Page 200 of Burn Bright
I’m still straddling Ben, about to spring off his lap until Tom’s despondent shuffle gives me extra pause. His head is hung, shaggy golden-brown hair hiding his eyes. My nemesis looks…defeated. And not byme, so I don’t like this at all.
“Everything okay?” Ben frowns. “Tom?”
He drops his keys on the kitchen counter, then meanders closer. “You will be happy to know, Harry…” Tom just barely lifts his bloodshot, wrecked gaze up to mine. “That my drummer just quit. And so did Warner.”
“Warner?” Ben says in confusion, like that’s inconceivable. The bassist started The Carraways with Tom seven years ago.
“That’s the whole band,” I say unhelpfully.
“Thank you so much for clarifying,” Tom says with a shrill noise. “Like I didn’t know my band just imploded.” He pushes his hair back, and my eyes bug into concerned saucers.
“Dude.” I leap off Ben’s lap. “Did he punch you?” I’m fucking pissed.
“Tom.” Ben is on his feet in seconds. Tom’s eyelid is puffy, and the inside crease is already bruising.
He slings his head back with a frustrated, distraught sound. “He lost it at rehearsal and threw a mic at my face.” He glares atme. “Go ahead and laugh it up, Harry. Tell me I deserved it. I’m an asshole. I had this coming. Rub it in.”
“You didn’t deserve to get assaulted.” I head to the fridge. “Do you have any ice packs in here?”
“Freezer,” Ben tells me while he checks on his brother.
“The bruise to the face I can take,” Tom assures him. “My pride…” He blinks back emotion. “Goddamn Warner.”
Ben rests his ass on the back of the couch, so he’s closer to Tom’s six-foot-one height. “If this is how Warner reacts, I don’t think you should work things out with him. Maybe it’s better to cut ties.”
“I don’t want him back, dude.” Tom points at his eye. “And not because of this. We can’t agree onanythinganymore. Not the tempo, not a song title, not the color of a fucking EP cover.”
I return with a squishy icepack. I’m guessing Beckett being an athlete is why there were a multitude of different kinds in the freezer. I offer it to Tom.
He grabs it slowly like he’s expecting a catch to my kindness. “Thanks?”
“Any reason to flex my pre-med skills, Thomas.”
He wheezes out a laugh. “Right now I feel like I’m dying. What are you going to do about that?” I open my mouth to respond, but he’s quick to say, “Forget it.” He presses the ice to his eye, nods goodbye to Ben and retreats to his bedroom.
I let out a long breath. “I’m not happy his band broke up. It actually sucks knowing The Carraways may never put out new music.” I crinkle my nose at myself. “And I’m the real asshole for not telling him that.”
“Tom is in his own feelings,” Ben says. “I think the only thing that’ll really make him feel better are solutions to the problem. So this doesn’t feel like he just lost everything.”
“Is there a solution?” I ask.
“I have no fucking idea,” Ben says with a heavy sigh, his empathy on the hallway where Tom disappeared.
“You should check on him again. I’ll pull out the bed.”
He nods. So that’s how we split apart for several minutes. By the time Ben returns, I’ve slipped under the covers, dimmed the lights, and scrolled through Netflix on his laptop. He brings over a couple glasses of water and cozies up beside me.
A tin of cookies balances on the armrest of the couch. Eliot brought them back from Wednesday Night Dinner and told me they were baked with mischief and love from his little sister. Apparently, Audrey has a thing for giving sweets to people, and I’ve been devouring the little drum-shaped sugar cookies. She slipped a note in the tin too.
It feels good knowing Ben’s little sister, who he cares for greatly, thinks I’m important enough for cookies and a meet-up. I snuggle next to Ben with the laptop, and we’re about five minutes intoOkjawhen a door shuts from the hall.
I perk up and glance behind the couch with Ben.
Tom has a pillow tucked under his arm. “Please tell me we’re not watching monkeys digging in the dirt.”
I give Ben a confused look. “Did you invite him?”
Ben shakes his head with a rising smile and a laugh. “This is Tom.”
