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)
I pace along the marbled tile before I gather the courage to dial my dad’s number. I lose my nerve and hang up on the second ring. Shit. Fuck.
Scraping a hand through my hair, I blow out a breath. Get your shit together. You can do this. I jump when the phone buzzes in my hand.
Holy shit, he’s calling me back with a video request. I’m almost positive this is because I’m calling from Charlie’s phone. I do not have this kind of relationship with our dad. He would think I butt-dialed him or, better yet, am taunting him to call me back just to pester him.
My fingers skate along my jaw in apprehension.
There’s really no avoiding this conversation now. I accept the video call, and my dad’s face fills the screen. Cannot even gloat over the furrowed brows and confusion pinching his expression. Catching my dad off guard—a real phenomenon.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Tom,” he says with surprised breath. “Tout va bien?” Is everything okay?
“Uhhh…” I adjust the phone on the vanity, leaning it up against the mirror. “Not really.”
“Did you steal Charlie’s phone?” he questions.
“I can see how that’d be a reasonable conclusion. But no. He gave it to me. Or did I grab it from him?” I cast my gaze to the ceiling, spending an excessive amount of time pondering this trivial fact. I’d love to just disintegrate into the dust particles in the air to escape this talk.
“Put Charlie on the phone—”
“No, no.” I hold up my hands. “This is a me-and-you thing.”
His frown deepens.
“Father and son. Man-to-man.” I let out a strained breath. “Holy shit, this is already going terribly.”
“Ralentis. Respire et dis-moi ce qui ne va pas.” Slow down. Take a breath and tell me what’s wrong.
I follow his suggestion, inhaling deeply. Then I focus on his sport coat and the coffee mug in his hand. It’s early morning, and it looks like he hasn’t left for work yet. I can see the shelves behind him from the breakfast nook in my childhood home. The familiarity eases my panic.
“I’m taking Adderall,” I suddenly confess.
He nods like I just told him my horoscope for the day.
“You already knew?” I ask in shock.
“Not entirely, but I thought you might have been on a stimulant,” he says. “Your pupils have been dilated more than once at dinner.”
“Great. Yeah.” I thread my fingers through my hair. “Mom knows?”
He nods again. “Are you abusing it?”
“It’s not a prescription.”
“So you are, Tom.” His tone is placid and tinged with disappointment. “That would be a yes.”
“Oui, oui,” I say dryly and throw up my hands. “I want to stop, if that makes a difference. I do want to stop. I just don’t know how when this is helping the band.”
My dream has always felt too fragile. A tiny kindling of smoke and flame. Ready to die out with one little gust. I’ve just now begun building a small fire. How do I let go without feeling like I’ve choked oxygen from it? Killed it. Destroyed it.
“I assume you’re taking it to stay awake then,” he says into a sip of coffee.
He’s so calm. This discussion is literally setting me ablaze. I can’t stand still. I start to pace in front of the phone. “Assumptions would be correct. It’s a net positive. Overall benefit. I’ve gotten a lot done with the extra hours.”
“What’s been the cost?”
“Not much.” I’m off screen and glaring at the ceiling. Hands on my head.
“Tom, come back in frame,” he says gently. “Please.”
I wince and then sidestep so he can see me.
His blues infiltrate my guarded walls. Sincerity and love stare back at me. “What’s been the cost?” he asks again.
My palms remain on my head to keep my lungs open. It’s the only way I’m going to keep breathing through this painful exercise. “I’m hurting Phoenix,” I admit. “Like it hurts so bad knowing how much I’m hurting him. I can feel myself getting closer and closer to putting him in a position where he’d consider giving me an ultimatum. Quit Adderall or he quits the band.” I shake my head. “And I would be devastated if I pushed him there.”
“So don’t.”
I laugh, a pained laugh. “Right, yeah. So easy. Thanks for the advice, Dad.” I flip him off.
He tilts his head, completely unbothered by me. “Did you call me for a bedtime story?” He arches a brow at the rhetorical question. “If you want a softer answer or someone to placate you, you can call your brother.” He’s referring to Eliot.
“Dude, I’m like ten seconds from hanging up on you.”
“Do it,” he says casually into another sip of coffee.
I hate that. He knows how competitive I am. I legit cannot hang up on him now. Fuck me. And do I even want to end this call without resolution? I need real help.