Chapter 14 – RAFAEL #2
"Yeah." I lean against the doorframe, unable to fully enter. "Phoenix and I keep saying we should pack it up, donate shit, whatever. But then we get to the door and..." I shrug. "Can't do it."
"Rex doesn't come in here?"
"Rex doesn't even come down this hall." I watch as Bells sets his bag down gently on the floor beside the bed. "He'd lose his shit if he knew you were staying in here."
"Then why—"
"Because maybe..." I run a hand through my hair. "Maybe it's time someone used this room. Nash would hate that we've turned it into a shrine."
Bells sits on the edge of the bed, testing it like it might collapse. The mattress barely dips under his weight. "Tell me about him. The real him, not the version Rex talks about."
I move to lean against the desk, careful not to disturb the notebooks. "Nash was complicated. Brilliant and broken in equal measure. He could write a song that would make you weep, then drink himself unconscious because he couldn't handle the feelings it brought up."
"Sounds familiar," Bells murmurs.
"He carried a lot of guilt," I continue, choosing my words carefully. "Like, crushing amounts of it. I never really understood why—he'd just get these looks sometimes, especially when he was watching Rex. Like he was personally responsible for every bad thing that ever happened to him."
I'm wondering now if it's related to Rex's face, but I keep it to myself. Even though Bells must know, too, it feels like a completely off-limits conversation, as if Rex will somehow overhear us and materialize through the wall like a fucking ghost to punch my lights out.
I pick up one of Nash's dusty notebooks and flip through pages of lyrics and chord progressions. "But he was also funny. Wicked sense of humor when he wasn't drowning in his own head. He'd do these impressions of record executives that would have Phoenix crying with laughter."
"Phoenix and Nash were close," Bells observes.
"Yeah," I say carefully. "They had... a special connection. Sometimes I wondered if there was more to it, you know? The way they'd look at each other, how Phoenix could calm Nash down when no one else could. But..." I shrug. "Not my business to speculate."
"What about you?"
"I loved him like a brother. We all did. Even when he was impossible, even when he was so fucked up we had to carry him off stage." I set the notebook down carefully. "The band died with him. We've just been going through the motions since."
"Until Rex decided to get revenge."
I'm surprised he's speaking about it so bluntly. Acknowledging the reason he's here, however indirectly, when we've all ben tiptoeing around it for weeks. I'm still not sure if he knows we know he's being blackmailed somehow, but maybe it's better not to pick at that scar. Not right now.
"Until that, yeah."
Why is it so fucking easy to open up to this guy? I barely know him, and I don't even get the impression he likes me, but I feel like he's been in the band a hell of a lot longer than he has.
Weird.
Bells looks around the empty room, and I can see him trying to piece together a person from the absence. "This room feels like a held breath. Like it's waiting for something."
"Maybe it was waiting for you," I say, only half-joking.
He meets my eyes, and there's something vulnerable there. "I don't think I can fill this space."
"Nobody's asking you to. Just... exist in it. That's enough."
I head to the kitchen, and after a moment, Bells follows. The empty room seems to exhale behind us.
"Coffee?" I offer.
"Please."
I busy myself with the coffee maker, grateful for something to do with my hands. Bells perches on one of the bar stools at the kitchen island, still wrapped in that protective posture.
"What did Stephen really do?" I ask, pouring two mugs.
"Back by the side of the building when Rex attacked him.
Rex has had plenty of opportunities to beat the shit out of Stephen Hughes.
Trust me, he's been fantasizing about it since long before Nash died.
So Stephen must have done something worse than just existing to make Rex snap like that. "
Bells's eyes snap to mine, and for a second I see pure panic. Then the mask slams down—and yeah, I'm starting to realize everyone in this fucked-up situation is wearing masks of one kind or another.
I slide one of the mugs across the counter to him. Bells wraps his hands around the mug but doesn't drink. "He was being a creep," Bells mutters.
My spine stiffens. "How creepy are we talking?"
"Does it matter?" His voice has gone sharp, defensive. "He's a creepy fucking asshole who deserved what he got."
