Page 94 of Rush

“I miss her…especially now, she should be here,” she whispers her shoulders slumping.

“I know, I wish she was too.” I pull her into a hug, and she collapses into me, sobbing in my arms.

I hold her tight, her cries muffled against my shoulder, both of us shaking for entirely different reasons.

I want to cry, but I can’t, I need to be strong for her. It’s not about me right now. It’s about my sister. Without thinking, I stand.

“Come on,” I say, grabbing her hand and tugging.

She looks up, dazed. “What?”

“Come on,” I repeat, more urgent now. “You said you wanted to scream.”

“Elena, I didn’t mean?—”

“Nope. Too late. You said it. Let’s go.”

She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind—and maybe I have—but I’m not backing down. I yank the tissue from her hand, tossing it in the bin, and tow her out of the powder room.

“Where are we going?” she hisses, heels clicking as I drag her down the hallway.

“To scream. Duh.”

“Elena—”

“Shh.” I glance over my shoulder. “Come on, let’s detonate this emotional bomb.”

We run through the garden hand in hand—barefoot, dressed in silk like a pair of deranged forest nymphs.

The crisp night air hits like a balm—sharp, alive. The soft earth grounds us, cool and damp beneath our feet, as we tear past the stone steps. Ravenswood’s back gardens stretch wide and manicured, clusters of trees swaying gently, the breeze rustling the leaves like whispered secrets.

“Come on.” I tug her across the grass toward the edge of the lawn, where the lantern light fades and the darkness softens.

“Elena, this is ridiculous,” she whispers.

“No,” I say, breathless. “Dressing up and fake-smiling through someone else’s bullshit is ridiculous. This?” I turn to her. “This is necessary.”

I drop her hand and step back.

“Scream.”

She just stares, her wide hazel eyes making me look like I’ve lost my damn mind.

“Go on.”

“I can’t,” she says. “Someone will hear.”

“So what if they do? Let them.”

“Elena—”

“To hell with perfect! I’ve seen you let loose,” I snap. “You’re allowed to be a goddamn person. Let go!”

She swallows hard. Her shoulders tremble. Her lips part like she wants to argue—but nothing comes out.

So I do it for her. I tip my head back and scream. It rips from me like it’s been lodged there for years—stuck behind every swallowed comeback, every fake smile, every time I made myself small just to keep the peace.

The release crashes through me. Andrew’s fucking words. My mother. My father. Alex.