Page 41 of Burn Bright (Cobalt Empire #1)

HARRIET FISHER

I wish I had the right words to say.

Death isn’t something I’m all too familiar with.

I never had a pet growing up. Never had a relationship with my grandparents.

Never had a friend or loved one who passed away unexpectedly…

or expectedly. I’ve been lucky. But I’m also planning to become a doctor, and death will likely be a large factor in my life.

“Maybe you’re in shock,” I tell him as I slice limes for the dwindling container in the mini fridge under the bar.

“Maybe I’m just checked out,” he replies in a defeated tone. “When I gave Theodore to Audrey, I’d already said goodbye.”

I think about my mom. In my head, I’ve said goodbye to her. I don’t think I’d be devastated if she passed away. “I can understand that. Some goodbyes feel more final than others.”

He eyes me curiously, but we don’t expand on the topic because a rush of drenched college students stumbles into the empty bar. They shrug off sopping rain jackets. “Cool, Spider-Man is on tonight,” one says.

The next Sunday When Harry Met Sally… plays to the delight of many patrons. I enjoy the cycle of New York centric films. West Side Story, Annie, Paris is Burning, and Big.

Bartending on the weekend rapidly becomes a highlight of my week.

Then soon, it tops as my favorite activity.

I can admit it’s because of Ben. Getting to spend time with him outside of class still makes me weirdly giddy, and as we’ve grown closer, I feel myself anticipating it.

Counting down to Saturdays and Sundays to work alongside him.

In three weeks, he’s perfected the art of a good beer pour, and his whiskey sour has even outclassed mine. Whenever I fear I’ve accidentally ticked off a customer, he slides in with a charming smile and all the right words.

He smooths over my bumps. My hard edges. But never makes me feel as if I need to apologize for the gristle and the bite. It’s easier being myself when he’s around. Attaching myself to this feeling means attaching myself to him, right?

At times, it scares me to want Ben around this much, but fuck, isn’t this what life is about? To find and surround yourself with people that make living feel less difficult.

The End of the World goes from a sleepy dive bar to a hot spot for twentysomethings once news around Manhattan Valley’s campus gets out that the Ben Cobalt periodically works here.

Ben says it’s a miracle his brothers still don’t know since he told his little sister the truth, and especially because his parents learned from his bodyguard. Without even realizing it’s a secret, Rose and Connor have kept it for him.

I wish I had that relationship with my mom.

If I did still talk to her, she probably would’ve typed and printed out my deepest secrets and taped them to every lamppost in the city. She has a way of always being right. Of making sure I’m wrong. Of letting me know I will never ever be better than her.

Aunt Helena says it’s because Hope hates my dad so much that she can’t see past the half of my DNA that belongs to him. Punching me down is her way of socking it to him, I guess.

Luckily, my busy college schedule casts out most thoughts about her.

August bleeds away in a fever dream of homework assignments, undergrad research, volunteering at the hospital, first exams of the semester, and bartending.

Ben comes over to my apartment too many nights to count.

He helps make flashcards for my anatomy class, quizzes me on the circulatory system, and reads my essay for my application into the Honors House.

I listen to him vent about whaling and learn way more about microplastics than I ever have in my life.

He doesn’t urge me to change my ways, but with knowledge comes great responsibility (semi-thanks goes to Spider-Man), and I decide it’s better to switch my plastic Tupperware for a glass one I find at a thrift store.

He introduces me to jackfruit, which blows my mind.

It has the same texture as shredded meat and a tasty, mild flavor.

I start swapping it for tuna in my sandwiches after he explains overfishing and bycatches.

All I can think about are the little sea turtles and seabirds being scooped up in fishing nets and thrown away like trash.

I can honestly listen to Ben talk for hours. And I do. Surprisingly, I find myself talking just as much.

Even more surprisingly, he hasn’t tired of me.

I could stand in the middle of Times Square and scream those words into throngs of tourists. It’s revolutionary. And even with my jam-packed schedule, I still yearn for nightly phone calls with him as if this is the new episode in the addictive TV show called My Life.

Tonight, I chew on the end of a Twizzler, earbuds in, and scroll through a shared notes app where we plugged in our class schedules—our attempt to find an available window to meet for a bite to eat together on campus.

