Page 152 of Rush

I draw in a shaky breath, clinging to what composure I can. “Even if he takes it down…the damage is already done.”

Kylie says nothing. Riley applauds me silently, and I thank God she’s here, helping me navigate this bullshit.

“They’ve seen it,” I say, louder now. Steadier. Something sharp burns in my chest—anger, maybe. Defiance. “They’ve already made up their minds.”

I take a breath. Force myself upright.

“I’m done letting everyone else decide how I should feel. Or what I’m supposed to do.”

Kylie exhales—softer this time. Like she hears it too. The shift in me.

“Elena…”

“I’m not calling him,” I say, putting my foot down. “You, of all people, wanted me to end things. It’s ended. I’m not calling him. End of story.”

“Okay,” she says finally. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is. Post a tour photo—anything to show I’m nowhere near him or New York. Let them see I’m out here, living my life, focusing on the music.”

“It’s a good approach. Well done, Elena.”

We end the call, and my shoulders slump into the couch.

“I’m proud of you for standing your ground,” Riley says, sitting beside me again. “I mean, we love Kylie—she’s badass—but this is your life. You have every right to push back when you need to.”

“Thanks, babe. But she’s the expert. What if she’s right?” Doubt creeps into my chest. Maybe I should have listened.

“Sure, but you’re the owner of your own destiny. Her job isn’t to dictate—it’s to guide.”

Riley’s light cuts through the haze, scattering the shadows before I can spiral.

“Have I ever told you how lucky I am to have you?”

“Not nearly enough.” She chuckles, leaning her head on my shoulder. “Okay, but for real—are you going to call him?” she asks gently, though her tone braces for an answer she doesn’t want.

“I don’t know. No…I guess.” The words leave my mouth, but I’m not sure I believe them. Part of me doesn’t want to hear his voice or whatever he might say. But a weaker part of me can’t help but want to know.

Ugh. Pathetic.

“Good,” she says instantly—fierce, sharp. “Because fuck that. He doesn’t get to drop a steaming pile of shit and walk away again, leaving you to deal with it.”

My throat tightens, marinating in indecision.

We sit quietly for a moment, nothing but my ragged breaths and the sounds of the city below filling the space.

“But…if you wanted to, I won’t judge,” she adds. “I mean, I’d rather you do some damage to him instead, but either way, I’m fully on board. Baseball bats, brass knuckles—call him or beat him. Choice is yours.”

A breath of a laugh escapes me. “Thanks, babe.”

“You know I’ve got you, right?”

Her words radiate through me, filling me with confidence. No matter what, I’ll always have her to catch me in the fall.

It’s my life. And I decide.

“Thanks, Riley.” I stand, the choice solidifying in my mind.

I don’t say anything else. I throw on my oversized hoodie and sunglasses, grab my keys, and head for the door.