Page 89 of Burn Bright (Cobalt Empire #1)

Connor is basically the same height as Ben. The one-inch difference is so miniscule, but he’s not trying to loom over me. Which I appreciate. Ben’s friendliness is definitely from his father.

His mom is a hawk, watching me as I wrap myself up in my leather jacket like a bat cocooning itself in wings. I might be scowling at her. Shit.

“Rose, darling,” Connor says with a grin.

She snaps a glare at him, then comes forward with a finger raised. “I’m not a hugger, but I will make an exception this once. Do not judge me on the quality of this hug.”

That blunt honesty eases my nerves. “No judgment here,” I say as she comes in for a hug…but it’s more like a light tap on my shoulders. She wasn’t fucking lying. The fact that she wanted to hug me though—that means something, right?

I’m about to turn to Ben, but Rose tells me, “I’m stealing you away for a little bit. Follow.” She gestures a finger toward herself, and I leave Ben’s side like his mom has put a fucking spell on me. Maybe she really is Maleficent.

Rose takes me to a private courtyard attached to Loxley Hall. Iron bistro chairs and round tables scatter the cobblestone, and she chooses one beside a heat lamp.

We sit. “This fucking wind,” she growls, swatting her lush, glossy brown hair out of her face and crossing her legs. “We should have made the boys come out here.” She eyes me. “What do you think? Switch places?”

She’s asking my opinion? “I’m okay.” I stuff my hands in my leather jacket. “The heater is nice.”

Rose pulls out a black winter beanie from the purse she places on the table. “Here, put this on at least. Your ears are getting pink.”

I accept the hat, grateful because my ears do burn from the wind. As I wedge it over my head, I ask, “Aren’t your ears cold?”

She leans farther back, the hem of her peacoat nearly skimming the stone patio.

“Me? No . I’ve embraced the cold. It’s the monstrous gusts of wind determined to mess up my hair that I take issue with.

” She only leans forward when a twentysomething, fashionable girl—sporting a plaid peacoat and turtleneck dress—appears with two coffees.

“Allegra Piscitelli, my personal assistant,” Rose introduces us.

“Allegra, this is Harriet Fisher, my youngest son’s girlfriend. ”

I remove a hand from the warmth to raise it in greeting.

“Nice to meet you,” Allegra says. “This is for you.” She hands me the coffee cup. “Black drip, one espresso shot, no milk, no sugar.”

“Yeah…? How do you know my usual order?”

“I asked Ben,” Rose answers into her sip. “Thank you.” Her sharp perfunctory thank you sends Allegra away. Her assistant seems happy to escape into the warm indoors. “Don’t be nervous.”

I expel a tight breath. “Am I that obvious?”

“You keep hugging yourself like you’re afraid your bowels are going to spill onto the floor.”

“What an image,” I say flatly. “Maybe I’m just cold.”

“Scoot closer.” She waves me toward the metal heater, then fiddles with the knob, raising the temperature for me.

Is it weird that I think I already love her?

My eyes burn. How is that possible—that in two seconds, I already wish she were my mom? When it’s taken me years to convince myself to have even a morsel of affection toward the woman who birthed me?

Sitting back in the iron chair, Rose pushes hair off her shoulder, then picks up her coffee.

“When I first met Connor’s mother, I threw wine on her blouse, so just know you can’t make a more hostile first impression than me.

Unless you throw the coffee. Which I considered getting on ice just in case karmic justice came back to bite me today. ”

“Chances of coffee-throwing are very low,” I assure her.

Her lip quirks, then she scans me. “You’re the first girl Ben has ever introduced us to. He wouldn’t even let us meet his Prom date.”

I didn’t know that.

“We’ve gotten really close. He means a lot to me.

He’s…” How do you even describe someone who’s become your best friend, the person you ache to share every aspect of your life with because their mere presence just fills your soul?

“There is no one like Ben. You raised an incredible person with a heart I feel fortunate to know, and if anyone hurts him, I’d probably go to jail for stabbing them in the eye. ”

“I’ll be right behind you for stabbing the other one.”

I laugh.

She smiles into her sip of coffee, staining the rim with dark rouge lipstick.

“I’m very new at this whole meeting one of my son’s partners, so forgive me if I sound too blunt.

But he’s treating you well? Because I will drag him to the center of a burning volcano—by his earlobe—if I hear he’s being anything other than chivalrous. ” Her eyes flame like she means it.

