Page 101 of The Rules We Broke
“Yes.” I stood wanting to sprint out in my heels. But before I could break any speed records, I felt this strange pull to the other end of the table. Mr. Jackson sat there staring darkly at his wife, anger rolling off him, but he said nothing.
I found these words spilling out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Thank you for letting me play your piano.”
In slow motion, he turned his head toward me. A faint smile touched his lips. “Thank you. You remind me of a girl I once knew,” he said with such fondness it hurt.
I knew who he was talking about, and it broke my heart. I opened my mouth to ask him why he had left my aunt. Shedeserved answers after all these years, but before I could get the words out, Mrs. Jackson shrieked, “Isaac!”
Mr. Jackson’s chin fell to his chest, defeated.
Brady appeared at my side, took my hand, and led me out of the brittle, beautiful mansion that looked perfect on the outside, but inside it was anything but.
And as we fled, one thought echoed louder than the rest:We have a problem.
Chapter Eighteen
Wesaidnothingonthe way to Brady’s place. I stared out the window into the dark, not sure why I was shocked by how the night had unfolded. What had I expected, really—given our families’ history?
Before I realized it, we were in his driveway. He cut the engine and turned to me.
“Please say something, Ellie.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Just tell me what you’re thinking.”
I hesitated. I was sure he didn’t want to hear it. But it needed to be said.
“Honestly? I think your momma’s crazy. And maybe we’re crazy, too—for ever believing this could work.”
Brady slid closer, gently taking my face in his hands.
“I’m going to start looking for a job in Atlanta on Monday.”
“Brady . . . ” I sighed. “Moving away won’t fix this. It won’t make our families magically approve.”
His eyes didn’t waver. “Then tell me what to do, Ellie. I’ll do anything for us to be together.”
I didn’t have an answer—because I didn’t know if one existed. I just wanted to disappear into him. To forget all of it. The pain, the lost years, the secrets and lies.
I grabbed his shirt, pulled him close, and kissed him—hard. I poured every feeling into it: sorrow, frustration, love, hope, fear.
Brady met me with equal force, his hands sliding into my hair, threading through the strands like he never wanted to let go. His kiss deepened, urgent and tender all at once.
Minute by minute, our lips moved in a frenzy, tongues dancing wildly, breath mingling until we were breathing only each other—inhale, exhale, nothing else.
The windows fogged.
The lines between us blurred.
I wanted to erase every inch of space between us.
My fingers found the buttons of Brady’s shirt, trembling with urgency.
But just as I began to undo them, he caught my hands.
His lips slowed. Then slipped away.
“Ellie,” he whispered, ragged. “I want more than anything to make love to you, but not like this. Not when you’re upset. I want our first time to be a happy occasion. The happiest.”
