Page 5 of Burn Bright (Cobalt Empire #1)

BEN COBALT

T his isn’t some cheap apartment complex. It’s high-end and ritzy with a bellhop, entrance security, a member’s only club lounge, an infinity pool, steam room and sauna, and other luxury amenities. I’ve been here before, but never for this long of a stay.

And I know exactly which brother it’ll be with.

That’s engrained too deep within me.

I think it makes these situations easier. The ones that feel like I’m about to hurdle the Empire State Building. I dig out a key to their place from my dark jeans.

Their place—yeah, it hasn’t sunk in that it’s about to be mine too.

When I’m inside, I quickly see I’m alone.

I’m just met with a spacious, overly clean marble kitchen. Most appliances stored away except for a dual coffee and espresso machine. It smells like lemon Lysol and fabric softener. The floors are immaculate, and I have a feeling they had a service do a deep-clean.

I wonder if it’s something that happens weekly.

The apartment is an open floorplan, and stepping farther inside, I pass barstools tucked against the spotless kitchen island. Industrial lighting hangs in the vaulted ceiling of the living room, and a camel-leather couch faces two dark-blue lounge chairs that can rotate 360-degrees.

There is no TV.

Just a Van Gogh on one wall and a marble fireplace on the other with built-in dark wooden bookshelves.

I can’t take in all the vases, knickknacks, artifacts, various leather-bound books displayed fast enough. From a kantharos (a type of Grecian cup) to a glass figurine of two bodies intertwined to a carved wooden pipe to an old flute to Shakespeare’s entire works in thick black binding.

Most, I’m positive, belong to Charlie from his travels. Jet-setting around the world could be his occupation if he posted anything about it on social media, but most of the time, we don’t even know where the hell he goes.

No family photos on the shelves. It’s not that my brothers aren’t sentimental, but more personal items are contained to their bedrooms since they’ve held parties here before and things have “mysteriously” gone missing and then “mysteriously” been up for bid on eBay.

I toss my duffel on the couch and stride closer to the humongous windows overlooking the city. It’s late morning, and the sun refracts against the glass high-rises. But with the tinted window, the natural light is dulled.

A concrete jungle.

I don’t love New York.

I’ve never loved it. As a kid, I’d cry and beg my mom to take me home because I didn’t want to hear the gurgle of exhaust or the honk of pissed-off drivers. I wanted to listen to the rustle of leaves as the wind swept through oaks. Even in Central Park, the city loomed .

Now I’m living inside it.

My nose flares as I consider the possible outcomes of being here. Honestly, some don’t feel great. Some feel fucking terrible.

“And so he arrives.” The dry, slightly bored tone could only belong to one brother.

Fuck.

I was hoping to run into Eliot first.

Tensing, I reluctantly turn to see Charlie leaning a shoulder on the arched entryway of a short hall. Which I remember leads to his bedroom and Beckett’s. His ankles are crossed, and his hands are loosely threaded over his white button-down, the shirt partially untucked from his khaki slacks.

His golden-brown hair is unkempt. He looks like he gives zero fucks because he does give zero fucks. About almost everything.

Charlie Keating—he’s number two.

I’ve hated him for as long as I can remember, but not before he started hating me.

“Welcome home, little brother,” Charlie says with the enthusiasm of a defective confetti popper. “Though, by the looks of it, you don’t want to make this one yours.”

“What do you mean?” I know what he means.

I just don’t love that Charlie acts like he’s in my head when he has no real clue what goes on inside of me. But to be fair, he’s unbearably intelligent and can read a room as well as he can people.

“You only brought one bag.” He sounds irritated and gestures a stiff hand to the duffel. “Unless you’re planning to bring the rest later.”

I’m not. He knows I’m not.

I say nothing.

Charlie rolls his eyes. “This is going to be fun.” He stands off the doorway and comes closer. He favors his right leg, and when he catches me staring at his slight limp, I cut my gaze to the window.

Guilt festers in my chest. It’s a knot I can’t loosen because I caused his injury.

I thumb an elastic cloth bracelet that says don’t worry, be capy with an embroidered Capybara. Winona Meadows, my cousin, gave it to me years ago, and thinking about my obliterated friendship with her just tightens the knot.

I snap the elastic against my wrist.

“Get over it,” Charlie says harshly while slouching back onto one of the blue chairs.

I clench my jaw.

The truth about Charlie? He has no real empathy for anyone outside of his twin. His unconditional love for Beckett is the best thing about him.

It’s the only thing I relate to, but it’s never been enough.

