Main Bonus #84: Winter Break - The New Cobalt Ritual (Patreon)

IMPORTANT: Please do not screenshot and post any part of this bonus scene to other sites or share with non-patrons. All of the Patreon content is exclusive to Patreon and for current patron's eyes only.  Thank you!! xoxo Krista & Becca

IMPORTANT: Please do not screenshot and post any part of this bonus scene to other sites or share with non-patrons. All of the Patreon content is exclusive to Patreon and for current patron's eyes only.  Thank you!! xoxo Krista & Becca

RESOURCES:  Check out this narrative timeline graphic to visually see when this bonus scene takes place.

SPOILER WARNING: There are spoilers from BURN BRIGHT in this bonus scene. We highly recommend reading the book for reading this bonus.

HOLIDAY TRADITIONS in my family are usually made and kept at the lake house in the Smoky Mountains. Seeing as how we’re not there this year, leave it up to my siblings (and me) to find a way to concoct a new ritual in the span of seven days.

Each night, we wait up for Beckett like we’re counting down to New Year’s and he’s the ball drop, the confetti cannon, the reason for turning to the love of your life and giving them a celebratory, triumphant kiss. Strangely enough, Beckett Joyce is the reason I’m with the love of my whole world. Harriet Fisher.

He’s the reason I can say I’m not alone across the country. The reason I’m surrounded by so many people I love this winter break. The reason I’m still here.

I know that reason might change in time, but it’s only been a few weeks since I’ve come home from Alaska. So these quiet, powerful moments of gratitude for my brother still pummel me. Gratitude even for Charlie—since he was the one who found me.

I think Harriet must feel the same appreciation. I’ve caught her staring at Charlie for longer beats than ever before, like she maybe wants to say something nice to him but decides against it. I get why. There is a good chance Charlie slingshots the appreciation back, and sometimes it’s easier to not risk a harsh outcome.

Beckett has a two-hour commute to Philly after each night’s Nutcracker performance. He didn’t want us to bother attending every single one, but we did go and watch him dance before we left Hell’s Kitchen and packed our bags for the Cobalt Estate.

The first time we waited up for Beckett, it was clear this wouldn’t be a competition to outwit and outlast one another.

Not when Eliot brought out a stainless-steel bowl of ice water and decreed, “You yawn, your face goes in the water. Everyone will stay awake for our dear brother. I leave no one behind.” He pointed at me, which felt like a punch to the gut—but it also made me smile.

“I’m not going anywhere, Eliot,” I assured so deeply.

“You aren’t because I’ll tackle you before you reach the door.”

“You think you could catch me?” I joked.

“Always, brother. I will take drastic measures. Including throwing your girlfriend on you.”

I choked on a laugh. “Yeah, don’t do that.”

He spread his arms open like it was still very much on the table.

My smile softened on my older brother. “I’m not going anywhere,” I emphasized from my core because it felt so true this winter break. It still does. I want to be here. I need to be here. I’m going to be here. “Je promets.” I promise.

I know he believes me whenever I say it. I also know that they’ll worry for a while longer while I’m recovering, and that’s okay. I can’t hate that they love me so forcefully when it’s a huge part of why I love them.

Right now, there really is nowhere I’d rather be than home with the people I fucking love. Harriet, very much included. Having her here has been immensely calming, and I’d like to think my presence offers the same solace when my family can be a lot.

Everyone but Charlie got drenched that first night. I squeezed water out of Harriet’s blonde hair while she toweled off her face.

“Is every night going to be like this?” she whispered later.

“Chaotic?” I asked. “Loud?”

“Not exactly that. More like…” A cute, pinched smile tried to fight through. “I guess like…together. All night, every night.”

“That is the idea, Fisher.”

“I’m getting that, Cobalt boy.” Harriet eyed each of my siblings and the dedication we had to just be together for Beckett’s arrival. Each night, he’d come through the door, and we’d jump up from the living room furniture, cheering. I grabbed Harriet around the waist and twirled her in a circle as if we reached the new year—even if it was still December and already well past midnight.

She held on to me as her laughter left her body. I kissed her and felt her smile grow against mine. Harriet could’ve absolutely hated the idea of spending so much time with my family. She could’ve wished we’d sneak away to my bedroom and steal quiet minutes alone together. I did want that with her—but I also didn’t want to miss this with everyone.

I realized quickly that she didn’t want to miss it too.

