Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 220
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
She’s still filming us, and Tom tells her, “Hey, can we cut for a sec?”
“Yeah, yeah, I can’t use that anyway. Devil Hots wouldn’t like it, or maybe…” She cocks her head in thought.
I find out two days later she went with the or maybe option and posted my Madison Ave puke fest to her followers. It’s not what goes viral.
I’ve apparently given Tom an “up-down” look during a few interviews, including the Tiff Montclair podcast and the Susie Mac street video. I barely checked him out. Barely. For videos to go viral, I thought they’d need like a billion views, but Tom said over a million was enough.
I’ve had an explosion of followers and guilt at knowing this is my fault.
Tom reminds me they’re also dissecting his body language in the Susie Mac interview, but every clip I’ve seen has been about me.
They’re all speculating my sexuality. They want to know if I have the hots for Tom Carraway Cobalt.
The answer: every fucking day. Oh and he also drives me insane.
Tom’s phone becomes a buzzing nightmare of DMs from guys asking to fuck. Some just send wet and eggplant emojis. “I did not ask for this,” he groans, blocking another person.
I narrow my gaze. “You asked for ‘other things,’ which is about as open-ended as asking to be dicked down by all of New York.”
“I don’t want that,” he professes deeply to me.
“I know. You just want to be dicked down by me.” I laugh when he faceplants onto his bed.
His phone buzzes again. “Okay,” he says fast, rolling over with his phone. “Okay, I’m turning off my DMs.”
Thank God.
At the tail end of the press junket, Riot lands us a local news outlet, and we’re aware the trending videos about our personal lives brought us our first live performance on-air. I have mixed emotions.
So does Tom, but we’re both too ecstatic at the opportunity to play “Nuclear Winter” and for more people to hear our music.
First, we need to film a short interview segment live on Good Morning Manhattan. We’re not even a minute in, and this old dickhead news anchor focuses on me. “Wolfgang St. Pierre.” He finger-snaps at me. “Now, as I’ve heard by my much younger colleagues who keep me ‘in the know’—you’ve been trending on social media the past week.”
“So Tom tells me,” I nod, gripping my jostling knees and wishing to release this amassing tension behind my drums. “I’m not online as much.”
“Something we have in common,” he chuckles. I’m on edge as he gestures a hand to Tom while staring at me. “Tom is openly gay.” Here we go. “Would you care to share about yourself?”
Tom chokes on a sound of irate shock. He’s about to interject for me, but I answer too fast, “I’m also openly gay, and I think we want to play now—right, Tom?”
“Yep. Right now.” He’s tearing off the mic clipped to his ripped collar. Interview over early. The old man is slack-jawed, a little floored that Tom would leave mid-segment. I’m less shocked because Tom always risks looking like a snobby rich kid.
He’d risk this a thousand times over to reinforce my boundaries, which are typically very hard to push. Tom knows this, as someone who likes pushing them.
I stare at my singer for a longer moment. My lungs keep swelling. Falling for him feels like smacking into concrete. It almost hurts.
Maybe because I don’t want Tom to put me above the success of the album. Even if this feels good in the moment. His loyalty should be to his dreams. I can’t be another Warner. I can’t ground a rising star.
Commercial break arrives, and the GMM producer apologizes to Tom for the personal question. It was on our do not ask list. Jeremy already warned us that some news outlets will take that list, crumple it up, and throw it in our faces.
Tom has no time to reply. We’re ushered to the set with our instruments, and I’m not over it. He’s not over it.
We pour all our frustrations and fury into “Nuclear Winter” live on Good Morning Manhattan. Tom is on his knees belting from the core like he’s being chained to the snow.
I’m fighting for breath by the end, and the news studio feels eerily silent. Tom glances back at me when he fits the mic in the stand, and I think we both know this is a turning point.
I’m still breathing hard when we’re in the SUV and waiting for our publicist and manager, who attended the live broadcast. Riot Records was supposed to send a label rep, but they just didn’t show.
We realized they had a conflicting engagement with one of their bigger, established rock bands, and they chose to attend the other band’s Good Morning America press coverage today.
I get it.
Tom gets it.