I hold up my hands in surrender. "Hey, I'm not arguing. Just trying to figure out what happened. Because from my angle, I saw Rex beating Stephen's face into hamburger, and before that I have no fucking clue what went down."
Bells takes a sip of coffee, grimaces at the temperature, and sets it down. "Stephen cornered me. Got in my space. Said some shit that... reminded me of things I'd rather forget. And then Rex appeared out of nowhere and went full protective alpha mode."
"Protective over you?" I can't keep the surprise out of my voice. "No offense, but Rex hates you."
"Yeah, well." Bells's laugh is bitter. "Apparently his hatred has limits when it comes to watching people get..." He cuts himself off, jaw clenching.
"Get what?"
"Nothing. Doesn't matter."
But it clearly does matter. The way Bells is holding himself, the shake in his hands he's trying to hide by gripping the coffee mug…
this isn't just about some verbal threats.
Not to mention the knife Bells was gripping when Phoenix and I arrived, like he was about to shove it up Stephen's ass and disembowel him.
The pieces start clicking together in a way I really don't fucking like.
"Stephen scares you," I say carefully.
Bells's eyes meet mine, and fuck me, he does look scared. Then it's gone in a flash, buried under layers of attitude and deflection.
"No."
"Look," I say, setting my own mug down with more force than necessary. "You should probably stay here. Long term, I mean. Since Stephen somehow survived having his face turned into hamburger meat."
Bells's head snaps up. "What?"
I lean against the counter, crossing my arms. "He won't come here. He knows better than to show his face around Vespyr’s territory."
"You sound pretty sure about that."
"I am sure. Because if he steps foot within a mile of our penthouse, Rex will finish the job." I let a dark smile cross my face.
Bells stares at me for a long moment, and I can see him processing this information. Weighing whether we're serious. Whether we'd actually protect him.
"You'd do that?" he asks warily. "For me?"
"Of course. You're part of the band now. And we protect our own."
"Thanks," he murmurs.
"Don't thank me yet. You haven't experienced Phoenix's cooking. Or Rex's moods," I say, turning back to the fridge to grab eggs, peppers, and cheese. If we're going to have an uncomfortable conversation, might as well do it while I cook. "Trust me, you haven't seen anything yet."
That startles a laugh out of him, small but genuine. "I'll take my chances."
"Rex does hate guys like Stephen. Especially alphas," I continue. "He's fired a few singers over inappropriate behavior. So that checks out. Although I'm kind of surprised he defended another guy."
Bells gives a choked laugh and finally takes a long sip of coffee. "Will he be okay?" Bells asks, setting the mug back down. "Rex?"
I pause mid-crack of an egg. "Why do you care?"
"I don't. But if this is because of an infected cut on his face, it's from me. That's why the doctor pulled me aside. We got in a fight and I... uh. Slashed him."
The egg I'm holding drops into the bowl more from shock than intention. "You what?"
"Slashed him," Bells says again. "With my knife. Couple weeks ago."
I stare at him. Then I start laughing, because he's saying it with a casual air like he's talking about the weather, and what the fuck else am I supposed to do with that information?
"You stabbed Rex, dude?" I manage to croak.
"Slashed," Bells corrects, and now his lips are tugging into a tired smile too. "There's a difference."
"Oh, excuse me. You slashed Rex fucking Steele. My mistake." I'm still laughing, whisking eggs with more force than necessary. "What did he do to deserve that?"
I can think of approximately a million possibilities.
"He was being a dick."
"That's not exactly a rare occurrence."
"A bigger dick than usual." Bells takes another sip of coffee, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "He was spying on me."
The laughter dies in my throat. "He what?"
"I followed him into the maintenance tunnels. We had a... disagreement about personal boundaries. My knife slipped."
"Slipped," I repeat flatly.
"Slipped," Bells confirms, and there's steel in his voice that says the conversation about what actually happened in those tunnels is closed.
I let that drop, too, focusing on finishing the omelets. I slide one onto a plate for Bells and keep one for myself.
