Page 4 of Burn Bright (Cobalt Empire #1)
BEN COBALT
ONE WEEK LATER
W hat is it like to have four older brothers? What’s it like to have two sisters? What’s it like to be the son of a feminist icon and a legendary billion-dollar man? What’s it like to be a part of the Cobalt Empire?
Everyone wants to know the truth.
Very few ever will.
Entrance into my family is like finding a golden ticket in a Wonka Bar, only then to be battle-tested in a Colosseum. Death is more likely than victory.
Despite feeling like I’m the black sheep among lions, there’s so much I love about my unshakeable family.
I love that it’s not easy to gain access to all of us when there are people in the world with cruel intentions.
I know they exist—even if Charlie will claim I’m so na?ve to the atrocities of others.
I see it.
I see it overwhelmingly. I see that trust is too valuable a commodity.
Still, I give my trust more freely than many of my siblings, but in a way, I think we all know which pieces to hold back from strangers. And I think we all know which pieces will always belong to each other.
It’s far from misery to be bred from the kind of love that pulls you to your feet when you’ve crashed hard. And this past year, I’ve fucking crashed . This low was worse than being body-slammed into ice. Worse than any hit I’ve ever taken in a hockey rink.
It’s why I left Philly.
But I didn’t want to leave Audrey this soon. I dragged my feet for so long because of my little sister. Even now, I don’t know if this is where I should be, if this is just another mistake I’m making, but my college records have already been transferred to Manhattan Valley University.
My first class is tomorrow.
I just have to see where this choice takes me. Even if it wasn’t part of the plan.
Clutching my phone to my ear, I grip a handrail with my other hand. The subway car rattles along the tracks, and I hear my older brother’s smooth, calming tone.
“What time are you getting in?” Beckett asks. “I’ll pick you up.”
“You mean your driver will pick me up,” I whisper while I’m in public. Girls in business casual blouses and skirts read on tablets, and I can’t be sure if they’re close enough to overhear or if they even recognize who I am. Or if they even care that I’m a Cobalt.
How the public perceives me—I don’t pay much attention to. But some in my family are extremely private. Beckett being the most private, I don’t want to be the one to air any aspect of his personal life to fans, press, the media—so I try to be mindful.
“I’ll be with my driver,” Beckett says. “I’m taking tonight’s performance off?—”
“Don’t.”
“Ben—”
“Don’t miss ballet for me.” I dip my head down, the rim of my old baseball cap shielding my eyes. “I’ll get there when I get there.”
Beckett exhales a long breath. The truth is, I’m only moving to New York because he asked me to. If it were any other brother, I would’ve just suffered alone under the weight of my mistakes. But Beckett Joyce—I’ve loved him for as long as I can remember.
I’m number six out of seven.
He’s number three. And when it felt like every older brother poked and poked and poked , he was the one who just held and hugged. Hell, sometimes I loved him more than I loved our father, who we all revere and admire in our own way.
But there were times I wished Beckett were my dad.
Then he married ballet, and he left home at sixteen to be with the love of his life.
Dance. He was trained in a prestigious conservatory, then accepted to the New York Ballet Company.
It’s the best in America. He’s a principal dancer, and people who’ve never seen him perform might think he got handed it because of his last name.
But once you see him on stage, the truth is palpable.
He landed the coveted title on pure talent. He is grace and beauty, and according to ballet critics, his technique is unmatched.
I can’t take him away from that—not for something as temporary as me crashing at his apartment for…for hopefully not that long.
I’m not just living with Beckett. All four of my older brothers share a four-bedroom apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. I was twelve the last time we all lived under one roof, and I can’t see how it won’t cave in if I’m there for more than a few weeks.
So yeah, this has to be temporary.
I’m not trying to make their lives harder. It’s bad enough they feel the need to scoop me up like I flew too close to the sun and melted my wings.
I hear muffled voices in the background of the call, and Beckett quickly says, “I have to go. We’ll talk later, okay?”
“Yeah,” I get in right before he hangs up, and I just really wish he weren’t the busiest of my brothers. Catching quality time with him is like ensnaring a bird.
The subway car rolls to a stop.
I sense a person hovering near my back. I barely glance over my shoulder to catch the brown eyes of my bodyguard.
Olive skin from his Italian-Croatian heritage, shaggy walnut-brown hair styled meticulously, khakis and a linen shirt. He blends in like an average thirtysomething living in the trendy parts of Brooklyn.
Chris Novak has been assigned to my detail since I was ten.
He’s been unfortunate enough to be around for my two growth spurts.
Shot up to six-foot in middle school and then wrecked my back with stretch marks in ninth grade when I climbed to six-foot-five.
That was a real pissy year for me, and Novak heard most of my complaining.
“Next stop,” I tell him.
He gives me a short nod. His gaze has left mine and roams the cramped subway car.
I know I don’t make his life easier. Could’ve hailed a cab.
Could’ve done a lot of things differently.
But even if I wasn’t penny-pinching right now, I’d still be trying to leave the world better than when I entered it.
My carbon footprint matters to me, and I don’t give a shit what people think of me for it.
I check my texts.
As the subway car halts again, Novak follows me off the platform while I scroll and move. Usually, he’ll slip in front of me to clear a path, but people rush out and we both naturally walk with the flow.
My messages have blown up in the past three hours.
Santiago A.P. English Lit (Dalton Academy)
You’re moving to New York? Dude!
Rita Carraways Show
Heard you moved to NYC. Let’s grab drinks
Prescott Kappa Phi Delta (MVU)
Hey, Ben. Don’t forget to rush Kappa Phi.
I sift through another five sent from different people I’ve met over the years, and I smile when I come across a thread from thirty minutes ago. I click it and reread.
Harriet Fisher
We’re still meeting @ 3 for the job interview thing?
Ben Cobalt
I’ll meet you at the corner of 10th & 55th
Harriet Fisher
Chances of getting hired are low, but fuck it. What’s the worst that can happen?
Ben Cobalt
Positive thoughts, Fisher.
Harriet Fisher
That’s what you’re here for, Cobalt boy.
My smile grows, and I check the time on my phone.
It’s 10 a.m., and I have a canvas duffel bag strapped across my chest with my essentials. I wish I could fast-forward to three and just meet up with her now, but I can’t delay this move-in any longer.
It’s time to be with my brothers.
The thought is both comfort and tension. A paradox. And funny enough, my family loves those.