Page 63 of Burn Bright (Cobalt Empire #1)

BEN COBALT

T his. This is exactly what they all knew at the start of the dinner. It wasn’t about Harriet. Their concern has escalated because they know about the fucking estate lawyer.

I hadn’t even considered that my parents could find out I contacted him. Which makes me the fool. He’s not just my dad. He’s Connor Cobalt. He might as well be an all-knowing deity who chooses not to overly interfere in his children’s lives—unless he thinks something terrible will happen.

I shake out my thoughts. “Meet with who?”

“Gordon Brown.”

Yup. That’s him.

I am unblinking. Staring at the flickering candles in front of Beckett.

Wow, my dad must be triply concerned if he’s decided to do this among everyone.

By their patient silence, I’m positive they all knew this was coming and were instructed to take backseat roles.

“What is this—an ambush?” I ask him. “You couldn’t pull me aside and ask me privately? ”

“We are beyond that,” he says gently.

My brows hike upward. “Is this an intervention?” I question him, then Mom.

“For meeting with a fucking estate lawyer?” I am panicked, terrified for them to know the entire truth, but all of this translates outwardly into anger.

“Why? Why the fu—” I cut myself off. Don’t curse.

My parents aren’t big sticklers about swearing.

They might make a comment if we throw out a bunch of fucks , but I just prefer not cursing up a storm around them out of courtesy. “Why would this be a problem?”

“The timing gave us a reason for concern,” he explains.

“The timing,” I echo with a heated nod. “Right.”

Shit. Fuck. All I can do is hope that Gordon cares about my client-attorney privilege more than Novak cared about our client-bodyguard one. “You ran into him?” I wonder. “He called you up?”

“Last time I talked with him, he mentioned seeing you.”

I wish I ate my seitan during opening remarks.

I’m too nauseous to even consider consuming a walnut.

My mind is whirling a mile a minute, and I tuck in closer to the table and level my hands.

“Okay, so everyone can stop freaking out about me— yes , I did meet with Gordon Brown in May.” I name the time of date that has them troubled.

“Yes, it was after I attacked Tate Townsend. That night, I was thinking a lot about death because I could’ve killed a guy, so I started thinking I should be more involved in my own estate planning. ”

“That’s reasonable,” Eliot says quietly, eyeing our dad.

I shake my head at my dad, like come on. “I’m trying to be more responsible after doing something pretty irresponsible like putting my fist in another guy’s face and sending him to the hospital.”

“Why not share this with us?” Dad questions. “Why do you feel the need to hide it?”

“It didn’t cross my mind.”

I can’t masterfully lie to them, but that doesn’t mean I have to spill the whole truth. They’re just going to have to sit longer without all the information. And yeah, for my family that’s like telling them to go dig their own graves.

“Look, things are better in New York,” I say, which is true. I’ve grown closer to Harriet there.

Mom straightens her silverware. “What exactly did you discuss with Gordon?”

“Legal stuff.” I stop myself from picking up a fork and pushing around a potato on my plate. They will only let go if I maintain eye contact. Directness.

“So specific,” Charlie mutters dryly.

“What does it matter?” I shrug at them. “I made sure my will is updated.”

That isn’t all I did.

Heaviness falls over the room, so thick it’s suffocating. Audrey is wide-eyed with fear. I’m not following.

“Can someone fill me in please?” I ask, alarm seeping into my bloodstream. It’s taking everything to stay in my chair.

Mom is caging so much breath, her collarbones are protruding. “Ben,” she manages to say, but cuts her icy gaze to our dad to finish.

“We’re here for you. Always,” Dad says, then addresses me with my siblings.

“All seven of you are extensions of myself and Rose, and it’s impossible for me not to love each one.

” I must be the weakest extension then. I don’t say it.

I just swallow hard while his deep blue eyes return to mine.

“And I’d hope you’d feel like you can come to us at any point.

