33. The Wave #2
I drop my keys in the bowl by the door and kick off my boots, shrugging out of my coat which feels like a lead weight on my already burdened shoulders.
I place some of Philippa’s purchases on the dining room table.
Philippa follows in behind, balancing a pale blue shopping bag on her arm and eyeing me like I might combust.
She waits until I sink into the couch before she sits across from me.
“Okay, what’s going on?” Philippa asks.
I keep my eyes on the floor. “Nothing.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You—jumping at the chance to shop for baby stuff—and then spending the whole time mute? Carole thinks you’re sick. I know better. So talk.”
I shrug, picking a piece of lint off my sweater. “I’m just tired.”
“Elena,” she says. “You were distracted. No witty comebacks, no petulant remarks, you barely even rolled your eyes when Carole started talking about monogrammed linens.”
I don’t answer.
She gets up and sits next to me, taking my hand.
That’s what breaks me. Her touch sends me right over the edge, and the tears that’ve been dammed since the not-date start to spill, hot and silent.
“Did something happen with Broderick?”
I nod. Just once.
The shame, the ache—not for me, but for the look on his face—that pain still haunts me.
“What happened?” she asks gently, reaching for a tissue from the coffee table and handing it to me.
“He asked me to be his girlfriend,” I manage.
She waits, quiet, urging me on.
“He wants more and—” I sigh, chest tightening like I’m breathing underwater. “I couldn’t, Pip.”
“What, really?” she says, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “I knew this would happen. That casual arrangement was never going to last long. Especially when it’s so obvious you two have feelings for each other.”
I exhale, slow and shaky, and lean my head back against the couch. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“But it is like this,” she says, calm but firm. “So what’s holding you back? Honestly.”
I rub my hands over my face. “It’s not that simple.”
“Yes, it is.”
“It’s not.”
“Why?”
“Because I love Alex too—he’s still in here,” I blurt, pointing to my chest sobbing.
Philippa holds me.
Each time I edge toward falling into Broderick, he appears, timed perfectly, drawing me back into his orbit.
He hasn’t let go, and neither have I.
He still crowds my thoughts. And with Broderick wanting space, I’m stuck in the worst kind of loop—a song on repeat that plays Broderick’s melody to Alex’s rhythm.
It would be easier to move on if I’d fallen out of love with him. But I haven’t—and worse, I know he regrets the breakup. There’s something about it that doesn’t sit right, something I can’t quite name.
I’m not allowed to talk to you.
Since when does love come with rules like that? There has to be more to this than what he told me.
We promised to burn.
So what—or who—snuffed it out?
“Where does that leave Broderick?” she asks, trying to untangle the wreck I’ve made, her hand tracing gentle circles on my back.
“I need him,” I admit. “He keeps the thoughts of Alex at bay. Even if it’s just for a moment. Or a night. Or a little while longer.” I sigh. “But after the run-in on New Year’s Eve…” I trail off. “I can’t help wondering if maybe it’s…kismet.”
Kismet.
The word Alex used when he told me he saw me at the club. When he said we were meant to collide. Destined. Written in the stars.
I pull a pillow into my lap, fingers curling tight around it.
“The only thing standing in our way is Madison,” I say quietly. “But maybe if I wait…” My voice falters. “Maybe there’s still a chance. Our story was cut short, Pip.”
She waits long enough for the full weight of my bullshit to settle in.
“Okay,” she says finally. “And you’re holding yourself back because you’re waiting for Alex.”
She tilts her head. “Is that it?”
“Yes,” I mumble, shame curling deep in my chest. “I thought I was doing the right thing—letting Broderick go. But now he’s halfway across the world, and I—”
“Miss him?” she finishes.
I nod.
“Feel like you fucked up?”
I nod again.
She’s quiet for a moment. Then, gently, “So…are you in love with him?”
Yes.
“Not in the way he deserves,” I whisper, leaning back and staring at the ceiling.
She doesn’t react. The silence stretches—uncomfortable, but not judgmental.
Finally, she asks, “Are you in love with both of them?”
I don’t answer.
But I don’t deny it either.
She sighs and leans back. “It’s clear you love them both, Elena. But they give you different things.”
“Doesn’t that make me a horrible person?”
She shakes her head slowly. “I don’t think so.
” She turns to look at me. “Alex gives you what you want—the adrenaline, the passion, the validation. But his past is public knowledge. Every move he makes affects you, whether you like it or not. If you end up together, your careers will take the hit in the court of public opinion.”
She pauses, then continues more softly, “But Broderick—he’s reliable. He’s steady. He shows up when it matters. He challenges you, grounds you, and supports you unconditionally. And that’s what you need.”
She’s right.
“You might feel like Alex is the right person for you right now,” she says. “But I know Broderick is the right person for you long-term.”
It’s the same thing she told me months ago—the truth she’s never wavered on when it comes to us.
Her gaze holds mine. “And I think you know that too.”
“But what do I do with all of this?” I ask. “It’s been months, and even now my heart still calls to Alex.”
“Well,” she says gently, “that’s first love for you. You never really forget them. They always hold a special place.”
“Is that it?”
She shrugs. “More than likely.”
“Do you remember your first love?” I ask, curiosity piqued.
“Yep. But he stopped mattering once I found my Andrew.” She chuckles softly, rubbing a hand over her belly.
“Are you feeling okay?” I ask. “You know—with the pregnancy.”
“Nice topic change,” she deadpans. Then, more seriously, “Have you spoken to Broderick?”
“He asked for space.”
“Ouch.”
I groan.
“Thanks for making me feel worse. He’s too good for me,” I admit.
“Why don’t you let him decide what’s good for him?”
The words land harder than anything else she’s said.
“You’re so scared of not being chosen,” she continues, “that you don’t even realize someone already did.”
She’s right.
Broderick has chosen me—again and again.
Even when I didn’t deserve it.
Even when I didn’t ask him to.
All he ever wanted was for me to choose him back.
The weight of that settles deep, sinking into my bones.
What have I done?