Page 17 of Rush

Laundry basket in hand, I pass my music room and stop. The piano sits in stillness, waiting. My fingers itch to play, to write—but the ache beneath my ribs propels me forward instead.

Would I ever move on from this?

Would writing always pull me back to the heartbreak I can’t seem to untangle myself from?

Loss—my constant companion.

I throw myself into mundane tasks, ignoring Kylie’s calls as the front door creaks open.

“Honey…I’m home!” Riley calls, then pauses. “Elena?”

“In here,” I call back.

She rounds the corner, eyes widening. “Well, look at you! Up, showered, and everything.”

“Yeah,” I say with a half-smile.

“I was about to book a fumigation or get the hose out.”

“Okay, okay—I get it. I let myself go a little.”

“I knew you’d find your way back,” she says, closing the distance between us. Her arms slide around me, gentle and grounding.

It’s enough to make me cry—but she holds me together instead.

“Elena, you’re vibrating,” she murmurs.

“Oh. Kylie won’t stop calling me.” I fish my phone from my hoodie pocket.

Riley watches me with a raised brow as my phone buzzes again.

“If she’s calling this much, it must be important,” she says, leaning against the counter.

I groan, pushing a hand through my hair before answering, “Kylie.”

“Elena, are you ready to rejoin the world?” Her voice is brisk, businesslike.

“What’s going on?” I ask, pacing toward the window. Outside, the late afternoon light bleeds through the glass, soft and golden against the skyline.

“Well, there’s no sugarcoating it. Your absence has been noted. This isrelease weekfor your album. You should be out there—doing interviews, being seen, talking aboutRise—not hiding away. The media’s circling. They’re dragging up your disappearance, rehashing the whole Alexander saga. They’re painting you as a bad investment—the numbers are great, but the label is worried.”

Exhaustion creeps in, draining whatever lightness I had earlier. I scrub a hand over my face, exhaling hard.

“Not to mention the staged photos of Madison and Alexander doing the rounds, they’re calling itthe golden reunion—painting you out to be the sad ex.”

Fuck.

Riley’s expression shifts—sympathy, worry—but she stays quiet.

“Okay, what do we do?”

Kylie sighs on the other end. “I can tell you what to do, but at the end of the day, Elena, it’s your choice. This isyourcareer on the line.”

“I know.” Shame creeps into my voice. While this is everything I’ve ever wanted, the constant performance—the pressure to beon—especially now—feels suffocating.

My feelings never seem to matter—not when my reputation is on the line.

“I trust you, Kylie. Help me navigate this, what do you suggest?”