Page 245 of Silver Sweet

They’re exploding.

So fast.

I could’ve never prepared forthis.

Our forty-first show in Cincinnati—I walk out to ear-splitting shrieks. It amplifies beyond comprehension when Tom appears beneath blue strobing lights behind me. The walls rattle as the crowd jumps, and Tom belts out our lyrics and mirrors their raging energy.

I throw my body into the beat. Sweat builds faster. I pour water on my chest between two songs, overheating, but we don’t let off the gas.

Tom and I exchange more than one look. His wide eyes say,Holy shit.Mine have to say the same thing because this is fucking nuts.

All the people I can see near the stage—they know every single song we’re playing. Off the entire album.

Tom bends close to a girl—silver streaks down her cheeks, mimicking the ones painted on mine—and she sings “The Arcadian” with him. Tears glass her big, awed eyes and drip down her jaw.

It’s reciprocal. I’m in awe of them.

Not even thinking anymore, I just play and feel the music pulsing within me. I forget how much I used to hate this part. Where Tom steps into the crowd.

He’s never been dropped, but the second they grip his ankles tonight, hands claw up his thighs, hiswaist.Pulling at him.

Fuck.

I pop up while playing—because Tom is still fucking singing—but he’s being tugged downward by the audience like a swarm of ants gathering over a hill.

Our security hops over the barricade to unearth my boyfriend, and when I lose sight of him completely, I ditch my drum kit and pry my IEM out from my ear.

I hear the shrill pitch of elation as I charge toward the crowd. Sliding off the stage, I’m on the concrete general admission floor, and my ears ring from adrenaline and my past.

Security is clearing a path for Tom.

I reach my arms over the barricade, grabbing Tom while he stretches toward me. I pull him over, hands clawing at both of us. They’re torn off the minute Tom’s feet land on the concrete. We’re in the security pit between the barricade and stage.

He breathes hard.

As soon as he’s safe, oxygen rushes into my lungs. I cup his face, and he nods to me like,I’m good.“You?” he asks, his mic shut off.

“Good.” I nod back strongly, feeling weight release from my body. I’m not as wrecked as when my sticks hit one of our fans.

This is getting easier.

Before we climb onstage, I slap his ass—not thinking. So not fuckingthinking.The audience is screaming.

I hear, “OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!” at a piercing decibel. Phones are out recording us. They’re always recording. Tom doesn’t care. He’s laughing into a grin, beating me onstage and whipping the mic cord.

I smile a little and hop back onstage with him.

We exchange a much longer look while I trek to my drum kit. Our secret is alive between us, and it’s unconsciously being teased here and there to our fans.

Tom is eating it up.

He loves toying and taunting, and I wonder if he’ll be satisfied with never confirming our relationship. Of always keeping pieces to himself.

Then again, he’s Tom.

He’ll likely always dream of more.

I don’t care what we do. I just want him and for us to play music together.