Page 65 of Claimed By the Rockstars: Part One
"Absolutely fucking not," I say. “I like being alive.”
“He wouldn’tkillus.”
“He might.”
Bells watches our banter with that same exhausted detachment he's been wearing like a second skin. He hasn't said much since the flowers arrived. Hasn't done much except exist in Rex's room like a ghost haunting the wrong house.
I want to ask if he's okay.
I want to demand he tell us what the fuck is going on.
I want to dosomethingother than watch him slowly crumble while pretending everything's fine.
But Phoenix catches my eye and shakes his head minutely.Not yet. Give him time.
So I do. I give him time and space and all the things I wish someone had given me when I was drowning.
The knock at the door makes us all jump. Especially Bells, who goes a few shades paler.
Three sharp raps. Pause. Two more.
"Holy shit," Phoenix mutters, hand pressed to his chest. “Not even a text? Does he enjoy terrorizing people for sport?”
“Yes,” I say flatly, opening the door.
Rex Steele, in the flesh and bandages.
"Welcome back!" Phoenix says with golden retriever cheer, spreading his arms wide like he wants to hug Rex but knows better.
Rex steps inside, his movements careful and measured. Not weak, exactly, but guarded. Like everything hurts but he'll be damned if he shows it.
"Balloons," Rex says flatly, his eye tracking to the silver monstrosities floating behind the couch.
"And cake!" Phoenix gestures enthusiastically toward the counter. "It's chocolate. Your favorite."
Rex's visible eye lands on the cake. On the chibi versions of us. On the tiny knight that's supposed to be him but does look like a potato wrapped in aluminum foil now that I’m really looking at it.
"You got me a cake," Rex says, voice completely devoid of emotion.
"Yeah! Because you're home and you didn't die and you turned Stephen into ground beef and—" Phoenix cuts himselfoff, clearly realizing he's rambling. "I just thought... well, you know. Celebration."
Rex stares at the cake for a long moment. I brace myself for the explosion, for him to tear into Phoenix over potentially poisoned food if they recognize the potato band or whatever other excuse his brain manufactures to avoid accepting something nice.
Instead, he just nods once. "Thanks."
The word sounds rusty, like he forgot how to use it and had to dig it out from somewhere deep.
Phoenix lights up. "I'll get candles! We should do candles."
"We don’t need—" I start, but Phoenix is already rummaging through drawers, producing a pack of birthday candles from who knows where. We don’t even celebrate that shit anymore. Nash was the only one who insisted on it.
Bells shifts against the counter, and I catch his movement in my peripheral vision. He's watching Rex with an expression I can't quite read. Not fear. Not the usual hostility. Is he… concerned? And is he concerned about Rex or for him?
Phoenix arranges the candles on the cake and lights them with dramatic flair. The tiny flames flicker to life, illuminating chibi-Rex in orange.
The chibi starts melting.
"Oh shit, oh fuck, ohno—" Phoenix lunges forward, frantically blowing out candles. "I'm so sorry, Rex, I didn't mean to—your face is melting, the cake face I mean, not your actual—fuck, that came out wrong?—"
