Page 263 of Silver Sweet

It’s our last Saturday on tour.

We only have four more shows after this.

And yeah—we’re going toEuropefollowing our break in August. But it won’t be with Nothing Personal. It won’t bethis. My first tour with Tom. Our first adventure together. It’s almost over, and that foreshadowed loss is already hitting hard.

I’m hanging on to every single second. Like how the roses land at our feet, and I make sure to grab a couple off the stage, wave them in the air in thanks.Do not want to forget this.

Tom removes his IEMs and hands Hannah his guitar backstage. “Great news,” he tells me. “We just played in Hell. Mark it off the list.”

I shake my head. “There is no list. And if there was,thatis definitely not on it.”

He turns to Hannah. “Mark it off the list.”

She smiles. “I just talked to my family back in Odessa, and it’s a hundred and ten. This is really nothing.” She leaves with Tom’s guitar, and we make our way to the white event tent behind the stage—our green room for the show.

Fans circulate cool air through it, and it’s crowded as hell. Nothing Personal’s tour bus busted their A/C this morning, so they’ve been mainly hanging here.

We reach the back corner—pizza boxes stacked on tables. Most are empty except for two pies with sausage. “Where’s Birdie?” I ask Scally, since it’s just him, Neil, and Steffi on the couch.

“Probably trying to fix the bus himself,” Scally says. He has a soaked bandana on his forehead, cooling off.

“Lost cause,” Steffi adds. “They’re bringing in a new tour bus. Should be here in an hour.”

Tom licks his thumb after piling three sausage slices on a paper plate. “Why don’t you guys stay in a hotel tonight?”

“All booked. For thirtymiles.” Neil wraps an arm around Steffi. “Faster to bring in a new bus.”

More crew slide in to get pizza, demolishing one of the boxes. “Has Birdie eaten?” I ask.

“No, I don’t think so,” Steffi says.

Before it all disappears, I put a few more slices on my plate. Then I touch Tom’s shoulder. “I’ll catch up with you later? I’m going to take some food to Bird.”

“Sounds good, dude.” His eyes flit to the sweat dripping down my temple. “Just don’t melt on your way there.”

“I’m already melting, nepo baby.” I head into the scorching heat. The sun is down, and it still feelsstifling. Thick, muggy air. How the fuck is there not a breeze? We’re nearthe ocean.

It plagues me all the way to Nothing Personal’s bus, and by the time I open the door, I have a late-onset epiphany.

Birdie might have used the whole “fixing the bus” as an excuse to get laid.

Cockblocking my brother—not on my to-do list. I climb a couple steps, taking it slowly and quietly. I plan to just leave the pizza on the empty driver’s seat and text him about it. But I’m halfway up when I realize how quiet it is.

Not a laugh.

Not a grunt or a moan.

Hell, not even a footstep.

Something doesn’t feel right. Pressure compresses my shoulders. My muscles lock, and my pulse stutters as I keep climbing the stairs. I have a full view of the long corridor to the back lounge. Not a single person is here.

And it’s obvious why.

The heat suffocates. I’m having trouble taking in deep breaths. I remain quiet because in the back of my mind I’m thinking maybe he’s slowly fucking somebody in his bunk in some sensual, silent kink. Who the fuck knows?

I walk farther.Leave the pizza in the fridge, I tell myself.

My muscles don’t comply. I pass the kitchenette and give up on not cockblocking my brother. I’m too paranoid and worried now. I hurriedly check the back lounge.Nothing.I confirm his bunk is empty after yanking aside the curtain. There’s just the bathroom left—and it’s so quiet that I’m almost positive he’s vacated this sauna trap for actual breathable air.