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)
So did the night Ben and I recorded a thirty-second lip-sync video to a viral song. All while Harriet littered his quilt with popcorn and made quippy commentary that I volleyed back between each take.
I posted the clip on my social media and didn’t tag him since he’s not trying to gain too much notoriety to where it’d affect his girlfriend. The video has over a million views. I’d love to take credit, but most of the comments revolved around his hockey abs.
Speaking of hockey, I attended his first game where his skates touched the ice. Only a tad bit distracted since Phoenix couldn’t go after I took a risk and invited him. He landed some orchestra thing after an audition, and the performance was that night—Star Wars, he said. But I was physically (and mostly) mentally present at Ben’s game. Enough that I witnessed my brother scoring the game-winning point for MVU. No one was louder than Eliot and me in the stands.
Then there was the night Ben couldn’t sleep. “Tom?” he whispered after I let out a frustrated groan over a text from Phoenix. “You all right, man?”
“Oh good, you’re awake.” I flung myself out of my black silk sheets, my humidifier humming softly, and I slipped through the privacy curtain to find Ben wide awake. His bent knees tented his checkered quilt, a phone loose in his hand like he’d been texting or scrolling.
I collapsed at the foot of his bed and complained about how Phoenix was practically edging me at this point. “Like I should be edging him. I am the one who fucks with people. This is just…” I huffed at my phone, then dug it into my forehead with another agonized groan.
Ben had the biggest grin on his face.
“Don’t say it, dude.”
He raised his hands. “I’m not saying you like him.”
“Thank you,” I said sincerely. We shared a smile, and I rolled onto my elbow, facing him more as I asked, “What are you doing awake? Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
“Honestly?” His baby blue eyes seemed to laugh before a smile appeared. “I’m so fucking hungry. Coach Haddock had us doing suicides for an hour today.” So then we raided the fridge at 3 a.m. and ate oven-baked vegan pizza bites around the kitchen counter.
I burned the roof of my mouth with the hot, stringy fake cheese. “Dammit. Traitor.” I spit it onto a napkin.
“You have to blow on it.” He ripped the pizza bite with his teeth, then blew on the inside before popping it into his mouth. “Don’t you eat Hot Pockets with Luna?” Growing up, the Hales’ freezer was stuffed with ham Hot Pockets, strawberry Toaster Strudels, Eggo waffles.
Unlike where we grew up: the Cobalt Estate, a mansion down the street from the Hales. Our freezer contained wild caught salmon, the best cuts of beef, and puff pastry sheets. All for our private chef to whip up gourmet meals.
Most of us loved going to the Hale House for junk food. I think our parents liked it too. They’ve always encouraged us to be close to our cousins.
I swallowed three swigs of water. “I’ve gone down on many Hot Pockets, which is like twice the size of this little thing.” I’ve also eaten pizza bites before, but I just wasn’t thinking. My headspace has been a yo-yo between my brothers and Phoenix, and most of the time, it gets stuck on Phoenix like the string is knotted around him.
Ben pinched another pizza bite off the baking sheet. “I have a favorite of the songs you’ve recorded so far.”
I stood up straighter. “‘Nuclear Winter?’”
He shook his head. “The one called ‘Territorial.’” He rotated the bite between his fingers as silence fell a little heavier. The song is about fear of failure, about how it feels trying to control situations that are so far out of your control.
“What do you like about it?” I asked him.
A smile hooked the corner of his mouth. “The guitar riffs. Harriet called them nasty too. In a good way.”
“She is my number one fan,” I said, thankful she wasn’t present to sling back, I’m your only fan. Which she did yesterday.
Ben got more serious as he eyed the pizza bite. “It’s not just the guitar riffs.” He scanned the dimly lit living room, the harmless quiet of our shared apartment, all our brothers tucked away in their beds. “It’s how I feel sometimes. Your lyrics.” His reddened eyes rose to mine. “I want to be better so badly, Tom. I’m so scared that I won’t ever get rid of this fucking voice in my head that says I shouldn’t be here, that says it’s what’s best for all of you, and I’ll let everyone down.”
My voice came out so hushed. “Dude, I don’t think there’s a way you could let us down. Our love for you isn’t measured by your mental state. You could be spiraling out, and we’d still want you here and care about you and pick you back up.”