34. Tom Cobalt
TOM COBALT
Something needs to change.
The end of March is days, not weeks, away. Our deadline is an ugly gargoyle staring down at me, and I can’t concentrate enough to flesh out the last song. I’m so paranoid we won’t finish that it’s become debilitating. The only thing that snaps my brain away from impending failure is Phoenix.
So I have a brilliant thought when I wake up on this rainy Friday morning. I text my drummer.
TOM CARRAWAY
Green light
Fuck roadblocks. Fuck yellow lights. I’m not proceeding with caution anymore.
The band is better for it.
“Tom?”
My heart rate instantly spikes, and I jump out of my skin at Beckett’s voice. I knock over several hardcovers on Charlie’s wooden bookshelf.
“Shit,” I curse.
“And you wonder why you aren’t allowed in my bedroom,” Charlie says, very irritably. More than usual.
“No, look, it’s fine.” I situate all his precious books in their upright positions. I try not to regret texting Phoenix while I’m in a house meeting with my brothers. The timing, fine. Could I have chosen better? Maybe, but I will overcome the hurdles I create.
I will conquer.
“Tom isn’t allowed in here?” Ben asks in confusion.
He’s on the floor eating a banana and icing a bluish bruise on his ribs.
Hockey injury, but at least his team is dominating the playoffs and on track to be in the Frozen Four.
Even if Ben acts like it’s not the Stanley Cup of college tournaments, I looked it up and it’s a big fucking deal.
“Neither am I,” Eliot chimes in from the windowsill bench seating. “A true mistake on Charlie’s part. Tom and I would provide much-needed levity to this grim space.”
“Undeniably,” I nod a lot, checking my phone. No response from Phoenix.
Great, great.
I try to focus and not on Beckett, who’s making a scrunched face at me and my phone.
This is a rare event where Charlie is letting me and Eliot hang out for more than two seconds in his bedroom. We’ve been banned from stepping foot in here since we accidentally (truly an accident) left a half-eaten turkey sandwich on his bookshelf. Which he found molding and stinking weeks later.
In my defense, every wall is a bookshelf. Where else was I supposed to put my sandwich? Even his bed is framed between shelves. Maybe he shouldn’t have renovated his room to resemble the Oxford library. The arched wood beams overhead are cool in their extravagance, though.
I would totally crash here for a night. If he’d let me.
Smacking my phone in my palm (not at all nervous), I say, “Dude, you should be asking us in here every day, all day, to spread merriment.”
“And cheer,” Eliot adds.
“And love, because we love you,” I finish.
Charlie is unamused. He’s seated at the foot of his bed beside Beckett. Bowing forward, he tells me, “And why would I want a wrecking ball anywhere near me?”
Ouch. Why did that one hurt? I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
“Let’s stay on topic,” Beckett says with the raise of his hands. “Tom, did you hear that last part?”
I nod. “Yeah, the rager—”
“The party,” Beckett corrects fast. “You’re not throwing a rager.”
Ben smiles up at me. “I appreciate the attempt.”
I assure him, “No, this is going to be as good as, if not better, than our typical parties.”
“One hundred percent,” Eliot chimes in. “Far better.”
“Far grander,” I add.
“Nothing will compare.”
Beckett has yet to drop his hands from the air. “Simple. Small. You two need to consult your friend list and disinvite anyone who will trash the apartment.”
I mean…that’s a lot of the friend list. Eliot and I share a subtle look to talk later about the invitees. “Some might still show. The party is tomorrow,” I tell Beckett.
“Give their names to security,” Beckett says. “They won’t let them on the elevator.”
Ben has a hundred-yard stare, banana peel limp in his hand. “Um…about the date,” he says. “Can we…is it possible not to do it tomorrow?”
I’m not understanding the issue. “You have other birthday plans, Ben Pirrip?” I ask since we’re throwing him a birthday party. He’s turning twenty tomorrow.
“No, none. It’s just…if, um.” His eyes redden. He’s not blinking and too choked to speak. He looks to Beckett.
“We’ll change the date,” Beckett says softly, then explains to me and Eliot, “He’s going to feel responsible if something were to go wrong on his birthday.”
“What better way to challenge yourself,” Eliot says to our little brother. “You’ll come out of this party unscathed and realize you’re fine.”