I didn’t expect her to want to protect me.

My throat tries to swell closed. “No, Ben is such a gentleman. He’s honest. Caring.

The best, really.” I add fast, “And I don’t know if you’ve been afraid of it—but I’m not with him because he’s a Cobalt.

Like, honestly, I couldn’t care less that you all are famous, no offense.

He could live in a tent out by a creek, and I’d be stupidly giddy if he invited me inside. ”

She grimaces at the word tent. “Do you like the outdoors?”

“Uh, no.” I shake my head hard. “No, I foresee myself in the city…” I trail off, grateful for the coffee to drink away the pause.

“As a doctor,” she concludes for me.

“Yes.” I nod, licking coffee off my lips. “That’s the goal.”

Rose is processing quickly. She edges forward. “My children being taken advantage of does cross my mind, but Connor and I haven’t suspected you of anything nefarious. That being said, have you and Ben discussed your futures?”

“He knows I want to be a surgeon. I can’t exactly accomplish that in an RV or backpacking the Appalachian trail.”

Her nails clank the iron table. “Has he bought an RV?”

“No,” I say fast. Oh shit . “No, I was just throwing out hypotheticals. He doesn’t even talk a lot about what he wants to do beyond this semester.” That is true.

As wind picks up, she tugs black gloves on her fingers. “Are you two being safe?”

“In what way?”

“If you’re sexually active.” She grabs her coffee. “I was on birth control when I became pregnant with my first.”

My eyes bug. “Are you serious? Did the condom break?” I can’t believe I’m asking Rose Calloway this. Not to mention, Ben’s mom. But she’s making this conversation easy. I’d almost believe she wants me to ask.

“No condom. I was on the pill, and I proudly never missed a day.”

I’m freaking out. “That’s like a one percent chance of getting pregnant.” My face falls. “I’m on the pill too.”

“Just be very careful,” she says ominously.

“What, is there something in Cobalt sperm?” I’m joking of course; as a lady of science, this is absurd.

“The tireless willpower to impregnate, yes. I’ve already cautioned my sons a thousand times.”

“We’ll be extra safe.” Maybe we’ll use condoms when I’m ovulating and chances of pregnancy are higher. I’ll have to talk to Ben. Part of me still thinks this is silly.

But if it turns out he has godlike super sperm and knocks me up, I might actually start believing I’m with some immortal being.

She plucks out her phone. “I understand being focused on career goals, so let me know a time that’s best for you to meet again. I want to bring you to Le Petit Rêve. It’s my favorite café in the city. We can make it a girl’s date or invite Ben and Connor. What’s your number?”

I exchange numbers with his mom. She also sends me Connor’s cell too. While I add them to my contacts, I receive a new text.

Tom

Meet me at Duke’s on 10th at 7 p.m.? Just you, Harry. Ben doesn’t need to come.

Even though we’ve been around each other more, Tom and I still volley insults like we’re competing in some deranged version of Wimbledon. I don't think we’re friends, so this invite to a Hell’s Kitchen diner without Ben is strange. He must sense my hesitance because another message pops up.

Tom

I will repay you however you want. Free favor on the house. Just give me a half hour.

I hope I don’t regret this. I send him a reply.

Harriet

Fine, Thomas. See you then.

I ’m on a high from meeting Ben’s parents, from how well it went, and it’s all about to be squashed by Tom.

As I walk up to the diner, Tom stands beneath the lightbulb marquee sign blinking Duke’s on 10 th , and he says, “We’re not going inside.”

I glare. “Then where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.” He clasps my hand and climbs inside an SUV, tugging me in behind him.

I hug my messenger bag on my lap as the car peels out, his bodyguard driving. “If you weren’t Ben’s brother, you would have a face full of pepper spray, dude.”

His blue eyes fall to my bag. “Packing weapons? I thought you just tote around five-gallon tubs of Jolly Ranchers.”

“I could pelt you with candy too.”

He’s distracted, staring out the window. Squinting a ton to inspect a building, maybe. “Ian, you can stop here,” he instructs his bodyguard.

It shocks me how much I’m trusting someone beyond myself and Ben. The possibility of Tom playing a massive prank on me is low, though. He loves his little brother too much. But I do worry he’s going to rope me into trouble somehow.

I’m more surprised when we enter a recording studio. “Tom?” I drop my messenger bag in the booth. Instruments are set up behind the glass. Guitars. Microphones. A drum kit.

