Page 105 of Silver Sweet

I scowl. “I’m staying. Thanks.”

Tom tries to hold tighter to me, his arm still around my shoulders. His feet lose traction on the slippery floor. I’m physically bearing all his weight.

“Hey,” Tom says to me with a bright, drunken smile.

“Hey,” I whisper, attention half on him, half on his brother who’s closing the distance.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Tom tells me, and if Beckett heard him, he doesn’t give a damn. He curves an arm underneath Tom’s waist, and I realize just how strong ballet dancers must be. Immediate weight comes off my muscles.

Beckett isn’t looking at his younger brother. He’s pinning me down with his eyes. “I’ve got him. You can seriouslygo.”

The entitlement agitates every nerve in my body. “Look, asshole,” I snap. “RJ doesn’t know me from a fucking toaster oven. I just met the guy. Tom is drunk, and I’m not leaving him until I get him home.”

Beckett frowns so deep, wrinkles crease between his brows. “I’m his brother.”

He thinks I don’t know that. “Okay, great. You could be Jesus fucking Christ,” I say. “I. Don’t. Care. I’m not leaving him.”He’s my singer. My responsibility. He’s this drunk because of me. I can’t leave someone who I really…who I really…

I blink away the sudden sting in my eyes.

Beckett rotates his attention to Tom. “C’est qui ce type?”Who is this guy?

My muscles are on fire hearing him speak French.

“Phoenix St. Pierre,” Tom replies. “C’est mon batteur. Tu te souviens?”He’s my drummer. Remember?

Softly, Beckett says, “Bien sûr que je me souviens.”Of course I remember.

The Cobalts can speak French?Tomcan speak French?

I blink likeImight be the one who’s drunk. I have zero time to process this. Other than the bewilderment of how this never cropped up between me and Tom.Assumptions.We both assumed wrong about each other. And I did not do my due diligence in stalking the Cobalt Empire.

Fuck me.

Beckett’s turning to me. “You can come,” he says as if I need his permission. “My car is waiting.”

24

PHOENIX ST. PIERRE

The Cobalts being rich smacked me in the face when I first saw their apartment’s multimillion-dollar city view. Somehow, I did not think entering their SUV would cause the same reaction.

But what the fuck is this?

The car must be custom outfitted. The two middle-row captain’s chairs have been swiveled 180 degrees to face the third-row bench seat. It’s like a limo…if a limo was in an SUV.

I don’t have time to comment on it. I put a hand on top of Tom’s head, trying to guide him into the SUV without him banging his skull against the doorframe. He enters without problem, but success is short lived. He loses his footing inside the car and smacks his head against the opposite window with a loudthump.

“And there goes the last brain cell.” That comment comes from the guy already seated in one of the captain’s chairs. I recognize him as the brother who looks like Tom. The one I saw briefly in the club before he disappeared. He hangs an arm out of the window with a cigarette pinched between his fingers.

Tom falls back into the bench seat just as I sit down beside him. “I’m fiiiine.” He props his back against the car door, then drapes one leg over my knee. Fuck. Not only is his older brother arching a single brow at me, but Tom is about to roll into the footwell.

I pick up his legs and put both across my lap, holding them there so he doesn’t careen again and face-plant. I say nothing to his brother. I just watch him bring the cigarette to his mouth while he assesses me like I’m a painting at the Met.

He sucks in deeply and barely blows out any smoke.

“F.I.N.E.” Tom spells it out, draws the word in the air with his finger, and mimes an explosion.

“You seem fine,” the mystery brother says dryly. His eyes flit to me. “Qu’est-ce qu’il fait ici?”What is he doing here?