Page 129 of Collide
What the fuck.
“Of course, Father. Thank you again.”
I hang up before he can say anything else, thumb hovering over the screen until it fades to black in my hand. My palm is damp. I wipe it against my thigh, pretending it’s not from nerves.
“Eleanor, eh?” Broderick’s eyes light with humor, lips already curled like he’s been holding that in the whole call.
“Don’t start. It’s my grandmother’s name.” I huff, popping a gummy bear into my mouth and chewing harder than necessary.
“Makes sense why you wanted to do all the geriatric activities for the weekend. In bed by nine. Secretly an old granny, are you?Eleanor?”
I throw a gummy bear at him without even aiming. He catches it easily and pops it into his mouth.
“Call me that again and you’ll be leaving here in a body bag.”
He barks out a laugh—sharp, open-mouthed, the kind that fills the room.
“You could try,” he says, leaning back in his chair, all smug and confident. “But you’re alittledisadvantaged.” He pinches his fingers together.
“A little lethal,” I mutter, scowling at him. “I have easy access from down here, a slice to your Achilles tendon, and you’d go down like a bag of bricks.”
His grin deepens, dimples flashing.
Dimples.I could swoon, but coupled with his arrogance, it only mocks me.
“Anyway, my mom always taught me that good sleep means good skin,” I add, fingertips brushing along my cheekbone.
Mom.
The word lands wrong. My smile fades before I can catch it.
Broderick’s eyes flick over to me, softer now. Less teasing.
“You do have good skin,” he adds quietly.
“Yeah. Thanks,” I whisper, looking down.
He doesn’t move, just watches me. His voice drops.
“Hey. You okay?”
I nod, then shake my head. “Yeah, it’s…” I breathe out. “It’s been a while since I’ve talked about her. It’s like…she’s slipping away from memory the more I live my life.”
He nods slowly, lips pressed together.
“I get it. Happens to me too,” he says. “I don’t even remember what my dad looks like anymore. Not unless I’m staring at a picture. He’s been gone so long, it’s like…pieces get foggy.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. My throat tightens. There’s nothing useful in my head—no comforting line, no tidy sentiment.
So I nod again.
I realize how little I actually know about Broderick. Other than that he’s Philippa and Andrew’s friend, a guy who is drop dead gorgeous with a cocky attitude to match. I didn’t know his father had passed. I didn’t know his grief sat under his skin like mine does.
“I’m sorry about your dad,” I murmur.
I study him. The kindness in his eyes. The way the light clings to the sun-warmed gold of his skin. I wonder if he likes being outdoors. I wonder what he looks like when he’s completely unguarded.
He smiles, but it’s not full. Sitting somewhere behind his eyes, quiet and thoughtful.
