39. Tom Cobalt #2
“What? No.” I go stand beside him. What the hell happened in the lobby?
I send a confused look to my parents. “You never gave my other bandmates third-degree burns, so what is this?” It dawns on me fast—I did this.
“Mom, I was joking about the crack dens. He isn’t friends with any drug dealers or porn stars, and we did not see green fairies after drinking absinthe together. All jokes.”
Phoenix cocks his head at me. “Absinthe?”
“Bad jokes,” I add.
Audrey and Eliot are too amused. I would rather be on the other side of this and revel in the amusement. Instead, my pulse is on an ascent.
My mom turns sharply on her heels toward my dad. “Richard,” she says with frost, and that can’t be good—her telling him to deal with me.
Phoenix tightens his arms against his chest. He’s a statue of rigid muscle.
My dad has an impossible-to-read expression. “If he were like your previous bandmates, we’d treat him the same, I assure you.”
“Okay…” I frown. “He’s more talented than them. I see the difference.”
“You know that’s not what I’m referring to.”
I’m on fire. Not in a fun way.
Phoenix is so tense, I’m starting to wonder if he’s even breathing.
“You want to finish this conversation in private?” my dad asks me, which grants more unease.
I don’t care what Eliot hears, and at this point, I can’t exclude Audrey without hurting my relationship with her, even if she’s the world’s most mediocre secret-keeper.
“Out in the open is fine,” I say.
“We asked Phoenix if the two of you are more than just bandmates.”
By intensity shared between my parents and Phoenix, I’m guessing my drummer spoke the truth.
“Okay, yeah,” I tell my mom and dad. “We’re just hooking up. It’s not a crime to sleep with your bandmate.”
Audrey catches a gasp with her fingers.
Phoenix finally shifts, just to scrape a hand through his dark hair. Why is my heart taking a hit from a giant sledgehammer?
I twist to him. “We’ve done nothing wrong, dude.”
His head bobs in a nod. “Yeah.”
I can understand the tension. It’s not a comfortable confession to make to someone’s parents: I’m sleeping with my singer, who is your son. I imagine it landed like an asteroid.
Turning to my parents, I tell them, “What Phoenix and I are doing—it’s not taking away from our aspirations for the band. It’s all intertwined. And we shouldn’t be standing trial for just hooking up.”
My mom’s pinpointed, fact-finding eyes dart from me to Phoenix, then back to me.
Whereas my dad holds up a calming hand. “You’re not standing trial,” he says. “But it is unlike you.”
Yeah. Considering Phoenix is the only bandmate I’ve ever made more than just music with, I can see how that’d set off alarm bells.
Weight hasn’t left my chest. I want to tell them I have feelings for Phoenix. I want to tell them it’s deeper than some rushed, surface-level hookup that can exit my life with no consequence. Because if Phoenix exits, the loss of him will feel like claws ripping across my flesh.
I open my mouth, but I only release a staggered breath. Regardless of what I feel for him, we’re putting our energy into the tour, not into a relationship.
My mom points a hostile matte black nail at me. “You’re being safe?”
“Yeah, yeah.” I find my voice. “We do it between bubble wrap and crash pads.” I wave Phoenix on to add more.
He tilts his head. “Oh, you want me to lie to your parents?”
“I want you to embellish.”
“Right,” Phoenix grips the counter behind me. “I roll Tom in a tarp and put on a hazmat suit. It’s very practical.”
“Very,” I add with a smile, just staring at Phoenix as his lips curve upward. His hand falls off the counter and just barely brushes against my back. I wish it would stay there.
Audrey contains her growing smile, and Mom is clinking her nails against the counter.
All the embellishments award me a parental lecture about consensual sex, PrEP, condoms, and as soon as lube comes out of my mom’s mouth, I butt in, “Okay, let’s not do this, actually.” I clap my hands together. “It’s been fun, but I have some party things to iron out.”
By Phoenix’s nonreaction, I’m guessing they already discussed protection in the lobby.
Mortified.
And yet, my dad says diplomatically, “If you’re embarrassed to talk about safe sex, then you shouldn’t be having sex at all.”
“Yeah, agreed,” I nod. “But I’m more embarrassed about being treated like a teenager who needs the lecture.”
“I’m not trying to patronize you.”
“It’s coming across a little bit patronizing.” I make a winced face. “Or are you just assuming I don’t listen to you? Which I have listened to your safe sex talks throughout my whole life. And if you think I have a terrible memory, then well—that sucks too because I don’t.”
“I know you don’t,” my dad professes.
“We care about your well-being,” my mom says fiercely. “You should prepare to be pestered by me for the rest of your life and beyond the grave. Because I will never tire in my pursuit of keeping you safe.”
Phoenix has a soft smile on the floor.
