Page 258 of Silver Sweet

“Okay,” I exhale a tight breath. “Okay, good, because tell it to fuck off. We’re having a one-on-one here, and it’s unwelcome.”

Beckett starts to smile. “I’ll let my mind know.”

“Good,” I nod. “Fuck OCD.”

“Fuck OCD,” Beckett agrees deeply, his eyes glassing. “Je t’aime avec la force d’un million de frères.”I love you with the strength of a million brothers.“Pas seulement mille.”Not just a thousand.

It almost breaks me. “Well, now I have to go up to a billion.”

He laughs, and my lips lift. Nearly at the same time, we converge into a hug. I embrace him a little tighter than usual, gripping the back of his suit jacket. I feel his arms strengthen around me.

All this time.

I take a much deeper breath. His chest rises like he’s taking one too. Beckett draws back just a bit, his gaze softening onmine. We’re eyelevel, exactly the same height, and he says, “Charlie and I really like him. Phoenix.”

I let out a skeptical noise. “Charlie doesn’t like anyone.”

“He likes him enough.”

“Because Phoenix got me to throw out my Adderall,” I realize.

“Notjustthat,” Beckett states, smiling again. “Ever since we met him, he’s been genuine with his feelings, never really guarded them.” He nods to me. “I also like that for you. I can’t imagine you being with someone who would guard themselves.”

It swells up inside me. My nose flares, and I let out a little laugh in thought. “Who knew I’d end up with a bleeding heart?”

58

PHOENIX ST. PIERRE

“It sounds like shit,” Birdie says about thirty minutes before doors open in Midtown Manhattan. The only people milling around are venue staff and band crew.

I’m behind my brother’s drum kit onstage and playing Nothing Personal’s “Tragic Hold” with a cringe. Not because I hate the song. I immediately hear aboingynoise and a warble.

“So bad,” Birdie shakes his head, hearing it too.

“Your rack tom is choked,” I say, then shoot him a warning glare. “Don’t mentionmyTom.” I clarify quickly, “Tom Carraway Cobalt.”

“I should give him a business card with my full name, just so he sees mine is cooler. Birdie Haydn St. Pierre,” he says while scrutinizing the kit. “Hit the floor tom again.” I do, and he frowns. “That’s so floppy.”

“I’ve got it.” I loosen the lugs on the rack tom before tightening the ones on the floor.

Birdie checks his phone. “Fuck, they’re here.”

“Mom and Dad?”

“Yeah. Dad said the line is wrapped around the block.”

We’re at Radio City Music Hall, an iconic, intimate venue with all theater seating. A great concert for them to attend. Moshing is unlikely.

I can’t go grab our parents while I’m in the middle of tuning Birdie’s drum kit. There are backline techs in our tour crew, but my brother is particular about sound and wanted me to fix it.

The answer to this problem comes onstage. Tom walks toward us, texting on his phone, his left wrist still splinted. “I am not, am not,am notsharing a room with my sister. Ben Pirrip is losing the plot here. Fuck, fuck, fuck! He should not be sleeping on a pull-out again. This is so messed up.”

It is very weird, considering the Cobalts are so loaded they could purchase the entire 21st floor. Hell, maybe even the entire fancy-as-fuck high-rise. Then again, I understand the pricelessness of living with a sibling while you can.

I’m not in a hurry to ditch my brother in Chelsea. Would bail on the burnt-pepperoni apartment, though.

Birdie is only partially paying attention to Tom’s rant. He’s too concerned about the drums. He’s squatting down and twisting a lug on the floor tom.