"Rusted," Bells confirms, almost sadly.
"Damn."
Phoenix turns back around first. His eyes drop to the half-empty shake on the table, then back to me. He doesn't say anything, but he looks pleased, which is more annoying than if he just ran his mouth about how I'm making progress again.
Bells's hand finds my jaw.
She turns my face toward hers. Those gold eyes, up close, are relentless.
"Do you want to practice the pull one more time?" she asks.
My whole body locks up.
The prosthetic skull is already applied. I put it on an hour ago, alone, in this room, with extra adhesive and my hands shaking so badly it took three attempts to get the adhesive strip aligned by feel alone because I still can't look in a fucking mirror.
The performance mask sits over it now, three magnets engaged, ready for the moment when Bells reaches up in front of countless people and cameras and?—
"Rex?"
I realize I haven't answered.
Because I can't.
The words are trapped between my lungs and my throat, buried under the crushing weight of what's about to happen. Every time I think about the pull—theclick-click-click, the mask leaving my face, the lights and the eyes and the?—
"No," I manage.
Bells searches my face for a beat.
Whatever she finds there, she doesn't push.
"Okay," she says simply. "Then we don't."
She shifts on my lap, resettling, and presses a kiss to the exposed side of my jaw. Quick and light and gone before I can react to it and it still puts me into a stupor.
"We've got this," she says. Not to me specifically. To the room.
"Damn right we do," Raf says, standing up and cracking his neck. He slaps his hands together once—sharp, loud, percussive—and the energy in the room shifts. Goes taut. Goes live.
Phoenix rolls his shoulders. Twists his wrists. The warm, patient ray of sunshine disappears and the alpha drummer takes over.
The bass thrum of the crowd is already bleeding through the walls. Thousands of voices creating a low, formless roar that vibrates through the concrete and up through the soles of my boots.
Bells slides off my lap and lands on her feet.
She pulls the rabbit mask down over her face.
Her spine straightens. Her chin lifts. Her shoulders roll back and suddenly she's three inches taller and radiating the kind of energy that makes people stop talking and start staring.
Bells becomesBells.
I stand, my hand checking the mask automatically.
Raf grabs his bass from the case by the door and slots the strap over his head in one fluid motion and Phoenix spins his drumsticks.
I pick up my guitar from the stand and sling the strap over my shoulder. The weight of it is the only constant in a life that's been ripped apart and reassembled so many times I've lost count.
Something feels off.