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, you’re up,” Gage says. “We need your vocals.”
Without looking backward, I do my job. Which isn’t even a job, really. It’s been the fuel inside my soul.
19
PHOENIX ST. PIERRE
Jeremy, Gage, and I stand in the control room while Tom records in the studio. His hands cup either side of his headphones while he sings into a powerful, agonized scream like he’s being ripped into ten pieces.
I’m obsessed when he does this.
Fucking transfixed. I want a replay. Fuck, I have replayed that scream on my laptop until my ears ached.
Gage chews hard on a piece of gum. “And that’s why Riot won’t drop him.”
Yeah. Tom Cobalt is one of a kind, and the fact that he knows it is still fucking irritating. But I’m starting to realize how much I like him festering under my skin.
He gave me a fucking boner at work. He just made me want to drop to my knees and claw at my hair in a sick amount of concern. I have never…have never felt this awake after not sleeping. I’m going to be miserable later, that’s certain, but right now, adrenaline is coursing through me like I’m on speed.
It’s frustrating.
It’s maddening.
It’s annihilating me on every possible level.
Even if he’s bad for me, I never want to quit him, but I can’t have him mirroring my shitty sleep schedule. I can’t do that to him. So while he may hate it, I’m at least ecstatic he slept last night.
I crane my head backward toward my manager. “Jere?”
He stops slurping Fizz through a straw.
“You knew Tom’s old bassist?” I ask. “That Warner guy?” That motherfucker.
“Oh yeah.” His tone gives nothing away. A complete professional. No shit talking to be had. He’s just smiling like he knows my curiosity is running rampant.
“What was he like?” I ask him. “Honestly.”
“Honestly.” Jeremy glances at Tom who pauses between takes to swig water. “He was a decent bassist, but he was holding Tom back. It was good they ended things, just not the way they did.” He nods toward him, which draws my gaze to Tom on the other side of the window. “He was never going to let Warner go.”
My frown deepens, and I watch Tom bob his head to the music in his headphones and approach the mic. He can’t hear this conversation in the booth. “Why?” I ask Jere.
“You don’t know the Cobalts very well, do you?”
No. “Just this one.”
“Loyalty runs deeper than their ambition. He’d been playing with Warner since he was fourteen. He wasn’t going to ditch his friend, even at the chance of success. It was going to take Warner quitting on him for that to change.”
Gage nods. “Best thing that happened to him.”
I remember Tom flinching when I tried to comfort him, to hold him, and my stomach churns. I’m not so sure him being assaulted by his childhood friend was the best thing for him. But what the fuck do I know—I have enough baggage that’d weigh down a Boeing 767.
If anyone is going to ground this plane, it’ll be me. I’ll be the reason we never take flight.
20
TOM COBALT
If I could clone myself, I would. Just so I don’t have to choose between working on the album and watching a movie with Ben. I’m supposed to be meeting Phoenix at a rehearsal studio in Midtown so we can smooth out the kinks to a new song we’ve been arranging.
It’s not like there’s a drum kit at my apartment. So inviting Phoenix over isn’t even an option.
What’s worse is Ben asked me—literally asked—if I wanted to watch Dante’s Peak with him. The skies parted. A rainbow shot over a cloud. The sun bathed me in its golden light. Because this is one of those rare times where I’m not wedging myself into his life like an overbearing older brother. I am being invited to spend time with him. With Ben, who’s been panicked about being an inconvenience to my life—to the point of removing himself from it completely.
Progress.
I’m about to light it on fire.
“I’m gonna have to take a raincheck, dude.” I shut my guitar in a case and watch him clean out his cockatoo’s cage. The bird hasn’t left his shoulder in the past hour. He head-butts Ben’s cheek every so often, and Ben gives him a gentle pet.
I hate thinking that a cockatoo is a better companion than I am. When really, I should be thinking, at least he has Mister Feathers.
Harriet named the bird MFer.
Laughter bubbled out of me when she said it, but I tried to steel my face to say, “Lame.”
She said, “You would know. It’s what you are.”
“That explains why you’re as obsessed with me as you are your lame bird.”
She smacked me with a pillow so I would roll off Ben’s bed. His bright laugh set me on a high for literal days.