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)
“Tom,” Beckett calls out. “You coming?”
They’re waiting for me.
I look back and forth, my loyalty stretching painfully. How does watching Phoenix tonight help the band? It doesn’t. I am a good brother. Then I nod. “Yeah.” I climb inside.
16
TOM COBALT
“What the fuck are you doing?” Phoenix asks me with narrowed, judgmental eyes.
We met in Washington Square Park this morning, and I already downed three shots of espresso and fixed problems with the second verse in one of our more complicated songs. It’s been a productive morning, so I’m expecting the other shoe to drop at any minute.
Never did I think it’d be over this.
“I’m uniting the nations with my charm,” I tell him. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“It looks like I’m about to take you to the emergency room for rabies.”
He’d take me to the emergency room.
Would he carry me there or call a cab? And why is that question destroying my brain right now? I don’t move my hand away from the squirrel as it nibbles the nuts out of my palm.
“Dude, I’ve been feeding these squirrels since I was like four. They’d never betray me.”
“You do know you can’t earn loyalty from a fucking rodent—” He glances to the empty spot on the bench where I hear the buzz of my cellphone. “You’re getting a call.”
“Be free!” I call out and toss the remainder of the nuts in the grass. The squirrel jumps off the fence and dashes for them. My fingers bite from the cold, and I slip my glove back on.
Still sitting on the bench, Phoenix holds out my cell toward me. The longer strands of his hair stick out from his baseball cap. A black scarf is loosely tied around his neck, and his exposed skin flushes pink from the cold.
His brows rise when I reach for my cell. “You really don’t have your mom in your phone as Mom?”
The words ROSE CALLOWAY engulf the screen.
“Correct. Because I’m not boring.” When I snatch my phone from him, I silently remind myself to stop leaving my cell sitting around. It’s a bad habit when someone else could have swiped it from the bench if Phoenix hadn’t been sitting right next to it.
I pull off my beanie, pressing the phone to my ear. “Hi, Mom,” I greet.
“Is this a bad time?” she asks, the frost in her voice perpetual. That’s also been her standard question ever since Phoenix joined the band. She knows I’m under an astronomical amount of pressure to finish the album—and more than anyone, she sympathizes with deadlines. With her fashion line, it’s not like she can put out winter wear in the middle of July.
I eye Phoenix. His brows furrow as he types on his phone, engrossed with something.
“I have a second,” I tell her.
“Good. I’m adding your father on the call. He’s flying home from Paris.”
I frown. That sounds ominous. Most of my joint calls with them result in me being reprimanded for something.
You do know it’s illegal to…
Ride an e-scooter on the sidewalk.
Release helium balloons (even if they are shaped like miniature balloon versions of your uncles).
Vape at Coney Island (or any beach nearby for that matter).
Feed the pigeons and squirrels.
I glance at my squirrel friend munching on the remaining peanuts. Shit. I scan the area. Is my dad around the corner? Seriously, sometimes it feels like he has eyes in the sky. He knows way too much. But Ian, my bodyguard, is the only one watching me. He leans an elbow on the fence and casually adjusts the mic in his ear. He’s been my bodyguard since I was fifteen. I’ve broken enough rules and petty laws to know for certain he doesn’t snitch unless I do something incredibly dumb.
Staticky noise on the phone cuts me out of my thoughts.
“Hello?” I ask. “Mom? Dad?”
“Richard,” my mom says in her usual curt, cold tone. “Remove yourself out of whatever microwave you’ve stepped in.”
“It’s called a Faraday cage, Rose,” my dad replies, his voice a little crackly. “And unless you’d like me to tell the pilot to ground the plane in the Atlantic, there’s going to be some interference.”
“I know what a Faraday cage is,” my mom snaps. “But by all means, go swimming with the sharks. I’m sure they need to be quizzed on electromagnetic fields.”
“I’m sure I’ll be dead if the plane hits the ocean.” I can hear the grin in his voice.
“And I’ll be sure to wear my ugliest heels at your funeral.”
I’m smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. Nothing entertains me more than my parents’ hyperbolic banter.
I slip into the conversation. “Dad, I can’t believe you’d voluntarily step inside a cage when you’re so dominat—”
“I’m still on this phone call.” It’s my mom cutting me off. “Keep talking, and it will be you swimming with the sharks.”