Even if what you’re dealing with are emotions too deep. ”

I nod stiffly, realizing where this is going. “I updated my will,” I say in a tight breath. “I didn’t write a suicide note that night. I’m okay. ”

“You weren’t contemplating it?” Mom asks outright. “Because if you still feel?—”

“I wasn’t and I’m not ,” I say strongly, being gravely honest. “I appreciate the worry, I do.” Don’t fucking cry.

“I love that you care enough about me to push, even when it’s aggravating, but I’m okay.

And honestly, I’d rather just enjoy this dinner.

It might be one of the last with Beckett for a while, and can we not make it all about me? ”

That does the trick.

They all voice their love of me in their own way, and Mom reiterates she’s happy I’m here tonight. I’m not relaxed, honestly.

Then Eliot toasts, “To Wednesdays.” We all lift our glasses. He takes a dramatic, serious pause. “Which should always revolve around me.” He’s the only one who drinks, and I start laughing, which causes the whole table to follow. Mirth spreads like a contagion.

I love you, Eliot. He winks at me before he slouches backward.

Everyone begins to dig into the cranberries, roasted potatoes, carrots, as forks clatter and dishes clink. Mom rises with her wine. “This concludes opening remarks.” She sips. “Now the game truly begins.”

Jane unfurls a notebook and clicks her sparkly pen.

The second half of dinner—the literal game portion—I tend not to speak as much, but I’m always engaged.

Like now, I listen as Beckett tees off the first question. “Which Greek god is associated with a gentle spring breeze?”

I know this one. “Zephyrus,” Charlie says almost as soon as Beckett stops speaking.

He’s right, of course. Charlie never answers incorrectly. Sure, he’s been stumped before, usually by our mom or dad, but if he speaks, it’s with unwavering confidence and he’s never wrong.

No phones are out, not even slyly hidden under the table.

Cheating will have you immediately banished from the dining room.

Unable to finish your meal or participate.

When we were kids, Tom risked many nights without dinner just to see if he could outwit our dad using the internet, but it never worked.

He was caught pretty early on each time. I could practically hear his stomach growling as he left. I doubt he hated missing out on the food more than being with all of us. Because Eliot would always sneak him leftovers.

So right now, my siblings and parents are spouting off trivia questions without reference material.

You have to come prepared. Anyone can ask anything, but asking means you lose the chance to gain a point.

First to ten wins. It’s been this way since before I was born.

Our parents never went easy and let us win, even when Audrey sobbed that all she wanted for her seventh birthday was to be the Wednesday Night Dinner champion.

“You have to earn it yourself, ma petite,” our dad told her sweetly. “It can’t be handed to you.”

Up until Charlie turned fourteen, our mom and dad were always the victors.

The night he finally beat them, my siblings and I all jumped out of chairs and roared with so much exhilaration, my voice went hoarse.

We bounced up and down. Eliot threw a plate.

We cheered like the Eagles won the fucking Super Bowl, and to us, it was like our chosen Gladiator finally took down the mightiest of opponents.

And Charlie looked so happy—the happiest I’d ever seen him, maybe in my entire life, was that night.

“It is four points to Charlie,” Jane calls out the current score. “Four to Dad, three to Mom, two to me, and one to Eliot.” She taps her notebook with the pen. “And proceed.”

“What did Prometheus steal from the gods?!” Audrey shouts quickly to slip her question into the mix.

“Fire,” too many people say at once. No one shares points, so the question is tossed.

Still, this might end up being a short game since the theme is Classical Mythology.

They know I have an exam soon, and this wouldn’t be the first time a Wednesday Night Dinner is constructed to help one of us study.

Audrey slumps.

“Try something harder,” Charlie suggests and not nicely.

“It was meant to be easy,” she retorts, stabbing a carrot with her fork.

Charlie opens his mouth, but Mom cuts him off quickly, “What was Dionysus’ name before he was resurrected?”

“Zagreus,” Eliot slices goose on his plate with a knife. “Thank you for the soft ball, Mom.”

“She’s just ensuring I won’t win,” Dad grins at her from across the table. “Isn’t that right, Rose?”

