Page 285 of Rush

By some miracle, traffic behaves, and we arrive at Riley’s studio faster than expected.

I take the stairs two at a time.

I knock. Wait.

Nothing.

Euro dance music thumps behind the door.

I knock again. Still nothing.

I clasp the metal handle and slide the door open.

The studio smells like paint. Afternoon light spills in through the windows, bathing everything in gold. Riley emerges from behind a rack, holding a giant bowl filled to the brim with balloons.

She spots me and freezes. Her eyes widen as she reaches for her phone and turns the music down.

“Guess you guys didn’t elope?”

That couldn’t be further from the truth.

Space.

“Nope.” I shrug.

She offers me one of those politeI’m sorrysmiles, and it nearly undoes me.

Riley sets the bowl on the table, then crosses the room in three long strides and pulls me into a soul-crushing hug.

“I’m here if you want to talk,” she murmurs. “And it’s okay if you’re not ready to.”

A tear slips down my cheek.

“Thanks, babe,” I sniff.

“I got you.” She pulls back, holding me at arm’s length.

“What’s this?” I ask, nodding toward the bowl.

She sighs. “Thought I’d try something different.”

She grabs a balloon and hurls it at a sheet pinned to the wall.

I shriek as it pops—blue paint explodes across the white canvas.

Riley giggles, grabs two more balloons, and throws again.

Splat.

Green this time.

She laughs, wild and unrestrained, and my own laughter punches out of me in startled bursts. The tightness in my chest eases—just a little.

“Your turn.” She presses a yellow balloon into my hand.

“I don’t want to ruin your piece.”

Like I ruin everything else,the thought claws its way in.