Chapter 2 – Phoenix
PHOENIX
"Ilook fucking ridiculous."
Rafael snorts from the driver's seat. "You do bear an unfortunate fucking resemblance to every guy who's ever told me all about his groundbreaking craft beer app at a party."
I catch my reflection in the passenger mirror and groan.
The manbun was Bells's idea, and that's the worst part. Or maybe it's the thick-rimmed plastic glasses I'm not convinced are for men at all, or the oversized hand-knit cardigan she thrifted.
I'm barely recognizable as Phoenix the drummer.
I look like Phoenix the sad poet.
Rafael, meanwhile, has gone full preppy nightmare. Khakis. A goddamn polo shirt. Loafers with no socks. His shaggy hair is slicked back, and he's wearing a terrible watch.
We both glance at the back seat where Bells is fully in male disguise. She's staring out the window, chewing the inside of her cheek.
She hasn't worn the binder around the penthouse since the hotel. Just baggy clothes and oversized hoodies, since the cat's out of the bag with me and Raf.
It's been... nice, actually. Watching her move around without that constant tension in her shoulders, without the edge of discomfort she tries to hide when the binder's been on too long.
But today she needed the full armor.
"You're sure Jamie won't recognize you two?" Bells asks, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror.
"Bells, my own mother wouldn't recognize me right now. And I'm sure Jamie would assume we'd say hi and wouldn't be lurking across the coffee shop."
The coffee shop comes into view. It's some hipster joint with exposed brick and plants hanging from the ceiling like a jungle. I don't love the idea of plant bugs dropping into my coffee, but these places always have some good shit.
Rafael parks around the corner, far enough away that it won't look like we're arriving together.
The plan is simple. Bells goes in first, gets a table, and waits for Jamie. Raf and I follow a few minutes later and grab a spot in the back where we can keep eyes on the situation without being obviously creepy about it.
It would probably be easier to just be up front with Jamie. But even though we've only met him once, and it was so long ago it feels like a fever dream, I distinctly remember he's hyper and would be glancing at us "subtly" from across the coffee shop the entire time.
And then we'd definitely get noticed.
Bells checks her phone. "Jamie says he's running a few minutes late. Something about Cheeto."
"The tiger or the snack?" I ask.
"The tiger."
Raf blinks. "His life is so fucking strange."
Bells unbuckles her seatbelt, then pauses with her hand on the door. "Hey. Thanks for doing this. Both of you. I know it's..."
"It's nothing," Rafael says, waving her off. "We're just two guys having coffee. Two totally normal guys who definitely aren't tailing our bandmate because her stalker might show up at any moment."
"Very reassuring."
"I try."
Bells gives us both a smile that fucking melts me, then slips out of the car. I watch her walk toward the coffee shop, that familiar confident stride that's pure Bells even when she's in disguise.
Rafael and I sit in silence for exactly thirty seconds before he says, "This is fucking surreal."
"Which part?"
"All of it?" He scrubs a hand over his slicked-back hair, grimacing at the product residue on his palm. "A few weeks ago, I was absolutely fucking certain I was straight, for one thing."
"Life comes at you fast."
"That's one way to put it."
We wait the agreed-upon five minutes before heading in. The coffee shop is exactly as pretentious as the exterior promised, complete with Edison bulbs everywhere they can possibly put them and a chalkboard menu with items like Existential Crisis Espresso.
I genuinely can't tell if that one is a joke.
Bells is already seated near the window, scrolling through her phone with practiced nonchalance. She doesn't look up when we enter, which is the point.
We're strangers.
Definitely not part of an omega protection detail.
Rafael nudges me toward a table in the back corner with good sightlines to the door and Bells's table, partially obscured by a massive potted fern with a name tag inviting you to say hi to Gerard.
They name the plants?
A server appears almost immediately, wearing a friendly smile and septum piercing. "Hey there! First time?"
Great. It's the kind of place where they give you customer service by crawling up your ass. Normally, I'd be thrilled. I love a good smalltalk session.
Right now, though…
"Uh, yeah," I manage, sliding into the booth. Rafael takes the seat across from me.
"Well, welcome! Can I start you two off with some drinks? We have a special latte that comes in a ceramic heart-shaped bowl if you'd like to share."
Rafael and I freeze.
"We're not—" I start.
"It's actually—" Rafael tries.
We both stop and look at each other, then look back at the barista, whose smile hasn't wavered.
"We're just friends," Rafael croaks.
"Sure," the barista says in that tone that means he absolutely does not believe us. "Two separate drinks, then?"
"Please."
I order something called a Witch's Tits because I just have to know.
The moment the barista walks away, Rafael drops his head into his hands. "That didn't just happen."
"It definitely happened."
"He thought we were on a date."
"I mean." I gesture between us—him in his preppy nightmare, me in my sad poet costume. "Can you blame him? We're two guys in a coffee shop that literally has a couples' latte. The vibes are... vibing."
Rafael makes a sound like a dying animal.
I glance around the room, checking for anyone who might be paying too much attention to Bells. Everything seems normal. No one's watching Bells with predatory intent.
But something else is prickling at the back of my neck.
"Rex is here somewhere," I say quietly.
Rafael's head snaps up. "What? How do you know?"
"I can kind of... feel him?" It sounds insane when I say it out loud. "Just this general sense that he's nearby."
"Since when can you do that?"
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. The skinny jeans really are cutting off circulation. "Since always? It's just stronger with some people than others."
Rafael's eyes narrow. "Stronger how?"
Fuck. I walked right into this.
"Nash and I were… close," I say carefully, because that's the safest way to put it. "Really close. And Rex is his twin, so there's this... I don't know. Echo? It's like my instincts learned to track Nash, and Rex is similar enough that it carries over."
Rafael is quiet for a long moment. Long enough that I start to worry I've revealed too much, that he's finally going to ask the specific questions I've been dodging since Nash died.
But all he says is, "That tracks, I guess. You and Nash were basically attached at the hip toward the end there."
"Yeah," I say, swallowing past the tightness in my throat. "We were."
Our drinks arrive. My coffee turns out to be black coffee in a ceramic cauldron with activated charcoal and some kind of edible glitter. It looks like something a witch would serve at a funeral.
I drink it anyway.