Page 4 of Rush

I bury my face in his shoulder, breathing him in—warm, his scent like mountain air after it rains. It makes my chest ache for reasons I don’t want to examine right now.

When he sets me down gently on the velvet green sofa, I feel empty without his warmth. But then he tugs the throw blanket off the back of the armchair beside the couch and drapes it over me, crouching down in front of me again, so we’re eye level.

“Better?”

I nod, my throat caught in silence, and the swell of emotion stirred by his sheer kindness.

He’s so sweet…too sweet.

Broderick stands, walking to the wall and flicks on the light, flooding the space once swallowed by darkness. He disappears into the kitchen—I hear cabinets creak open, the fridge door, the clink of ice.

He returns and hands me a glass of water. I take it, my fingers brushing his as I do, then he sits on the coffee table across from me, giving me space to breathe.

The touch is brief but enough to make my skin prickle, aware of him in a way I shouldn’t be.

“Drink,” he says gently. “It’ll help.”

“Thanks,” I say, taking a sip even though my insides twist. As the glass touches my mouth, its cool, smooth surface presses against my warm lips, and now all I can think about is the kiss we just shared.

Broderick watches me for a moment with those mesmerizing green eyes, elbows on his knees, leaning forward.

“You don’t have to say anything else,” he says finally.

I meet his eyes, something warm and dangerous curling in my stomach.

“Why do you always do that?”

His brow lifts. “Do what?”

“Say exactly what I need to hear.”

For a beat, his expression softens, something almost vulnerable flickering there before he chuckles softly to himself, leaning back.

“Well,” he says, grinning. “It’s part of my charm. Thought you knew that by now.”

I huff out a laugh, snuggling deeper into the blanket.

“You’re a menace,” I mumble, but there’s affection in it—and we both know it.

“Your neighborhood menace at your service.”

I take another small sip of water, the coolness soothing my throat, and as my sobs slow, something sharp and confusing pushes its way through the fog and drunken haze in my brain.

Broderick sits there, his chocolate-brown hair still disheveled from my earlier assault, dressed in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, jeans, and sneakers, watching me—holding me together with nothing but his presence.

And it hits me like a freight train.

I blink, straightening a little. The blanket slips off my shoulder. My brow furrows as the pieces click into place.

“What are you doing here?” My voice barely carries. I stare at him like he might vanish. “You said you’d miss my birthday.”

His jaw tightens—for a brief second—before that soft, shy smile breaks through. The one that makes something twist in my chest.

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal.

“Yeah, well...” He glances down and rubs the back of his neck. That hint of sheepishness throws me—so unlike him.

“I didn’t want to miss one of the most important nights of your life,” he says, eyes catching mine again. “So…I flew back. Just for tonight.”