Page 20 of Silver Sweet

“Brain consumed,” Birdie repeats after he finishes his hot dog and crumples the foil in his hand. “So what band has got you this riled up? Is it new or an established one?”

“It’s The Carraways.”

His eyes flame in a hot beat. “Say that again.”

I cap his water bottle. “I’m not repeating it. Saying it once already boils my blood.”

“And yet you’re still going through with this?” He rises to his feet just to tower over me. Maybe forgetting I’m two years older than him. Two inches taller. I stand up and have the height advantage easily. But my brother carries himself like he’s seven feet tall scoring dunk after dunk in the NBA.

I push my hair out of my face. Tension grips my muscles. “I know what you’re going to say,” I tell him. “Tom is?—”

“An egomaniac,” Birdie cuts me off hotly. “And an actual certified bonehead. Because there is no way he doesn’t have dick for brains. I have been rejectedoncein my entire life at an audition, and it was by that fucker.”

Birdie auditioned for The Carraways right after Sophomore Summer imploded. He’d been in a bad place, just like me, and the drumming position seemed like a real light at the end of a dark tunnel.

So I know it hit him extra hard when Tom told him he didn’t get the spot—and that was three years ago. And even though Birdie ended up with Nothing Personal a month later, he never moved past the anger. He still flips off the television screen anytime a Cobalt appears on entertainment news. I’ve been equally annoyed by Tom and, by association, his family. It trulymakesnofucking sense why he’d reject my brother other than elitism.

I honestly wonder if I’m setting myself up to be kicked out of the band for some silly reason. Like maybe Tom has a thousand-and-one pet peeves or is a true diva that needs his M&Ms color-sorted by an assistant.

“He’s all those things,” I agree with Birdie. “Believe me, he’s not my first or second choice.”

“So call him. Tell him to fuck off.”

I waver. Only because I heard Tom’s song. The one that’s fusing itself to my brain stem.

Birdie groans off my hesitation. “Tom Cobalt?—”

“Tom Carraway Cobalt. He likes to be referred to by his full name.” I force a tight smile.

Birdie’s brows hike. “Wow.”

I nod slowly. “Yeah.”

“Just so you know, Tom Carraway Cobalt called me a year ago to ask if I’d reconsider joining his band.”

I step back like I’ve been pushed. “What?” I didn’t know that. I just thought the sum of their interactions began and ended at that audition.

Birdie nods. “Oh yeah. Your new little bandmate changed his mind about rejecting me. Realized the error of his ways. Apparently, The Carraways has had a drummer problem for years. Can’t land a good one. Kept cycling through shitty ones.” He grins triumphantly. “What I call karmic justice.”

My brain is buzzing. “So he called you? And you told him, what?”

“To beg me.”

Yeah, that sounds like my brother. I let out a short, dry laugh. This is great.So fucking great.How am I supposed to work with Tom when my brother and him havethiskind of animosity. Is it already marked for ruin?

“You said it just like that?” I ask.

“Yeah, I honestly should have told him to grovel. Get on his knees. Kiss the ring.” Birdie wears a St. Pierre family heirloom on his index finger. A silver fede ring, what our grandfather calls a bague de foi (faith ring). “I feel like I went too nice on him.” He evaluates me like maybe he should go harder now.

“Bird—”

“I want to cash in my Future Favor. You call him. Tell him that you won’t be his drummer unless hegrovels.”

I release a constricted laugh. “That guy isnevergoing to grovel. If I could get him on his knees, don’t you think I’d try?”

“Not as hard as me.” Birdie rests a foot on the bench, just to retie his shined black loafer. “Positions swapped, I’d literally tell him to drop to the floor and blow me.”

I seriously doubt that, and not because Birdie wouldn’t receive head from a man. His sexuality has been undefined since he went down on his TA in college.