"Eat," I tell him, setting the plate in front of him and taking the stool next to his. "You look like you're about to pass out."
He picks up a fork, pokes at the omelet like it might bite him, then takes a tentative bite. "This is actually really good."
"Thanks. Learned from my abuela." I dig into my own plate, suddenly ravenous.
We fall into an easy silence. I'm so lost in my own head, I don't even realize my phone's going off on the counter in front of me until Bells taps me on the arm, right over the kraken tattoo.
"Your phone," he says, nodding to it.
"Hope it's good news," I say, bracing myself and picking it up. It's a text from Phoenix.
[PHOENIX: He's awake. Bandaged up. Calm now but won't let me in his room.]
I stare at the message for a long moment, then type back.
[ME: Yup. That's our Rex. Did you eat?]
[PHOENIX: They have a hot dog vending machine.]
[ME: You're going to end up hospitalized yourself if you eat that shit. Want me to bring you real food?]
[PHOENIX: Nah. Keep an eye on Bells. Something's up.]
[ME: Yeah. I noticed. Put him in Nash's room.]
There's a long pause before Phoenix responds.
[PHOENIX: Fuck. How did that go?]
[ME: About as well as you'd expect. The room feels like a crypt.]
[PHOENIX: Maybe it needs someone in it.]
[ME: That's what I said. Doesn't make it less creepy.]
[PHOENIX: Rex is going to lose his shit.]
[ME: Rex is currently in the hospital because he beat Stephen Hughes into ground beef. I think we're past worrying about his feelings.]
[PHOENIX: Fair point.]
[ME: But, uh. Don't tell him.]
[PHOENIX: No shit dude.]
I set my phone down on the counter, the screen still glowing with Phoenix's last message.
Bells is watching me, those honeyed eyes tracking my face like he's trying to read the news before I can deliver it.
His fork hovers over his half-eaten omelet, suspended in that particular kind of frozen anticipation that says he's bracing for the worst.
"He's awake," I say, keeping my voice neutral. "Phoenix says he's bandaged up and stable. Being his usual charming self, apparently. Won't let Phoenix in his room."
Bells's shoulders drop maybe an inch. Not a lot, but enough that I can see the tension bleeding out of him in real time. He sets the fork down carefully, like he's suddenly forgotten how to use his hands.
"That's good," he says quietly. "That he's okay, I mean."
I take another bite of my omelet, watching him from my peripheral vision. He's staring at his plate now, pushing food around without actually eating it. The coffee's gone cold in his mug, steam long since evaporated into the apartment's recycled air.
"You didn't have to come to the hospital," I point out, because someone should probably say it. "In the ambulance, I mean. You could've just... left."
His eyes flick up to mine, and there's something in them I can't quite read. Guilt, maybe? Or just exhaustion so deep it looks like guilt from the outside.
"Yeah," he mutters. "I could have."
But he didn't. He climbed into that cramped ambulance and rode all the way to the hospital, looking like he'd witnessed the end of the world. Looking like he was carrying something heavy enough to crush him.
I want to ask why. Want to dig into whatever the fuck is happening between him and Stephen and Rex that has them all bleeding and broken and tied together in ways that make no goddamn sense. But pushing people who are already at their breaking point is how you lose them completely.
He manages a little more of the omelet before he sets the fork down with a finality that says he's done. "I think I might go take a nap," Bells says, his voice uncharacteristically quiet as he picks up his plate and moves toward the sink. "Thanks for the food."
"Leave it. I'll clean up."
He hesitates, then sets the plate down on the counter. "You sure?"
"Yeah, man. Go rest."
He gives me something that might pass for a smile if I squint hard enough, then heads down the hallway toward Nash's room. I watch him go, noticing the careful way he moves, like every step requires conscious thought. Like if he stops thinking about it, his body might just give up entirely.
The door closes behind him with a click that somehow sounds louder than it should in the empty apartment.
I sit there for a long moment, staring at the unfinished omelet on Bells's plate. At the cold coffee in his mug. At the space where he was sitting just seconds ago.
Something's up.
Yeah. No shit, Phoenix.