his chest as he opens Netflix.

"This makes no sense," I laugh. "You have Netflix but you don't use it?"

"It's Max's account," he mumbles. "He told me I could use it whenever I wanted but I've yet to do so."

"Well, I am honoured to take your Netflix virginity."

He snorts, handing me the remote. "I'm sure you've already thought of a suggestion for us to watch."

"Of course," I deadpan. "We are so watching The Fast and the Furious. I still can't believe that you— a wannabe mechanic —has never seen the best car movie of freaking time."

"It can't be that great," he smiles, his hand tracing circles on my arm.

"Oh, but it is. Just wait until you see Paul Walker. He is a god-given gift, may he rest in peace. I loved that man with my entire heart," I pout, sighing. "Trust me, Rhys, I am about to change your uneducated life with this film."

And I do. Rhys couldn't take his eyes off the screen the entire time, even as I swooned over Paul. Then we watched the second, and the third and the fourth and even the fifth, until our eyes were barely staying open and we fell asleep, his arm wrapped tightly around me.