Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 234
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
34
BEN COBALT
Ihave to slyly check Harriet’s text message in the bathroom since I’m currently at the Cobalt Estate. Wednesdays, unfailingly, bring me back to my childhood home. She sent me another roommate listing from the Valley Boards. I click into the link. $500 for a blow-up mattress in the living room. Jesus.
I text Harriet.
Ben Cobalt
Out of my budget
She’s quick to reply.
Harriet Fisher
What is your budget?
I don’t need to pop open my bank account to know what I can afford. I skate a hand through my hair, while I sit on the toilet lid.
Ben Cobalt
like a hundred bucks.
Harriet Fisher
Bad news, you’d probably have to toss in nudes to make that work.
I laugh and smear a hand down my chin in surprise. Seriously, I haven’t laughed in days. Living with my brothers since Charlie and Beckett’s birthday feels a lot like sleeping on a bed of nails. Stress compounds every night, and I’m just trying to find a reasonable solution. One that doesn’t include cashing in a favor with a random friend. I’d rather not stay for free with someone I vaguely know and use my last name as a bargaining chip. It could add more problems.
Harriet would be my first choice. But she’s already asked her roommate if I could crash on their couch, even for just a few days, and Harriet said it was “the most awkward interaction yet.”
Apparently, Eden reminded her, “You sleep on the couch.” To which Harriet had to say, “Yeah, he’d be sleeping with me, but not with me, with me. We won’t fool around or anything…we’re just friends.”
Eden got uncomfortable and said, “I don’t want to walk in on anything.” It’s understandable. If I spend the night with Harriet again, I honestly can’t guarantee I won’t touch her. I already succumbed to the temptation with my brothers feet away in their bedrooms.
Harriet was bummed her place is out of contention. But I love this—apartment hunting with her. It’s been the best part of this whole issue, and honestly, I’m hoping it doesn’t end too fast.
I text her back.
Ben Cobalt
I hear blow jobs are effective bargaining chips.
Harriet Fisher
AHFA. Against Harriet Fisher’s Advice.
My lips twitch into a bigger smile as I type out a reply.
Ben Cobalt
Is Harold still available?
She offered her car to me yesterday—but I declined because I’m six fucking five and it’s a sedan.
Harriet Fisher
Rescinded. I cannot be the cause for early onset back issues.
I laugh even harder. Fuck.
Harriet Fisher
Greek Row might be your best bet…unfortunately.
Yeah, the frat. It was one of our first ideas that we brainstormed together, but I threw it out because I’m not sure I want to be surrounded by Greek life. It comes with a lot more than just a bed to sleep on.
I check the time on my phone. Shit, I have to go.
I text Harriet quickly.
Ben Cobalt
You might be right. Talk after dinner.
She likes the text, and I slip the phone in my pocket before heading toward the dining room. I take my place at my usual seat.
Five Wednesdays have passed since I buried Theodore. Five Wednesdays where every single one of my siblings showed up to dinner. Even Beckett, whose presence at these things is more like a warm spell during the winter. Infrequent but appreciated. I always thought I’d be more likely to see a California Condor than Beckett at five dinners in a row.
And here we are, at number six.
He’s seated in the chair across from mine. There’s no real assigned seating on Wednesday nights except for the heads of the table reserved for our parents. Their chairs are currently empty, and dinner doesn’t officially start until they arrive.
With all my siblings here again tonight, carrying on their perfect attendance streak, tension has amassed. I can’t shake it. Not when they exchange side glances and cagey looks between each other.
Ever since I assaulted Tate, their concern for me has been in my face. Apparent. Visible. But tonight, I sense a weird shift.
There is a hold-your-breath strain in the air. Like each sibling is balanced on a sharp edge of worry.
Did they discover I’m broke? Or that I’m currently searching for housing? I have no clue, but they’ve learned something.
Maybe, just maybe, this has absolutely nothing to do with me. Except, I’m being left out of the shared glimpses, which is usually a telltale sign that I’m the topic of fixation. I won’t be surprised if they throw self-help pamphlets at my face tonight. The pages would probably be generically inspirational. Since it’s not like anyone knows I’m on a countdown to say goodbye to New York. Right?
Fuck, please tell me they haven’t figured out the plan.
Anxious heat gathers under my white collegiate tee, and I almost check my phone to reread texts from Harriet. Instead, I chug some water from a crystal goblet.
I try my best to not be swept back to last week when I saw Beckett in the kitchen. To not remember him scrubbing at his red, raw skin. The visual sinks a rock straight down to my gut. It screams at me to buy a plane ticket tomorrow, but we’re only in the last week of September.