Collide (The Rhapsody of Heartbeats Book 1), page 19
Alex leans forward, his fingers tightening around the mic, recognition—and something like guilt—flashing in his eyes. The confident, charming mask he wears so well slips for a moment, long enough for me to see the truth.
He clears his throat and starts to answer, but I’m not even listening. Some carefully polished nonsense falls from his lips, but it’s all static to me now.
I don’t even wait for him to finish. Chest tight, I turn sharply toward Riley, who’s hovering close by, wide-eyed.
“Let’s go,” I whisper, voice cold.
She nods quickly; her usual spark dulled as she scrambles to follow. “Yeah. Sure,” she breathes, falling into step beside me as we push our way out, leaving Alex—and everything I thought I knew—behind.
Back in the safety of the green room, I am seething, pacing back and forth, trying to make sense of what happened.
Why would he lie to me? Was it a game to him? I feel like such a fool. I fucking hate liars. What else has he lied about?
My mind is a flurry of fury and insecurities.
“Are you okay?” Riley asks, her voice barely a squeak.
I shake my head, unable to even articulate the rush of emotions swirling inside me at this moment.
Riley gently hands me a bottle of water, and I gulp it down, hoping it can douse the boiling rage simmering beneath my skin.
“Hey.” Her voice is soft, cautious, almost hesitant. “I don’t want to add fuel to the fire, but…”
My heart sinks further. “Go on,” I mumble, dreading whatever bombshell she’s about to drop.
“It’s about Alex,” she begins carefully, biting her lip. “There are rumors that he’s seeing someone—Madison, the actress from the panel. His co-star.”
That explains the smug look on her face.
I shake my head slowly, disbelief choking me. My throat tightens painfully, anger and embarrassment knotting inside me. Grabbing a pillow, I press it against my face, screaming silently into its soft fabric. How could I have been so stupid? This is exactly why I avoid relationships. I’m such a fucking idiot.
A gentle knock interrupts my self-loathing. I remain hidden behind the pillow as Riley moves to answer it.
“Ms. Montgomery,” one of the staff calls tentatively from the doorway.
I don’t move, face buried, silently begging for an asteroid to end my misery.
Riley answers quietly, “Yes?”
“Mr. Westerberg is here,” she announces hesitantly. “He’s…insisting,” she emphasizes softly, uncertainty coloring her voice.
“I don’t care,” I mutter stubbornly, my voice muffled by the pillow.
Even as I tell her I don’t care, my body does. My hands tremble slightly, my breath uneven. I press my palms against my thighs, forcing myself to stay in control. I won’t let him see me like this. I won’t let him know how much this hurts.
She quietly withdraws, but moments later, the knocking returns, more urgent now.
Riley sighs and swings the door open again, arms crossed.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your perfectly sculpted face around here, mate,” she snaps, though even angry, his looks are enough to disarm anyone into submission.
I hear his voice before I see him—deep, frantic, but still trying to hold it together.
“Elena—” he breathes, desperation lacing every syllable.
“Just say the word, babe,” Riley murmurs, leaning close to me, “and I’ll make like Steve Irwin and crocodile-wrestle him outta here.”
Despite the fury raging inside me, a small laugh escapes, breaking through the heaviness like sunlight through clouds.
Thank God for Riley.
“Let him in.” My voice is low, defeated but resolute. “I need answers.”
Riley shoots me a worried glance but nods. She lingers in the doorway a moment longer before pressing my phone gently into my hand.
“Text me if you need me, okay?” she whispers, her eyes flicking to Alex with a look that’s both pissed and starstruck.
I nod silently, grateful, watching as she slips out and closes the door behind her.
The room feels like it shrinks when he steps in, but he doesn’t come too close. His usual calm, collected mask has cracked, replaced with something raw and vulnerable.
His eyes, darker than I’ve ever seen them, search my face like he’s looking for a lifeline.
“Elena,” he pleads again, softer this time. “Please. Let me explain.”
I lift a hand, stopping him, trying to hold myself together. My breath shakes as I draw it in.
“Explain what exactly?” I ask, my voice cold but trembling. “Explain how you conveniently forgot to mention that you’re some famous actor? Is that why you were so evasive about what you did for work? Because—news flash, Alex—omitting the truth is still lying.”
He doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t even try, as I barrel on.
“Or maybe you’d rather explain how you’re dating your co-star while doing—whatever this is—with me? Where would you like to start?”
My throat burns, and I hate that my voice cracks on that last word.
He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “When you didn’t recognize me, it was a relief. For once, someone saw me as me. Just Alex. Not Alexander Westerberg, the actor.”
There’s real sadness in his eyes now, but I push it away, forcing myself to stay strong.
“I didn’t plan for this,” he goes on quietly. “At first, yeah, I was attracted to you—how could I not be? You’re beautiful, Elena. But then, there was more. A chance for something real—and I didn’t want to ruin it by telling you everything too soon. I wanted to feel normal with you.”
