Page 199 of Silver Sweet

“While I’m taking a nap, yeah.”

He doesn’t relent and let me have the final word, not even when I tell him he’d be sleeping through an Oscar-winning Best Picture. We banter for maybe five minutes, and before I know it, we’ve closed the distance, and his lips are on mine.

I fist his shirt. Dizzy. Holy shit, why does he still make me feel like I’m about to fall over?

My lips sting when we tear away from each other. My thoughts are jumbled, but I don’t try to sort through them right now.

We both grab our duffels and head outside. Midnight closes in on this cool California night, and a black Escalade idles by the tour buses as it waits for us.

Gunther leans up against Evening Glory’s bus, smoking a blunt. “Hey, Tom!” he calls out. “When are you going to invite us on the PJ?!”

When you stop smelling like skunk.

“TBD!” I yell back. “Not my jet! I don’t have control over the manifest!” I make an aw-shucks face.

Clint and Asher approach with two girls laughing on their arms. I am more than happy to be leaving for the next couple of days. Tonight was our last show in California, our twenty-second day on tour. And like every Tuesday night, Phoenix and I drive to the nearest hangar to fly back home for our two days off.

My chest rises in overwhelming excitement.

We’rein the air somewhere over Kansas in the smallest jet of my parents’ private fleet. Outfitted with eight white leather club chairs: four by the galley and four facing a varnished table at the back of the plane.

No flight attendant. All self-serve. My bodyguard sleeps reclined in one of the forward club chairs, while Phoenix and I sit at the table.

“Your parents ownfourplanes?” Phoenix’s jaw is still on the floor.

“They’re all different sizes.”

“Like that changes anything.Fourplanes.” This is not computing for him. But unless he actually attends a trip with my entire family (aunts, uncles, cousins) it’s hard to grasp how many people we’re flying around.Withpersonal security. It’s my normal. Definitely not his.

“And one helicopter,” I add. “But the helicopter is a new addition from late last year.”

Phoenix frowns. “Your dad is a CEO of a massive company. Doesn’t his type fly in helicopters every day?”

“Maybe, buthehates them. Says they’re loud, shaky, and grounded too often because of bad weather. But my mom bought one after Audrey got slipped fentanyl. She doesn’t want to be stuck in traffic again trying to get from Philly to New York. So you know—if I OD on anything, my parents will be here in under forty-five minutes.” I flash a smile.

“That’s not even a little bit funny.” Phoenix glares and studies me for a second. He’s sitting across from me, my vocal steamer on the table between us. I just finished using it for twenty minutes. Singing “Hellbent” for five days straight every weekhas swollen my vocal folds. I considered calling my ENT for an appointment tomorrow, but I don’t want to worry Phoenix. If I keep consistently using my steamer, I’ll be fine.

He’s still examining my face. “Are you doing coke?”

The question comes out of left field; it might as well sucker punch me in the jaw. I rock back against my seat. “Hello? What? Because I made a joke about OD’ing? Yeah, I get that it’s probably insensitive and in poor taste due to a variety of reasons. So I apologize for that—but what the fuck?”

“It’s not because of your unfunny joke.” He rubs at the edge of his eye. “We’re nearing three a.m., Tom, and you aren’t even yawning.”

“So I’m on coke?”

“Maybe, yeah? You haven’t exactlyrefutedthat you aren’t, man,” he snaps at me. “And I’ve been around you twenty-four-seven for the past three weeks. I know your sleep schedule. You get tired between one and two. You might fight to stay awake, but you’re exhausted. That all changed two days ago—you haven’t been tiredat all.”

I didn’t realize he was so perceptive of my sleeping habits.

I try to think abouthis, but really, he’s a weird sleeper. He naps at random times. Stays up super late. Always wired or strung out on coffee and energy drinks. He’s been that way since I met him, so I haven’t assumed he’s on anything.

“I think I’m just riding a high from Jere’s call two days ago,” I tell him. “It’s natural adrenaline. I promise I’m not on coke. Gunther offered me some. I saidno.”

I did sayyesto the Adderall, but I don’t mention that.

My stomach cramps.

Phoenix looks like he’s staring through my fucking soul. I’m not lying to him exactly, but I do feel like bottomless shit omitting a fact.