Page 87 of Burn Bright (Cobalt Empire #1)

My eyes flame as I spin on him. There are so many things I could say—because I have a feeling there might not be another time we ever talk again.

But all that comes out of my mouth is pure fire.

“Fuck you for thinking I’m Hope. I’m not her.

I’m not even you. I am Harriet fucking Fisher.

I’m the girl who was smart enough to skip fifth grade.

The girl who’s brilliant enough to get a full ride to an Ivy.

The girl who’s proud enough to say I don’t need you.

I never needed you to succeed one single day of my life, and I won’t need you to become a doctor.

I will do that with the support of people who actually care about me, and thank you for reminding me it’s not you.

So fuck you.” I wipe an angry tear away.

“And you might hate Hope. You might think she’s the worst person in the world.

But look in the fucking mirror. Because you’ve never been any better. ”

Rage clouds my vision as I storm out of the lounge.

Out of the hospital. My breathing is labored as I land on the sidewalk.

Ambulance sirens blare as they veer into the emergency bay.

I’m shellshocked at my outburst—because that never happens.

I keep my words in. I keep my feelings tight.

I know I have too much to lose by cursing people out.

But I don’t regret it. The sentiment surges more powerfully. I do not regret it.

I’m proud of myself for unleashing my feelings. No Cobalt would’ve sulked out of the hospital with a tail between their legs. They would’ve stood their ground. Held their head fucking high.

Pride indestructible in the face of adversaries.

I just never thought my dad would be one. Until now.

All I want is to call Ben, but it’s Wednesday night. He’s back in Philly, eating dinner with his family, and I struggle to bother him. Who else to call?

Xander? I’d have to explain this whole situation.

Aunt Helena? She won’t understand why I went to see my dad in the first place, and the last thing I want to hear is a bunch of different variations of I told you so.

So I just go to my apartment. Make a bowl of ramen noodles. Curl up on the couch and click on the television to marathon some CSI. In no mood to even study for finals.

Ben texts at one point.

Ben

How’d it go?

I send him a thumbs-down emoji.

He immediately calls, but talking sounds strenuous. I’m one with the couch. Can’t even move to grab my earbuds, and Eden has her door ajar. I’m also not in the mood for my roommate to hear about my daddy issues.

So I text Ben.

Harriet

Don’t feel like talking tonight. Sry. Will chat with you tomorrow. All good.

Ben

The kissy face emoji is always used playfully when we text, so it tics up my lips just slightly. Still, I overturn my phone and squeeze my pillow beneath my head. Lying on the lumpy couch cushions, I didn’t even pull out the mattress.

Four episodes in and four grotesque murders solved later, a knock sounds on my door.

As if knowing I am a slovenly sloth tonight, Eden answers it. “Oh.” She startles. “I thought you might be Austin. Come in.”

Before I even exert effort to look, I hear him.

“Oh my God, not the Hello Kitty blanket,” Ben says like I’m in dire straits wrapped up in the hot pink fabric. The smile in his voice has an instant effect on me.

I almost smile back. “Don’t knock my emotional support blanket, Friend.”

“I’m only jealous you’re under there without me.

” He places a slim red vase of beautiful, perky sunflowers on the end table beside my dirty ramen bowl.

No one has ever given me flowers until him.

Let alone the many vibrant green plants he’s bestowed upon my apartment. I hear Eden’s bedroom door shutting.

Ben skims my couch-potato state.

I’m not even embarrassed. This sinking, weighted feeling overshadows even the ability to be mortified. And what’s so humiliating about Ben seeing my sadness? When, really, all I want is for someone to help take it away?

Ben towers. “I know I showed up unannounced, so if you want me to go, now’s the time to tell me, Fisher.” My last name rushes in a wave of grief I haven’t felt before. I love my name. I don’t ever want to hate it.

I swallow a lump. “Not afraid of jump-scaring me with your presence anymore?”

“A little scared. Still took the risk.” He’s drawing my gaze to his. “Did it pan out?”

I nod vigorously, tears pricking my eyes. “I’m really glad you’re here,” I say as my voice breaks.

Immediately, Ben has his arms around me. He’s scooping me up, cradling me while he sinks onto the couch. He brings me into his chest in an epic, consoling hug like he’s the god of solace. I bury my face into the crook of his arm, choking on a sob.

We’re both tangled in the Hello Kitty blanket, and I don’t really care. He plants tender kisses on my head, on my cheek, on my lips, and I ease with each one. Ten minutes pass before I’m able to release what happened into the air.

He is pissed at my dad. When I tell Ben I said “fuck you” to him, he nods a lot in relief, and it makes me feel really good. Still, there is a sense of loss I can’t thwart. My cinematic reunion with my dad in my white coat, with my M.D., with his love and pride for me—it’s been demolished.

He will never love me or be proud of me. I want to not care. Why should I even waste tears on him?

“You might want to let go of me,” I warn Ben, wiping the creases of my eyes while he uses the bottom of his shirt to dry my chin.

“Why?” he asks.

“I might just decay on you. I was becoming one with the couch before you showed up.”

“You weren’t doing a very good job.”

I snort out a surprised laugh. “What?” I squeak out.

His lips inch higher. “Yeah, you’re still a lot cuter than the couch, Fisher.” He pauses when he notices me wince at Fisher. “I can stop using your last name?—”

“No,” I interject. “Please, please don’t. I love my last name, and it’s mine . He doesn’t get to take that from me.”

Light touches his blue eyes. “Okay, Fisher. And I’m not letting go of you. So I have to warn you, we will be decaying on this couch together.”

My heart swells so much, I’m shocked it’s not bursting out of my ribcage . I blink away more tears. “You make it impossible,” I realize.

“What impossible?”

“To rot away.” I hold his deepening gaze that reaches into me. He seems to be gripping onto my expression, his chest falling and rising in time with mine. “How long have you been the sun?”

He cups my cheek. “I’m not the sun.”

“You are, Ben. Life can’t wither and die when you’re around. Nothing can go cold. Out of an entire Empire of stars, you’re the brightest in the sky.”

He smiles a little.

“What?” I sit up higher on his lap, our faces closer.

“I just know something that you don’t, smarty-pants,” he says as his gaze strokes mine.

“The sun isn’t the brightest star. It’s not even the hottest, but I still burn.

” His thumb caresses my cheek. “Because I’m mad .

Maddened for those I love. Maddened by their pain.

Maddened by life. Your agony is my plight.

Your torment, my war. Your love, my triumph.

I don’t know how to dim when I love you, Harriet. I only know how to burn bright.”