Page 234 of Silver Sweet

“Tom?” Hannah crouches to my side. “Just take a big breath.”

“Oh Jesus,” Delia says with a sigh like she’s dealt with this issue before. Definitely not from me. Okay, this is afirst.I would not invite a brawl on my tour bus.

The whole bus suddenly rocks. Like someone was slammed against the side of it.

Taking in a rough lungful of air and rubbing my burning neck, I pull myself to my feet with one hand. My jeans are unbuttoned and partially unzipped. Fuck Clint. I think his goal was just to humiliate me—which isn’t working.

Concern and fury propel me out of the bus. My bare feet touch the asphalt of the emptied parking lot. Stars blanket the clear Texan sky, and dirt blows toward the fight—if it can be called that. Phoenix has Asher pinned against the side of the bus, his forearm tight across Asher’s neck. He clearly does not need my help.

I hack up a lung into my elbow.

“You okay, Tom?” Roy asks.

“Fuck you,” I cough, then massage my throat.

He exchanges a worried look with Gunther, and they start pleading their case about how Asher and Clint took it too far. They’ll talk to them. It won’t happen again. “Don’t do anything drastic, man,” Roy says.

I tune them out. “Phoenix!” I manage to yell.

He releases force off Asher’s throat, and Asher crumples into a heap near the tire. Then he shoves Clint’s chest so hard, he stumbles backward, his ass hitting the pavement.

“If youevertouch him again, I will have you bleeding on the fucking floor,” Phoenix seethes.

Is it inappropriate to smile?

Gunther pushes forward. “Phoen?—”

“Don’t even,” Phoenix sneers, his glare furious and gutting. “You stood there, you motherfucker. So-the-fuck-what if he told you to get off the bus?! Then get off! It’s not your bus to fucking trash!!”

“Okay, okay.” Gunther gives a sheepish look to me and my drummer. “We won’t go on your bus again.”

Roy tries to corral Asher and Clint off the ground. “See you in the morning,” Roy says, “when we’re all sober and cooled off.”

“I am sober,” Phoenix growls.

I give them two middle fingers, backing up toward the bus. The second Phoenix whirls around to face me, the weight of his concern is an avalanche.

“Tom.” He steps toward me.

“Not here, dude.” It hurts to say it. He comes crashing to a halt inches from embracing me—there’s nothing more I want than his arms around me. “Those fuckfaces are still in eyeshot.”

“Get on the bus,” he says urgently, like he needs to touch me, and I don’t know…after everything with the Adderall, I just thought he’d shove me farther away.

Not want to bring me closer.

Once I’m on the bus, Hannah hands me a towel for my asphalt-pebbled feet. She is truly an angel. I towel off my dirty soles, then make my way down the aisle to the bathroom. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” I answer Stan and Delia when they question.

“Evening Glory?” she asks Phoenix.

“On the ground,” he responds.

“About time,” she says.

I stop by the bathroom. “I can clean that, Stan.” He’s mopping up grease on the fold-out table, probably a casualty of Gunther’s leftovers.

“I’ve got this,” he assures.

“Yeah, we’ll clean up here, Tom,” Hannah says.