Page 269 of Silver Sweet

My manager knows I’ve dreamed of Forest Hills since I was a teenager. The outdoor stadium in Queens is where I first saw Sepsis Ink—the band that made Jeremy’s career skyrocket. Maybe the venue has meaning to him too.

But I’ve never wanted to sacrifice my brothers for my dream. Birdie might not be my brother, but he is the little brother of the person I love. So it’s not much of a decision.

“We can’t this year, Jere,” I say.

The long, long pause stretches a deeper ache into this night. “Okay,” he sighs. “Okay…okay.”

I fall asleep to Petula Clark singing “La nuit n’en finit plus” in my ears, and I wake to Phoenix’s response to the video I sent him.

“You should post it,” he says in audio message. “It feels selfish to keep the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard you sing to myself.” His voice sounds choked. “So…post it, nepo baby. Talk later. J’aime ta voix et ce putain de stupide sourire que je sais que tu es en train de faire.”I love your voice and the stupid fucking smile I know you’re making.

I am grinning now.

Without much thought, I caption the video:for my drummer.And I post it.

Twenty-four hours later,I attempt to smother the flames I just fanned. “The Carraways are not broken up,” I say firmly, recording myself on my phone. I save the short clip, and I post it on our socials to reestablish we’re just on a hiatus.

People are dissecting every line of the Petula Clark song I sang, and they’ve deduced my drummer ditched the band. Which is not the truth. Not the truth at fucking all. Even if I’ve had many drummers exit the band before.

Comments immediately flood in. One makes me choke out an aggravated noise:

The Carraways drummer problems

“Ha-ha,” I say under my breath.

Most comments ask if Wolfgang is still in the band and where he went. Since he left on tour with Nothing Personal, we’ve rarely been seen together. Paparazzi hound me outside my apartment, asking if we split—as if the world already knew we were together.

We never fucking confirmedanything.We’ve never even been caught doing more than flirting!

I fall back against my bed and swipe through old videos. I land on one where I’m lying on the sandy ground in Texas. Cacti and a bright blue sky behind me. Phoenix comes into the shot, hovering over me, and he kisses me. My lungs swell, and I feel my smile mimic the one in the video. We didn’t film this for publicity or social media content.

Just for ourselves.

Right now, I want to post it so badly. I almost hate myself for throwing my phone aside and resisting.

“Fuck September,” I groan out loud, then I pick up my guitar.

62

TOM COBALT

OCTOBER

Fuck October.

Fuck every minute of every second when we’re not together. Fuck all the airplanes that have never flown me to him. And fuck time zones. The only time zone should be the one that places me with Phoenix.

The only thing that I don’t want to cast into eternal damnation is our music and our brothers. Which is precisely why I’m at a collegiate hockey arena.

I clap half-heartedly as MVU’s Thrashers score a goal. Ben didn’t make the shot, or else I would gather Herculean energy to spring to my feet. His teammate, however, gets lackluster applause from me.

I wear sunglasses in the stands, and the ice looks dark. My world is dark, so this is very appropriate. Everyone should be wearing sunglasses this month so they can feel my pain.

I will let Phoenix know this later.

63

PHOENIX ST. PIERRE