Several nights, my parents even joined us, and Harriet never even attempted to pull me away from any of them. Not my brothers, not my sisters. On night three, when I asked, “You want to go to bed early?” after she yawned three times in a row, she’d shake her head profusely.

“We’re not ditching on your fam.” It was either her determination to not be the first to bail or her desire to be a part of the loving chaos that kept her seated at my side. Maybe it was both.

It can be both.

One week of this ritual—of waiting up for Beckett—and he saw us go from simple applause at his arrival to wielding silly toy bazookas we found in Tom’s childhood bedroom, confetti crackers we found in Eliot’s, and a homemade I <3 your thick thighs signs we made from Audrey’s stationary.

Beckett’s laughter is still music to my ears.

I wonder if this’ll turn into a full-blown tradition whenever we stay back at the Cobalt Estate for the holidays.

I hope it does.

It’s now December 23rd. The last night Beckett performs in the ballet. The last night of this new Cobalt Empire ritual.

Beckett has taken off Christmas Eve, as well as Christmas Day. A total and complete rarity. 

I know it was for me. He’s already said as much, then told me, “This is going to be my favorite holiday, Pip. Don’t feel guilty when this is what I want.”

I feel more fucking selfish because I just really want to be around my brother. I feel like I need him, and I don’t know if I should be shaking that feeling off or holding on to it tighter.

Probably tighter.

I try not to sink too deep in my head right now—which is easy, considering I’m on the ground. Lying on a soft rug. The marble coffee table has been moved out of the way.

I’m in the middle of three tufted cream couches that make up the impressive, grand living room that I grew older in. This late at night, the lit fireplace blazes and crackles, and a humongous twelve-foot Christmas tree sparkles with warm lights and blue ornaments.

Harriet kneels on my feet to stabilize me while I crunch upward toward her and steal a kiss.

She gives me disapproving glare—which honestly just makes me want to clasp her soft cheeks and kiss the fuck out of her. I do steal a second one.

She sounds breathless when I pull backward, but she pushes my chest so I don’t go for a third. “Concentrate, dude. You are severely losing.”

“Am I?” I smile, looking her over and not at Eliot doing sit-ups beside me. “Feels kind of like I already won.”

“I doubt your brothers share the same sentiment, Cobalt boy.”

“Probably not because they don’t get to do this—” I arch back up and clasp her cheek.

“Ben,” she warns while my lips ghost over hers. “Where’s the competitive bone in your body?”

“Fractured. You want to mend it for me?”

“Yeah, and that starts by ceasing all flirting, Friend.” She shoves me back down until I’m supine. As her eyes flit over to Tom, I’m getting the sense that she doesn’t want to lose to my brother.

“I see yours is intact,” I say, crunching up to her in an easy sit-up. My abs barely scream at me. Eliot is keeping my pace, trying not to all out obliterate me. He could easily. I’m not trying to take a W.

“What?” She’s more focused on our competition, and I realize she’s silently counting Eliot’s sit-ups.

I smile too much.

Harriet sees my grin. “What?” she asks again.

“Nothing.” She’s just cute.

I try harder now. For her. Because Tom is literally inches away kneeling on Eliot’s feet and paying as much attention to me as she is to Eliot.

“Keep distracting him, Harry,” Tom goads.

“Stay in your lane, Thomas.”

“The lane you’d like to be in,” he shoots back. “That one?”

“I rejected you, dude.”

“Not before I rejected you.”

Jesus. I go harder so they both don’t reach backward for projectile items to throw at one another. I wouldn’t put it past Tom to knock her off my feet. I don’t think she’d care, but I just don’t want to see her get hurt.

The coffee table isn’t close, right? I peek behind her. No—her head won’t hit the table. She’s fine. Nothing bad is going to happen. Nothing bad has fucking happened to Harriet. I’m still good for her.

I take some breaths, knowing this is my OCD flaring. Relax. I focus on crunching up to my girlfriend and not my thoughts.

While Tom and Harriet count out loud, and I gain momentum on Eliot, he exchanges a quick glance with me. We’re both exerting maximum effort now.

My drawstring pants tighten against my thighs as I flex forward. All my brothers wear similar pajamas. I’m a little distracted by Harriet’s red silk monogrammed set that my mom gifted her. My girlfriend is hot, but it also reminds me that I’ve brought a girl home for the holidays. That I have a girlfriend.