“Come out here for a second,” Tom says.

My head is whirling when he leads me into the most professional recording space I’ve ever stepped foot in—hell, it’s the only one I’ve ever been in. This is legit.

“Put these on.” He hands me chunky black headphones.

“ Tom .”

He takes a pair of headphones too.

“ Tom , what are we doing?” I ask flat-out, realizing I might not be a fan of big surprises. I need information like immediately.

He rests headphones around his neck. “You’re about to listen to a song for The Carraways. I wrote it after Warren quit. Drums could be better because I’m not great on them, admittedly, so it’s a little rough.”

“You want my feedback on your new song?” I ask.

He nods with the tip of his head, so I’m guessing that’s a meh, not really. But he does say, “I want you to play with me.”

“What?” I rock backward.

“Just listen to the song first. Play it on drums. Get a feel, then we’ll talk.”

I’m already here, and I am curious about the song.

He jumps back into the booth, partially hidden behind glass.

Leaving me alone among the instruments. Then the music pours through the headphones.

I put my hands to them as Tom’s passionate, melodic voice accompanies rage-fused guitar riffs and drumbeats.

I go very still as the song stirs emotion so incredibly deep inside me, as the chorus seeps into my bloodstream. I remember this same overwhelming feeling when I first heard My Chemical Romance’s “Famous Last Words.” It’s like Tom is speaking directly to me. To what I just experienced with my dad.

You could never take the reason I woke.

You could never take my anger you provoke.

This voice, these feet, this heart of a thousand beats will go on.

Don’t worry, I don’t need you to see.

Any fucking part of me.

I don’t need you.

You’ll wish you knew.

Any fucking part of me.

The fire you feel is blue.

Don’t you wish you knew?

Any fucking part of me.

Holy shit.

I am in love with this song. Possessed by the furious, heart-wrenching energy, I immediately go to the drums, grab the sticks, and I play as Tom restarts the track.

It is a blackout euphoria. To pour my emotion onto the drums. All the hurt my dad caused just leaves me with each crack on the snare. Each boom on the kick-drum. Each bang of my sticks.

Don’t worry, I don’t need you to see.

Any fucking part of me.

I don’t need you.

By the end, I pant for air and focus when I hear Tom’s elated voice. “Whoa, Harry!” He comes sling-shotting out of the booth. “That was way better than what I did. You are epic. ” He’s applauding hard as he nears. “And?” His grin is huge and magnetic.

“The song is sick.” I shake my head, still awed.

“I know.” His grin just grows.

I roll my eyes, then stand up.

“So?” He wavers a little, maybe seeing I’m not jumping for joy. “Join the band. You and me.”

“Just us?”

“We can make two work. I talked to the label. They’re down for the change.”

“You want me, even when you rejected me?”

“Because you were seventeen?—”

“Then I turned eighteen, dude,” I retort. “You still rejected me then .”

“We were working with other drummers, and Warner?—”

“Oh you’re going to blame this on Warner when he’s not around to defend himself. Really, Tommy ?”

“He didn’t want a girl in the fucking band,” Tom says seriously. “Specifically you . He thought you were hot and that it would’ve complicated shit. I would’ve been a hypocrite if I fought him on that point, because I threw out Phoenix St. Pierre as a potential drummer for the same reason.”

“Phoenix? The drummer for Nothing Personal?” I say flatly. “That band sucks.”

Tom lights up. “See, this is exactly why we’re meant to be, Harry. We both have the same taste in music and recognize Phoenix as trash.”

I shift my weight.

“Listen to the song again.” He urges me to put my headphones back on. “Play it again.”

I want to so badly. “Tom, I’m in college to be a doctor.

I can’t also be a drummer. It’s impossible.

” There is no avenue to do both. Attending med school, then entering a residency—it is even more time consuming than undergrad.

Being in The Carraways means going on tour around the country, which sounds… unreal. But also, a time suck.

“I’m not asking you to change your life on the spot, this moment, this minute,” he says. “Take days, weeks, the next month if you need more time to decide. But we could create something really special, Harriet. So I need you to know that I want you.”

Is this the first time he’s ever called me Harriet?

He’s serious. He really wants me to be a part of The Carraways. The allure is as luminous as Tom is, and I feed on his energy.

I don’t have to decide now. It lets me bask in this moment. My lips tic up a little as elation flows through me. “Can I play it again?”

“Fuck yes.”