Page 49 of Silver Sweet
“We’re doing this in your bedroom?” Phoenix asks in surprise.
I ignore the heat crawling up my neck. Holy shit, why does talking to him feel like I’m running through toxic waste? “Bythis, you mean writing a song, then yeah,” I snap.
Phoenix gives me a look. “No, I meant jacking each other off.”
I fully face him. Hands raised. An inch of space separates us. “Okay, before we go any further, we need to clear some things up.” I point to my chest. “I’m gay.”
His stone-cold features aren’t melting into surprise. “Yeah. Aware.”
Cool.Cool.
He’s quiet to the point of annoyance. I wave him on in irritation. “Now it’s your turn, Saint Asshole.”
He’s unamused. “You are beyond generic.”
“Saint Prick was taken.”
“By who?”
“Your brother.”
His jaw twitches.
Strange.“He stole your name and you’re mad at me for calling him a prick?”
“He didn’t steal my name,” Phoenix says. “I told him to take it as astage name.” He puts a hand on the wall beside my doorframe. “Let’s not get into this. We should work on?—”
“No way,” I interject. “I can’t concentrate on a song when there are now several hundred questions floating in my brain. Explain, dude.”
“Fine.” He pushes off the wall. “Birdie and I used to be in a band together called Sophomore Summer.”
“Andthat’snot generic?” I laugh. “Let me guess, you formed it your sophomore year of high school.”
“College. Birdie’s second year at Berklee.”
Berklee.“Don’t fucking tell me your brother is in the orchestra too?”
“Then I won’t,” he says dryly.
I groan. “So heisa classically trained drummer?”
“No, he played cello at Berklee. Guitar in Sophomore Summer. I’m the one who has always played the drums.”
Okay, so maybe I lucked out and have the better drummer of the St. Pierres. Could I honestly be that fortunate?
Phoenix continues, “After Sophomore Summer broke up, our parents suggested that if Birdie wanted to join another band, he should keep his rock music separate from his career in classical music. Mainly to protect his reputation he’d been building asBirdie St. Pierrein the orchestra world. I’m sure they were hoping he’d drop theSt. Pierrefor rock music, but he didn’t.”
Confusion contorts my face. “There are literally thousands of names he could’ve made up. And he agreed totakehis older brother’s name?”
Phoenix huffs out a hard breath. “I urged him to use it because I didn’t want it anymore.”
“What?”
“I promised myself after Sophomore Summer fell apart that I’d never join another band. Having Birdie take my name wasbasically my way to makethis”—he motions between me and him—“more taxing and difficult. I was never supposed to be in a band again.”
“But you are in one,” I accuse. “You’re right here, so why do you suddenly want to be in a band now?”
He latches onto my gaze. “Because nothing in life has hurt more than a broken dream. It’s like putting shattered glass under my pillow every time I try to sleep. I’m sick of bleeding out.”