Now he’s acting like it’s so fucking easy to dispose of emotions. As if he understands them at all. If it were up to him, he’d carve out every single one from my body and grind them into dust.

He wants me to feel nothing. I’m the most sensitive Cobalt, in his eyes. The one without armor. The one with the most vulnerabilities. The one with the most fatal flaws.

To him, I’m just weak.

The runt of the pack.

The one who should’ve died early on. I was not meant to last, and maybe I only have because of our parents. Because we have a lioness for a mother who would snatch any struggling cub by the neck and keep them with the pride.

No matter the cost.

“ Ben .”

I shoot my lowered gaze up to Charlie’s. He’s bowed forward in his chair, staring me down with a look I don’t recognize.

“Just leave me alone,” I say in a tensed breath. I take off my baseball cap, rake my fingers through my wavy hair, then toss the hat on the top of my duffel.

Charlie is blatantly annoyed. “It was a car accident from three years ago.”

“Yeah and I was the one driving!” I shout as my eyes burn with heat. “I’m sorry I care about the impact it had on everyone in the car, including you. ” I sneer out the last word.

Charlie groans and slings his head backward. “Get the fuck over it.”

I grit down on my teeth and stare unblinkingly at the window. What was I thinking? There’s no way we’ll last a few weeks together. At this rate, we might not even make it twenty-four hours. I fit my ballcap back on and snatch the strap to my duffel.

“Is that Ben I hear?!” a masculine voice calls out, mirth seeped in every syllable. Truthfully, mirth has been seeped in every bone of his body since birth.

I want to smile but it’s lost beneath the heat of Charlie’s heartless stare.

Eliot emerges from his side of the apartment, and his burgeoning, sly grin could light the room on fire.

In a perilous way.

I’ve always run toward a certain kind of danger, but maybe not the hedonistic kind Eliot supplies.

He’s wearing gray sweats that ride low on his sculpted waist. It looks like I might’ve woken him up. He has the brawn of an NHL player, more built than even I am, but he’s never been into sports. He just lifts.

“I’ll be back later,” I tell Eliot, about to make the trek to the door. Maybe I can meet up with Harriet early to grab lunch.

“Later?” Eliot’s leisurely stroll morphs into an urgent sprint.

He vaults over the couch to reach me faster and presses a hand to my chest. “You just got here, dear brother.” He levels a look at Charlie, then smiles back at me.

“I’ll take that. Merci beaucoup.” He takes my duffel before I can protest and slings the strap on his broad shoulder.

I guess I’m staying.

Until three.

I turn my baseball cap backward right as Eliot squeezes me in a suffocating bear-hug. I swear one time he cracked my rib. I was nine, and I said nothing because I never wanted him to be afraid to hug me. I never wanted him to stop.

He’s number four.

Eliot Alice—he’s pleasure and delight unencumbered, I’ve always believed.

He’s almost the same height as me. Almost. He’s six-four like our dad.

Really, out of everyone, he looks the most like our father.

With perfectly wavy brown hair, a strong jawline fit for modeling, and deep captivating blue eyes.

As we pull back now, I don’t even need to look down to meet those deep blues.

“You’re going to love it here, Ben.” He has a monster grin. “The things we’re going to get up to.”

“I have college,” I remind him.

“After hours.” He points at me. “You’re mine.”

I’m picturing Dionysus scales of debauchery, but the truth is, I don’t know what Eliot does in New York. I’ve never been old enough to spend a day in the life with any of them here, and I can’t lie—it is enticing. To be closer to them.

To be loved by them.

But I don’t ever want to hurt them with my shit.

He scans the living area for more luggage. “Where’s Theodore?” My cockatiel that him and Tom gifted me a while back. I love that bird, and I even convinced the administration at Penn to let me keep him in my dorm. I know my brothers would’ve had even less issues with him here.

“I left him with Audrey. I didn’t want her to feel alone now that I’m gone.”

“I like this. We move to New York; we give you the bird. You move to New York; you give her the bird. You know what we call that? Symmetry. Perfect circles.” He glances around again, then pats the duffel. “This is it?”

I feel Charlie’s mocking head-tilt behind me. I look. Yeah. There it is. He also has his feet kicked up on the glass coffee table, his fingers to his temple. “Is that it, Ben?” Charlie says like an annoying older brother.

“Hecklers,” Eliot banters. “Ignore them, Ben. I always do.”

“You love getting heckled,” Charlie says plainly. “Any avenue for attention, you’ll take.”

He gasps. “Did the heckler just call me an attention whore?” His grin spreads.

“Point made.”

Eliot leans into me and feigns a whisper. “He’s obsessed with me.”