Guess noteverythingthat happened at the hotel was a one-time thing.
"Speaking of menace, Rex has been weird," Phoenix says, and the subject change is so abrupt it takes me a second to catch up. "Even by Rex standards."
Bells nods, her spoon pausing mid-theft. "He followed me into the bathroom to check the stalls for my stalker. That's... a lot, even for him."
"I did warn you he was chivalrous," Phoenix reminds her with a smirk.
"He's been spending every night at the studio," I say, not about to let the conversation take off into another direction. Bells is just as distractible as Phoenix. Maybe even more. "Sometimes he doesn't come back until dawn. And when he does, he shuts himself in his room and won't talk to anyone."
"Your room," Phoenix corrects.
"Myformerroom. It's Rex's now, since a certain someone has holed herself up in Rex's fortress."
"What can I say? I like security," Bells mumbles around another mouthful of noodles.
Phoenix pushes his empty plate aside with a sigh. "Something's eating at him. More than usual, I mean. He's always been..." He trails off, searching for the right word.
"A dick?" Bells supplies.
"I was going to say 'difficult,' but sure."
"He's grieving," I say, and both of them look at me. "Nash was his twin. His other half. And he never got proper closure because he was too busy planning revenge against Stephen. Now that revenge has kind of... stalled out, he doesn't know what to do with all that pain."
The words come out before I can second-guess them. More than I usually share. More than I usually admit to noticing about anyone.
Phoenix is quiet for a moment. His eyes have that distant look he gets when he's thinking about Nash, when the memories are closer to the surface than he'd like.
"Nash would hate what Rex is becoming," Phoenix says finally. "He'd hate the anger, the isolation, the way Rex is destroying himself from the inside out."
"Nash would hate a lot of things," I say quietly.
Another loaded silence.
Phoenix's gaze meets mine across the table, and there's something raw in it. Something that has nothing to do with Rex or Nash or any of the bullshit we're supposedly talking about.
My throat goes dry.
Bells looks between us, clearly sensing there's something deeper here. Something about Nash that neither of us is saying. But she doesn't push.
She squeezes my hand under the table instead.
What the fuck is happening to me?
Just a few weeks ago, I knew exactly who I was. A commitment-phobic disaster bassist who never let anyone close enough to leave marks.
Now I'm doingmathabout how to sit so I don't accidentally touch Phoenix and make things weird again while simultaneously calculating how close I can scoot to Bells without crowding the fuck out of her or being too obvious about it.
I'm a goddamn mess.
“So yeah, the mask Jamie made is actually perfect," Bells says, picking up the conversation like we didn't just have a minor emotional crisis. "Rex probably thought he was being clever, ordering something boring. But it's exactly what I wanted. Something I can make my own."
"You're going to customize it?" Phoenix asks, perking up.
"Maybe. Or maybe I'll leave it the way it is. Haven't decided yet." She shrugs. “The point is, I have options. Rex tried to make a statement and accidentally gave me a gift."
"That's very on-brand for Rex," I mutter. "Failing upward into kindness."
Bells laughs, and her shoulder shakes against mine with the force of it. Her thumb keeps caressing the lines and callouses on my palm, and I find myself leaning into the touch instead of away from it.