1. Somebody Else #3
I feel it settle in my chest—how wrong I’ve been about him.
“I’m…sorry. I…didn’t know.”
He gives me a small smile. “Most people don’t. They see what they want to see. Suits. Cars. Money.” He turns back to the stove. “But I know what it’s like to have nothing.”
I swallow hard, stepping closer, leaning against the opposite counter. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
He glances over his shoulder, eyes locking on mine with a flicker of vulnerability that makes my chest ache. “Maybe because you never asked…until now.”
While I had gotten to know Broderick as someone who teased me, someone who happened to be in my sister’s bridal party, maybe sometimes a friend. I’d never allowed myself to wonder beyond that. Beyond the initial frustration and attraction.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, it’s not like you needed another guy with baggage. You’ve had enough of those,” he says, his voice filled with mirth.
That silences me, and all I can do is watch him finish cooking.
“I think…the ones with baggage are the ones who understand me most,” I admit.
The same kind of broken finding each other.
Maybe that’s what attracted me to Alex in the first place—his dark allure, the shared experience of having grown up in a broken home, the fame, wanting to prove yourself. Wanting the love and adoration of strangers because it filled the cracks within us, no one else could understand.
But I couldn’t wonder that anymore, what we had was over now.
Broderick turns, holding a plate of eggs and toast out to me. His eyes search mine, as if trying to figure out what I meant—what I was offering him.
Which was nothing. Despite his baggage, he didn’t need to be dragged into mine.
I take the plate, our fingers brushing, and the air feels charged in a way that has nothing to do with our pasts and everything to do with the undeniable pull between us.
Like that night in the Hamptons over grilled cheese.
“Thank you,” I say softly, meaning more than just breakfast.
He smiles, this time warmer, with a hint of that teasing glint that always gets to me. “Don’t get used to it. Next time, you’re cooking for me.”
“Oh, really?” I chuckle. “You like danger, huh?”
He steps in close enough to feel the heat radiating from him.
“Only when it’s you.”
And for a terrifying second, I want to believe him. To close that tiny space between us and let him erase everything Alex broke.
Our eyes stay locked on each other, neither of us moving, neither daring to speak.
The air between us feels thick, as if one of us so much as breathed the wrong way something would break—or maybe snap into place.
I swallow hard, fingers gripping tightly around the plate, pulse pounding in my ears.
“Oh. My. God.”
The words slice through the room like a whip, shattering whatever invisible line Broderick and I had been toeing.
We both turn our heads toward the sound at the same time—like two guilty teenagers caught doing something we weren’t supposed to.
Which, to be fair...wasn’t entirely wrong.
There, standing frozen in the living room, was Riley—Riley, in last night’s barely-there dress, heels in hand, her ginger hair a tangled, frizzy mess, and lipstick smudged in a way that left no doubt about what (or who) she’d been doing.
Her eyes bounce from me to Broderick, widening with each second of silence that passes.
“I—” she stammers, mouth dropping open as she takes in the scene before her: me, in a too-big shirt from last night, no pants, holding a plate of food like evidence; him, roughed up hair, standing way too close to me, tension crackling in the air.
“Oh my God,” Riley says again, this time slower, dragging the words. “What did I just walk into?”
Heat flares along my neck, as Broderick steps back.
“Riley, it’s not—”
“No. Don’t even,” she cuts in, her voice shrill with disbelief but also glee. “Are you—are you two...?”
Broderick lets out a low laugh, running a hand through his hair, clearly amused by her total lack of subtlety.
“Morning,” he says, as if this was all perfectly normal.
“Don’t you ‘morning’ me!” Riley marches into the kitchen now, her heels dangling from her fingers like a weapon. “I leave you for one night, and now you’re—what? Playing house with Bradley?”
“I am not—” I try again, but my voice comes out weak, even to my own ears.
Broderick leans casually against the counter, watching the exchange with that same infuriating smirk. “You make it sound so scandalous.”
“Because it is scandalous!” Riley shoots back, spinning on me now, her eyes sparkling with unfiltered curiosity. “What happened to all that teasing and eyerolling?”
I open my mouth, then close it, because honestly? I didn’t even know what to say.
Broderick, meanwhile, looks like he’s enjoying every second of my floundering.
“Well,” he says smoothly, reaching over to steal a piece of toast from my plate—my plate, the audacity—”Maybe we got tired of pretending.”
Riley’s jaw drops again. “Oh, my God.”
“Stop saying that,” I hiss, cheeks burning as I try to gather the scraps of my composure.