Ben casts me a quick glance, and I’ve started interpreting these looks as lifelines. He’s asking me to help with Eliot, who is so fiercely supportive that Ben really hates disappointing him.
“Dude, we should just change the date,” I tell my closest brother.
“He just needs all of us to rally around him,” Eliot says, then nods at Ben. “You can do it, brother. You’ll be fine. We’ll be right there—”
“Dude,” I cut in. “He added extra therapy sessions this week. We don’t need to be pushing anything other than a date change.”
Ben hangs his head for a moment, his arms on his bent knees. Is he…is he crying? Oh fuck. How did I phrase that? Was I too harsh?
“Pip,” Beckett says gently, using Ben’s nickname.
“I’m sorry,” Ben chokes, pinching his wet eyes. He’s for sure crying. “Fuck.”
Beckett is the first to move. Soon, he’s sitting on the floorboards beside Ben, his bicep curled around our little brother in comfort.
I swing my arms to stretch out the tension in my limbs, and I shrug at Eliot, who nods back like, it’s okay. All will be okay.
“Ben?” I risk speaking. “Should we just cancel the party?”
“No, please don’t,” Ben says, rubbing harshly at his welled eyes. “I don’t want to derail things that far.” He tries to catch his breath. Beckett whispers in his ear, and I watch Ben take a few big lungfuls of air.
“This is going well,” I mutter with a couple nods, walking back and forth, the only one standing up. “We should do more morning house meetings.”
Charlie zeroes in on me. “Maybe at the next one we can bury you.”
“Please, thank you. I haven’t communed with the dead in a while. I think they must miss me.”
“The living have had enough of you.”
Ouuuuch. I smack my lips. “Thanks. Hey, question? What crawled up your ass and died this morning?”
Charlie grimaces, then tries to glare out the window, but Eliot is sitting there, so he’s met with a delightful finger wave from our brother.
It dawns on me that he hasn’t traveled much lately. “You need a vacation, Charlie Keating? Trip to Prague? Paris? Because if you’re cooped up—”
“Stop trying to solve my problems. You can barely solve your own.”
Direct hit again. My chest collapses. Am I just overly sensitive today?
“Brother,” Eliot warns Charlie with a biting tone. “Cease and desist.”
I dig out my lighter and flick it open, then closed. “Okay, so we’re in agreement that the party isn’t tomorrow?” I ask everyone but Charlie. He can be excluded. He did it to himself.
“Yeah,” Beckett nods.
Ben dries his face with the side of his fist, nodding too. “I’m sorry—”
“Dude, it’s fine. Not a big deal at all,” I console. “I like maneuvering. Eliot likes maneuvering. You’re keeping things exciting.”
“It’d be dull without you,” Eliot says, then claps his hands together. “New plan. Let’s throw a party on Tom’s birthday instead. If something goes awry, it’s Tom’s fault.”
“Perfect,” I agree since my April birthday isn’t too far away. “I will take responsibility for any chaos and drama that should and will likely ensue. It’s on me.”
Ben has calmed and intakes a deeper breath. “You sure?” he asks.
“Positive.” I start to smile seeing a soft, appreciative one across Ben’s face.
“Thanks, Tom.”
My lungs swell, and then a text vibrates the phone in my fist. I covertly check the message.
PHOENIX WOLFGANG
You have a sex dream about me, nepo baby? Why the change of speed all of a sudden?
My heart rate hasn’t slowed. I flick open the lighter and burn my thumb. Shit. “Meeting adjourned?” I ask my brothers, shaking out my hand. “Because I need to go take care of something.”
“Ominous,” Eliot frowns at me.
“Vague,” Charlie says with a head tilt.
“I doubt Tom is hiding anything,” Ben says seriously, advocating on my behalf. He’s honestly the best roommate.
“Thank you, Ben Pirrip,” I say. “I don’t have a duplicitous bone in my body.”
His smile grows. “I didn’t say that.”
He’s still the best.
Beckett rises off the floor. “If you’re texting Leo—”
“What—no,” I cringe. “I’m offended you’d think I’d even entertain a text from that prick after I promised you I wouldn’t.” I spin toward Charlie. “And you want to talk about being vague, dude? Why don’t you give us specifics on why you’re in such a foul mood?”
