Page 8 of Rush

“If anyone was born rich, it’s you, Princess Montgomery.” His head cocked to the side like he’s sizing up all five feet of me.

“Hey, I’ve never touched my trust fund, and you know what I mean, you fly all over the world, wear designer suits, you have a Rolex.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, but there isn’t much humor in it. “No, it’s fine.” He turns away, opening the fridge and scans its contents before pulling out breakfast items. His shoulders are tight, muscles working beneath his shirt. “It’s just...that’s not me.”

I bite my lip, watching him crack eggs expertly into a bowl. “Thenwhoare you?” I ask, softer now.

He’s quiet for a moment, working in my kitchen as if he knows the place like the back of his hand. Then he finally looks at me, his eyes softer but guarded.

“I didn’t grow up like that,” he says, shaking his head. “We didn’t have much.”

Oh.

His hands still; my eyes fixed on him whisking.

“When my dad got sick with cancer, we lost everything. House. Savings.”

He exhales slowly, as if saying it out loud costs him. “I spent a lot of nights on friends’ couches. Sometimes worse.”

My heart squeezes, the image of a young Broderick—proud, stubborn, and hurting.

“But...but you went to Columbia?”

He smiles faintly. “Scholarship. Worked two jobs to help my mom and siblings while I was there. Andrew helped me start my company after we’d graduated. It was either that or...” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I built everything I have now from nothing, paid Andrew back double what he invested.”

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 myselfto 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.