That this isn’t a temporary, short-lived thing.

I smile more.

“Who’s winning?” Audrey asks in pink silk PJs. “Is Ben winning?” Her attention is split between our competition and the backgammon game that Jane and Charlie play on the couch. Audrey has been rotating in and out of the two-person game with them.

“Ben is almost winning,” Harriet tells her. “Keep going, Friend. Don’t stop. Faster, faster.” Harriet taps my knees like I’m about to be run over by a speeding train. Her taking this super seriously is really fucking adorable. All I can think about is kissing her again.

But I still go hard for Harriet.

My muscles burn. I keep my hands laced behind my head.

Yeah, I know exactly how I ended up in this position. Eliot. He said, “You’re getting scrawny, brother.”

It was purely to bait me because A.) I’m not scrawny—I’ve worked out every day since I’ve been at the Cobalt Estate for winter break and B.) I still have a six-pack.

I could’ve brushed off my brother, but I really didn’t want to. So I fed into Eliot’s antics and said, “Bet I’m stronger than you.”

His grin exploded.

When I was a little kid, I’d take opportunities to sneak-attack Eliot in the backyard because I loved seeing his grin light up his face when I jumped on his back. Nearly identical to the one tonight.

Back then, I’d wrestle him in the grass. We’d become mud monsters in the rain. He’d throw me in the pool, and I remember laughing my ass off when he did a cannonball next to me.

The innocent, playful roughhousing had ended at some point. I stopped initiating. I slipped out of his arms when he tried.

Then it felt like the only fucking time we wrestled was to physically restrain each other. I chalked it up to growing older, and maybe he did too. Now, I’m realizing it was deeper. It was because I was so afraid of hurting him, of causing him pain, and even knowing OCD is the reason I’m being beat to death with fear, it’s hard to shake the idea that I won’t fucking hurt him now.

So when he said, “And so a challenge is made. Arm wrestle for the win, little brother”—he saw me intake a sharp breath. I imagined breaking his arm.

Irrational.

I know.

I fucking know.

“I don’t want to hurt you, man,” I said, then quickly added, “and I know you’ll say I can’t—but just I…” My pulse sped as I stumbled over the words, I can’t.

“Sit-up competition,” he amended. “Strength of the core.” He smacked my abs right as I flexed, and I laughed, relaxing instantly.

Now sweat beads up on my skin, and my abs tighten and sear while I crunch upward, then lower back down. Repeating the movement in quick succession. As heat gathers, I shed my shirt.

Harriet goes wide-eyed at my flexing muscles. Like she’s forgotten I’m more brawn than brain.

I grin.

Eliot copies me, pulling off his shirt over his head. He tosses his loose-fitted thing to Tom. Who chucks the sweaty fabric at Harriet’s face. She recoils.

I tense, slowing down. “Hey,” I warn him.

“Dude, it’s linen. Unless she’s a witch and going to melt from Eliot’s sweat, she’s fine. Right, Harry?”

She peels it off and flings it right back at him. Tom—caught off guard—falls backward on his ass, and I start to laugh.

The noise rumbles out of me while I bow forward and rest my arms on my knees. I’m not sure I have much more in me. My abs fucking ache. “I think you won, Eliot.”

“Forfeiting already?” He intakes heavier breath like I do.

“Yeah. You can have it.” I look to Harriet. “Désolé.” Sorry. “Next time, bel oiseau? Don’t trade me in for a better competitor.”

“I wouldn’t trade you in for anything, Ben.” She stands up, then reaches a hand to me.

My chest swells. I’m about to take hold when Thatcher Moretti enters the living room with a baby monitor and stern-lined jaw. I hear Maeve’s cries from the monitor. “Honey,” he calls out to Jane. “Where’s a thermometer?”

We all fall hushed in concern for our niece. Jane is quick off the couch. “The laundry.” She spins on her heels as she reaches her husband’s side, just to tell us, “I’ll have to bow out tonight. Applaud extra loud for Beckett. I suspect Mom and Dad will be home soon too.” Our parents aren’t here. They’re attending Beckett’s final Nutcracker performance tonight.

My stomach clenches as my older sister disappears.

Jane has stayed up with us every night. She’s never missed Beckett coming home before. Our new ritual is changing. Doesn’t mean anything. Right?

Right.

Maeve, fine.

Jane, fine.

Everyone, fine.

