Page 69 of Collide (The Rhapsody of Heartbeats #1)

Again in the town car.

Again, when I walked through the door, heels dangling from my hand, still half hoping I’d hear his voice behind me.

Each time, voicemail.

No call. No text.

The thought sinks deep, heavy as stone, as I sit curled on the floor, arms wrapped tight around my knees. The zipper digs into my back. The sequins scratch against my skin.

Did I do something wrong?

I whisper it aloud, just to fill the room.

My voice cracks on the last word.

I sound pathetic.

The champagne’s warm now, but I drink it anyway, wiping at my cheek, mascara smudging beneath my fingertips.

And then—Buzz.

My phone vibrates against the hardwood.

My breath catches.

Alex.

His name glows on the screen like a flare. I stare at it too long, pulse thundering in my ears.

Then slowly, I press the phone to my ear.

“…Hello?”

Silence.

Just his breathing, low and ragged.

Not playful. Not teasing. Not his usual midnight voice that makes me feel like the only girl in the world.

It’s tired. Pained.

“Elena,” he finally says. His accent’s thicker. His voice rough, like it hurts to speak my name.

Gripping the bottle tighter, I whisper, “Where were you? Are you okay?”

Another beat of silence.

Then—softly, so soft I almost miss it—he exhales, shaking.

“Elena, I’m sorry.”

Relief sweeps through me. Sharp, quick, like air after drowning. He’s sorry. That means there’s a reason. Something happened.

He’s here now.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

The room spins.

I sit up straighter, my chest tightening as the words hit like a cold slap. “What?”

His silence stretches, and that is somehow worse than the words themselves. Then, softer—almost like an apology—he says, “It’s over.”

I feel the breath leave my body. The champagne bottle slips from my fingers, landing with a soft, hollow thud against the rug.

“You’re breaking up with me?” I ask, my voice shaking.

This isn’t happening.

He sucks in a sharp breath on the other end, and for a second, I swear I hear something break in him, too.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

No. He can’t mean that. Not tonight. Not after everything.

Tears blur my vision, slipping freely now. My throat is so tight, it physically hurts to swallow.

“Why?” My voice cracks. “Alex, don’t— please .”

“I have to go,” he cuts in, his voice hollow, distant.

Please.

And before I can say anything else—before I can beg him not to do this—the line goes dead.

The phone slides from my hands, landing on the floor beside the abandoned bottle.

I stare at it.

The screen lights up for a second, long enough to flash my background.

That photo. Us, in Sweden. His arms wrapped around me. My head tipped back, laughing at something he said.

A reminder of everything we were before he blew it all up.

And then, for the first time all night, I welcome the loud, ragged sob that tears out of me.

I draw my knees to my chest, arms wrapped around them, trying to hold the pieces together as they begin to slip.

It’s over. He doesn’t want me.

The reality hits me like a truck.

Tears keep coming, relentless, until there’s nothing left.

I’m hollow. Empty in a way that feels worse than crying.

Confirmation that I’m not good enough.

Peeling myself off the floor, I need out of this dress.

It feels like a cage. The floorboards are cool beneath my feet.

Jarring, like the night itself. I rise with the high, only to crash hard, left in tatters.

The dress slips from my body, discarded like a second skin, pooling at my ankles as I walk away, leaving it crumpled and forgotten on the floor.

A relic of a night that should have been perfect, but isn’t. I feel sick.

The shower is scalding hot. Steam fills the room, fogging up the mirror until I can’t even see myself. The heat burns against my skin, but it’s almost comforting. If it stings enough, maybe it’ll wash away the ache in my chest.

But it doesn’t.

I stand under the water until my skin turns pink and raw, until my hands stop trembling, until there are no more tears left to cry.

When I finally step out, I throw on underwear and Alex’s T-shirt.

It’s soft and barely covers the tops of my thighs, but I don’t care.

Moving on autopilot, I pad barefoot back into the living room, water still dripping from my hair.

The dress and half-empty champagne bottle are still there, abandoned on the floor.

Like me.

I don’t even glance at them.

Instead, I walk straight to the bar cart, my fingers curling around a heavy crystal bottle of vodka.

No glass. No ice. No mixers.

I unscrew the cap with shaking hands and take a long, burning swig, the sharpness cutting through the numbness just enough to feel something real.

The burn is a cruel reminder of a promise we made—and broke.

I sink onto the couch, my damp hair clinging to my back, the T-shirt riding up as I pull my knees close to my chest.

I take another long sip, wincing as it burns its way down, but at least it’s a pain I can control.

Cheers to me—numb, broken, and alone.

The city lights blur against the glass, smearing like watercolors, the world outside moving on without me.

My eyes burn, raw and swollen from crying, my body heavy with exhaustion and liquor.

The buzzer rings.

I freeze.

The bottle trembles slightly in my hand as my heart slams against my ribs.

Alex?

I sit frozen for a long moment, staring at the door in the dark like I can will him to appear.

Is he here?

Did he come to take it back?

Did he realize it was a mistake?

Then, a knock. Firm.

My breath catches.

Slowly, I set the vodka bottle down on the coffee table, my fingers trembling again as I stand, staring at the door.

I whisper a silent prayer. Please, let it be him.

Each step toward the door feels heavier than the last, my pulse roaring in my ears.

I reach for the handle, hesitating long enough to wonder if opening it will undo everything. If it’ll fix what’s been broken.

Then I pull it open.

Flowers and balloons greet me first, bright and colorful in the dim hallway light.

And then, a smile.

He came. He’s here.

“Happy birthday,” he says softly.

Before I can even think, I launch myself into his arms, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him hard, fierce and desperate, like I’m drowning and he’s my only breath.

He tenses for half a second before his arms wrap around me, strong and steady. The balloons and flowers drop to the ground, forgotten, as he holds me like he’ll never let go.

His scent fills me—mountains and amber, warm and familiar in a way that makes my chest ache.

I melt into him, clinging to his shoulders, my body trembling, lost in the moment.

Mountains. Amber.

No.

Alex smells like the ocean and citrus.

I pull back, breathless and confused, my heart pounding heavily.

His hands stay on my waist, grounding me as I blink, my eyes coming into focus.

When our gazes meet, it’s green eyes I see.

Broderick.