Page 41 of Collide (The Rhapsody of Heartbeats #1)

Under My Skin

I t’s hard to believe it’s been almost a month since I arrived in New York.

Between days spent in the studio, radio interviews, and quiet movie nights in with Alex—nights that inevitably turn into heated make-out sessions, leaving movies unfinished—I’ve barely had time to prepare for Philippa and Andrew’s joint weekend celebration.

With time running short, I invite Broderick over after work.

He told me he usually didn’t finish until nine—sometimes later—but when I said I’d probably be in bed by then, we settled on a more reasonable five o’clock.

I don’t know why seeing him again after the gala makes me nervous, but I’ve changed my outfit four times—finally settling on a fitted black T-shirt and jeans. Classic. Casual.

I lay out my laptop, snacks, and notepads across the dining table. Tidy the apartment. Run a cloth over the counter I’ve already cleaned twice. I’m doodling absentmindedly on the edge of a notepad when the buzzer goes off.

I cross to the wall and press the button. “Hey.”

“Hey, El.” His voice comes through the buzzer.

“Come on up.”

I smooth my hand down my jeans. My insides flutter, restless and electric.

Why am I so nervous?

Pacing the entryway, I try not to overthink until I hear the knock.

Deep breath. I open the door.

There he is. Suited up, gorgeous as ever, bag slung over one shoulder. Flowers in his hand.

Flowers?

“Hot date?” I ask, nodding at the bouquet.

“Kinda.” He chuckles. “They’re for you. To congratulate you on the new place—and my mother would smack me over the head if I showed up empty-handed.”

He hands them to me. Pink tulips.

Oh. He brought me flowers.

“That’s…unexpected.”

“That’s me—unexpected. So, are we gonna stand out here and work, or are you gonna invite me in?” He smirks.

“If you insist,” I say, rolling my eyes.

I place the tulips in a vase on the dining table as we take our seats. He pulls out his tablet, scrolling through the guest list, pointing out who has and hasn’t RSVP’d. Broderick assigns himself the task of following up with the stragglers—he knows the entire list personally, which makes sense.

As he talks, I can’t help but stare. He’s so confident, so smug and cocky, that I’m completely distracted.

His words drift into background noise, my focus shifting instead to the quiet intensity in his eyes, the easy way he moves.

Halfway through our conversation, he shrugs his jacket off, and my attention snaps to how taut his shirt stretches over his chest, how the buttons strain slightly, hinting at the toned muscle beneath.

My mouth goes dry. Heat rushes to my cheeks.

There is lust here for sure. While Alex is billboard handsome, Broderick is rugged and manly, drop-dead gorgeous. Both hot, both good-looking. Maybe Riley is on to something.

“One less thing to chase.” He speaks absently, eyes still on his tablet.

I barely hear him. God, what is wrong with me?

“Did you talk to your father about Montgomery Estate?” he asks, pulling me sharply from my thoughts.

I blink rapidly, heart stumbling. “I thought you were going to do that.” I shake my head, trying to clear it.

He lifts a brow, amused disbelief coloring his expression. “We assigned that task to you.”

Shit.

“We did?” I cough, voice embarrassingly hoarse.

Focus. Stop ogling him.

“He’s your dad,” he says, shrugging. “Makes sense.”

His words hit like ice water—sharp, bracing, all lingering warmth instantly doused. I recoil internally, any desire quickly extinguished. Right, my father .

“Fuck. Shit. Sorry,” I hiss softly, embarrassment pooling hot in my chest.

“Call him now,” he says calmly, as if it’s nothing at all.

“That usually requires a little more emotional preparation,” I groan, shoulders slumping.

“Well, I’m here for emotional support.”

If only he knew. I roll my eyes at him, unlocking my phone, and scroll to Father in my contacts, tapping it once.

Why does even that word fill me with dread?

I stare at the screen like it might bite me, thumb hovering a beat too long before pressing call. It rings. Broderick watches from next to me, one brow lifted, the corner of his mouth tilting enough to make me smirk despite myself.

The line clicks.

“Eleanor,” my father answers.

My smile drops.

“Elena, please,” I correct him.

“Sorry, sorry. Bad habit. I must change it on my phone. I’ll have to ask Colin how to do that.”

My jaw tenses. “All good.” The sugar in my voice clashes with the metallic tang at the back of my throat.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I brace myself for his disappointment, hoping he doesn’t think I’m irresponsible for leaving this to the last minute to organize.

“I’m so sorry to spring this on you so late, but we need to use Montgomery Estate for Philippa and Andrew’s bachelorette weekend.”

“Of course, Elena, you’re welcome to use it anytime,” he says.