I snap my elastic bracelet against my wrist. Then rub my arm and avoid the harsh side-glance from Charlie. Do not like how he’s staring at me.

I try not to miss last night. Where I felt zero panic. Where we blasted French house music and sang at the top of our lungs while head-banging to stay awake. I could easily suggest doing it now, but I don’t.

I don’t know if singing is even possible when I have a knot in my throat.

I need water.

Like she’s in my head, Harriet says, “Where’s your water bottle?” I must keep swallowing, trying to force the lump down.

“The kitchen, I can—”

“I got it.” Harriet dashes off before I move a muscle. I consider following, but I just sink down on one of the three couches.

“I’ll help.” Audrey springs up.

Harriet startles as Audrey hooks her arm in hers like they’re already best friends. I’m sure my little sister is already plotting ways to be her maid of honor. Harriet doesn’t seem uncomfortable, or else I’d say something to Audrey.

“I doubt your sister will like me right away,” Harriet had said with a shoulder-shrug and a swish of jolly rancher. “It’s just the way it is, Friend. People think I’m a rude bitch or standoffish. I make terrible first impressions.”

“I think you’ll be surprised.” I scrunched her hair and kissed the top of her head. “Just be yourself,” I assured her. “Nothing else really matters, Harriet.”

“What if I really am a rude bitch?”

“Then I love a rude bitch,” I smiled down at her.

She abruptly wrapped her arms around my waist in a warm hug. She pressed her cheek against my chest. Remembering her tight embrace now just slows my pulse and softens my heart.

Not only did Audrey give Harriet the house tour of the Cobalt Estate, but she kept sitting beside my girlfriend on the couch, at breakfast and dinner. Each time startled Harriet just like she startles now. Nearly every night, Harriet has asked me, “Your sister seriously likes me?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Told you you’d be surprised.”

“You weren’t wrong,” she muttered.

I hate that she has such a hard time believing someone other than me could actively love her company and want to share it. Over the past week, I think she’s very slowly processing that my sister wants to be her friend even after meeting her.

Once the girls leave, I’m alone with three of my brothers.

They say nothing.

“I’m fine,” I force out, feeling their stares. I smear a hand over my mouth, then grip my knees so my legs don’t jostle. “Be worried about Maeve, not me.”

“No,” Charlie states flatly like it’s a dumb consideration. “She already has two overly concerned parents. Being worried for her is redundant and completely fucking unnecessary.”

I glare. “She’s a baby.”

Eliot cuts in, “There is enough worry to go around, brothers.” He sits on my right. The cushion undulates beneath me.

“Dude, you’re sick,” Tom says to me, then quickly rephrases as I tense, “Like not in a bad way. I mean, it’s bad but not like that bad…” He exhales a rough breath. “I’m just going to stop talking.”

“A miracle,” Charlie quips.

“Glad I could supply you with one, Charlie Keating,” Tom says with an unsure tone. Because he’s still gauging my emotional and mental state.

It’s shaky, I guess.

I hate that it’s anything other than stable right now. I can’t say I’m fine when they clearly know I’m not. “Just give me a second,” I mutter, scraping my hands through my hair and staring down at my thighs.

It takes a few more breaths and some mental distractions to slow my pulse and uncramp my stomach. The latter come from Harriet as she returns with my aluminum water bottle. I chug a good portion, then Audrey asks Harriet if she wants to go upstairs and find nail polish to bring down.

I can tell Harriet doesn’t want to reject my sister. I can also tell she doesn’t want to reject me while I’m feeling…not that great. I don’t want to be co-dependent. Even if I do love how she makes me feel.

“Bring me blue,” I tell Harriet.

“Blue polish?”

“Yeah.”

Her brows jump. “You’ll let me paint your nails?”

I smile at her surprise. “For the Empire, yeah.”

She rolls her eyes while Eliot squeezes my shoulders, “That’s the way, brother.” We share a grin, and the panic fades in my body. I breathe deeper.

“I’ll be back,” Harriet says, then follows Audrey through the archway toward the foyer and grand staircase.

Tom cups his phone with a deep frown. He plops down beside Charlie, then immediately bounces back up like his ass is on fire. “I need to…” His hand freezes on his head. “Make some calls or something.” He mumbles, the label.

I frown. “It’s the day before Christmas Eve.”

“And nearly midnight,” Eliot adds with similar concern.

“Yeah.” Tom looks sick to his stomach. “This can’t wait.”

