55. Tom Cobalt
TOM COBALT
The good news: the tour might be extended. The bad news: Phoenix told my oldest brother I’m taking Adderall. The worst news: Phoenix is more concerned about me than he is excited about possibly touring in Europe.
It floods me with pain I’ve never felt before.
He should’ve been elated. Like a shaking-me-awake type of happy. Like earlier when “Nuclear Winter” charted at ninety-four. The fact that he couldn’t celebrate because of me—it sucks.
I don’t join Phoenix, Charlie, or Oscar at the dining table. Though the buttered croissants look perfectly flaky and have my stomach grumbling.
I prefer to stand while I’m defending my case.
Charlie tousles his unkempt hair even more, yanking at the strands. “I asked you several annoying times if you were on something. And you said no. So you just repeatedly lied to me while I was following your band?”
“So you were following The Carraways to keep an eye on me?”
“Mostly to get out of New York.” Holy shit, I was right. “But Beckett was worried you’d start using coca—”
“I’m not doing coke,” I butt in. “Okay, this isn’t hurting the band. It’s helping.”
Except, Phoenix’s reddened eyes fix on the wall behind me, and I feel like I’m hurting him. Like this choice is a direct shot at my drummer, my boyfriend, the only guy I’ve ever…my thoughts swell as his unguarded, emotion-stricken eyes raise to mine.
It’s somehow easier facing Charlie. “I thought you could detect my lies,” I tell my brother.
He grimaces. “Because I’m a human lie detector.”
“Yes, you are,” I point out. “A very good one.”
More annoyance scrunches his face. “You knew this would all come out then.”
“Eventually….yeah, I guess.” I shrug, barely able to look at Phoenix.
Trying to justify the Adderall feels shaky, given my body is worn down from staying up most of last night—and maybe every night for the past month. I haven’t taken anything yet today. Not even a shot of espresso. There is a consistent hammer in the back of my skull that won’t let up right now.
I just think, Is this insomnia? Is this what he feels every day?
Phoenix braces his forearms on his thighs, his legs bouncing under him. “I love that you’re a perfectionist,” he tells me. “But Adderall worsens this beautiful thing about you. It gives you fucking tunnel vision. Which is good and bad.”
“I’m not disagreeing,” I say. “If the tour is extended, it might just be a few more months extra. That’s still not forever, dude.”
“A year taking Adderall?” Phoenix questions. “Then you might find another reason, Tom. There could be another project, another tour, more that you’re unwilling to let go of, and it keeps piling up. Then the stimulant doesn’t work anymore. So you need a higher dose or something stronger—”
“No,” I force out. “It won’t be like that.”
“Okay,” Phoenix says. He doesn’t believe me.
It’s just agonizing. I shift my weight, uncomfortable in my own body.
Charlie leans back in his chair. “Congratulations.”
I shoot him an unamused look. “You already congratulated me, Charlie Keating.”
“Not for being just like everyone else.”
My stomach cramps and my head goes heavy.
“You think you’re special?” Charlie asks with one arched brow. “You’re resorting to cheap tricks to stay awake. It’s what weak-minded college students do to pass midterms.”
“Like you haven’t taken Adderall,” I retort.
“I don’t hold myself to impossible standards. You, though?” He gestures a hand at me. “You’ve lowered yourself already. Your work ethic isn’t exceptional. You’re cheating like every other typical person who can’t handle everything.” He tilts his head to capture my gaze. “You’re ordinary.”
These words should not puncture.
Should not dig.
Should not cut or wound.
Yet, I can’t see in front of my face for a second.
“I’m calling Dad,” Charlie says flatly.
I snatch his phone fast. “I’ll talk to him without the audience. Thank you. Goodbye.” I hear my wooden voice, and I hustle quickly into the nearest bathroom.
I pace along the marbled tile before I gather the courage to dial my dad’s number. I lose my nerve and hang up on the second ring. Shit. Fuck.
Scraping a hand through my hair, I blow out a breath. Get your shit together. You can do this. I jump when the phone buzzes in my hand.
Holy shit, he’s calling me back with a video request. I’m almost positive this is because I’m calling from Charlie’s phone. I do not have this kind of relationship with our dad. He would think I butt-dialed him or, better yet, am taunting him to call me back just to pester him.
My fingers skate along my jaw in apprehension.
There’s really no avoiding this conversation now. I accept the video call, and my dad’s face fills the screen. Cannot even gloat over the furrowed brows and confusion pinching his expression. Catching my dad off guard—a real phenomenon.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Tom,” he says with surprised breath. “Tout va bien?” Is everything okay?
“Uhhh…” I adjust the phone on the vanity, leaning it up against the mirror. “Not really.”
“Did you steal Charlie’s phone?” he questions.
“I can see how that’d be a reasonable conclusion. But no. He gave it to me. Or did I grab it from him?” I cast my gaze to the ceiling, spending an excessive amount of time pondering this trivial fact. I’d love to just disintegrate into the dust particles in the air to escape this talk.
“Put Charlie on the phone—”
“No, no.” I hold up my hands. “This is a me-and-you thing.”