I smile reading it. I knew he picked the Tuesday, Thursday strategy of stacking all his classes on those two days. I would’ve done the same, but Latin was only offered on the Monday, Wednesday, Friday schedule, and trying to fit three-hour labs on Tuesday or Thursday was near impossible.

“I should’ve joined you in Beginner Volleyball,” I say, my voice picking up in the mic of my earbuds. My phone is face-up on the coffee table. Ben’s picture on the screen.

He took the pic at work when he realized I didn’t have his photo in my contacts. Wearing his signature baseball cap, he holds up a peace sign and smirks in the camera. Can’t lie—he’s hot.

I have a hot jock’s photo in my phone.

I have Ben Cobalt’s photo in my phone.

All things that make me slump down in the lumpy couch cushion like I’m about to kick my feet and fucking giggle.

What are these feelings, Harriet?

I’m not in high school anymore. This feels like something I should have already experienced in eleventh grade. Missed that, apparently.

But is there really an age cut-off to being infatuated? Oh my God, am I infatuated with him?

“No, you would’ve hated volleyball,” Ben says through my earbuds. “Hannah Payne broke her nose yesterday after some Kappa Phi douchebag spiked the ball at her. Whole court was full of blood.”

I’ve gotten used to him referring to random people by their full names. Some of them, he’s friends with. The kind of friends who invite him to parties or who sit beside him in class to share notes. Others, he just met, but the way he talks, you’d never know.

“Really putting the pain in Payne,” I deadpan.

He laughs. “Clever girl.”

I almost choke on my Twizzler. My face burns, and I’m thankful he can’t see the flush. Get it together, Harriet, he didn’t call you a sexy vixen . I disagree with my brain. Somehow what he said was even better. New turn-on unlocked.

Not that I should be turned on by my friend.

And after he found out I almost gave head to his brother, I think that’s where I’ll firmly remain.

Even if there was a small, microscopic chance we could be something more, I blew it up in one explosive chemical reaction called The Charlie Cobalt Blow Job Combustion.

I return to the topic at hand before I destroy this even more.

“I’m just dreading having to take the P.E.

requirement—which should really be banned in college.

Running the death mile every week in high school was bad enough.

” I blow out a stressed breath. “It would’ve been easier doing it with you. ”

“Then you’ll do it with me. I’ll sign up for whatever P.E. course you want next semester.”

I chew on the candy slowly. “That’s a repeat of a credit you don’t need.”

“Ah, you don’t know that, Fisher,” he says. “I’m still Undeclared, remember? I could go into Kinesiology and then I’d be right on track.”

“Or I could be unintentionally tanking you,” I mutter and narrow my eyes at his schedule. “Wait, how are you getting from Marine Biology to World Civilizations in twenty minutes? Those are on opposite sides of the campus.”

“I have long legs.”

I gape, the Twizzler falling out of my mouth. “You’re running ?”

“I think we should direct this energy toward the fact that your science lab only gives you one credit hour, but it takes up three hours of your time. That feels way fucking wrong.”

I’m about to agree with him when the door lock jangles. “Hold on,” I tell Ben and sit up to make sure it’s just my roommate.

The door bangs open with a fit of giggles, and I relax when I see Eden kick off her heels. Behind her, a tall Black guy with a strikingly chiseled jawline slips into the apartment and fingers the strap to her tank top. She swats his hand away when she sees me staring. “Oh, Harriet.”

Austin gives me a friendly wave and takes a gentlemanly sidestep away from his girlfriend. “Hey, Harriet. How’s pre-med stuff?”

“It’s going well so far,” I say into a nod.

Eden rocks on her feet. “I thought you were volunteering at the Urology department tonight.”

“Nephrology,” I correct her. “And that’s on Monday nights.

” It’s not an adrenaline-fueled position.

I mostly just restock gloves and emesis bags in patient rooms and then wait in the nurses’ station for any other basic tasks an undergrad can fulfill.

At least the nurses are nice enough to make small talk with me when they could so easily just pretend I’m wallpaper.

Eden winces and whispers something into Austin’s ear. His gaze slides down the length of her in a slow, propositioning onceover that makes me look away. Good for Eden. At least one of us is getting dicked down in this apartment.

“So Harriet.” Eden walks to the front of the couch while Austin disappears into her bedroom. “I have a teensy, tiny favor to ask.”

