15. Lust For Life #2
It wasn’t like I hadn’t had alcohol before. Riley and I had shared sips of loll-water or whatever else we’d stolen from our parents’ liquor stash.
I took a sip, the bubbles danced on my lips and tongue.
“Ew. It’s sour. People like that?”
They both laughed. But then my mom’s smile faltered. Her face drained of color.
“Love?” Jack said, his voice shifting from amusement to concern.
Her hand flew to her head, the other gripping the counter. “My head,” she whispered, strained.
Then she collapsed.
“Mom!” I screamed.
Jack dropped to his knees, catching her before she hit the floor. “Vida! Call the ambos!”
My hands shook as I fumbled for my phone. I dialed triple zero.
Everything after that moved in a blur.
Living in a remote coastal town, we were at the hospital within thirty minutes. Doctors and nurses surrounded Jack, firing off questions—persistent headaches, fatigue, bleeding gums. He rattled off a list of symptoms I’d never heard her mention.
The occasional headache, sure. But bleeding gums? Fatigue? It was all news to me.
The days passed in sterile silence and the smell of antiseptic. Eventually, my mom admitted to everything she’d been hiding. The pain. The exhaustion. She’d chalked it up to stress. Maybe early menopause. The local doctor hadn’t pushed for more tests.
Then the word came.
Leukemia.
My mom had cancer.
I was there for every chemo session, every hospital visit. I refused to leave her side. Eventually, they let her come home.
But it wasn’t the same. Nothing was.
That night, after the diagnosis, I ran out of the hospital and locked myself in the car. My chest tightened, and I couldn’t breathe. Panic wrapped around me like a vice. I felt so selfish for even feeling like this. Something in me hardened.
Everything I’d wanted—love, music, all those dreams I’d scribbled in my journal—they didn’t matter anymore.
All I wanted was for her to live. I needed her to live.
Tears well in my eyes as I sip my champagne. It’s crisp and cool, helping me swallow back the memories of my mother and Jack.
As the song comes to an end, Andrew dips Philippa and kisses her.
The strings carry on, easing into a rendition of “Halo” by Beyonce.
“Could the bridal party please join the happy couple in opening the dance floor,” the master of ceremonies announces.
James is by my side in an instant. “Mini Montgomery, will you do me the honor?” he asks, extending his hand.
Riley scrunches her nose and leans in. “Ew. Mini Montgomery,” she whispers. We giggle.
Before I can answer, Broderick looms behind James, giving him a playful pat on the back.
“Buddy, best man gets dibs on the maid of honor. Go find Avery.”
James groans, “Brody, you’ve been cutting my grass all weekend. What gives?”
Broderick only shrugs. “I don’t make the rules,” he says, draping a muscular arm over James’ shoulders in a squeeze. He’s easily a foot taller and broader, dwarfing James completely. The way James shifts under him makes it obvious—Broderick intimidates him.
James rolls his eyes and shrugs him off before heading toward Avery, who waits at the edge of the dance floor.
Broderick grins—victory and charm all over his face—then extends a hand to me. “Will you do me the honor, your majesty?”
Riley jabs me in the side, and I yelp.
“She accepts your proposal,” she declares, yanking my arm toward him.
I shake her off and slap her playfully. “Good sir, I will do you this kindness,” I reply in a terrible British accent, placing my hand in his.
Jack chuckles shaking his head and Riley whoops behind us. I catch James shooting daggers our way as Broderick leads me onto the dance floor. His hand rests at the small of my back, warm and steady, pulling me close as he takes the lead.
Everything else blurs at the edges as I look up into his sparkling green eyes.
“You seem pretty pleased with yourself,” I murmur.
Broderick scoffs, “I wasn’t going to let him have a dance with you looking like this.”
“Like what?”
“Good enough to eat.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. Desire curls low in my belly, catching me off guard.
“Sir, behave yourself. I won’t hesitate to report you to HR,” I tease, shivering slightly as his fingers press more firmly into my back.
“I’m sure we can come to a mutual understanding,” he says, pulling me in just a little closer.
We fall into a comfortable silence, moving together in slow rhythm.
I rest my head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart syncing with the music.
Across the room, I spot Carole and my father dancing, Philippa and Andrew swaying nearby.
