3. Take Me Home #3
Andrew lifts his glass. “To Elena—the next pop princess.”
“To Elena!” they all echo, clinking glasses.
Dinner is loud, messy, and good—the way family dinners are supposed to be. And since my mom died, I haven’t had that. But tonight, I do.
After the plates are cleared, Riley sets up the karaoke machine, and Andrew starts pouring shots.
“So, now that you’ve ditched Swedish Ken doll,” Andrew asks, “you gonna keep yourself busy on the road with some hot backup dancer? Maybe a roadie or two? Do chicks have groupies?”
I nearly choke on my drink, glaring at him.
Ditched Alex, if only that were the case.
“Actually, he dumped me.” I shrug.
Andrew’s face drops like he fucked up.
“Seriously, Andrew?” Philippa groans, shaking her head.
Broderick, who was laughing at Riley butting into a Spice Girls rendition, stills.
“Not cool, man,” he says sharply, giving Andrew a look that makes everyone pause.
Andrew raises his hands in mock surrender. “Kidding! I’m kidding.” He softens a little. “I’m just saying, it’s pretty shitty what he did to my little sister.”
“Aww, Andrew that’s so sweet,” Philippa coos, touching her chest.
Something about the way he says it tugs at something inside me, but I can’t help but feel annoyed he’s brought Alex up.
“Nice save,” Riley says, sarcastically .
Broderick drops into the seat beside me, his arm grazing mine as he gives a gentle nudge. I nudge him back, and he leans in just slightly.
“Ignore him,” he whispers. “You don’t need to think about that tonight.”
I breathe out, the tension easing, and give him a small, grateful smile.
As the night winds on—Riley makes us do Beyoncé; Philippa convinces Andrew to do a drunken duet, and Broderick even sings one with Riley.
He was right—he really can’t carry a tune which doesn’t stop him from giving it his all. There’s something endearing about his efforts.
I glance around my living room, soaking it in—the sound of Andrew and Riley bickering over the best karaoke song, Philippa refilling everyone’s glasses like a mother hen.
Seeing Broderick relax and actually enjoy himself, instead of checking his emails, is oddly satisfying. I’m glad for it. The man never stops working.
I take a slow sip of my wine, the air catching in my lungs—sharp and bittersweet.
Because while other parts of my life might be falling apart—Alex, the tabloids, my father—each one a mess I don’t know how to fix…
Here, in this moment, it feels like New York is finally starting to feel like home.
Because of them.
My tribe.
The family I didn’t know I could still have.
By the time everyone starts gathering their things to leave, the warmth in my chest isn’t just from the booze and the food.
“Text me when you wake up,” Philippa says, hugging me tight. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Same,” Andrew adds, kissing my cheek. “Sorry for being an ass.”
“At least you’re aware Andrew and that’s baby steps. You get a gold star,” I tease.
“You are an ass,” Philippa mutters, tugging him toward the door.
“But I’m your ass.” Andrew laughs as their voices fade into the hallway.
They’re cute in a gross kind of way.
Broderick hangs back, eyes fixed on mine, as if he’s holding onto something he’s not quite ready to let go of. The quiet intensity in his stare sends warmth trickling down my spine.
“Tonight was incredible,” he says, stepping closer.
I nod slowly, swallowing against a gentle flutter in my chest. “Thanks for...earlier. And tonight.”
A soft smile tilts his lips. “Anytime, El.”
“It was nice to see you enjoying yourself,” I say quietly, lifting my eyes to meet his again.
A quiet chuckle escapes him, the sound warm and comforting. “You have a way of taking my mind off things.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah,” he breathes, sincerity deepening his tone. “You do.”
We stand there in a lingering silence, the air around us thick with things unsaid.
Riley’s voice and laughter spill faintly from the apartment, yet it seems distant, compared to the heartbeat thrumming in my ears.
Broderick clears his throat softly, breaking the spell between us. “I’ll be gone for a week. Flying out Monday.”
“Where to this time?”
“Argentina,” he answers, eyes lighting up instantly, launching into a passionate description about the restoration efforts in the Buenos Aires’ slums. I laugh softly under my breath—Philippa is right; this man truly is married to his mission.
“That’s amazing,” I say warmly, my voice carrying genuine admiration. “I’ve never been. Will you do me a favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Have some fun,” I whisper playfully, stepping slightly closer. “Take a picture of something interesting and send it to me. So it’ll feel like I’m right there experiencing it with you.”
His eyes soften; a look of surprise mixed with fondness crossing his face. Slowly, carefully, he reaches out, his fingertips brushing gently against my skin as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
“I’ll do my best.”
“You always do,” I whisper, smiling. “Goodnight, Broderick.”
“Goodnight, El.” He holds my gaze a heartbeat longer before finally turning away, disappearing into the night.
As I close the door, I take a moment to release the breath I’d been holding. Riley throws herself onto the couch with a groan, interrupting my thoughts before they could form.
“Too much rum,” she whines.
I laugh, sitting beside her, tucking my feet under me.
She turns her head, grinning. “So...Broderick, huh?”
I sigh, leaning back. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I’m starting. That little moment in the kitchen. Then his reaction to Andrew’s comment, he was ready to ruin his friendship. That man has got it bad for you—you know that right?”
“Riley.”
She smiles, stretching out. “I’m just saying...you’ve got options, babe. And not all of them are as complicated as Viking baby daddies.”
I laugh, but there’s something in my chest that aches a little too.
“Maybe, but he’s Pip and Andrew’s best friend, it would be so complicated and messy, it’s a bad idea.”
“Those are always the most fun,” she says slyly. “Plus, the quickest way to get over one man...is to get under another.”
Something about that resonates. But the thought evaporates like mist.
I close my eyes. It’s Broderick’s hand—on my knee, steady, warm.
Safe.
And I allow myself to wonder what it would be like to let go.
To fall into those lingering what ifs.
But I can’t. Because in the quietest part of me, he’s still there.