Page 50 of Burn Bright (Cobalt Empire #1)

BEN COBALT

S he’s not here.

Harriet should have finished volunteering for the night about ten minutes ago, and the hospital isn’t too far from campus. I’ve shot her a couple texts, but I don’t expect a reply if her phone is still off.

Still, I’m stressed. It’s past nine p.m., and if she doesn’t respond, I might head to the hospital.

Would that be too much? I know she’s independent, and I don’t want to seem suffocating. Fuck . Why is this so difficult? I usually know exactly what to do with friends. But she’s not a typical friend. She’s…more.

Maybe I could just send Novak.

“Hey, Ben.” Quentin Tupu rounds to my table of one . I’m oddly alone in a back corner, an arched stained-glass window beside me. Four other circular tables have five to six people packed around them. The board game, Catan, sits unopened two feet from me.

Quentin is the club president, Samoan, and incredibly friendly. To the point where my ass is partially in this seat and not in a jog to find Harriet because I’d hate to offend him or ruin his attendee numbers.

And yeah, I’ve only had two interactions with him. The last club meeting and tonight.

He places a casual hand on the Catan box. “Looks like you’re missing some players. You can join Table Three.”

“I’m waiting for someone actually.”

Quentin’s gaze veers past my shoulder toward the door. “Ah, right on time then.”

My relief floods me only to wash out to shore as soon as I rotate around.

Fuck. I know Xander plays super intense strategy games like Warhammer 40k, LARPs on the weekends, and watches every fantasy show on TV.

He’s even currently wearing a Game of Thrones House Stark T-shirt, and yet, I didn’t expect him to be here.

Geeky shit might be his thing, but clubs never were.

What’s not shocking? He’s here with Easton Mulligan.

His best friend. He looks like he hasn’t seen the sun in five hundred years and will suck your blood if you get too close.

He’s quietly threatening. Exactly what Xander would need in a friend, since he’s harassed at least once a day by paparazzi or obsessive fans.

I would’ve thought I’d be that friend for him. Battling off unwanted attention. I would’ve never predicted the turn of these tables when we were kids. That his protective best friend would be the one glaring at me.

Easton isn’t fond of me…to put it lightly.

I can’t tell if he sees me right now. He has on sunglasses indoors.

His styled chocolate brown hair is shorter on the sides, a little longer on top, and he’s tall, lanky, and pale white with a confident, unperturbed stride. What’s funny is he could so seamlessly fit in with my family.

He wears his wealth.

Expensive, fashionable style. Tailored suit pants, crisp button-down, black leather jacket, and dark Prada sunglasses. He’s a Burberry ad come alive.

He might look like a Cobalt, but he lived with the Hales for several months before graduating prep school. They took him in, even though his family’s home was only a street over in our gated neighborhood.

I should know him better than I do.

But I purposefully avoided Easton at family functions, at school when we’d attended Dalton together, and I wish I could avoid him now in college. It’s one thing to confront Xander’s cold shoulder, another to be stared down for an hour like I’ve put shaving cream on his pillow.

Xander scopes out the room, and when he catches my eyes, his whole chest sinks like a deflated balloon. He whirls around to leave.

Easton grabs onto his shoulder, then whispers in his ear for a long beat. With several words, he must convince my cousin to stay. I watch Xander nod a couple times and face my way again.

I imagine Easton said, Don’t let Ben ruin this for us. We’re already here. Let’s play the game.

I lean farther back in my chair as Quentin waves them over, unaware of the arctic frost he’s summoning toward me.

“Hey, guys, I’m Quentin, the club president. You can take a seat at this table.” He points to where I’m sitting. Xander looks everywhere but at me.

I might as well have evaporated into the air.

Quentin isn’t registering the tension, but his gaze does flit to the tall, tattooed bodyguard lingering in Xander’s shadow. “So that makes four,” he continues.

Donnelly readjusts the mic at the collar of his acid wash The Cure band tee. “Nah, I’ll be sitting this one out.”

Quentin nods. “Three is still enough players for a game.” He smiles excitedly like it was a stroke of fate that Xander and Easton walked right in.

More like shitty happenstance.

Or maybe I did something that caused this. My mind tries to reel for a split-second, but Xander’s presence is kicking me out of my head.

He’s hovering near the chair across from mine. I’m almost positive he’s about to ask Quentin if he can join a different game.

Then Easton sinks down in a chair, hands stuffed in his leather jacket.

“Sorry we missed the first meeting,” he apologizes to Quentin.

The cadence of his voice is flat and smooth.

