Page 110 of Silver Sweet

I remember now. One of my earliest conversations with Tom. He said his brother, Beckett, was extremely private. Trust must be the hardest earned with him. I don’t know how much he values RJ’s opinion and whether the “don’t leave Tom with him” is a red flag still flapping in his face.

Once the order is filled, I click on the payment screen.

“I’ve got it.” He’s so quick, I have no time to even reach for my wallet. He uses his phone for contactless payment.The screen beeps withOrder Complete!and displays an order number.

We find a spot by the drink machine while we wait—farther away from the shrieking laughter and guys double-fisting quarter pounders—but the soda drinker cranes her neck, scanning for Beckett, I think.

“We need to move somewhere else?” I ask him.

“This is fine.” He’s tenser and more rigid than the typical ballet dancer I’ve seen from the orchestra pit.

In the light now, I realize heisfamiliar to me. I’ve seen his face on posters inside Whitney Theater for different productions likeSwan LakeandThe Sleeping Beauty. He’s one of NYBC’s star male dancers.

Despite being so stiff, his posture is stillveryNYBC. Shoulders slightly drawn back, core engaged, the length of his body seeming to stretch taller. Hell, he appears taller than me right now because I’m bent slightly against the wall, and he’s not slouching even an inch.

His eyes dart around before he dips the brim of his hat lower over his eyes.

Tom told me that his siblings need personal security for more than just crowd control and some super fans who don’t respect boundaries. Their parents are worried about extortion and kidnapping. Something like that happened to one of their cousins. Luna Hale, I think. It was all over the news last year.

Fuck, I shouldn’t have made that comment in the car. I knead at the tired corners of my eyes.

“You’re twenty-four?” he asks me.

“Yep. You?” I already know the answer from Tom.

“I’ll turn twenty-five in September.”

“Older than me by four months. Point taken.” I nod. “You like having your bodyguard around?” I ask.

“Security isn’t a preference so much as a necessity.” He lifts the brim of his ball cap to meet my gaze. “My bodyguard saved me from being assaulted a couple years ago. Three guys with a baseball bat.” He checks the window and entrance again. “It put him in the hospital for a month.”

“Jesus,” I exhale.

I’m surprised he’s sharing this with me, until he says, “It’s important Tom keeps his bodyguard around him. There are people who will fuck with my family for money, for clickbait, for revenge, for all sorts of things. And it might sound ridiculous to you.”

“It sounds a little exaggerated,” I admit.

Beckett nods. “Tom said you aren’t chronically online, but there are enough people who do know us that a single video clip or photo of us can make a person go viral or make a media conglomerate richer. You understand that, at least?”

“Yeah.” I can see how that could happen.

I feel even worse thinking Charlie and Beckett were being prima donnas who didn’t want to enter a fucking Micky D’s. They’re just trying to keep each other safe.

“You can head back to the car,” I tell Beckett. “I’m sure the food will be out in a second.”

“It’s fine,” he says stiffly. “There’s something I needed to ask you anyway.”

“Yeah?”

“Your arrest?—”

“I thought you didn’t read my background check,” I cut in.

“I didn’t,” he says. “I wastoldyou’ve been arrested.”

I run a hand against the side of my neck. I’m not going back there. I cannot even begin thinking about that night right now. “I’m not going to talk about that. What else do you want to know?” I ask him, frustration seeping into my voice. “Anything else?”

“Are you sleeping with my brother?”