Page 33 of Collide (The Rhapsody of Heartbeats #1)
You secretly loved every minute of it.
His last text stops me cold, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Did I… love it?
No. Definitely not.
But my traitorous brain replays his smirk, those infuriatingly green eyes, the way he looked at me like he enjoyed getting under my skin. And worse, how some part of me enjoyed it too.
My breath catches on a smile. Nope. Not happening. He’s just a pretty face, like overpriced wall art. Something you admire from a distance.
Before I can reply, another text pings.
Broderick
I’m calling. I need to hear you struggle to resist me in real-time.
What the actual fuck.
Incoming Call.
I stare at the screen, debating if I should throw my phone across the room. But my thumb, apparently lacking all sense, hovers over accept .
“Hello? Who’s this?” I answer, feigning disinterest, though a smile creeps onto my lips.
Damn it.
“Ouch, my ego. How will I ever recover?” Broderick teases, his deep voice playful. I can practically hear the grin in his tone, and somehow, it makes me giddy.
I shift on the bed, aware of how ridiculous I must look, smiling like an idiot.
Get it together.
“Tell me you loved it,” he coaxes, voice low, like he already knows the answer.
“You wish,” I shoot back, gripping the phone a little tighter.
He chuckles softly, the sound warm and rich. “Oh, I don’t need to wish. I know .”
I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see me. “What makes you so sure?”
There’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his voice dips, teasing but smooth. “Because you answered the call.”
My breath catches before I can stop it.
Fuck.
He laughs—a real, full laugh that cuts through the tension. “And karaoke, really, El?”
El? What is this—some frat boy shortcut? It sounds weird.
“It’s Elena,” I mutter, but I bet he’s already smirking like he knows I won’t correct him again.
“You afraid of embarrassing yourself in front of me, Brody ?” I say lightly, deliberately using his nickname, though my voice holds a hint of caution, Alex’s betrayal still too raw to fully lean into this game.
“I don’t embarrass easily. But I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. Unlike you, Songbird.” His voice dips softer, more sincere.
I freeze. Songbird.
“Stalking is illegal, you know?” I bite back.
“Hey, looking you up online is perfectly legal. I checked.” He chuckles. “You’ve got serious talent, El. You’ll put us all to shame. Please have pity on us.”
He says it again— El —low and sure, testing whether he can get away with it. Color rushes to my cheeks. I’m flattered, but wary.
“Okay, Mr. Internet Detective.” I shoot back with a grin. “Any other bright ideas for the weekend?”
“How about the Hamptons? The Montgomery Estate’s big enough for everyone, right?”
I sit up—it’s a good suggestion.
“That’s actually…perfect, Brody.”
He laughs, deep and smooth. “Aww, look at you calling me Brody. Are we gonna braid each other’s hair and be besties forever?”
A giggle bursts out before I can stop it, and for the first time all day, I feel lighter.
“I needed that,” I confess, softer than I intend, vulnerability slipping through the cracks.
His tone shifts instantly, more serious. “Everything okay? The boyfriend giving you trouble?”
I freeze. “He’s not my boyfriend,” I say quickly, shutting that down.
Broderick is quiet for a moment, then his voice softens. “Trouble in paradise?”
“Next topic,” I deadpan.
He chuckles.
“Don’t let him get to you, gorgeous.” His voice is deep, sincere.
Gorgeous?
I smile to myself, warmth blooming in my chest, though I push it down, not ready for this.
“Thanks, Brody,” I murmur, genuinely.
We drift into safer ground, tossing around ideas and assigning tasks for Andrew and Philippa’s weekend.
Before I know it, it’s midnight. We’ve been on the phone for hours, laughing, teasing, and somewhere in the middle of all the banter, that heavy ache over Alex starts to ease.
Still, when I finally hang up, I stare at the ceiling, knowing one thing for sure—Broderick Schwartz is devastatingly good at getting under my skin.
And I’m not sure if I want him to stop.
I’m jolted awake by my phone vibrating loudly on the bedside table.
Squinting at the screen, dread fills me when I see multiple missed calls and texts from Alex.
It’s two a.m. I sit up, anxiety gripping me tightly as I read through his incoherent messages.
He’s downstairs, drunk and barely able to string sentences together.
Throwing on my sweater, I rush down to the lobby, where I find him slumped in a plush chair, his head resting heavily against his palm. As I approach, he looks up, his eyes glazed and unfocused, and he smiles—a goofy, playful grin.
He stinks of liquor, not his usual fresh, ocean scent. The sharp tang of whiskey mixed with something else—regret?—lingers around him, a stark contrast to the clean, crisp presence I’m used to.
“Elena,” he slurs softly, reaching clumsily toward me. “I’m so sorry.”
My heart aches seeing him like this. I should turn around. I should let someone else deal with him. But as he lifts his head, looking at me like I’m the only thing steady in his world, I can’t walk away.
I gently wrap an arm around him, supporting his weight. “Come on, Alex. Let’s get you upstairs.”
Back in my room, I guide him to sit on the edge of the bed. His weight is heavier than I expect, his body sagging against mine as I help him up. The scent of whiskey clings to his clothes, layered beneath the remnants of his cologne, now dulled by the night’s excess.
Kneeling in front of him, I carefully remove his shoes and jacket, my fingers trembling slightly.
“Now we’re talking,” he slurs as he sways back and forth. I steady him with both my hands, his skin warm beneath my touch, a reminder of just how close we were.
“You shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispers, his voice thick with regret. “I messed up everything.”
“It’s okay,” I say softly, trying to reassure him—and myself—as I gently wipe his face with a cool, damp cloth, erasing the traces of his night.
As I stand, he pulls me in, resting his head on my chest. He breathes in the scent of me and lets out a low moan, and instinctively, I run my hands through his hair, earning me yet another moan. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he mumbles into my chest in earnest.
I press my eyes shut, fighting back tears. My throat tightens as I hold him in this embrace. He feels small like this in my arms, a vulnerability I’m not used to seeing with him.
“Sleep it off, Alex. We’ll talk in the morning.”
He nods slowly, eyes flickering shut as I help him lie down. I should be angry. I should walk away and let him figure this out on his own. But as he grips my hand, his fingers trembling slightly, something inside me can’t let go.
He looks so lost, so unlike the confident, untouchable man I first met. Maybe that’s why I stay, because I know what it’s like to feel alone.
I lay beside him, unsure if I can even get back to sleep, watching this beautiful man as his chest rises and falls.
Occasionally, he murmurs ‘sorry’ in his sleep or speaks in Swedish, his words slurred but full of emotion.
I clench my jaw against the feelings clawing their way to the surface.
I should be angry. I should feel nothing.
But emotions don’t work that way, and Alex—drunk and vulnerable—feels like something too fragile to break apart right now.
Staring up at the ceiling, I reflect on the events of the past few weeks—how he cared for me in the hospital after I hit my head, his small, thoughtful gestures, the perfect dates he planned. These don’t seem like the actions of a man who was intentionally trying to deceive me.
Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he really did want me to get to know him as him, without all the trappings that come along with his fame.
What if the shoe had been on the other foot?
I haven’t reached the level of success he has, so I couldn’t possibly understand how isolating that life can be.
But in some ways, I could. I know what it means to be lonely, to self-isolate to protect yourself.
I did it when my mother got sick. I did it when she died.
Loneliness does strange things to people. It makes them desperate. It makes them weak. Maybe that’s why, even after everything, I don’t pull away. My eyes grow heavy, my body sinking into the mattress beside him.
Two lonely hearts, finding solace in each other.
Sleep takes me, not because I’m tired, but because for the first time today, I stop fighting myself.