Page 267 of Rush

“That’s such a beautiful memory… he sounds like the most amazing man—like someone else I know.”

I nudge him gently, a quiet smile pulling at my lips.

Broderick’s gaze softens in the dim light. Then he draws me in, tucking me against him, my head resting on his chest, hischin settling atop my hair as we watch the waves roll in and break along the shore.

Our food comes in no time, and my mouth waters. I take a bite of the chili dog, mustard smearing the corner of my mouth, and lean back against the boardwalk railing. The ocean rolls dark and endless past the lights, the air is crisp—yet soothing.

“Alright,” I say, licking my thumb. “This was a solid call.”

“I know,” Broderick says around a mouthful of fries. “You doubted me?”

“I always doubt you.”

He grins, brushing salt off his fingers. “Good, keeps me sharp.”

We finish the food standing there, paper trays balanced between us, grease soaking through in all the best ways. I tip back the shake, pass it to him, and then catch sight of the amusement park gates again.

“You know,” I say, nodding toward it, “this would’ve been even more fun if it wasn’t closed.”

Broderick doesn’t answer.

Instead, he takes the empty shake from my hand, drops it into a nearby trash bin, and pulls a small black keycard from his coat pocket.

He holds it up between two fingers.

“What is that?”

“Let’s find out together.” He offers me his other hand, and I place mine in his warm palm.

We walk hand in hand until we reach the rusted gates and he swipes the card over a small panel near the side entrance. A green light flashes. The lock clicks.

“What the hell, Brody?—”

The gates creak open.

And then—like flipping a switch—the park comes alive. Lights blink on in rows. The carousel turns, slow and dreamlike.Music starts somewhere in the distance, old-timey and warped, like we’ve stepped into a memory. The Ferris wheel lights up, a slow mechanical hum cutting through the quiet. People appear out of nowhere—park staff.

My jaw actually drops.

“You didnotrent out all of Luna Park just for us?”

He slides the keycard back into his coat. “Technically, I called in a favor.”

“Why?”

He looks at me, then glances toward the glow spilling over the boardwalk.

“I hate lines,” he says. “And I didn’t want you worrying about someone snapping a photo of us with ketchup on our faces and selling it toPage Six.”

I stare at him.

“You’re insane.”

“Rich,” he corrects, holding out his hand. “Come on. I want to see you scream your lungs out on the Cyclone.”

I don’t move. Not right away.

Because the lights are too soft, and the night too still, and my heart too full.