Page 106 of Silver Sweet

That question is notforme, I realize. Beckett sinks down in the other captain’s chair now, and he slams the car door shut. “Il ne quittera pas Tom.”He won’t leave Tom.

I debate whether to just tell them I can understand what they’re saying. But honestly, why should I? If they’re arrogant enough to talk in French around me thinking it’s a private conversation—then that’s on them.

I crane my neck to see who’s driving. If it’s another Cobalt brother, I might be fucked. But it doesn’t take long to spot the wire running from the driver’s ear.A bodyguard.

He’s older; most of their security detail look in their thirties. Him, as well. He eyes me from the rearview mirror. His expression is bottled, and I can’t gauge whether he’s suspicious of me or confused as to why I’m here.

“Shar-lee,” Tom says, which sounds like a drunk pronunciation ofCharlie. “I fucked it all up.” He closes his eyes in distress.

My hand tightens on his leg. I peek into the side door’s cupholder. Empty. “Do we have any water in here?” I ask.

Beckett pops open a middle console between him and Charlie. He retrieves some fancy branded water in a glass bottle, then extends it to Tom, but Tom is not paying attention. His threaded fingers splay over his eyes.

“You feel sick, Tom?” I ask him. He doesn’t respond right away, and I shake his leg. “Tom.” I’m a couple seconds away from reaching up and clasping his face.

“Not sick,Phoenixxxxx.” The hiss lasts longer. What was funny before now has me more concerned.

When I look forward, my body locks into a rigid state at the way Beckett and Charlie are fixedly observing me. There is no subtlety, no hiding that they’re noting every fraction of an inch I move, every time I touch Tom, probably every time I breathe.

I’m more used to guys in Boston who’d curse me out and try to throw a punch in the car. I’m not used to whatever this is.

From behind the wheel, the bodyguard asks, “Where are we headed?”

Beckett hasn’t torn his gaze off me. “Your address?”

“That didn’t come up in the background check?” I ask him with raised brows.

Beckett has a no-nonsense air about him. He simply says, “I personally did not go through your background check. So,no, I don’t have your address memorized.”

“We can always call our dad and ask him,” Charlie offers in a bored tone. “Would you like that?” He taps ash out the window.

As much as I’m dying to call his bluff, I donotfeel like talking to their dad tonight. I’ve heard Tom refer to him as a godenough to know I’ll steer clear.

Tom peels his palms off his eyes and holds up a hand like he’s in class. “Les get some snass.”

Beckett frowns. “Ass?”

“Snacks,” Charlie says. He rotates around. “Oscar, can you take us to McDonald’s?”

“7-Eleven,” Tom counters, trying to scoot more upright. He slumps back down.

“McDonald’s,” Charlie argues.

“I beseesh you…seven.” Tom holds up seven fingers.

“Oh, look, you can count,” Charlie deadpans. “Guess you’re smarter when you’re drunk.”

“Guess you’re drunker when you’re drunk, Shar-lee boy.” Tom forces his eyes wide open on me. “Seven.” He points at me. “You.” Then his chest. “Me.” Then swats the air at his brothers. “Fuck them.”

I force away a smile.

Charlie rolls his eyes hard.

I slide one arm across the seat toward Tom. “Wherever we go, we’re going with your brothers, man.”

I have a brother the same age as Tom. So I can empathize with Charlie and Beckett right now. Maybe not how they’re handling this with me, but just dealing with me in general.

In this situation, if Birdie’s bandmate tried to pry me away from him while he’s this drunk, I would throw the dirtbag out of the car and land a solid punch.