Page 16 of Rush

She laughs softly, shrugging. “It happens to the best of us.”

Her smile softens, something warmer filling her eyes.

“And then Andrew,” she sighs wistfully, shaking her head like she still can’t quite believe it. “This cocky, insufferable nerd who would not stop teasing me in every meeting. He pushed my buttons like it was a sport. Made me laugh when I didn’t want to. And for the first time, I didn’t have to fight for someone to see me. He just…did.”

I let her words settle, chewing at my lip as the tears finally slow.

“He drives me crazy sometimes,” she adds, bumping her shoulder into mine. “But it’s the good kind of crazy.”

I let out a breathy laugh, swallowing down a sob.

Philippa leans her head against mine, squeezing my hand, the gesture taking me by surprise.

“You’ll get there too,” she whispers. “I know it feels like hell right now. But one day…someone’s going to love you the way you deserve. And you won’t have to question it.”

Her words sink deeper than I expect. For a moment, I let myself believe her.

Just for a moment.

Because even as hope flickers, the fear presses close.

What if no one ever stayed for all the broken, ugly parts of me?

She straightens her back. “Elena, you stink.” Her face scrunches in mock disgust.

We laugh, loud and hard, and the release is cathartic.

I can’t even remember the last time I’d put on deodorant.

She grabs my shoulders, locking eyes with me, no-nonsense and razor-sharp.

“You need to get back to work. You can’t sit here and wallow. You chose a career in the spotlight—you need to pull your big girl pants on. You can’t let this break you, or you’ll never move forward.”

I nod. Even though I don’t want to.

“I brought you food.” She says it like it’s some kind of bribe to seal the deal. “But you only get it if you get up, get yourself together, and take a shower.”

Itisa bribe—but isn’t food the best kind.

“What did you bring?” I ask, my stomach rumbling with sudden hunger.

“Chicken arroz caldo.”

“Just like…” I couldn’t finish. That was the dish Mom made when we were sick, hurt or sad.

Food for the soul, she would say.

“I know,” she says softly. “Figure you could use some comfort food. It’s not like hers, but… hopefully it’s enough to make you feel a little better.”

“Pip.” My voice cracks as I pull her into a tight hug. “Thank you.”

She holds me close for a moment, then pulls away, brushing at a tear from her cheek.

“Okay. You really do smell bad—get in the shower. I’ll reheat this.”

We laugh again, and even though it still hurts—it starts to hurt a little less.

Once Philippa leaves, a lightness settles in, my belly full of comfort food.