The relief comes fast, hot and full-bodied, like a valve released behind my ribs.

“When is it?” he asks.

“Two weeks from tomorrow,” I say through clenched teeth, hoping he doesn’t blow up at the last minute of it all.

“That’s…tight, but it should be okay. Do you need it fully staffed?”

I glance at Broderick. He gives a small shrug, then nods.

“Yes. Yes, please,” I say quickly, trying not to sound too eager.

“Alright, I’ll let Colin know,” my father replies, his tone calm and matter-of-fact.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he says. “Enjoy yourself. You haven’t been to the Hamptons since you were twelve.”

“I know,” I say softly. “And thank you again.”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Montgomery,” Broderick calls, voice calm, unbothered.

I narrow my eyes at him.

“Broderick, is that you?” my father asks.

“Yes, sir.” His voice is polite and professional.

I look at him like he’s grown two heads… sir.

“You’re with Elena?” he adds, a note of curiosity curling at the edge of his words. Maybe even amusement.

“We’re planning the event.” There’s a hint of a smile. “You know, as best man and maid of honor.”

“Oh, that’s delightful. Well, you two have fun. Carole and I are headed to dinner with some friends.”

Did Mortimer Montgomery just tell me to have fun with Broderick?

What the fuck.

“Of course, Father. Thank you again.”

I hang up before he can say anything else, thumb hovering over the screen until it fades to black in my hand. My palm is damp. I wipe it against my thigh, pretending it’s not from nerves.

“Eleanor, eh?” Broderick’s eyes light with humor, lips already curled like he’s been holding that in the whole call.

“Don’t start. It’s my grandmother’s name.” I huff, popping a gummy bear into my mouth and chewing harder than necessary.

“Makes sense why you wanted to do all the geriatric activities for the weekend. In bed by nine. Secretly an old granny, are you? Eleanor ?”

I throw a gummy bear at him without even aiming. He catches it easily and pops it into his mouth.

“Call me that again and you’ll be leaving here in a body bag.”

He barks out a laugh—sharp, open-mouthed, the kind that fills the room.

“You could try,” he says, leaning back in his chair, all smug and confident. “But you’re a little disadvantaged.” He pinches his fingers together.

“A little lethal,” I mutter, scowling at him. “I have easy access from down here, a slice to your Achilles tendon, and you’d go down like a bag of bricks.”

His grin deepens, dimples flashing.

Dimples. I could swoon, but coupled with his arrogance, it only mocks me.

“Anyway, my mom always taught me that good sleep means good skin,” I add, fingertips brushing along my cheekbone.

Mom.

The word lands wrong. My smile fades before I can catch it.

Broderick’s eyes flick over to me, softer now. Less teasing.

“You do have good skin,” he adds quietly.

“Yeah. Thanks,” I whisper, looking down.

He doesn’t move, just watches me. His voice drops.

“Hey. You okay?”

I nod, then shake my head. “Yeah, it’s…” I breathe out. “It’s been a while since I’ve talked about her. It’s like…she’s slipping away from memory the more I live my life.”

He nods slowly, lips pressed together.

“I get it. Happens to me too,” he says. “I don’t even remember what my dad looks like anymore. Not unless I’m staring at a picture. He’s been gone so long, it’s like…pieces get foggy.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. My throat tightens. There’s nothing useful in my head—no comforting line, no tidy sentiment.

So I nod again.

I realize how little I actually know about Broderick. Other than that he’s Philippa and Andrew’s friend, a guy who is drop dead gorgeous with a cocky attitude to match. I didn’t know his father had passed. I didn’t know his grief sat under his skin like mine does.

“I’m sorry about your dad,” I murmur.

I study him. The kindness in his eyes. The way the light clings to the sun-warmed gold of his skin. I wonder if he likes being outdoors. I wonder what he looks like when he’s completely unguarded.

He smiles, but it’s not full. Sitting somewhere behind his eyes, quiet and thoughtful.

We stare at each other, neither of us moving. Holding the silence between us like it might crack if we breathed too loud.

“Do…you want to talk about it?” he asks, voice low and steady as his hand finds mine.

It’s warm. Solid. Not searching—just there. Soothing in the way that sneaks up on you, like background music you didn’t realize was calming you down until it’s gone.

I shake my head.

“We’ve got a lot more to cover,” I say, trying to keep my voice even as I straighten up, bones shifting into place like armor.

I can’t let him in. I shouldn’t.

I don’t pull my hand away, even though I should. Even though it lingers too long, saying more than I want to hear right now.

“Okay.” He lifts his hand, fingers brushing lightly as they leave mine, and turns back to the tablet.

The absence is instant. Cold rushes into the space where he was.