Page 47 of Burn Bright

“What do they want?” I ask.

“The usual. For me to hang out with them. I think Beckett must have put them up to it. They’re worried I’ll hate New York.”

“So now they’re on a group mission to make sure you love it?”

“More like to make sure I won’t move out in under two weeks. They want me to stick around.”

I frown. “Are you in threat of leaving?”

He nods, which plummets my stomach. “I can’t live with them all year. Charlie and I might kill each other.”

Okay, so he plans to stay in New York. He just needs to find new sleeping accommodations, which must be hard with his financial situation. I’m still not surewhyhe’s broke, even after he explained the stipulations behind his trust fund to me.

Maybe it’s an embarrassing story. Like he got duped or hustled out of a large fortune. It makes sense why he wouldn’t want to tell his family.

I figure when he’s ready, he’ll open up. It’s not like he’s taking an axe to my past. He’s been swinging gently. So I do too.

“Are you looking for an apartment?” I ask him.

“Not yet. First, I need to convince my brothers I’ll be fine on my own. It means hanging out with them a lot more than I would.”

I have so many questions. Why don’t his brothers think he’s fine? And why wouldn’t he want to spend time with them? Charlie, I get, but he doesn’t have any vitriol for the other three.

I want to ask but I’m running late.

Ben sees me check the time. “I’ll let you know how it goes with my brothers.” He eyes me. “Let me know how your honors advisor thing pans out too?”

My chest inflates with oxygen so suddenly that I feel like I could float into the sky. “Yeah, sure,” I say, trying to sound casual. Cool. I tell my brain,Relax. A hot guy asked you to update him on your day and he’ll update you on his.He didn’t profess his love and ask you to bear his children. We’re good.

We’re good.

10

BEN COBALT

My first week in New York, sleep has been tough, and it’s not because of the pull-out. I haven’t slept well this entire year. My phone is blowing up beside me. Silent messages light the screen on fire, and typically, I’d reply to my friends as something positive to do.

Smile emoji. Laugh-cry emoji. Send.

Now I just toss the phone onto the mattress and rest my elbows on my bent knees, the white sheet stretching with the movement.

It used to be enough, knowing I was a good influence in the lives of others, but I’m plagued with the reality that I could be hurting the people I love most. My family. My sisters. My brothers. It feels fucking…irrational.Because I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m not setting bombs in the living room. But I can’t rid the thought at night when my mind spins.

Being here sends a quiet panic under my skin, but I must be a living contradiction. Because seven days in and I still feel myself longing to stay. To be more than a voyeur.

I’ve seen how Beckett is always the first to wake. Before the sun bleeds the sky in orange, he’s showered and openingthe fridge for a hearty, high-protein breakfast. Turkey sausage, avocado, four sunny side up eggs, a slice of sourdough. Fuel for his rigorous ballet schedule.

He’ll make me an almond butter, banana smoothie before I even ask. We’ve eaten every breakfast together since I moved in, and there’s been no pressure to dig into the night I went postal.

Beckett is just interested about my life in this moment. He’s been like that ever since he left for New York at sixteen. He plays catch-up better than the rest of us because he’s done it for so long, and there’s such genuine intrigue in his need to know. It’s as if my words paint a picture of all the moments he’s missing, and for a brief second, he can see it play like a film.

The fact that he wants to watch the movie of my life makes me love him even more, but I just wish it were a riveting one. Yesterday, I talked mostly about hockey. How I was considering trying out for Manhattan Valley’s team.

“Do you want to play?” he asked, his fork hovering over his eggs.

I thought about it for a second. “I want to be great at something. This is the only thing I’ve ever excelled at, Beck, and I’m not even that good at it.”

He made a face. “Youaregood.”