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)
Scally was all-in immediately, and Riot loved the idea of pushing two of their higher-profile bands at once. All of our venues were upgraded to accommodate Nothing Personal’s fanbase too, and we’ve sold out of the east coast leg already.
I’m so excited to be back on tour with my friends and my brother. But Tom is right. It doesn’t beat this moment with him.
Ninety-fucking-four.
There was a moment I thought maybe we’d never chart. Especially after Tom’s entire family posted about the release of Silver Sweet and it didn’t boost our sales much.
Tom said that the same people who follow the Cobalt Empire don’t necessarily care about rock music. He was never going to build a fanbase off his notoriety. He’s always needed people to discover him as The Carraways first and son of Rose Calloway and Connor Cobalt second.
In the hotel, Tom disappears to start a shower and share the news with his family. The second the water cuts on, my phone buzzes.
CHARLIE COBALT
I know about Sophomore Summer. I’d like to talk.
And just like that, my smile is gone.
PHOENIX
Can I meet you in your room?
He sends me the room number.
“Hey, I’ll be right back, Tom!” I call out to him.
“Okay!” He’s too distracted to ask where I’m going.
Maybe that’s for the best.
When I get off the elevator, I recheck the room number in my messages. And my eyes glaze over, stuck on the recent text from my brother—the one that crowded my thoughts all night, making sleep difficult.
BIRDIE
Heard mutterings Riot is going to extend your tour. So don’t pull a muscle yet. You prob have several more months left to make magic onstage with your cocky little bf.
I wanted to tell Tom, but my first reaction was, He’s going to find a reason to take Adderall for years. He’s never going to quit.
I almost wish he were snorting coke. Then it’d be so easy to point out how detrimental it is to his health.
Maybe then he’d listen to me.
Shoving my phone in my pocket, I rap on the door, and it flies open abruptly.
Charlie has an irritable expression. “I see neither of us got dressed for this.” He’s wearing black boxers and dark-blue slippers.
“I’m wearing more than underwear,” I snap, but yeah, I didn’t grab a shirt. Just gray sweatpants. “So you dug into my arrest? I’m guessing.”
“Correct.”
“And here I thought I was as relevant to you as the fifteen-day lifespan of a housefly,” I say tightly.
“The boyfriend has a good memory.” His tone is more bored than impressed. “And clearly your relevancy has increased now that you’re in a relationship with Tom.” He opens the door wider. “Field mice have a lifespan of about a year. That’s where you’re at.”
Calling him Britannica is on the tip of my tongue, but I have no time to get the words out—he’s heading back into his room. I follow before the door can slam in my face.
He’s staying in a presidential suite.
Fancy.
I trail him past a full bar and through a spacious living room with marble floors and a baby grand piano. A movie, maybe Children of Men, blares from the TV, but Charlie shuts it off with the remote.
We end up in a formal dining room—where his bodyguard, Oscar Oliveira, is eating breakfast from a spread of fruit, cheeses, croissants, and eggs. His expression is caged as he sips his coffee.
I remind myself he’s not out to get me.
I’ve chatted with Oscar post-show several times since he’s been following The Carraways on tour with Charlie. He cracks jokes and pumps up the Cobalt Empire like they’re his favorite sports team. Plus, I’m friends with his little sister.
Joana, Harriet, and I have kept up our Wednesday dinners every time Tom attends his family ones in Philly.
“You were arrested at a concert venue in Boston,” Charlie tells me, going to the head of the table. “That came out in the background check. I was perfectly fine not digging any deeper because frankly, I just don’t fucking care. But Beckett cares. So as a favor, I dug into it for him.”
My nose flares. “Favors, I get. I have plenty of those with my brother,” I say, a little stilted because I’m on edge, and I just grip the back of a chair in a half-lunge. “Charlie…” I trail off when he returns to me with an electronic tablet.
I’m caught off guard. He taps the screen, then spins it toward me. My insides twist so painfully, I almost black out. A grainy video is playing.
A video I’ve never seen but one I’ve lived. I didn’t know there was footage of that night.
The night I ruined Sophomore Summer. It was the last concert we ever played. Fuck, it was the last time we ever played period.
The concert was held at a tiny venue in Boston. Standing room only with two floors. Someone must’ve filmed from the balcony. Despite the bad quality, there’s a bird’s-eye view of the worst night of my life, and I can barely watch myself stand up from behind the drum kit.