Page 159 of Rush

I scrunch my nose. “You have nofoodin your house?”

“I’m never home long enough. And I hate the thought of food going to waste when so many people are starving.”

I shake my head, amused despite myself. “Alright, fine. Let’s order in.” I swat his arm lightly.

The tension eases from his face as he steps closer, fingers sliding beneath my chin, tilting it up.

“Your wish is?—”

The sound of a door clicking open cuts him off.

I freeze. “Are you expecting anyone?”

His brow furrows. “No.”

“Brody?” Andrew’s voice carries down the hall.

“Fuck,” I hiss, panic sparking in my chest. Broderick’s eyes fly wide, and he immediately drops his hand from my chin.

The sharp staccato of heels follows. My stomach lurches. Philippa.

“We brought you some food, thought you might be—” Philippa rounds the corner and stops dead when she sees me.Her gaze snaps from my face to Broderick’s. “Elena. We didn’t know you’d be back—andherewith Brody?”

Andrew’s right behind her. “Oh shit,” he mutters, grinning, shocked and amused. “Did we just interrupt something?”

My heart pounds so hard it’s deafening. Every instinct screamsrun. My brain spins, grasping for an escape route, for words—anything—as the four of us stand frozen like deer in headlights.

I force a brittle laugh. “Well, thanks for the workout, Broderick. Talk later.”

His head jerks toward me, hurt etched across his features. “You’re leaving?” His voice breaks on it, quieter, raw.

“I don’t want to intrude.” I edge away from him, every nerve taut.

“Don’t go,” Philippa says, taking me by surprise. “I haven’t seen you in a while—you’ve been so busy on the road.” She pouts, moving toward the dining table.

“Yeah, we leave for our honeymoon tomorrow. We won’t see you until Thanksgiving,” Andrew adds.

“Stay.” Broderick’s plea is soft but unshakable.

I nod.

He nudges me playfully, and his smile smooths the sting in my chest.

“You guys brought me food.”

“Yeah, figured you might need some cheering up,” Andrew blurts. “But looks like Elena beat us to it.”

Cheering up? He must mean the media frenzy. The thought of Broderick believing I’d run back to Alex without a word, slices through me, sharp and humiliating.

I couldn’t do that, not to him.

“Oh my God, Andrew!” Philippa snorts, laughing as they unload the food across the table.

“I’m good—and we were just working out. I’m helping Elena get stronger for tour.” He throws me a wink.

“Bullshit.” Andrew coughs.

“Alright, honey, stop teasing them,” Philippa jests.