Page 188 of Silver Sweet

But I also know that stench isn’t coming from Tom or me. “You’ll get used to it,” I keep reminding him.

“I don’t want to get used to it, dude. Something is wrong with the people whoaregetting used to it.” He’s whispering heatedly to me, pulling me back by my shirt so I don’t board the bus yet. “Seriously, Phoenix. I think that Gunther guy might be storing a litter of baby opossums in his coat pockets. Maybe we should alert the authorities.”

“Weren’t you the one telling me you wanted to befriendswith our opener? Now you want to call 9-1-1 on them.”

“No, we should be friends, but we should also investigate the source of this awful fucking stench.”

“It’s just them, Tom,” I tell him. “Not everyone is as clean and hygienic as you. Come on.” I pull him by the shirt now, dragging him onto the bus.

He comes willingly, and I drop my hand off him as soon as I make it up the stairs. The driver gives me and Tom a nod while Tom’s bodyguard boards behind us.

Riot Records didn’t let us go on tour alone. Our opening band, Evening Glory, is a four-person rock group that I’ve toured with during my Nothing Personal days. Did not have to share a bus with them back then—thankfuck. We’re also not sharingone for this tour, but they somehow decided our 12-passenger bus is the “after-party lounge” once the show ends.

I’ve told Tom multiple times, “Let me know when you want me to kick them off.”

“No, dude. We arecool.” Tom is not a people-pleaser, but he is a guy ruled by fear. And his greatest one is this tour crashing and burning. For him, being on good grounds with the opening band qualifies as a necessity. Which is fine—I can play nice.I think.

The good news is that I’ve hung out with Evening Glory before, so I already know them well enough.

Gunther is the stocky blond currently pouring a can of pineapples into a pitcher. He scavenges the fridge for more ingredients for the mixed drink. He looks like he was born to a Viking warlord and has the raspy voice of one. I’ve seen him smash a whole coconut in his fists, and his stomach might as well be hollow. Tom’s probably right that most of the smell comes from Gunther.

Then there’s Roy, the guitarist, who will tell you—in detail, unprovoked—his favorite porn stars and which ones have DM’d him. He sits at the booth-style table and deals a hand of cards to the other two band members, Clint and Asher. Those two have a penchant to pick up girls after the shows and bring them on the buses. I’m actually surprised and fucking grateful that I don’t see any girls tonight.

All four guys are white and in their mid-twenties with medium-to-long hair—their signature look that Riot Records won’t let them change.

Music is already thumping on the stereo, the after-party brewing. My temples throb. Not loving this. I barely slept last night; I was hoping they’d be winding down.

“Hey! The Carraways!” Gunther yells in greeting. “Sick set tonight. Crowd was amped.”

“Yeah, I think I saw someone crying,” Roy says.

“Wait, really?” Tom’s eyes light up. “Like good crying or bad crying?”

“Definitely good.” Roy passes a blunt to Asher.

Tom twists around to me with a wide grin. “Definitelygood.”

“I have two ears, nepo baby,” I remind him and slip past him so I can go use the toilet. I eye the small baggie of pills on the table next to Clint’s cards.Yeah, these fuckers are partiers. Beckett’s threats and my promise in French ride me hard. I’m not going to let Tom get into this shit. Not even if he’s living right next to it.

I can’t. I won’t. I promised.

44

TOM COBALT

“What in the hell was in Gunther’s drink?” I pop a couple Tylenol and keep my dark shades over my eyes. My head feels like a cement block. We’re walking away from the bus, on the way to soundcheck in Boise, Idaho.

Phoenix gives me a look. “You should have been asking thatbeforeyou drank it.”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time. We were bonding.”

The wordbondingflares Phoenix’s nose. The guy is super territorial and fuck me for finding it way too attractive for words.

We’re exclusive, but our relationship status istour.We’re hard at work, but the electric high after each show has fueled other things. Sex is an after-show ritual of sorts. It’s not hurting the band. It’s a release and practically a good luck charm now.

I can’t imagine sacrificing that connection with Phoenix every night. For what?

We’re putting ongreatshows. The best of my ability. All we can hope is to keep up this momentum. I just didn’t expect Evening Glory.