Riley chats with Jack, her head thrown back in laughter.
Everyone’s here.
Everyone except my mother.
The thought slips in, uninvited.
“Do you have any siblings?” I ask, glancing up at him. It occurs to me how little I know about his family—outside of his father passing, and his mother.
“I do. Twins,” he says.
“Twins?” I blink, surprised. “Really?”
“Yeah. My younger brother and sister. They’re two years younger. Elijah lives in Chicago—he’s a writer for the Chicago Chronicle. Georgia’s in Florida. She’s a teacher.”
He smiles down at me, and I can’t help but return it.
“Do you see them often?” I ask.
“When time allows.” He shrugs. “Work with Goodman takes up a lot of it. Elijah’s wife just had a baby, so he’s tied up with my niece. I caught up with Georgia on my layover to Argentina. We’ve got a group chat, and we call when we can.”
It’s not lost on me—the way he carves out time. How he makes space for me in a schedule that barely has room to breathe.
“Aww. Uncle Brody,” I tease. “So, your younger brother got married before you?”
“Yeah. Georgie too.”
Oh.
“Maybe we should upgrade our agreement,” he says, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m starting to feel left out.”
I nearly choke on my laugh.
Marriage.
It’s never been something I’ve truly believed in. I want to be loved—fully, deeply—but that didn’t have to come wrapped in a certificate and a ceremony. Not when it could all so easily unravel with lawyers and silence.
And yet…now that he’s said it, I can’t help but think about it.
“I have it on good authority that you’re married to your job,” I scoff, arching a brow at him.
He narrows his eyes. “Who’s your source?”
I shrug, flashing a cheeky grin. “A lady never tells.”
He chuckles, then leans in—his breath warm against my ear. “I have it on good authority that you are far from a lady, sweetheart.”
The whisper skates down my spine like a shiver.
Before I can catch my breath, he spins me. Butterflies detonate in my stomach as he pulls me back into his arms—closer this time, his body pressed fully against mine, the heat of him seeping through his tux.
“What about you?” he asks.
“What about me?” I ask softly, lifting my gaze to his.
“Would you want to be married?”
“Why are you asking?” I laugh, trying to keep it light.
He chuckles too, but there’s something in his eyes—something unspoken. A flicker of thought or longing that passes too quickly for me to catch, but lingers all the same.
“You know,” he says, guiding me gently across the dance floor, “being married to your best friend is probably the right way to go about it. If you were to get married.”
I raise a brow, lips curving into a smirk. “Well, in that case, sign me up. I’d marry Riley in a heartbeat.”
Broderick grins, the dimple in his cheek making an appearance. “Would it be a Boston marriage or…” he trails off, wagging his brows suggestively.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
We sway for a moment, nothing but the sound of our breathing and the swell of music between us.
“So no to marriage?”
“Not at present.” I brush my fingers over the lapel of his tux, a distraction.
“But not at all?” he presses, eyes narrowing slightly, searching for something in my answer.
I sigh, pulling back just enough to look at him. “I’m twenty-three. This is the first time I’ve ever lived out of home. Marriage is the furthest thing from my mind.”
It’s not a lie. But it doesn’t feel like the full truth either.
“That’s fair,” he says, nodding. “And kids?”
I glance away, out toward the dance floor like maybe the answer might be hiding there. “I’m not opposed to it,” I admit. “In the distant future.”
I catch a glimpse of Natalie at the edge of the dance floor. Would he be better off with someone like her? The thought annoys me more than it should.
I sigh, resting my head against him again. “What about you?”
Broderick doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes to both,” he says with certainty. “With the right person.”
His words land heavier than I expect.
That could never be me…and before the thought settles, he dips me, one strong arm steady at my back. The world tilts and my heart lurches—not from the motion, but from the look in his eyes as he brings me back up.
For the right person.
Philippa’s words echo through me, lingering like a chorus I didn’t mean to memorize.
And for a fleeting second, I wonder—about those what-ifs.
But I can’t let myself.
Because one thing is certain: in my experience, marriage ends in one of two ways.
You either live long enough to watch the person you love die...
Or you end up resenting them and running away.
Either way, you lose them.
And I can’t lose Broderick.