Compliments will get him nowhere. I cross my arms tightly, though I feel my resolve falter slightly.
He steps closer, eyes searching mine. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel it, too. The chemistry, the pull. You make me want to show you the world. Ruin you. Make you mine.” His voice drops, eyes darkening, filled with something deeper than lust—something almost like longing.
But I won’t let him sweep me away with those words.
“And Madison?” I say sharply, holding his gaze.
He swallows. “We were…something, I guess. But we were never exclusive. And the key word is were. I ended things before I met you.”
A small part of me exhales in relief, knowing I hadn’t unknowingly stepped into someone else’s relationship.
“And the name Sigurdsson?” I ask, my voice softer, curious despite myself.
His lips slump into a sad smile. “My mother’s maiden name. I use it for privacy—hotels, restaurants. It’s an alias.”
It makes sense. But still.
He takes a step closer, and I don’t move.
“You have to know, Elena. I never meant to deceive you.” His voice breaks slightly. “I…I wanted to protect what we had. What we could have had. Dating in this industry—it’s brutal. You rarely meet people who see past the fame. People who don’t want you, only what you can give them. And with you…” His words trail off as his eyes search mine, pleading.
For the first time, I see him—not the man on a poster, not the charming guy who swept me off my feet—but the man who, despite everything, is standing here, vulnerable and alone.
And my heart aches.
Because God, I care for him.
I think about that first date, the way he looked at me like I was the only person in the room, the way he held me like I was something precious.
But that trust feels fractured now.
I take a shaky breath. “Alex…thank you for explaining. I can’t begin to understand your world, and honestly? I don’t know if I ever could. I’m new to all of this—dating, letting someone in—and I was starting to trust you.”
His face brightens slightly with hope.
Which makes what I say next feel like a punch in the gut.
“But you lied. And I can’t pretend that it doesn’t hurt that you couldn’t trust me with this,” I whisper. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”
The words hang heavy in the air between us.
His face drops, pain flashing across his features. “Elena, please,” he pleads, stepping closer.
Afraid that if he touches me, I’ll cave, I take a step back and turn away, my eyes stinging.
And he gets it.
I hear the door open and close softly behind him, leaving me alone in the silence.
The tears I’ve been holding back slip down my cheeks.
My chest aches, hollow and empty. Like he’s taken something with him when he left.
The thought of never seeing that soft look in his eyes again, never feeling his electric touch, his warm arms around me…
It’s almost unbearable.
But I stay standing, even as my heart breaks.
After an emotionally exhausting afternoon, I decide to skip the rest of Geek-Fest and the VIP party, leaving Riley to enjoy it without me. I head back to the hotel early, desperate for some much-needed sleep—and honestly, to wallow in my swirling thoughts of Alex.
As I sink into the bed, my phone dings.
For a split second, my heart lurches—Alex?
But no.
Ugh. Broderick.
Just seeing his name makes my eye twitch, the memory of our brunch exchange still fresh, and yet, annoyingly, I realize I’m already grinning like a fool. Damn it.
Broderick
Hey Elena, it’s Broderick. Got your number off Phil. We need to talk ideas for this joint Bach party?
Elena
Karaoke & cocktails!
His reply comes almost instantly, and soon, we’re ping-ponging snarky texts like it’s a competitive sport.
Broderick
So, your idea for the bachelor weekend is karaoke and cocktails? Cute. Did your grandma help plan it?
Elena
Better than your suggestion of beer pong and hot wings. What are we, frat bros, reliving our glory days?
Broderick
At least frat guys know how to have fun. Your idea sounds like a PTA fundraiser.
His smugness makes me grit my teeth.
Elena
Excuse you. Karaoke is a time-honored Filipino tradition that brings people together.
Broderick
If by ‘brings people together’ you mean ‘destroys friendships and eardrums with off-key singing,’ then sure.
Elena
If you lack talent, just say so.
Broderick
My talents lie elsewhere.
Elena
In a ditch?
Broderick
Damn, killer, why you gotta be so mean?
Elena
Consider it payback for your horrific behavior at brunch.
Broderick
You secretly loved every minute of it.
His last text stops me cold, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Did I…love it?
No. Definitely not.
But my traitorous brain replays his smirk, those infuriatingly green eyes, the way he looked at me like he enjoyed getting under my skin. And worse, how some part of me enjoyed it too.
My breath catches on a smile. Nope. Not happening. He’s just a pretty face, like overpriced wall art. Something you admire from a distance.
Before I can reply, another text pings.
Broderick
I’m calling. I need to hear you struggle to resist me in real-time.
What the actual fuck.
Incoming Call.
I stare at the screen, debating if I should throw my phone across the room. But my thumb, apparently lacking all sense, hovers over accept.
“Hello? Who’s this?” I answer, feigning disinterest, though a smile creeps onto my lips.
Damn it.
“Ouch, my ego. How will I ever recover?” Broderick teases, his deep voice playful. I can practically hear the grin in his tone, and somehow, it makes me giddy.