Charlie has an unreadable expression on him. “Because bugging your label while they’re wrapping presents for their kids is going to endear you to them so much.”

“I’m not trying to kiss their ass, dude.”

“Then you must really want to kill your band.”

“It’s already dead,” Tom snaps. “Okay? The band isn’t getting back together. It’s over.” At this, Tom storms out of the living room. “I’m going to bed early. Tell Beckett I said sorry.” He exits with forceful, angered footsteps.

Eliot rises quickly. True to his word, he’s not going to leave anyone behind, but if he were to have to make that excruciating choice (and not sacrifice himself), I’m certain the last on the list would be Tom. On his way out, he warns Charlie, “Don’t rub salt in his wound.”

Charlie rolls his eyes into a glare but says nothing in return.

And that’s how I’m left all alone with the brother I thought I hated. The one who I thought hated me for my whole life.

It’s just the two of us. The fire crackles. I’m unsurprised when Charlie shuts the backgammon game and picks up his folded paperback.

I take deep breaths, wondering if I should strike up a conversation with him. What do we even talk about? We have so little in common.

The idea vanishes when our parents arrive not even a minute later. They check on us, and our mom’s head whips around, seeing it’s just the two of us left. Eliot and Tom have always been present when Beckett comes home. I don’t know who’s more shocked at the fact that I’m alone with Charlie, her or me.

 “Breathing, alive, accounted for,” Charlie tells them with a page-flip. Not even prying his eyes off the book.

Our dad isn’t showing any emotion I can decipher. “Tom and Eliot?” he asks.

“Not here, obviously.”

“Bedroom,” I tell them. “Maeve has a fever too.” This causes Mom to dart out, and Dad is quick on her heels.

Charlie stares at me a little too knowingly.

“What?” I ask, though I know what.

“Nice way to redirect their attention off of you.”

“Like you don’t do it too.”

“I don’t, but it’s funny you believe we’re the same when you’ve always claimed we’re polar opposites.” He licks his thumb to turn another page.

My brain pounds. I scrape a hand through my hair.

“He’ll be home in a second,” Charlie says while staring at his book. “Just calm down.”

“I am calm,” I mutter, but my nose flares. My muscles tighten a little more. I down another gulp of water, then cap the bottle and lean backward. Heat still bathes my skin, even though I’m shirtless. My mind races over things I could ask Charlie. Things I never have for a variety of reasons. “How come you’re not friends with Beckett’s friends?”

“I don’t like collecting friends like you.”

“But Beckett isn’t ‘collecting’ friends,” I retort, not hurt over the shot at me because it is true. I have a lot of friends that I probably shouldn’t maintain friendships with—but I do like making people feel good, among other things. So what can I fucking do?

Charlie says nothing. His jaw tenses, and I think back to his birthday at Pink Noir. We were surrounded by Beckett’s friends the whole night, and I hardly saw Charlie interact with them. He mostly kept to himself, but Charlie almost always keeps to himself.

“Hey?”

My head twists toward Beckett. Yeah, neither of us heard him stride into the living room.

Beckett drops his athletic duffel to the floor. His dark brown hair is wet. He’s already showered and clean. His lips turn into a deep frown, and I thought he’d be concerned that just two of us were left to greet him. I thought he’d ask about everyone who’s gone—but he’s only looking at me.

“Hi, Beck.” I stand, wanting to apologize for the lack of fanfare, but I’m just happy he’s here.

“You good?” he asks after we hug. He clasps my neck, holding my face to stare into my eyes, and I nod.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” I wonder if he knows the change in this new ritual warped my thoughts in a fucking bad way. I might ask him later. I love that I can talk to my brother more freely about what’s plaguing my mind. I love that it’s easier now to share. 

As Beckett sinks down beside his twin, I motion to Charlie. “We were just talking about how Charlie doesn’t share your friends.”

“You were?” Beckett makes a face at Charlie like it’s a weird topic for him.

“Ben was talking,” Charlie says. “I was forced to listen.”

Beckett smiles, which takes the edge off Charlie’s bitter words.

“Fair,” I say, returning to my seat and grabbing my water bottle. I glance toward the foyer, wondering if Audrey and Harriet got distracted. I selfishly want my girlfriend back, and I didn’t think I’d need to fight for her time with my sister.

“So what is it?” I ask Beckett. “Charlie thinks friendship is a disease just like you think romance is one?”

