Page 165 of Silver Sweet

I stare at my singer for a longer moment. My lungs keep swelling. Falling for him feels like smacking into concrete. It almost hurts.

Maybe because I don’t want Tom to put me above the success of the album. Even if this feels good in the moment. His loyalty should be to his dreams. I can’t be another Warner. I can’t ground a rising star.

Commercial break arrives, and the GMM producer apologizes to Tom for the personal question. It was on ourdo not asklist. Jeremy already warned us that some news outlets will take that list, crumple it up, and throw it in our faces.

Tom has no time to reply. We’re ushered to the set with our instruments, and I’m not over it. He’s not over it.

We pour all our frustrations and fury into “Nuclear Winter” live on Good Morning Manhattan. Tom is on his knees belting from the core like he’s being chained to the snow.

I’m fighting for breath by the end, and the news studio feels eerily silent. Tom glances back at me when he fits the mic in the stand, and I think we both know this is a turning point.

I’m still breathing hard when we’re in the SUV and waiting for our publicist and manager, who attended the live broadcast. Riot Records was supposed to send a label rep, but they just didn’t show.

We realized they had a conflicting engagement with one of their bigger, established rock bands, and they chose to attend the other band’s Good MorningAmericapress coverage today.

I get it.

Tom gets it.

It’s just business.

“I’m sorry,” I tell Tom. It’s official: this press junket has me apologizinggenuinelyto this nepo baby more than I ever want to. More thanheever wants me to.

Like right now. Tom glares. “Sorry for what?” He untwists a water with an angry turn of his hand.

“I could’ve skirted around the question.”

“What for?”

“You know what for, Tom,” I snap.

“Okay, yeah, peoplewillspeculate that we’re together about ten hundred times more now that they know you’re gay. But I don’t want you to keep this hidden if you want to be open, dude. Some things aren’t worth the cost, and this definitely isn’t.”

I hold the seat behind his head. “But this is going to complicate shit.”

“Good thing my type is complicated.” Tom ends up smiling into a swig of water, and it almost makes me smile back.

I consider kissinghim.

Then the door suddenly swings open. I retract my hand fast and thread my arms.

Even if it’s just Jeremy. “Boys.” He slides inside and sits across from us. Turns out, the Cobalts aren’t the only ones who like fancy SUV limo-seating. So do record labels. “How are we holding up? Tired, angry, happy?”

“Pissed off and aggravated,” I say. “A regular day of the week with Tom.”

Tom smiles brighter into a laugh. He eases more when he sees I’ve cooled off.

After our publicist, Sheela, joins us in the car, I have trouble not looking at Tom, even as she starts speaking a mile a minute about how “visceral” that live performance was and the prospect of it going viral.

“The whole newsroom couldn’t stop talking about it. You should’ve heard them after you all left. Oh, even the camera operator said that was his favorite on-air performance!”

“Really?” Tom is glowing from the review.

My smile edges just seeing him light up from a small victory. You’d think Sheela said the whole newsroom gave us a standing O.

When I turn forward, I realize Jere has been watching me watch Tom. His soft smile on me is approval and guidance, but it sinks my stomach. If he can tell I have feelings for Tom, who else can?

I’m going to fuck The Carraways over because I can’t hide attraction and…something so much more.