“I specifically hate this conversation. It is moving at such a sluggish rate, I want to shove a lead pencil in my ear canal. I would rather do that, actually.” He outstretches a hand. “You have a number two pencil on you, little brother?”
“No, I do not.” I shove my Zippo lighter in my pocket so he doesn’t get any other masochistic ideas. I can’t tell how serious Charlie is being, but I’m not taking any chances anymore.
“What’s going on?” Beckett asks me directly.
I sigh out. “Well, if you must know, I’ve been thinking that Eliot has been right all along. I shouldn’t hold back with Phoenix when passion sparks creativity. So I just green lit having sex with my drummer.”
Eliot has a massive grin. He starts applauding.
“Eliot has been right all along,” Charlie mocks. “Said no one with an IQ over a hundred.”
Being called an idiot by the genius of the family should not sting. I have heard way worse (and more creative) insults. “I am smart enough to know Eliot isn’t always wrong, dude. It’s a statistical improbability.”
Beckett runs two tense fingers over his brow. “Phoenix is your fuckbuddy now?”
“I don’t…” No, he’s not. My face flames.
Pissed just hearing the term “fuckbuddy” when that feels so…
vapid. So stupidly surface-level in comparison to what we’ve been.
Like, sure, we’re bandmates hooking up, but it didn’t just happen the moment we saw each other.
I find the words to say, “He’s my drummer.
I’m his singer. We like being around each other.
We like doing other things. It’s been good for the band. ”
My phone vibrates again.
PHOENIX WOLFGANG
I’m going to call.
Shit. I text fast.
TOM CARRAWAY
I’ll call you. Give me a sec.
“You’re ready to do this with him?” Beckett asks me, knowing I have fortified walls that are hard to breach. I am highly selective for a reason. I don’t want to just fuck anyone and let anyone fuck me.
I ignore the rush of nerves. “Yeah. It’s not like this is my first time. Okay, I know exactly what’s about to happen.” I take a tight breath. “I want it to happen.”
I want to be closer to him. Deeper. And I hate the feeling of stalling out.
I hate the idea that we might backslide.
Beckett takes a seat beside Charlie and stares at the floor in thought. “Maybe you should call Moffy.” He’s our oldest male cousin.
Maximoff Hale might not be a Cobalt, but he’s like the big invincible brother to all of us, and for me, he’s more.
When he came out as bi to the whole family…
I still remember that Christmas at the lake house.
Still remember being ten years old and feeling so overwhelmed knowing this cousin, the one I had stars in my eyes around, wasn’t so different from me.
I wasn’t so alone, and I knew, right then, that I’d always have Moffy to run to for advice. For things I didn’t want to go to my dad for. Moffy never makes anything clinical or embarrassing—he’s just fucking cool.
And I have gone to him. Especially when I was younger.
“I’m older and more experienced,” I tell Beckett.
“I don’t need to call Moffy for sex advice like I’m sixteen.
Even this conversation is more than I really need.
” I extend my arms. “Most people do not openly tell their brothers they’re about to fuck their drummer.
Okay, I am sharing more than I frankly should. ”
Charlie is staring at the same spot on the floor as Beckett.
I frown at the dead silence. Ben looks around at all of us, and Eliot shrugs at me when I slip him my confusion. He has no answers to the weird quiet. Maybe we’re just too used to vicious back-and-forths.
It feels more normal when Charlie looks up at me and says, “Then go get fucked.”
I flip him off. “I will.”
“Be careful,” Beckett says. “Make sure he uses lube.” That off-handed comment actually roasts my neck.
I put a confident palm to my chest. “I have more experience in this than all of you, thank you. I will be more than fine. Appreciate the concern, but I have to call him now.” I wave my phone and make a quick exit.
Beckett leaves the room seconds after I do.
When I check over my shoulder, our eyes meet in the hall for a brief moment, and there is a struggle in his expression I can’t make sense of.
He’s the most stoic of my brothers, at times too hard to read.
If his emotions were strings, he’d clip all the frayed ends and retighten them until he can’t even breathe.
I don’t know why he’s like that. It seems like an awful way to live.
“I’ll be okay, Beckett Joyce,” I assure. “I know you might not trust Phoenix, but I trust him more than I’ve ever trusted a drummer, a friend, a hookup. He won’t hurt me, dude.”
He nods and says a quiet, “You need any of us, just call. We’ll be here.”