I shift on the bed, aware of how ridiculous I must look, smiling like an idiot.
Get it together.
“Tell me you loved it,” he coaxes, voice low, like he already knows the answer.
“You wish,” I shoot back, gripping the phone a little tighter.
He chuckles softly, the sound warm and rich. “Oh, I don’t need to wish. I know.”
I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see me. “What makes you so sure?”
There’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his voice dips, teasing but smooth. “Because you answered the call.”
My breath catches before I can stop it.
Fuck.
He laughs—a real, full laugh that cuts through the tension. “And karaoke, really, El?”
El? What is this—some frat boy shortcut? It sounds weird.
“It’s Elena,” I mutter, but I bet he’s already smirking like he knows I won’t correct him again.
“You afraid of embarrassing yourself in front of me, Brody?” I say lightly, deliberately using his nickname, though my voice holds a hint of caution, Alex’s betrayal still too raw to fully lean into this game.
“I don’t embarrass easily. But I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. Unlike you, Songbird.” His voice dips softer, more sincere.
I freeze. Songbird.
“Stalking is illegal, you know?” I bite back.
“Hey, looking you up online is perfectly legal. I checked.” He chuckles. “You’ve got serious talent, El. You’ll put us all to shame. Please have pity on us.”
He says it again—El—low and sure, testing whether he can get away with it. Color rushes to my cheeks. I’m flattered, but wary.
“Okay, Mr. Internet Detective.” I shoot back with a grin. “Any other bright ideas for the weekend?”
“How about the Hamptons? The Montgomery Estate’s big enough for everyone, right?”
I sit up—it’s a good suggestion.
“That’s actually…perfect, Brody.”
He laughs, deep and smooth. “Aww, look at you calling me Brody. Are we gonna braid each other’s hair and be besties forever?”
A giggle bursts out before I can stop it, and for the first time all day, I feel lighter.
“I needed that,” I confess, softer than I intend, vulnerability slipping through the cracks.
His tone shifts instantly, more serious. “Everything okay? The boyfriend giving you trouble?”
I freeze. “He’s not my boyfriend,” I say quickly, shutting that down.
Broderick is quiet for a moment, then his voice softens. “Trouble in paradise?”
“Next topic,” I deadpan.
He chuckles.
“Don’t let him get to you, gorgeous.” His voice is deep, sincere.
Gorgeous?
I smile to myself, warmth blooming in my chest, though I push it down, not ready for this.
“Thanks, Brody,” I murmur, genuinely.
We drift into safer ground, tossing around ideas and assigning tasks for Andrew and Philippa’s weekend.
Before I know it, it’s midnight. We’ve been on the phone for hours, laughing, teasing, and somewhere in the middle of all the banter, that heavy ache over Alex starts to ease.
Still, when I finally hang up, I stare at the ceiling, knowing one thing for sure—Broderick Schwartz is devastatingly good at getting under my skin.
And I’m not sure if I want him to stop.
I’m jolted awake by my phone vibrating loudly on the bedside table. Squinting at the screen, dread fills me when I see multiple missed calls and texts from Alex. It’s two a.m. I sit up, anxiety gripping me tightly as I read through his incoherent messages. He’s downstairs, drunk and barely able to string sentences together.
Throwing on my sweater, I rush down to the lobby, where I find him slumped in a plush chair, his head resting heavily against his palm. As I approach, he looks up, his eyes glazed and unfocused, and he smiles—a goofy, playful grin.
He stinks of liquor, not his usual fresh, ocean scent. The sharp tang of whiskey mixed with something else—regret?—lingers around him, a stark contrast to the clean, crisp presence I’m used to.
“Elena,” he slurs softly, reaching clumsily toward me. “I’m so sorry.”
My heart aches seeing him like this. I should turn around. I should let someone else deal with him. But as he lifts his head, looking at me like I’m the only thing steady in his world, I can’t walk away.
I gently wrap an arm around him, supporting his weight. “Come on, Alex. Let’s get you upstairs.”
Back in my room, I guide him to sit on the edge of the bed. His weight is heavier than I expect, his body sagging against mine as I help him up. The scent of whiskey clings to his clothes, layered beneath the remnants of his cologne, now dulled by the night’s excess.
Kneeling in front of him, I carefully remove his shoes and jacket, my fingers trembling slightly.
“Now we’re talking,” he slurs as he sways back and forth. I steady him with both my hands, his skin warm beneath my touch, a reminder of just how close we were.
“You shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispers, his voice thick with regret. “I messed up everything.”
“It’s okay,” I say softly, trying to reassure him—and myself—as I gently wipe his face with a cool, damp cloth, erasing the traces of his night.
As I stand, he pulls me in, resting his head on my chest. He breathes in the scent of me and lets out a low moan, and instinctively, I run my hands through his hair, earning me yet another moan. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he mumbles into my chest in earnest.