It makes me ease up. “Yeah, okay. I appreciate the heavy artillery, Mom.” I’m trying to, at least. It just feels like a knock on my own abilities. My artillery is well-stocked, thank you.
Phoenix pushes off the counter and says to my mom, “I know you and Mr. Cobalt—”
“You can call me Connor,” my dad interjects, sounding friendly. But this is not an actual olive branch. My dad lets everyone use his middle name so their guards drop around him. It’s calculated.
“Connor,” Phoenix says. “I know my parents keep in touch with you both, and I’d appreciate it if you could not tell them about me and Tom.”
My frown deepens.
Audrey appears sad on my behalf, which is making this more depressing.
“Why?” My mom’s eyes flame. “Do your parents take umbrage at you being gay? I didn’t think Miriam did, but if Philippe…” She turns to my dad for answers, but he’s observing Phoenix.
“No, no,” Phoenix says fast. “They’re both very supportive. It has nothing to do with that.”
“Then what’s the issue?” my dad asks.
“They already believe Tom might replace me midtour at his whim, and if they find out that I’m…that we’re…you know.”
“Having sex,” Mom says curtly.
Phoenix blushes. He cuts me a shut the fuck up glare, but I’m already grinning. He rakes his hands through his hair again. “They’ll think Tom will drop me as soon as his feelings change.”
My grin vanishes. I’m shaking my head profusely. “Phoenix—”
“I know.” He touches my hand at our sides, as if to say, you wouldn’t do that to me. I know.
I try to relax.
He expresses to my parents, “They mean well, but I just don’t want them up my ass this entire tour. The less they know about me and Tom, the better.”
“We’ll keep this to ourselves,” my mom assures, then turns to my dad.
He slips a hand against the small of her back. “We’re happy to help. Especially while you’re both on tour together.”
“Thank you,” Phoenix says deeply, then picks up his duffel and backpack. “I’ll go drop this off in your room, Tom.”
I nod stiffly, wanting to kiss him but losing the chance because of hesitation and fear.
That crushes me in a worse way.
I can deal with my career myself, so I’m not asking my parents to assist me with my problems. I am fucking capable on my own. “Thank you for stopping by. I feel truly loved. Hope you listen to the album on repeat all day.”
My parents and sister say their goodbyes, but ten feet from the door, Audrey whirls around. “You’ll be flying back for Wednesday Night Dinners?”
“In between the shows, that’s the plan. I wouldn’t miss them.”
“But you can,” Mom says, her fingers in Dad’s hand. “It’s fine if you opt out.”
I grimace. “I don’t opt out. I’ve never opted out.” Dad has furrowed brows of concern, so I add strongly before he speaks, “I can handle it.” In my mind, I don’t need to sacrifice this time with my siblings. I can have everything if I manage my time well. “Let me prove I can handle it.”
“You don’t have anything to prove to us,” Dad assuages.
“Then to myself,” I say.
His gaze softens on me with understanding. “Okay.”
My mom purses her lips but trains her attention more on my dad. They’re speaking through their eyes. Unfortunately, I’ve yet to become an efficient interpreter for those looks. Her eviscerating glare could speak threats as much as they could speak love.
I reiterate to my sister, “I will most definitely be there on Wednesdays.”
“Perfect.” Audrey pops up on her toes. “Because I have an announcement that can only be formally shared on a Wednesday night. It’s sure to wow.” My curiosity piques.
Eliot and I share rising grins before I say, “Drop the dinner bomb, Audrey Virginia.”
“Drop many bombs,” Eliot puffs on a cigar.
“We’re here for the fireworks,” I add.
Her excitement bubbles, and she hugs me and Eliot before she leaves.
Mom is the last to go. “You two.” She points her talon at me and my brother. “Be careful what you wish for.”
Eliot and I snicker, but when the door shuts, our smiles wipe off our faces. We exchange a look of gravity and concern.
I shake my head. “Damage is not the name of the game anymore,” I say to him. “Unless it’s damage control.”
“It’s Audrey. It can’t be that explosive.” He pats my chest. “Worry about the amazing birthday sex you’re going to have tonight.”
Ben is all too happy to crash on the pull-out after the party, considering he’s sent me there over a dozen times this year. He wants to take his turn, and he finally has the opportunity.
But I can’t think about sex.
I’m checking my phone for any album reviews. None yet. There’s still time.
Still hope.
On top of this, the tour starts tomorrow. Phoenix and I leave tomorrow. I cannot get shit-faced on my birthday. I will not start the first leg of a career milestone being hungover.
I heave a box of liquor bottles to the kitchen counter and pull out Don Julio 1942.
The tequila isn’t for me, clearly. I will be on the periphery of entertainment. An onlooker. The most gorgeous fly on the wall, which will cause jealousy among all the other wall-flies.
That’s the plan.
I will not fuck up the plan.