“No,” Charlie says like I’m a gnat circling his ears. “Why don’t we talk about you?”

“And you said you don’t deflect.”

“I’m not trying to be coy about disliking this conversation.”

Jesus. Fuck. Fine. I engage more with Beckett, asking him about the ballet, trying not to check my phone and text Harriet. Charlie doesn’t return to his book, but he’s not contributing to the conversation, just listening with loosely crossed arms.

“What’s her name…Roxy, Roxanne?” I ask. “The girl I met at Pink Noir.”

Charlie’s arms break apart. “You met Roxanne?” He looks to Beckett for explanation. “At Pink Noir? When?”

“Your birthday,” I answer first.

“She showed up late,” Beckett tells him. “Then had to go home early.”

“Why?” he questions.

Beckett hesitates to tell him for some reason.

“Why?”

“She fainted outside the club.”

Charlie has bowed forward. His hands are laced together, until he rakes his fingers through his golden-brown hair and tugs at the strands.

I frown at his reaction. He…cares. “Are you friends with her?”

“No,” Charlie snaps ten times more harshly. “I barely know her.”

“You hooked up with her?”

“No.” He sends a hard look to Beckett, and they speak silently through their eyes. I’m so fucking lost.

I run a hand down my jaw. “Can someone just tell me what the fuck she means to you then?”

“Nothing. She means nothing.” Charlie stands at this, wincing. I think at his leg. He rubs at his thigh.

“Sit back down, Charlie,” Beckett says softly. “Please.”

Charlie does lower back down, grimacing as he stretches out his bad leg. I hear Beckett whisper, asking him if he needs ice, and Charlie shakes head.

“Does that affect her ballet?” I ask him, treading very carefully over the topic of Roxanne. “Her fainting? The vasovagal thing?”

“No,” Beckett says, more so watching Charlie. “Her trigger is fluctuation in temperature. It usually hits her when she leaves the theatre in the winter. Going from hot to cold too quickly. That wouldn’t happen on stage.”

Charlie rubs at his temple, then says to Beckett, “Eliot didn’t get the chance to tell him.”

My brows furrow. “Tell me what?”

“We’re all playing hockey tomorrow,” Charlie says—what feels so out of the blue.

I’m whiplashed. I slowly nod. “We’re playing hockey? You’re playing hockey? Ice hockey?”

“Yeah,” Beckett says. “Eliot rented out the whole rink. If you’re up for it, he wanted all of us to play a game early tomorrow. The girls can play too, but with Audrey’s sprained ankle, she should probably sit out.”

I don’t mention that Audrey likes to act as if her ankle hardly hurts in my presence. Instead of milking the injury for sympathy, I think she’s been suffering through the pain.

I’m leaning into the couch cushions, my hands on my head as I process this like I’m coming off a 5k. “None of you play hockey.”

“We’ve played pick-up games when we were younger, Pip.”

I could hurt you.

As if he knows what I’m thinking, he says, “If you’re not ready, we don’t have to do this. Eliot just wants to help you get back into the sport.”

I don’t want to disappoint Eliot, but more than that, I don’t want to disappoint myself. I’m so fucking exhausted letting fear rule my life.

I want to play hockey with my brothers on Christmas Eve. It sounds like something I would’ve killed for as a kid. Something that would’ve sent me soaring into Christmas Day. 

My eyes burn as I look up at Charlie. “You’re going to play?” He really shouldn’t. Not with his leg.

“Not well,” he says. “I hate hockey.” He forces a smile. “I guess we do share something in common after all.”

He’s known I’ve hated hockey maybe even before I accepted that I fell deep out of love with the sport, and I want it back.

I want hockey back. And I think my brothers are going to help me get there.

“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s play.”

Thank you all for reading the first ever Ben Pirrip Cobalt POV on Patreon! We couldn't be more thrilled that this is the first of more to come, as we now have his POV to write with here. And we love being able to write more during Winter Break from Ben and Harriet's POVs -- a time which couldn't really exist within their book (it was so chunky already) but that we desperately wanted to see.

We hope you love all of the Cobalt fam moments as well as more Ben x Harriet. Another Burn Bright bonus is coming this month! So if you want more, have no fear! It's going to be on its way 💙✨

xoxo Krista & Becca

 “Winter Break: The New Cobalt Ritual," Copyright © 2025 by K.B. Ritchie