“We were in between this and LARPing Club, which meets on the same night. But we found out they only do post-apocalyptic.”

“It’s not really our thing,” Xander adds, rubbing a hand against the back of his tensed neck. He’s still standing. Still diverting his gaze from mine.

Quentin is beaming at him. Star-struck.

He must’ve recognized Xander the moment he walked in, but he isn’t mentioning it. I like that for my cousin. Instead, Quentin tells them he’ll bring over an attendance sheet and questionnaire to get a sense of their experience level for strategy games.

I already know these two will beat my ass at Catan—but if Harriet doesn’t text me in…I check my watch. Five minutes. I’m not going to stay long anyway.

Quentin leaves, and I watch Donnelly follow him, probably to have him sign a non-disclosure agreement.

Xander and NDAs are one of the dynamic duos in the family.

It’s moments like these that I appreciate not having obsessive, all-consuming fame.

Novak is chilling by the doors, in eyesight but not glued to my heels.

I pop open my water bottle. “Why don’t you like post-apocalyptic LARPing?” I ask Xander as he finally sits.

He gives me a pointed look. “We don’t have to do this.”

Jesus. “It was an honest question, man.”

Easton has a casual arm on the back of Xander’s chair. “Pretending to survive a nuclear war and fight zombies isn’t fun. I’d much rather be drinking mead in a tavern with my Elvish brethren.” He makes geeky shit sound cool.

Xander’s lips quirk into a smile.

Yeah, they’re meant to be best friends. Maybe more than I ever was supposed to be, and I like that even more for my cousin. Xander would’ve lost me eventually, and Easton will stick around for him.

Speaking of friends. Where the fuck is mine? I glance at my phone again .

Easton hooks his sunglasses to his collar. “Everything okay?” I’m about to mention how Harriet is supposed to be here, but he adds, “Or is that another cousin you’re ignoring?”

I frown. “Xander is right here. I’m not ignoring?—”

“I’m not talking about Xander. I mean Winona. Vada .” Easton went to Dalton with the girl squad, and I knew he became friends with them through Xander, but I was at Penn during this time. Graduated. Gone.

I deflect. “Vada Abbey isn’t technically my cousin, man. We’re not blood related.”

“I’m aware.” He’s irritated by this. Why? I can’t process quickly enough. He’s already saying, “If you told anyone—Winona, Vada, me, Xander—that you’d been giving Adderall to Tate so he’d lay off the girls, then we could’ve done something when you left.” He tips his head to Xander, including him.

Xander’s jaw sharpens. He’s also pissed that I didn’t loop him in on what was happening right under his nose.

I didn’t want to put that pressure on Xander.

He was homeschooled most of his life. He didn’t need to deal with the awful parts of prep school.

The social piranhas who’d feed on you if you let them.

The douchebags who’d say they’d fuck your sister just to get a volatile reaction.

I wanted Xander to enjoy his time there.

I wanted to bubble-wrap him.

And I felt like I had it under control.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize from a deep place within me, but I can’t take it back. I can’t reverse what happened.

“I’m sorry too,” Easton says with heat. “Because if I knew, I wouldn’t have had to find Winona almost passed out in a fucking bathroom.”

A brutal chill ices my body. I’ve already thanked Easton for being there when she got drugged, but that’s not enough. I’m the cause.

People I love keep getting hurt because of me. It’s fucking inevitable at this point. Taking a hot swig of water, I swallow. “What’s your major?” I ask. “Hating me?”

“That’d mean I spend fifteen hours a week thinking about you, which I don’t.”

Point taken. “Debate then.”

“Business. Unfortunately, I have parents that don’t let me do whatever I want when they’re paying for my college.” Shots fired, but I don’t feel the bullet go through.

My frown deepens. “I thought you cut that leash when you moved in with the Hales?”

“No,” he says flatly. “I only moved in with Xander under the guise that it was a ‘learning experience’ for a potential internship with Hale Co.”

His parents just shipped him out to live with the wealthiest family on the block? It seems cold. I nod to him, then check my incoming texts. None from Harriet.

“Can we play the game?” Xander asks, unboxing Catan. “It’s the only reason I’m still here.”

I miss her. I’m worried about her. I need to see her.

“Ben is going to bail,” Easton says, reading me as I glance at the door. It’s like having one of my brothers at the table, and right now, that’s not helping abate my panic.

“You don’t know me, man,” I say, trying not to get worked up. I’m white-knuckling my water bottle.

Xander is more uncomfortable. He’s slowly pulling out decks of cards.

“I know this is your MO. You ditch people. You cut them dead. I’ve heard enough from Vada.”