Page 192 of Rush

What the fuck.

“Broderick is this okay?” Every nerve in my body snaps awake. My palms go clammy. My mouth goes dry.

“More than okay,” he says, placing a reassuring hand on my back. “You’re welcome here.”

My heart doesn’t know how to react to that.

First his brother and their family and now this.

This isn’t casual. This isn’t a late-night bite, a dumb joke about dessert.

This is hismother.

“We’re in here,” a woman calls out.

“Georgia is that you?” Broderick calls out, his voice booming excitedly.

Oh fuck,his sister is here too.

A woman bounds out of the kitchen and throws her arms around Broderick.

Another woman peeks out from the kitchen, apron still on, hair clipped back with a plastic claw. Her eyes—green and knowing—match his. That must be his mother.

“There you are,” she says, drying her hands on a towel. “I thought maybe you’d gotten pulled into another shift.”

“Who’s this?” Georgia asks, her tone teasing as she eyes me up and down, not in a judgmental way, just curious. She’s not as tall as Broderick, her brown hair in a shoulder-length bob. She’s beautiful just like him, with the same dimples to match, as a smile spreads across her face.

“This is Elena.” Broderick kisses his mother’s cheeks, then gestures toward me.

Georgia’s eyes widen. “He’s not brought a girl home…not since…”

Broderick coughs. “This annoying person is my little sister, Georgia.”

“It’s lovely to meet you.” Georgia and Broderick exchange a look at one another.

His mother smile softens. “Soyou’retheElena.”

I freeze. My first instinct is to make a hasty exit. But my feet don’t move.

He’s told her about us? What does she think this is?

“I’m Marie,” she says, crossing the room with her hands still dusted in flour.

Before I can react, she pulls me into a warm, sugar-scented hug.

I stand there stiff, arms caught somewhere between polite and full panic.

“I made pie,” she says, like that explains everything. “And some dinner. Just in case he showed up hungry. He always does.”

I smile—small, real, terrified.

“I’m not trying to crash your night,” I murmur, hyper-aware of every out-of-place hair, how tight my sweater feels, every beat of my heart.

“You’re not crashing anything. Sit,” she says, waving toward the dining room table. “You look like you’ve had a long day.”

Broderick nudges my back, gentle. “Told you.”

Then he disappears into the kitchen, like this is the most normal thing in the world. Like he didn’t just walk me into an emotional minefield.