Page 195 of Rush

We say goodbye to Georgia and Marie—after she packs us leftovers in old yogurt containers and kisses my cheek like she’s known me my whole life, after Georgia pulls me into a polite hug—Broderick drives me home.

We don’t talk much on the way. We don’t need to.

It’s the kind of silence that doesn’t press or pull and lets you think without drowning.

Which I am.

My father. Alex. Broderick. Georgia and Marie.

All of it spinning inside me—’round and ‘round.

He parks out front and leaves the engine running, headlights spilling across the curb. The air between us thickens. Familiar now. But still charged.

I stare out the windshield, then glance at him. His hand rests on the wheel, thumb tapping once. He seems to be lost in his own thoughts.

“Thank you for today,” I whisper.

I rest my hand on his thigh, the moment I do every thought goes quiet.

He turns to me, brow creasing slightly.

“You needed a soft landing.”

The simplicity of it pulls again at the broken pieces. The way he sees straight through without picking at the pieces, even when I don’t deserve it.

“You’re kind of wonderful—you know that?” I say before I can stop myself.

He grins, slow and crooked. “El, I already knew that.”

I laugh—short, under my breath—eyes dropping to my lap.

“And so humble.”

His smile lingers—not cocky. Just a little bashful. Like he doesn’t quite know what to do with the tenderness between us either.

Something has changed tonight. Naturally. The way you shift from asleep to awake. I’m not ready for it. I can’t even admit it, not even to myself.

“Do you want to come up?” I’m desperate to cling to the peace he brings to my mind when I unravel under his touch.

It slips out softer than I mean it to. No performance. Justneed.

He holds my gaze, his eyes dark, unreadable.

“Not tonight, baby,” he says, and there’s something in the way he says it—restrained, but aching.

It hits me unexpectedly.

And that aches more than it should.

I pull my hand away from his knee, snapping the moment like a thread.

He waits for me to get inside before pulling away from the curb. I hesitate on the steps, just long enough to hope he’ll change his mind. That he’ll rush up behind me, sweep me into his arms, and fuck my brains out.

To pretend like today didn’t matter as much as it did.

His kindness today—being there when I was falling apart. After the fallout with Alex. At Pacific and today, after my father. Every other time, too. It clings to me like a second skin. I don’t want to admit it. I won’t.

We agreed.