Page 58 of Silver Sweet

“Dude, I donotactively listen to my rival band and give them a hike in streams.”

“Fucking petty.” I swear he almost smiles.

“Thank you for defining what I am. I concur, and just so you’re aware, I am not a fan of the guitar riff during the bridge on ‘Tragic Hold’—it takes away from the lyrics.”His lyrics.Which is the only redeemable thing about that song, but what doI even know? “Tragic Hold” is Nothing Personal’s biggest hit yet with three hundred million streams on Spotify.

“It’s not my favorite song of theirs,” Phoenix admits. “I would’ve arranged it differently.”

Maybe this bodes well. I stare off as some of the lyrics crash back into me.

When you said, ‘I’m always here’

Did you mean, ‘you should fear’

Rubble inside tunnels, you buried me

You buried me

I can’t get out from underneath

The dirt, the rage, the tomb, my grave

You buried me

Your tragic hold

Release me

You buried me

Phoenix tries to read my features. “Say something.”

“Not every line rhymes.”

“I don’t always do the rhyming thing, yeah.” He stares deeper into my eyes like he sees the rhyme scheme isn’t what’s circling my head. “Don’t hold back now. Just say it.”

I nod a couple times. “Has he released his hold on you yet?”

“No. When I think about him, I want to tear his head off his body.”

“Metaphorically,” I add.

“No, literally,” he snaps. “Yes, Tom. I’m not going to commit murder. Don’t worry.”

“I was about to run to Home Depot for a chainsaw. Decapitation isn’t beneath me. Heads will roll.”

Phoenix smiles a little, then he must see my next question because he says, “I’ll tell you what happened if we make it through a tour.” It’s clearly a painful past, so that’s fair. He adds, “Don’t let this go to your head, but ‘Fire You Feel’ is better than‘Tragic Hold.’ I thought maybe your demo had been about an ex, but you don’t have one.”

A knot balls in the back of my throat. “It’s about Warner, my former bassist.” The thought of wading through that low is already causing me internal distress. My abs tighten, and oxygen feels scarce. “I’ll tell you what happened if we make it through a tour,” I echo what he said.

“Deal,” he says, then taps his pen on the journal. “We should at least get on the same page with what we want this album to say.”

I feel restless without my guitar. Instead of taking out my Zippo lighter, I just place my palms on my knees. “I’ve thought a lot about where I want the album to go, especially since you joined the band. It’s only us on stage. Justtwopeople. I think there’s a lot of vulnerability in that, and maybe this album should speak to our insecurities. Our fears. Maybe someone can relate.”

“Youwant to be relatable?” Phoenix asks in surprise.

I laugh dryly. “Yeah, right, I know it’s a fucking joke. The trust fund kid wants people to relate to him. I get it. Hardy har har.” I collapse back on the bed, my hands on my face. My insides twist painfully. I know he thinks I’m a rich brat, and it’s not even because of the whole nepo baby thing (which I don’t mind), it’s all the other comments. I hate that I care what he thinks of me, or that there was some part of me that hoped I’d already changed his mind. But who am I kidding? It’s been a week. He doesn’t know me.

Phoenix exhales softly. “Tom?”