Mom doesn’t deny. “I’m sure Dionysus will appear on Ben’s exam. I’m helping our youngest son pass a college course.”

“Two birds, one stone,” Dad says.

Audrey pipes in, “Can we not inflict pain upon a bird, even metaphorically?” She casts a kind look to me, and I smile over at my sister.

“Yes, Richard ,” Mom says, “leave the murdering of fowl out of dinner conversation.”

His brow arches. “Because the dismemberment of people is better?”

“I’ve yet to rip out your tongue, but don’t push me. There is always time to curse you with eternal silence.”

“Which would displease you most of all.”

We drum the floor with our feet, and Mom’s smile is enough to cause most of us to grin. Yeah, I do not know how to leave this behind. I really, really don’t. I have to. Don’t I?

“In Greek mythology,” Charlie says while picking up his wine, “Pandora was given a jar containing all the evils known to mankind. When she unleashed it upon humanity—what was the only thing left inside?”

“Hope,” Mom says, her eyes meeting mine.

My pulse tries to skip. I break apart my seitan, not eating much, because now I’m thinking I should tell them about the frat. Tonight. Withholding my meeting with the estate lawyer just caused more drama and speculation. It’s better if they know I’m moving out soon.

“Wait, it’s not a jar,” Tom says to Charlie. “It’s a box. Pandora’s box , dude.”

“Pithos,” Dad explains. “It’s the Greek term used in Hesiod’s writing, which refers to a jar. The kind used for grain, wine, oil.”

Mom further clarifies, “It was mistranslated later as pyxis. Which means small box.”

“Oh I have one,” Jane straightens up, then washes down her bite of food with water. “What are the goddesses of the seasons?”

“The Horae,” I’m able to say before Charlie. “Or Hours. They personify the four changing seasons and the passage of time.” The cycle of human life.

“Well done, Pippy,” Jane beams, jotting down a point for me.

Eliot creaks back in his chair. “Greek mythos: Which of the rivers of the Underworld is the River of Woe?”

“Acheron,” Dad says smoothly.

“Not Styx?” Audrey frowns.

“No,” Charlie looks over at her. “Some Roman poets will reference this to Styx, but he said Greek.”

Eliot leans forward to explain, “Acheron is the river associated with pain, sorrow, and woe. It’s the river the dead must cross to enter Hades, little sister.”

“Of course, I knew that part,” Audrey says pointedly. “I’m sixteen , not twelve.”

“Here we go again,” Tom mutters into a big gulp of wine.

Dad manages to keep us on track, and I have to wait until the game ends to surface the frat.

I’m a little jittery, but I’m relieved when Jane finally decrees Mom as the winner, Charlie in second, and Dad in third, only partially due to Mom soft-balling questions toward those of us who’d know hers before Dad could answer them.

As napkins are folded and Jane hoists her baby out of the highchair, I let the bomb drop. “I’m planning to join a frat.”

Chairs scrap back into the table. Even Jane sinks into her seat and passes Maeve to Thatcher.

“Well, I’m thinking about it,” I continue. “I just wanted everyone to know while we’re together that it’s looking like I might be living with the frat soon, so I’ll be out of your hair.” I glance around at my four brothers.

“You were never bothering us,” Beckett says deeply. “You don’t have to move out. We’ve never wanted you to.”

“Yeah,” Tom pipes in. “We’ve enjoyed the company, Ben Pirrip.”

“Makes our lives far more interesting,” Eliot grins, which floods my lungs. I feel good knowing I haven’t been the worst roommate alive, even if I have been a pretty awful brother.

I crumple my cloth napkin in my hand. “I was never planning on staying there long. I told you all that.” I shrug stiffly. “The frat thing might be what I need.”

“You’re a sophomore,” Dad says. “Are you sure the fraternities at MVU will let you live in the houses on campus? At some colleges, it’s a privilege for upperclassmen only.”

Yeah, no. I did not consider this major flaw. “I guess I’ll find out soon.”