Page 19 of Silver Sweet

My brother’s talent outpaced mine when he was three and I was just five. Young, but our parents are professional musicians. They first met in the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Miriam O’Toole on the viola and Philippe St. Pierre on the cello.Naturally, they threw me and Birdie—their only two kids—into music as fast as possible.

One of my first memories is playing a toy xylophone and rocking out with my little brother.

Birdie wound up being their musical prodigy. He could play any instrument and sight-read most pieces. He was the one who landed a full ride to Berklee College of Music, whereas I’m still taking as many extra gigs I can to pay off my loans.

But despite his hard work and high aptitude, there’s one instrument I’m better at than him—and that’s the drums.

I pick some of the onions off my hot dog. Not feeling them tonight. “With my history, Jeremy said it wasn’t going to be easy to find someone who’d take me.”

“You mean your history blowing up Sophomore Summer.”

The name of our first band together sends acid up my throat. I slide him a glare.

Birdie shrugs. “Call it like it is, Phoenix. You lost it. You detonated. You?—”

“I remember, man. I was there,” I cut him off. “It was the worst night of myfuckinglife.” Resentment, bitterness,rageaccumulates like I’m one volatile step away from combustion, and I hate this feeling. I hate being brought back to that night where I just want to punch something.

“You also remember the stupid ass vow you made that night?” he asks.

Yeah.

I promised my brother and myself that I’d never play in another band again. “At the time, it wasn’t fucking stupid.”

“It was stupid,” Birdie argues. He shoves the hot dog in his mouth, chomping half of it before licking more mustard off his fingers. No way to sugarcoat it, he eats like a barbarian. “I’m not shocked you’re breaking that vow, seeing as how it was idiotic to even make. But why now? What the hell changed?”

I wrap my remaining hot dog back in aluminum foil. My stomach in knots. I can’t tell Birdie the actual reason without descending into a deeper, darker rabbit hole from my birthday on New Year’s Day.

He has no idea what happened.

It’s not what I want to get into. It’s not what I even need to tell him tonight anyway.

“Look, it’s not the reason, but maybe I need to play again,” I tell himsomething.“Like actually play in a band and not tune equipment for someone else.” I swallow harder. “It’s been three years since Sophomore Summer, Bird, and it still…”

The pain of that night still gnaws from the inside.

Music helps seep all these toxic emotions into something that won’t harm, and I haven’t really had that in years. Writing songs for Nothing Personal just isn’t the same as pouring out everything on stage.

Birdie bobs his head in understanding, but he says, “You aren’t going to tell me the real reason?”

“Not tonight. Maybe not ever.” I glare out at the ice-skating rink.

“If someone fucked with you?—”

“You are mylittle brother,” I remind him sharply. “If someone fucked with me, I will fuck with them back.”

Birdie tries to relax. “I think you’re right, though. You need to be playing in a band again.”

“Jeremy found me one,” I tell him.

“Obviously. That’s why you were MIA tonight—you were fucking around with a new band and lost track of time, right?”

“Not fucking around. Just…brain consumed, I guess.”

Joining The Carraways was not on my radar. I thought maybe Jeremy found me a cover band. Hell, I was gearing up to play yacht rock with how much Jere kept the whole meet-up covert like he knew I’d hate the plan.

I did not anticipate he was pairing me up with…Tom Carra-fuckingCobalt. For Christ’s sake, he introduced himself with his middle name. Who does that?

I steal my brother’s water since I didn’t buy a drink, and I wash down the ball in my throat.