I’m already grabbing my backpack off the ground. “I can give you the apartment for the night.”

“Really?” Her brows hike in surprise. Maybe she thought I’d put up a stink or something.

I tuck my Twizzlers under my armpit and sling my backpack over my shoulder. “Yeah, no problem.”

“You are the best. Thank you .” She almost goes in for a hug but stops about a foot short and then slides her hands down her skirt to cover the slip up. Shit . It must be my face. I’m scowling, or else why would she abandon a hug midway through committing?

An awkwardness flits between us. “I’ll just…go.”

She nods. “Thanks again.”

I want to tell her to have fun, but maybe that’s too forward for our roommate relationship. So I just grab my bed pillow out of the closet and leave.

“You’re not sleeping at your apartment?” Ben’s voice causes me to jump.

“Fuck,” I curse, totally forgetting he’s still on the phone with me through my earbuds. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” he says. “Where are you headed?”

“Harold,” I say the name of my Honda.

“You’re going to sleep in your car?”

“I did it for two years. One more night won’t kill me.”

“Just come here,” he says. “Stay with me for the night.” His words are so casually cool that you would never think Ben Cobalt just invited me to spend the fucking night! I’m freaking out, and my feet decide now is the time to lose momentum.

I stop in the hallway, my boots frozen beside a stain on the ugliest purple carpet I’ve ever seen. “In case you’ve forgotten, Friend, you sleep on a couch.”

“It’s a pull-out. I can take the floor.”

“No, see, car trumps floor.”

“Then we can share the pull-out. It’s big enough for two people.”

I grumble a noise of disbelief, but my cheeks are likely fire-engine red. I am set ablaze at this idea.

“My legs fit on it, Fisher. What does that tell you?”

“That you’re curling up in the fetal position at night.” I chew on my lip, feeling the start of a smile.

He laughs. “Jesus. What do I need to do to convince you? Do you want me to video call while I pull out a tape measure?”

My lips tug into a bigger smile. My heart pounds so deeply. “That’s unnecessary—” He’s video calling me.

When I click into it, his face fills the frame.

Tendrils of his hair swoop over his forehead, and his blue eyes are so captivating that I wonder how many girls he’s charmed into bed.

Ten? Twenty? Is our body count even similar?

Friends probably shouldn’t actively want this information.

Maybe that makes me an overly curious friend. I can live with that.

“Harriet Fisher,” he says, all too seriously. “Please spend the night at my place.” Spending the night with him, even as friends, does beat sleeping in a car ten times out of ten. Resisting is futile, but I do have questions.

“Are your brothers okay with it?” I ask.

I haven’t seen any of them since that night at the escape game a month ago.

In truth, I have been full-on avoiding. They’re intense and truly the first people to intimidate me who don’t have an M.D.

after their name. But I know being friends with Ben means I will run into his brothers sooner or later.

“If they weren’t okay with it, they’d be the biggest hypocrites on the planet.” Oh, his brothers bring home hookups.

That is…information I never thought I’d have. He flips the camera to a long camel-leather couch that honestly looks like it might’ve been picked out of a designer showroom.

It must be made of eco-friendly leather. Ben has told me there are a bunch of different kinds made from things like mushrooms, teak leaves, and even cacti.

So I can’t see Ben sleeping on cow hides, especially after he asked if my jacket was authentic leather. I almost laughed. It is 100% pleather. No way could I afford the real deal, not that I had a big desire to anyway.

I asked him if any of his family is as environmentally conscious. He said his brother Beckett won’t wear real leather, but it’s mostly just out of respect for him.

I’m still staring at the couch. Where Ben sleeps. And…where his brothers live. That is a shared living room.

“But are your brothers having friendly sleepovers or friendly sleepovers.” I emphasize the second ‘friendly’ with a raise of my brows.

Ben is grinning. “Probably the latter.”

“So won’t your brothers think we’re having friendly sleepovers too?”

“I will make sure they know it’s the normal kind of friendly.”

I bite the corner of my lip. “Okay.”

His face lights up. “Okay, see you in fifteen.”

We hang up and my feet start working again. But it’s only when I make it to the street that I realize what’s happening. I’m about to spend the night at the Cobalt brothers’ apartment.

Holy shit.

I’m about to spend the night with Ben.