Page 5 of Rush

My heart skips.

He runs a hand through his hair, smirking—trying to make light of it, but there’s something raw in his eyes that doesn’t play along.

“I tried to make it for your party. Flight got delayed. I wasn’t sure you’d be home, figured you might be out celebrating, but Phil told me where you were.”

He did that—for me?

“I’m only here for a few hours,” he adds. His eyes drop to the space between us as he gestures vaguely, chuckling under his breath. “But I didn’t want you thinking I forgot.”

I stare at him, caught between wanting to burst into tears and the broken pieces of my heart rattling in my chest. Before I can say anything, he stands and walks toward the front doorway.

“I, uh...got you something,” he says.

He returns a moment later with a bag, flowers—tulips—and a couple of balloons.

You know they’re a symbol of love;Alex’s words echo in my head.

“I know you hate all that over-the-top shit,” he murmurs, placing the bag gently in my lap and setting the flowers and balloons beside me. “But...you deserve to be celebrated today. Even if...” He trails off, glancing away like he’s afraid to finish the sentence.

Even if Alex shattered my heart.

I stare down at the gift bag, my fingers brushing over the tissue paper, and tears threaten to rise again, but this time for a different reason.

Because Broderick didn’t just show up—he showed up in every way Alex didn’t.

When I finally look back at him, he watches me quietly, expecting nothing in return, like he would have done it all just to make me smile for a second.

“You flew across the world...for me,why?” I whisper, my voice caught behind the lump in my throat.

Broderick shrugs, but I see his jaw clench—holding back everything he won’t say.

He shifts his weight, thumb rubbing the inside of his wrist.

I hesitate, my hand hovering over the bag, like I’m about to fall.

“Open it,” he says softly.

I sigh, dipping my hand in, fingers fumbling. I pull out a box of sweets with French words all over it, along with a wrapped item tucked underneath.

Slowly, I rip the wrapping paper open, revealing a CD: “Elena’s Mix Vol. 1.” Written with a green marker on the cover.

“You made me a mix tape?”

“I know how much you love music, and I thought maybe I could share some of my favorites with you.” He shrugs.

“Brody,”

“Go on, play it,” he says, nudging me toward the entertainment system.

I get up without hesitation, kicking my discarded dress aside. I open the CD player, slip the disc in, and the soft strum of “Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac fills the room.

CD cover in hand, I turn it over, marveling at the handwritten list of songs he curated and put together...for me.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Do you like it?” His eyes search my face.

“Love.”