His frown deepens.
“Father and son. Man-to-man.” I let out a strained breath. “Holy shit, this is already going terribly.”
“Ralentis. Respire et dis-moi ce qui ne va pas.” Slow down. Take a breath and tell me what’s wrong.
I follow his suggestion, inhaling deeply. Then I focus on his sport coat and the coffee mug in his hand. It’s early morning, and it looks like he hasn’t left for work yet. I can see the shelves behind him from the breakfast nook in my childhood home. The familiarity eases my panic.
“I’m taking Adderall,” I suddenly confess.
He nods like I just told him my horoscope for the day.
“You already knew?” I ask in shock.
“Not entirely, but I thought you might have been on a stimulant,” he says. “Your pupils have been dilated more than once at dinner.”
“Great. Yeah.” I thread my fingers through my hair. “Mom knows?”
He nods again. “Are you abusing it?”
“It’s not a prescription.”
“So you are, Tom.” His tone is placid and tinged with disappointment. “That would be a yes.”
“Oui, oui,” I say dryly and throw up my hands. “I want to stop, if that makes a difference. I do want to stop. I just don’t know how when this is helping the band.”
My dream has always felt too fragile. A tiny kindling of smoke and flame. Ready to die out with one little gust. I’ve just now begun building a small fire. How do I let go without feeling like I’ve choked oxygen from it? Killed it. Destroyed it.
“I assume you’re taking it to stay awake then,” he says into a sip of coffee.
He’s so calm. This discussion is literally setting me ablaze. I can’t stand still. I start to pace in front of the phone. “Assumptions would be correct. It’s a net positive. Overall benefit. I’ve gotten a lot done with the extra hours.”
“What’s been the cost?”
“Not much.” I’m off screen and glaring at the ceiling. Hands on my head.
“Tom, come back in frame,” he says gently. “Please.”
I wince and then sidestep so he can see me.
His blues infiltrate my guarded walls. Sincerity and love stare back at me. “What’s been the cost?” he asks again.
My palms remain on my head to keep my lungs open.
It’s the only way I’m going to keep breathing through this painful exercise.
“I’m hurting Phoenix,” I admit. “Like it hurts so bad knowing how much I’m hurting him.
I can feel myself getting closer and closer to putting him in a position where he’d consider giving me an ultimatum.
Quit Adderall or he quits the band.” I shake my head.
“And I would be devastated if I pushed him there.”
“So don’t.”
I laugh, a pained laugh. “Right, yeah. So easy. Thanks for the advice, Dad.” I flip him off.
He tilts his head, completely unbothered by me. “Did you call me for a bedtime story?” He arches a brow at the rhetorical question. “If you want a softer answer or someone to placate you, you can call your brother.” He’s referring to Eliot.
“Dude, I’m like ten seconds from hanging up on you.”
“Do it,” he says casually into another sip of coffee.
I hate that. He knows how competitive I am. I legit cannot hang up on him now. Fuck me. And do I even want to end this call without resolution? I need real help.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Okay, let’s rewind.”
“Let’s do that,” he says. “Let’s go back to where you said you want to stop taking Adderall.”
I wince. “You know, I’ve heard your pep talks with Ben, and they aren’t even a fraction this aggravating.”
“He’s not abusing a stimulant,” my dad says bluntly. “He’s also not you.” That’s fair. And my dad understands I respond better to tough love than a gentle hand.
“I don’t know how to explain this.” I let out a frustrated breath. “But it feels dream-ruining to stop taking it.”
“Your fears are just fears,” he tells me. “Your dreams won’t end without a drug.”
I groan. “You don’t know that.”
“I don’t have a crystal ball, Tom. But I know you. I know you don’t need a pill to succeed. You never did. Whatever’s going on in your head, telling you differently, ignore that. Listen to someone else for a change.”
Fuck, why is listening so hard? I bite my thumbnail and stare at the marble tiles on the floor. I know what I have to do, but it’s so monumentally difficult getting myself mentally there.
“If you don’t want to listen to me,” my dad adds, “listen to the person in your band. I’m almost positive he won’t let your dream end.”
Phoenix. My dad mentioning him sends a wave of emotion through me. It swells my chest. Crashes on top of my lungs. I have to do this for Phoenix. I know that. There’s no way around it.
“I hate being this scared,” I say, my voice cracking at the end.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, mon fils.” His eyes fill mine with the confidence and certainty of centuries past and present. “You’re going to be okay.”
His reassurance is something I didn’t know I needed, but it brings oxygen into my lungs. My eyes redden and I nod.
“What are you going to do?” he asks me.
“I’m going to quit taking the Adderall,” I say into a deeper exhale. “Today. Right now. Flush it down the toilet when I get back to my room.”
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay?” I frown. “This is the part where you tell me how proud you are of me. I overcame a hurdle. I’m facing my fears. All that jazz.”
His lips lift into an amused smile. “Call me back when it’s done.” His eyes carry more tenderness. “I love you, Tom.”
I nod over and over. I see it. I feel it. “I love you too, Dad.”