But it’s useless.
Because as much as I wanted to deny whatever it was that passed between Broderick and me, Riley saw it—felt it, probably—from across the room.
Yet I couldn’t deny the reason he was here was because Alex left a gaping hole where he should have been, and even for a short moment, it was nice to forget what he’d done, the damage he’d left.
And now that the bubble had burst, I’m left standing here, with nowhere to hide.
“So...are we gonna talk about this?” Riley asks, looking way too pleased with herself as she perches onto the stool, leaning on her hands like she’s settling in for a show. “Or should I start picking out my bridesmaid’s dress now?”
Broderick chuckles, but when I glance at him, there’s something softer in his eyes—instead of answering her, he pushes off the counter and reaches for another plate.
“Eat,” he says, glancing at me with a knowing look. “You’re gonna need your strength.”
“For what?”
He stifles a smile, and Riley raises a brow in unison, as if they both know something I don’t.
“To survive her interrogation,” Broderick says, jerking his chin towards Riley.
Clearly unfazed by her wide-eyed, disheveled appearance—or by the absolute mess of tension still clinging to the room.
“You want something to eat before I head out?” he offers Riley, already reaching for another plate as if this were just another lazy Sunday morning with friends.
Riley blinks at him, thrown off for all of two seconds. “Wait, you made breakfast?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
Riley’s eyes narrow suspiciously, but when her stomach lets out a loud growl, she caves, throwing her hands up. “Fine. But only because I’m starving, not because I’m endorsing...whatever this is.”
I shoot her a glare. “There is no ‘this’.”
She gives me a slow, devilish smile. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”
I try to laugh with her, to let her pull me back into the normal. But it feels like wearing someone else’s skin—too tight, too wrong.
Broderick chuckles as he hands her a plate, then checks his watch and sighs. “Unfortunately, I’ve got to head out. Flight back to London.”
My stomach dips in a way I don’t want to examine.
“Okay.”
His eyes flick to mine, holding them for a long moment. “I’ll be back in New York in a week.”
Something in the way he says it—heavy with an unspoken wish to stay—presses the breath from my ribs.
But before I could say anything else, he was moving towards the door.
“You two enjoy breakfast,” he says, glancing over his shoulder with a grin that is far too smug for my liking. “Try not to gossip about me too much.”
“Not making any promises,” Riley quips back, her mouth already full of food.
Broderick laughs and turns to me, his gaze softens for a second. “See you soon?”
I nod, swallowing thickly. “Yeah. Safe flight.”
And with that, he was gone, the door clicking softly behind him and I’m left standing in the kitchen with breakfast in hand and one very nosy best friend.
Riley drops her fork with a dramatic clatter and turns to me, eyes lit up like she was about to have the time of her life.
“Okay.” She leans forward on her elbows. “Start talking.”
“About what?”
“Don’t play dumb. About you and Broderick. What the hell was that? Because I may be running off the high of multiple orgasms and zero sleep, but even I could feel the heat between you two from across the room.”
I groan, setting my plate down as I sink into the chair across from her. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
Which was an outright lie. Because there was so much to talk about, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to rip off the Band-Aid on my bullet wound.
Riley gives me a sharp look. “And where exactly does Alex fit into all of this?”
There it was, the thing I can’t avoid, his absence—real and present. It should be Alex she saw this morning, not Broderick.
The whole situation was so fucked up.
I force a weak laugh, attempting to brush it off. “After breakfast and a shower...you smell like sex, by the way.”
She grins—unabashed. “I am sex, babe. But nice try deflecting.”
I roll my eyes and push my food around my plate, knowing I wasn’t getting out of this that easily.
Just as I was finishing drying my long raven hair, Riley burst into my room like a tornado—classic Riley fashion.
No knock.
No warning.
No chill.
“Okay, Montgomery, spill,” she says, her own hair wrapped in a towel as she dive-bombs onto my bed like she owns the place.
I sigh, gripping the edge of the dresser, my reflection in the mirror staring back at me—wide blue eyes rimmed a little red from the tears I’d shed in the shower as the memories from last night play on a loop.
Good luck surviving this conversation.
“I...” My throat tight, forcing myself to breathe, fingernails digging into the wood. “Alex broke up with me.”
The words hang in the air, sharp and raw.
Riley jumps like she’s been electrocuted, her eyes bulging out of her head. “What?” She blinks, not trusting her ears. “Wait. What?”
Her mouth drops open, as her towel slips off one shoulder. “You’re serious?”