Page 289 of Rush

How do you move forward when your heart refuses to let go—when it insists on waiting for something you’re not even sure will ever come?

Chapter 33

The Wave

It’s been two weeks since I saw Broderick. No calls, No texts. No sarcastic memes or late-night rendezvous.

Two agonizing weeks.

I’d been away from him before, but the thought of him being a flight or call away sustained me during our time apart. But now.

Space. He wants space.

I miss his laugh, I miss his body, I miss him.

The nights are the worst. I lay awake replaying every moment leading up to our not-date that ended in disaster and the line was drawn in the sand. Then the conversation that followed in the studio.

There’s no going back.

And maybe that was the point.

I’ll give him the space he’s asked for. Convince myself it was the decent thing to do. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t.

Either way, his silence is loud.

Serves me right for dragging him into my mess.

But my chest hasn’t stopped aching. My arrangement with Broderick was the one thing that kept me grounded. The sex was incredible—but it was the company that kept me coming back.The laughs, the teasing, the way he found a way to get under my skin, physically and otherwise.

The way he showed up when I needed him even when I didn’t ask. No matter how busy or tired he was. Now he was gone, too.

“Oh, isn’t this cute,” Philippa says, holding up a tiny, overpriced baby sweater that probably costs more than some people’s rent.

Carole lets out a delighted gasp, “Oh, it’s precious. He’ll look like a little gentleman.”

I nod, mostly so they don’t prod. I don’t really want to be here.

But I’m desperate. Maybe Philippa has an update—she had no idea what transpired between us.

So here I am. Walking through Bergdorf’s baby section like some kind of penance.

I trail behind them, arms crossed, watching them sift through racks of cashmere onesies. Everything smells like vanilla and money.

I hate how much I want to ask about him.

Had she seen him?

Did he look okay?

Did he ask about me?

I rub the back of my neck and stare at a stack of swaddles.

I replay our conversation over and over again, dissecting what he said—what I could have said to salvage this.

“Elena?” Carole’s voice brings me back to reality.

I look up to see her face full of concern, and Philippa watches me with that expression—part suspicion, part worry.