Page 241 of Silver Sweet

“And he won’t stop,” Charlie finishes and puts the phone on speaker after dialing a number.

“Charlie Keating,” Tom says on the other end. “You calling to congratulate me?”

“Congratulations on being a pill popper.”

This is starting off great.

I chime in, “I’m in Charlie’s room,” and Tom replies tightly, “I’m coming up.”

55

TOM COBALT

The good news: the tour might be extended. The bad news: Phoenix told my oldest brother I’m taking Adderall. The worst news: Phoenix is more concerned about me than he is excited about possibly touring in Europe.

It floods me with pain I’ve never felt before.

He should’ve been elated. Like a shaking-me-awake type of happy. Like earlier when “Nuclear Winter” charted at ninety-four. The fact that he couldn’t celebrate because of me—it sucks.

I don’t join Phoenix, Charlie, or Oscar at the dining table. Though the buttered croissants look perfectly flaky and have my stomach grumbling.

I prefer to stand while I’m defending my case.

Charlie tousles his unkempt hair even more, yanking at the strands. “I asked youseveralannoying times if you were on something. And you saidno.So you just repeatedly lied to me while I was following your band?”

“So you were following The Carraways to keep an eye on me?”

“Mostly to get out of New York.”Holy shit, I was right.“But Beckett was worried you’d start using coca?—”

“I’m not doing coke,” I butt in. “Okay, this isn’t hurting the band. It’shelping.”

Except, Phoenix’s reddened eyes fix on the wall behind me, and I feel like I’m hurting him. Like this choice is a direct shot at my drummer, my boyfriend, the only guy I’ve ever…my thoughts swell as his unguarded, emotion-stricken eyes raise to mine.

It’s somehow easier facing Charlie. “I thought you could detect my lies,” I tell my brother.

He grimaces. “Because I’m a human lie detector.”

“Yes, you are,” I point out. “A very good one.”

More annoyance scrunches his face. “You knew this would all come out then.”

“Eventually….yeah, I guess.” I shrug, barely able to look at Phoenix.

Trying to justify the Adderall feels shaky, given my body is worn down from staying up most of last night—and maybe every night for the past month. I haven’t taken anything yet today. Not even a shot of espresso. There is a consistent hammer in the back of my skull that won’t let up right now.

I just think,Is this insomnia? Is this what he feels every day?

Phoenix braces his forearms on his thighs, his legs bouncing under him. “I love that you’re a perfectionist,” he tells me. “But Adderall worsens this beautiful thing about you. It gives you fucking tunnel vision. Which is good and bad.”

“I’m not disagreeing,” I say. “If the tour is extended, it might just be a few more months extra. That’s still not forever, dude.”

“A year taking Adderall?” Phoenix questions. “Then you might find another reason, Tom. There could be another project, another tour, more that you’re unwilling to let go of, and it keeps piling up. Then the stimulant doesn’t work anymore. So you need a higher dose or something stronger?—”

“No,” I force out. “It won’t be like that.”

“Okay,” Phoenix says. He doesn’t believe me.

It’s just agonizing. I shift my weight, uncomfortable in my own body.